Chapter Text
Jason Todd, better known by his military op alias, Ghost, exhales a heavy gust of air as he settles into a crouch. A hint of ozone hits his throat as he overlooks the sprawling, overcast city he had grown up in and at one point had even sacrificed his life for. However unbeknownst this matter was to anyone worth knowing. The smog coats his lungs and leaves a weighted feeling in his stomach, but it feels like home and Ghost finds a shadow of a smirk curling his lips. Jason feels a familiar spike of annoyance as he tugs off his chrome helmet. The edges catch on his curls and pull at his hair as it releases, allowing him to draw in a deep breath unhindered by filters. The act leaves the concealment of his identity to the work of a single domino mask, now, and Jason blows at the white streak of hair that falls over his forehead.
It had been four years since Jason last set foot in this fucked up, crime-ridden city that he had mourned like the loss of someone dear to him. Gotham, with her welcoming embrace of darkness that wreaths around him like a mother’s arms, pulls him back in with a sense of ferocious desire. She had always been a steady presence in his life, and Jason had survived her haunted, tender care for years like a stubborn weed growing through the cracks in cement. Jason can practically feel Gotham’s stench beginning to cling to him and claim him as one of Her’s once more as though he had never left.
Gotham was nothing if not possessive.
Jason, for one, welcomes her back in with open arms and a broken heart. He sits back on his haunches on the crumbling ledge of the time-worn Grand Avenue Station, hands resting over his knees and helmet dangling carelessly from gloved fingers. He peers with open curiosity and jaded blue eyes at the changes that time and universal collapse had wrought Gotham in all of her glory. There’s a chill in the air and some mist on Jason’s face. Despite there being a slight sting to it due to pollution, Jason feels more comfortable and at ease than he could remember being in…. a really, really long time, actually.
Because this is Gotham. His home city drapes herself over his form and settles him with a long-forgotten sense of belonging. Despite the passage of time, She remained true to her core. Over the years, Gotham had changed; but merely from an outsider's point of view. Her skyline is missing key points Jason could once point out with barely a thought, and Jason’s sharp eyes pick out the new buildings and differences with a touch of apathy boiling into the smallest hint of loss.
For all that she had changed, Gotham had always been a constant. She was steadfast. Hardy. Resistant to new introductions and sturdy in how she and her citizens never quite lost touch with their roots.
“Ya could take the Gothamite outta Gotham, but ya couldn’t take Gotham outta the Gothamite.” Catherine Todd had told Jason once, eyes hazy and an empty, bitter smile on her face. Jason had glanced over at his mom from where he’d bent over his homework. It was heavy work for a child to pretend he didn’t know that the only person who even sort-of cared about him was actively killing herself with her desire to escape reality.
Gotham, while being what had eventually led Jason to his greatest sacrifice, had been both his savior and his greatest weakness in the end. Even still, now, in the present, he lets her cloak herself over him and encroach on every last bit of him: body, mind, and soul. He breathes her in and exhales his past, head tilted towards the darkness of the sky, with stars hidden behind fog and tainted air. A breeze tickles the hair at his nape, and Jason knows he is no longer alone- but he does not stir, he does not move, and his eyes remain closed. He’s content; unbothered.
“Are you sure this is where ya wanna be, kid?” A smooth toned voice asks from behind, footsteps only heard because they wanted to be approaching the nineteen year old’s side before stopping. “I heard Rio’s nice this time of year. Slade got himself a nice flat around there- I still say we should check it out. Gotham is a little… dark and gloomy, for my taste. And we’ve had plenty a’ dark and gloomy these past years if you ask me.”
Jason opens his eyes to smirk at the newcomer, something teasing and wise beyond his years swimming in their depths. His partner shifts, and Jason knows it’s because they’re thinking about Jason’s pre-existing, easy knowledge about things yet to pass. The gravity of his ideas and his lethal skill-sets often put his team on edge despite all they had been through together in the last four years. All of these occurrences were life and death situations which were consequently more death than life. And yet for all they were criminals, they’d become a family.
Every family has secrets. And this one had plenty.
Jason's smirk loosens with a sense of striking fondness. “Ya know, Deadshot, I’d almost think ya were bailin’ on me if I didn’t know ya weren’t gonna stick around to keep me on the straight and narrow.”
“What fucking straight and narrow, Ghost, ‘cause I certainly ain’t on that neither. None a’ us are.” Deadshot bites back, scowling, only to find himself grinning back as Ghost laughs, loud and free, with his head thrown back in mirth. Of all of the world's cities they had visited together, it was obvious Jason belonged to the crooked streets and cracked pavement of Gotham. It had been years since they’d formed Waller’s personal “Suicide Squad” and it settles something in him to see the kid so obviously in his element. Jason was the youngest of “Task Force X,” and had stirred protective and parental instincts in nearly every con that had fought alongside him. Seeing him this content simply overlooking his hometown was slowly and painfully solidifying that maybe Jason knew what he was talking about when he’d declared that returning to Gotham was the best thing for him. Especially now that ARGUS had struck a contract with them allowing their team the liberty to stray in between world-threatening situations.
Jason shakes his head in faux-disappointment. He gives Lawton a lopsided grin, dimples and all. Jason was youthful in a way that played to his advantage, all of nineteen years old; college aged, old enough to be fucking around going to block parties and studying a major. However here he was thanks to a shit-fuck of a childhood, a traumatic death, resurrection, and subsequent indoctrination into a dark government branch that decided to raise a child soldier in the name of “The Greater Good.” He was a seasoned mercenary, a soldier, a weapon honed to a deadly point with a mind of his own and a moral code that toed the very fine line between “criminal” and “antihero.” He was shades of gray and such indomitable assurance that he’d turned a whole team of criminals into a group of lethal weapons that saw him as their sun.
They’d become an assortment of outcasts that only needed to hear the word and would do whatever this kid asked of them; even if it meant taking on the full force of the US government.
And it was all because of this boy: one Jason Todd.
Jason Todd had frightened even Floyd Lawton at one point- all hard eyes, clenched jaws, and deadly accuracy hidden behind floppy curls, dimpled smiles, and easy conversation. He had been fifteen, then, when they had been first introduced to one another. It had been the squad’s first mission together, too- down to Lawton, Quinn, Santana, Flag, Jones, and Harkness facing off against Flag’s creepy possessed woman and said witch’s… “Brother,” or whatever the fuck that story was. Ghost had appeared in a hail of bullets that would rival the best, see: Deadshot himself, and somehow managed to give Harley the needed distraction to finish things with the freaky “Enchantress” bitch and save Santana’s life while he was at it. It had been due to a shit ton of lot of luck and the suddenness of his appearance as well as his skills that had kept Ghost and the team alive and successful after that fight. It had been the unanimous sighs of relief and cheers and the expectation of escape that had drawn the criminals together at the end, even with their curiosity of the strange small assassin that had come to their aid.
The mood dropped significantly when Waller arrived and reminded them who the fuck was still in charge as long as they had bombs in their necks. She had been as threatening as ever; waving the device around while the team traded looks of cold fury and resentment. This is when Harkness had questioned Waller on the silent assassin who had stuck around to observe the carcass Flag had pulled his woman out of. The mini-assassin was dressed in high-quality gray and black gear that concealed everything about him aside from his short height, and he looked out of place even around the assembled group of misfits.
“While we’re on the topic of who was all involved and should probably deserve some bonus points, mate, who the fuck is this guy?!” Harkness had asked, all high-pitched and loud and irritating as usual.
Waller had leveled a flinty look on all of them. Even Harley had been silent as she awaited her response, her head tilted with her baseball bat resting atop her shoulders as she ran her tongue over her teeth. They all wanted to know who this strange figure was who had helped them save the world without any prior introduction or warning, but who had straightened as Waller appeared. He’d moved into a perfect “Attention” stance, all soldier-efficiency, and Floyd feels something tug at his consciousness. Military trained, obviously, but he could tell there was more to it. Waller drew his attention back over, however, and the team shifted impatiently before she finally spoke.
“Task Force X, meet your final teammate. Ghost, meet Task Force X. You’ll be working alongside one another for the foreseeable future, so get to know each other on the way back to your new place of residence.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” Harley had interrupted, twirling one of her pigtails around her fingers as she stared curiously at Waller with little glances at Ghost, who hadn’t moved an inch, arms at his sides but clearly amused and invested in the company around him. Even Flag was at ease compared to the stranger, hints of something disrespectful bordering on anger buried deep in his gaze as he looked from Waller to Ghost and back. Floyd cocks his head, recognizing that Flag seemed to know something about their mysterious new team member already, and he wasn’t pleased about it.
“Whatcha mean we gotta new place to stay? Does that mean we ain’t gonna be goin’ back to Belle Reve? I mean, I ain’t complainin’, but-” Harley gets cut off.
“You will be staying together in a bunker designed just for the lot of you.” Waller cuts Harley off, stone-faced, and Lawton sees Ghost stiffen just a bit. Waller signals him to stand down, and Ghost relaxes, slumping into a different posture that was more insolent-teenager than trained military operative. The strange guy ignores Croc’s grumbling about not being able to rip anyone apart and the mutant’s declaration that their new place better be to his tastes.
It’s only when they find themselves waking up after sleeping off the tranquilizer that Waller had them shot up with that they discover their bunker was quite homely. It even offered them individual bedrooms albeit shared common areas. Soon enough, after their self-lead tours, the criminals all strayed to the kitchen looking for something to eat. Saving the world was fucking hard work, so they had definitely earned some chow time after that shit. They are bitterly surprised, though, to again see the actual appearance of their newest squad member. He’s dressed in casual clothes: an oversized hoodie and jeans, with curls flopping into his face from where he’s sat atop the counter with his legs crossed, eating from a bag of chips as he watches a fondly irritated looking Flag trying and failing to cook. This is when they discover just why Flag had been so upset to see Ghost appear.
Because Ghost was clearly a fifteen year old fucking kid.
“We don’t kill kids.” Harley had said to them in the bar, something bitter and dark flashing in her eyes.
“We don’t hurt kids.” Santana had echoed, something just as painful and as bloody as an open wound in his own gaze.
Lawton thinks of his own daughter; imagines her being illegally utilized as some fucking weapon for the government, trained to get her hands dirty and take lives, and he swallows down a surge of rage for Waller and the government. It had been bad enough that their team had been gambling with their lives in a lose-lose situation, (where you could die if you refuse or try to escape because of the bomb in your neck and see your family threatened as well as you, or you had to risk your life to save the world because you didn’t really have a choice) -but to know that ARGUS was using someone who was unmistakably still a child for their own gain was… it was infuriating. It was despicable. It was fucking child abuse.
The kid had glanced up before they even entered, Flag hovering like a protective shadow, to give the befuddled (vengeful) looking crew a lidded gaze. It drew their attention to the blunt in his free hand along with the smoke that curled up towards the ceiling and the bag wrapped securely over the smoke detector. The kid lets a lazy smile form across his lips, exhaling a couple of smoke rings and blowing them towards the newcomers. He blinks and then offers up his blunt towards the struck-dumb group.
“Was wonderin’ when the fuck ya were gonna wake up. The tranq isn’t that fuckin’ strong, ya know. Was thinkin’ maybe the lot a’ ya really were that old and tired after alla’ that, actually.” The kid smirks, waving the blunt a bit. Flag is rolling his eyes and looks mildly displeased, like telling the kid to put it out is a losing battle, so no one says anything about the kid's age or his possession of marijuana. They do blink at his thick accent though, distinct as it is, but it’s fitting for the kid. He wears it like an old companion; all rough tones and shortened syllables and harsh curses that seem natural on his tongue.
Harkness does take a hit, though, and offers the kid a fist bump and wide eyes for good measure. The kid, Ghost, seems unaffected by being in the presence of the menagerie of criminals. Instead he seems rather in his element as he hops down to smoothly grab a kitchen towel and smack out the flames that had started on the stovetop behind them, as Flag forgot he should be focusing on not setting the food on fire. The kid is unrattled and even amused as he shoulder-checks the soldier aside to get to it. The fire is quickly dealt with, and the kid turns around and takes another long drag of his blunt, coughs a bit, and grins widely at everyone’s befuddled and uncomprehending looks. In the background, Flag dumps the burned remnants of his failed food into the trash with muttered words of disappointment.
“Don’t look so fuckin’ shocked, “team.” Ghost says, something amused and mirthful in his intelligent eyes. They seem to hold too much knowledge about the lot of them already.
“I knew Flag was gonna burn that shit. Me wrappin’ the fire alarm wasn’t about the fuckin’ blunt, hah.” Ghost snorts. “Name’s Jason, call me Jay. Or Ghost, when we’re on the field. Down here, though, I ain’t gonna think ‘bout none a’ that shit- so yeah, call me Jay.”
“Jason. Jay.” Lawton says, testing the name, and finds that it feels right. It suits this kid just like the accent and the danger that cloaks him even unarmed and stoned as he is. Lawton is fascinated by this brat and his presence here, and what it could mean. “Nice to meet you. I’m Floyd Lawton: I go by Deadshot.”
“I know.” Jay says, grinning, and Harley bounces over. She still has makeup smeared over her face, and blood on her clothes, but Jason regards her with open curiosity.
Lawton is silent; lips pressed tightly together.
Despite his young age, this kid looks at them like a king observing newcomers in his domain. There's nothing disrespectful about it; but Lawton can feel a weight behind the boy's gaze that seems to pin his feet in place. He knows that there is much more to this brat than any of them realized. It's something primal, an instinct from his hind-brain, that whispers to Floyd that Jason Todd is just as much a deadly predator as the rest of them.
“Heya, kid, I’m Harley Quinn!” She spins a bit, bending to look into the trash can to see Flag’s failure for herself, and wrinkles her nose before straightening up. “What’s a kid like ya doin’ with Waller and on a team like this anyway?”
“I want to know as well.” Santana agrees quietly, something dark passing over his face before it’s gone. Floyd knows he’s imagining his children if they’d been down a path like Jay, and is just as angry as he is. “I’m Chato Santana.”
“Me too. I’m Waylon Jones, kid, I heard somethin’ about your impressive skills earlier.” Croc rumbles, having sunk into a bar stool, which creaks and groans beneath his weight but does not break. Huh. Waller did her homework.
Flag runs his fingers through his hair, and Lawton realizes he can read the stress and anger mirrored in his own face. Jay had climbed back onto the counter, having offered the blunt back to Harkness, and resumed eating his chips. Salt and Vinegar; the kind that destroys your mouth and your taste buds. Flag speaks for Jay as the kid takes another long inhale of the blunt and coughs a lot, shooting Jay a nonplussed glare. “Jay was picked up by Waller about a year ago- he’s been working as Ghost since. I… disagreed with her methods, which is why I’m here, but I’ve been his handler since the beginning too. Couldn’t trust anyone else to watch his back like this.”
“If you’re his handler, where the fuck was he earlier? Shouldn’t he have been on the team from the beginning, mate?” Harkness asks, a lot less heat behind his behavior than normal. His eyes are already red, but Jay seems to appear to handle his high better and much more unnoticeably than Harkness does, apart from his lidded eyes and relaxed muscles. Jason is tapping a beat on the counter, flicking the roach of the blunt into the sink as it reaches the end, listening to them without much interest.
“Flag got called back earlier ‘n me. I was wrappin’ shit up in Moscow- was fuckin’ cold there, FYI. My target was some big wig politician workin’ with human trafficking ‘n shit.” Jay responds, a fierce and frightening smirk curling his lips up. “He ain’t a problem no more.”
“No casualties?” Flag asks, like it only just occurred to him. Jay sends him an almost offended look.
“Nah, man. At least, not on our side.” There’s something in his blue eyes that resonates with Lawton, and he can see why Flag is so invested with sticking around this kid. There’s a sort of power hidden in the smooth lines of his body and the darkness in his eyes. There is a confidence and an assurance in him that Lawton couldn’t find in even many of the best men and women with plenty of power and political backing, and Jason wields it like one would the truth. Infinite potential to harm, to destroy; but just as likely to build bridges and create something worth fighting for.
A cause worth living for.
“How’d a kid like you end up with Waller, though?” Lawton finally pushes some more, wanting the goddamn answers. If he was going to slowly plot his vengeance on Waller for enlisting a kid, especially one like this, he wanted more details. He already knew Flag would back him, and Santana would help. Harley, too. Harkness might help just because he liked the kid’s weed. Croc was a brutal mother fucker, also, but even he seemed to emit a cold sense of rage upon realizing a kid was involved with their own fucked up deal with ARGUS.
Jason waves a hand towards the back of his neck, rolling his eyes. “Same as you guys. Blackmail, threats, bombs in the neck. Pretty good fuckin’ motivation.”
“But why you?” Harley seems upset, brows furrowed. “Why a fuckin’ kid?”
Jason snorts, staring her down. His gaze is cool, and it holds more than Lawton could hope to read. It’s like he picks apart everything Harley is, all that makes her tick, and she seems to feel it too, judging by the nervous fingers twirling her hair. “Let’s just say, apparently, I knew someone important once upon a time, and Waller thinks I meant a lot to ‘em. They ain’t lookin’ for me, though, but that doesn’t make a difference to the good ol’ Warden. Also, turns out, child soldiers are plenty useful even if it’s unethical as fuck. So here I fuckin’ am.”
And with them he’d stayed.
“Don’t be daydreamin’ on me, Deadshot.” Jason hums, snapping Deadshot back from the past and into the present like over-chewed gum. The teen is tapping his fingers along his helmet, reminiscent of that meeting in the kitchen, and Lawton refocuses on staring out at the skyline of Gotham. There are taller buildings than the one they’re perched atop, and it peaks his interest.
“Why here?” Lawton asks, again. He’s genuinely curious. With his daughter finally in good hands with his ex-wife, Lawton decided to stick around the kid he’d claimed as family, even if it meant residing in the cesspit known as Gotham City, aka, home of the Bat. The very vigilante who had landed Deadshot in Belle Reve in the first place, and yes, he was still bitter, thank you very much.
Jason chances a look at the mercenary, eyebrow raised above a domino. “Ya talkin’ “here,” as in the third tallest building in Gotham, or “here” as in, ya know, Gotham.”
Floyd finds himself closing the distance and sitting at Jason’s side, pondering the question. His rifle lay across his lap, and he quickly moves through the motions of checking it over, fingers deft. “Well, I mean the other two tallest points are Wayne owned, and you already told us you’re prioritizing avoiding Wayne because Waller is still using him and his family against you, right?”
And that still pissed him off, because Waller was doing the same with Lawton’s own family-aimed-threats, blackmail, and all of that other fun shit she used to keep them in check. The kid had been dealing with the same high stakes deal as the rest of them for even longer than they had, and as far as Lawton knew he’d never been a criminal before Waller turned him into her weapon. It was fucked up.
“You’re not wrong.” Jason says, voice low, and Lawton watches him stare out over Gotham from the corner of his eye. The bat signal is lit, but there’s no urgency held within their conversation. It’s shining far across town from them, and they’d been careful to enter the city undetected. They both also conveniently had the police scanner tuned to their earpieces, and there were no indications of their presence being known.
“Ya know Harley’s back here too? She’s tryin’ to pull together the Joker’s gang, or ya know, what’s left of ‘em after our little rendezvous in South Africa.” Jason says suddenly.
“Almost a family reunion. Heard Flag opened a bar, too, and staged a base in the area conveniently before you’d decided to relocate here after the fun we had takin’ down the clown.” Lawton remarks, cautious now that Jason had brought up the Joker.
They’d never learned the story behind Jason’s connection to the psychopath, but Ghost’s passionate devotion while helping Harley hunt the clown down for everything he’d done to her and other victims had been carried along by a frightening, almost manic intensity. Every single one of their crew who had taken up the mission that Waller had offered, for them to “remove” the Joker rather than take him in, had landed a killing blow of their own. Seeing how it had all been done far from American soil and far, far outside of Batman’s jurisdiction? Well, it had presented them the opportunity to add a little flair to the hit.
It helped that they all loathed the Clown; Jason and Harley in particular.
It also helped that Harley and Jason seemed a little lighter, less haunted, after they had confirmed his death with their own eyes and watched as his body burned to ash; their knuckles split and bloody from the deeply personal beating they’d unleashed upon his cackling person.
Whatever history their youngest had with the Joker, they’d known that with the clown’s track record it was no doubt ugly. Lawton had seen the satisfied gleam in even Slade’s eyes as he placed a bullet of his own in the already cold corpse. The merc-for-hire had disappeared soon after, but Lawton had caught many whispered conversations between the super-soldier and Ghost. It had been clear they were plotting something, and Lawton had been miffed when Jason waved him and Harley off to do their own thing for a while because he and Slade had “business” to attend to. “Business,” that apparently didn’t need the involvement of Harley Quinn or Deadshot, or anyone else on their team. Lawton had counted himself lucky to even be in Gotham at the same time that Jason had finally returned, having gotten sick and tired of having Harley, Flag, and Santana as his only companions. Sure, they were fun, but god damn if Harley didn’t know how to push their buttons. The crazily intelligent woman had just as much of a soft spot and loyalty to Ghost as the rest of them, however, so he was banking on Jason’s presence helping her dial shit back a bit before they drew unwanted attention from the Bats.
Because it was more than just Batman and Robin, now. Instead Gotham hosted its own unique collection of “bats in the belfry.”
“What about Santana?” Jason asks after a beat, and Lawton looks over to see he’d pulled out a joint. From where, he doesn’t quite know, because the kid had a shit ton of pockets on his gear. Jason smirks at him, smoke curling around his face. It gives him the illusion of a halo as he puffs a smoke ring into the sky. The kid was always down bad for a good strain, and Lawton and the Squad as a whole had been shocked to find out smoking weed was the one liberty Jason had requested and Waller had allowed him from the beginning. You wouldn’t look at him and see a smoker, even with the unmistakable Crime Alley accent. After the first round of nightmares they’d witnessed calmed by the kid’s self-medication, however, the issue had been laid to rest since and no one ever protested Jason’s habit.
Most of them partook, anyways, and Jason wasn’t shy about sharing.
Lawton secured his rifle, instead occupying himself now by checking over his wrist-mounted guns. Jason is watching him with familiar lidded blue eyes, fingers still tap-tap-tapping out a tune but patient enough to wait. Lawton wonders what it was that Ghost and Deathstroke had gotten up to that they hadn’t involved the rest of the Squad in, but seeing as how Jason appeared uninjured and as consistent as ever in his laid-back attitude that did nothing more than conceal the trained killer below the surface, he figured he could wait to find out. Jason had always had his secrets, Lawton knew this, and he was impossible to push. If Jason didn’t want you to know something, you wouldn’t. That’s how it was- Jason always gave them what they needed if not what they wanted, and following his call they’d never quite felt let down. He was a born leader growing into his skin; all split-second decisions, close calls, and adrenaline fueled smiles teasing you with webs of knowledge that felt illegal to share. He was informed plans and the weight of risk-and-reward; all unflinching loyalty to a group of cons and criminals that had inspired undying allegiance in return.
“Santana opened up a garage like he said he would. It’s over in Crime Alley, a couple blocks from Flag’s dive bar.” Lawton says.
Jason huffs a laugh in response, and Lawton feels his own lips twitch in amusement. “Is it worth me askin’ why the fuck ya’ll set up in the Alley?”
“We knew you’d be comin’ back, kid. Figured we’d set up where we could stick around and keep ya company. We’re the Suicide Squad, right? Ride or die?” Lawton snorts a bit at his own words, however true they ring.
They’d become their own sort of dysfunctional family, spread out as most of them were. But if one sent an SOS, the rest would be sure to drop everything in their haste to respond. Jason had played a huge part in holding them together, even more than Waller ever would or could. Lawton, Flag, Santana, Croc, and Harley in particular found Jason’s steady leadership to be just what they’d needed to ground them. It didn’t matter that he was years younger than the rest: he had this sort of charming intelligence and all-in mentality that showed he lived for the blood and the bullets just as much as the rest of them. Lawton raised a brow as Jason offered him the joint, taking a deep inhale of the grass, letting himself relax. Ghost was at ease, something unknown playing behind his eyes as he tapped his helmet and stared out at the Bat signal. He’d always had this weird… not necessarily aversion to the Bat, but Lawton had always gotten the sense of there being a history there.
Jason was a closed door on it, however, and only Slade seemed to know the words written in their past. “So what’s the plan?” Floyd asks, disturbing the peace.
“I’m thinkin’ ‘bout stickin’ ‘round a while.” Jason admits, accent thick and heavy, the sharp edges dulled by the weed. “Lookin’ to stake out Crime Alley for my own. Batman ain’t done a good job in runnin’ ‘er. Although Spoiler ‘nd Signal seem to be doin’ alright for newbs. They just don’t have the years ‘a experience the Bat does. They’re still pretty new to the game.” Jason raises a brow at Lawton, something dangerous in his smile that stirs Floyd’s blood and gives him a sense of anticipation that has him smirking back. “How would ya feel ‘bout me becoming a crime lord, hmm? In between Waller’s missions I could use some help buildin’ an empire. Ya in, Lawton?”
Floyd can’t help it as he throws his head back in laughter, as thrilled by the declaration as any of Jason Todd’s history of crazy plans. It was just as far-fetched as any other, but the steady confidence in Jason’s expression and his body language makes it so that Lawton doesn’t doubt his ability to do so in the least. “Ghost, you sayin’ what I think you’re sayin?”
Ghost leans forward, blowing a thick cloud of smoke into Lawton’s face, dimples popping with the force of his fierce grin. “I’m thinkin’, “mechanic by day, crime lord by night.” And I’m gonna do it all keepin’ as far away from the Bat as fuckin’ possible. Ya can’t catch what ya can’t see, amirite? Ya know, me bein’ a “Ghost” an' all.” Jason snickers a bit, rolling back onto his heels and standing so that he can spread his arms over the sprawl of Gotham. It's as if he is embracing her in all of her beautiful, tainted darkness. His helmet dangles from his hand, and he tosses it up and catches it once or twice before placing it on his head where it secures itself with a hiss and a click. Lawton rolls his eyes at the dramatics and the knowledge of the bomb the daredevil kid had installed into his helmet, but hauls himself onto his feet just as well.
Ghost turns to Lawton, a grapple loosely gripped in one gloved hand, and when he speaks his voice comes out completely disguised by the modulator. “We’ve got a city to stake a claim in, Deadshot. So I’ll ask ya just one more time. Ya in, Lawton?”
Lawton holds up his hands in a wordless, “what else can you do?” body language cue, finding himself laughing again as Ghost slaps a hand onto his shoulder. “Yeah, kid. I’m in. You’re the man with the plan and all that shit- just lead the way. I’ve got your back. I'll always have your back.” And as they deploy their grapples and pick their way across Gotham towards Flag’s bar, the air filled with familiar teases and jibes between long-time teammates who had faced the baddest of bad guys together, he finds himself breathing in the Gotham stench the same way he’d seen Jason do it. Knowing the kid, he had some wild intentions behind his desire to become a crime lord in the same city defended by the Bat himself and his odd assortment of vigilantes, and Lawton was all in for causing some havoc under Batman’s nose.
(No one would even know he’d only risk this shit because it was Ghost who was leading- if anyone else had asked him to do so, Floyd Lawton would have passed the offer up with not only a “no” but a “HELL no.” No matter the dollar sign behind it.)
He doesn’t get to see Jason’s amused grin beneath the helmet and the knowing in his eyes, but no one would ever be any the wiser.
Ghost and his rogue gallery were here and ready to take Gotham by storm.
Waller was really going to regret adding some slack to the leashes around their necks- but after four years of undercover missions and villains trying to start the next World War, attempting to take over the planet, or just wipe out humanity as a whole, Squad X had been granted a little freedom and immunity as long as they didn’t stray too far from the line she’d drawn in the sand.
She’d never told Jason not to become a crime lord, either.
Jason smirked. Loopholes- gotta love ‘em.