The two weeks Luthor had given Talia to return to Metropolis expires in less than five days. Luthor has 'generously' made the penthouse above the Lex Corp Tower available for Talia's use , it's convenient in that she can still monitor and keep Jason within easy reach ongoldece while she's attending to her duties as CEO without needing to bring him with her to her workplace. Less convenient is the fact that the wide glass windows and very public nature of the building has made satisfactory security arrangement's a veritable nightmare.

Automated defenses can only be trusted so far, but the human element in having many bodyguards on sight could be just as unreliable. Talia's had no lack of experience with that.

She hasn't slept since the previous day, has to leave for the city early on this day if she has any hope of not skipping this night's rest too. She's not sure there will be enough time to make sure of the security before they leave Spain. Only five days, and she still hasn't told Jason they will be leaving.

The sooner she gets that done, the longer he will have to prepare himself for the change of locale. Talia copies the her latest drafts of the security plan onto a drive and leaves her study to make sure he's actually gotten out of his bed. It couldn't hurt to get his input on them, make some use of the expertise he'd let waste away otherwise.

He's not shambling blearily out of his room, nor has he slipped back into slumber when she eyes the mound of blankets on the bed – she'll have to make sure he straightens them when they return in the evening. That's not to say he's awake.

She finds him in the kitchen, she's pleased to note that the bowl of porridge that had served as his breakfast is empty, a hand wrapped loosely round the glass that rests besides his head, barely a quarter way full. His head that's propped on his folded arms, deeply asleep. Even with the lingering tension, this is peaceful as she's his face since long before he'd gone back to Gotham.

Too early for him to have completely shaken off the effects of the sedative she'd given him the previous night. Talia wakes him gently, regretting that she cannot let him sleep here, even more so when he flinches back at her touch and almost falls from his seat.

"Hm.. wha…" He mutters unintelligibly his hands gripping the table where he'd caught himself even while he scans the room with half-lidded eyes that eventually settle on her, then move to the glass of tea. "M'startin' to really hate this stuff." He pokes the glass while running his other hand over his face.

"It's necessary." Talia slides the glass closer to him and his tired scowl deepens. "Hurry now".

He huffs out another sigh and slowly picks the glass up. "Nd temporary, huh?"

Talia doesn't answer, notices the way he stalls because of it. There is no definitive answer to that question, and she is not so cruel as to offer hope falsely. "There is a security matter I would appreciate your insight on."

In the car, he falls asleep again before he looks at the plans. She leaves him until they've reached what has become her office.

000

'Miss Head the project is ready to commence, has been ready for weeks. I'm sure I speak for every member of this board when I say we are eager to see the results of the trials. Instead we are paying those researchers, an exorbitant amount, I might add to, to play minesweeper while the project languishes for no apparent reason…'

"I have made my reasoning more than apparent on many occasions and will continue to do so. Your department has been known in the past to mishandle the human element of trials such as these and this company's reputation has fallen too far to decline as it stands." Due in no small part to Talia's machinations at one point, but those watching her from the boardroom across the world are wise not to mention that. "Under my leadership there will be none of that nonsense. I will arrive soon enough to supervise the project, until then you would do well to take this time to be certain that your researchers are well and truly prepared for my inspection."

'If it's the public relations you're worried about, you can rest assured that my department has several contingencies in place should Mister Aizen's department fail to control its subjects.' The president of Luthor's communications department is lounging in his seat, scrolling absently through the stream of information he manages for the company. He reminds her far too much of Luthor for her to be comfortable around him, but she will admit that he does well in his position. If it were only Public Relations and not the fates of dozens the adolescents, Talia might have left him to it with very little oversight.

"I'm more interested in your department's progress on our recent agricultural venture." Talia says. Greenhouses, but on a larger scale, one would have thought this would be a relatively simple thing to have a community approve. It really is a testament to the distrust afforded the company that they are having trouble with this.

Here the man shrugs and sets his tablet aside. 'It's hard to plan for that when Real Estate hasn't settles on where they want to put the things, but we have submitted a series of sites where it might be most welcomed. I've already submitted our suggestions on that front.'

'We're still waiting on budget approval.' The woman in charge of land acquisitions says, tapping her nails against the table and looking at the board director expectantly.

'Approval we cannot grant until we know just how much the Everyman Project is going to cost us.' He directs his gaze at Talia.

"Five more days." She repeats, the spike of a headache forming between her eyes, she subtly takes in a deep breath and holds it a moment before continuing. "Surely you are qualified enough to keep this company afloat that long." There's a tap at the door before they can answer her and she holds up a hand, almost sending a silent prayer of gratitude. "I thinks it's past time we broke for lunch, if you would all reconvene in half an hour we will discuss the budget in more detail once we're all refreshed." She tips her head slightly in reverence she does not feel, and disconnects the feed as the door swings open.

"Anyone executed?" Jason's appearance is noticeably more disheveled than it had been when he'd left more than an hour ago.

"To the great detriment of mankind, no." She says and lets herself lean back in her seat as she turns to face him. "What trouble did you involve yourself in?"

His shrug fails at appearing nonchalant when he sets a steaming paper cup and a white bag bearing the logo of a café she'd visited a few times. "Don't remember." He tries to brush away the smear of blood at his cheek. "Think I got lost."

Talia hums and wets a napkin with the water she'd kept at her desk, then she motions him closer and clears away the blood herself. If it had been something serious, a gaggle of Nyssa's loyalists for instance, the damage would have been more obvious. Still, she'll rest easier when they're in Metropolis and street thugs are less of a concern. As soon as she's done Jason draws back and scrubs the remaining water from his cheek, his scowl gone even deeper as he grumbles under his breath.

"And you remembered to feed yourself?" She asks, taking up the coffee, still warm, so he 'got lost', heading there and not on the trek back.

He grimaces, but pulls a partly squashed sandwich wrapped in cellophane from his pocket. She raises a brow at the state of the thing, but if he's confident enough to attempt something more substantial than nutritional gruel, she's not going to discourage it.

"Looked at the plans." He says, carefully extricating his sandwich from its cellophane wrapping. "Think I can add a couple more layers of alarms over the others, offline, so they can disconnect em remotely, and replace the bulbs in the show lights with red solar one's, easier to replace than kryptonite."

Talia's not sure how many times he thinks they are going to have problems with Superman for that to be necessary, but there are worse things than being over prepared. She nods along as he goes through more of his suggested additions and reworkings of the Lex Tower penthouse security, only objecting to the poisonous gas, for obvious reasons, while she smears cream cheese over an olive bagel.

Jason had reacted only with dull surprise when she told him when and where they'd be moving on from Spain, more for the latter than the former she's sure, but he's been working on the security plans since she gave him the use of another laptop. A laptop he thankfully hasn't seen fit to attempt hacking as of yet, she's still spotting pieces of the last one lying about in front of the house.

"And if I got time to do some rewiring, I can… I can…" The sandwich is a third of the way finished when he slowly sets it aside, it's just plan peanut butter and Talia doesn't know why, but she expected he's have gotten something more flavorful. His face screws up and brings he knuckles of one hand up to his mouth, the shakily up to his brow.

"Jason." Talia prods, dropping the paper bag and cup that are the remnants of her own lunch into a wastebasket. "The wiring."

"Uh." Jason's unfocused eyes snap back to clarity and he shakes his head, as he starts rubbing at his eyes. "M'tired. Think I just gotta…"

Talia's computer beeps, the screen lighting up again with an incoming communication, the board members, thirty minutes to the second from when Talia had called the break. She pushes back a surge of irritation and forces her expression to relax before she reopens the channel. Jason has already vanished by the time it connects.

Once Talia's in Metropolis, she vows she will make them wish each and every day that she had continued to manage the company's affairs from afar.

000

Nyssa's presence in Gotham, as well as elsewhere, has continued to diminish. Reports on why are inconclusive, but a great many of Talia's field commanders are sure it is the work of Gotham's Batclan. The most likely, most logical of conclusions surely. Ordinarily, she wouldn't have resisted the idea, would have contacted Bruce, or Richard, whoever it is that has donned that cursed cowl, and inquire.

It's what her people have expected she would do from the moment outsider involvement in her and Nyssa's war had become known. Thus far Talia has been adamant in her refusal. Her only word of the matter being that this is a league affair and shall remain so. She tells them that it was a mistake to ever allow the league to be so intertwined with the Batclan, and that under her rule, it will be no more. She tells them they have both the power and the dignity to handle their own affairs. She tells them that the Bats will no longer enjoy the privileges they'd enjoyed under her father, privileges they'd spurned from the onset.

Talia does not say these things, make these decisions based on malice. As much as a crazed, only haphazardly buried part of her wishes to deliver the Batclan the still, cold body of one of their children, covered in bruising and blood, to make them suffer the way she had when she'd sat by Jason's corpse, such cruelty will gain her nothing. Even in the case that it would prove to be of some benefit, she would not allow herself to dwell on such thoughts.

Talia brands the Batclan as potential enemies in the case of their involvement for a much simpler reason.

Reports about whatever is tearing through Nyssa's ranks is searching for are far more conclusive than the identities of the perpetrator, the location of the body that was pulled from the fires of that wretched building. For Jason. The very same commanders who'd suggested Talia contact the bat on their involvement, suggest she reveal his location to them, to gain an ally.

She shoves those suggestions into her desk drawer, flinging them aside as though they were as harmful to her physically as they were otherwise. Unread but for the barest of their contents, the only reply she can give is that there will be no alliance with the Batclan, not with any of them, for whatever reason. For the sake of the league, for keeping their ranks pure and strong, and she sites sources of the many operatives they'd lost over the years to the weakness mixing with so-called heroes. That is her answer, it sounds perfectly valid and dignified and it is the final word on the matter.

When she's done she packages her orders for delivery and rests her head in her shaking hands, trying and failing to control the trembling in her body that she's been growing all too accustomed to since she'd taken Jason from Nyssa's compound. She fights back the images, the sounds of the death she can see and hear and feel in as much detail as if she'd been there when it has occurred.

Once it's passed and she's calmed herself, she goes to find him, and make sure that he hasn't attempted to render all of her work useless again. It's near time she gives him his tea.

000

Metropolis. They're going to Metropolis, where Clark Kent lives. Where Superman flies around. Superman. Batman's best friend Superman. The idea of it, Jason knows should turn his stomach. He's pretty sure that when he gets there something will happen, though he's not sure what. Right now he doesn't feel anything like that.

What he feels is cold, but that's because he's lying in the snow. He feels bored, because, again, he's lying in the snow, not really doing anything. He should get out, find something else to do, go over the security again, whittle a batarang and burn it. It doesn't matter what it is he does, as long as it's something. But he doesn't feel like getting up and out of the snow, or finishing the shoveling of the snow that he'd been send out here to do in the first place.

Jason's dug his own grave this time. Not quite six feet under, but deep enough to serve its purpose. He's also fashioned a gravestone at its head. Just a rectangular thing with his name engraved across it in bold, blocky letters. He's tried for an inscription at the bottom, but there were no utensils lying about that he could use for lettering that small and he wasn't determined enough to go out to the forest in search. So all the stone says is JASON TODD, not like he's done much in this short life – it's been what? A couple months now? – to be remembered for, and everything he's done in the other lives seems so far away.

His grave is cold, like everything else in this whole damned place, at least it's not snowing anymore, these mountains like snow the way Gotham likes rain, and Jason knows for a fact which of the two he prefers. You don't have to shovel rain.

Jason's quiet as he lies there, watching the grey clouds move sluggishly across the sky. It's almost peaceful with his mind dulled as much as it is; he can hear her coming long before he sees her.

The crunching of her footfalls in the fresh snow breaking through the quiet, they pause at the side of the driveway, and start up again a barely a second later, making a beeline for his position. Her face appears above him, she's not scowling like he thought she'd be, and the entirely unimpressed look on her face isn't half as satisfying.

"This ridiculous behavior is beneath you, boy." She tusks at him. "Such a childish attempt at avoiding such a simple task.

His task, Jason can't keep his face from scrunching up, his chore, shoveling snow out of that fucking driveway. It's pointless, the car is heavy terrain, and there's not that much snow anyway. "But I'm dead." He says, his eyes catching on the glass in her hand, it hasn't gotten that late, right? He swears he can still taste the last dosage on the roof of his mouth.

Her lip twitches, but she doesn't smile. Jason counts it as a victory anyway. "And it is truly a tragic fate, now climb out of there and finish clearing the driveway before the last light has faded."

"Dead people don't clear driveways, they're found in driveways." Jason huffs, loudly and makes sure it's telegraphed very well, before he sits up in the three foot hole he's dug himself, and pulls him out of it. "And there is a porch light." He brushes the snow of his pants.

"You wouldn't have needed the porch light if you hadn't taken the time out for this game." She presses the glass into Jason's hands. "But I suppose it has grown late, you'll finish it come morning."

"Thought I was done with the morning chores." There's no more or less tea in the glass than usual, but it still seems too full to him.

"That was when you actually finished them later." She doesn't watch to make sure he drinks it; just motions to the he'd discarded as she goes back into the house. She knows he'll drink it anyway, and he does. "Put that away before you retire."

It's cold, just like everything else in this place, everything else he's eaten or drank since, since always now, isn't it. He drinks the tea. There isn't any flavor to betray that there's been anything added to it, no particles in the clear amber liquid. And that cold will freeze over whatever else Jason would feel otherwise, wont it?

"Not temporary." He mutters to himself and picks up the shovel.

000

It's not out of malice or distrust that he does it. Nor is it any of the other dozens of reasons he could have come up with if he'd sat down and tried to write out a list. It's just that day when he wakes up, when Talia wakes him up like she does every day, like he hadn't needed to be before since the last time Alfred woke him up for school, when Talia puts the glass at it bedside and leaves, he looks at the amber liquid, and he doesn't even hate it, not really. But he thinks he should.

He sits up, with his head groggy, unable to think in the ways he used to before. He picks the cool class up with hands that hurt from the pressure he'd put on the pen he'd used to mostly tear up a notebook when he couldn't right his thoughts enough to put them down in clear words the night before.

He's constantly tired, mostly dazed out. He doesn't feel enough, and he doesn't feel like himself anymore.

Logically, he knows it might not be the fault of the tea; it might just be that his head is too fucked up for anything about it to be clear ever again. He was plenty fucked up without it, and the Lazarus pit causes insanity, and Jason's never been able to comprehend those kinds of people, he can't quite comprehend himself either right now.

When he carries the glass over to the sink and tilts it's, watches the tea slosh over the side, dribble slowly over his hand, icy cold, enough to send shivers up his arm. When he watches the drops fall onto the marble, swirl down the drain. When he stops, the glass only half-empty, enough that any kind of withdrawal won't affect him to badly, he gets a flash of a needle and pale, almost blue skin. He doesn't understand this either, doesn't know what he feels, or if it's anything, but he knows there's something there.

Something he might feel later, if he can feel more like himself, if he can think like himself again.