Disclaimer: I do not own Young Justice. The song "Payphone" is by Maroon 5

Payphone

I'm at a payphone trying to call home
All of my change I spent on you…
Where have the times gone, Baby it's all wrong
Where are the plans we made for two?

Everyone wanted to avoid Roy—his ragged clothes, his unwashed hair and face, his scabbed hands, his diseased cough. But the deep forlorn and pleading look in his eyes caused those with aching hearts to reach out to him, especially when he would speak in his raspy torn voice because he wasn't asking money for food, or the substance that had caused his body and years to waste away.

"Please," he would beg. "I just need a few coins so I can make a phone call. Just a phone call."

Strangers would then pause to consider him—how wasted from hunger and thirst he seemed, how he was deprived of sleep and other basic human necessities to survive—and the surprise of him placing a single phone call above the burning needs of his stomach and throat would lead a few coins glistening into his palms.

He would thank his benefactor once with his voice and a million times with his heart. Thirty-five cents was all he needed, and after days of imploring passersby in the dilapidated town, he finally had it.

His blurry vision was just clear enough so he could insert the coins one by one into the aging payphone, and dial the number he never dialed enough. He swallowed away another torrent of stabbing coughs and leaned his forehead against the plastic wall surrounding the phone. The ringing began, and his tired heartbeats quickened.

"Hello?"

When was the last time he had heard her voice? Months, years?

He made a sound to speak her name, but his parched throat refused.

"Hello?" came the voice again, heavily impatient.

"Jade," he finally choked out.

There was a pause, and he could imagine Jade holding her breath, furrowing her brows, narrowing her eyes…

"What do you want." Her response was laced with shock and annoyance.

Roy stifled another cough and closed his eyes.

"Can… I…talk to her?" he slowly asked. He heard Jade release a low hiss.

"Why? Why should I let you, after all these—"

"Please," he weakly interrupted her. "I know I can't see her, but can I at least speak to my daughter?"

Then suddenly, in the background, he heard a clear voice of daisies and dandelions.

"Mommy, who is that?"

Jade gave a sigh. There was a muffled rustling noise, and the next sound nearly brought Roy to his knees.

"Daddy?"

His face contorted into pain and yearning, and he nodded.

"Lian," he breathed raggedly into the phone. His baby girl. "Honey, Baby, how are you?"

"Daddy, when are you coming home?" Her voice was so sweet; so lovely to his ears.

"Soon, Baby Girl, soon." His voice started to shake, and he could feel another cough threatening to rack his body.

"Daddy…" There was a pause, and then the unmistakable sound of a sad sniffle. "Daddy, I miss you. And Grandma Paula misses you. And Grandma Dinah and Grandpa Ollie and Aunt Arty. Even Mommy misses you. Please, pretty please, come home?"

Roy brought his fist up and bit down into his knuckles to lock away the sobs clawing their way out of his chest. He squeezed his eyes and tears rushed down his cheeks, leaving a pale trail where they washed away months of sweat and dirt.

"I know, Baby," he finally choked. "I miss them too. Especially you."

There was a sudden beeping in the earpiece, signaling reality and a timer.

"Will you be here for my birthday?" Lian's tiny voice bubbled upwards with hope. Roy could picture the smile forming on her pink lips, her pigtails bouncing as she tilted her head, her eyes lighting up like summer fireflies… He swallowed painfully and allowed himself a mournful smile.

"I will always be with you, Lian." There was another beep—only seconds remained. "I love you," he whispered. "I love you so much. And—" he paused as his voice cracked. "And tell Mommy I'm sorry."

The line dropped before Lian could respond, and Roy released the phone and finally sunk to his knees. He dug his fingers through the fine layer of dirt on the concrete and unleashed his tears at last.

That night, as he curled against a thin layer of cardboard and old newspapers in a dark alley, he felt a sudden rush of cold. It came not from the autumn air, but from deep inside his heart. He wrapped his shaking arms around himself, and burrowed his face into his shoulder—wishing, hoping, apologizing… and pretending he was hugging his baby girl just one… last… time.

If "Happily Ever Afters" did exist,
I would still be holding you like this…