[Txt] No, I don't like it. I'd prefer to go back to being the magic world's sexy sweetheart. But I think that's kind of a given considering everything that's sort of swirling.
[Txt] No, no reporters need to get another story from me sending you out to handle my problems.
[Txt] Although I might change my mind if my holiday shows get canceled from all of this BS.
To her credit, the officer handles Zach with a modicum of respectful professionalism - she doesn’t treat him like a criminal, but once they leave the building (and the watchful, glaring eyes of the other apartment dwellers) she holds Zach’s arm firmly and uses her other hand as a makeshift barrier between Zach and the throngs of press and lollygaggers.
And there are plenty of both. It probably wouldn’t have been as big a news story if it wasn’t for: a) Zee’s (read: Sindella’s) antics in Europe; and b) the recent hooplah about Nightstar’s connection to the WAVES Magazine massacre; and c) the rumors of an attack on the Titan Tower.
The last issue being less of a thing because most SFers knew that attacks on Titan Tower were run-of-the-mill occurrences for over a decade now.
However, news about Zatanna and Nightstar fueled the excited press and public towards regarding Zachary with accusing eyes. Many of them seemed to already pass judgement.
"You and your sister are going down!!" someone screamed, as the police officer gently cradled Zach’s head and pushed him into her squad car. "The Zataras are a menace to society!! Rights not tights!!"
The brief interlude drive to the precinct was short-lived - press and public alike also waited there to catch a glimpse of the young magician. Many assumed he was already being arrested for the accident on the I-280.
Inside, the detectives were less than pleased about having to question Zach, and even less-so when Zach claimed complete ignorance to the entire incident.
"Do you have an alibi," one of the detective grunted, although it was clear from his expression that whatever alibi Zach gave, the cops would just write it off as rich-boy privilege combined with suspicion of more magic tricks.
Once thing was certain: If he were anyone else but a celebrity, Zach would be under arrest right now.
Zach hadn't ever actually been arrested before. He had spoken to the police on a number of occasions, from getting in trouble for noise complaints and things of that nature, to routine things for Titans reasons. Then the only time he'd ever actually been in a police station was after his then girlfriend had been killed in a car crash -- So, it wasn't something he thought about often.
Either way this wasn't exactly the same. And to be honest he was freaking out a little, not that he let that show. No, he sat there with his usual bored, haughtiness, which was actually even shocking him how well he was pulling it off. Enough so that he was even getting on his own nerves... This performance career really came in handy sometimes.
At least they hadn't put him in handcuffs, because then he would have had to get out of them and they probably wouldn't have liked that too much...
"I doubt you'd believe me if I did." He didn't think saying he was with Mia until about twelve, then went home to work on his show for the next day with Bunny would matter. He doubted they'd believe either his girlfriend who also was under the media spotlight, or his assistant. Though the security cameras in his building would have seen him entering, and not exiting until the next day... "How about someone explains to me what I am even supposed to have done anyway. Legitimately. I want to know what I'm being blamed for, not second hand information I've gotten from watching the news."
Yeah, and most of the time even that doesn't count for much at all.
Are you insinuating that my Mother has something to do with Zach and the accident? Kyle, this is like some freaking merry-go-round all thrown out of whack. I want off.
He's being questioned by police now. Oh my fucking god this is ridiculous.
I'm calling from KTVU-15, do you have any comment on Zatara's recent breakdown? Is it connected to your breakdown from Europe? What should the public be on the look out for in terms of the next dangerous act from the Zataras?
I have no comment on my cousin and the and the pileup on 1-280. I have no comment on my reported breakdown in Europe. And finally, I have no comment on what the public should expect from the Zataras, because we are not dangerous.
Ollie trudges into the Watchtower cafeteria and goes into the kitchen directly, bypassing the line and the servers to retrieve a cold beefsteak from the fridge. He takes that and a bag of peanut butter cups and sits at a table in the corner of the cafeteria, putting the steak on his eyes. He's in street clothes, not his GA gear, but from the way he's rumpled and dirty, cut and bruised in places, it looks like he was in a fracas anyhow.
Mar'i pilfers through the large paper recycling bin off to one side of the cafeteria, withdrawing the largest boxes she is able to find and inspecting each one of signs of grodiness before tossing it into a pile near her feet. Once the pile is satisfactory, she gathers them up, nearly blocking her own line of sight with the sheer height of them, and moves towards the double doors, commenting idly to Ollie as she passes, "That's a good way to get an infection."
"Moving," Mar'i answers shortly, pausing to watch Ollie try to hold his head upright with the steak on top while gingerly maneuvering the bag open, as if she is watching some mildly fascinating animal documentary. "You'd be better eating the steak while doing a cold compress. Assuming it's just burst blood vessels and whoever beat the hell out of you didn't damage anything else."
Ollie sits up straight, dropping the raw steak onto the table and using the sleeve of his jacket to dab at his damp eye socket. "Moving." Ollie says it again, louder and more incredulously: "Moving? Where you moving to? I know you've been getting some flack in San Fran, Mar'i, but are things that bad?"
"Just to the Watchtower dorms. Who beat you up?" Mar'i evades, shifting the boxes in her arms.
"Bunch of regular Gothamites. Well, that's not totally true -- Tricks O'Banion from the Riley gang did. But a buncha bystanders who don't think much of me in or out the costume helped hold me down." Ollie gingerly touches the back of one ear. "Even ordinary folks in that city know where to whallop you to halfway knock you out. But anyhow, that's shop talk. You moving to the dorms to get some respite from the paparazzi? I understand that."
Mar'i raises an eyebrow. "Maybe you should stop trying to plainclothes in Gotham, since most of it is a shithole anyway. And it's only going to get worse now."
"What're you talking about? Why would it get worse?" Ollie opens the bag of chocolate, tossing a few pieces into his mouth. "You know something I don't?"
Ollie freezes in mid-chew. "....actually, maybe you do. Gotham's worse where you come from, isn't it."
Mar'i shrugs. "Grandpa put it under martial law when I was...15? Sometime around then. Even if all these new metas are just running off of drugs that'll eventually wear off, their kids'll probably be born meta. And there's nothing in place here to prepare for them." Us, Mar'i thinks of amending, but changes her mind.
Ollie says stubbornly, "Yeah, but that doesn't /have/ to happen. Not if we can see the signs of it coming and put those measures in place. It doesn't have to get to the point of martial law." He chews, contemplating. "He'll never give up on Gotham. I know what that's like, having a city you need -- you /want/ to protect. Because your family built it." Ollie gestures at Mar'i's boxes. "Lemme give you a hand with collecting those. Whenever it's time for a move, suddenly all your friends turn out to be..." Again, Ollie stops halfway, something else occurring. "Does this have to do with Roy? You moving up here?"
"No," Mar'i answers, shifting the boxes away from Ollie's grasp. "I can take care of it. You look like you might have a concussion. Have you gone to Adebayo yet?"
"In a minute," Ollie says impatiently. "Did he talk to you yet? Did you get this thing straightened out? Because I can talk to him, if he didn't, see what the hell's going through that fool head of his--"
"No offense," Mar'i says, voice cooling rapidly, "but you've done enough. I won't be the topic of your conversations ever again." It's not entirely clear if Mar'i is saying this as a thinly veiled threat, or a statement of the current situation, but she shrugs. "You need to go to Medbay."
Ollie pauses halfway through standing up from his chair, sitting slowly back down. "None taken," he says, "but you damn well got no say in who or what I talk about. I'll talk to Roy about you whether you like it or not, if I think it's what's needed." He puts his hands on the table, clenching them into loose fists; the scabs over one set of knuckles pull, but don't quite crack open again. "I take it you're blaming whatever the situation is between you and Roy on me, then."
"No," Mar'i says again before adding, "if it hadn't been you, it would've been something else." One of the boxes, smaller than the others, dangles precariously from the stack, and Mar'i wrangles it back into place with her elbow. "We just burnt out, I guess."
Ollie takes a long breath in, then coughs briefly. "Then it won't hurt if I talk to him," he says, partly to himself. "Although that seems unlikely, Mar'i. People don't burn out less than a month after getting engaged." He reaches out to prop the small box more securely.
Mar'i looks up, nearly glaring if not for the dullness deep in her eyes. "Don't fucking talk to him about me, Oliver. I don't need your pity couples' therapy." Mar'i shifts her hand, still wearing the ring, clearly self-conscious of its presence, then adjusts the stack of boxes. "He has a life besides who he's fucking. Talk to him about that. But leave me the fuck out of it. I'm tired. I'm just tired."
"You're a helluva lot more than who he's fucking. That's exactly /why/ I can't leave you out of it." He reaches out to grasp Mar'i's elbow, to keep her there. "What would make it okay? You want me to say that if I talk to Roy I'll only bring you up as an inconvenience he's trying to get out of? You wanna know how fast he'll pop me one if I insinuate that you're anything other than a huge PART of that life you want me to talk to him about?"
"Just leave me the fuck out of it!" she replies, going shrill. "Why is that so much to ask? I just want to be left alone!"
"No you don't!" Ollie's voice increases in volume to match hers, getting obstinate and bullish. "None of us want to be left alone, for chrissake, you least of all! And I'm not gonna stand idly by and watch my son fuck up the best thing that's ever happened to him just because I failed to teach him how to hold on to the people he loves!"
"I don't want to be your stupid life lesson!" Mar'i shrieks, twisting now in Ollie's grip like a coyote caught in a trap. "If you want to teach him that, then start with yourself, not me! He doesn't want me anymore, and I don't need you guilt-tripping him into coming back just so he can get Daddy's approval! That's not what I want!"
Ollie shakes her elbow, fingers vicing down harder in response to her twisting. "That's not what it is, goddammit, Mar'i!" he shouts. "He'd never turn on you just for me and he'd never be with you just for me! /You/ are what's most important to him in this life apart from his baby! Not want you?? Girl, he's never fucking wanted anything MORE, not my approval or the dope or any goddamn thing!"
"LET--" Mar'i breathes heavily as Ollie speaks, her expression growing more and more frantic, "--LET ME--!!" Ollie's shouts are echoing through her hearing aids at this distance, making his voice physically painful. "GET AWAY FROM ME!" she screeches, shoving at Ollie.
And Mar'i's earlier suggestions that Ollie get himself checked out in Medbay are proven, then, as the shove sends him crashing into, against his chair and smashing back against the wall. There's a thick crack that he realizes is his head banging the wainscotting border as he flounders down to the ground (Barry had requested the wainscotting, he randomly remembers, because people kept pushing their chairs back and marking up the wall), and suddenly all of the rapidly softening bruises, the clotting gashes, they wake up at the same time.
Mar'i drops all the boxes, clutching at a nearby chair as if it is the only thing keeping her upright. She rubs at her ears, her face, before she finally steadies her breathing enough to look over at where she heard Ollie crash. "Ollie?" she croaks, knees quivering as she stares at him in horror.
Ollie manages to lever himself upright, sitting against the wall with one leg sprawled and one peaked, trying to stabilize himself. "Nothing," he grunts shortly, swallowing and catching his breath. "I'm fine. Just need a minute to get it together."
"You need to--" Mar'i pants, but it's clear from her expression that she's afraid to go near Ollie, afraid of the ferocity in his voice, "--you need to go to Medbay."
"I need to keep things together," Ollie says, more insistently. "We've all gone through too damn much to have it pulled apart like this. We deserve this, goddammit. We deserve to be happy with the people we love." He shuts his eyes briefly and then spits a mouthful of thin, blood-tinged saliva to the side before starting to gather his feet under him.
"People like us can't keep it together," Mar'i shudders, torn between taking her boxes and fleeing and helping Ollie up. "We don't get any of that."
Ollie works his way upright, leaning heavily against the wall as an aid. "We can keep trying," he says, simply. "It's worth it to try. Even if we only manage it for moments at a time." He starts to move away from the wall and ends up grabbing onto the side of a table. "Mar'i," Ollie says reluctantly, "I mighta taken more of a pummeling than I realized. Could you -- would you mind helping me get to Medbay?"
"It's not worth the pain," Mar'i mumbles, hesitantly drawing closer to Ollie, before pulling one of his arms over hers. "It's not worth losing it all."
Reluctant he might be, but once Ollie's able to shift some of his weight to Mar'i, lean against her solid warmth, he doesn't have the strength to resist that comfort. "It is, though," he says fervently. "I almost lost mine. I almost lost them both and it would've torn my heart out, Mar'i, but at least I would've had them at all. At least I would know that we'd loved each other, once, and that I wasn't alone. Unloved and alone and unmourned."
Mar'i is shivering despite the warmth that naturally pours off of her as she and Ollie make their way towards Medbay. "Stop talking," she very nearly mewls, voice shivering as well, "I don't like the things you're saying."
It's almost like Ollie doesn't hear her, because he keeps rambling on as they move through the corridor, sounding almost drunk. "It takes a special kind of person to die twice and not have anybody give a shit either time, y'know," he tells her. "But that doesn't mean I haven't changed. I'm a better person. I deserve to find happiness and be loved, and if an old reprobate like me deserves that, girl, then it's no question about you." He makes an ungraceful snorting noise and wrestles a clump of paper napkin out of his pocket, hocking a mass of semi-congealed blood into it. "That's better. What was I saying? Oh, yeah -- you should be happy, Mar'i, and it's my fault Roy has abandonment issues and he's doing the same god damned thing I always did and making it worse now so he doesn't get left somewhere down the road when he's not expecting it."
Mar'i shakes her head as she pushes through the double doors of the Medbay wing. "Stop," she repeats, almost firmly, as a nurse comes forward to help take Ollie. "Don't blame him. It's not his fault. It's mine."
"How?" Ollie keeps fast hold of Mar'i's wrist, forcing the nurse to give up trying to disconnect them and just work around it. "How in the world could this possibly be your fault and yours alone?"
Mar'i shakes her head, refusing to answer as she pries Ollie's fingers off her wrist one-by-one (a tedious task with the independent strength of each of his digits). She looks up at the nurse as she draws close with a sedative, then moves enough away from Ollie that he can't pull her back into the painfulness of his aura, his words.
Ollie might want to keep fighting to talk, ask Mar'i more and more questions, but he's already been burning his reserves of sheer ram-headed determination and he can't shake off the sedative on adrenaline alone. "Not blaming him," he mumbles, one last ditch effort as sedation takes him down, the nurse rolling her eyes at difficult patients. "Shoulda taught him better."
Ollie attempts to say something else, but it all slides away into silence and darkness.
Mar'i waits until Ollie's limp in the nurse's arms to move back down the hall, rubbing her wrist with quivering fingers, back to gather more boxes.
Meanwhile, the indomitable cafeteria staff cleans away a bag of peanut butter cups and a raw beefsteak from one of the tables without question.
