DC: I Became A Godfather

Adam stood by the fire pit, turning the spit slowly. Grease hissed as it dripped into the coals. The scent of roasted duck and smoked suckling pig filled the courtyard, but Floyd "Deadshot" Norton wasn't hungry.

Not anymore.

He watched the man—this detective who'd invaded his life with a wallet full of favors and a kitchen full of food—and every instinct he'd built in warzones and back alleys screamed the same thing:

'This isn't normal.'

No one did good in Gotham without a reason. Not without a game, a catch, a string waiting to yank you from behind.

And Adam? He didn't just do a good deed—he'd done several. Fed his daughter. Paid off alimony. Cooked him dinner like they were old war buddies.

It was too clean. Too generous. Too much.

"Detective," Norton said suddenly, his voice low and tight. "Got a minute?"

Adam looked up from the fire. "What, now? We're just about to carve the duck."

But Norton had already turned and was walking away.

Adam frowned. Still, he dusted off his hands and followed.

They climbed silently, one flight after another, until they reached the rooftop of a crumbling fifteen-story building. Wind howled up here, blowing cigarette butts and fast-food wrappers across cracked concrete. The city spread around them in every direction—a rusted sprawl of decay and shadows.

Norton stood with his back to Adam, arms crossed, eyes scanning the skyline.

"My ex-wife," he said flatly. "She got a deposit this morning. Big one. Labeled with my name. That wouldn't be your doing… would it?"

Adam exhaled and scratched his cheek, unsure whether to lie or deflect.

"Maybe," he said. "Look, it wasn't hard. Just some basic digging."

Norton didn't turn. "So why?"

Adam spread his hands. "Thought you could use a break. You're a good father. Gotham eats guys like you alive."

That did it.

Norton turned—and his eyes weren't angry.

They were haunted.

"This isn't about my daughter, is it?"

Adam blinked. "What?"

"I knew something was off. The gifts. The meals. Losing a math game on purpose?" Norton's voice shook now. "You're too precise to screw up decimals."

"Okay, hold on—"

"I get it," Norton interrupted, stepping forward. "I'm not the smartest guy. I didn't finish college. Hell, I got booted from the military. But I know when a man's watching me."

Adam took a cautious step back, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"You saw it, didn't you?" Norton whispered.

"…Saw what?"

Norton dropped to his knees in a single, desperate motion.

Adam flinched, instinctively reaching for a nonexistent weapon.

"I'm not gay," Norton blurted out.

Silence.

Dead silence.

A breeze kicked up dust. Somewhere far below, a car horn honked.

"…What?" Adam said at last.

Norton bowed his head, genuinely distraught. "I'm sorry. I don't want to be rude. You've done a lot for me. But I just… I can't be that for you."

Adam's eye twitched. "What are you talking about?"

"It all makes sense now," Norton went on, kneeling like a man at confession. "You dug through my divorce records. You left money in her account, to keep her out of the picture. You impressed my daughter so she'd accept you. And now you're here, grilling meat, playing house—"

"I was being nice!"

"That's what scared me most!" Norton cried. "I've been to war. I've seen bombs under teddy bears. You don't trust someone who smiles in Gotham."

Adam stepped back in pure disbelief. "I'm not in love with you, man!"

Norton clutched his heart. "I know it's hard to hear. And I'm flattered, really. But I can't be your—your house-husband! I don't even cook!"

Adam was frozen.

Absolutely stunned.

His hands rose, fell, rose again in a helpless pantomime of what the actual fuck is happening.

"This isn't… this isn't a romantic gesture!" he shouted. "It's recruitment!"

Norton's brow furrowed. "You're trying to what?"

"I want you on my team, you idiot!"

Norton stared blankly. "Like… work for you?"

"Yes! As muscle. As a sniper. As a guy who knows which end of a rifle goes boom!"

"…Oh."

They stood in silence.

Then Norton rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. "So you're not…?"

"No!" Adam barked. "I'm not trying to seduce you!"

"…Right. Of course. That's a relief."

Adam wheezed, leaning on his knees. "Dear god. You thought I was coming onto you? You gave a whole monologue."

"You were making roast duck!" Norton defended.

"IT'S FOOD! IT'S A HUMAN NECESSITY!"

"I'm sorry!" Norton held up both hands, still kneeling. "It just—it all lined up too well. The money, the kindness, the teddy bear—"

Adam pointed a shaking finger. "It was math homework!"

"I'm bad at math!"

They glared at each other.

Then, finally, the tension cracked like a brittle bone—and Adam let out a breathless laugh.

Norton chuckled too, rubbing his forehead. "This is… easily the most awkward rooftop conversation I've ever had."

"That's Gotham," Adam muttered. "You try to build a team, they think you want to elope."

Another pause.

"…So, you're not mad?"

"Oh no," Adam said sweetly.

Then he kicked Deadshot in the ribs.

The man rolled with it, groaning, but didn't retaliate.

"That's for the gay panic," Adam said.

"Fair."

Adam kicked him again.

"That's for thinking I can't do math."

"Okay, that one hurt."