In the Quiet.

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[A/N: This may be one of the fluffier things I've ever written. But after the last Jinx-centric one-shot I wrote, I thought we all deserved it.

Standard Disclaimer: Dem Titan go alonga DC Comics. Me no can has Titan. Me makin' no money, got no money, so suin' do no good.]

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No sounds intruded on their cherished moment.

…

… quiet …

…

It was late enough that the traffic was nearly stilled. Most of the city was getting ready for sleep, or already there.

…

… warmth …

…

His apartment was a remodel of an old house, the rambling three-storey structure having been split into six separate living spaces. The fireplace was quite small, a coal-conversion unit that was really just for atmosphere anymore. But she was lying close enough to it that the flickering heat bathed her face in contentment.

…

… safety …

…

It had been so many years. Years of fear, years of uncertainty, years of growing cold and hard and cunning and ruthless.

So very, very many years.

…

… tenderness …

…

Actually, she thought upon reflection, it's only been … maybe eight? But when that accounts for almost half your life …

She drew a slow breath and gave a tiny sigh, reveling still in the gentle caress of his fingertips along the middle of her back.

…

… softness …

…

So many years! Hiding in ditches and then in back alleys, stealing scraps to stay alive. Learning to use a knife to stay unmolested. Gradually adapting to the notion that she wasn't like everyone else, that she could do things …

…

… concern …

…

So the coldness grew, expanding into every aspect of her life. Even after joining the H.I.V.E. she maintained her distance, held aloof, kept at bay anything that might smack of friendship. Friendship was weakness, friends could be made into tools against you, sharp tools that would rend and tear, and she had to stay sharp herself to avoid the danger. And don't even consider a lover …

…

… affection …

…

The edges of her lips curved up slightly toward her closed eyes.

A lover. Someone who loved her, who placed her well-being above his own (as he had demonstrated any number of times), whose thoughts turned always toward increasing her happiness.

Was such a thing even possible?

She had read the odd romance novel, but dismissed the entire concept as drooling nonsense. No one she knew ever behaved like that. She'd never seen such emotion displayed among the populace upon whom she preyed. Certainly nothing like that had existed in her family. Ghostly images from her early childhood were all she had left of her father … and she would expunge those if she could. Violence was the order of the day, fear the watchword. She and her mother had stolen away one night, the woman cradling her daughter in her unbroken arm.

…

… protection …

…

Then had come the Traveling Times. Hardly ever did they stop. Her father nearly caught them twice. After the second time, after the fire, her mother had cut her blonde-going-pink hair very short and dyed it black. She remembered it had been black on her seventh birthday, when her mother had brought the cupcake, and Jen had wondered, round-eyed, over the unusual gift, thinking it almost too beautiful to eat. Hunger won that round, though.

They made it to the west coast, found a sleepy town on the fringes of the San Fernando valley where her mother could get steady work, and finally stopped running.

…

… security …

…

She turned nine in the little shack where they lived. There weren't any other children around, so she made up her solitary games, inventing friends and adventures and lives and kingdoms and worlds in the dusty ground at the edge of the vast almond orchard. It was there her mother taught her, for there was no school nearby, and the woman didn't trust others to take proper care of her 'special' little girl. For with the turning of her hair had come the Accidents. Jen had a lot of time in later years to ruminate on the extent of what her mother might have figured out, and came to the conclusion that it really wasn't much. She loved her daughter and knew that she was different. But it took everything she had to keep the two of them fed and dry, and she really didn't have the energy to think too long about the nature of that difference.

Then came the night her father found them, for the last time. Most of it was a blur. She recalled hiding in the kitchen, under the table, and her mother's pleas, then her screams. She had some recollection of her father stomping toward her, his huge boots shaking the floor, a long knife raised high. There was one clear picture, one mental snapshot that she carried with her from that night: the sight of her father, lying prone at her feet, the knife's keen blade protruding from the back of his neck.

She couldn't recall, though, ever seeing his eyes. Not ever. Not even when …

"Penny for your thoughts?"

…

… hope …

…

The ancient, evil memories evaporated in the brilliant sunshine of her lover's aura. She smiled again at the sound of his voice. Always so upbeat, never dismal. It seemed way too much trouble to open her eyes, so she didn't.

His fingers were still trailing – slowly, softly – up and down her back, now on this side, now on that, grazing lightly along the silky fabric of her white spaghetti-strap top, then deliciously on the bare skin above it.

She sighed again and mumbled (around the edge of the long pillow she lay on), " 'at feels so goooood."

The smile in his voice transmitted loud and clear. "It's supposed to. That's why I'm doing it."

She didn't say anything for a minute, but gave a small, happy grunt.

Wally gazed down at the girl lying on her belly in front of his couch on a pillow bigger than she was, and fervently thanked whatever deity was looking out for him. "Do you even know how beautiful you are?"

"… Nope. But I bet … mmmm … bet you'll … oh, that's nice … tell me."

He considered her form, flawless in his estimation. Her candy-floss hair had grown out in the months they'd been together, and fell to the middle of her back when she stood (she'd given up on the horns as a part of the "old Jinx" that she was done with). Now it made a fluffy, pink pile on the carpet behind her head. He let his fingers skritch up to the nape of her neck and play there briefly, eliciting a delighted series of squeaky moans.

Her neck was long and slender and perfect, melding beautifully into narrow shoulders that bunched with lean muscle. There wasn't a gram of fat on this girl where it didn't need to be, and he appreciated that. The same, after all, could be said about him. His appreciation extended farther, to where her long, long back met the tempting flare of her hips, and thence to her wonderful, gorgeous dancer's legs, crossed at the ankle and shown off fetchingly by the deep purple short-shorts she currently wore.

"You … are dazzling."

She giggled quietly. "Dazzling, huh? Where'd you get that?"

"From a movie, but who's counting? And anyway, it's the truth."

She grinned, unwilling to move as long as he kept caressing her back the way he was. "Y'know … my mom used to do this."

"What, tell you that you're dazzling?"

"… No, silly. Scratch my back." Another sigh. "I'd lie … on her chest. And she would do this. Run her nails up & down, 'til I'd go to sleep." She didn't add that her mother had done that to quell the pains from the little girl's empty stomach.

"Are you going to sleep now?"

"Uh-uh. Don't wanna … miss feelin' this." She did open one eye about half-way then, catching him staring at her at the edge of her peripheral vision. "D'you mind?"

"I'd mind not being able to touch you."

"Ooo … good answer."

They maintained the tableau for another ten minutes before the mantel clock struck midnight. With a regretful sigh, he said, "We've got training with the Titans at eight sharp."

"… Mmph. Guess that means you wanna head to bed."

"It would be prudent."

"Heh. Listen at ya. Usin' big words an' stuff."

"Impressive, aren't I?"

"In more ways than one." She pulled her arms in and pushed off the pillow, sitting up and going through a long stretch, which action arrested Wally's complete attention. He gave a low whistle.

She grinned and caught his eye. "Like what you see?"

"I wish I had extra eyes."

"Ha! Keep talking like that, and …" She stood, a swift and graceful motion.

"And what?"

Offering him her hand, she urged him up, then wrapped her arms around his waist, gazing up into his incredibly blue eyes. She loved those eyes. She could get lost in them. "… and you won't be getting to sleep any time soon."

His grin threatened to meet itself at the back of his neck. "Sleep is overrated, if you ask me."

She pulled his head down slightly and gave him a slow, relatively chaste kiss. "I agree." Then she took his hand and led him to their room.

…

… love …

…