Work Text:
Marcus Durelio was expecting an easy night. It was a Friday, after all, and Hood usually did most of his planning on Fridays. The real jobs went down on the weekends or week-beginnings. But not Fridays. Fridays were special.
Which was why, logically, Marcus had expected a night off. He’d worked three long shifts on Tuesday watching the base of the new gang on southside, and another horrible day cleaning up the mess of drugs dispensed from the east end of the Bowery before it got out of hand. He’d even covered for a rookie yesterday, taking an extra bar shift to let the kid go home to his expecting wife.
There were a lot of old & new fathers in this business, come to think of it. Hood protected his own.
Anyway, it was supposed to be a slow night, so Marcus was understandably put out when he was called in on guard-duty. Surely someone else could take it, right? It was just Hood in their east dockyard warehouse; the Dome, they called it, on account of of a rounded dent in the roof where a heavy piece of equipment had once malfunctioned. Hood was the only one who worked there Fridays, and surely he didn’t need protection.
Not that anyone in their right mind would say “No” to the Red Hood.
Marcus tucked his daughter into bed, kissing her forehead, and then kissing her stuffed cat, too, because God forbid he forget to kiss Squeakers. He kissed his wife as well on the way out the door. She’d been crazy to marry him a few years ago, drowning in debt as he was. She was still crazy, come to think of it. He may have been all settled up by now, but he was still doing business with one of the most dangerous men in the city.
The protection, he knew, was worth it. His wife knew it, too. They would do anything to keep their baby girl safe.
It didn’t take long to get to the warehouse on account of the back-alleys Marcus knew to use. He wasn’t one of Hood’s top ten Merry Men for nothing. If there was one thing Marcus knew, it was how to get places.
The tired man entered the warehouse no problem, picking up his usual firearm from the hidden compartment & making sure it was loaded & on safe before he strode over to the desk against the north wall. Hood was sitting at the well-worn chair, studying two different maps. Surprisingly, his helmet was resting on the table beside him.
Marcus stopped a good thirty feet away, keeping his grip on the gun unthreatening. Another thing he was good at, really. Walking the fine lines of the boss-man’s moods. “Hood.”
“Marcus,” the man greeted absently. He turned away from his maps, and Marcus almost looked away before he saw the domino. “I’m sorry to call you up on your night off.”
“It’s not a problem,” Marcus barely managed, because he couldn’t think very well at the moment. That was a kid. No, not a kid… A teenager. A Bat.
Hood glanced down at the sleeping vigilante curled up in his lap, smirking, then turned back to his work. “There aren’t many people I trust to watch what’s important to me, Marcus.”
“Yes Sir,” Marcus answered gruffly, looking away to take his post near the door of the warehouse. He wasn’t surprised, exactly. It was common knowledge that Hood had a working relationship with the Bats. It was just… business.
Marcus wasn’t so sure it was just business anymore.
The next half-hour passed in silence. Hood occasionally muttered to himself as he moved papers around, jotting down a note here or memorizing a map there. He never moved too much himself, making generous allowances for the sleeping kid in his lap. Marcus found himself wondering why the heck anyone, let alone a Bat, would feel safe enough to sleep in Red Hood’s lap.
It wasn’t until the kid began whimpering in his sleep did something click. Maybe it was the way Hood carded a hand through his hair, or muttered soothing nonsense under his breath until the kid’s body relaxed. Maybe it was the way the kid curled tighter, instinctively pressing to Hood’s warmth.
Hood was a crime-boss, but he was also a protector. Kids were off-limits; trafficking or abusing a child would end in certain death. Everyone knew this. If a kid wanted Hood’s help, that kid was practically guaranteed his safety.
Maybe Hood knew this kid. Maybe he didn’t. It definitely was, however, a kid; a teenager on the cusp of adulthood. And everyone knew how Hood felt about people like that.
A good hour in, Marcus sneezed. When Hood threw him a dangerous glare, he straightened & mentally amended his growing list of Freaky Friday Night Rules. Do not wake up the kid.
About two hours in, two Merrys entered from a side-door, laughing & jostling each other. Their noise echoed a bit, and the kid stirred.
Hood swiveled in his chair, teeth bared in a snarl, and the men froze.
“Do you have something for me?” Hood asked them in a dangerously low voice.
“Uh…” one of the guys answered. Jerry? Gerald. “Yeah.”
“We got those plans you asked for,” the other murmured, matching Hood’s volume.
The crime-boss held out one hand in a universal “gimme” motion. Marcus allowed himself a small smirk. He’d seen that gesture a lot from his daughter. It looked ten times more dangerous coming from the Red Hood.
Gerald slunk carefully forward, stepping softly, and handed the plans to Hood as if he were signing his own death-sentence. Then, refusing to turn his back, he slunk back the way he’d come with his buddy until both were gone.
Hood’s expression softened as soon as they disappeared, and he slouched in his chair, scratching absently at the kid’s scalp. Then, sparing barely a glance towards Marcus, he turned back to his work.
Marcus discreetly took out his phone, texting the group-chat titled Commandos. “Sensitive night tonight. If your guys have an appointment at the Dome, reschedule or walk in quietly. DO NOT MAKE NOISE.”
Barely a half-hour later, another guy walked in, steps silent. He went to Hood with barely a double-take at the kid in his lap, which was impressive. Hood tossed him a flash-drive, and the guy just as silently left.
Marcus heard a ruckus outside another hour in. Shifting, he waited. Hood flicked his left hand in a lazy but familiar motion, and Marcus followed through by stepping outside & checking the perimeter of the property.
Nothing, of course, but it always paid to be careful. He snuck back in, took a post at another door, and waited.
The main thing about guard-duty was that it was boring. As. Hell. To most people. Marcus, however, considered himself a special case. He’d rather be guarding something important than jumping into a firefight. He had a family, after all, and guard-duty showed that he was trusted.
Trusted a whole lot if Hood, helmet off & thoughts distracted, was having Marcus guard him while he planned three different drug-busts with a sleeping kid in his lap.
Marcus shoved his burning questions down, saying nothing.
Around one in the morning, Hood made a face & gently jostled the kid in his lap. “Baby bird.”
The kid made a muffled sound of protest, turning his face to bury it against Hood’s jacket. It would have been hilarious if Marcus wasn’t so sure he’d lose his fucking job & probably his life if he so much as breathed a word of tonight’s shift.
“I got a question,” Hood said softly, almost apologetic. He hovered a piece of paper by the kid’s face. “Gotta get past this system, but it’s Wayne Tech.”
Marcus carefully did not hear anything. A plan that involved stealing from the Waynes was none of his business.
The kid muttered something about “assholes” and “contraband metal-detectors” and “thieves” before glancing at the paper, rattling off a very complicated list of numbers, then drifting back to sleep. Hood thanked him with a hum & a few more seconds of gentle head-scratching.
This was weird.
About an hour later, a few more guys came in, one of them in the Top Ten. Marcus gave him a brief look of warning, and the man hushed his lackeys as they went to some of the storage boxes, taking the explosives from inside. If Hood cared, he didn’t show it, meaning he’d either authorized this errand or the men would be dead in the morning.
About three-quarters of the way back to the door, one of the men dropped a crowbar from the pile in his arms. The clang reverberated loudly through the entire warehouse, and everyone froze.
Hood very slowly swiveled his chair, one hand on the kid’s head. He looked murderous.
“Sorry,” the unfortunate Merry whispered shrilly, scooping up the crowbar & scurrying after his team.
“You’d better be,” Hood muttered to himself. He absently stroked the kid’s hair, and Marcus was reminded forcibly of every stereotypical villain with a lap-cat. “Did I ever tell you how much I hate crowbars, Marcus?”
“No Sir,” Marcus admitted quietly, keeping his tone casually businesslike.
“Hm.” Hood turned back to his work. “Didn’t think so.”
The kid slumbered on. Hood organized papers. Marcus watched the shadowy corners of the warehouse & wondered how much he was getting paid for this.
Finally, around three-thirty in the morning, Hood stretched & poked the kid’s side. “C’mon baby bird. Up.”
The kid grumbled, of course, making no move to get up from his comfy seat. Hood, in response, stood so fast the teen tumbled to the floor.
“What’d you do that for?!” Red Robin bristled, stumbling in a slightly uncoordinated way to his feet.
“My legs are asleep,” Hood grouched back, picking up his helmet. “and it’s time for baby birds to be in bed.”
Red Robin mumbled something about never sleeping under his breath, rubbing his head & straightening his cape. He caught sight of Marcus, and, for some reason, paled.
“Just my guy,” Hood said cheerfully, sliding his helmet back on with a hiss. “You’ve got a bonus coming, Marcus. Tell your daughter I said hi.”
“I will,” Marcus breathed out, relieved at the lack of scrutiny & happy with the news. Hood always made good on his bonuses. There would be enough money for a real tree this Christmas.
“You’ve got a lot of guys,” Red Robin muttered.
“I’m hungry,” Hood announced as he walked to the door. “C’mon kid, I’ll drop you off after chili-dogs. You’re paying.”
Red threw one last suspicious glance at Marcus before following Hood, complaining the entire way.
Man, Marcus thought numbly. They act just like brothers.
Not that he’d ever say it aloud, of course. No amount of money would be enough to disclose what he’d learned tonight.
Well… there was one thing.
Marcus texted the Commandos’ group-chat one more time. “This is a Level Ten. If you ever see Red Robin sleeping near boss-man, do not, under any circumstances, wake him up.”
It was important information. All Merrys should know.