a rose does not answer its enemies with words @deathstrokesdaughter - Tumblr Blog

“You’re acting like a child.” “I am a child!”

2009.

“Daddy?”

“You missed dinner.” Slade did not look up from the journal he was writing in, a glass of whiskey perspiring beside the leather-bound book on his desk and a cigar settled between his teeth. Quiet, as usual, the clock ticking in the background growing louder and louder, paired with the slight scratch of her father’s pen against paper, in Rose’s ears with the otherwise deafening silence. Wintergreen sat across from him, offered Rose the beginning of a smile around the rim of his whiskey glass as way of greeting, and for the first time since her arrival she did not feel comforted by his presence. There was no comfort to be had, even in the fact that later Wintergreen would offer her a plate that he’d set aside and saved for her and huff at her father’s way of saying that he’d missed her presence.

“You’re spending too much time at that Tower.” Titans Tower. Her second home, her place of preference for the better part of the last two and a half years. Better there than home, the too-cold and too-big estate that she’d found herself in after she’d been taken in by her father. He was surely expecting her to huff like she normally would, roll her eyes and pick a fight in a way that had become predictable and habitual. Probably why he said it, to be honest. But not today. Not now.

The clock kept on ticking and Rose stayed silent for a moment, ever-aware of the shallow sound of her own breathing in a disjointed rhythm with the ticking of that fucking clock. Shallow because when she took a breath too deep, it felt like a knife between the ribs. Shallow because when she took a breath too deep, it came out as a sob and she’d barely managed to pull herself together for this conversation at all.

“Daddy,” she began again, swallowing around the glass in her throat. “Daddy, Jason died.” Silence. Rose could hear the slight breath that Wintergreen had taken in through his nose, could feel his stare settling in on her as he snapped to attention like a struck match: concerned, startled, sad. Slade paused in his writing for half a beat, the scratching of the pen halting and again leaving on the clock for Rose to focus on. Tick, tick, tick, deafeningly loud with the silence in the room. Slade continued writing. Wintergreen exhaled again, looking from Rose to Slade as though he expected him to say something. Stared at him for a long moment as Slade continued to write, reached for that cigar with his free hand to set it in the ash tray. Reached for the whiskey glass instead. “… Dear heart,” Wintergreen began, beginning to move from his chair, though he sat back down when Rose cut him off. “Daddy,” Rose began again, a little louder this time. “Dad, I said - I said that Jason - ” “I heard you.” An acknowledgement, though his work still took the priority in regards to his attention. The pen continued to scratch on the paper, the cigar smoking from the ash tray on his desk. The clock ticked on. “… Dad, my - my Jason. My boyfriend. He –” “He died, yes.” The glass was set back on the desk, Slade reaching for that cigar again. Tapped the ash into the tray, spoke again: “I heard you.” This silence was stunned. The beating of her own heart joined the too-loud quiet of the room, and Rose swallowed against the bile rising in her throat. She felt sick, had cried so much she was sure that she would never stop (that she could never stop), was wishing for numbness or some kind of relief. There was no relief, no respite. Wintergreen’s expression was carefully guarded rage when he turned back to Slade, an expression Rose knew well even with the brief time she’d spent in the Wilson home. “Daddy.” This time, it was said with insistence. “Daddy, I just - I just told you that my boyfriend died. He’s gone, he’s dead. And you just – all you can say is ‘I heard?’” Slade took his time, taking a few puffs off of that cigar before pulling it out from between his teeth again. Considered his words, and Rose found hope blooming in her chest until he spoke again. “Damn shame,” he began. “It’s a waste. Of your attention. Told you he’d be a distraction.” Hope was dangerous. She knew that, had learned it well over the past few years. And as it broke away, the weight of it crushed her and was damn near suffocating. Why had she expected anything different? Why had she allowed herself to think that maybe he’d respond like a father for once in her life, like a human being. “My boyfriend died.” Her voice was raising in volume, her chest feeling so damn tight as she felt those tears building up again. No more tears. She couldn’t cry anymore. If she started again, she might never stop. “My boyfriend died and all you can tell me is I fucking told you so? Daddy, I love him and he’s - he’s dead! He’s gone, and you’re going to tell me he was a waste of my time? What is - what is wrong with you?” “This is why I told you it was a bad idea from the start.” His voice was calm, volume held steady in a direct contradiction to hers. “Do you even hear yourself?” “Do I – ” Rose cut herself out, blinded by the rage that was joining the relentless sadness. She welcomed the rage, it was a nice distraction, a nice break in the grief. Leaned into it. “You are a miserable person. You are horrible, and I cannot believe that I am stuck with you. You’re disgusting and - fuck, I hate you!”

“You’re acting like a child.” “I am a child!” Sixteen. She was sixteen. “I am a child,” she repeated, voice thicker with tears she was forcing down (because heaven forbid she cry in front of him now). “I’m your child!” All at once, she missed her mother and the grief she was feeling was compounded. It was all encompassing, unbearable and Rose would do anything to make the feeling go away. Her mother would never dismiss her like this. Her mother would never brush the greatest tragedy of her sixteen years under the rug like yesterday’s dirt tracked in on her shoes. Her mother would hold her, cry with her, help Rose begin to process her grief and mourn alongside her. Slade would not even look up from his journal. Slade was acting as though she was nothing more than a toddler throwing a fit over a broken toy, not a teenage girl who had just lost the most important person to her and was experiencing heartbreak in a way she hadn’t been aware could be real. Raw, devastating, world-ending heartbreak, and he wouldn’t even look at her. “I’m your child. You are my father! You’ve sucked at that job at every fucking turn. You haven’t stepped up to the plate once! Not once! And I’ve let it go, I’ve let you do whatever the fuck you need to do because it didn’t matter. But right now it matters! I need you.” That hurt to admit. It was terrifying, vulnerable, and she hated herself for saying it. Hated herself more for feeling it. “I need you to be a dad right now. I need you to fucking put your bullshit aside for five goddamn minutes because my boyfriend died. I need you to be my dad.” Silence. Tick, tick, tick. A wisp of smoke, circling towards the ceiling.

“Daddy!” There it was, the crack in the foundation as the tears began to flow again. The tears would never end, she thought, because this pain would surely never end. There could be no end to this, because he was gone and there was no bringing him back. He was gone. Her mother was gone. There was no one to hold her, no one left that loved her. Her father was all that she had left. Slade looked up, and set her with a steely stare. Rose felt as though she was a small child all over again, crying for her father and wondering why he wouldn’t come see her. Crying for the story her mother had told her of the brave soldier that was too busy to come home because that was easier than the truth, because Lili had wanted to protect Rose for as long as she could. There was no protecting her, not anymore. Not from the heartbreak. Not from her father. “Are you done?” Shallow breath in, a sobbing breath out. She was breaking all the way down to her core, was surely about to break into shards on the carpet of the parlour room right then and there. There was no surviving this, not in a way that left her whole. She was done. Done with the Titans, because she couldn’t go back there. So many of them had just seen her for her name, had just seen Deathstroke’s daughter instead of Rose. Jason was gone and he would be sure to be haunting her enough even without her returning to the Titans. She was done with being home because the Wilson estate had never been home for her. Too cold too big, too empty, especially when she’d grown up in a home full of light and love. There was no love here, that was clear. No light, either. Just cold. “Yes.” She managed that at least, tears still hot on her cheeks. “Yes. I’m done.”

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a rose does not answer its enemies with words