Traditionally, the night before a wedding holds celebrations and a night of freedom.

The buck's night is the groom and his friends, acting like idiots and dancing with strippers. The hen's night is, well, the bride and her friends, acting like idiots and dancing with strippers.

Not in an Arranged Marriage, however.

Even though both Cleo and Dick see their matrimony as even more binding than a real marriage, because of the fake contract, there is no reason to celebrate any freedom.

Both are alone. One, driving down the coast as the sun begins to pass the afternoon and the other contemplating staying in to help with the investigation or visiting the circus in town.

Cleo likes driving alone.

With no Hallow, she can listen to Linkin Park and not have to compromise with every second song being the Weeknd. Logan is not there to kick at her car's upholstery. Gordon can not backseat-drive. Fantasia is not taking selfies every two minutes. Klover and Jeremy weren't hanging out the window. As annoying as her siblings could be, Cleo had volunteered to drive them around as often as possible, to make up for lost time.

Whether it was taking Ignatier to her private dance lessons or getting Demitri home completely wasted, it was time with them, which was all that mattered.

Cleo is a few miles out of the city, as Dick steps through the entry gate to the circus. With his hood up, not too suspicious in the cool summer evening, he ventures forth towards the sideshow alley.

He knows why he's there, but for now, he's happy to ignore it. He watches the children try and fail at the games, sees shy boys winning bears for their girlfriends.

Haly's Circus is due for Gotham again soon, and whilst technically being where he is at the moment is supporting the competition, he feels like he is home.

Especially, when his eyes are set on the big tent at the end of the park, sparking memories in his mind that appear like a kaleidoscope. 

He makes his way towards it.

Just like Cleo, making her way towards a town just out of the cities. Before the Elites, she had never been there. It was just a place people passed through, when going from Sunset to Palm Beach. A dip in the road.

It only became important after him. 

Upon returning to America, it felt like it was her job to deliver him to his family. The officials had only told his family that their son was dead and his ashes were with his Major.

Cleo drove them there, still in pieces, still hyped on whatever narcotics her fingers touched. He sat in the front seat with the belt crossing the simple black box the retrieval team had given her.

His parents and siblings had cried, when she had handed it over, and in return thanked her.

When she tried to leave they tried to stop her, already knowing about this girl he had fallen in love with because of the letters he had sent home. They had begged her to stay, but Cleo ran, returning almost half a year later to apologise. They seemed to understand why she felt the need to escape.

Jack had written about Cleo and their squadron. He wrote to his parents about the competitions Lief and Cameron would have. He wrote about Jean's incessant obsession with writing every single thing down. It was never his intention to tell his family the dangers they faced.

Belby, the coastal town between Sunset and Palm Beach comes into view over Cleo's dash. Just before the city's entrance however she takes a sharp, sudden turn to the right, inland to a hill overlooking the town.

With the Rover, the jagged rocks and flicking pebbles are nothing, the car built for such terrain. Cleo doesn't flinch at the heavy noises her travels make. Soon enough, her vehicle is rested on top of the hill.

She grabs her bag, gets out and locks it. From there, it is a trek.

Back in Sunset, at the circus, Dick observes the sightseers, before his attention turns to the people working there. It is more modern than Haly's, but there was something about it that still appeals.

Silently he slips behind the sideshows, where some people have stolen each other away for secret kisses or phone calls. There, still concealed by a hood and shades, he moves towards the large blue and green tent.

Haly's is red and gold, like fire, his father had always said. Old Jack wanted it that way; wanted to burn the circus magic into the minds of those who were lucky enough to see it.

The wonder of the girl who water danced. The majesty of the man who could breathe fire. The phenomenal heights of the Flying Graysons.

What would his parents have to say about this? His aunts, his uncles? Had they seen it on the news? In some gossip rag?

'Bruce Wayne's eldest ward to marry another silver spooner.' 

That's how Gotham headlined it.

He scales the tent, one hand trailing along the thick plastic of the outside. It's still fairly light out, the sun still setting, so he'll have to be quick about it. When he finds an entrance, he looks around, sees the opportunity and ducks in.

Meanwhile, Cleo hikes along the rocky cliffs edge, now up against the water. The waves crash and dive against the white rocks, riddled with sea life growing where the tide rises and falls.

The water is a deep, unique blue reflecting orange and yellow glows off of its surface. Cleo stands there in that one spot for a moment, relishing the feeling of the sea air as is breezes softly over her skin, through her hair and under her clothes.

An urge to pitch herself from that very edge lives and dies for just a second, because she came here with purpose and a goal.

So she continues on.

In all honesty, there is an easier way to reach her destination. She could have driven into town, gone up the bitumen paved road to his house and parked her car in their driveway.

But that is too real. It draws too much attention and creates the chance for conversation. Neither of those things are desirable to her. She loves his family, but does not want to remind them.

Most of all, she feels ashamed. She loved Jack, and Jack loved her, and now she is marrying someone else.

Dick nestles himself behind one of the bleachers, so those setting up that familiar trapeze and sweeping the floors don't see him as he drowns in nostalgia for a few moments.

Perhaps he should called Old Jack? The man was probably expecting an invite to the very public hoax happening tomorrow. Would he be angry? They had kept in touch after all the years.

Sighing, Dick reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out his phone. Bruce and the other three had all texted him, asking where he was and if he was okay. Wally and Kaldur knew, which was enough for him. They'll tell them.

Just as he is searching through his contacts, his own name spoken by an unfamiliar voice echoes through the large tent. Brow furrowed, he puts his phone away, leans forward on his hands and crawls up to the first row of seats, peaking through the bleachers.

"Oh! I know him. That's the guy from Haly's whose parents dropped off the traps, right? Then he got adopted by that Wayne guy."

The speaker is a middle-aged man, obviously a trapeze artist, with a little girl standing next to him in a matching leotard.

"The Flying Graysons, daddy?" She asks, "One of them is marrying the girl with the funny name?"

Laughing, the man reaches down and picks up his daughter.

"Yes, sweetheart, he's marrying Cleopatra Perich. We're performing at their wedding tomorrow, remember?"

Dick's stomach feels a little queasy at that moment, his frown deepening.

No one told him that.

Cleo reaches her destination, the red tickseed plant signifying the special place swaying softly in the wind. A small smile finds its way onto her face, before she's approaching it, her back to the house that sits off to the distance.

His parent's house. 

When she reaches the plant growing in the sand, she sits, legs swinging over the cliff edge.

For a moment she doesn't speak, or look down at the plant where his tags lie in honour beside his jacket. She just sits, silently staring out at the setting sun, listening to the waves crash as the jagged rocks dig into her palms.

Until, "Hi," she whispers, voice lost in the wind. "I'm sorry it's been a while."

Perhaps it seems silly, but to her, it's the last way of feeling close to him.

"I'm afraid it's going to be like that a lot now. I'm moving north to Gotham City in a few days."

Jack's family made the decision to throw three quarters of his ashes into the ocean he loved surfing so much. It was the activity he spent most of his childhood doing. The one he bonded with Cleo over.

The other quarter was used to help the red tickseed grow, representing his livelihood and his colour in the Rainbow of Death squad.

"Leiutenant Means and I are still close. Tate, Simpson, Walker, Kano, Tribune... They all showed up to my engagement party. Kano and Tate had visited Lieutenant Laharez and Lieutenant Swanin's final resting places. They're somewhere beautiful, like you are. Maybe they've told you that since you're all probably together."

She smiles at the red flowers, but refuses to reach out and touch them.

"I've been trying to locate Eric, but he's still wild, still suffering the most. Danforth is missing too; you know how stubborn she is. I'll try and find them though, or maybe Lieutenant Kelly will come and find me instead. Try to kill me again," her soft smile twists, "He still blames me for...you." 

A spot of guilt claws its way up her throat, but Cleo takes in the barest deep breath, trying to keep her emotions under control.

"Eric's not wrong," she admits after a while, a small vain laugh carrying off in the wind, "I still blame me. I know you'd tell me not to, but it's too late."

She brings her legs up from the cliff, watching the sun sink below the horizon as she crosses them beneath her.

"I miss you Jack," she admits, trying to ignore the weakness in her catching throat, "I wish you were here. I'm getting married tomorrow, but I promise it's not real. I'd like to think that if you were still here, it'd be us. Even though if you were... it wouldn't be. You heard what Rip Hunter asked of me." Cleo sighs, opening her eyes, "It's like I never left the war."

Cleo fails to notice the figure emerging from the house behind her.

"But I'm here to ask permission," she says softly, "I'm marrying Richard Grayson tomorrow. It doesn't mean I love you any less or that I've forgotten us. It just means it's time for me to step up. Do you accept that?"

The whistling wind is the only response she gets; the only response she expected. Yet, Cleo knows what his answer would be. He'd grin, nod and wink at her.

"I know," she says, looking back down at the flowers as a single tear is allowed to fall, "I just...really wish you were here Jack."

Out of the corner of her eye, Cleo sees Jack's mother keeping her distance. The Major looks over, gives a sad smile, then gets to her feet.

As she starts to walk away, Penelope Lowry calls out, "We were thinking of planting purple coneflowers next to the tickseeds. What do you think?"

Pulling her sunglasses from her pocket and placing them on to hide red eyes, Cleo turns and smiles at Jack's mother.

"What for?"

Penelope, a small Tahitian woman gestures to Cleo, "You, of course."

Taken aback, Cleo tries to suppress the frown that nearly takes over her face. This was supposed to be Jack's resting place, not hers. It should have nothing to do with her, or anyone else.

Just Jack.

"With all do respect Mrs Lowry, I think that it should just be the tickseeds." She tries to turn away.

"But you were the last person to see him alive, Cleo-" And that is the tipping point.

"Good day."

Immediately Cleo starts speed-walking towards her car. When out of Penelope Lowry's view she breaks into a sprint, nearly taking a tumble down the hill, but using her own agility to catch herself.

She keeps running and running until she's back at her Jeep, throwing the door open and jumping into the driver's seat, fumbling with the keys as she tries to start the car.

For just a moment Cleo freezes, looks up at the roof and tries to catch her breath and balance the tears building up in her eyes.

Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it. 

Violently, the Jeep backs down the hill. Cleo hears an abrupt horn as someone swerves out of the way to avoid hitting her. She stops again, breathes, then pulls out onto the road.

"Don't think about it," she whispers, banging her head against the steering wheel as images of a dark, dirty cave and sharp canines fill her mind.

Drool breaks between that jagged calcium, as it closes in on her. Jack smiles from the chair he's tied to, soft and sweet despite his wounds.

"We'll be alright, Cleo."

The whole drive home in the night is a stiff and soulless travel. Cleo spends half the time wincing, jarring off of the road, and the other half taking deep breaths and trying to calm her memory.

Every time she tries to sweep it beneath the carpet of her mind it comes back, rearing its ugly head in the form of Jack screaming as he dies, their team breaking into the base to save them in the distance.

Driving through the city she gains a little bit more control, avoiding the hotel the Waynes are staying in and shakily driving into the carpark beneath her apartment building.

In her mind, the team doesn't make it in time to save him. There's blood, other things, all over the room. Gunfire rushes past Cleo's head but she doesn't notice, watching the red puddle bleed over the floor towards her boots.

She rushes into the elevator, shoulders hunched, hands in her pockets when she ignores a neighbour's friendly wave as they climb into their car. 

All of the stress; getting married tomorrow, the bouquet-throwing plan, memories of Jack, memories of how he died, compiles into one gargantuan mess inside Cleo's mind that ends with a handful of pills on her bathroom floor.

We'll be alright, Cleo.