(Pearl's Maximus Pov): Gotham City...

Months have passed since the explosion destroyed Amazo's android parts, and my close call with Red Hood nearly revealed my identity to Batman. Now, I'm off everyone's radar, which is a relief. 

However, Red Hood later informed me he wouldn't involve me in his plans to kill the Joker- unjustified violence! Initially furious, I later learned he didn't go through with it, leading me to suspect Batman had captured him. 

Honestly, I was torn between relief, frustration, and worry for the Red Hood.

After partnering with him in this chaotic mess once, I've developed a fondness for him. Now, it feels like I'm fading into the background, which I dislike. Each passing day makes me feel like just another nameless face in a city lost in madness.

"Damn it, why can't I stop thinking about him?" I exclaimed, frustrated, gripping my hair before slipping into my ripped jeans and brown blouse. Hearing moving trucks outside, I peeked through the door to check if it was safe. 

Once sure, I used my powers to lift and carefully move the boxes downstairs.

After getting all five boxes onto the main floor, one toppled, spilling letters down the stairs. In a panic, I rushed down to catch them, feeling relieved when I gathered them into one of my bags.

While packing my things into five big boxes for the rented truck, one of my friends came to help, and the rest all agreed to lend a hand.

Time skip~

The morning sun was bright today which was always rare to see in Gotham city, the streets, usually shrouded in a damp, oppressive gloom, sparkled with unusual vibrancy. Shadows that typically lurked in every alley seemed to retreat, if only for a moment, as the golden rays filtered through the towering buildings.

People emerged from their homes with optimism, their faces turned skyward, squinting against the light. Children laughed as they raced down the sidewalks, their voices echoing off the brick facades, while shopkeepers wiped down their windows, eager to catch the eye of passersby.

For citizens like Gotham, everyone is sure happy about it.

I continued walking on the sidewalk when I stopped at the traffic light turning red the minute I was about to go left while patiently waiting for the light to turn green, I took the chance to buy one white rose from a nearby flower shop and decided to go somewhere...

Somewhere, I knew where to place this white rose.

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It took me a while to get there, but I made it by noon and turned to face the gates of Gotham's cemetery. The gates loomed before me, wrought iron twisted into intricate designs that seemed to tell stories of those long gone.

A shiver ran down my spine, not from the cold, but from the weight of memories that hung like a thick fog. I pushed open the gates, their creaking echoing through the silence, a sound that was both ominous and familiar.

As I stepped inside, the trees covered the bright sun as it sent the final rays of light filtering through the branches like fleeting whispers from the past. The ground beneath my feet was soft, a tapestry of moss and forgotten tales, and each footfall felt like a quiet conversation with the souls interred here.

I wandered deeper, past weathered gravestones etched with names that flickered in and out of memory, a haunting echo of laughter, tears, and lives once fully lived. I paused at one marker, its inscription barely legible but familiar—a name that had once brought laughter and warmth to my life.

Was gone.

With the white rose cradled delicately in my hands, I placed it on the grave before I sat down and began: "Hey, Jay... I came to see you again."

No response, as usual.

I take out two chili dogs, pieces of bread, and a bottle of water and put them there, knowing full well that ants would eat them, knowing that Jay would see the humor in that. He always had a soft spot for the underdogs of life, be they people or food.

As I unwrapped the chilidogs, the familiar smell wafted up, bringing back memories of summer camp barbecues and laughter. We'd devoured these greasy treats, laughing until our stomachs hurt, oblivious to the passing years.

"Do you remember when we discussed the best chili dog toppings?" I let out a soft chuckle, the laughter hanging in the air like a residual warmth that refused to dissipate. "You were really loyal to mustard, while I always went for drowning mine in onions and jalapeños... I guess I'm still on my side of the fence."

I got a rustling sound in reply, but I felt that old connection, that comforting weight of shared memories, wrapping around me like a warm embrace on a chilly day. Putting the two chili dogs as a feast for the ants, but a tribute to my friend...and the love I never got the chance to tell him about.

"Here's to you, Jay...I hope wherever you are, there's a never-ending supply of chili dogs."

I laugh quietly as if the words might rouse him from an eternal slumber. In that quiet moment, I let my mind go back to our last day together, the laughter mixed with the seriousness of what we didn't say. It was a time of innocence before reality hit like a storm cloud, casting a shadow over everything we held dear.

Guilt was a bit of an unwelcome guest, popping up in the corners of my mind. I wish I'd said more. I should have held on a bit tighter. With every breath, I felt the weight of things left unsaid.

"Anyways, I came to tell you the things that happened a few months back," I started telling him about the new anti-hero called Red Hood, and so on until I began remembering him and I pranking Mr. Wayne (his adopted father) twice in his manor that it got us in trouble during our time as teenagers.

Causing me to laugh but slowly it disappeared to sadness that I placed a kiss on his tombstone, "I should have told you how much you meant to me, how I would trade a thousand chili dogs just for one more moment together," I told the stones, leaning back against the cool stone and letting the peacefulness of this place wrap around me.

Time felt suspended- unforgiving yet tender, cruel yet forgiving.

I got up from the ground to leave not before making a silent promise to Jason that I would come back tomorrow to see him.

𝐀𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐫...

On my way to Wayne Manor, I spotted movers unloading boxes from a truck, which puzzled me. I decided to stop and ask an old friend some questions. I walked to the fountain in the manor's center, tossed in a coin, and made a wish, amused as I approached the door and rang the doorbell.

"Miss Pearl? This is an unexpected visit," Alfred said, surprised by my sudden visit. 

I smiled softly, "Hello, Alfred." I hold out a couple of cookbooks to him, "I brought some cookbooks for you—think of it as an early birthday gift." 

"Ah yes, you are too kind," he replied with a polite nod.

"Would you mind if I showed you to the kitchen?" I nodded, and we headed to the kitchen, adorned with sheer purple curtains and a door leading to the backyard. He brushed a speck of dust from his tailored blazer—' Flawless as ever,' I thought. 

"Do you still want two sugars and milk in your hot chocolate along with homemade chocolate cookies?" he asked, holding out a jar of his cookies, making my light brown eyes light up in excitement. 

I nodded eagerly.

Amused, he chuckled softly and reached for the kettle. A subtle smile crossed his lips as I helped set the teacups on the table. I took a moment to admire the kitchen, with its neatly arranged spices, and their colorful labels contrasting against the clean white walls.

The warm aroma of vanilla and cocoa filled the air, wrapping around me like a cozy blanket. I felt at home in this charming space, where every detail reflected his careful yet inviting personality.

"Have you ever tried my secret recipe?" he asked softly as he poured steaming water into the teapot. Curious, I nodded as he added the cocoa powder, stirring with a grace that heightened my anticipation, his movements almost a dance as he blended the ingredients. 

After that, it was ready and placed before me.

"I've got some hot chocolate and homemade cookies for you," Alfred said as he poured himself some tea. I took a bite of a cookie and dipped it into the hot chocolate while savoring the taste before placing it on my saucer. 

Holding my hot chocolate, I asked, "Alfred, how long has it been since I last visited?" "I believe it was yesterday, and the day before that." I chuckled at his response and started sipping my hot chocolate, but then he asked, "So, how was your day aside from coming to see me?"

"Oh, you know, the usual." I leaned back in my chair, savoring the warmth of the hot chocolate as I considered my response but was a bit hesitant before mentioning my life, "Fixing engines from cars, motorbikes, and any other vehicle related to fixing, everything is great..."

I put on a fake smile only for Alfred who seems to notice this and stare at me: "You've been visiting his grave haven't you, dear?" 

'I wanted to deny it, but how could I when he's the only one who understands me so well?' My throat dried up, prompting me to sip my drink again, its rich, velvety taste enveloping me like a warm blanket: "...Yes." 

Alfred nodded knowingly, his eyes softening as he studied my face, "It's been quite a while, hasn't it? I can't imagine how it feels to visit him like that." He paused, placing his cup down gently before reaching across the table to gently squeeze my hand for reassurance. 

"You know, he would have been proud of you. All the work you've put into your craft—fixing things and helping others." 

The mention of pride brought a lump to my throat, and I looked down at my half-eaten cookie, the chocolate chips glistening like tiny stars. "I hope so," I replied softly, the memories swirling around me like the steam rising from my drink. "It just... sometimes it feels like there's a space where he used to be. 

"It's funny.. y'know, every time I need some advice, I keep expecting him to walk through that door, full of energy, and ready to talk about anything."

"You miss him," Alfred stated gently, his voice steady and calming. "That's perfectly normal. You both shared so much; it's only natural to long for those days again."

A sigh escaped me, heavy with emotion. 

"I try to go on, but there are moments when it hits me harder than I expect." I stare at my hot chocolate, "Like today. I caught myself thinking about our time talking about stuff we used to do, reading books, playing basketball, playing video games, watching movies until we passed out, and stargazing...

I paused, tears streaming down my face as I tried to avoid looking at Alfred, who leaned back to give me space, "It's just..." I sniffed, "Hard to move on when you still care about someone who's gone..."

"Grief can be tricky, dear," he said, handing me a handkerchief. I took it gratefully, drying my tears and blowing my nose quietly as I listened. "It's not something you just get over. It evolves, much like your work. You carry the lessons, the laughter, and yes, even the sadness."

He surprised me with his unexpected question, asking, "If... I'm not trying to make you feel worse, but what if...Master Jason were alive right now? What would you do?" I blinked a few times, taken aback, as the weight of his question settled heavily on my chest, pressing down like a heavy stone.

" 'If Jason were alive?' " I echoed, my mind racing as I tried to sort through the tangled thoughts and emotions swirling within me, "I...I suppose I would want to share everything... I've learned during his absence, all the insights I've gained and the secrets I wish I'd had the courage to tell him sooner. 

"I would want to recount all the moments I thought of him, the times I missed him profoundly and wished he could have been there to experience everything with me." He nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering and steady, encouraging me to continue. 

I felt a surge of emotions being freed from its cage as I spoke, "I would beat him for faking his death and scold him without mercy for putting me through all this pain and confusion. I'd let him know just how much his absence has affected me, how deeply it cut to think I had lost him forever. 

"But then," I continued, my voice trembling slightly, "I'd want to hug him, too. Just to feel that warmth again, to know he's really there, alive and well. I'd want to tell him how much I've missed our late-night talks, how I've tried to carry on without him, but it's like trying to ride a bike with a flat tire—impossible to balance."

Alfred nodded, his expression softening further. "It's okay to feel that way. Those moments of anger and sorrow are part of the process. It shows how much you cared."

"I just wish I could have one more day," I admitted, the tears flowing freely now. "One more day to show him everything I've accomplished, to let him see how far I've come in fixing things—not just engines, but my life, too. He always believed in me, you know? Even when I doubted myself."

"Of course he did," Alfred replied, his voice steady. "And he still does, in a way. He lives on in your heart, in the way you approach your craft, and in the kindness you show others. Your passion for fixing things is a tribute to him."

I wiped my eyes with the handkerchief, taking a deep breath to steady myself. 

"It's just hard to reconcile the memories with the reality. I can still hear his laughter, see his smile, and feel the energy he brought into every room. But then I remember he's gone, and it feels like I'm stuck in this limbo, caught between what was and what is."

Alfred leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a comforting whisper. "You're not stuck, dear. You're evolving. Grief is a part of love, and love doesn't just disappear. It transforms into something that can guide you, even in the darkest moments."

I considered his words, letting them sink in. "Maybe you're right."

"That's the spirit," Alfred said, his smile broadening. "And remember, you're not alone in this. I'm here for you, every step of the way."

I looked up, meeting his gaze, and for the first time in a while, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. "Thank you, Alfred. I really needed this talk."

He chuckled softly, lifting his cup for a toast. "To memories."

"To memories," I echoed, raising my cup in solidarity. 

As we clinked our mugs together, I felt a weight lift, as if I had begun to find my way back to the light, one sip of hot chocolate at a time. After our talk, I felt better as Alfred escorted me to the door, and I turned to him: 

"Thank you for letting me visit you, Alfred." I continue, "Same time tomorrow? Only if Mr. Wayne lets you have time." 

Alfred chuckles lightly, "I believe he won't mind in the slightest! Plus I'm sure he would appreciate seeing you again."

"GET BACK HERE, YOU LITTLE PUNK!" A familiar voice yelled throughout the Manor.

I froze but snapped around to Alfred, with a raised eyebrow: "What was that?"

"N-Nothing, it was just the wind." A bit confused as to why Alfred was acting nervous, I wanted to read his mind, but was against it because I respected him and his privacy so I didn't read him but let him tell me whenever he was ready. 

But the fact that I heard a familiar voice was something I couldn't shake off, that it could be-No, there's no way that it's—. "Damian, give Jason's helmet back!" 

"I'm far superior to you all!" I stood there, uncertainty churning in my stomach as Alfred's nervousness only deepened the confusion. 

I hadn't heard that voice in years—the unmistakable bravado and defiance of Damian Wayne echoed through the grand halls of Wayne Manor: "Alfred," I said slowly, my heart racing, "what's going on? It sounded like..."

Alfred raised a hand quickly, cutting me off. 

"I assure you, it was probably just—" 

But my instincts screamed otherwise. 

"I know what I heard." I stepped inside, my pulse racing. 

Suddenly, loud crashes echoed from within the manor, followed by a voice I never expected to hear again: "You think you can take me on? You're not even close to kicking my a**!"

My heart dropped. 

At that moment, as I stood frozen at the door, I didn't just replay those words—I felt them. The reality of my earlier thoughts collided with this new possibility, sending my mind racing. 

He stood before me, the rebellious warrior of my memory. His dark hair was tousled, now accented by a stark white hairline that only emphasized the cocky grin plastered on his pale face. 

Older, yes, but what truly shocked me was the leather jacket – the Red Hood's jacket. 'It can't be,' I thought, disbelieving. Then, I met his eyes, those familiar emerald eyes I used to see every day of my life with this man whom I thought was dead.

But I can't help but utter the name again as it escaped my lips.

"Jason?"

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Say bye to secrecy!❤