𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘀 | jason todd

xiv. code of conduct

          Athena opted for blades, hiding them in every part of her body imaginable. Her shoes, granted they were military boots—stealthy, thick and sturdy—held one in each. Along her leg, she had three, hidden in the calve and thighs pockets of her pants. She couldn't make them noticeable and cause a need for suspicion so that ruled out any visible holsters strapped to her waist or arm. Hiding them in pockets wasn't ideal, but it was the best she could come up with. Jason, on the other hand, didn't shy from making his weapons clearly visible much to her disapproval. She assumed it had something to do with his recklessness; his arrogance and brash attempts to flaunt that he was dangerous, that he was a skilled and you'd be dead in seconds if you misspoke around him. She knew that was only the underlying motive. The true reason he didn't conceal his armoury was most likely due to the fact that he had no reason to hide them; he'd be forgotten in the shadows unless she needed his assistance—which she wouldn't. Not tonight. Not ever. Not from him. Ever.

          Jason didn't like knives. He was skilled with them—she hated to admit—but he favoured guns over anything else. Athena couldn't understand why anyone would choose guns over knives; knives were elegant, swift and light. Guns were just clunky and loud. No one could play with their prey then—when using a gun, that is. It would be over in an instant. One shot to the head and game over. Jason never struck Athena as a 'gun' person. Not because it was a one-shot-wonder but because it made the assassination too easy. Bruce had drilled into her ever since she began training under his wing that an assassin is in and out in seconds. But for as long as shes known him, Jason was the complete opposite. He wanted to make his victims suffer. Make them scream until they fainted. Make them fear him above anything else. She couldn't even comprehend why Jason thought guns were the way to do it. Guns shatter bone but blades can peel skin from muscle, strip tissue from skeleton. Blades were slower, more agonising. When she asked him about his preference, after calling it cheating when he drew them in a battle of blades, he only spoke only a few words firing more rounds and chasing down the lone survivors: he liked the smell after they had just been fired.

          They left at different times. Jason had barely been changed when she slipped out the door. They hadn't spoken that morning, only exchanging blunt sentences; the air was tight between them since last night. Waking up with him beside her wasn't anywhere near as unsettling as she would have thought. He was awake when her eyes had flicked open, body half covered by the sheets with his hands tucked behind his head, glaring at the ceiling. It was odd, she thought as she slid her eyes to his direction—he looked so young and innocent in the paleness of the sunlight. Gone was the harshness of last night's chaos, replaced by a demeanour of solemn tranquillity, an emotion so foreign to Athena that she found it somewhat... beautiful.

          Ridiculous. That was utterly ridiculous.

          But the more she stared, the more she couldn't escape the thought.

She had tilted her head completely now, as quietly as she could on the pillow in hopes he wouldn't have noticed. In an attempt to avoid the awkward conversation that would've come next and her stumbling over words to describe why she was studying his features. Why she couldn't stop staring at the creases on his forehead, or the emeralds in his eyes, or the curve of his jawline. His breaths were light, almost unheard and the scars on his tanned skin glittered like diamonds under moonlight. Even being next to her, he was cautious (could she really blame him though, after everything she's put him through?). The only hint that he was even breathing was the slight rise and fall of his bare chest. It was hard to fathom that this boy before her was one of the greatest killers she had ever known.