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Providence

Summary:

She ran away to that strange, unpredictable world with its dark, gritty cities where people put their faith and protection in a man who dresses like a bat. She spent her days in a continuous search for distractions and anchors to stop herself from falling into the abyss of her own terrors, clutching onto fleeting moments capable of coloring her new monochrome life. Then, she met the boy with green eyes and she learned exactly how Alice of Wonderland must have felt when she fell through that rabbit hole.

Slow Burn Damian Wayne/Original Female Character. Focus on character development, friendship, romance, and adventure/action themes. Other pairings will appear later in the story.
ON HIATUS

You can always find me on Tumblr (lafayetteworld) or Discord (pennyone23).

Chapter 1: The girl, her paladin and Gotham

Notes:

Hi, everyone. I hope you will all enjoy this piece of work, as I am having quite a lot of fun with it. Disclaimer! I do not own the Batman fandom (this is purely for entertainment and to exercise my writing skills) The OC and her world are of my creation, and I hope one day to write my own original story. This particular OC has been in my mind for a long time, so that is why I would like to take my time to flesh her out. There will also be other pairings being explored.

As you'll notice, I like delving in detail in how characters perceive one another, their psychological state, the world around them and what they feel. Keep an eye out for notes (end of chapters usually) as I will explain which issues I draw my inspiration for the characterisation.

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman, or anything related to DC Comics. Fay and other OC are of my own creation, but this work is purely for entertainment and as an exercise for my writing skills.

Enjoy! And I welcome your comments :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

‘Running away was easy; not knowing what to do next was the hard part.’

Glenda Millard

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“Run---you need to run!’’

“The barriers around the capital are failing—‘’

“Mother—what is going!?’’

"T-Titoh...?'' 

“Maysoon is--- falling.’’

“---we are all going to die.’’

“HELP ME---!’’

 

Waking up from a night terror was almost as unpleasant as the vivid images and sensations that her mind would conjure while she was asleep. At times, the rush of adrenaline would have her up on her feet even before her brain had a chance to process the transition between abstract and reality. Deep down, beneath the terror, she'd experience some relief as she’d realize she had finally released herself from the tight grip of nightmares. It would always be a brief respite, however. The journey from dreams to waking life often felt like speeding down a steep mountain and her consciousness would not always succeed in delineating between what is real and what isn’t before reaching the finish line. Her terrors would accompany her clandestinely onto the other side.

Then her eyes would open, but her brain would still be catching up with the rest of her body. Her heart would beat so hard she feared that one day it might just jump right through her ribcage. There were few days when she did not end up vomiting, and even fewer the days when she wouldn't be drenched in her own sweat, her throat raw and her face wet. Rationally, she knew that the monsters in her dreams weren't real, not anymore, not in that place but logic is panic's pray. 

Trying to ground herself and overcome that state of terror was an arduous process. She had an arsenal of coping mechanisms, but finding which approach was most effective was generally a hit-and-miss. It was generally useless reminding herself that she was no longer in the past, trapped at that moment when she still struggled to come to terms with what took place. 

The flux pulsed and coiled underneath her flesh, causing her marks to throb painfully and she instinctively touched the silver bracelets around her wrists—they felt warm. The runes inscribed on the inside, usually invisible, had reappeared like letters being inked on paper, glowing faintly. She was always able to tell just how volatile her flux was by the amount of pain the restraints caused her, although deep down she knew the seals were never meant to hurt her quite as much as they did. 

Moma had often told Fay that positive memories can ground a person when they feel their future is dark and uncertain. For her, however, reminiscing such memories often triggered unbearable grief that made her wish she was back asleep, rather than having to face reality. Was it really that much better than her nightmares, really? 

On she went with various coping tactics that morning. Counting backward, repeating sentences over and over in hopes she might be able to lie to herself - It’s a dream, I am alive, it’s just a dream -, pulling up random pieces of information in her mind; the chemical table, the way some orchids in Maysoon bloomed only under the moonlight, the last book she read. Anything and everything but positive memories which she felt had been tainted indefinitely by the loss she experienced. 

A soft whine reached her ears, making her look up at the creature standing in front of her, within reach yet not close enough to make her feel crowded. He was the most important element in her life currently, one of the very few sources of comfort she had left and her physical link to reality. 

A pair of pale leaden-blue eyes stared at her unblinkingly, concern resonating off of him. Lupine in appearance, her paladin easily towered over her at that moment. Even when she'd stand up, he would be only a few inches shorter, given his full height - including his head - reached for an impressive forty-five inches. Even in his regular form, Bag was imposing if not a frightening creature to most people in that world; from the sleek dark fur - so dark that sometimes he looked more like a cut-out, a shadow rather than a three-dimensional being – to the muscled body, large jaws and distinctly intelligent look in his eyes. Anyone who was not familiar with how exceptionally intelligent paladins could be - which was basically everyone but her - was often struck by his behavior. If they decided to pay attention beyond his looks. 

Bag often had people stop and gawk at him when they walked down the street, and there had been plenty the times when he had been given a wide berth. Bag, however, had his own skills which allowed him to influence how others felt about his presence, which had allowed them to stay out of trouble (mostly). 

She raised her hands to him, beckoning him closer. His warm body pressed against her, the vibrations of his satisfied chitters transferring onto her body as she wrapped her arms as much as she could around his thick torso. With his head a heavy comfortable weight on her shoulder, she pressed her face against his face, closely feeling the emotions projecting off of him. Concern, affection, wariness. Even a tiny bit of mischief. 

It had been a selfish act bringing him with her, but she cannot imagine being parted him. Especially not when she'd already been forcibly parted with others dear to her heart. Only scum abandoned their paladins and while Fay often thought of herself with derision and pity, abandoning Bag was an unforgivable act she could not commit. It was the greatest offense she could cause him, even if he would have been safer if he stayed behind.  

The invisible chains around her torso loosened gradually, the fog plaguing her mind dissipated and the adrenaline trickled away as Bag's emotions influenced hers. She smiled, as alien as it felt having those muscles engaged as he started sniffing her ear, knowing it’ll tickle her. He was twice her weight, easily but he was always careful in how he handled her. When she reached to scratch his ears, he groaned, eyes rolling and that elicited an amused noise from her. For a creature that was nowhere close to a dog, or a pet that for that matter, he certainly was as eager to accept affection. Then again, she had always been very close with her paladin. 

A meow got her attention followed by a small, soft paw pressing into her scalp. Clucking-like chatter came from the end of her ‘bed’, as a small but long furry animal crawled up her leg. The small wiry body toppled itself against her side, tail wagging a mile a minute and slapping her wrist in the process. 

Time to get up then.

Bag whined and howled loudly, not unlike a child throwing a tantrum as she extricated herself from furry bodies to stand up and stretch. The room was illuminated by soft rays that came through the circular window next to her fort. She pushed up the rusting latch and carefully pulled the window outward, revealing the world outside. In front of her, giants of stone and steel and wood and glass towered over the building she lived in with her paladin and the strays. The busy boulevard below stretched for miles in each direction, ramifying along the way into a maze of streets. 

Leaning slightly forward, she glanced towards her left, where she could see the sunrise over the river and bridges connecting her side of town with the other. The sun was atop a golden canopy, casting shimmering rays over Gotham River, making it look as if it was made of precious black liquids, as opposed to just the filthy waters she had grown familiar with.

A soft breeze tickled her cheeks and made her overgrown fringe fall in her eyes. Although the dry air and clear skies indicated it was going to be a warm day, summer still did not compare with the ones she had grown up so she wasn't quite as worried as the rest of the general population about the recent 'heatwave'. Fay was not necessarily a fan of scorching heat, especially since she wore extra layers every day, but given her day-to-day activity, it certainly made it easy to trek around the city. 

Glancing below at the streets, she watched the people who have already started going about their days, men and women in business attires rushing down the streets with beverages in their hands and their eyes glued to their communication devices, unseeing of the world around them.

Fay enjoyed that part of the day when the world was just the slightest more peaceful than it usually was. When the tall buildings looked rather fascinating with the golds and oranges and violets reflecting and bouncing off of them.

She took a deep breath in. After four weeks of being in that place, she still struggled with its scents and noises. Maysoon outsized that city easily and it could be particularly overwhelming, even to those who were born and bred there. The city she was currently in, was also overwhelming but for different reasons. Her homeland was bright and warm, a hypnotizing kaleidoscope of colors and exotic scents, yet one could always find spots that offered sanctuary for the senses. Architecture, as tall and complex and grandiose just like the ones she saw out of that window, was generally not designed to separate people from nature, but rather remind them of the sacred connection that tied all living creatures together. Gotham may have had its parks and reservoirs, but they felt almost inconsequential when comparing the natural wilderness that people of Maysoon welcomed.

Gotham was not boring, but it did feel—cold. Clinical. Dark. It was home to millions of people, yet it did not feel welcoming. Walking down the streets, with the large buildings looming ominously, she did not feel safe as she did - used to -  in Maysoon; it felt oppressing. It felt like the darkest parts of the jungle, except this one was made of concrete and steel and glass and instead of wild beasts and ancient flora, there were men and women hungrily waiting for their next target. 

Dangerous. Gotham felt dangerous and that was best represented by the chaos that the sunset brought. There had yet to be a night that was not tainted by the sounds of sirens and vehicles whizzing down the streets, sharp pops of sound (sometimes too close) as weapons discharged, and explosions that made the old windows of the attic rattle and dust scatter from the brick walls.    

All those sounds were fire-sure triggers for panic attacks and with great difficulty, she’d find distractions strong enough to keep her anxieties at bay. Sometimes when the sounds were too close, she wouldn’t sleep; she’d stay awake, crouched by the larger window on the other side of her shelter or the trap door, fully dressed and packed up, ready to run at the slightest chance of the building being affected by the chaos of that city. Bag would keep guard, of course, and his keen senses would let them know whether it was best to move or stay put.

A few times they almost did run away. It wasn’t because any of the shots or explosions affected their building, but because she could not stand being constantly reminded of the fear of that night.

Then, she’d remember that she had nowhere to go. Gotham was meant to be only a transition point but for better or for worse, she did find a shelter there. They could afford to be stationary even if temporarily. Considering the trouble they faced in their travels from their homeland to Gotham, the city wasn't actually the worst place they could have ended up. Right? 

She had regretted it, many times, running away. What was in her mind, thinking she could survive there when she couldn’t even function properly in her own world? They had no choice but to make peace with the decision, though. There was no way to return the way they came through. She wasn't even sure whether they could return at all, given the only potential way back was thousands of miles away. 

It might have as well been a sentence. One that she imposed on herself –on both – by deciding to come there. She had been gullible and had acted more on desperation than logic. She had convinced herself into believing that if she left her homeland, she’d somehow feel less humiliated, less like a failure, less of the emotional pain that ached her physically too. She had seen a chance to leave her homeland and took it, later justifying herself that it made no difference if she was gone or not. She had run away because she could not go back to a place that no longer felt like a sanctuary but a tomb full of mocking, painful reminders. She would rather cowardly shed her old identity and even as she regretted running away, living in that strange, foreign world with no home, no resources, no safety, still felt easier than the old life.

“Meowwwww…..’’

 

Fay gently closed the window and re-latched it before glancing at the feline brushing against her legs. The grey cat looked up at her with a look of indignation for she did not understand why there was no feeding happening if Fay was already awake. What could be more important?

 

“Alright.’’ Fay smiled slightly although it wasn’t heartfelt. “Food time it is.’’

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The attic was deep and low as she only had to climb on an old stool to be able to reach the highest point of the vaulted ceiling and wooden beams. She could often hear voices echoing through the walls, and the floor beneath her feet vibrated as inhabitants of lower floors started their days.

The building, made of brick, had three floors. On the ground floor, there was a soup kitchen, on the second there were offices which seemed to deal with ‘employment’ and ‘free, impartial advice for anyone interested. The third floor served primarily as a dance studio, with a small storage room that the renters from the other two floors used and a couple of dingy bathrooms adjacent to a small bathroom.

Having slept in over five different places since arriving in Gotham, very much lost and intimidated by how loud and dark and dangerous that city turned out to be, Fay and Bag were feeling adrift when they came across the soup kitchen. It was the beginning of July, and the city was full of gritty streets and the type of weather that made her wonder if that side of the world experienced summer at all. It had been raining almost consistently, in their first days there which had forced them to seek shelter in covered areas but unfortunately, they hadn't gotten away without being soaked to the bone at least once. 

The day they came across the soup kitchen, they were looking to abandon the parking spot they had stayed at due to an angry officer chasing them away. Fay spotted the long line of men and women from across the street, and after debating with herself whether she should join them, she decided that it was their easiest way to get food. Fay was essentially homeless, and she was certain she looked the part too after weeks of traveling. 

Bag positioned himself down the street, by a bin and she left her duffel bag and backpack by his side. A few people gave them unsavory looks and her paladin huffed at them, making them jump startled. Fay threw him a look that clearly said 'do not cause trouble' before she joined the line. 

When she finally went in, the first thing she saw were concrete, uneven stairs leading to the upper floors. There was a board with all kinds of flyers on the wall to her right, and to her left, there were two doors. One led to the bathrooms and another to a large canteen area. It was full when she walked in, and she’d counted five tables on each side as she walked unsurely past them.

All those people were homeless. She was too - by choice no less - but they had even less than she did, so she suddenly felt guilty having gone in. She wouldn’t be there asking for free food if she had been braver, stronger, more like them. However, she had to be smart with the money she had left, so survival championed over conscience. 

There was another queue forming towards the left leading to a long table on the other end of the canteen. Behind the people serving food there, there was a wall partially left open revealing the kitchen beyond. A door to the side marked the entrance to the cooking area. The scent of food grew stronger as the line grew shorter before her, and she watched as food containers were passed back and forth through the kitchen pass through. 

Down the length of the table, she saw paper and plastic cutlery, napkins, and plastic plates. There were pans and pots and large plates with all kinds of foods. She still didn’t have much of an appetite although she hadn’t eaten much that day, however, Bag required more sustenance than she did so she stayed despite feeling increasingly nervous in such a busy space. 

There were four people behind the table serving out food and each had a white sticker on their clothes, with their name and 'Volunteer' written on it. Fay received looks that ranged from surprised to pitying when she finally stepped before them. Five days into Gotham she’d figured the poorer outnumbered other classes, but she hadn’t thought the volunteers would look upon a homeless child with such---resignation. As if it was something they saw all the time. They probably did. Fay herself had seen many children, younger and older than herself around the city. 

Fay could tell the volunteers were being extra nice because she was a child, asking her if she wanted a bit more meat or an extra cupcake. Fay tried to refuse but they filled her plate with the additional food all the same. Embarrassed, she mumbled a thank you then walked towards the end of the table, where a tall, blonde woman was standing gazing over the canteen with the countenance of a guard. She wasn’t one, though, judging by the dirty apron tied around her midriff but she did look the type of woman who could not be intimidated easily given the hardened expression on her face. 

She was rather pretty, even with the scar down the side of her left cheek, extending from her chin all the way to her temple. Those brown eyes locked into her as soon as Fay stepped closer, narrowing at the sight of her. It was not an unkind look, but there was not as much pity or sympathy as the others have offered. In a way, it was refreshing.

“I, um. I have e—enough, th-thank you.’’ Fay stammered when the woman moved to fill a bowl with what appeared to be chicken broth from the pot in front of her. The blond stared at her curiously but Fay quickly bowed her head and then left in a hurry, careful not to drop her plate. Fay took a few deep breaths as soon as she was back out on the street. The canteen had a heady scent underneath all the food smells which made Fay wonder when was it the last time she took a proper bath herself. At least a week. Moma would be horrified if she knew. How did her paladin stand being around her, really? She must have looked as bad as she smelt, given her oversized dirty clothes and the battered shoes. 

Bag was pacing agitatedly in the spot she left him, forcing a few trespassers to change their mind about throwing their litter inside the bin nearby and giving him a wide berth instead. As soon as he saw her, his eyes lit up and he settled back on his hind legs, his trepidation fading away. Fay smiled slightly, as she stopped in front of him then frowned when she watched new drops of water ripple into the puddles decorating the street. 

Great. 

She gave most of the food to Bag and kept an apple and a cupcake for herself. That night they stayed in an abandoned building, but barely slept. Fay stared at the bat symbol illuminating the dark skies, contemplating how Maysoon used lights to signify sanctuary for all those who desired it. How those lights were turned off that night, and nobody dared to put them back on for months after.

 

They went back to the soup kitchen for several days, always at lunchtime, before spending the rest of the daylight keeping close to it. 

 

It was on the sixth day that the blond woman approached them outside, where Fay had pulled Bag aside to share her food with him. She told Fay that she shouldn’t be sharing so much of her food because she’s thin enough as she is. Fay didn’t respond, watching her warily but the woman promised she wasn’t trying to get her in trouble. Fay was asked whether she was an orphan.

 

Fay nodded. “I, um, yes.’’ She licked her lips nervously. “My—I don’t have anybody.’’ She glanced at her paladin. “W-well, except Bag.’’

 

The woman looked amused. “Bag? What kind of name is that?’’ Fay shrugged, although she could feel Bag’s indignation rolling off of him as she laid a hand on his neck comfortingly. The woman asked her if she’s already been taken in by Child Services which Fay wasn’t sure what it was, but she drew her own conclusions based on the name. “Um, n-no. I’d---I’d rather not.’’ Even if this ‘Child Services’ was of any help, there was no guarantee they won’t take Bag away, that they won’t prod and examine her and find out things she would rather they didn’t so it was safe to assume she wanted nothing to do with them. 

 

“Gotham is a pretty dangerous place to be walking around alone like that.'' The woman didn't sound judgemental; she was making an observation. 

 

“I—I’m, kind of new here.’’ Fay glanced down the littered streets stretching behind the woman and the long line of people waiting to get a meal still. It wasn’t the poorest part of the town, but it wasn’t particularly taken care of either. “A-am I in trouble? I am sorry. I—I won’t come back.’’ She turned to leave, grabbing the strap of her duffel bag as she did but the woman stopped her.

"Wait--wait for just a second, kid!'' 

Fay kept her distance but turned to her side to show she was listening, Bag stayed pressed to her protectively. The woman’s eyes looked softer when she smiled, Fay thought to herself. She has a pretty smile. “My name is Dana. Dana Mercher. What is your name?’’ Fay bit on the inside of her cheek, hesitating.

Bag was wary but he wasn’t assuming his usual stance when he felt they were in danger, so Fay trusted his insight of people's true emotional state. 

“I am---Fay.’’ She wasn't sure when it was the last time she told someone her name. “Just Fay.’’ Because just Fay was what she was there, in that world. 

 

“Well, Just Fay.’’ The woman teased, trying to lighten the conversation, but it failed to make Fay smile. “It's okay if you come back to get some food. There is someone from Child Services that often comes on the second floor. I am not going to lie-they are not very good at it in this city, but she’s a good woman and she might be able to help.’’ Fay was shaking her head even before Dana had stopped talking, anxiety making her heart pound wildly.

“N-no---they’ll take Bag away and I—I don’t want to.’’ The woman glanced at the paladin who met her gaze challengingly. He had tensed up after Dana’s implicit proposal and had pushed himself between them, like a shield. The girl was dwarfed by her companion's size, making her seem even smaller than she was. 

“Okay.’’ The woman nodded. “I won’t force you. However, you need to be careful around these parts. Well, most of Gotham, really.’’

Fay couldn’t help but be skeptical about Dana's mellow approach, given everything they've been through since their arrival in that world. The woman didn’t try to stop her from walking away and before she went back to the soup kitchen, she mentioned how it’s usually better to look for shelter in the higher parts of buildings. Fay had caught her glancing pointedly at the top of the building of the soup kitchen, towards the roof. 

 

Wait. Is she trying to tell me....? 

 

Around the building, there was a narrow street with garbage bins and a fire exit zigzagging down the side of the wall. Bag jumped on it, pushed the ladder for her to climb on, and then as quietly as possible they made their way up. She saw the canteen, as packed as it always was at that time of the day, and the modest offices on the second floor, where the employees were too busy to even notice the girl and large dog pass by the emergency exit. The window to the third floor was left unlatched and when Bag sensed nobody in the darkroom, they climbed inside to look around. 

 

It was a large dance room with wooden floors and mirrored walls with a small seating area in one corner, where there were also some cabinets and a water dispenser. There was only one entrance, which led to a small landing where the stairs finished on that floor. The bathroom and storage room were also on that floor. 

 

After inspecting those rooms, they went back into the dance studio and looked around again wondering whether they'd misinterpreted the woman's words. Then she saw the square hatch in the middle of the white-painted ceiling.

Ah. An attic? 

Once upon a time, she conquered heights with far more ease than she conquered walking. That was in a bygone era, so after many failed attempts to open the latch, they’d found a ladder in the thankfully unlocked storage room. The hatch must not have been used in a long time because it took a few minutes to get it unstuck before a sheet of dust fell on her, making her eyes sting and clogging her lungs. There was an old retractable staircase, rather flimsy and with some broken steps, but enough to allow them to clamber in the dark narrow space above.

 

The attic only ran for part of the building, which explained why it was so small compared to the rest of the building's surface. The layers of dust had dulled the colours of the wooden accents and a good part of the space was filled with abandoned boxes and bags and plastic trolleys. Surprisingly, when she tugged on the string hanging above the hatch door, the electric bulb turned on, casting a weak light in the space. Mice scurried off in the holes in the walls and Fay instinctively gripped on Bag’s fur when she saw the thick cobwebs decorating the space. She had spent much of her time in the wilderness as a child and she wasn’t particularly fazed by insects or animals in general; spiders, however, unsettled her greatly. She couldn’t remember if she’d always been this afraid of them, but they made her recoil in ways that few other things did, even triggering a panic attack on one occasion. 

Although very wary of being in such an enclosed space, they had started rummaging through the contents in there. It wasn’t until later that afternoon that Dana came to check in on them. She knocked on the hatch and waited until Fay opened it rather than forcing her way in. Fay and Bag watched the woman lower the end of a broken room she must have used to reach the ceiling. “All good there, kid?’’

 

“I-um,’’ Fay glanced around as if the musty space might offer her a way to express the confusion she felt. “…I am not sure.’’

 

“Is it okay if I come up?’’ So far, the woman hadn’t turned them in to the authorities or whatever Child Services were, hadn’t told her she couldn’t come back and had even been kind enough to direct them to a place that nobody else seemed to know about. Fay looked at Bag, who only huffed slightly in response. He had no issue if she didn’t, so Fay slid backward, as the woman climbed with surprising grace on the rickety ladder. 

 

The woman pushed herself to sit on the edge of the opening on the floor, letting her legs hang in the space below before gazing around thoughtfully. “Hm, shouldn't be too hard to get it cleaned.’’ She then looked at Fay who wasn’t sure what she was meant to say, trapped between feeling paranoid and hopeful that the woman was indeed offering that safe space, instead of just trapping them there. 

Dana must've read the apprehension on her face. “Look. I’ve lived enough in this place to know what happens to kids like you. The system is broken and underfunded and you’ll end up bouncing from family to family or at the orphanage. That's a best-case scenario, too, given how many young people end up addicted or part of gangs.’’ The woman reached to roll the sleeves of her plaid shirt up and Fay tried not to allow her eyes to linger on the myriad of scars that littered the woman's pale skin.

“I wish I could help you more but now I can only offer you this place. It’s not exactly a home, but it’s warm and it’s dry, and most importantly, rent-free. The previous tenants on the second floor dumped their stuff here a while ago after their retail store went bust. The landlord has no use for it so he never checks this place.’’ The woman lowered her hands on her thighs and waited patiently for Fay to mull over her words, while she fidgeted with her bracelets. 

 

“So—Bag and I can stay here? For—for how long?’’ There had to be a catch. There generally was. Not that selfless acts did not exist; Fay just hasn't been on the receiving end for a long time. 

 

“As long as it works. Now, all I am asking in return is that you don’t bring trouble. You don’t strike me as the type of kid who likes trouble, but someone might report you if they see you live here. So, you can use this place, as long as you—‘’ the woman gave the paladin a pointed look. “—or your dog doesn’t attract attention. People will complain if they find there’s a kid and their dog living in the attic and the landlord is not exactly a nice man.’’

 

They could do that. They’ll find a way to remain discreet if it means having a place to hunker down, at least until Fay decided what the next steps are. She still found it odd that the woman was willing to risk the animosity of the landlord just to help her. “Why—why are you helping me, Miss Mercher?’’ 

 

“Just call me Dana, it's okay.’’ The woman then smiled ruefully. “I have a son who is a few years older than you. I don’t want to think what it’d be like if he was out on these streets alone. Even with a big dog to protect him.’’ Bag huffed, feeling underestimated. The woman looked amused rather than intimidated by his presence. It was nice. 

 

Fay nodded, finding it difficult to speak due to the tight grip of emotion that enclosed around her throat. “T—thank you. I really appreciate it. I promise we won’t cause any trouble.’’ 

 

“Good.’’ Dana wiped her hands over the hub of her kneecaps. She wasn’t wearing her apron, just a pair of jeans and a loose button-up plaid shirt. “Now. The only people who know about this are me, and Mack in the kitchen. He’s our cook. If you want food, you can come through the back. There’s an exit down the street where the staircase is, and if you knock on it three times, he’ll let you in.’’

 

They were being offered food too. Surely, they couldn’t be that lucky. Not after everything. Right? “I—um, I can’t pay you---‘’

 

“I run a soup kitchen, kid. Ensuring people have a stomach full, even if they can’t have anything else, is what I do.’’ The woman's gaze hardened again. “Plus, you and your dog can’t survive just on some bowls of soup and cupcakes. I can’t make any promises, but I might have some odd jobs for you in the kitchen. I can't guarantee I can pay you but you've got a place to stay and food so at least for the short term, it's better here than out there on the streets. What do you say?’’

 

Fay felt really humbled. “Thank--thank you so much.’’ She could hear her voice in her head, telling her that kindness had a way of shining bright even in the darkest moments, and Fay suddenly felt like crying. It wasn't fair, having to keep hearing their voices like that, telling her the world could be good still when most of the good had been ripped away from her life. 

 

“Great. Well, remember what I told you. Nobody can see you go in and out. The dance classes take place throughout the week, so you need to make sure you wait until they’re done to go out or come in.’’ Fay nodded in understanding. The woman moved down the stairs but stopped short before her head could disappear past the hatch to smile at her again. “I will give you a hand once the canteen clears out a bit, in a couple of hours so just sit tight.’’

Fay watched speechless as the woman disappeared down the stairs before pushing the steps upwards and allowing Fay to close the hatch.

She exchanged a look with her paladin. “…. can you believe what just happened, Bag?’’

“Rggghh….?’’

No, he couldn’t either.

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True to her words, Dana returned later that afternoon, with cleaning materials, trash bags, and gloves. Fay awkwardly accepted them, still finding it hard to wrap her head around how quickly their predicament had changed. A part of her still believed there was a trap waiting the moment they relaxed too much.

 

Dana gently attempted to find information on where her parents were, how she ended up in that situation, or where she came from but Fay didn’t budge. The answer must’ve been obvious on her face when the woman asked her if her parents had passed away because after that there were no more questions.

As it was a Monday and they did not have to worry about anyone coming for dance classes, Dana helped her throw any unwanted items and garbage out the hatch and the floor below, before proceeding with a deep clean of the attic. Fay had found boxes of clothes, most of which had been eaten away by moths and rodents, magazines that did not interest her, many, many plastic hangers thrown about, and even a couple of mannequins. Most of the items ended up in the bins outside.

Dana changed the lightbulbs, while Fay decided to keep the large pea-sized seat that Dana referred to it as a ‘bean bag’ because it was still usable. There was also an old, round table with a wobbly foot that Fay pushed to the corner of the attic after wiping it down. Once done, the attic felt far bigger and Fay realized that the wooden beams and floor had rather nice shades of brown.

Dana left her with a bowl of hot chicken soup as well as bones for Bag, before telling her she’ll return in the morning to check on her. 

Fay didn’t really sleep that night, but for the first time in weeks, she didn’t feel as if she was standing in the line of fire. Bag, certainly, felt the same even as he kept shifting from one end to another of the attic, ears perked and stance tense, still trying to get accustomed to the new place. 

Three weeks later, the attic looked more like a compressed living space than---well, the dump that it originally was. They hadn’t planned on staying that long, but Dana’s kindness and generosity had given them a respite. Dana has given her an old inflatable mattress, a sleeping bag, blankets and pillows which Fay placed in one end of the attic, designating it as her sleeping place. It wasn’t that cold outside, but the attic tended to run cooler, and it will only get worse when the weather turns, so the donated items were much welcomed. Fay used the beams above her head to hang some sheets to fall around the bouncy mattress (which Bag loved sprawling on even if it barely fit him) in a sort of make-shift canopy bed. Added fairy lights brightened her attic at night, but she always made sure to cover the windows with some flattened boxes as to not give her presence away.

The hatch was located halfway across the length of the attic, so if in one end she set up their sleeping place, on the other end she had kept the bean bag and the table. Each end of the attic had windows, but the circular one facing the boulevard was smaller so she preferred sleeping on that end despite the noises. The other window, also circular but much bigger, offered her visibility of the buildings next to theirs, and the dark narrow street below them. If it came down to it, they could exit through that window and land on the staircase a few feet below. 

She needed to learn more about that world if they wanted to have any chance to make it through the thousand-mile journey ahead of them and find a way back home. They might as well take advantage of their current conditions while they lasted. 

But they had to leave, ultimately. 

(Right?)

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A month since their arrival in Gotham, they had developed a routine they rarely ever deviated from. She’d feed the cat – she is still not sure where it came from -, the ferret – who ended up following her from the park one day – and the frizzy, white dog she’d found hiding under the bin a couple of weeks after they’d settled in. They all became permanent residents immediately after.  

Each day, Bag would check the floor below them first before she’d clamber down to wash her face and teeth using the dance studio’s bathroom. Ready for the day, they’d leave the trap door closed behind them before carefully making their way down the fire exit ensuring nobody sees them. If it was very early, sometimes they'd use the internal staircase as there'd be virtually no one in the building but them. Fay also enjoyed roaming around it during the night when she wouldn't be able to sleep.

The soup kitchen’s back exit was only twenty feet or so away from the fire exit, and at first, she used to wait for Dana or Mack to let her in. 

Bag would take his place near the entrance, on a ratty old blanket and next to a bowl of water as Fay set about cleaning the kitchen. The soup kitchen generally ran from eleven in the morning until nine in the evening and Dana would always try to clean the kitchen as thoroughly as possible before the cook's arrival – Mack- at eight. Robby, Dana’s seventeen-year-old son would often help in the afternoon and over the weekends, but other than that Mack was the one who prepared most of the food.

He was incredible if one asked Fay and he treated the kitchen the way an artist would treat his studio. He had a specific preference about where he kept everything, and he did not like to deviate from the methodical way in which he worked. It was also perhaps volunteers rarely were ever allowed back there much to Dana’s exasperation (it always amused Fay whenever they’d bicker over it

A couple of days into living there, Fay asked Mack if she could help him with small tasks and from there on, they started giving her all kinds of small jobs. When Fay saw just how much cleaning the kitchen required after each day, she started helping more and more often. Dana would always stay back, late in the evening, to get it in relatively good shape but sometimes it proved a challenge.

One day, a week after Fay formally met Dana and started living in the attic, the woman found her wide awake and waiting by the kitchen back door at six in the morning. Dana reluctantly gave her a broom when Fay insisted she wanted to help and told her to do what she could and not worry otherwise. Given how exhausted Dana looked, Fay wasn't surprised when half an hour later she found the woman fast asleep in the canteen while looking over documents. 

Fay contemplated whether she should wake the woman up but ultimately didn't. It was an opportunity for her to repay all the generosity she received in return, so she started cleaning the kitchen on her own. Bagheera stealthily moved inside to help her with moving some of the heavier pots or appliances, or to take the trash out. Fay attempted to use the flux but even the minimal use of it caused the bracelets to warm up uncomfortably against her. Whatever little she was able to use, however, gave her an advantage so by the time Mack arrived in the kitchen, Fay was almost done. 

He gawked at her, and the scrubbed floors and surfaces, before asking her where Dana is. Said woman was still asleep, even deeper than before once Fay covered her with her jacket and pushed the papers away. Mack roused her up, and the poor woman almost had a meltdown thinking of how much work they had to do still. Then she saw the kitchen herself. 

Impressed with her work, Dana asked Fay whether she'd like to keep helping in exchange for getting paid. Naturally, Fay agreed. She didn't sleep much anyway so she might as well put the wasted time to use and earn some money. 

That is how Fay ended up working at the soup kitchen four days a week from six o'clock until early afternoon. Soon after, Dana had started trusting her with the keys to the canteen which meant Fay could get started earlier if she felt restless or could not sleep. The woman would always be in before seven, followed by Mack and then volunteers on Mondays, Wednesdays, and weekend days which tended to be their busiest days. 

Fay was rarely ever allowed to serve in the canteen; something about it being considered child labor so she generally spent her shift in the kitchen or making small errands for missing items to the nearby shops. Satisfied with her being able to abide by his working style, Mack subsequently allowed her to get more involved: chop this, chop that, put the deliveries away, wash the vegetables, get more cutlery and napkins from the storage room. Every day, she’d get breakfast and lunch for free, and Bag would get apples and bones. It wasn’t enough for his appetite, of course, but Dana had started paying her weekly. The pay varied, from fifty dollars to a hundred or so, which was more than enough for her to cover expenses for Bag’s food and later, their newest guests (whose presence Dana found amusing but didn’t question).

 

The soup kitchen wasn’t the only place that helped her financially. Dana took her to Mr. Yuri’s meat shop who later asked her if she wanted to make some extra money delivering cool boxes to some of his most loyal clients within the nearby area. It would certainly save him money on using an actual delivery service seeing as he'd pay her much less. The clients consisted primarily of elderly people living in a nearby apartment block and a couple of other restaurant owners also within reasonable walking distance. Dana hadn’t been happy for her to be used as a mule, but Fay accepted. The man had rationalized she was less likely to get in trouble with a large dog protecting her and he wasn’t wrong, even if it made him unscrupulous. He’d also give her leftover cuts of meat and bones for Bag and if she did particularly well on her deliveries (which she did most days), he’d also give her ten or twenty dollars on each day.

 

Sometimes he’d send her farther, and she had a feeling he was doing it just to test her, but for all of her failures, Mr. Yuri's tasks were a no-brainer. She was good at navigating her way in wild environments. Gotham was just another type of jungle as far as she was concerned and just as dangerous, so she treated it as such. After two weeks of working for Mr. Yuri, she had gotten to know very well which areas were best avoided and which ones were best for safe shortcuts. Having Bag with her certainly helped; not only people were generally disinclined to accost her, but his incredible senses made it easy to avoid potential threats.

For the first time she arrived in that world, she felt she had a modicum of clarity. The world was still upside down, but she was having an easier time than she did back home.  

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Mack talked often, loud, and about many topics. Fay didn't fully understand all of the words that came out of his mouth but his jovial attitude was a bit like standing next to a smaller sun so she didn't mind. Robby was gentle and mild-mannered. He told her he wants to be a veterinarian so rather than being intimidated by Bag, he awed at her paladin and complimented how well taken care of he looked, what a unique breed he was, what a ‘fine specimen’ he was.

Bag gloated for days after that and decided Robby was his favorite out of the three main members of the kitchen. Fay shook her head to herself whenever her paladin tried to gain the boy's attention knowing he was bound to get awed expressions or compliments. 

 

Fay received her own apron a week after starting to work there.  

 

It wasn't exactly living but it wasn't surviving either, just something in-between. A limbo of sorts, which characterized most aspects of her life at that point. 

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What had been an unfortunate transition point in their aimless journey, had turned into an unexpected home. No, not a home. She no longer had a home, not the one she grew up with, the one her heart yearned for. They did not have a sanctuary either, because Gotham did not feel like one, but they had a ---home base. There. That was far more appropriate. 

 

Days into being paid by Dana, Fay starts saving and actively planning their journey to the other side of the world. They had months for it and they’ve decided they’ll see the winter through in that place as long as nothing goes sideways. Travelling to the other continent would be rather difficult given she was an unaccompanied child with no identity in that world and a large ‘dog’ in tow. So, she’d started exploring different options, keeping them jotted down on the notebooks she also kept hidden away.

 

Ideally, she wanted for them to leave Gotham right as the winter season ended, preferably mid-January leaving them with several months to explore Europe.

 

Did they want to go back? She didn't, not really. She didn’t really feel like she belonged anywhere, but Bag did belong back to Maysoon. He was meant to be free, not sleeping in a stuffy old attic with her in a dangerous city where he would constantly worry about her (because sometimes the fear would cripple her so much so she was rendered to a useless bag of skin and muscles and bones).

 

She did want to stay there longer than eight months; perhaps not in Gotham but in that world for certain. There was so much to see and to learn and to lay her eyes on. She hadn’t felt enthusiastic about anything in a long time but being there brought an old-forgotten buzz in her veins. What use was there for her back home, anyway? All she did was embarrass herself and put others at risk and taint their reputation.

 

That world was scary and unpredictable and dangerous, but it was also fascinating and simultaneously different and like her world.

 

All there was left for her was studying, learning; they were a few of the things that helped her cope with the past. Fay would not say she had anything to look forward but she felt---satisfied. The constant fear of the next failure was gone, and no longer having a constant audience made her breathe easier. 

 

That world was the only tie to them that didn’t hurt as much as everything else. It was a territory they had not conquered with their presence, a territory where she would not be pitted against their memory, where she could dare to forget that she was anything but Fay, the girl who worked at the soup kitchen and lived in the attic above it. Aside from Bag, no one knew who she had been, who she was then, who she was meant to be (and whom she’d never succeeded at being).

 

It was a type of freedom, for sure.

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Fay had grown up surrounded by fine things, eating fine foods and dressed in fine clothes. She had been fulfilled, materially and emotionally, despite certain moments when she felt she had been born unblessed. She was raised to be humble, however. Nobody is entitled to any riches or success; they must work for it regardless if they are born blessed. A person can cut corners and take shortcuts, but they will never appreciate what true hardship means unless they’ve experienced it.

A lesson without pain or sacrifice is not a lesson that will stick. Some lessons, Fay learned, can be so painful they can kill you. Slowly, from the inside out even if you are physically healthy. 

It was perhaps those teachings that allowed her to adapt rather easily to being without fine things. Shedding her old identity meant shedding those privileges as well and while she sometimes missed how much easier it had been to just being offered things, there was a sense of control in getting them for herself. She did not have control over many aspects of her life, but surviving was a task she had had to fully apply herself and be resourceful about in the last months. 

Part disgust and part concern about hygiene had forced Fay to seek alternatives of showering herself than using the bathrooms of the dance studio. Most of the time they didn't work, and even if she hadn't been put off by the mold and grime, the brownish tint of the water did.

The river was absolutely not a choice. There were no natural bodies of water in that city and the man-made reservoirs inspired even less faith than the river did. She’d found that the ‘gym’ nearby the soup kitchen had shower areas for women only and although public, they looked several times cleaner than the one in her building. It wasn’t always possible to use the showers there, because it depended on whether the window was left open and if there were many people inside. She doubts women inside would appreciate it if they suddenly saw a child climb inside on the second-floor window while they were trying to shower themselves or get dressed.

The gym was open from five in the morning until midnight, so she’d quickly learned which times were better for her decidedly illicit visits. 

Fay was always quick, and she’d always use the shower cabin nearest to the window so she could hear Bag if he wanted to alert her. Washing him was easier; she could always use a hose connected from one of the sinks at the soup kitchen. 

The gym was her primary source of showering until she came across Gotham Academy. A large property, several miles up north from where the soup kitchen was, hidden from curious eyes by tall fences of wrought iron with thick ivy curling around it. She had spotted the building when Mr. Yuri had asked her to go and deliver an icebox to one of his ‘old mates’ in that area, the owner of a sandwich shop. The man had been nice enough to give both her and Bag two ham sandwiches and they ate while sitting on a bench near the Academy. 

 

She watched cars – far different than ones she’d seen up until then – go in and out using the private road past the tall gate and pick up students of all ages, dressed in grey and blue uniforms as they finished their studies for the day. Her interest piqued after seeing that one building had an entrance with the word ‘library’ above it, they came back on a weekend day when the property was likely to be vacated. Robby had told her that the academy was a place for the wealthier children, age five to seventeen and that its counterpart, Gotham Middle School, looked like a parody in comparison to it.

Fay hadn’t seen that other school, but she believed him; he didn’t look bitter having himself attended the latter and instead expressed relief at not being part of the ‘elitist, entitled cliques’ that were likely to have formed inside the richer school. Fay could understand his perspective, although she would have likely attended the academy as well had she been from that world. Anyone could be capable of being cruel, or making others feel like outcasts, she thought.  

The fear of being caught trespassing was overridden by her curiosity and they ended up sneaking inside in the late afternoon on a Saturday. It hadn’t been too difficult; there were only two guards outside and two more inside, but they patrolled together which meant it’d take them at least half an hour to get from one end to another. Fay found a window open in the sports building which was equipped with a pool and several other sports rooms. As she’d learn from her subsequent visits, there was almost always a window somewhere that’d be forgotten unlatched, or left ajar. 

The first few visits had been tentative and short-lived until they learned the guard's shifts and patrolling habits; a several visits she had a pretty good idea of both. There were CCTV cameras, but only in the main areas like the entrances and exits which she avoided religiously. Bag would always warn her too if he sensed the guards approaching, so they’d find ways to avoid the guards.

The library stretched over two different floors and contained thousands of books. As such it quickly became her favorite spot, where she’d often end up spending the majority of the night perusing the books using a flashlight. Those were her most peaceful moments; she could pretend she was back home in the happy times before that night. 

When restless and anxious, they'd wander around. They’d explore classrooms and wonder what kind of foods they served in the sumptuous canteen – easily twice as large as the soup kitchen – and examined the paintings decorating the walls. The shower facilities there outstripped the gym’s in both size and quality, and she’d time her visits in such a way that she didn't have to worry about the guards while taking longer showers. 

Fay hadn't been sure what to expect of her new life there, but it was okay. Just in-between good and bad. Just another limbo. 

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Gloria Fowler was a chatty woman, the opposite of her usually silent husband, Ben. She had a soft, soothing voice, the type that made Fay want to listen to her talk for hours and it didn’t come as a surprise the woman was a kindergarten teacher. Her husband, still working, is the owner of an independent woodworking shop which according to his wife is ‘successful enough to put food on their tables and a roof above their heads. They lost their son when he was about Fay’s age to a gang shoot-out, and their daughter moved away right after university, which meant they were alone and had time to spare. 

 

Gloria did not like silence, Fay learned quickly. She also did not like staying still; always moving about, doing something or other, no matter how mundane the task. Ben was a silent but gentleman; he seemed to have a soft spot for Bag and the paladin returned the sentiment, allowing the man to pet him even though he didn’t like being treated like a dog. According to his wife, Mr. Fowler usually spends most of his time in his atelier, and she would have to drag him to volunteering, or otherwise, there’d be days when he’d never come out of the house.

 

Fay recognized grief when she saw it as well as the different forms it could take. Gloria probably enjoyed keeping herself busy because it was a way of distracting her from sad and painful thoughts like Fay did with her books. The young girl would sometimes see the woman space out, her expression growing sadder inexplicably at whatever memory had managed to filter through in her mind.

 

Ben was a workaholic because maybe that was his coping mechanism just like Fay liked doing the repetitive work of cleaning the kitchen because it kept her mind balanced. Her uncle behaved like that too; throwing himself in more and more responsibilities until he had no time to think about anything else. It was also how he compartmentalized his life; why sometimes he couldn’t understand why other people couldn’t do the same and he’d come across as cold, unfeeling.
Mr. Fowler never really spoke but the way he looked at her sometimes made Fay wonder if she reminded him of his son. 

 

Fay was swiftly interrogated by Gloria upon their first meeting when the woman spotted her in the kitchen, albeit not in a malicious way. Thankfully, Robby covered her by saying she was the daughter of a family friend which Dana later backed up. No one had recognized her as the child who came in asking for food weeks earlier, fortunately. 

Gloria and Ben were kind people. Gloria always brings donuts or pastries for everyone and she always gave Fay one extra. Ben started dog bones or chew toys for Bag, a touching gesture even if the paladin would easily tear up through the latter. 

Kindness exists still. Kindness can survive the darkness of the world. 

It was ironic that in a place like Gotham those words did not feel as empty as they did before.

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The year after the world as she knew it crumbled away, had been characterized by a wild switch between days when she felt nothing and days when she felt so much, she wished she wasn't awake. The grief was still excruciating at times, and if she didn’t have that to worry about, then there were the panic attacks and the insidious, dark thoughts of self-hatred and self-pity that sometimes felt they belonged to another person, although they were all a part of her. A part that hid in the corners of her mind and came out to torment her whenever she dared to feel anything but sorrow or pain.

That voice won’t allow her to forget what she lost; won’t allow her to move forward because she does not deserve it. Fay would often give in to that -vicious, unrelenting, cruel – voice, and after she'd wonder if that’s what happened when people suffered a loss far too big for their hearts to deal with. The sorrow, shame, and guilt gathered itself in a corner of her mind, like a dark sentry intent on banishing away hope and ambition and innocence from ever coming through again.

Fay also wondered if that’s how Dana and Mr. and Mrs. Fowler felt when they thought about their losses. Most importantly, how did one just move forward? How did they find the strength to say or think they accept the pain and it's time to leave it in the past? 

Then again, she's likely broken. That’s what people whispered when they thought she couldn’t hear them. 

There are not enough words in the world - either one - to describe the crushing sensation in her chest that comes and goes. Perhaps that’s what panic attacks were; not just a consequence of her trauma like the healers said but her psyche malfunctioning for it was being fed something it could not deal with.

 

She wondered if there was ever a day when she won’t malfunction.

 

The bracelets were meant to address some of those malfunctions. To put a stop to that side of her that could result dangerous and uncontrollable. 

 

You deserve it.  

 

I deserve it.

 

However, there’d be small moments when even the sentry could always not be on guard and she’d feel a touch of those emotions that made her feel lighter, warmer, alive. They were intermittent and some emotions faltered quicker than others, but they’d generally set the tone for the day. They’d resurface when Dana or Mack would complement her work ethic; when Robby would smile at her widely and ask her if she wants to talk about comic books; when Gloria would speak to her in that soothing voice of hers about her day; when Ben brought her a wooden figurine of Bag; when she’d take her paladin to the park and he’d instigate playful games like they used to play all the time back at home. When they’d run so hard through the streets of Gotham she almost felt she was back in the jungle; when she studied about that world or would start on a new book; when the animals that lived with them snuggled against her at night.

Crumbles of happiness, that's what they were. Small, small, fragments that would always get swept away by the grief and sadness and the other emotion, which in return felt like hungry giant monsters. 

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Fay labeled her days in three ways. Most Days were the days when she felt neither empty nor particularly alive; when the world was colorless but bearable. Anxiety thrummed in her body at manageable levels because she had found many ways to distract her mind away from the thoughts that could easily spiral into dangerous territories. It was an unwanted companion, the anxiety, but she had resigned herself to it.

 

The Good Days were the days of ‘good moments’, varying in intensity and never truly matching the fully formed emotions she’d once experienced before that night, but strong enough to deafen the anxiety and fears. The grief never really went away, sitting like a permanent heavyweight in her chest but she found it easier to carry that weight around on those days. Good Days didn’t come often, and they did not follow a schedule, but when they did, she’d soak them in ravenously. She’d keep track of the objects, people, or conversations that made her feel that led to the good moments, hoping they'd give her something to hang onto for the third type of day. 

 

The Bad Days. Their intensity varied too but they’d always feel like a slow death. The Bad Days are the days when good memories, past and present, falter and shrink away beneath the weight of the negative emotions.

If Good days were the ones that offered temporary respite and reminded her that there was more to the world than just sadness and hopelessness and self-hatred, the Bad Days were the days when she had to continuously fight with her broken mind, to remind herself that she was alive, that she had to stay alive. She’d use the notes from the Good Days, and she’d use Bag as an anchor in the tsunami of dark, ferocious emotions that threatened to bury her beneath their weight.

 

It didn’t matter if she didn’t want to be alive in those moments; it didn’t matter if she didn’t think she deserves Bag as her paladin. The fact was that he was her paladin, forever and always, that he was stuck here with her in that world and she had to stay alive for him, if not for herself. 

 

Fay is not sure what Dana thinks of her on those days when she refuses to come down. Fay had to tell her she suffers from nightmares, that sometimes she needs to catch up on the sleep and the woman had always been understanding. For now. Kindness rarely was endless and the thought they might lose their shelter in that attic because of her own broken self would only fuel the Bad Days in crippling her mentally and physically.

 

Her mind would feel fragmented, her anxiety suffocating. The marks would feel tender all across her body, the bracelets blistering her skin in response to her volatile flux. Her skin felt several sizes too small, squeezing her, her body on the edge of collapsing on itself. Sometimes she’d just wish that; that her body would just give out instead of keeping her on the edge: close enough to feel like death but not close to making it happen. She’d throw up everything she ate, her body far too frazzled by the constant fight-or-flight state.

 

Fay could run away from home and the reminders and the people there, she could change her identity and pretend she’s someone else, but her mind didn’t forget. The Bad Days always reminded her that. The world as she knew it did not exist around her in those hours of heightened suffering; the attic would be replaced by the jungle, and burning buildings, and bleeding rivers, and blood-curdling screams.

 

She’d be stuck in those nightmares although she’s not actually asleep, her mind putting them on replay again and again and again. When the darkness would finally claim her, she’s not sure whether it’s because her mind or body had finally given up, but she’d always wonder if she’d wake up again (if she ever wanted to). 

 

Bad Days weren’t terrible just because of the crippling panic attacks and torturing flashbacks but also due to their ability to make her feel adrift for days after. Good Days rarely ever stretched over into consecutive days, but the Bad Days had a way of affecting her long after they’ve reached their peak. Fay would feel tired but would not be able to sleep, too jittery and on edge; she’d feel hungry but she wouldn’t be able to hold food down; any potential ‘good moments’ would brush her by, dulled by the corrupting power of Bad days even as if she tried to leave them behind.

It was during one such day that Fay met the boy with green eyes. 

Notes:

Please note that this fic will not follow any of the Robin (2021) events. I consider that series to be a complete butchering of Damian's character, and it is truly heart-breaking how much the author has ruined/watered down/twisted in order to have the comics appeal to certain demographics. That being said, there'll be no bashing, nor I'll be introducing characters from that series just to criticize them. I simply don't care for it, and as far as I am concerned, that series is not canon for me.

I strongly recommend that if you are a fan of Damian Wayne's character, or are new to this fandom, that you begin reading the comics from much, much earlier. His 2010-2015 comic period is definitely the period when he was best characterized, although there's plenty of comics which are problematic (such as the Teen Titans run, or certain aspects of Morrison's characterization of the Al Ghuls). Once you've read the earlier comics to understand his introduction, I would strongly recommend the NoBody storyline and Robin: Son of Batman.

Chapter 2: Of lonely birds, burning buildings and courage

Chapter Text

“If you could say it in words, there would be no reason to paint.” 

Edward Hopper

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3rd of August

The weather had grown kinder as they moved into August, but Fay hadn’t really paid much attention to the sunny days and warm breeze. The last Bad Day had left her feeling particularly exhausted and struggling to eat for several days. Between her fourth and fifth week in Gotham, she had had at least four different panic attacks and she no longer remembered the last time she had more than three hours of sleep per night. She’d lost weight, which was not good given she was already thinner than she used to be, but she tried to hide it as best as she could under layers of clothes even though people around her walked around in tank tops and shorts. The bracelets did an effective job at keeping the marks concealed away but it was a temporary effect -- whenever she'd get emotional, they'd always resurface just like the runes. 

Dana must’ve noticed the growing bags under her eyes and even quieter attitude because she’d been cutting Fay’s shifts shorter and asking her to take more breaks. Fay appreciated her efforts but she felt unwell regardless if she was at the soup kitchen or not. 

Things took a turn when Robby asked her if she wanted to accompany him to the museum that afternoon. With dulled enthusiasm, she let Robby lead them to the Gotham Museums, which apparently had been closed temporarily for several months while undergoing major renovations. The main building, the Arts and Antiquities Museum, faced Gotham Boulevard and it was a hulking architectural mass with six floors. It was, în fact, hard to spot the other museums nestled behind it in the enclosed campus lined by tall fences. That main building contained over nineteen-period rooms spanning several thousand years of world culture and another three interactive rooms designed to cater to different age groups. An entire wing of the museum was dedicated solely to some of the greatest artists of that world, along with information where their paintings could be found across the world.

From the Arts and Antiquities Museum, visitors could access the History Museum, a smaller but just as fascinating building on the eastern side of the campus. The western side was taken by the new Science Museum which had yet to be unveiled, having been rebuilt from scratch and expanded with additional floors and exhibit rooms. It was scheduled to open later that year. 

They spent four hours at the museum that day which Fay found insufficient and not nearly enough to appease the growing fascination she felt. For the first time in three days, Fay had forgotten how unwell she felt, mentally and physically, and had gorged herself on the largest source of information she had come across yet in that world. 

Anyone under sixteen years old was required to be accompanied by someone aged sixteen, but when Fay returned the next day, nobody stopped her when she stepped through the revolving doors and into the grand hall. The guards asked to check her backpack as they did with everyone that came through but didn’t really bat an eye at her otherwise. Bag, unfortunately, had to stay outside, because, like many other places there, animals were prohibited from entering the premises. He wasn’t happy being parted from her while she wandered the large building alone and she didn’t enjoy abandoning him like that, but the museum visits were not simply just to satisfy her curiosity. They would help her become more knowledgeable of that world. The more they knew, the better they’ll be prepared for the long journey ahead of them in a few months’ time.  

The museum rapidly became a powerful coping mechanism. It had a way of making her feel at ease and stimulated her mind in forgetting everything else that had nothing to do with what was in there (even when she came across works of art that they had taught her about). Except for Bag, of course. She’d regularly check on him every couple of hours even if it meant her going and back forth those halls, cutting into her visitation times. 

The entrance was free, but she splurged on an annual sixty-five-dollar VIP membership because it gave her access to exclusive exhibits and discounted food and events. She’d also learned the days and times when it was best to go to avoid the crowds which could trigger her anxieties and to be able to peacefully examine the exhibits without people pushing around and photographing themselves instead of admiring the beauty of that place.

.

.

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12th of August

That day the newest exhibit on the third floor was open to VIP members only, at three o’clock in the afternoon. Determined to make the best of her membership and potentially reduced crowds, Fay had wandered in the museum an hour before the start of the guided tour, relieved that Bag had found a spot to hide behind a tree in the small park next to the Arts and Antiquities building. Unfortunately, not long after her entrance, she had started feeling sick and she had ended up doubling over the toilet in the nearest bathroom. Her first proper meal in days and it went all down the drain.  

Sleep-deprived and quite sick of being sick, she had ended up balling her eyes out while curled up on the cold floor. When her small breakdown finished and she had left the bathroom with a pounding headache and aching eyes, she realized she had been in there for almost an hour. With far less interest than originally, she had walked up to the third floor where the meeting point was for anyone who held a VIP membership. She found the group and guide in the exhibit room down the hall.

It took her a few moments to understand where exactly the art pieces were because the arrangement of random objects and non-descript canvases looked out of place. It wasn’t until she observed how the thirty-odd group of people leaned enthusiastically to examine those objects that she realized they were part of the new exhibit. Nobody paid her any mind even though she was the only child there as she slid through a few people to look closer, thinking perhaps she was missing something.  

What did a blank canvas with three dots even mean? Why were there spaghettis glued onto another? Why was there a cheese grater painted blue and just left on a table? Why were the canvases so large yet so deprived of subjects?

Why was the guide looking enthusiastic when he turned towards a canvas and pointed that the splashes of orange color had been regurgitated by the artist?  That world was strange in many ways, but she hadn’t felt that much confusion since her first few days there. She’d never thought she’d see colored vomit being appraised in such a manner, but the guide confidently described it as an ‘original, shocking way of expressing youth disgust with capitalism’. …What? She had vomited several times in the bathroom, and she was quite certain it had no meaning other than well---sickness. 

Maybe…maybe I should really get some sleep.

There were some art pieces – if random objects could be called that - that seemed more interesting than others, although they did not hold her attention for long. 'Modern’ art was remarkable, in the sense she’d never expected to see it in a museum and it certainly stood out if only for how random and non-artistic it was. It held no positive connotations for her. Seeing so many people push and pull to take pictures, ascribing those objects more meaning than they deserved evoked a mixture of puzzlement and indignation and amusement. Oh, how mortified she would be if he knew this is what the outsiders called art. Her uncle's reaction would have been even funnier, given he rarely lost his composure. 

Fay ended up breaking away from the group a few minutes into joining it and drifted into another room on that floor where a scandalously small space had been reserved for twenty-odd paintings drawing inspiration from more traditional art movements: impressionist, realism, surrealism, Art Noveau. She recognized some of the techniques that inspired those paintings and that familiarity grounded her. Seeing other people’s vomit certainly did no favors to her already upset stomach.

A few people had walked into that room as well, taking pictures and casting their eyes on those paintings but they eventually returned to where the majority stood by modern art pieces. The silence that followed was refreshing and she was grateful no one was around when one piece of art, in particular, caught her attention. Painting number twenty-three had no author and no title, and it was dwarfed by bigger paintings on the wall, but she found she could not tear her eyes from it. Objectively it did not hold the brightest colors or eye-catching subjects, nor it had an interesting frame, but to her, all the other paintings paled in comparison all the same. 

Fay wasn’t sure how long she’d ended up staring at it, but no matter how many times she went over it, she’d still find she missed additional details. The artist was a master of deception.

At first glance, it was an impressionist rendering of a night starless sky with a moon in the middle, reflected in the rippling surface of a dark body of water painted in the lower half of the painting. There was a bare tree that unfurled on the left-hand side, its branches painted with the typical short, quick impressionist strokes. The dark choice of colours stood out compared to other impressionist paintings she knew about, but the ethereal glow of the moon had been painted in such a way that she could easily imagine standing in that dark setting illuminated only by the moon. There were very few hard edges throughout the painting and the author had given depth to the subjects by manipulating the moon’s light to their advantage, if only in a very discreet manner. 

It wasn’t until she had looked closer that she realized the sky had not been painted just black and dark blues; there were violent brushstrokes of red and violet as if the sky carried a secret fire that melted all the stars. 

The birds on the tree were also very interesting: most of them stood huddled on the lower branches, staring at each other, or at the audience, or facing left and right. They weren’t all identical though, discreet brushstrokes having been applied differently to each bird. Like thumbprints, they looked identical at first glance but when examined closer, one could see how unique they were from one another.

There was another bird that stood on the highest branch of the tree, staring at the moon, its back turned to the viewer. It was such a peculiar way of positioning the bird compared to the rest that it could not have been done on a whim or accidentally. It had to have a meaning because its feathers were painted with the same palette as the sky, making it difficult to understand where the bird started and where it finished. The bird felt darker than the others, even though the moon’s glow should have made it the brightest. None of the other birds were remotely interested in looking at the moon or their peer standing so far from them. They seemed too busy with one another or themselves.

She knew why that painting called to her. She could not put it in words, not really but it felt as if someone had dipped their paintbrush into her emotions then put them on the canvas. Her emotional state may have been clouding her analysis, but it did not matter. Art was subjective. Its power lied in the emotions it evoked in its viewer and in that moment, Fay felt as if she was staring at a deconstructed, abstract version of some of her deepest feelings.  

There was a part of her that felt affronted by that painting; by seeing emotions she kept to herself being put on view for anyone to see. However, there was also that part of her that wept because she had never really found a way of acknowledging everything she felt because there were emotions she buried deep and refused to acknowledge. She had to because last time she had underestimated what lay beneath her grief she had ended up having to wear the bracelets on a permanent basis.

Or perhaps she was just tired, and she was overthinking everything as she usually did. 

“You’re crying.’’

It was a shameful display, but she did squeal loudly when the male voice – far too close – jolted her out of her thoughts and broke the trance-like state she had entered. She jumped too, and she could only imagine what that must’ve looked like. She was not a graceful creature.

“W-what---?’’ Something warm and wet slid down her cheeks to her chin. 

Wait…. tears?

She reached to dab cheeks with the back of her sleeves and with no small amount of mortification she realized she hadn't shed just a couple of tears. Had she not been in such a humiliating situation she would have perhaps admired the incredible effect of art on the psyche. Alas, the harsh voice in the corner of her mind criticized her for being so weak to allow herself to be vulnerable in a public space (again, again, again). 

It was all the boy’s fault, she thought meekly although she silently agreed she had been making a fool of herself. Fay stared at him, perplexed. He looked around her age, just slightly shorter and he was dressed in a dark red jacket and a pair of dark trousers. He looked slim, but not in the unhealthy way she did underneath the oversized clothes. He had dark hair which was styled back with gel and his eyes---

---bright, green eyes. No, no just green. She could see threads of golds near his irises blending in with various shades of green. He was close, too close to her personal bubble but she was suddenly locked in by that gaze and couldn't move. His eyes stood out like jewels against his darker complexion, and there was an intensity to them that reminded her of something wild and untamed and quite possibly very dangerous.

The jungle. They reminded her of the jungle.

And of…. her.

She had green eyes too. A darker shade, but just as bright. Fay remembered the joy those eyes brought her because they held promises of adventure and safety and unconditional love.

The boy’s eyes made no such promises; they were hard, harsh even and they reminded her more of a predator’s eyes. Her spine tingled and she realized that as innocuous as he may have looked, there was something about him that made her instincts go haywire. Like when one can’t see or hear the threat, but they can feel it in their muscles and bones.

He was not safe. Rusting but never forgotten teachings told her that she should never trust a person at face value; when your body screamed something was off, you either fight or run. She was really not in any shape to run (the fear and exhaustion and neglected body ensured that) and she was certainly not in any shape to fight. So, she remained rooted on the spot, kind of like that rabbit she had once watched Bag hunt down (it wasn’t a pleasant sight but such was the hierarchy of the wilderness).

Fay willed herself to take a few steps back but her legs felt weak, ready to give in underneath her weight. She did not like the boy, she decided, at that moment even though she had no information on him. There was an irrational part of her that said he had no right to be there, to look at her when she was in such a vulnerable position, to scrutinize her with those green eyes of his and remind her of beautiful things in her life that were worlds away (to remind her of the dead when she refused to think about them).

“Painting number twenty-three. You’ve been staring at it for fifteen minutes.’’ He’s been watching her for fifteen minutes and she hadn’t even realized that? “I want to know why you were crying.’’ The boy said coolly, hands crossed at his back and an arrogant air about him that reminded her of noblemen. 

He was demanding an answer. Not asking politely, not even close to apologizing for scaring the daylights out of her and imposing in on her personal moment.  “Why—I don’t know.’’ She didn’t even know she had been crying. How could she possibly tell him why?

It's none of his business anyway. But, of course, she didn't have the courage to say that. 

A slim brow lifted, and the boy looked at her in a way she’s seen others do it many times before. It was the kind of look that made her feel insignificant and small and a nuisance.

Nausea returned with renewed vigor. He would not appreciate some modern art spilled on his shoes, would he?

No. Probably not. 

“You don’t know.’’ He sounded condescending, if not rather irritated. 

She didn’t know him, but she disliked him. Why did he want to know why she was crying? Did he just go up to every single person and question them, or did he just saw her as an easy target? (she was an easy target, truth be told). 

But he was also intimidating, so she found herself wanting to apologize if only so he could stop staring at her like that. 

“I—I know why—I just---‘’

“Don’t stutter, it's obnoxious.’’ Did her face twitch? She felt it twitch. “Just speak clearly.’’

“I—know why.’’ She spits out. “I just…. don’t want to tell you.’’ Whoa, Fay. Nice one. The dark voice at the back of her head was rather adept at using sarcasm it seems.

He didn't look impressed, just further annoyed if not rather disgusted, as if what she wanted was not of any consequence. The small rush of adrenaline that moment of defiance triggered helped her feet dislodge from the floor. She grabbed her backpack and cloak and immediately took off, knocking into a couple of visitors on her way out of the room. Fay ended up running at full speed all the way down to the ground floor, past the grand hall, and to the security desk where the routine check felt incredibly slow. Her palms felt disgustingly sweaty and she kept glancing down the hall, terrified at the prospect the boy would just show up out of nowhere again. 

Fay grabbed her backpack so quickly from the guard’s hands she earned a glare, but she didn’t stop, not even when she was past the revolving doors and running down the streets. She called out for Bag, who jumped out from behind the tree and easily caught up with her.

She ended up running the entire way back to the soup kitchen and when they were finally in the attic, she ended up going to sleep immediately after changing out of her clothes and feeding her companions. Dark birds and bright moons and jewel-like green eyes threaded through her thoughts before the darkness consumed her.

.

Tt.’’ Damian Wayne knew he was capable of instilling fear in others, he reveled in it most days, but the girl's reaction had been ridiculous. As if it is his fault she was not more aware of her surroundings.

It doesn’t really matter. Judging by her nervous disposition and the red, swollen eyes she was already in a frail state of mind even before laying her eyes on the painting so she could have been easily triggered by anything. She was, however, looking at the painting when it happened: not spacing out, lost in her own thoughts. He saw the way her eyes moved over every inch of the painting, dissecting it and if it wasn’t for the tears that had started streaming down her face, he would have just walked away albeit somewhat unnerved by the attention she was giving it.

What did she see in that painting that made her react in that manner?

Damian considered himself a connoisseur of human psychology, even at his young age, but he needed more data to draw comprehensive conclusions. It is not uncommon for people to be enraptured by art, but she was an outlier. She was young, perhaps not much older than him and the way the clothes hung on her figure indicated a very gaunt figure underneath, which pointed to a poor diet and possible health afflictions. She did not seem homeless – clothes creased and oversized but clean-; poor, then. The worn-out backpack looked heavy, too big for someone so small to be wearing it, but she did not think to lower it on the bench behind her, nor sit down herself even if she seemed too weak to stand up. 

She had already been upset when she came in, and she caught his attention because she was the only other minor in that room full of tasteless fools. She came in later than most too, her uneven fringe and shirt collar damp as if she had just washed her face. She looked confused by the crowd and even more so by the modern pieces, before deciding to walk across to the adjacent room. Her expression lightened and she considerably relaxed as she perused the paintings there but then she’d stopped in front of painting number twenty-three. He had concluded she had either drifted away in her own thoughts or was pretending to be interested (as some would) but when he’d approached to stand almost parallel to her, he saw that was not the case.

Her eyes had grown wider, a mix of awe and surprise etched onto her face. The look one would give if they come across something unexpected. 

Damian knew he was an excellent artist; he knew his painting would stand out against the others, which ranged from subpar to adequate and some few acceptable exceptions. The group in the other room may have been temporarily enamored with art they probably had little understanding of but he knew painting number twenty-three had the potential of garnering equal amounts of attention. That was merely a modest observation although he did not care much if the common masses liked it or not; they could admire his technique and give it the right credit, but they’d never its true meaning or how it came to be.  

If it had been by him, that painting wouldn’t have made it on the wall of the museum. Pennyworth had insisted, mentioning it would be a temporary donation and that his art should be displayed even if anonymous. Damian regretted the moment he said yes and should have chosen a different painting from the many that he kept in his bedroom. Paintings that had been completed in a far less...conflicted moment. However, going back on his commitment would mean admitting he had a sentimental connection to it and that was not an option. 

(The moment it was back in his possession, he’ll burn it down before it even had a chance to be displayed again).

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13th of August

She wanted to go to the museum again. She did not want to meet the boy with green eyes again though. She had no way of knowing if he’d be there or not. 

It was a large museum, so what were the chances of meeting him again?

After some deliberation, she did return two days later and although she knew she was being silly, she felt on edge the entire time there. The boy hadn’t done anything to warrant such paranoia from her end. He had been abrupt and rude but he had not gone after her. In fact, to him, she was probably just a meaningless person, a cry-baby that he had unfortunately come across that night. 

Fay was generally anxious around people, and he just caught her off guard, that's it. 

She did return to the painting, at one point wondering if the boy would reappear if she stared at it for too long. That didn't happen, and this time she sat down and looked at it for far longer than before. She wasn't as emotional as she had been that evening, but she found its effect was no less mesmerizing. 

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14th of August

Wandering around Gotham Academy at night made her feel unfettered. With Bag guarding her closely she could take longer in the showers, allowing the soothing pressure of water to relax her muscles. Running around the city all day or spending hours in the kitchen made her feel disgusting but she couldn’t always afford to use the gym despite it being closer than the academy. The five miles of travel were worth it if it meant she did not have to wash while being afraid a gym staff member might discover her.

Her paladin would also be more relaxed because he found it easier to guard her there. He’d instigate her to chase him around the halls, or he’d prank the guards into checking out false alarms or he’d throw himself in the pool (much to her horror as he’d smell of chlorine for days after even if she washed him).

That night he was in a mood of hiding. He was a naturally playful creature, but Fay knew he often acted in that manner because he wanted to cheer her up. Because he probably missed the old Fay, the one he’d partner up in causing mischief. She’d indulge him, of course, because how could she not when they were everything to each other?

“Bag?’’ she called tentatively, her voice little more than a whisper. She clutched the straps of her backpack as she leaned forward to glance around the corner of the wall she was hiding behind. The long hall was dark and silent, and she tried not to let it remind her of the dark hallways in her nightmares because those were filled with blood and debris and unmoving bodies. As she quietly stepped onto the corridor, dim motion-activated lights flickered to life above her head. She had seen him make his way in that direction, but he was also a predator that could blend in with exceptionally well so if he really wanted to hide from her, she'd spend hours looking. 

He didn’t though. He knew how anxious she could get so he would never make the game too hard.

She found him hiding in the canteen at the end of the hall, whose door he had purposefully left swinging slightly while he hid under the tables. It did temporarily delight her as he made her chase him between the tables, refusing to allow her to touch him and call the game off. He’d even made her giggle when he tripped her with his tail, making her fall over him before instigating a roughhousing match.

Her paladin was balm for her aching soul and weary mind. 

.

Father had not been happy with his refusal to stay with the Teen Titans, barely six months into joining them. While he…. tolerated the undisciplined ragtag of superheroes slightly more than he did in the beginning, Damian still felt Gotham’s pull, its wretched darkness calling him back to the city. He did not need to be present at the Tower to be able to impart his knowledge or input and he also decided he’ll only do so when the cases warrant it.

Starfire was an adequate substitute in leading them in the meantime.

Plus, he hasn't returned to Gotham simply because he preferred it to San Francisco. In the process of tracking and taking down a drug-trafficking network with the Titans, Damian came across mentions of someone calling themselves the 'Sponsor'. Identity is unknown but it appears that criminals in the upper echelons of power either doubted his existence or revered him. He was nicknamed the Sponsor because, surprise surprise, he specialized in providing 'game-changing weapons' and 'new types of weapons' to other criminals. Not indiscriminately, however. One had to be invited to the Sponsor's circle but it was a mystery how one achieved that. The two drug crime lords they apprehended had been relatively easy to interrogate, but they did not offer much in terms of information except that there were criminals ready to go to certain lengths if it meant piquing the interest of the Sponsor. That implied, however, that criminals were willing to take risks and get caught for the chance of being endorsed by the mysterious benefactor. 

Criminals being stimulated into acting in even more demented ways was a fire-sure way of creating chaos. They would have to have some sort of incentive, at least those who are willing to use their brains more and realize they might be risking their freedom for nothing. Damian was not able to gather what the incentives may be, how - if they existed - were these communicated, and if there were any criminals at least acting with the purpose of gaining the Sponsor's attention. 

Damian focused on following further leads, but he only came across rumors and unsubstantiated claims. Then, he realized that if the Sponsor was actively looking to bring criminals into his supposed secret circle, then Gotham was the perfect place to have his pick. Going through the database, Damian found nothing in terms of statistic outliers for the crimes that took place in Gotham while he was. That is, they were always high, particularly for certain types of crimes such as grand auto theft, murder, and drug trafficking. None of Gotham's usual demented criminals committed crimes that went outside their usual modus operandi, but that was not proof they weren't aware of the Sponsor's existence and wanting a piece of what he was offering. 

So, Damian packed his bags and left two weeks after he found about the Sponsor. Father was not happy and rather irritated that Damian assumed he may have missed something in relation to the Sponsor. Oh well. 

After spending several days poring over data, Damian found something that came across as incredibly mundane in terms of disruptive events. Too mundane, perhaps. 

Blackouts. Hardly a first-page newsworthy event. Blackouts took place all the time, either as a result of criminal work or the vigilantes trying to stop said criminal work. The blackouts that Damian identified had also taken place in poorer parts of Gotham, so they wouldn't pique the interest of even the lowliest and bored journalists. 

Which made them perfect. Damian virtually mapped all the blackouts that took place from that day, one year back. He also had a look at the average blackouts that plagued those neighborhoods to establish whether there was an outlier. 

The average varied between three to five blackouts per month, the rate increasing around the East End area. They usually lasted between twenty-seven and fifty hours, as electrical fixing was rarely prioritized in those areas by the council. Most companies did not like sending their employees in fear they might get mugged or injured. 

Four months prior to Damian returning to Gotham, the average increased to seven blackouts per month. Several were the same as before - damage to a nearby pole by either the weather or criminal activity, or the energy companies cutting off the power unexpectedly, often with a little warning before. Complaints would be filed and then ignored. Most of the areas affected were occupied by low-income families which meant they were also affected the most. The energy often justified its actions by emphasizing their desire to reduce the risks of a fire in what they perceived to be fire-prone communities. The problem for the people living there was that their buildings were never bound to be any less fire-prone, given how poorly maintained and old they are. 

What piqued Damian's interest most was the additional blackouts that took place, for several reasons. 

They never lasted more than twenty to forty minutes according to some of the complaints filed. 

They seem to have taken place between the general major blackouts, leading people to believe they were all related to one another.  

Those blackouts, albeit shorter in timespan, caused more damage. There were reports of plugs being set on fire, appliances malfunctioning, and ironically, actual fires starting up. Small, unplugged devices such as phones and tablets were also affected, which indicated a particularly high surge of electricity. Those reports were ignored even if inputted into the system. It certainly only fed the energy company is feeling further justified about subsequent power cuts. 

Interestingly, the smaller blackouts did not always coincide with the major ones, but the number of affected people increased over the three-month period. The major blackouts generally affected the same apartment blocks only. 

Hm. Damian certainly had found something. 

If the smaller blackouts were a result of weapon testing, nobody would have chalked it up to something unusual and even if they did, they would have assumed it to be characteristic of those types of neighborhoods. There were also no CCTV cameras in that area, which meant the police would have yet another excuse to wipe their hands off of it.

The most recent major power cut took place two weeks prior to his return in a neighborhood in East End Gotham. A smaller one followed a day after power was restored but in a relatively wealthier neighborhood, four miles away. The two complaints issued in relation to it placed the inhabitants at eight hundred feet from one another. That was two additional blocks being affected compared to last time. The second blackout lasted between seventeen and twenty minutes and it took place between eleven and half-past in the evening. Again, small and large appliances were affected. Again, the complaints were ignored. 

A jewelry shop's camera caught a man rushing away down the street from one of the affected blocks, before escaping in a small car. The registration number hadn't been captured entirely but Damian had access to the world's best computer system so he was able to find out who it belonged to after narrowing down thousands of possible registration numbers to the most plausible one. Her name was Hannah Walker, an elderly woman that lived nowhere near the location of the blackout. 

Gunshot wound to the head.

She was found dead in her apartment a week earlier. Suspect: John Finnegan. Heroin addict; spent most of his life in and out of prison for dealing and minor robberies. He had been released two months earlier for good behavior and is known for hanging out with another low-class perp named Terrence Wyatt. 

The assailants filmed themselves breaking into the apartment, vandalizing it, and then frightening the poor woman into a crying mess. Then they shot her in the dead. The footage was uploaded onto a dark website and auctioned off for money from a sick and twisted audience. Wyatt had done that; he was the one who roughed up the victim and slapped her around and then shot her after falsely telling her they’ll leave her alone.

The computer was able to identify Wyatt's voice from the video with a recording on the database. It appears violent pranks had been a pastime of his when he was younger, as well, which is how he first landed in a correctional facility. After filming himself torturing a cat. 

Damian found Wyatt easily. 

And he made sure the man will never walk again. He’ll live for the rest of his life with chronic panic and a damaged vision. If he ever recovered from the massive internal bleeding and numerous broken bones. Damian had made sure Wyatt suffered, even if it warranted his Father’s fury for days and even if he ended up being taken off patrol. He hadn't forgotten his father's motto ‘justice, not revenge', not at all, but he was not going to simply turn his back when Wyatt started to mock Walker’s death, going as far as expressing regret he hadn’t had ‘some fun’ with the victim because ‘for someone her age, she looked like she could still take it'.

Damian did not want to kill him. No, of course not. He promised his father he'll do better, even if Wyatt did not deserve to be alive. But Damian wanted to make sure instead Wyatt lived the rest of his miserable life in his own personal hell and he knew exactly how to apply just the right amount of damage to leave someone wishing they had died instead. 

Wyatt's partner, Finnegan, had disappeared underground the moment he caught wind of what happened to the other man. Damian wasn't worried. He will find the worm sooner than later, regardless of his father forbidding him from doing anything Robin-related for at least a week.

Father had no place to lecture him on the rage he’d felt; as if he had never crippled a criminal before.

Yet he insisted on seeing Damian just as Mother’s blunt tool, her homicidal genetically perfect creation, someone he’d never trust.

(The birds were too busy on their own branches to see what the other bird saw, whom they allowed to sit close to them but never quite on the same branches).

.

.

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15th of August – 21:57

Had the CCTV cameras worked on the streets around apartment block B, on Bromsgrove Road, they would have shown the moment a violent outburst of energy pushed itself from inside, tearing its way through scaffolding, walls and unfortunately, the homes of unsuspecting residents living there. They would have not, however, captured the terror and desperation many felt that night.

If the explosion did not kill those who were loitering around the old building, the debris did. Those who managed to move in time to avoid the giant of brick and metal fall on them, could have been considered lucky, if one saw ruptured eardrums and blast lungs as a blessing when compared to death. Block B was not close to other buildings for the explosion to affect their structure, but the shockwaves tore the glass of windows and balconies in the adjacent blocks, forcing residents in A and C to evacuate immediately.

The explosion had been quick and devastating. The aftermath was worse: it felt like an eternity to those caught in what was left of the building, it felt like a race against time for the rescue services yet time slowed for those whom found themselves separated from their families and friends during the chaos of it, not knowing if they’ll ever see them again (alive or dead).

It only took seventeen minutes for the first responders to arrive on the scene. 

It was incredible how easily hell could manifest itself on Earth, changing and twisting people’s lives irrevocably.

Fay knew a thing or two about how easy it is to lose everything quickly and suddenly, even if at the time of loss, one does not quite register it entirely, because there’s still that wishful thinking that it was all just a nightmare. Hearing the confirmation someone you love is dead consolidates that the nightmare is there to stay, but it is the after that kills a person, slowly, inside out even though their heart keeps beating and the world moves on around them.

She had been raised with the knowledge that there’ll be a time when she’ll see horrible things; things that will inevitably take away the innocence and naivety all children possessed. Things will either harden or break her character. Before that night, she used to envision herself growing up to be a fierce and strong woman like her role models. What else but that? She was who she was, and she was their daughter, and she was Fay of Maysoon. Live long enough to become as harsh as the world or bend under its cruelty and it was only natural to think she’d come through on the other side victorious.

Fay had been ignorant, of course. She had underestimated the horrors of the world because she had only ever read about them in books. She had been a fool to think that just because she had glimpsed into the darkness, she understood how tenebrous and consuming it could be. They had cast a far too bright shine around her, and she had soaked up in it, thinking that when the moment finally came for her to become an adult, a warrior, they’ll guide her just like they always did. They’ll share the darkness they carried in their hearts and the secrets to taming it and they will teach her how to not let it change the fundamental parts of herself, those values and morals that they instilled in her.

Whatever primordial forces ruled the universe, they must have thought Fay deserved punishment for being so naive. So, they took away that light and left her with all the shadows, testing her mettle. She did not grow stronger; she did not come out on the other end a warrior forged. She broke. If they died, the people who should have never died, then how could she possibly even survive that world? She stood no chance just like she struggled with her pain while others around her had learned to deal with it. 

The grief had managed to eat its way through her physical and mental strength, but some values were so deeply ingrained in her that they might have as well been a part of her cells. No matter what a coward she may have been in Maysoon overall, no matter how weak she thought of herself, there were situations when their teachings shined through still, so bright and powerful that it’d leave her to wonder how come she couldn’t find the strength to tap into them all the time. Those moments reminded her of the person whom she used to be, of whom she wanted to be but they also filled her with deep shame because she could not find ways to hang on to them, to use them to fight her fears and traumas. Those values sometimes felt like broken pieces of herself she did not know how to glue back together properly, and she feared it was because she was all wrong now, like a vase that’ll never look the same as it used to be. Those teachings and values and principles would eventually trickle out through the cracks just like water would in a damaged vase.  

That fateful evening, although Fay wasn’t close enough to be affected by the blast, she had been close enough to feel the ground shake underneath her fear, to hear the sound of matter breaking and car alarms going off in the distance. She heard the screams and her lungs were invaded by an acrid, foul scent.

They were all triggers. Of course, they were. She’s seen and heard and felt worse and it wasn’t the explosion itself but the reminders of that night that triggered her to throw up the dinner she had eaten that day. The panic attack that followed was a tsunami of fear and terror that assaulted and conquered her mind and body and it felt much, much longer than it actually was. Fay was only vaguely aware of Bag grabbing her by the sleeve and dragging her back down the street they come from, into a small alleyway away from the people running about, away from the incoming clouds of dust. 

When the world came back into focus, she first noticed that the bracelets had scorched her skin, blisters forming quickly on the skin around her wrist. Her marks throbbed in ways they only did at the beginning although the healers said that should go away in time, as her flux adapted to the seals limiting it. They were wrong because her flux felt anything but balanced out. 

The back of her neck and her back was drenched with sweat, and the clothes stuck to her skin uncomfortably, the soft cotton feeling raspy against her sensitive skin. Out on the street people were running in both directions: those who were trying to get away and those who wanted to help or just morbidly watch the aftermath of the explosion. She heard sirens echoing in the distance, but her mind was too foggy to distinguish which services they belonged to. Ambulances maybe?

With shaky hands she had pulled out her bottle of water and cleaned her wrists, grimacing at the sight of her hands. She applied some of the cooling gel mixed with salve she kept in a small jar, before wrapping them in fresh gauze. The bracelets fell to her wrists and they brushed against the area uncomfortably, but it was manageable pain. She used the rest of the water to wash away the bitter taste in her mouth.

Bag stood by watching her intently, concerned. Fay leaned in to kiss his head and thank him quietly, her mind swirling with self-castigating thoughts. Some of them were echoes of voices she had hoped to stop hearing once she left Maysoon.   

You do not deserve him.

‘What are you without your paladin, you loser?’

I’d be dead without him.

Fay tied her shoulder-length hair back and removed the button-up shirt she was wearing on top of a long-sleeved top before rising unsteadily on her feet. 

When they stepped back on the street, the first thing she saw was the crowd of people gathered a few hundred feet down to her left staring at something she could not see clearly. A cloud of dust filled the streets, making her eyes water. Once closer to the crowd, she finally understood their shock when she finally saw the extent of the damage. It looked as if a giant had taken a messy chunk of the building, and there were flames devouring what was left of the top floors, thick rings of dark smoke rising in the air. Firemen had arrived already, their bright yellow uniforms standing out as they lined around the building with hoses in their hands.

She saw a few other firemen trying to help survivors evacuate using tall ladders on the side of the building that was still intact. The flames were spreading quickly. Even if the firemen could quell the fire, the tell-tale deep cracks in the building indicated it was not bound to remain stable for long. The structure kept shaking intermittently, each movement deepening the cracks and adding to its instability.

The building was going to go down.

The pragmatic – cowardly – side of her screamed that she shouldn’t get involved. Incidents like that happened every day, across the world. Not everyone gets to be saved. It’s just how life is, dark and unfair. 

Please---please you have to let me in! My son---my son is still in there!’’

Fay glanced over to her side and watched as a middle-aged woman was being held back by one of the police officers while his colleagues cordoned off the area, trying to push the crowd as far away as possible from the apartment block. The woman's body was bent in grief, crying hysterically and fighting against the grip of the officer who did not look happy to use force but had to do his job. Amongst the crowd there were men and women holding their cell phones, filming the tragedy before them while journalists that arrived at the scene had also taken their microphones, already reporting the incident to the cameramen filming them. The world was already watching, and nobody but the few men in yellow jackets could do anything about it.

No. No, that wasn't true. 

Fay saw a tall, dark figure sway through the sky then somersault in the air as graceful as a bird, before landing gracefully near the area where the firemen were. They did not look surprised by the masked man's sudden presence but instead welcomed the newcomer as he climbed inside the damaged balconies and helped people evacuate, much faster than the firemen did. He seemed to use a wire of sorts to climb up and down, but he was also incredibly agile which allowed him to move with great speed. 

She could not remember what the hero’s name was, but she remembered seeing a picture of him in a newspaper. He had blue wings stylized across his chest and arms, the only splash of color on his otherwise dark attire. Robby was a big fan because he served as the protector of Bludhaven, the place where he and Dana lived for years before moving to the inner city.  

There. Fay had no reason to interfere. There was an actual protector of Gotham helping out so what could she do that he wasn't already doing? That world had its heroes and they were clearly ready to act when needed. They certainly did not someone like her to interfere. She’d only get in the way; she’d only end up worrying Bag and she’ll likely end up needing to be saved.

Rggg…’’ Bag stepped forward suddenly, ears perking up and she glanced at him, before following his gaze to the side of the building that was burning. For a second, she couldn’t see anything through the smoke and wondered if her paladin was simply reacting to the chaos unfolding before them. However, on the third floor, a shadow shifted behind the glass doors of a balcony. The fire had not yet reached that floor, but it was only a matter of time. If the building didn’t crumble completely by then. 

Fay glanced at the crying woman. What if….?

“It’s a boy, isn’t it?’’ Fay murmured to herself. Her paladin heard her anyway and he growled curtly. The woman’s son was likely the one on the third floor, trapped without exit, scared out of his wits. If the firemen or the Bludhaven protector did not reach him on time, the woman would never be reunited with her son again, just as many other residents there will never see friends and family that were with them at the time of the explosion. He’ll die alone in that building, scared, just because he wanted to make sure his pet was not left behind. Even if it wasn't the same boy, life was bound to be lost anyway. 

And Fay might end up being the only one who was aware he was there but did not do anything. 

She glanced to the place where the firemen and the masked hero were working tirelessly on evacuating the other residents. She could alert one of them; the man with wings on his chest was a warrior of sorts, wasn’t he? He clearly was the type who protected others so he would not hesitate to venture on the third floor to get the small figure trapped there. 

Fay did try to alert one of the police officers but as soon as he laid his eyes on her he just barked her to step back because it was dangerous. Perhaps she should have tried harder, screamed at the top of her lungs until someone paid attention. Perhaps she should have run towards the masked man and tried to get his attention instead. 

But instead, she and Bag discreetly slipped away from the crowd, and past the authorities, heading straight for the building.

.

Well. He found Finnegan. 

The pathetic loiter-sack of a man was drugged out in the run-down apartment on the seventh floor when Robin burst in through the window. Finnegan wasn’t alone, surrounded by his fellow junkies, high out of their minds as they laid around in a pigsty of used syringes, dirty clothes, and white lines drawn on hard surfaces. Everyone stumbled away as soon as he came through and Finnegan, in his desperation, had tried to use his own girlfriend as a shield, pressing his knife to her throat.

Now that’s not where things took an unexpected turn. Damian had easily incapacitated him, allowing the woman to run away.

It was what happened next. A few seconds was all it took for Finnegan to swallow a capsule he pulled from his hoodie and for his body to start contorting into something decidedly not human. His strength and agility were amplified significantly by the sudden metamorphosis and he became---unhinged, feral. There was no logic to his movements, just a desire to tear the Robin apart.

In the fight that ensued, they ended up tearing their way through the apartments on that floor, scaring those few residents that had yet to evacuate. Finnegan’s pupils and irises were completely black, wide, and bulging out of their sockets and his mouth was foaming just like a rabid beast; dark, bulging dark veins ramified over his face and arms.

His senses had been heightened, too, judging by how quickly he caught the scent of a little boy hiding in a small closet clutching his dog. His jaws clenched and unclenched unnaturally.

He had every intention of tearing the boy apart so Damian body slammed Finnegan, toppling both through the wall and out onto the hallway and then---a high-pitched sound. Artificial, characterized by a rapidly increasing beeping. Finnegan must’ve been carrying the bomb on him all along and in his demented state hadn’t even realized it had started going off in his trousers. Damian kicked Finnegan towards the window at the end of the hall, before he moved quickly back into the apartment to grab the boy who had been hiding in the closet, crying and clutching his small dog. 

There was no time to get out and while they were not caught directly in the blast, that part of the building came crashing down like a house of cards. The hallway where the boy had hidden crumbled away like a mudslide. 

The last thing Damian remembers before blacking out was that he was holding the crying boy, who couldn’t have been older than five, under the cover of his cape. They had moved deeper into the building, into another apartment until the floor no longer felt as if it would disappear from underneath their feet and Damian had intended on using the balcony there to escape. However, the ceiling above them gave in and had caught the back of his head while he shielded the boy. He felt the tell-tale warm sensation down his neck, just as the pain bloomed across his skull.  

Even someone in a peak condition such as himself, could not stop the darkness gathering at the edge of his eyes.

.

The shirt wrapped around her mouth and nose was useless in keeping the intoxicating fumes away once they were inside the building. Their surroundings felt about as stable as a cardboard box. Dust scattered from the walls with each tremble, and when Fay glanced up the staircase, she saw the fire hungrily making its way down from the upper floors. Her flux coiled, and her hands tingled as teachings from a faraway world rung in her head - fire is heat and light, fire is the untameable, as wild as the jungle it is capable of consuming - and she froze momentarily. The fire was her least favorite element. It was the element that haunted her, the element that sparked her desire to run away from her home. It was the element that reflected a part of herself she preferred keeping buried. 

Even without the bracelets, she wouldn't be able to do anything against them, so she had to move fast. 

Bag pushed the third-floor emergency door forcefully when it refused to budge underneath her hands. Once they went through, Fay made sure to shut it again in hopes it would quell the spreading fire enough, even if temporarily. With teary eyes and an uncomfortable itch at the back of her throat, she surveyed the corridor before them. Or what was left of it. 

The building was tilting to one side and the exposed apartments towards the end of the hall looked as if someone had chewed them up then spit them out. She only caught a glimpse of the crowds on the ground over where the floor abruptly ended before Bag warningly pulled her back just as a few more pieces of the wall crumbled away onto the space below.  

“Lead me to him, Bag.’’ Between the absence of lights and the smoke, visibility was reduced with some spots plunged in darkness entirely. All she could see were shapes, and she tried not to linger on the ones that looked like limbs. Walking in the opposite direction from where the building abruptly finished, Bag sniffed the air, ears moving like antennas on his head as he tried to pick a lead on the boy. The apartments down that hall looked deceptively untouched but Fay could feel the tremors when she leaned against a wall to catch her breath. 

Her paladin stopped in front of apartment 17N.

The door didn't budge, likely blocked by rubble on the other side, and they couldn’t risk destabilizing the structure even more by having Bag forcefully push his way through. The next apartment over, 19N, however, barely had a door left, the wooden board hanging loose from its hinges. Bag stepped inside, his soft steps bellying his size and weight, to survey the area. She followed, grimacing when she realized that past the narrow hall, half of that apartment was also missing. Wires hung haphazardly in the air, and a water pipe must've burst somewhere close by because the floor was flooded. The tattered remnants of a rug squelched underneath her shoes and she warily glanced out into the open space. She could see the damage to the windows the building adjacent incurred during the explosion. On some floors, people watched the chaos unfolding outside from the safety of their apartments, while others were evacuating likely worried their building would be next to explode. 

There was barely any wind that night, but the smoke from the upper floors was traveling fast and within a couple of minutes of her standing there, she could already feel the heat traveling closer and closer. 

“…hello?’’ A small voice whimpered. Fay’s heart skipped a breath, her head whipping to the other side of the apartment where the wall had largely remained intact, except for a quarter of it to the left. The ceiling hung lower there, and the bricks were exposed. Fay approached that side carefully, having spotted a small opening, and tried to speak as close as possible to it so the boy could hear her. “Hey---‘’ She suddenly felt like crying, not sure if out of fear or relief or a combination of both. “Are---are you okay?’’

The boy sobbed. A high-pitched whimper, then small howls. He...had a dog? 

“I-I w-want my mommy!’’ The boy suddenly wailed. “I don’t—I don’t like this. Where is my mommy?’’

Fay leaned against the rubble, mouth trembling and breath hitching, as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. That’s how the children that night cried like too.

That’s how she cried that night too. 

“Ple—please hold on.’’ Fay managed, trying to contain herself. It would not inspire much faith if the boy heard her start bawling harder than he did. “I—I will get you out.’’ Was she now?

Do—do you promise?’’

No.

Because everyone dies.

Nobody is invincible.

Because the world is cruel and unforgiving, and it doesn’t care.

Because she’s not a hero and not a warrior and not someone who can save anybody. She can’t even help herself most days.

“I promise.’’ Fay wiped her face and stepped back to assess the rubble. There was a small gap on the right-hand side corner; too small for Bag to get through. But she might. She exchanged a look with her paladin, and she could sense he wasn’t comfortable with her going through that hole, but they had no choice. The ground rumbled beneath their feet, the vibrations growing more intense each time. She wasn’t sure how long they had before the building collapsed. The fire was bound to reach them even faster. 

There was no time. 

Fay removed her backpack before moving away some of the rubble so she could have better access to the opening. Climbing and crawling and scaling is something she has done all her life, and even as weak as she was, she still had muscle memory. The jungle could be a difficult terrain even for those who had grown up learning it like the back of their hand, after all. Of course, upon another time, she wouldn't have needed to go inside that building at all. 

Fay carefully slid through but seconds after her feet planted on the floor of the other apartment, the ceiling shifted. She stepped aside, instinctively as a few more bricks crumbled down sending small clouds of dust into the air. The hole was even smaller than before, and she wasn't sure if she could get away with clearing it without destabilizing the structure further. 

Bag was on the other side, and a sliver of regret struck her as she realized how much danger she was putting themselves in. A whimper caught her attention, and she glanced behind at the boy – he looked what? Five or six – clutching a small, white curly dog, perhaps no older than a few months. The boy’s tiny face was dirty, tears falling continuously from his puffy, red eyes. He stared at her with fearful big brown eyes before rising to his feet suddenly. Fay wasn’t sure how to react when he suddenly rushed to press himself against her, a small arm wrapping around her while the other continued to hold his pet close to his chest. 

Well, she felt like crying again, for one.

She didn’t. Not when the boy looked up at her with such hope and fear that she wondered if that's how she looked at others that night. She must have. 

Fay had to do everything she could to get them out of there. At all costs. Because she chose to come there, to give that boy hope and she couldn't crush that. 

Nghhh…’’ Startled, Fay glanced over her shoulder, at the other body with them in that room. She hadn't noticed him before. Greens and reds and yellow—the boy’s suit had them all, albeit faded under the layers of dust and grime he was covered in. He seemed to be struggling to remain conscious and when he tilted his head slightly to the side, Fay saw the wet, matted hair. Drops of blood mixing in with the dust on the floor, forming a small pool. 

There was far more rubble on that side of the room, some of the bricks had fallen over his legs and---is that a cape? It wasn't just his head that was injured, however. He also had a deep cut on the left-hand side of his hip, which was bleeding profusely, staining his outfit. 

Green, red and yellow. A yellow cape. 

Fay was certain he was a protector of Gotham as well. 

Batman’s partner….what was his name?

Robin.

That was Robin? He was younger than she had imagined. 

So what? She was no stranger to people becoming soldiers early on in their life. Why would that world be any different in that regard?  

 “He-he saved me from the bad man.’’ The boy sniffed, following her gaze, but refusing to let go of her.

Fay wasn’t sure who the ‘bad man’ was but she encouraged the boy up the rubble and through the gap. He was so small that he easily fit through, and Fay reassured him the ‘scary dog’ was there to help when the boy almost backtracked upon seeing Bag stand on the other side. The small dog had found him equally frightening because he started whining loudly. 

“Bag.’’ Fay tiptoed so she could look through the hole, knowing he could hear her perfectly alright, even if she couldn't raise her voice. Her throat felt raw. “There’s someone else. They’re injured---I am going to try to move him.’’ He growled in response, and she heard his claws scratch onto the rubble on the other side. "No--no. Don't do that--I don't think it's stable.'' How am I going to get out, however? 

First, she had to help Robin. 

Fay stepped over to the boy, careful not to trip on anything and after some hesitation, she kneeled behind his head. He shifted, his brows furrowing as he sensed her presence. "Who---'' His voice was raspy, and if it hadn't been for the panic she felt in that moment, she might have also realized she had heard it before. The boy reached to press his gloved hand to his bleeding side, while the other instinctively grabbed her wrist when she reached towards his face. Fay stared at him in surprise, taken back by his quick reflexes although he was clearly not even fully conscious. She had merely wanted to remove a piece of metal on his forehead and check the injury on his head. 

“I—I am sorry.’’ She wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for, but she didn’t want him to think she was attacking him. Warriors never stop being warriors, even when they're vulnerable, her tutors would say. She had no idea how dangerous this particular warrior was, but she didn’t want to risk it. “I am going to help you stand up.’’ She warned softly before she reached under his shoulders to wrap her arms around his chest. She had no time to check for any other injuries and desperately hoped she wasn’t causing him more damage by moving him around.

He was slim but lean, heavier than she'd expected which she attributed to the layers of armor he seemed to wear. It did not help he could not keep himself upright, although to his credit, not for a lack of trying. He was rather determined by the way he kept trying to steady himself with that head injury and the amount of blood he had lost from his side. Other people - including herself - would have either blacked out or been paralyzed by the pain. Then again, not everyone gave up as easily as she would. 

He wasn’t most people, though, was he? Although she did not know anything about how a person became a warrior in that world, some aspects of training had to be similar. 

Fay was able to wrap one of his arms around her shoulders while she slid one of hers around his uninjured side, before pulling him toward the hole. Her lips pursed as she regarded the hole – getting him through there in his state was going to be difficult even if she managed to dig away some of the rubble. Even then, she wasn't sure the ceiling above won't topple on either one of them. She could end up worsening his injuries.

Fay glanced towards her left, where the balcony doors were, blocked by a tall shelf that had fallen on its side. She should be able to move it, even in her weakened state and with her limited access to the flux.

She had to.  

Still propping the protector against herself, she called out to her paladin. “Bag! I am going to use the balcony. You---‘’ She licked her lips, hesitating “You need to get the boy out of here.’’

Bag whined which translated to absolutely not. Of course, he wasn’t going to agree to leave her behind. Fay did not want to part ways with him, either. She certainly could not navigate her way back without him but if he waited on her, none of them might not make it out.

If she had to choose between herself and her paladin, there was no question which one she'd choose. 

“Please.’’ She choked out, her head starting to throb painfully. “Please, Bag. I---I promise I will be fine.’’ The paladin started pacing, she could hear his steps going back and forth, slapping against the wet floor of the other apartment. “We can’t move any of the rubble here, not when the building is so unstable. If you wait on me, none of us---none of us will get out.’’ She hated how her voice trembled. “If you get him out---I can call for help. From the balcony.’’ Who would even hear her? That side of the balcony did not face the crowd, last she checked. 

The paladin whined, softer this time. 

It was settled then.  

“Hey---Hey, little boy,’’ Fay called to the boy, feeling awkward for not having at least asked for his name. “My---my dog will get out of here, okay? He will take you to your--your mom.’’

W-what? No---I can’t—please. Don’t leave me alone.’’

“Everything is going to be alright,’’ Fay said through gritted teeth, ignoring the tears that were insistent on falling down from her eyes. “My dog is-is very good at helping people. You want to get outside, right? To see your mom again?’’

“…yes.’’ The boy sniffled again. The dog in his arms whimpered again. Both, such young innocent creatures, the darkness of the world trying to devour them.

“Okay.’’ Fay nodded, to herself. “So--So, just get on his back, okay? Hold on tight. You’ll be out of here in no time.’’

W-w-what ab-about you?’’

“I will be just fine. I need---I need to help Robin, okay?’’ What a ridiculous notion. 

It didn’t matter if she didn’t fully believe those words, or if she wasn’t going to be alright. The boy would be reunited with his mother. She would not have to spend the rest of her life mourning.

Bag would be alive too. He’ll be devastated and lost and alone in that world, but he’d be alive. She heard the boy shift as he climbed on the back of her paladin, whose emotions she could not feel clearly although she was certain he was not hiding them. Bag---if I don't make it, I just want to you know that I love you. She didn’t say anything because she couldn’t trust herself—if she had opened her mouth, she would have ended up begging him to stay and that would have been unacceptable.   

He was silent when he left but she heard the boy's squeals as the paladin carried him out of the apartment; he must have been startled by just how fast her ‘dog’ was.

Fay hadn’t noticed the boy regained consciousness. She gently set him against the rubble. Bag would have taken her backpack, so whatever first aid kit she had inside was now gone. She should have thought of that. Idiot. Fay shook her head to herself, as she moved the fallen furniture away and tried to open the balcony doors. They were jammed.

If I had been stronger as I used to be, this wouldn’t have been an issue.

She removed the shirt that was now hanging around her shoulders and wrapped it around her right hand. She braced herself, pulled her arm back, and slammed it against the glass. It was humiliating that it took her at least three tries before she managed to shatter the glass. In the past, getting out of that building wouldn’t have been such a difficult task. When had she become so incredibly weak she couldn't even throw a punch properly? 

Her hand ached, the cloth failing to stop all the sharp fragments of glass from penetrating her skin but the adrenaline coursing her veins dulled the pain.

Throwing the shirt away on the floor, she turned towards the boy, only to find him up on his feet, albeit unsteadily, one hand clutching his injured side and the other his head. When he started swaying on his feet, Fay rushed to support him, grabbing his arm again to sling it around her shoulders.

The floor started shaking violently under their feet and objects clattered, dust falling in clouds from the unsteady ceiling above them. The building creaked ominously; a wordless warning that it would soon bury them under its weight. Fay guided the boy out onto the small balcony. A helicopter was circling above their heads, but the rings of smoke from the upper floors blocked their position so she didn't hold much hope they'd be spotted. Nobody would see them with all the smoke and fire that had now moved just above their heads; she could feel the heat beat down and the fumes starting to clog her eyes and lungs.

She couldn't even see Bagheera if made it out safely from that side of the building. 

The boy shifted with a quiet grunt, his arm removing from her shoulders and she immediately released him when she saw that he was fully awake. She watched him, unsure, as he reached towards his ear. 

“Nightwing. The southern side, third floor, balcony.’’ He said gruffly.

Fay couldn't hear whether he received a response in return, but moments later the dark-suited man she saw earlier– Nightwing, that's it. That's his name. That’s what Robby had called him too – had appeared hanging from the side of the building. He was wearing a mask-like Robin, but his expression was easier to read; he smiled at her kindly when he spotted them. 

Fay was too tired and terrified at that point to react, the throbbing in her hand increasing as the adrenaline faded. When she glanced at it, she realized it was covered in blood. 

Robin stepped aside, as Nightwing lowered himself to their level and gestured her to move towards him. She reluctantly did so, and he pulled her against him with one arm wrapped around her gently but firmly. Then they were flying.

Not quite, no. But he moved through the air as effortless as he had earlier as if her weight meant nothing at all (it probably didn't, considering how thin she'd become). For a few seconds, however, she was reminded of the liberating sensation of being in the air. 

It was over quickly. 

They landed on the rooftop of one of the adjoining buildings and she almost immediately broke apart, not liking the way he had suddenly reminded her of him, warm and reassuring. Nightwing must’ve chalked her reaction to being scared of being in the air because he smiled at her again – what a charming, blinding smile – and asked her if she was okay.

“What---what about—‘’

Robin landed a few moments later next to them using a similar grappling hook and wire that Nightwing had with her. Despite his injuries, he was just as graceful. 

“Are you okay, Robin?’’ The older man asked as he turned to regard the boy, who in return, sneered. “Just worry about the people in the building. I will be just fine.’’ He did not look fine. As soon as his partner jumped away again, Robin crouched down on his knees, his face pinched in pain. 

“I, um,--‘’ She fidgeted. “Are-are--are you okay?’’

Of course not, obviously. 

The boy seemed to share that same irritation she felt suddenly with herself because when he looked up, his expression was withering. The domino mask did little in reducing the intensity.  

“You stupid child.’’ He snarled, and she froze at his tone. “Do you have any idea how reckless you were?’’ His anger was as almost as scorching as a fire. 

Fay stepped back instinctively. 

“Um, I—‘’ her hand felt stiff, the pain blooming up her arm as well. Looking down she saw the skin already purpling around her knuckles, the blood crusting beneath her fingernails. “You-you c-could have died.’’ She mumbled nervously.

She had been reckless, but she couldn't have walked away from it. Not once she was inside. 

"I did not need your help.'' The boy spat. "You risked your life for nothing.'' 

My life doesn't mean anything. 

A howl echoed in the distance. 

Fay's head jerked up, heart soaring at the sound of her paladin. She would have recognized that sound anywhere and it was coming from the streets near the building she was on.

Robin’s partner would surely make sure he got the medical attention he needed, Fay thought, as her eyes fell on the fire exit staircase a few feet away. She couldn’t stay there. They might start asking questions she could not respond; or ask the healers of that world to check on her. They will surely discover the truth then. 

After one final glance at the boy, she started running towards the fire exit.

Wait---!‘

Once at the edge of the building she climbed down the stairs without looking back, before landing on the metallic staircase, not unlike the one that she used every day to get to the dance studio. Bag was waiting for her at the bottom of those stairs, backpack hanging from his mouth which he let fall in favor of rushing up to her. 

She couldn’t help the sobs that left her throat when she was finally able to hug him. His fur was coated in dust and he smelt of smoke, but he had no injuries other than perhaps the one she’d caused by asking him to leave her behind.

“I am so sorry.’’ She cried. “I am sorry I had to ask you that.’’ Pulling away slightly she kissed his forehead. “Thank you, Bag, thank you.’’

Fay grabbed her backpack and then they took off down the streets, in no real direction but with a burning desire to put as much distance as possible between them and the masked protectors. She only stopped temporarily when she heard the building collapse in the distance and watched as a cloud of dust and smoke rose high up to the sky with renewed strength.

Bag growled at her and nudged her forward. He didn’t want them to stop, not yet. So, they started running again.

What would they have thought of her if they knew? 

.

Damian didn’t go after her.

He didn’t need to. He had recognized her already. It was the girl from the museum.

It shouldn’t have mattered. He had no business with a civilian, especially one that caught him in such a revoltingly weak moment.

But.

'My life doesn't mean anything.'

 

Chapter 3: Proposals, stalkers and guilt

Notes:

Edit: Chapter has been split into two parts due to the length.

Chapter Text

“In your life, you meet people. Some you never think about again. Some, you wonder what happened to them. There are some that you wonder if they ever think about you.

And then there are some that you wish you never have to think about again. But you do.”

C.S. Lewis

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16th of August

The day after the explosion was, shockingly, not a Bad Day.

After leaving the area in a rush the previous night, they didn’t go to the attic directly but made a detour at the Gotham Academy even if it meant traveling several miles. Fay was shaking so hard by the time she had removed her clothes and jumped in one of the showers, that she struggled to stand up. The water stung her hand, but it washed away the grime and blood and soothed her muscles. Bag kept guard at the entrance while she took her time in the shower.

None of the shards had gone deep enough to require stitches but it would take a while for the wounds to close. Realizing she had no clean clothes, Fay put back on her dirty shirt and trousers, groaning slightly as she did. The battered shoes felt disgusting against her feet, but it was what it was. She gave Bag a quick rinse as well and checked for any injuries - he was all good - before cleaning the bathroom. 

After she made sure she left no traces of her visit there, they headed back to the attic. They were only a couple of hours away from dawn when they arrived and the first thing she did was to change her clothes. After feeding her furry companions and offering her paladin a whole bag of apples, she curled up on the mattress. She fell asleep almost instantaneously. Or perhaps she blacked out. Either way, she slept for several hours without interruption. 

It must have been the first time in weeks, that she slept so long. She didn't even hear Dana checking on her. The woman let her sleep, assuming Fay was having one of her bad days. 

It wasn't until lunchtime that Fay finally woke up. The cat kept meowing despite Bag's warning growls, and the dog started becoming agitated, no doubt requiring one of his daily walks so he could fulfill basic needs. Fay did not feel necessarily rested, seeing as her back hurt, her hand throbbed and her face felt swollen, but she had more energy. 

Drowsily, she fed her companions, then lowered the hatch to allow the small dog to exit. He was, thankfully, quite independent so he left via the fire exit only to return twenty minutes later, decidedly happier. 

Fay sat on the edge of the mattress, for a while, thinking about the events of the previous night. The boy was safe, reunited with his mother, her paladin confirmed. So was Robin, obviously. But she had been so reckless, and so--so stupid, indeed. She had risked her life, and most importantly, she had risked leaving her paladin all alone in that world. That's what terrified her most, not necessarily the prospect of death. 

She brushed her teeth in the dance studio's bathroom, using a separate bowl with water because she didn't trust the one from the faucet, then got dressed. Fay made a mental note that she needed to take her clothes to the local laundry place, before leaving the attic with Bag in tow and headed to the soup kitchen. 

She apologized profusely for missing her shift but Mack merely ruffled her hair and then told her to have a seat. He pushed her a hot bowl of chicken soup while her paladin received a whole bag of bones. When Dana spotted her bandaged hand, she asked what happened but Fay just smiled nervously and said she fell. Her wrist was just sore, that's all. 

Dana asked her to complete only small errands such as restocking items or sweeping the floor. 

Around three in the afternoon, feeling jittery as the ibuprofen started wearing off, Fay decided Bag needed – and deserved - a proper bath. Mack connected the hose as usual to one of the sinks, and she pulled it out into the narrow alley where she had also brought some towels and her paladin's favorite mango shampoo. 

His antics, once again, relaxed her when he started running away from the hose, forcing her to chase him around in circles. It took her mind off away from the physical pain or insidious thoughts. He, then, mischievously grabbed the hose and splashed her before making her chase him again.

The afternoon improved after that, although at the back of her mind she still worried that one of those masked protectors would track them down and ask questions. 

Partially soaked, she had cleaned the area before putting the hose back to its rightful place. She accepted Mack’s fresh banana bread, and then Dana asked her if she wanted to accompany her out for some chores around town. Some air might do her good, the woman said. Fay had been tempted to say no but ultimately didn’t because she knew she had to buy groceries herself and it’d have been selfish to keep Bag locked in that small, cramped space the entire day just because she preferred wallowing in self-pity instead. There were enough of those days already. Plus, having time to think about things might just trigger a panic attack.

They went to different places across town: visiting a potential new distributor for kitchen supplies, the bank, a frustrating visit to the city council. Dana had explained that the soup kitchen received a monthly grant via angel investors through a charity foundation, but the money was always transferred late, the amount never quite matching what it should have been and it was because the ‘council always found a way to keep their share, greedy bastards’.  

Fay remained quiet as she and Dana sat in one of the cubicles on the second floor, an hour after waiting in the hall. The woman in front of them did not look like she enjoyed her job. She had an unpleasant attitude, barely bothering to look away from the screen as Dana politely explained that their latest grant was late by a week and they had no forewarning which meant that she had to cover costs from her own pocket.

Dana’s irritation increased throughout the meeting, rightfully so. The woman wasn’t listening properly, made Dana repeat herself several times, then was quite flippant saying she could not control what rich people did with their money. Then she told Dana that she had to fill in another form, despite having filled four more previously, but this one was apparently different because it needed to be sent digitally to ‘senior management’.

Fay had a feeling it was all just an excuse so they could leave faster. The entire appointment made her think about Maysoon, and the charities there, and the type of work they did, and she couldn’t help but wonder if people had the same difficulty obtaining help in her homeland as well. Surely not. Maybe not all of them were perfect, but Maysoon was a prosperous territory. 

But she had no idea of knowing what was happening outside the capital. 

They left the city council at a rushed pace with Dana mumbling profanities all the way back to the car. Fay found it amusing. Their final trip landed them at an immense supermarket several miles from where the soup kitchen was and Fay silently vowed to return to it later because there was just so much to look at. The downside was that they had to leave Bag waiting at the entrance as everywhere else. Fay grabbed extra packs of meat and apples and sweet ice to make sure she could spoil him that evening, before awkwardly setting them in Dana’s cart, careful to keep them separate from her items. 

She had done the same when they arrived at the checkout and placed the items on the conveyor belt, but Dana insisted for the cashier to put everything on the same bill, despite Fay’s protests. She had seen how upset the woman looked whenever she did expense reports and clearly the city council was not going to be of any help, financially. Dana shot her a look that silenced Fay’s protests immediately but couldn't stop her from expressing her gratitude (she made a mental note to hide some money in the woman’s purse the next chance she got).

Fay didn’t have the courage to go exploring Gotham that night, but it wasn’t much of a problem. Her attic felt comforting between the soft glow of fairy lights, the snacks she had recently acquired, and her companions. Tucked inside the fort, she had made a list of the items she wanted to buy the next time she went to the supermarket before picking up a new book to read.

That day had been almost good enough to make up for the previous one.

.

.

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19th of August

She had visited the museum at least twelve times since the beginning of August, for an average of six hours. Every two hours, she’d exit the museum for fifteen to twenty minutes before returning and picking up where she left. It was to check on her dog hidden behind the tree that grew close to the building, separated by the small fence around the park. She’d give him water, and apples (?), and she’d converse with him as if he was a human being, showing him the map of the museum in a quite animated way. 

She worked at the soup kitchen on Jubilee street, mid-town Gotham. Not an affluent area, but not particularly poor either. The soup kitchen owner and the cooks seem to have taken her under their wing, offering her food and allowing her to hide in the attic of the building.

The attic which she shared with other stray animals. She had creatively turned the narrow space into a practical area using items she had likely scavenged or stolen. She had at least forty books organised in towers; eclectic tastes, surprisingly. He identified the genres based off on the titles he was familiar with: fiction and history and philosophy and travel.

She walked everywhere with that lupine creature of hers and people would give them wide berth in the process. No wonder no one had tried to accost a small girl like herself…yet. She seemed to be quite familiar with parts of Gotham, and in the days he’s been observing her, she had walked hours around the city completing various errands. Yuri Zuraite, the Russian-Polish owner of the meat shop in the vicinity of the soup kitchen, took obvious advantage that she was a homeless child with little financial means. He made her deliver within a two to three-mile radius because it must’ve been cheaper and he did not seem inclined to always pay her with money. Being a child, he did not have to pay her, legally and she could not have done a thing about it but he could face a good number of years in prison for child labor. So could Dana Mercher, for that matter.

He watched the girl zig zag her way through Gotham and deliver the chilled packages to several different blocks within the timeframe imposed on her. Yuri gave her ten dollars and one kilo of meat which Damian doubted was entirely fresh but just good enough to still be served on the day. She’d always check it before giving it to her companion. 

Ah. So, it wasn't the money she was necessarily interested in. 

She was a sneaky thing, too. He watched her and that beast of a dog trespass on Gotham Academy campus several nights in a row. Not to steal anything, though, even if there were plenty of items that could have been pawned off for a small fortune. The musical instruments and the golden trophies alone would have made her thousands. However, she only seemed to have two interests: the girls’ locker room which she presumably used to shower, and the library.

She’d sat there in the darkness with a flashlight reading for hours. The dog would sometimes instigate games, snatching her book and making her chase him around the room. If she left close to dawn, she'd head directly to the soup kitchen. If she left earlier, she would go back to the attic. Her sleeping patterns indicated she suffered from insomnia. 

Mercher had given her keys to the soup kitchen which implied trust. 

Even though the weather was in the mid to high twenties during the day, she always wore long-sleeved tops. Most of her clothes were oversized, old. Yet as uncomfortable as she looked while running errands, she never removed the extra layers. 

The girl was of a nervous disposition, and certain elements seemed to trigger anxiety attacks: loud noises, large crowds, people stepping in her personal bubble (he had watched the way her face tightened when Dana ruffled her hair or when the cook – Paul Maverick – pulled her into a bear hug). She was incredibly attached to the dog who shared in the sentiment, and she was most talkative around him (Damian labeled that as a coping mechanism in the mental file he had on her).

She had no connection to the building that exploded. The probability that she had been there at the wrong place and time was high. All the observations he made in the days he monitored her pointed to an introverted, nervous orphan who preferred to maintain a low profile. Counterintuitive to her anxious disposition, however, she had ventured into a burning building. 

She risked her life because she somehow knew there was someone who needed help. The dog had to have been the one to guide her. 

The building did not collapse immediately after Grayson arrived. The fire rapidly consumed the mid and lower levels but it wasn't until nine minutes later that the building finally collapsed. Grayson would have found him and the boy long before that happened, so her thoughtless attempt at heroism had not been necessary. Damian had regained his consciousness either way, so her presence there hasn't made a difference, he told himself. 

The girl had been incredibly frightened. He saw the tears; he heard the way her voice cracked when she begged her dog to leave her behind. The thin thing she was, she had struggled to support his weight but had insisted on assisting him. He, then, watched her wrap the shirt around her hand and punch the glass door with a determination that seemed out of place for someone who was crying and shaking. 

She put all sense of self-preservation away to rescue a masked stranger who shouldn't have required it. 

‘My life does not mean anything.’

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20th of August

After her shift at the soup kitchen, they headed to the museum, where she intended to explore the Asian art and antiquities section. As soon as she stepped through, the enthusiasm she felt died out instantly. The hair at the back of her stood up, her instincts recognizing something was off even if she couldn’t identify what was immediate. 

One of the security guards checked her bag and then told her to head to the woman behind the desk, rather than just letting her go through. Fay had reluctantly followed the instructions and was further confused when the woman behind the desk smiled at her, then told her to wait. Wait for what?  With increasing trepidation, she watched as the woman pressed a number on the phone, before lifting the receiver to speak to whoever was on the other end.

“Yes, sir. She is standing right here. Shall I send her over?’’

Send her? Send her where?!

Absolutely not.

Fay started stepping back from the desk, heart racing. She had gone there too many times, hadn’t she? She had seen other children there, but they were rarely ever unaccompanied and none of them would have come across as fixated with visiting as she was. Or maybe it was the many times she kept going back and forth down those halls, in and out to check on Bag. That had to have looked suspicious.

A dark thought settled floated in her mind. 

What if they thought she was trying to steal something? She did not look homeless, but she looked haggard enough for people to conclude her financial means. They probably thought she had been scanning the place, studying it inside out so she’d know how to get away with theft. She did not have anything incriminating in her bag except---her journal and the museum map. She had taken so many notes of that place it was impossible for anyone not to consider it suspicious. Their first thought will not be ‘she’s from another world so she’s just trying to educate herself’.

It will be ‘this poorly dressed, hungry-looking and nervous child is planning to steal something.

Crap. How had she not thought of that before? How alarming it must have looked for the guards, for the woman at the reception, for whoever was monitoring those cameras to see her return so many times.

I am such an idiot.  

“Wait—‘’ The woman’s smile faded when she realized what Fay was slowly but surely backtracking away from the desk.  “Where are you going? Hey—just wait a second.’’

The woman was too damn loud. A few visitors turned to look at them curiously and to make matters worse, she caught the attention of one of the guards as well. As she whirled on her feet to head towards the exit, she came face to face with the one that checked her bag – Ross, his name tag said – who did not have a threatening stance but at that moment her brain instantly labeled him as an enemy.

He made the mistake to try and touch her, by reaching for her shoulder. 

As out of shape she may have been, she still had her reflexes, and given she hadn’t had a panic attack recently, she had slept better which meant she was more alert. She didn’t think, just acted, grabbing the man’s hand, twisting, and then reaching to bend his arm, from the elbow, at an unnatural but painful angle with her other hand, bringing him to his knees almost immediately.

When she realized what she’d done, she instantly let him go, hands raised slightly. “I—I am so sorry.’’ She whispered, horrified. 

People were staring now, crowding in. She didn’t look at them, but she could hear the whispers. She always heard the whispers. The other guard in charge with checking bags had started walking in her direction, hands up in a placating manner but brows furrowed together. She did not like the sight of that baton hanging on the side of his belt, either.

“Hey, kid. Calm down.’’

She did not feel calm. Not when she had just made a scene by taking down a man twice her size, and when she could hear another guard approach from behind betrayed by the jingle of the keys on his belt. She ducked quickly leaving the man to grab onto empty air and rotating on her feet she rolled her body away from his reach, before straightening and starting to run for the doors, giving the other guard a wide berth. He tried to intercept her and grab her as well, but she changed her pace abruptly and gyrated past him, leaving him to stumble in a very ungraceful manner before falling flat on his face.

Someone from her impromptu audience laughed out loud. 

Fay pushed the revolving door so forcefully she forced one of the visitors before her exit quickly or risk getting trampled. She wasn’t sure he believed her when she had yelled ‘sorry!’ but she didn’t stop to find out, because as soon as she was outside, she turned to the left in the direction of the park. The bag must’ve sensed her distress because he stepped out into the street even before she reached his point and although he looked confused, he sprinted after her when she kept running. 

She ran all the way back to the soup kitchen. When she arrived there, she leaned forward, propping her hands on her knees as she tried to regain her breath. The sandwich she had earlier came back up her throat without warning. 

The backdoor of the soup kitchen opened.  

 “Fay?’’ Dana called, concern coloring her voice. “Are you okay? What happened?’’

Fay tried to straighten up, but her body convulsed again, and she ended up doubling over even harder as she vomited again. Walking up to her, the woman placed a warm hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles and murmuring encouraging words. That comforting gesture was enough to make her come undone and ruin her recent cry-free lucky streak.

“I---I did something bad.’’ Fay rasped, agitatedly when she was finally able to speak. “I did something bad!’’ Was she screaming? She was.  

I am sorry. I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt them---please, believe me, uncle.’

‘I didn’t mean to lose control. It won’t happen again!’

She agitatedly tried to explain that she went to the museum and how the woman wanted to send her somewhere and she hurt a guard, but she didn’t mean to. Then all rational thoughts went out of the window and they were replaced by panic-fuelled ones, which in turn made her blabber frantically. What if they came after her? What if they found out she was homeless, and she lived in an attic? What if they arrested her? What if they took Bag away? With each sentence she found it harder to breathe as if an invisible claw was gradually closing around her lungs, stopping them from inflating properly.  

Dana placed her hands on her shoulder, but this time Fay didn’t react as she had with the guard. She was too busy trying to remember how to breathe properly (and deep down she knew Dana would never hurt her).

Fay!’’

Fay closed her mouth, her ragged breath filling the silence that followed. She shamefully stared at the ground, the tears blurring her tears. Her mouth had a foul taste. 

“Everything is going to be okay.’’

‘Everything is going to be okay, my little fey.’

Liar.

When Fay refused to tilt her head up, the woman crouched down in front of her. “I will help you, okay? I won’t allow them to take you away or Bag.’’

“You---you don’t know that.’’ Fay managed. Because the woman really didn’t; she meant well, and she would have indeed helped Fay if it came down to it. Dana, however, had issues of her own so if Fay did get arrested or taken in by Child Services, she’d end up just being a burden.

The woman waited until her sobs have reduced to quiet sniffles before speaking again.

“Do you want to know why I’ve helped you? Why do I own a soup kitchen?’’

 “Be—because you’re kind?’’

Dana smiled ruefully. “Because I used to be you. Lonely and a bit lost, that is.’’ The woman tentatively reached to wipe the tears away from her cheeks but when Fay flinched, she immediately lowered her hand. Dana was like that; tentative but never forceful. She always knew when to step back and she never questioned Fay’s reticence to allowing people to touch her. “My mother left home when I was really young, and my father used to take it out on me.’’ Dana continued calmly, although it must have been a very painful memory to reminisce. “So, when I was about your age, I decided to run away. I didn’t last very long, I wasn’t quite as resourceful as you nor I had a loyal, loving dog to protect me.’’

Bag bowed his head and pushed it under Fay’s hand, drawing her gaze to him. His emotions were subdued, but she could feel his affection, bright and warm, trickling through. The knot of nerves in her stomach loosened. It was starting to get easier to breathe. 

“One of the neighbors two floors down took me in. She’d allow me to sleep in her home and she’d cook me meals and she’d keep me out of trouble.’’ Dana said. “It wasn’t just me, though. Even though she did not have much money herself, she used a lot of it in cooking meals for other people in the neighborhood. We lived in a poor area, so I wasn’t the only one starving.’’

Feeling much calmer, Fay finally looked up to meet her gaze. “Is—it that why you opened the soup kitchen?’’

The woman smiled. “Yes, exactly. If it hadn’t been for Gram-gram’s kindness, who knows where I would have ended up. She encouraged me to study and do something with my future. It may have taken me a bit of time to get here, but I’ve always wanted to find a way to pay forward her kindness. So, I ended up opening Soul Bowl. It’s not much and some days it can be very frustrating, but you’ve seen all the people that come through, right?’’ Fay nodded. “Well, for some of them that hot bowl of soup and socializing with others who understand them is it. The only good thing in their lives. They may never experience something better.’’ 

Yet Fay had a warm attic, and she could afford to buy things that weren't necessarily pragmatic such as books and snacks. She had a safe space, and a secret emergency stash of money, and a potential way out, back to her home, where she had everything. At least materially speaking.

She had chosen by being there, living in those conditions. The men and women that came through Dana’s soup kitchen didn’t. Yet it was her that Dana had been generous most with. It was sickening. Someone else – more deserving - could have been in that attic instead of her. Some other children, one that had run away from home because they were being neglected or abused, not because they were too afraid to face their own failures.

“I don’t know your story, Fay,’’ Dana admitted, gently rubbing Fay's arms which she allowed. “But I think you’re a kid who has experienced some pretty unpleasant things. I think you are dealing with a lot inside and maybe that’s why you’re so quiet and that’s okay. If you want to talk about it, I am happy to listen. If you don’t, then that’s also okay. I will help you if you need it. I don’t believe in many things in this shitty world, but I do believe in being kind and helping others if you can do so.’’

She did too.

Mother did too. 

The woman raised to her feet, and gently nudged Fay towards the kitchen. Bag stood glued to her hip, allowing Fay to dig her hands onto his fur because she found it therapeutic.   

“Dana?’’ Fay stopped right before the small step at the entrance. The woman was inside already, and she turned to look at Fay with an open expression. Encouraging, even. 

“What---what if someone doesn’t deserve kindness?’’ Fay’s breath hitched; her throat restricted by a vice of emotions. “What if some people are where they are because of their own actions?’’

Dana looked surprised at the question but then crossed her arms, lips pursuing as she seemed to contemplate it. After a few seconds, she shrugged. “Some people won’t deserve it. Some people are unforgivable.’’ Fay’s chest tightened again. “That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t help people, though. I don’t know about all the choices that people who come to my soup kitchen made. Maybe some of them deserve their fate. Or maybe some of them will learn what is good is and they will pay it forward. Someone once told me that I shouldn’t assume another person is undeserving as that’ll inevitably make kindness a moot point. If a person ends up proving undeserving, then I can decide to stop being kind.’’

Fay nodded. It didn’t quite answer her question, but she understood what Dana meant. Kindness could be a double-edged sword sometimes. 

“Whatever brought you here, Fay---‘’ She looked up at the woman in alarm. “You are too young to let it define you. You are clever and you are kind and you are honest. You are hardworking. I would never think of you as undeserving of my kindness. On the contrary, I wish I could do more for you.’’

Fay looked away, feeling tears brimming again. She wanted to believe Dana, but the woman had no idea Fay really was, what she had done. If she knew the truth, Fay was willing to bet Dana wouldn't have been as optimistic about her character. In a way, Fay was taking advantage of the woman’s kindness by allowing her to perceive Fay as someone she was not.  

Survival, she had called it in her first weeks in Gotham, but it no longer was just that. Not when she lived relatively comfortably, not when she had places she enjoyed visiting, people she had inadvertently started to care about. Dana, Mack, Robby. She wanted them to like her, she wanted them to be happy and for the soup kitchen to be successful. It still wasn't living, not the way it was before that night but it wasn't survival. 

It was still limbo. 

“How about you come inside? I’ll get Mack to get you some toast. Bag can come in, as well, I will make an exception today.’’

Fay and her paladin stepped inside, letting the door close behind them.

It was not a good idea to get attached to that place, she thought. Because she was starting to see it as more than just a shelter, than a means to an end. 

Sooner or later she’ll have to leave Gotham.

The attic and the soup kitchen and Dana’s kindness and the museum and Gotham Academy will all be a thing of the past.

.

The staff members of Gotham Museums were imbeciles.  

Only idiots would manage to scare a child like that despite having a very simple task to complete. 

However, it had been interesting to watch the way she reacted. She knew how to defend herself. Well enough to react quickly, without hesitation. She didn’t need force or strength; she had known exactly where to press to incapacitate the guard despite being a bigger opponent.   

Tch. The guard earned the sprained wrist. He should have read her body language; it was obvious she was scared, thinking she must be in trouble.

Damian had specifically told the receptionist not to alarm the girl; just let her know that she could wait in the hall and reassure her it was for a good reason. The girl had reacted like a wild animal being threatened to be put in a cage. He couldn’t fault her, although he was slightly more curious than before (it had been rather entertaining watching the other two guards make fools of themselves).

How did a homeless, anxious, and timid girl such as herself learn self-defense techniques?

Well, he wasn’t going to find out at the museum. She was never going to return after that incident, no matter how much she enjoyed it.

“—Tt—". It was no use. He was going to get to her in other ways.

Given she was a flight risk, he’ll have to make sure he’d do so in an environment she’d find less hostile.  

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21st of August

Fay had three orders to deliver that day, all located within a mile of one another and five times that from the actual meat shop. One of them was in the upper Gotham, an area she wasn't particularly familiar with. The streets there were cleaner, the population denser, and many more shop brands she hadn't seen before. A longer delivery distance meant that Mr. Yuri will be giving her more meat, as well, so all in all, she didn't mind making the trip. She no longer had the stamina or strength she had once but walking had a therapeutic effect on her. Emotional pain converted in miles. 

The various sized chilled packages were handed to her in an insulated bag before she was told she had two hours to complete the delivery even though the polystyrene boxes filled with gel packs and dry ice would last at least several hours, even in the twenty-five-degree weather. Mr. Yuri liked to make an impression on his customers especially the ones that lived in the wealthier area (he also liked putting her under pressure, so there’s that).

That gave her a bit of a challenge. 

Public transportation was out of the question. Buses were often crowded; they triggered her anxieties and Bag was unlikely to be allowed on-board given his size and intimidating features. She'd know, they already tried. They ended up having to quickly get off at the first stop or end up being hit by the purse of an angry lady. So, instead Fay shoved the insulated bag into her backpack, ensuring it was properly cushioned and secured so it would not open or get damaged while she moved. That day she had forced herself to eat a bit more than just scraps so she didn't end up fainting halfway through her errands. 

So, they ran. It took them about forty minutes which was an embarrassing time given her upbringing, but she tried not to allow the negative thoughts to ruin what was otherwise a Good Day. For Bag, the five-mile distance had not been a challenge, but he enjoyed running by her side, so he was happy altogether.

Mr. Kilner who owned a small but busy bagel shop was the first on her list and she glided through the occupied tables towards the counter. She handed him the boxes that had his initials written on them. Mr. Kilner liked charging more for the bagels in his shop because he used, according to him, higher quality deli meats. Fay wasn't sure that was true but she chose not to make her opinions known. She was just the messenger, after all. 

Two streets down from Mr. Kilner, she visited Mr. Fitzwilliam’s bookshop which she sometimes traveled to in her free time and rarely left empty-handed. She liked him because he always offered Bag water. Mr. Fitzwilliam ordered his meat on a biweekly, so his order was generally the heaviest, but she didn’t mind. Whenever she’d manage to get to those parts of Gotham and visit his shop, he’d always talk to her about new books he brought in and if she had time, he’d invite both in. His was one of the few places where Bag was accepted.

Her last destination was a new one. Mr. Yuri had initially refused to let her have the order but the real delivery service he used for long-distance or ‘his best clients’ had caused him issues that day.  When Fay walked into the store, she caught the butcher yelling and swearing on the phone in the backroom, startling a few other people that were perusing in his shop. No delivery drivers were available to help out. Odd.

Mr. Yuri reluctantly gave her the order and very threateningly told her that she had to deliver on time ‘or else’. He would rather have her deliver than risk being late, but he didn’t tell her who it was for. He gave her the address and then instructed her that she leave the package at the entrance, to tell the client she was his niece if they asked questions, and leave immediately after that. He was so agitated about that particular order she’d half expected him to deliver the order himself, but his shop was busy and his son was not in yet. 

Fay finally understood his trepidation when she saw just how different that area of Gotham looked in comparison to the ones she frequented. The traffic was thicker, the streets were crowded and the skyscrapers around her were of much higher heights than the ones she'd grown accustomed to gaze at from her attic. The Wayne Tower, at the end of the boulevard, caught her eye and she remembered reading that it was the tallest building in the city. 

The last delivery address brought her in front of The Paradise Garden, a lavish restaurant with a domed glass roof and delicate color palette that reminded her of Art Nouveau paintings. At the entrance, a tall woman was standing by a brown stand decorated with flowers and she eyed Fay with an ill-concealed look of disgust. 

“Are you lost…miss?’’ She asked coolly. 

“Good afternoon,'' Fay said politely. "Is this 1259 Kane street?’’

A thin dark brown went up, and brown eyes eyed the girl up and down. Fay knew snob when she saw it. The woman could not hold a candle to the ones in Maysoon, however, so she ignored the look in favor of pulling the last package out of her backpack, along with the receipt Mr. Yuri gave her. That box had the initials 'D.W.' on top, as written by the butcher himself. 

“My---um, uncle told me to deliver this here.’’ It was a stupid explanation; why would her uncle even send her to deliver? Surely that would have offended his client even more because it showed the butcher had no proper delivery service in place. 

The woman gave her a look that Fay knew had everything to do with how she was dressed. She was sweaty too so that probably didn’t help her image.  

Mr. Yuri made a mistake sending here there. Even if they didn’t care a child was delivering the order, she looked like a beggar amongst the guests she glimpsed inside the restaurant. It was all rather ironic, of course, and she’d be lying if she did not find it at least a bit amusing at how tables have turned on her.

The woman’s lips curled into a plastic smile that made Bag instantly dislike her. Fay shared in that sentiment. “I am afraid you are confused. The Paradise Garden is a refined establishment and all our dishes are prepared by the finest cooks using meat from reputable farms.’’ Fay had been treated worse but she still felt the heat rise up in her cheeks. 

“I will have to ask you to leave before---‘’ the woman glanced at Bag, who stared back at her head-on, challengingly. “---that thing scares our customers.’’

The hot emotion that suddenly bubbled in her chest was unmistakable.  

Don’t.

Don’t let it get to you.

You are not allowed to feel that emotion.

“He’s--he's not a thing, he’s my partner,’’ Fay said tightly. “Someone placed an order here. I -just want to make sure it’s, um, delivered.’’ Mr. Yuri would blame her if the order wasn't ordered successfully. She couldn’t trust the hostess wouldn’t throw the order away as soon as she walked away so she had to hand it to the client. Fay wondered if she was unwittingly crossing boundaries or etiquette rules that she wasn't aware of. What if she wasn't allowed to interact with the actual client who was clearly rich individual? Although she had to wonder why such a client would decide to place an order from a butcher shop in mid-town Gotham when they were already at a restaurant that was bound to offer exquisite dishes. 

That world could be so strange at times. 

Before the woman could offer a response, no doubt as scathing as the last, someone interrupted her.

“That won’t be necessary.’’ 

All three of them looked up at the statuesque middle-aged man that had stepped out from the restaurant. He was dressed even more formally than the hostess in a three-piece dark suit complete with gloves and a tie. His head was balding, save for the grey hair on the sides neatly combed back. He had a thin mustache as well.

The expression on his face was unreadable as he looked straight at Fay. 

“My employer has placed the order. If you’d be so kind to follow me.’’ His accent was different from any other she'd heard until then. Or maybe she did, but it was likely from another time, from before

Three pairs of eyes stared at him bewildered and no one moved. 

“Excuse me, but I cannot allow someone like her—‘’ the woman started, stepping from behind the wooden menu stand.

“Miss—‘’ The man’s eyes moved to the woman’s tag. His voice was calm, neutral but Fay got the sense he was a man that one wanted to cross. “Holly. The young lady and her companion have been requested inside. If there are any concerns, I am happy to communicate that to my employer.’’

‘Miss Holly’ paled immediately, the arrogant veneer melting away into surprise and...fear? “N-no, sir. That’s—there’s no---‘’ She cleared her throat, visibly flushed. “My apologies. I have no concerns.’’

Who is the employer? 

She looks scared. 

The man gestured for Fay to step inside and she did so hesitantly, her paladin glued to her hip. He almost knocked over one of the vases at the entrance but the man simply readjusted it and did not comment on it. He was entirely unfazed by her lupine companion. 

Once inside, Fay was momentarily frozen on the spot as she admired the inside of the restaurant. The soup kitchen could have easily fit in at least three times over just on the ground floor which was decorated beautifully with dozens of flower arrangements. Natural light filtered through the glass dome above their heads, and it wasn’t until then that she realized the roof had fine stained-glass decorations littered across the entire surface, subtle and minimalistic yet effective in casting ethereal colors across the room.

It was hard to believe she was still in Gotham. 

“Please follow me.’’ The man instructed, offering her a polite smile before walking ahead of them. They followed him towards a marble, large staircase curving around one side of the room which led to a mezzanine that had a long narrow fountain lining the glass balustrade. There was another room up there, but its entrance was sealed off by pale blue curtains decorated with gold motifs. A man dressed in a similar outfit to the woman outside stood by the entrance but unlike her, he did not bat an eye at either Fay or her paladin. He saluted the older man guiding them up the stairs before parting the curtains so they could step through. 

The room inside did not differ much in décor, but it seemed to serve as an exclusive part of the restaurant. The glass roof was closer to their heads there and pale silks hung above their heads, casting strategic shadows above the seats and tables which formed clusters separated one from another by young palm trees. Indeed, dining up there was designed to be a private affair.

Her senses felt cleansed by the pungent exotic fragrance, by the soothing sounds of trickling water resonating discreetly from small fountains nestled between vases of flowers, by the refreshing, cool air. She openly admired the room, its aesthetic relying on simple yet effective elements. The walls and floors were painted in a pale beige, strongly completing the burst of colors offered by the flower arrangements and velvet chairs. 

Bag pulled her out of her reverie when he suddenly tugged her to the left, and she followed him, amongst the vases and pots to the end of the room where the man had walked off to. The wall there was almost entirely replaced with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a panoramic view of the busy boulevard and Dion Plaza across from them, bustling with people and vendors and kiosks. Fay heard that it was one of the main entertainment districts of Gotham, largely frequented by middle- and upper-class citizens. She had intended on going herself at least once, but she had been worried she might be tempted to spend too much money. 

Flanked by what looked like lemon trees, was a round glass table and two seats facing each other, pushed close to the windows. Standing by the seat on her right, there was a short figure dressed in a green long-sleeved shirt and dark trousers, hands crossed behind the back. The person was facing away from her, gazing outside the window but something felt familiar about him. Something in the straight, stiff line of his shoulders; the unusual stance that reminded her of the way she and other students were expected to wait for some of the more conservative, old-fashioned masters. 

“Young Master Damian.’’ The tall man announced. “Your guest is here.’’

Guest?

‘Young Master Damian’ turned around, and she abruptly came to a halt, heart fluttering. The boy with green eyes met her gaze and smirked, which did nothing else but set off alarm bells in her head. Bag glanced between her and the boy confusedly, but when he sensed her agitation, he stepped in front of her nearly blocking her view of the boy. 

Said boy did not look in the least intimidated or surprised by her paladin's reaction.

He just looked insufferably smug. 

“Welcome.’’ He said formally, then gestured towards the seat across from him. “Take a seat. Lunch will be served soon so Pennyworth will take the order you've brought in.’’ His words were polite compared to last time she'd heard him speak, but his tone was still demanding. 

Wait.

The man could have taken the order at any point?!

That wasn't the worst part. No, no. The boy at the museum, the rude, abrasive boy who saw her cry in front of a painting had lured her there! 

What...what is going on? 

The man in the suit - Pennyworth, apparently - turned towards her and she dumbly handed the order, barely registering the man's thank you. She was too busy going through possible scenarios as to why she was there. Did it have something to do with what happened at the museum? If she was in trouble, then why would she be called there, in that fancy place? Was it to make her lower her guard, so they could gather information out of her because they figured she was hiding something?

Why out of all people it had to be him?

She instinctively glanced around the room, looking for potential exits. Going back the way they came through was always an option; there were no guards and the restaurant hadn’t looked busy when they came through. However, in such a high-profile location, they were unlikely to get away as easily as at the museum if they caused a scene.

There was a room to her far-right where Pennyworth had disappeared to, likely the staff room or the kitchen. There had to be an emergency exit there; the staff wouldn’t stand in their way if a large dog and a girl suddenly came bursting through. But they wouldn’t be familiar with the layout, and Fay wasn't exactly the most coordinated of people even at her best. 

Going through the windows in front of her would have been the quickest way, but she no longer had it in her to make such a jump (or a successful landing that did not break her legs, for that matter).

“If you are going to run away, I won't stop you.’’ The boy piped up, and she brought her eyes back to him. He must’ve noticed her looking around, but he didn’t seem alarmed by it. Bag’s tense stance did not change, but he also did not react any further which meant he sensed no malice or deceptive intent from the boy. He was telling the truth.

Or he was just very good at masking his emotions, even from her paladin. 

“Why—why am I here?’’ Fay asked warily because there was no way in hell she’d sit down and have lunch with him if he didn’t offer some answers. 

Das it about the painting? Did she end up offending some royalty there without realizing it? The last time she checked, the museum was a public space and like many other visitors, she was allowed to stare at the artworks liberally. 

There are no monarchies on this side of the world. She reminded herself. Even if he wasn't some sort of royalty, he was clearly wealthy. He, a child just like her. He had a manservant catering to his needs; he was dressed in expensive clothes and he was lunching in a place like that. And a reputation strong enough to make the woman downstairs quake in fear at the idea of upsetting him. 

When putting all that together, it made even less sense for him to have ordered from a butcher across town. Mr. Yuri had quality meat, but Damian must have had access to far better producers. Had he used the delivery to get her there or was the paranoia clouding her judgment from a more reasonable explanation?

“I would like to extend an apology on behalf of the unacceptable behavior of the staff members yesterday.’’

“….’’

“Yesterday at the museum you were treated with less professional than what is expected of my staff.'' H-h-his staff? "I had informed the receptionist to tell you to wait in the lobby because I wished to speak to you, for no negative reasons. Obviously, she had proven incapable of following simple instructions.’’

What in the name of -

“I, um---why—why did you want to speak to me?’’ She mentally slapped herself. It did not matter what he wanted from her, he'd just admitted to being responsible for the museum fiasco and manipulating her into meeting him there!

“Do you know who I am?’’

“…young master Damian?’’ She wasn’t trying to be a smartass; she was just very confused.

Those green eyes made her feel small again. They looked even brighter underneath the natural light and she looked away. Judging by the arrogant air about him, he couldn't wait to tell her just who he was. 

“My father is Bruce Wayne, a businessman, industrialist, and the founder of Wayne Enterprises, a multi-national company that invests in a great many sectors.’’

Wayne Enterprises? As in the Wayne Tower? Mack had told her about it—the Wayne family were incredibly wealthy, top-ranking not just in Gotham but worldwide. Bruce Wayne may have been labeled as an innovator and businessman, but he might have as well been royalty given just how widespread his influence was. Anyone with that kind of wealth and reputation equaled power and connections. All that could result in very danger to anyone who crossed him.  

And his son was standing right in front of her, wanting something with her or from her.

Well, shit.

All I wanted was to spend a few months here without any more trouble.

He didn’t wait for her to acknowledge the information he’s given before he carried on. “As his only heir, it is my responsibility to be involved with the company in order to learn the trade and later, take over. My latest project has been directed at transforming Gotham into a cultural and educational hub by redesigning the city museums and ensuring they will mark their place on the map of top institutions in the United States.’’

So, he was the one behind the changes that had been taking place at the Museums? No wonder Robby had looked so shocked when he saw the changes; that place must’ve looked very different before.

Damian looked about her age, and to have that responsibility, meant he was either very capable himself or very good at telling others what to do. She had no doubts about the latter. He didn’t strike her as the type of person who worked tirelessly behind a desk but rather one that preferred to have others fulfill whatever vision he may have. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it made her even warier of him. She didn’t think it was judgemental to make that assessment of him – the world of the rich worked differently than the world of Dana’s and Macks’ and Robby’s, after all, but likely not that different from the rich in her world. 

When she didn’t move from her spot, the boy pulled the chair from the table and sat down, one arm slung over its back. He looked wholly confident and she still refused to step any closer, let alone sit across from him. He hadn’t answered her question yet.

“Let me just cut to the crux of things, shall I?’’ He said casually. “Rochester, the museum director, had alerted me to a visitor that had started frequenting the museum quite often. He found it suspicious, although I don’t share in his theory that you were there for any purpose other than you genuinely seem to have an appreciation for education. Or am I wrong?’’

She shook her head. 

It sounded too good to be true, that he believed her to be inoffensive just like that. 

“To fulfill the Museum's potential, it must be capable of catering to different educational needs, particularly the lower social classes. The museums had been historically accessed by a narrow demographic that is not fully representative of Gotham’s population. There are different factors, of course, impacting low-income families from frequenting the museums, even if they have free entry such as time management and lack of transportation. Wayne Enterprises has created and invested in several foundations aimed at supporting such families.’’ He paused, and she just stared, growing more confused by the minute.

The boy sighed irritably. “There have been efforts at mitigating any learning barriers through a wide variety of initiatives, including sponsoring schools in bringing children on regular visits to the museum. However, I do not believe that’s sufficient, and I have the data to prove it. Redesigning and expanding the museums was the first step in addressing these shortcomings and next is ensuring that the institution will be more effective in catering to all its visitors, as well as running a series of support programs to address obstacles that may impede people from attending.’’

She nodded again. Everything he said made sense, as surreal as it felt to be standing there listening to who was probably the wealthiest child in Gotham go on about his business. He sounded very proud of his achievements, but Fay wondered if he truly understood those ‘obstacles’ that he talked about. She couldn’t fault him if he didn’t, even if she disliked his person – until not too long ago, she hadn’t fully understood either what it meant to have nothing and being forced to survive from one day to the other. Even in her current predicament, she knew she was far luckier than most families in Gotham and had more freedom in how to live her life than others did. 

“Wh-what does all this have to do with me?’’

“I would like to seek an outside perspective on alternative lifestyles to ensure that my proposals are comprehensive and inclusive.’’

A long, fancy way of saying he wanted her opinion because he was too rich to understand the everyday struggles of regular people. She didn't catch the hidden meaning because she was perceptive, but because she had some understanding of how some individuals used diplomacy to hide the true meaning of their words. It was an art, her father used to say, that she never fully understood nor she saw herself excelling in. She was polite but generally quiet and if she had ever chosen to be outspoken about something in the past, she had always gone for a blunt choice of words. 

Fay couldn’t help herself in blurting the next words. “You want my opinion because I am poor.’’ She blamed her sudden directness on how strange the entire situation was. But she wasn't wrong. That’s exactly what he was insinuating, and it was incredibly ironic. Oh, how have the tables turned indeed?

“Yes.’’ He replied, looking shameless, if not a bit amused himself with her bluntness. “However, your age, socio-economic background, and interest in the museum also play a part in my choice.’’

“…your choice.’’ She repeated dryly. He had also referred to the museum staff as his, which meant...he owned the museum? Or Wayne Enterprises did. Could someone as young as him own the museums? In her world, he could have potentially. She really needed to gain more knowledge of that world. 

A shiver crawled up her spine.

He smirked again, and his chest puffed out a bit, one hand gesturing outward as if he was presenting something. “Congratulations. I have chosen you to be the one to assist me in the next months with rolling out the next stages in my project. You will be handsomely compensated of course, along with many other benefits which I am sure you will realize are very competitive. We can work out all the details later, of course, once we’ve had lunch. Business is always best to be conducted on a full stomach.’’

It took her a few seconds to realize that the funny thing her face was doing was a smile and the feeling in her chest was not anxiety but laughter. She reached to cover her mouth with her hand, taken back and horrified by her sudden reaction which had to be as a result of nerves. She was becoming hysterical.

True to his cockiness, Damian misunderstood the curl of her lips and wide eyes for awe at his offer because he looked even smugger as he clapped his hands together. “Take your time. I know this is an overwhelming and unexpected proposal but by no means, don’t feel ashamed of having been selected. It is only normal to feel honored.’’

It is only normal….?

He...can't be serious. 

Her paladin glanced at her, and she could feel the humor rolling off of him. Fay took a deep breath, worried she’d start laughing and that she might offend the boy (although he rather deserved it). Did she even know how to laugh any more? It probably wouldn’t have been a pleasant sound.

The bubbling laughter in her chest persisted, however, and she choked back a chortle.

It had to be nerves. Her body ran out of tears, so it switched to a different reaction because well, everyone had their breaking point. She just assumed she'd already reached hers already. 

“I, um---‘’ She bit the inside of her cheek and averted her eyes from her paladin because he was definitely egging her on, allowing her to sense his amusement like that. “I--I appreciate that. That--that is a generous offer.’’ She started, years of etiquette reminding her that it was diplomatic to respond to an offer by acknowledging it first. Even if she didn't actually think the offer was generous. Or sane, for that matter.

Her voice was tight with emotion, just not the one he assumed.

He looked satisfied with himself, the brat, reminding her starkly of the spoiled, elitist children she knew in Maysoon.

“Excellent. Now, please, take a sit and we can discuss—‘’

“No.’’ She hadn’t meant to cut him off or express herself quite that bluntly but his demanding, arrogant attitude put her on edge. He brought forth unpleasant memories of hurtful people, and she wasn't saying no out of a sense of defiance as she was doing it out of fear. She knew what could happen when she got on the bad side of people like him. While she was naturally submissive, Fay believed he was an unpleasant character and she did not want to have anything to do with him. Had she been in Mayson, she would have cowed immediately but she had liberties in that world she wanted to at least test out. 

Excuse me?’’ 

She met his gaze, which had grown colder yet not any less intense. 

“I am sorry...but I cannot accept your proposal,’’ Fay said politely, her hysteria melting away and her anxiety resurfacing. She didn't like looking in his eyes. “I think—I think what you are trying to achieve is noble and I am sure it will help many people, so I hope your---vision is successful.’’ Be diplomatic, even when your response is not satisfactory. “However, I must decline. I---am not interested in being a part of it.’’ It would have helped if her voice didn’t tremble as much as they did. Bag huffed at him loudly, because he wanted to have his piece said too (and because he had a penchant for dramatics).

Fay bowed her head slightly to the boy, ignoring how she had started trembling. Damian was just staring at her a bit like the cat in her attic did when she did not get extra food portions.

“I hope—I hope you find someone who can help you. Have a nice day, erm, Mr. Wayne.’’

Then she turned on her feet and started walking towards the exit, with shaky legs and difficulty breathing. Bag followed closely behind. The paladin wouldn't have minded giving the boy a piece of his mind and before he left, he made sure the boy was aware of just how sharp his teeth were, baring his jaws at him. 

It wasn’t until they were outside, down a street past the restaurant that Fay managed to breathe easier. She felt terrified, and it wasn't all related to the unexpected encounter with Damian Wayne. The fear was deeply rooted in other unpleasant encounters of her past, and she willed herself to stop thinking about them. 

In the end, they went to the park where Fay ran several laps until she no longer heard voices of the past ringing in her ears and she no longer felt the phantom sensation of hands holding her down. 

A spot on her back burned all the same, even if there was no open injury there. 

She might have to reconsider leaving Gotham sooner.

There was no say what the boy would do next. 

.

Damian stared at the spot she’d been standing in, his face a cool mask of indifference. 

She hadn’t been emotional because of the generosity of his proposal; she was trying not to laugh.

She was trying not to laugh at him.

That ungrateful, little--!

“Ah. I take it your guest will not be joining you.’’ Alfred remarked a moment later when he came out pushing a trolley, no doubt with the food he had been meant to serve them both.

Damian refused to let it show how irked he was by that insignificant, pitiful girl. The girl who ventured into a building, and stayed behind and risked her life for hi-- “She said no. What kind of idiot would say no to an offer like that?’’ 

Or rather she was saying no to him. The offer was sound. It would have played into her natural curiosity and she would have made money off it. But she had found it amusing, because of him. Clearly, she was lacking in mental faculties. He hasn't done anything wrong. If anything, it should have been an incentive to be personally recognized by the Wayne heir.

He had made it clear, hadn’t he, who he was?

Alfred cleared his throat and Damian looked up at him. The butler’s expression was placid, but he could tell a lecture was coming.

“What?’’ He snapped. 

“If I may, Master Damian,’’ Alfred started politely, undeterred by his defensive reaction. “Perhaps this was not the appropriate setting for the young girl.’’

“Because she’s incapable of appreciating it?’’ He knew that’s not what the butler was insinuating, but that didn't mean Damian's assessment was wrong. There was a part of him, the ruthless one, that considered blackmailing her. He had plenty of things he could hold above her head, starting with that beast of hers that had the audacity to growl at him. Or the fact that she was illegally working. 

“Because you offered her a role based on her personal circumstances which may be very well a---sensitive topic. You have told me she hadn’t reacted well at the museum and ended up running away just at the mere suspicion of being in trouble. She is a cautious being, I’d say, and having someone, especially as--imposing as yourself, approach her suddenly, it may not have inspired trust that it was genuine.’’

Not an unreasonable theory. 

 “I assume you have better ideas, Pennyworth?’’ Damian with an air of indifference. 

Alfred’s lips twitched upwards. “Just one or two.’’

“—Tt-’’

Fine, tell me. 

Chapter 4: Proposals, stalkers and guilt (II)

Chapter Text

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22nd of August

Fay didn't tell Dana about what happened even though the woman made her promise to be more open about any potential troubles she faced. Fay was even given an old mobile phone with a pre-paid SIM card inside, so it’d be easier to stay in touch. It was because of that motherly concern, that Fay could not bring herself to say anything. 

Dana wouldn’t be able to do anything against someone like Damian Wayne anyway. If he decided to be vengeful about her audacity to say no to his demands, then she’d have to figure it out on her own. Leaving Gotham would not likely equal escaping his clutches, but it was something he might not expect. She and Bag could find another shelter, and if needed, they’d start their journey to Europe earlier. As long as they were together, they'll figure it out just like before. 

Of course, that meant abandoning the temporary roots she had laid there earlier than anticipated. It meant leaving Dana and Mack and Robby, and her attic, which had become a safe, quiet space whenever the world was too loud around her. It meant abandoning the dog and the cat and the ferret which she hadn’t named still but had grown to care for them as much as she did for any animals. It would be a painful process, but she pre-planned everything already, including a way to explain her sudden departure in a discrete way to ensure it wouldn’t fall back on Dana and her family.

She was good at running. Especially when it came running away from her own fears. 

Thirty-six hours since the museum incident and forty-eight since her encounter with the boy, and nothing transpired further. He knew how to get her to that restaurant which meant he had tracked her down in ways that made her stomach knot uncomfortably. She had spent the last two days being particularly cautious about where they went, about their surroundings, and when leaving and returning the attic. There were many ways he could have tracked her down, some she probably hadn’t even considered on her list. She didn't know what she didn't know about that world. 

Her concerns were momentarily put aside that day because Dana offered her the rare opportunity of helping out in the canteen. 

The third Saturday of each month was always ‘Volunteer Day’ which meant anyone, regardless of age, would be allowed to sign up and volunteer just for the day. Minors still had to be accompanied by an adult, but in Fay's case, Dana vouched for her presence there, maintaining the cover story she was the daughter of a family friend. Fay wouldn’t have normally enjoyed being part of such a crowded and noisy setting, but she liked serving food and hearing the stories of the people that came through there. It wasn’t just homeless people – some were single struggling mothers, others were lonely widowers, many were former soldiers just like Dana. Fay was always reminded of the warriors that'd gather guilds telling stories about their days of glory. 

The only downside of the day was that Bagheera still had to stay hidden. Dana wouldn't have minded him in the canteen, but for those who were unfamiliar with him, it was bound to be a startling first meeting.

Instead, he stayed outside in the alley where Mack had built a makeshift shelter for him, complete with blankets, for him to sit in. Sometimes, he'd be allowed to sit right on the threshold as well. 

By eleven o'clock that day, the canteen was packed causing the chatter to be almost deafening. There were a few teenagers, not quite happy to be there, but not having any choice due to their community sentences, helping Mack in keeping on top of the dishes and refilling cutlery and napkins. Their supervisor stood by the serving table, regularly checking on the boys to ensure they hadn’t taken off (not that they could ever escape Mack’s spatula). Dana, as usual, walked around engaging with everyone. Fay could tell she enjoyed it because she’d always smile brighter in those moments.  

She really was a good person.

Robby, as sociable as he was, had taken to guide some of the parents that came to volunteer with their young children. Fay had stayed behind the table with Gloria and Ben, serving food. Gloria’s conversational tendencies made up for hers and her husband’s silence.

“Mack-‘’ She called, after pulling out one of the aluminum pans from the bain-marie she had been stationed behind and placed it on the counter of the pass-through. She spotted the cook slapping both teenagers over their heads with his spatula, annoyed that they had recklessly spilled water all over the floor. Again. A small smile curled her lips at the sight. “We’re out of beans again.’’

Mack approached the pass-through, before bending down and pulling out another pan from hot counters. It was filled with fresh black beans. She smiled at him (it had grown easier to smile at them, even if it was half-hearted) and he returned it, small eyes glinting beneath his thick brows. “I am going to cook a new batch and it should be done in about three hours. Whatever we have left should last until then.’’ He glanced over his shoulder at the two teenagers and they instantly stiffened, fear etched on their faces. “I hate Volunteer Day.’’ He grumbled under his breath. 

It made her smile again. “I will help out later too.’’ She placated, and he winked at her before turning around to go start on that new batch.

Fay carefully slid the heavy pan in the bain-marie, before removing the plastic foil and replacing it with a clean lid. Someone new had stepped in front of her but she didn't look up immediately, focused on wiping the table. In her section, she had beans, sautéed vegetables, fried garlic mushrooms, and regular mixed salad. They were messy foods. 

“Ms. Mercher has informed you are in need of some assistance.’’

Her back straightened like a rod and she momentarily forgot how to breathe as she lifted her eyes to look at the green-eyed terror wrapped in a child’s body. 

“Why—why are you here?’’ She stammered.

He didn’t look quite as smug as the day before, nor he looked angry, but appearances can be deceiving. Not everyone wears their heart on a sleeve, as she does.

"I am here in the capacity of a volunteer.’’ He pointed at the badge he was wearing pinned to his dark shirt. ‘Damian’ was written on it in Dana’s messy handwriting. Scandalously enough, he had even been given an apron. He hadn’t earned it, so he shouldn’t be wearing it, she thought sullenly. That was both hypocritical and irrational of her, she knew but it did not change the fact that his presence there could not have been coincidental or innocent.

Perhaps she should excuse herself, grab Bag and then pack up her things to leave right there, right then?

No. No, that would be too obvious. Dana will get alarmed too, and it’ll just make things more difficult.

“Please leave me alone.’’ She whispered, at that point not above begging. She'd uttered those words before, to others and they had yet to have some sort of effect.

Having him there felt like a violation. That was in a way, her territory. The safest place she's had in--well, since that night, really. Even Maysoon had stopped feeling safe, regardless of where she sent. 

Damian regarded her intently, looking mildly frustrated and he opened his mouth to say something, but Dana interrupted them.

“Fay?’’ He probably already knew her name, but it still bothered her to know he had heard it. It made the threat even more real. “Damian here will give you a hand with serving. Ben has some calls to make and Gloria will need to give me a hand.’’ The woman’s eyes narrowed at what must have been Fay’s very pale face. “Are you unwell again?’’

“N-no, I-I am fine.’’ That sounded so convincing. “I mean---that's okay.'' As panicked as she felt by his presence there, she did not have the heart to just abruptly take off. Sitting next to him with other people around was better than being alone with him in a room. A few minutes later, the boy was doing just that, serving food and being unexpectedly polite to those who passed by the table. He was by no means smiling nor interested in initiating small talk, but he was cordial. He also didn’t ask her about where anything was placed, he just went and did it.

She wanted to believe he wasn't as awful she believed him to be, but she'd been wrong one too many times in the past. 

“Your dog is very loyal to you,’’ Damian remarked quietly as he wiped his hands with a napkin, nose slightly upturned in distaste. “You are fortunate to have someone like him protecting you. Especially in Gotham.’’

Fay didn’t respond, keeping herself busy with wiping the table even if there was no need. She didn’t want to agree out loud with him, because his ego did not need any more validation and because she felt he was trying to get on her good side. 

“I....-tt--realize my approach yesterday may have been...startling. ’’ He sounded mechanical, and not entirely empathetic. When she glanced at him from the corner of her eyes, she couldn't read his expression. 

If that was an apology, then it was a very poor one. 

“You---assumed I’d just accept it.’’ She murmured, using momentum from his seemingly honest admission to express her thoughts. “That’s....wrong.’’ It is wrong to impose yourself in such a manner in a person’s life and not consider their needs or thoughts. If he was always like that, the people working under him must be miserable. Pennyworth must be too.

He grunted, looking irritated again. He liked being told he was wrong as much as he liked being told no. He seemed to realize his temper was getting the worst of him, because he sighed, then turned towards her. She quickly looked away, towards the canteen. Plenty of visual distractions there. “I do not make decisions without offering considerable thought and as such, people are rarely ever inclined to decline them because they are aware I base myself on logic and data.’’ Or they’re too afraid of you. “I do, however'' He looked as if he was having difficulty with the next part. "--respect your decision. If you do not wish to accept it, I will not pursue the matter. If you were to reconsider it, however, the offer still stands.’’

Well, that was---unexpected.

"Perhaps you should have heard all of the details before immediately making a decision.'' 

Of course, he had to add that. 

“There are many people here...from different places with um, different experiences. Why-why don’t you ask any of them?’’ She asked tentatively. “I---they would have more valuable input than I do.’’ She only had several months of financial hardships to draw from. Even so, she could not count herself as a starving or homeless person because Dana had addressed both of those issues. She worried about Bag’s safety and happiness, but it wasn’t the same as worrying about putting food on the table for a family. Bag would find ways to survive – he was a hunter, a predator – if she could not provide anymore; a young child would be helpless if something happened to his single parent.

And the hardships and tragedies she faced in her world---well, those were burdens to carry in secret. 

“I do not contest that.’’ He clicked his teeth. “That does not make my choice any less valid.’’

“Because you don’t like being wrong—‘’ she closed her mouth immediately, but it was too late. The words were already out and even in the noise that permeated the room, she knew he heard her. Why was he so close to her anyway? She didn’t apologize, because she would not have been able to do so in a genuine manner, but instead kept her gaze on the bain-marie and spoons on the table in front of her.

“I don’t like being wrong because I don’t make a habit of being wrong.’’ He said firmly as if he was stating an undisputed fact. She wondered what that was like, having an indomitable sense of self-assurance. A tiny speck of envy settled in her heart which in turn triggered a wave of guilt. As abrasive and unpleasant he could be, it wasn’t on him that she did not have a stronger character. 

Did that mean he came all the way there just to give her a choice? She did not trust his interest was as innocent as it seemed. 

However, it was best not to play with fire.  "I--I, um, appreciate the choice.'' She had no intention of saying yes. 

“Hn.’’ Her uncle would have liked him. They had similar communicative styles.  

They didn’t speak afterward, because a new throng of people stepped through and poor Gloria didn’t look like she knew where to start, so Fay jumped to help. Dana and the other volunteers were running around, collecting plates, wiping tables, ensuring the games area (if it could be called that) was working properly. That day was particularly warm, perhaps the hottest of the entire year and the canteen AC was struggling to keep the air cool.

Fay had once again acted on instinct. If she had considered her actions, she would have realized that a panic attack was imminent in those conditions. It was one thing to stand behind a table, largely isolated from the rest of the environment, and another to immerse herself into it. The fear crept up slowly, making her head throb and her limbs feel unsteady. 

One of Dana’s friends, a veteran named Henry had stopped her to ask her something. She wasn’t sure what. The room had started spinning and his words were distorted. It was unbearably loud suddenly. The sound of chairs moving, food being masticated, laughter, different voices blending in one another to create a very frightening one. Someone was screaming.

No. No. That was in her head. Those screams belonged to that night.

She couldn’t breathe. The room was growing smaller and smaller, and a few people brushed past her making her recoil at the sudden contact. She was vaguely aware of Henry asking her if she was okay, but she was too disoriented to respond. 

Someone grabbed her by the elbow, and she jerked but the person didn't release her. Instead, they guided her outside of the canteen and onto the narrow hallway next to the stairs leading to the upper floors of the building. It was cooler there, and the canteen noise was muffled. 

She didn't even register sitting down as the panic attack overwhelmed all of her senses. 

Out of all places and times, it had to be then.

She tried everything. Counting backward, recounting random facts, remembering details of the last book she read but her mind was slow, too busy fighting down shadows and monsters that were not actually there.

  ‘Maysoon….has fallen’

  ‘Where---where are they?’

  ‘The quicker you accept what happened, the better.’

  ‘You loser—why didn’t just die along with everyone else?’

'Let's teach her a lesson, shall we?'

 

The growing prickly sensation in her left hand suddenly anchored her, like a life vest pulling her to the surface. She was still in the water, trying to stay afloat but the vivid flashbacks faded; her brain was distracted by the sensorial changes. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears away and she looked at what was causing her hand to feel that way.

An ice cube.  

Someone’s else hand – tanned skin, calloused fingers – was on her forearm. She didn’t have the strength or the courage to raise her head and confirm her suspicions about who it was (the cologne was unmistakable, nobody smelt that expensively in that place). He was the last person that should have seen her in that state.

Bag. 

I want Bag. 

Where is he? 

“Take deep breaths,’’ Damian ordered, before shoving an ice cube in her other hand and closing her fingers around it. His movement was gentle, at odds with his tone but she jerked her hand away instinctively. The boy didn't comment on that. Crouched in front of her, he had pulled a bucket of ice next to her knees. 

When he told her to take one and put it in her mouth, she complied, too weak to ask questions or protest. 

Between her tingling hands and the sudden hard coldness in her mouth, her mind started to clear. The insidious thoughts and haunting memories also receded, leaving her to deal with the familiar sense of shame. Her hands trembled and it wasn’t because of the ice; she felt like bawling. She didn't want him there, she didn't want to feel that way, she didn't want to be alone and she didn't want to be without them and she was tired of everything and she---nothing she truly wanted could be had anymore. 

Fay swayed slightly, almost falling to the side but the boy grabbed her by the shoulder and steadied her. From a logical standpoint, she knew he hadn't done anything wrong. He had actually been helpful. 

But, her nerves were frayed and she suddenly felt more than just a hand on her. Pressing, cutting off her breath, and bruising her skin. Her marks ached. 

'Please--please, stop. I am sorry--' 

"Ple-please don't---'' The hand was off even before she finished her sentence which was good because she wasn't able to in the end. 

Fay shifted on the crate she was seated on, desperately wishing she just could go back in the attic and curl up in her fort. 

But when she placed a hand on the side of the crate to support herself, a stabbing pain made her gasp. Oh. She completely forgot about that.

Her hand had become infected. A true testament to how physically weak she'd become that it took three days to heal from relatively minor cuts and that she still ended up with an infection. She's had far worse injuries exploring the jungle and yet they never managed to affect her in that manner. 

That morning she woke up with a swollen hand and fingers, the area around the cut on the back of her palm puffy and red. When she'd touched it, she almost yowled at the pain. Unfortunately, she had very little left in terms of the supplies she tried to bring with her from Maysoon so she ended up stealing a pack of stronger painkillers from the pharmacy, after seeing Dana use the same ones one time for an old leg injury that still ached. 

They must have burned out of her system, even if those days, her metabolism barely functioned as it should. 

“Your hand—‘’ He clicked his teeth again. “You need medical attention.’’ She shook her head violently. “No---no. I don’t—I don’t like doctors.’’ 

"I will have a look then.'' 

No. No. 

Fay couldn't even get her words out, just shook her head and pulled away from him as much as she could. Something, an emotion she couldn't read, shifted in his eyes but his expression was neutral otherwise. Those green eyes still scrutinized her, though. 

"I will not harm you.'' His tone indicated the opposite. "Let me look or I will call an ambulance.'' 

He was coercing her. He had no right to do that. 

Why couldn't people just leave her alone? 

Fay could barely stand, let alone run at that moment so she relented. She moved her injured hand towards him, and he swiftly undid the bandages, barely even touching her as he did. The cotton strip was unrolled, then left to pool on the ground between them. 

Her hand was decidedly much worse than it had been that morning.

A sudden gasp made the girl jump. The boy didn't even acknowledge the sound or the person that had stepped out into the hall. “Fay, what the hell happened?’’ Dana quickly walked over to them, concern etched onto her face as she stared at Fay's misshapen hand.

Fay bit on the inside of her cheek, tears gathering up in her eyes again. Her family used to ask that question too, quite often. 

“She’s fine,’’ Damian said curtly, not bothering to look at the woman. “Her hand needs to be examined further, however. This should not require a hospital visit. My butler will be able to support.’’

Dana's eyes widened slightly then her brows furrowed as she looked at the boy. Fay's insides twisted with guilt at realizing that just minutes earlier, the woman had looked happy and she'd ended up ruining that. 

 “I—I am o-okay,’’ Fay managed. “It's not--it's not that bad.’’ Yes, it was. And she hasn't anything about it. 

“Okay. I will have Gloria step in for me and we can take you to have that looked at---‘’

Fay shook her head. "There's no need. I--I will be here.'' She had no intention of going anywhere with Damian, even if it meant losing her hand.

Dana looked at her then at the boy no doubt trying to figure out how the two know each other, and most importantly how does Fay know someone who has a butler. 

"Your butler--he will come and have a look here? Is he a medical professional?'' She would have preferred taking Fay to the hospital, but Child Services would eventually get wind of it. Still, Dana wouldn't risk the girl's health even if it meant dealing with the broken social system. 

Damian gave her a bored look. "A war veteran and a former field medic.'' 

Dana did not look convinced. It was a relief to see the woman was also disinclined to trust Damian. 

“Can-can you get Bag, please?’’ She'd feel better if her paladin was around.

Dana nodded and disappeared into the canteen. A few minutes later, the paladin clambered down the stairs from the upper level rather than going through the room full of people. He immediately sneered at the boy who refused to budge from his place. He had thankfully released her hand. 

"I--I am okay.'' She murmured. She really, really was not. 

Damian pulled his phone out and with a swift movement, he phoned his butler presumably. 

“Pennyworth. I need your medical assistance. Soup kitchen.’’ That was it. No please, no thank you. It made her doubt if the patient way he handled her during the panic attack had even been real.

A few moments later, the tall man from the restaurant stepped inside the building holding a---medical bag?

Resourceful.

.

Alfred Pennyworth had a calming presence. He was the kind of man that looked in control regardless of what was thrown at him and his disposition calmed her nerves.

The ginger biscuits he gave her also helped. It made her feel like a small child, being given sweets to stop being upset but she didn't have much pride left, so she accepted them. 

There was a small empty room on the second floor, one that was used mainly to store unwanted or abandoned items by the previous owners just like the attic had been. She had explored that room several times, scavenging for items that might be useful, like the small fridge. The butler asked her to sit on one of the tables tucked against the windows, after wiping and sterilizing the surface. He was methodical, just like Mack was with his kitchen. She wondered if he had been a healer before becoming a servant.

He wasn’t just a servant, though, was he? She could tell.  

Bag liked him too, even though he stood glued to their legs watching unblinkingly as the man sterilized his own hands and pulled on a pair of gloves before examining her hand. He always told her what he was doing in that low, soothing voice and asked for her permission to touch her, unlike his employer. Fay was glad that the blisters on her wrists had healed or she would have had to deal with questions about that as well. 

Alfred did not comment on her bracelets. They used to be comfortably snug around her wrists when she left Maysoon but now hung quite loose. They couldn't be removed, however, not just by simply taking them off. 

Fay grimaced at the sight of her hand in the better light of that room. In addition to the deforming swelling and irritated skin, there was a bump near her knuckles that was yellowish in color. That’s where she had removed a deeply embedded piece of the shard from a few days earlier. She thought she had disinfected the area properly.

Fay knew there was a risk her immunity had been compromised, just as her healing rate had slowed down but she hadn’t thought she was quite that susceptible to minor injuries. 

“Oh, dear.’’ Alfred intoned. “Well, that would explain the pain. I am surprised you were able to work with your hands.’’

She sheepishly looked away and wisely didn't bring up the stolen painkillers. 

“May I ask why you haven’t sought medical attention earlier?’’

“I, um---I thought I cleaned it properly.’’ Fay swallowed nervously. 

She glanced at Damian, who to his credit, hadn’t said anything ever since Alfred arrived. He was standing a few feet to her right, leaning against the windowsill, arms crossed over his chest. She caught the thunderous look on his face when he saw her hand before he turned his head away with a snort. 

She didn't know what to make of that. 

Perhaps he was squeamish? He didn’t seem like the type, though. 

“Well, the good news is that this can be drained and then addressed with antibiotics. The unfortunate news is that I have no way of knowing if there’s anything broken, however, so an x-ray would be—‘’

“It’s not broken.’’ She interrupted. “Er—sorry. What I meant is I’ve I checked.’’

Alfred Pennyworth did not look very convinced, with good reason.

“Miss Fay,’’ He started patiently. “If that hand does not get some well-needed medical attention, the complications could be very serious. The infection could affect your nerves and you might end up requiring surgery.’’

“But-but if it gets drained then...it’ll improve? If—if I am right about no broken bones.’’

“You’d still require antibiotics and constant monitoring, but it should stop it from worsening.’’ She had some strong healing herbs she had brought with her; they weren’t comprehensive, but they were used to treat infections. That only left the matter of the infection needing draining. She pursued her lips, mulling it over. She couldn’t do it on her own, not without butchering herself even if she managed to bear the pain.

Bag was cursed with a lack of opposable digits, as well. Dana will know what to do, she had been a soldier after all so she must have had some sort of first aid knowledge. However, it would worry her, and she might not even agree to do it herself, preferring to take Fay to the hospital instead. That meant costs she could not afford and lies in Fay’s favor that might put her at risk.

There was one more option.

“Would---would you be able to do it?’’ The man did not look surprised at the request, but she could see it in his eyes that he wasn’t inclined to accept very easily so she continued quickly before he could say no. “If I...go to the hospital, they’ll call Child Services and they’ll take Bag away.’’ She said simply, feeling she had no choice but, to tell the truth. There was a chance that wasn't a secret anymore given how easily the boy tracked her. 

How...did he know I work at the soup kitchen?

Did Mr. Yuri tell him? 

“Pennyworth,’’ Damian said but stopped there. Fay watched the butler glance at the boy before looking back at her. “Very well.’’ She blinked in surprise and watched as Damian stepped near Pennyworth, arms still crossed and face set in a frown. “I won’t alert any authorities about your status and Pennyworth will help you, but you have to come with us.’’

Sensing her immediate reluctance, Pennyworth added, “Rest assured, Miss Fay, you and your dog are free to go, if you wish after I am done. We do need, however, a more sterile environment and some anesthetic.’’

All objections on the tip of her tongue vanished. He was right. Even though he had cleaned that table, the room was filthy. If her immunity and healing were truly that compromised, having him operate on her injury there might just trigger a worse infection. His medical bag also did not seem to contain all tools necessary and the pain might trigger a panic attack, which in return will trigger her bracelets.

She did not want to end up having to explain why her bracelets could glow. Or why she couldn't take them off. 

Fay exchanged a look with her paladin. 

“….Okay.’’

.

The car ride made her anxious, even if Bag had been allowed to ride with them, seated on the leather seat next to her. In any other circumstance, it would have been a funny sight as the paladin kept bumping his head against the ceiling and then had to find an awkward position to sit in so he could fit. Damian sat across from her but did not talk to her aside from a curt ‘watch your hand’ when she accidentally brushed it against the seat, making her squeak in pain. Alfred had bandaged it lightly and told her to keep it elevated until they arrived at their destination.  

Oh right.

The Wayne Tower. She only saw the tall building briefly out the window before Alfred drove them into the underground parking. There they stepped into an elevator that took them to floor 112. That was high. Very high. In a building that was likely full of state-of-art security systems with far more capable guards than the ones at the museum. If they wanted to keep them there, they would be able to do so easily.

With her good hand, she clutched onto her paladin, tethering herself to the safety he offered. The panic attack had left her drained and the headache felt worse every time she moved her head around, but she willed herself to remain alert. Blacking out and leaving Bag to defend her in that foreign environment was not an option.

 Ding!

The doors swished softly as they parted, and the two males stepped out ahead of her. She only moved when Bag did, because she could feel his wariness but neither Alfred nor Damian rushed her. Once inside, she quietly admired the luxurious space from the sophisticated furnishings to the crystal chandeliers, the reflective floors, and glitzy surfaces. Although aesthetically pleasing and inviting, it did not feel as if someone lived there regularly, however. There were no pictures hanging from the walls, no personal items on the furniture, or even other staff members.  

Alfred led her down the dizzying halls into a room that seemed to have been fitted for medical purposes. She plopped down on the surgical bed, and then placed her hand on the small table he pulled between them which he sanitized thoroughly. He then disinfected her hand gently as not to hurt her. A shine bright light from the circular neon lamp near the table made her skin look gruesome; the bulbous head of infection was rather disgusting to look at and a rush of embarrassment struck her at having at what was essentially a stranger tend to her. 

“Now. I assume you do not wish to be put under full anesthesia.’’ She shook her head. “Are you aware of any allergies?’’ She shook her head. “Very well. I will only administer a small dosage, just to be on the safe side. If you start feeling any discomfort or pain, please let me know immediately.’’

“Okay.’’

He told her she could look away too, but she didn’t. She watched as he took a scalpel and cut into the disgusting bulbous infection before starting to drain it. Alfred never lost his focus even as he walked her through what he was doing and explaining that she had been fortunate: the infection had stayed largely superficial and it would not require a more in-depth intervention. It was a long process though and by the end of it, Fay was convinced that Alfred must have done that many times over given the ease with which he worked.  

“I must say, Miss Fay, that you have been an excellent patient.’’ He said as he started closing the area. “Quite brave, too, for not looking away.’’

“No, um, I’ve had worse.’’ Shit. Not again. She really couldn’t keep her mouth, could she? She was so easy to draw information from; it was a surprise she had managed to keep a low profile for so many months. But she couldn’t help but correct him when he called her brave. 

In her defense, there was just something the butler. The boy as well. They did not feel like other people she's met in that world and it wasn’t just the wealthy status.

Alfred did not comment and when she glanced up at the boy, who was leaning against the wall, tapping away on his phone, he didn’t seem to be paying attention at all. 

He probably didn’t even hear what she said.

Small victories. 

“How does that feel?’’ Alfred asked, pushing the light away so she could inspect her hand closer without being blinded. “Like I have no bones.’’ She said, slightly amused with the numbness from her elbow down. The yellow puss was gone, as was most of the swelling, but her skin was still inflamed. The stitches were impeccable. “It looks---much better. Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth.’’

“You are most welcome.’’

Fay watched as he finished his intervention by wrapping her hand in fresh gauze. When he was done, he pulled the table away and raised to his feet, removing his surgical gloves and mask before disposing of them in a small bin nearby.

“Since you are here, Miss Fay, how about some lunch?’’ He asked smoothly. “Your body needs to heal and having a nutritious meal always helps.’’

He was a persuasive one, wasn’t he?  

The pulsing headache might go away if she ate. It would have been weird if they just left, right? She glanced at her paladin who until then had stayed quiet, her healthy hand brushing periodically his head. He just stared back at her, a gesture that meant he would leave the decision up to her. He did not have any immediate concerns about leaving. 

The message was clear, if just between the two of them.

Fay looked over where Damian was standing. Their gaze met briefly and she immediately looked away. She didn't really want to stay, not if it meant being around him. What if it was a trick to make her wait while they called the authorities, despite having said they won't? 

But she felt so, so weak. And so tired. She wasn't going to make it back on her own and she'd rather she didn't ride back in the car. 

"Alright.'' 

Fay really hoped she won't end up regretting her decision. 

.

‘Is everything okay?’

Fay awkwardly typed her response into the cell phone, which was intuitive to use but not when she had only one hand available to use. ‘Everything okay. My hand will be fine.’

‘Okay. Call me if anything happens and I will pick you up. You don't need to say anything you don't want to.’

She texted a quick response to Dana confirming she will be careful and wondered what the woman would think if she knew they had gone to the Wayne tower out of all places. 

Before disappearing to presumably prepare lunch, Alfred had given her a sling to put her arm through as it was best to keep her hand elevated. The anesthetic would take a few hours to leave her system, so she felt no discomfort for the time being. Damian led her back towards the sumptuous living room – or one of them- where he left her alone before wandering away somewhere else. She was too tired to question his suddenly quiet behavior. 

Not told not to, Bag made himself comfortable on the -very expensive looking- sofa, placing his head on her lap as she leaned backward, letting herself relax against the cushions. Her backpack was nestled between her feet: she never went anywhere without it, and Bag always made sure she had it even when she did forget about it as she had when they left the soup kitchen.

Alfred served her some hot ginger tea with fresh lemon which soothed her throat and relaxed her further. 

In the end, she couldn't fight her own exhaustion. Bag didn't either as he watched her become drowsy then fall asleep. 

.

“Pennyworth, cancel lunch.’’

“Is everything alright, Master Damian?’’

The boy pursued his lips. “She is unconscious. That beast of hers won’t allow me to check her vitals, but I believe she has merely fallen asleep.’’ Pause. “You had something to do with that.’’

Alfred’s face betrayed nothing. “I believe she is merely in need of some well-earned rest. She should be awake by dinner time, so I will ensure that is served on time.’’

“Hn.’’ 

.

The baggy clothes, the unnecessary layers. The bandages around her wrists. Her reticence to being touched. Her nervous, timid disposition and tendency to look constantly guilty about things she shouldn’t be. They all pointed towards a revolting but plausible theory. The girl had been a victim of abuse, in more ways than one. 

I’ve had worse.’

‘My life doesn’t mean anything'  

Anger bubbled up in his chest, as it did when he had found about how Hannah Walker died. About how ‘she could have still taken it, despite her age’. Gotham was full of psychopaths like Wyatt; far worse than him too. That big dog of hers was useful at keeping her safe, but not against all the threats that lurked in the shadows.

How long before someone looked at her, saw how small and easy to break she was before they thought the same things as Wyatt?

She wasn’t the only orphan in Gotham; certainly not the only one at risk of falling prey to the hungry world they lived in. But she was the one who walked in a collapsing, burning building to risk her life for another child. She was the one willing to part ways with her dog, whom she clearly loved and depended on, just to help him.

Her hand had been in that state because she had been desperate to get them both out.

  Because he had failed.

  Because he had been weak.

  Because he had underestimated Finnegan, a run-of-the-mill perp.

Seventeen people died in that explosion, eight were in a critical state and four children had to wake up the next morning only to find out they’re orphans.

Mother would have been disappointed: not just in how he had allowed the situation to get out of his control, but because he was still reflecting on the lives lost. Has he failed? Yes. Did it matter who died? Collateral damage. She wouldn’t have cared people died in the building, she wouldn’t have cared about the girl that came in, crying and afraid, doing everything she could to help others. Talia would have derided her attempts and agreed that indeed, her life did not matter at all. 

He did not want to think that, did not want to be like his mother. He needed more data on who Fay was, where she came from, what her story was but after observing her for several days, there was an emotion that had already consolidated in his chest. He disliked how broken she sounded that night on the roof. How easily she could accept she was worthless.

Even with her hand injury, she had not once made a statement to indicate she was worried about what would happen to her. She placed her dog over herself without hesitation.

Damian was not a passive individual, so it only made sense that he’d want to address something that was...distracting him. 

He was going to start by ensuring she was repaid for her actions.

That’s what Father would do.

(He did not want to be the monster he was raised to be.)

Chapter 5: Of morals, heroes and deals with the devil

Notes:

Chapter revised and rewritten as of 18th of August 2021. Minor grammatical errors may persist. Feedback always welcome.

Chapter Text

 

Sometimes a deal with the devil is better than no deal at all.’’

― Lawrence Hill

 

.

.

.

22nd  of August, 17:57

She had no nightmares. She did not wake up in a fight-or-flight state, drenched in sweat and her heart racing. Instead, she felt warm and comfortable, her muscles lax and her mind fogged by sweet drowsiness that made her want to give in again to the lull of the sleep. Bag’s comfortable weight was pressed against her legs, a quiet reassurance that she was safe, so she decided to turn around and resume her sleep.

The dull stab of pain in her hand stopped her. Her arm had come out of her sling and she felt the tell-tale prickles caused by having fallen asleep on it at an odd angle.

Wait a second.

She forced her eyes open, blinking rapidly to clear her blurred vision. There was a glass coffee table in front of her and sumptuous furniture with a large TV and sound system that was decidedly not part of her attic.  

Then it all came back to her. Soup kitchen, volunteering in the canteen, the boy with green eyes and his resourceful, kind butler. She shifted herself in a sitting position to look at her bandaged hand, tentatively flexing her fingers. The skin felt tight on the back of her palm and it was aching slightly, likely sore from the invasive procedure but it was nothing she couldn’t ignore. Her hand looked smaller than before, so the inflammation must have gone down.

“Rgghg?’’ Her paladin raised his head to look at her.

“Yeah. It feels better.’’ She flexed her fingers again. “See?’’ Relief washed off him. Then, his eyes moved past her shoulder and she twisted to follow his gaze. Alfred was standing there, and he bowed his head. “I hope I have not startled you, Miss Fay.’’ Straightening, he glanced at her hand. “How is your hand?’’

She smiled politely. “It’s much better. Thank you.’’

“I am relieved to hear. Dinner will be ready soon. Do you have any allergies or dietary preferences?’’

Dinner? Did she sleep that long? It was summer, so the sky hadn’t darkened yet so when she had glanced out of the windows, she had assumed the diminishing light outside was simply a result of Gotham’s rather fussy weather.

“I, um--no. I am okay—with all foods.’’ It wasn’t true. She could be very particular about her food, but Alfred had treated her well. She wasn't also familiar enough with that environment to be making any requests. “I am—I am sorry for falling asleep.’’

“Nonsense, Miss Fay. It’s good you have gotten some rest.’’ It really was, she did feel much better.

Fay nodded, as she planted her feet on the ground, grimacing slightly at the sight of her dirty shoes which she had inadvertently been wiping all over the expensive leather. Perhaps she could leave, without having to stay to eat. It was rude, of course, but she could justify it as having already spent enough time there. 

“Master Damian has mentioned you would be perhaps more comfortable eating in the study. You may do so alone if you wish.’’

huh?

“…what? No—there’s—there’s no need.’’ She said although she much preferred the idea of not having to see the boy again. “It’s okay to eat wherever he eats—if he does. I mean—if he’s having dinner too.’’ It was—surprisingly thoughtful of him, though to consider she might prefer eating alone. Or it was a way of getting her to lower her guard. 

“He has also expressed a preference eating there, so it shall be no bother. If you’d like to make your way there, it’s the third door down to the left. The bathroom is the first on your right.’’

“Yes—yes, sir. Thank you.’’

He walked away. 

She exchanged a look with her paladin, before getting up and stretching lightly. Grabbing her backpack, she first went to the bathroom while Bag waited patiently for her outside. Once done, they walked in the direction Alfred had gestured and stopped in front of the mahogany, double doors there. She floundered, not sure if she could just go in. There was nobody inside, Bag would have sensed them, but she still felt invasive just stepping into that room.

She really needed to get some books on the etiquette rules of that world. 

“Why are you just standing there?’’

Ah yes. There he was. Appearing like a green-eyed spirit, out of nowhere, wanting to startle her. Bag grumbled, clearly sharing in the sentiment. She had a feeling her paladin was also caught off guard by how discreet Damian had been and that spoke volumes. 

“I, um—I wasn’t sure if it would be rude or not to just—‘’ She gestured towards the door. “...go in.’’ She looked anywhere but at his face. 

“Didn’t Pennyworth say you could?’’

“Yes but—‘’ she shrugged. She stepped aside as he stepped closer to open the door, before disappearing inside the study. Bag stepped ahead of her, eager to inspect the place and determine whether it was a safe environment.

“Bag—‘’ Fay protested with a sigh, stepping in after him. Her paladin was only being protective, which she appreciated, but the way he started scrutinizing the room, walking around, and sniffing everything made her apprehensive. She hated having to excuse his behavior as if he was a badly trained pet when he was simply doing what he had been trained to (although perhaps in a more discreet manner).

“I-I am sorry—‘’

“Stop apologizing. He’s just doing what any dog would.’’ Damian cut her off, unbothered. He glanced at her hand. “Your hand.’’ He paused slightly. “It's better.’’  

Was that a question? It didn't sound like it. 

“Just a tiny bit but—but nothing like before, so it’s, um...good.’’

“After dinner, Pennyworth will check your hand again and give you antibiotics.’’

“That’s—that’s not necessary---‘’

“You would prefer losing your hand?’’

That's a rather dramatic thing to say, she thought. “No—of course not. But I have medicine back at---um, back at the soup kitchen. I can ask Dana to—‘’

“She wouldn’t have prescribed penicillin which is what Pennyworth will give you.’’ It’d be nice if he could allow her to finish her sentences. “And self-medicating with any medicine you may have could result in adverse effects.’’

He didn’t know about her herbs, of course, but he still had a good point.

“How—how do you know pen—penicillin won’t have any effects?’’ She wasn't sure what penicillin was, truth to be told, but he did say it was prescribed. It had to be a strong type of medicine. 

“Because we’ll monitor you.’’ Bag perked up at that; Fay tensed. To his credit, Damian quickly rectified that alarming statement. “For this evening. If you are allergic to it, there are first responders within the building who can help; a severe adverse reaction would be obvious within two hours.’’

She wasn’t sure that was a risk she was willing to take. She’d rather try her way first. Fay was also not inclined to spend more time there than needed. Alfred has been nothing but courteous and supportive while Damian—well, he wasn't nice but he seemed more civil at that moment. Yet, she was still a foreign territory in which she and Bag were terribly disadvantaged. She’d seen the numerous cameras installed at every single corner, and she did not like the sight of them.

Fay chose to look around the study rather than the boy, not sure what to say to convince him to let her go without any sort of further medication. Didn't Alfred say she could leave at any time? Maybe she'll ask him instead.

To her left, the tall windows offered an eagle-eye view of the city sprawling below. There was something powerful and freeing about seeing the world from that angle and once upon a time, she would have conquered those heights as easily as a bird. Now, as fascinating the view was, it also reminded her of the great loss she suffered. 

Across the room, there was a mahogany desk with a chair behind it, and there were also leather seats positioned in front of it. There was a table set for two by the windows, which made her feel embarrassed because the setting was far too---private. She was not friends with the boy, her opinions of him were conflicted at best and she did not trust him. Eating with him in that private setting implied a certain familiarity that they did not have and although Bag would be with her, she won’t be able to eat properly because she’d be too nervous.   

Her mood lightened when she saw books filling the entirety of the wall to her right. Oh, she liked that.

“You can look if you want to,’’ Damian remarked stepping aside. She did not need to be told twice and she approached the shelves, brushing her fingers against the spines of the heavier tomes. There were no fictional works – just scientific journals, law and ethic books, engineering and environmental publications. They all piqued her interest, of course, but she would not know where to start from.  She didn’t feel comfortable enough to grab one and peruse through the pages, but she made a mental note of a few titles to ask Mr. Fitzwilliam about them.

When she turned around, she saw Damian crouched in front of her paladin allowing him to sniff him. Bag looked cautious, ears flattened against his head as he lowered his head towards the boy. When Damian didn’t react to being scrutinised in such a way, the paladin pushed the boundaries by sniffing his face. Then he huffed. Unnecessarily so, because Fay knew he had already determined the boy wasn’t a threat. He was just being cheeky about it.

Bagheera.’’ She called nervously. “Don’t do that to people, please.’’ She'd have felt some satisfaction if the boy didn't have the power to ruin their stay there if he wanted to. 

The paladin grumbled, but he pulled back, his emotions hidden but smugness visible still in his all-too-human eyes. Damian narrowed his eyes at the furry beast as he raised to his feet and brushed his hand to wipe the wetness on his cheek and nose.

Oh, dear.

Bag hadn’t dared…. had he? She glanced horrified at her paladin. That pale gaze was alight with mischief. 

He did.

Oh no. 

“Sorry—I am sorry.’’ She rushed. “He, um, has a strong personality.’’

“Clearly.’’ The boy sneered slightly at the paladin who returned the look with just as much heat. Damian then looked at her, one eyebrow-raising slightly. “Bagheera?’’

Her heart sunk. She hadn’t realized she had called Bag by his full name; she had decided to stop doing that when they arrived in that world. She knew the story was popular there and so she did not want people to ask her why she chose that name. It was better to have people think ‘Bag’ was a weird name. 

“…yes.’’ She admitted reluctantly.

“The Jungle Book, by Rudyard Kipling.’’ She looked away, not adding anything else to that statement. If he asked her why she wasn’t sure she could answer without crying.

He didn’t, however. “Your name. Is it really Fay?’’

“I---well, yes.’’ She nervously played with a loose string from the hem of her shirt. “It’s short for…well, I just prefer Fay.’’

He seemed to have gotten the hint that it wasn’t a topic she was comfortable with because he didn’t press it. Shockingly. 

A few moments later, Alfred walked in pushing a trolley whose delicious scents immediately wafted in the air. Bag gawked with wide eyes. She gave him a warning look as she moved towards the table to sit down when Damian suddenly said he will not be dining anymore before he took off without any other warning. Alfred didn’t seem surprised. 

Fay was relieved. 

To her paladin’s delight, the butler had taken his presence into consideration when preparing dinner. Alfred pulled out a large bowl from the lower shelf of the cart, filled with meats cooked rare and roasted vegetables. After inspecting them, Bag waited, however, until she was served as well and took the first bite. She didn’t need much encouragement – the chicken soup smelt delicious. She had barely eaten anything the whole day, and while sleeping had helped her emotionally, there was still a dull throb at the back of her head and a gnawing feeling in her stomach.  

Her portions were smaller, but she was grateful rather than offended because she did not feel pressured by the idea of having to finish a full portion. It was just the first serving, too. Roast chicken with vegetables followed and they were just as flavourful; she ate slowly and in small bites. As awkward as it was to be dining in that elegant study by herself, she was relieved that she did not have to have dinner with the boy, and she could distract herself with the view of the sun setting. 

Belly full, her paladin expressed his satisfaction by roaming the study, jumping on seats and knocking into things, and even jumping on the chair to swirl around in it despite Fay's protests. Bagheera was a mischievous creature and an even more playful one. 

When the door clicked and Alfred returned to collect the plates, Bag immediately jumped down and feigned innocence. She had a feeling the butler saw through it, but he chose to ignore her dog-not-dog's behavior. Alfred asked her if she wanted dessert, but she politely declined – she had already eaten far more than she usually did, and she was afraid she might end up feeling sick.

After dinner, sitting on one of the leather armchairs, he inspected her hand to ensure there were no further complications – there weren’t – and then changed her bandages. He offered her penicillin, which came as two small pills and a glass of water. She made a show of swallowing them although she kept them tucked behind molars and gums. The moment she was alone, she spit them out and placed them in the pocket of her pants.

Alfred invited her to watch TV once he led them back to the living room and while she was very curious about that source of entertainment, she did not feel comfortable doing so and instead told him she’ll read the encyclopedia she had in her backpack. It was on European art and architecture. Mr. Ftizwilliam had told her it was rather outdated but it only cost five dollars so she didn't care. 

Had her plan gone accordingly when coming to that world, she and Bag could have been exploring those European sites at that moment instead of being in that strange predicament. Alas, there was nothing she could do at that point.

Fay had considered they leave Gotham earlier but there were too many challenges preventing them. Financially wise, she had yet to find a way to sell the precious stones she kept hidden in the attic. From a logistic endpoint, they had thousands of miles to cross with no documentation. They didn't officially exist in that world. 

Someone cleared their throat. Fay realized she was spacing out, so she straightened, face flushing before looking up at the boy who'd reappeared suddenly in the living room. Bag, sprawled next to her, just stared at him intently, but she sensed no agitation on her paladin's end. 

“How—how long have you been standing there?’’ She breathed.

The boy threw her a look. “Long enough to call you three times and for you not to hear.’’ Green eyes moved to the thick book in her hands and she felt tempted to hide it away. “I would like for us to discuss.’’ He sounded demanding again, and he must’ve realized it too because his jaw clenched, eyes flitting at a point beyond her shoulder before returning on her face. “If you are comfortable doing so.’’ He didn’t seem like he wanted to give her a choice.

She wasn’t comfortable but didn't feel she actually had a choice. The irony. “...okay.’’ She closed the book and laid her hands on top of it, starting to feel some trepidation at what he could possibly want from her. There were many questions he could ask that she could not answer, and she couldn’t help but feel paranoid that maybe his hospitality had finally run out. 

 “I have said that I will not report your status to any authorities.’’ She nodded, her chest tightening. Had he changed his mind? “I will not be backing down on that statement, rest assured. However, I would like to ask you some questions. I will not force you in offering me an answer but--’’ He paused, and he clicked his teeth, looking –conflicted? “--I would prefer if you did.’’ Still demanding, but his tone was softer so he did not put her on edge as he did previously. 

The implication he could have forced her in answering was unsettling. 

Fay nodded, her stomach knotting uncomfortably.

“You are not from Gotham.’’

Not a question. 

Fay shook her head. They both stared at each other for a second, but she refused to comment and avoided making eye contact. “Why are you here?’’

Well. That was a loaded question, wasn't it? 

It felt like hours passed before she finally answered, but surprisingly he did not rush her. Or make any of those sounds he seemed to do when he was impatient or annoyed. 

If she lied, he will know. She wasn't a good liar. 

If she told the truth...she did not want to imagine the repercussions. 

Maybe she could a bit of both. 

“I---um, I ran away from home.’’ She took her time finding her words because what she was about to say hasn’t left her lips in a very long time. In Maysoon many avoided the topic entirely, although it was everything they could think about. Her family skirted around the topic, generally, because they knew poorly she handled it. Even when it had become easier speaking about what happened, Fay had either been shut down or advised she should get better at moving forward. 

So she just stopped talking about it, period. 

“My parents died.’’ She breathed, feeling something snap inside her. It was like opening the lid on a jar that’s stayed closed for too long releasing a miasma of unpleasant scents. Except instead of scents, her emotions were the ones that had festered. “About a year and—a half ago.’’ Five hundred, seventy-three days to be exact.

And counting.

“Why did you run away?’’ It was a reasonable question, but he was also testing her boundaries and for a moment she considered not responding at all. With Dana, it had been easier. The veteran had figured it out on her own and when she asked Fay whether she got it right, her silence had been enough. The woman didn’t ask why, and now Fay knew why. Because Dana knew what it was like to want to run away. 

“It’s—it’s really—I, um--.’’ She closed her mouth, pressing her lips tightly before inhaling deeply, hoping it’ll steady her nerves. “It’s--complicated.’’ Sometimes she had difficulty figuring out the why as well. There were multiple reasons, tightly interwoven and feeding into one another. Explaining them to someone from that world might prove impossible even if she wanted to do that. “I---it didn’t feel the same, I guess. After---after.’’

Bag whined softly next to her, and she felt him lean against her which made her smile a bit, although it was short-lived and not entirely genuine.  

“Are you in danger?’’

Frowning, she looked up at him. “What? No—I mean, in Gotham? It’s a dangerous place but---‘’

“From your family.’’

She stared at him bewildered. Nobody had ever asked her that. Dana probably wondered about it too but had never voiced it; maybe that’s why she was so overprotective at times. 

“…no.’’ She had hurt them, disappointed them. They hurt her too, in some ways but she considered herself responsible for that as well. “They’d never do that.’’ 

He was staring so intensely as if he was trying to get in her head and figure out what the truth really was. “I—why would you say that?’’ Please stop staring at me like that.

“Statistically speaking, forty-seven percent of children between twelve and seventeen years old run away due to conflict with their guardian. For different reasons.’’ He said finally. She heard the unsaid word: abuse. He was insinuating that she had been abused.  

Her lips wrenched in a grimace, disgusted at the idea of her uncles or aunts ever doing anything like that. She supposes that many practices or traditions in her world would not be accepted there but she was certain she did not fall into the category of being abused. She was loved and cared for, even when she was a burden and a disappointment making running away even more cowardly. 

“I—I haven’t been abused.’’ She felt very, very nauseous and feared she might vomit all over the expensive furniture.

 “You are uncomfortable. I can have Pennyworth discuss with you---‘’

“No.’’ She squeaked, mortified at what must’ve been going through his head. Again, it wasn’t unreasonable because the world was a terrible place and it did not allow exceptions for cruelty just because she was a child. “It’s—it’s not. I swear---My uncle and aunts would never do that. They—‘’ She floundered. Her agitation was not helping her seem more convincing, so she had no choice but to go for the truth. “I just wanted to be a different person.’’ She blurted. She's never said that out loud before. “I just---I just wanted to get away from them--and---and not to be....reminded.’’

The silence that followed was deafening, and she felt as if she had suddenly fallen from a great height. 

“I---I---just---‘’ she faltered, hands balling in fists. The motion tugged at the stitches on her right hand, making her hand hurt again. “They---just had a different opinion on who---I should be. And I---‘’ Failed. Humiliated herself. “…couldn’t.’’ her voice trailed off in a whisper.

He stayed silent for a moment and she didn’t dare look up at him. Bag nuzzled her shoulder with his head, trying to make her feel less distraught.

“Calm down. I got what I wanted.’’

“W-what?’’ What exactly was that? For her to pour her feelings out, to expose herself until she was a shaking mess again? 

“I will not ask you any further questions about you and your family. For now.’’ Damian leaned back in the chair. "However, I would like you to go ahead and listen to the details of my proposal.'' 

That again. She was getting tired of hearing about it. 

Fay tilted her head up, self-conscious of how red her face must’ve been but didn’t meet his gaze. Instead, she glanced at his hands. They were rather calloused for someone his age, and had it been her world, she would have considered it natural but in that world? Hm. Perhaps she was being biased.

“But—you don't care...about--about who I am?’’ Everyone else always did. For all the reasons but because they truly wanted to know her. 

“Who you are now, yes. Not who you were. Unless you’re a criminal. Are you one, Fay?’’ He sounded too casual for what he was asking. 

Cheeks burning with embarrassment – that was the first time he used her name - she shook her head. “No—no, of course not.’’

Well….

“What I am interested in is that you have the required work ethic and skills to complete the job successfully. I would also expect you to be honest with me if there is anything from your previous life that will cause you issues in working for me. However, I am not interested in you or any family drama.’’

“But---don’t—don’t you need to do background checks?’’ She asked confusedly. Dana had said people do that there, don't they? In her world, they'd definitely check one's history. “For—security? And—and I am also only—twelve. Dana said there are laws about me working and I-I have no documents.’’

“Nothing that can’t be addressed.’’

Really? 

Unless...he wasn’t talking about doing it the legal way.

Why would he go to such lengths? There were plenty of orphans that he could have selected from and offer money to. 

“I—I don’t understand. Why me?’’ She asked, her frustration and anxiety growing. “Even if---‘’ she briefly made eye contact before lowering her gaze again. “Even if you are rich and you---you have the power to do that, it—it doesn’t explain why. You made your choice. That’s what you said—but why me?’’

Nobody has ever really chosen her, not for the reasons she wanted. Not ever since her parents died. If she was ever privileged or prioritized, it was because of a sense of duty or a hidden agenda. Bag was automatically excluded from that assessment, naturally. He always chose her. 

“Because it’s my prerogative, unquestionably so.’’

It was incredible how he could make her go from feeling vulnerable and exposed to feeling annoyed. 

“Then...I can’t accept.’’

“Why are you being so stubborn about this?’’ He snapped, suddenly. “Do you enjoy being homeless?’’

She wasn’t exactly homeless anymore and there was a freedom to her current predicament he’d never be able to understand. He seemed to revel in the title he carried, in the legacy he was meant to follow into. 

“Because-‘’ He raised a brow. Because good things no longer happen. Not to me. “It...it doesn't make any sense. I do—I do believe people can be kind. But—you—you tracked me down.’’ Might as well just put that out in the open so he understood she wasn’t as naïve as she seemed. “For reasons, you won’t tell me---and you clearly care about this—this project so w-why wouldn’t you choose someone more qualified?’’ Perhaps he wouldn’t have expected her to be so bold about it (she didn’t either) but it was the truth.

She was nothing special: it was hard not to perceive his sudden interest as him having a different agenda.

What if it was just some sort of game? It’s happened before, hasn’t it?

Why would he be any different?

She couldn't go through that again. She just couldn't. 

“Hn. You’re less gullible than you look. And you do seem to have a spine after all.’’

Her mouth opened slightly in shock, and he smirked.

He was riling her on purpose.

“You’re---you’re really rude.’’

I want nothing to do with you. Nothing!

“I just speak my mind.’’ He said coolly. “If people are bothered by the truth, then that’s on them.’’

Not when you hurt people on purpose, she thought sourly. She valued people who were direct and transparent, but that did not mean one should behave without any regard for others. 

With a sigh, he added. “I will not make it easy to work for me.’’ He warned. “But I will be fair.’’

It irked her that he was already talking as if she's given in. 

“I—I haven’t said yes.’’ She murmured. 

Yet.’’ He replied arrogantly. “You have two days to give me a definitive answer. Sunday 23rd, at midday, come to find me at the museum.’’

Her shoulders tensed at the idea of returning there and facing those guards again. 

She also balked at the idea of having to return for yet another meeting with the boy before her. 

“I can’t—‘’ She said fearfully. “I did---I did something---‘’

“I know.’’ He looked amused, in the way a predator does when they find their prey entertaining. “I suppose you won’t tell me where you learned to defend yourself like that?’’

Fay looked away again and he tutted again. 

"Why--why do I have to go to the museum? Can't---can't you tell me the details now?''

"If I told you the details no, you will refuse.'' 

She had every intention of refusing anyway. Why waste her time? 

"I don't have the time for it, now.'' Fay did not believe that. He was toying with her. "I think we both agree it's best we discuss business when you're less emotional.'' 

Those words struck her deeply. 

'You cannot be this emotional if you want people to take you seriously!'

Fay looked down at her lap. 

“Hn.’’ He got up. “Once the two hours are up, there’ll be a car waiting for you to take you wherever you like.’’

She looked up at him in surprise, expecting him to prod her further but his phone was out, and he wasn’t even looking at her anymore.

"Um,--'' 

He didn't look up, but she saw his eyebrow lift slightly again. “Thank you for—for the ice.’’ He hadn't brought up the matter of her panic attack at all. She hoped he never would. "And...for not asking.

Damian turned and started walking away. “Pennyworth will come to fetch you when it's time to leave.’’ Then he disappeared down the hall. 

He didn’t even acknowledge her thank you. 

Fay wasn't sure how to feel anymore. 

.

Once the two hours were up, she found herself by the elevator where Alfred tried to hand her the dessert in a rather fancy bag. She refused it politely, but her paladin cheekily grabbed the bag from the butler's hand, growled curtly at the man as if to express his acknowledgment before stepping inside the elevator.

Alfred's brows went up, ever so slightly but he didn't look upset. 

Fay sighed in defeat.  Honestly, Bag could be so pushy sometimes. “Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth.’’  

Alfred accompanied her to the ground floor where a sleek black car was waiting. A tall muscled man opened the door to the limousine as soon as the elevator doors opened.

Fay hesitated. "I could walk. There's no need---'' 

"I am afraid the forecast indicates an unfavorable turn in the weather, so I insist. It is best if you keep that hand dry.'' 

She couldn't argue with that. 

On the way back to the soup kitchen, Bag did not hesitate to sprawl himself over the car seat opposite her and engorge himself in the cheesecake that Alfred packed for her.   

Outside, the sky was void of any clouds and the weather was still in the twenties. 

.

When Alfred returned to the penthouse, Damian was leaning against the wall near the elevator, examining the data on his phone.

“Pennyworth, you do know she didn’t actually swallow the pills, right?’’

“No worries, Master Damian. They merely vitamins.’’ Alfred said smoothly. “The antibiotics were in her food.’’

“Hm. Well thought.’’ Damian conceded.

“Thank you, sir. I’ve been around the block once or twice in dealing with distrustful children.’’ Alfred remarked dryly. “Has everything gone well, Master Damian?’’

Damian grunted. “She’s secretive and distrusting.’’

“Not unreasonable given her situation.’’ No. No, it wasn’t. He’ll address that, however. “I must say, Master Damian, I was expecting you to have dinner together with Miss Fay.’’

Damian had too. However, Fay had looked uncomfortable, if not frightened, at the idea of being alone with him. In many cases, he’d enjoy having that effect on people. But with her, it was the equivalent of terrorizing a rabbit. 

“Given her nervous disposition, I would rather she not threw up on me just because she was too afraid to say no to eating alone.’’

Alfred’s lips twitched. “How thoughtful of you, sir.’’ Damian scoffed, before pushing himself off the wall and walking away.

The butler smiled to himself as he thought of young Master Damian’s convoluted ways of expressing his gratitude to another human being.

.

.

.

24th of August

Fay had considered his offer. In fact, it was all she did in the past forty-eight hours. She even went ahead to list pros and cons on a piece of paper, including the possibility that he may be just toying with her. At half-past eleven on the day of the deadline, she stood in front of the museum for the first time in several days, ready to give him an answer.

Bag hid behind the tree again, reluctantly so. Fay would have to be alone when she met him, and neither one of them liked that. 

Fay took a few deep breaths to steady herself, before going through the revolving doors. Once inside, she stopped and glanced at the security guards walking around. She had grown familiar with most of their faces, even if not their names and she couldn't see any of the guards that tried to stop her that day. 

Weird. Did Damian have something to do with that? 

Fay approached one of the new guards, but instead of checking her backpack, he smiled and told her to go to the information desk directly. What the---? A young man had taken the place of the blonde that Fay last saw behind the desk. He was already on the phone when she hesitantly walked over, struck by a sense of deja vu. This time, however, she didn't run away when he hung up and asked her to follow him. 

A dark thought insinuated itself in her mind. What if Damian wanted to get her alone without the protection of her paladin? That was entirely plausible. History repeating itself, just with different characters. It wasn't even the public elevator that the man led her to, but a smaller one for employees only, which required a key fob to access and move between the floors. A lump formed in her throat, but despite her anxiety, she followed the man inside. 

Six floors were enough to process the weirdness of it all, figuring that it must’ve been Damian once again ‘addressing things’. By the time they arrived at the top floor, Fay was regretting her decision to come there. She even considered turning back. 

The receptionist told her to walk straight ahead, across the hall where the double doors were. On a plaque above, she read 'Director Rochester'. 

Hm. 

Fay knocked on the door. One, two, three. 

“Come in.’’ Damian’s voice was muffled but it was indubitably him.

Fay pushed on the door handle instead of pulling, and when she did finally pull, it was a bit too forceful because she managed to hit her forehead on the edge. Startled, she let go of the door before grabbing into it again. She did not hit herself again, but she did trip on her own feet when she stepped through. 

She didn't fall down which was a very, very small victory. Straightening, red-faced, and ready to cry, Fay looked across the room where the boy was. 

The look on his face clearly said he thought she was an idiot. She felt like one too. 

Fay cleared her throat. "H-hi.'' 

"Take a seat. Try not to break your neck in the process.'' 

She did as she was told, and cautiously walked over to the desk he was seated behind. He should have looked ridiculous, given how the furniture dwarfed him and emphasized his youth. He didn't. If anything, he looked like he belonged there from the fine threads he was wearing to how focused he looked tapping away on the keyboard of his laptop. 

The office was smaller than the one at the penthouse and the walls were decorated with awards and two-dimensional plans of the museum. To her left, the tall windows offered a view of Gotham Boulevard below and she wondered if she would be able to see Bag from up there.

Fay sat down in one of the chairs before the desk, awkwardly waiting for the boy to speak again. He made her wait for at least ten minutes before he pulled a thick plastic folder from a drawer next to his chair, and slid it towards her. 

“Your offer. Read it and then tell me if you have questions.’’ She stared at the folder, confusedly. Without lifting his gaze to look at her, he spoke again, “Is there a problem?’’

Oh. Okay. He was going to make this difficult then. Best to just get done with it before she loses the courage she had worked up for the past two days. 

“My answer is no.’’

That got his attention, green eyes zeroing on her like a dragon eyeing its target. Damian was mercurial. Interacting with him was confusing, stressful, and full of contradictions. 

“This again?’’ He sounded calm. It was the type of calm that preceded a disaster of sorts, however. “Without looking at the offer. That’s thoughtless of you.’’ 

“I—‘’

“Read it first.’’ He was making demands again.

If she got up and walked away, would he stop her? Call security to arrest her?

Fay took a deep breath and hesitantly grabbed the folder and its weight surprised her. She was curious, of course, but not enough to want to work for him. 

Fay patiently read the first few pages, if only because it distracted her from the sensation that he was staring at her again. 

The offer was insane, indeed but he had also told the truth when he said the incentives were competitive (not that she had much knowledge of the job market and how it worked in that world). 

It wasn’t a normal contract, because she wasn’t of age and she had no guardians, but rather an affidavit of sorts. She could not legally hold him responsible for what he was doing, but neither could he. In the affidavit, he declared that she could dissolve the contract but that she will try to have any concerns addressed first. If she’s unsatisfied still, she only must give him a twenty-four notice. The contract itself took her a while to read through but it was clear cut and there were only a few terms she wasn’t familiar with. She reluctantly asked, more out of curiosity than anything and he responded, surprisingly without any condescension. 

He was offering her work for a period of two months, initially, subject to regular performance reviews and a one-week probationary period. The total pay for the two months would be thousands of dollars, which made her eyes bulge thinking it might be a typo -(it wasn’t). The money would be paid in installments in a private bank account (how could she even have a bank account with no identity and no guardians?).

There were also several benefits including access to private medical care and pre-paid cards to Wayne Food and Wayne Electronics. All incentives that any person would vie for, even if it was for two months only. Fay had some idea of the academic rites that people went through in that world and she was certain she was nowhere qualified for a role that could offer that amount of money and benefits. 

Fay would have still said no, albeit more reluctantly, but then she arrived on the last page of the folder. 

It was a certificate that acknowledged Bagheera as a ‘service dog’ which meant he’d be allowed to access any store she went in, regardless of their animal policy. They could be together always. No one would turn them away from boarding a bus or train, no one could kick them out of a store or threaten to call 'animal services'. 

Fay met Damian's gaze. He knew that incentive would shake her resolve, she could read it in the smug expression on his face. There was no way it was a coincidence. 

Most children in her position would have been intimidated, overwhelmed, or too caught up by the temptation of such an offer to realize that he was indulging her by giving her a semi-legal contract that she could never defend herself again if he decided to take action against her. She knew better because, despite her appearances, she wasn’t a poor person. She hadn’t been raised in the environment he thinks she did, she was not uneducated even if she was largely ignorant of the matters of that world. 

A sliver of irritation worked its way into her heart. Even if he truly was generous, agreeing to his offer would mean she’d willingly allow him to have power over her. 

Just because the ‘contract’ said he won’t hold her responsible for repaying him, that it guaranteed her exit out with minimal challenges on his end, it did not mean that’d happen. If the Waynes are truly as powerful as she heard, then there was nothing to stop him from nullifying any contracts and breaking promises. On the contrary. She would give him even more opportunities to extort or blackmail her. 

He really wasn't that different from the others

He could hurt her regardless of the choice she made, but Fay would not deliberately endanger Bagheera if she could help it. She closed the portfolio before gently setting it back on the desk. Fay took a deep breath, before raising to her unsteady feet and exhaling. “I am sorry. My answer is still no.’’

The smugness wilted away into a closed expression, but those green eyes burned

“Why?’’ He raised to his feet, swift and graceful and she instinctively took a step back. There was something about Damian Wayne that screamed danger, and it wasn't just his status. “Why would you keep turning it down? I have followed through with my end, have I not? In respecting your privacy and your desire to not be reported.''

So, it was a bribe. All of it had been. At least her paranoia had paid off.

I need to get out of here and get Bag. We need to go back to the attic and---and. Run away, again. 

"Or are you being greedy?'' He added, challengingly. 

He couldn't be further from the truth. 

“Because—‘’ She steeled herself. “Because the world doesn’t work like that.’’

His eyes narrowed. 

“You--you did nothing but demand how I should feel and then you—you tracked me down so-so easily and you are offering things that are not legal nor are they—right. I’ve d-done nothing to-to deserve any of this and you keep saying it’s—it’s because I came to the museum often and you want my insight.’’ Fay wanted to stop talking but she found she could not. Whether it was stupidity or courage that fuelled her she wasn’t sure.

“You--you are lying. Nobody in your position would ever just look at--'' Someone like me. "--someone poor and think they deserve thousands of dollars or a visit to your—your stupid tower. People--people suffer e-every day. Do you just track them down and—and tell them what to do? You have all this---money and power---and titles and it---there’s no reason for you to ask for my opinion. I---I am g-grateful that you did not report me, and that—that you helped me, and that Mr. Pennyworth helped me---but that doesn’t mean you can just own people.’’

One of the reasons she ran away was freedom. Freedom from people wanting her to be something she's not, freedom from people reminding her she's a failure, freedom from them. All of them. The ones that she loved and the ones that she didn't. 

Fay was shaking and her cheeks felt impossibly hot, but for once, she wasn't crying. The emotion she dared not acknowledge was making its way through her grief and sadness. The bracelets were slightly warm. 

She just wanted to be able to breathe easier, to enjoy the limbo that was her life without anyone pushing and prodding and questioning. 

Damian had an unreadable look now, even if his eyes were slightly wider than usual. She found she couldn’t stop still, even though he didn’t seem he had anything else to say.

“The contract is--is false. I know—I know what a lot of those terms mean and---if you wanted to, it—it would mean nothing. I wouldn’t-I wouldn’t be able to do anything against you and---if—if this is some sort of game---‘’ She was panting now, and unwittingly gesturing her hands. “Then...I can’t do anything about it. But—I don’t want Bagheera to get hurt because of me. So---my answer is no. You can do whatever you want to me, but---but I---I am not going to play your games.'' A part of her knew she had gone off track and that she was likely coming across as unhinged.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair how he just showed up in her life and ruined something the closest thing she had to a sense of peace. It wasn't fair he ruined the museum for her, which brought her the closest thing she had to joy in over a year. It wasn't fair how he pushed her around and took advantage of her vulnerability to get her to speak about things that had broken her. 

It wasn't fair that even in that world, people looked at her and they decided she did not deserve a break. Did she really deserve that continuous torment? 

Yes, because I am a coward. I ran away thinking things would get better. 

The adrenaline rush died down and shame flooded back in, like a bitter balm calming to soothe the emotion that triggered her outburst. Fay didn't want to wait and hear his response, so she grabbed her backpack and turned to walk towards the exit. 

“15th of August.’’

Her hand had landed on the door handle and she froze there. She didn't turn around. “....w-what?’’

“On 15th of August, a building exploded on Bromsgrove Road due to a bomb on the seventh floor. Half of the building collapsed. Seventeen people died and thirty-five were gravelly injured.’’ Damian continued as he stepped around his desk but didn’t approach her any further. “There was a small boy inside that building. His mother had left him alone when she went to visit a neighbor. She fainted shortly after the explosion and when she woke up, she had been evacuated by the neighbour. Her son had not. He was hidden in a closet, with his dog.’’

Fay's breath hitched in her throat, her blood going cold. How did he know all of that?!

If he knows about the boy then he also knows...

“You went in that building to save the child even if the building was in flames and it could have collapsed at any moment. The child and his dog were reunited successfully with his mother, by a large black dog that carried him outside.’’

“H-how do you kn-know all this?’’

“Wayne Enterprises set up a relief fund for the residents affected. A woman named Julia Terrence reported that her son was dropped off by a large black dog near the ambulance she was in. Several other individuals saw him. There is also footage.'' There wasn't. "Robin and Nightwing were operating in that area that night. A video shows Robin and a girl standing on the balcony of the third floor before they jump off on the other building. That was you, was it not?’’

Between the last and the next sentence, his voice grew closer which forced her to look over her shoulder. He had stepped closer, as silently as her paladin would have. 

“I am confident in my skills and intellect because I have no reason to feel otherwise. It's easy math, especially seeing as your dog is of a rather unique breed. You did not evacuate at the same time as Bagheera left, so the logical explanation is that you stayed behind to help one of the vigilantes even if it meant you could die. That vigilante was Robin.’’

Her mouth trembled. “No—no. That’s---I didn’t do anything---‘’

“Stop it.’’ He snapped. “Stop it being so damn noble about it. You went into that building and risked your life to help others. It was a stupidly reckless thing to do when you could have asked for help, but the fact remains you did something when no one else there dared.’’

“I---I am not being noble—‘’ She said shakily. “I---I didn’t do anything. Ba-Bagheera was the one who—who saved the boy, not me.’’

“What about Robin?’’

“It---I didn’t—think it through. I—there was no escape and I should---should have called for help. All—all I did was wait for someone else to save me. I didn’t do anything.’’

“Really. Then how did you injure your hand?’’ Damian threw a pointed look at her bandaged hand. “The building was coming down so you had no choice but to punch your way out through that balcony, isn't it? You could have escaped with your dog, yet you chose to stay behind to help someone who had higher chances of survival than you did. Robin was not a priority--‘’

“That's---that's not true.'' 

“Are you defending his weakness?’’

“ I am—I am---‘’ She bit her lip. “Heroes are not---invincible. Heroes get hurt and they die and---it’s disappointing but---but that--that doesn't mean his life didn't matter.’’ Her hand felt sweaty against the doorknob and she pushed it down, hearing the click of the lock but didn’t push the door. 

“I am not playing games with you; it is not my intention to bring harm to you or your dog. I am merely paying it forward on the behalf of a happy mother.’’

“That’s not—right. I wasn’t---I wasn’t needed. The building—it didn’t—‘’

“Yes, yes. You didn’t know that beforehand, however.’’ Damian sighed, looking impatient again. “There you have it. That’s the reason for my proposal. That mother won’t be able to repay you, but I am willing to do so on her behalf.’’

 “No.’’ She shook her head furiously. “You could have just said so and—there’s no need. I don’t want it.’’

“Why do you insist on demeaning your own heroic actions?’

I am not heroic.’’   

Fay pushed the door rather violently and exited the office as fast as she could, heading inside the elevator immediately after. When she looked behind her, there was no one. The doors to the office had closed behind her and the boy hadn't followed her. 

Regardless, as soon as she was back in the lobby, she ran as if her life depended on it, just like last time she’d been there.

Fay didn't speak all the way back to the attic, and once in the comfort of her shelter, she started crying. 

She was the furthest thing from a hero.

.

.

.

27th of August

Everything went back to normal or rather to life before-boy-with-the-green-eyes.

She had nightmares. She cried. She worked at the soup kitchen. She took Bag to the park. Her hand healed. Dana invited her to dinner, and she accepted, and it was nice.

She had no major panic attacks.

She never returned to the museum although she wanted to learn more. There was still so much she hadn’t explored yet.

She tried not to think too much about Damian or his proposal or his words because she found it difficult to breathe when she did.

It doesn’t really matter, she'd tell herself. It was only a matter of months before they’d leave everything behind so it would be all in the past.

They’ll find a way home, and when they do, nobody will ever look at her in that manner and tell her she’s heroic. Or maybe they won't, and they'll be left to wander that world for an indeterminate period of time. 

(Yet it did something to her heart, hearing those words coming from his mouth).

.

.

.

28th of August

At that point, why was she even surprised he wouldn’t leave her alone that easily?

Bagheera sneered at the boy standing in the middle of the alley, hands in pocket and sunglasses shading his eyes. She let go of the plastic bag she had lifted over the rim of the large waste container, then pushed the lid down. With a sigh, she stepped back towards the kitchen exit with half a mind to just go in and pretend she hadn’t seen him.

She didn't. 

“I have a counter-proposal.’’ He started, pulling his sunglasses away, then letting them hang from the collar of his dark shirt. “If you refuse, this will be our last encounter.’’

I refuse. Say it, Fay. Come on. “Okay.’’ Coward.

“You have said that you do not feel you deserve what I offered you, even if I told you the truth about why I am doing all of this.’’ A bit too late, she thought sourly. “Which is why I would like to give you the opportunity to earn it. To prove that you deserve it.’’ Thousands of dollars? That’s impossible. That was a salary that others worked for years; she neither had the experience or the qualifications. 

And she still had no idea what exactly the work consisted of. The contract had been vague about it. 

“One week. Work for me. For free, call it a trial of sorts for both of us. You will understand what is being asked of you and I will establish objectively whether you are indeed undeserving and I should seek someone else.’’

“W-why not just seek someone else now?’’ Why did he have to keep coming back to her, in her life, over and over?

“Call it a social duty.’’ He smirked. “If you win, I was right about you. If you lose, then you were right. If you wish to insist on holding onto your principles even if it means accepting a chance to turn your life around, that’s on you. A man may well bring a horse to the water, but he cannot make the horse drink as they say.’’

Did he—did he just call her a horse? He did, didn’t he? What an obnoxious, stupid--

“However,’’ He stepped closer, undeterred by Bag’s warning growl, stopping just a few feet from her. “If you win, I will offer you something better than money. I will give you an identity. A new one, with a passport and any other documentation you wish. Of course, you are still a minor. Emancipation laws state that you must be at least fourteen to file for legal separation from your parents or guardians; you’re what? Two years away from that.’’ There was a haughty air about him. “Inconsequential, really for someone like me. Minor details.’’

An identity was better than money, he was right. Not only could she travel freely, but nobody would question why she is traveling alone, at least not in Gotham or perhaps most of that country. That’d also address the issue of being without a guardian. However. Even if he did have the power to forge her an identity, she did not know enough about the laws of that world to understand how fallible it would be. Maybe she’ll end up getting arrested the moment she tries to use it, or maybe it'll work only in Gotham which would not help her in the long term. The lengths he was going to incentivize her were also dubious. Did he really care that much about how that woman felt? That a child was saved? 

If he wanted her arrested, he could have found easier ways to do than make her walk in a trap. The possibility he was still playing games was not completely off the table. What if he used the identity to track her down, to insinuate himself into her life even further? What if she’ll never be free of him once she accepted his deal, like Faust when he made the deal with the Devil? She was so incredibly disadvantaged.

Of course, those were all concerns that’d come with surpassing the challenge issued, and was she ever a winner? 

“I see I’ve finally got your attention.’’ He said smugly. 

She glanced at Bag, who stared back at her waiting for her to make the call. He did not like the boy at all, but he must’ve felt that she was reconsidering her initial stance. “What---what if I wanted to leave? I mean, if I passed the trial and you—you gave me an identity, but I didn’t want to work after…’’

“You shall not be in my debt at any point.’’ That was too good to be true. 

Wasn't it? 

Fay needed time to think it over, alone so she could get all the scenarios out on paper, and weigh all of the risks. 

“Here.’’ She looked down at his extended hand to see a slim, rectangular device. “You have forty-eight hours to make up your mind. My name is in the phone book. Text me your answer by—‘’ He flicked his other wrist up, revealing what was without a doubt a very expensive watch. “Four in the afternoon on Sunday. If you accept, I will send you the details that same day. If you refuse, feel free to keep the phone or dispose of it. I don’t care.’’

“W-what exactly will I be doing again?’’

His smirk widened.

He really was the Devil to her Faust, wasn’t he?

“You shall find out. Make no mistake, Fay, I will not go easy on you. You wanted to deserve it, so I will make you work for it.’’

Then he shoved his hands in his pockets and turned away. “If you don’t respond at all, I will assume it’s a no.’’ He said, before disappearing around the corner. 

She met her paladin's gaze.  “What do you think?’’

“Rgghhh.’’

“Yeah. I think I am going to need my list of pros and cons, too.’’

.

.

.

30th of August, 15:37

Between what Mack told her and the information she found in the library, emancipation legally awards a minor the independence they would otherwise have to wait for several other years for. That means they can freely choose where to live, how they earn their money and can enter a legally binding contract. It is a double-edged sword, however. If she gets in trouble, she’ll likely be tried as an adult. Emancipation by a court, which is what Damian was talking about, is also a lengthy and arduous process with no guarantees of success. 

Damian would likely have no issues circumventing such challenges. 

He had no qualms about committing forgery, so why should he stop at falsifying court orders? He proved her point that he had powers she didn’t, that he could hurt her in ways she could never defend herself. But, how nice it would be if she could go into shops without having to worry about Bagheera? How nice would it be not to constantly worry about being questioned about who she is? She could officially work for Dana, and no longer fear the woman might be tried for child labor. 

It was all wishful thinking. Could she really win? When was the last time she was victorious in anything important?

It wasn’t just a matter of her self-esteem and lacking determination. Fay fully believed Damian when he said that he’d not go easy on her. He might even get his vindication for turning him down twice. It was a probation period, though, so she had the freedom of giving up if she felt he was being unfair. 

Was it worth it? Yes and no.

Damian did not say he’d offer Bag the ‘service dog’ certificate as well but she would definitely ask for it. 

If she lost the challenge and he kept his promise to leave her alone, she would simply be back to the plans she was formulating before they met. 

If she passed the challenge, she could go ahead and work for those six weeks, earning thousands of dollars. A significant portion of the obstacles she expected they'll encounter in their journey to Europe would be addressed. The downside was that she would have to survive him for six weeks. If his attitude was anything to go by, he would even be more terrible to have as a leader. 

But.

She glanced at Bagheera who was standing next to her, switching his attention between the phone in her hand and her face.

If they didn't find a way back home, they'll at least have the means to survive for a while.

It wasn't all about what she wanted, but what was best for her paladin. 

.

15:57

‘I accept.’

“My, Master Damian, you look like at the bird who just ate the canary.’’

Damian tutted as he leaned to grab an apple from the kitchen counter. “Mind your own business, Pennyworth.’’ 

Dick Grayson stared confusedly at the retreating boy before sending a questioning look to Alfred, who was preparing a batch of popcorn while the former Robin whipped up a smoothie. “What was that about?’’

“Master Damian has taken Master Bruce’s advice to interact with individuals closer in his age, that's all.’’

“…really? He’s making friends?’’ Dick asked.

He really hoped there was no kidnapping involved.

“It’s a work in progress,’’ Alfred replied cryptically. “Miss Fay is a lovely young lady who has proven to be rather, shall we say, unpredictable.’’

“…a girl, huh?’’

God help them all.

.

17:30

Fay’s mother had been headstrong, bold, opinionated. At times she would also swear like a pirate. Absolutely loved making use of profanity to express her ire. Sometimes her happiness too. As such, Fay grew up around a lot of colorful words but she listened to her mother when she said Fay could not copy her until she had ‘enough burdens to justify it’.

One can safely assume witnessing the death of hundreds of people would qualify as a problem justifying the use of profanity.

So.

What.

The.

Actual.

Fu—

“Here you go, miss. That’s everything now. Have a pleasant evening.’’

She didn’t pay any attention to the uniformed man walking back to his car, too busy staring at the seven boxes he had left on the ground, at the back end of the alley.

Damian had asked her to ensure she didn't go anywhere that afternoon with no explanation at all. She waited at the soup kitchen, switching between helping Mack and checking her phone. Sure enough, at a quarter past five, a dark car pulled up at the quieter end of the alley. The driver stepped out, saluted her cordially then started taking out the boxes. When she asked him what was in the boxes, he told her he was not informed, just instructed to deliver them by Mr. Wayne. 

She had no choice but to bring them up in the attic, one by one. 

As it turns out the contents consisted of books and statistical reports and financial publications on the Gotham museums from their inception until the present day. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Damian was expecting her to read the material offered. 

But all of them?

Half an hour later, the green-eyed devil texted.

Tomorrow, 12:00 at the Museum. Don’t be late or you’re disqualified.’ Disqualified. Well, he did say he wasn’t going to go easy.

Somehow a deal with an actual devil sounded better than whatever she had agreed to with Damian Wayne.

.

.

.

31st of August, 13:47

She hadn’t been late. In fact, she was twenty minutes early.

Just like last time, the receptionist allowed her to take the staff elevator to the top floor and Bag had been left waiting outside.

Except on this occasion, the hall wasn’t empty. There were chairs propped against both sides, some of them unexpectedly occupied. Men and women dressed in formal suits and fine threads, holding leather portfolios and looking presentable. They all stared at her surprised, and she couldn’t blame them. Her clothes were clean, but they weren’t steamed, and they fit her poorly because she barely owned anything that wasn’t at least three sizes bigger. Her canvas shoes, albeit a new pair, hadn't lasted very long before they started coming apart at the seams. 

She felt like a slob compared to everyone else there. 

“Are you lost, sweetie?’’ A blond, blue-eyed woman asked, from a seat nearest to the elevator. She was very pretty, Fay thought, and very elegantly dressed from the coifed hair to the discrete but complimenting jewelry she was wearing.

“I, um, no. Thank you.’’ Fay mumbled and walked past all the chairs, head bowed to sit on the furthest chair possible. She could feel the confused gazes following her movements, but their attention was soon diverted when the office doors opened and a tall, sturdy man walked out in a navy suit. He was wearing a notepad in one hand and he appeared to be in his late forties. 

“Thank you all for coming. My name is William Rochester, and I am the museum director.'' Well, that explained the name on the plaque. "We shall go ahead and start the interviewing process now.’’

Interview process?! He raised his notepad and stared at the sheet of paper attached to it. “First on the list, is Miss Rachel Richards.’’ Ah. It was the blonde that spoke to her. Fay watched her as she raised from the chair and followed Rochester inside the office, with an enviable grace given how tall her heels were. 

That left the hall with four other candidates, three men, and a woman. Fay caught a mixture of envy and concern on two of the men’s faces, as they started chatting to each other in low tones about the role, boasting to each other about their education and previous work experiences, and pointing out how working for Wayne Enterprises equals being set for life. 

The only other woman there, brown-haired and of shorter stature, smiled at Fay before offering her gum. Her features weren’t as striking as the other woman’s, but Fay thought she was very pleasant to look at, perhaps due to her kind smile and bubbly attitude. Fay felt compelled to smile back at her, even if it was half-hearted.

The woman stood out amongst the other candidates there: she wasn’t dressed in clothes as expensive as the other woman and her hair was pinned back in a simple bun. She was only wearing a light layer of lipstick. Fay noticed that her shoes, albeit made of leather and polished were also worn out. Her blazer did not match her skirt in colors although the dark green blouse she wore underneath complimented her dark skin. 

The other two men, sitting across from them were dressed just as expensively as Mr. Rochester, their body language indicating their self-confidence. The third man, looking not that much older than Robby, was seated next to them but he looked very nervous to be there. He too was wearing a suit but it was too large for his frame and she thought she could see a tag sticking from the back of his neck. 

“My name is Helen, dear. What is yours?’’ The woman moved to sit next to Fay and put out her hand. Fay reflexively shook it, manners kicking in faster than her reticence of being touched did. People shook hands more often in that world, actually, now that she thought about it. 

“Um, Fay.’’

“Hm. That’s a lovely name.’’ Helen smelt like cinnamon. 

The two men suddenly laughed raucously, and when Fay looked at them, she realized they were throwing secretive looks at Helen. She was very good at telling when people were laughing about others because she had been on the receiving end many times. Something hot unfurled in her chest. The emotion-dare-not-be-named.

Helen either didn't notice the two men or pretended she didn't because she carried on talking--she talked just as much as Gloria, but she was a pleasant character, so Fay quietly listened. 

While waiting for almost an hour, Fay learned that the woman had studied media and communication, that she had a thing called a ‘Masters’ but she gave up on her career because she had twins who were complete devils. They were the apple of her eye, of course, and she loved dearly her husband, Mike. He used to work in construction but had injured his back a year earlier, leaving him paralyzed from the waist down. Even though they were full of debt and struggling, the woman did not complain once about their circumstances, instead of mentioning how blessed they were for having a roof above their heads, for having two healthy children, for her husband to be alive. They seemed to have so little – especially in comparison with what Fay had back in Maysoon – but they preferred to look at the positive side of things.

It made Fay reflect on her own situation.

When Rachel Richards came out of the office, she looked rather pleased and sat back down. Mr. Rochester called the next names on his list, the youngest of the three males. He was in there for twenty minutes only and when he came out, his face was flushed, his forehead was sweaty, and he looked like he wanted to run away. Unlike Rachel, he called the elevator and left entirely. 

The other two candidates followed, each in for half an hour as well but only one of them stayed in the end. Helen was last to be called in and she winked at Fay before following Rochester inside. Fifteen minutes later, Damian exited the office, business suit on, and Fay felt a confusing mix of embarrassment and irritation upon seeing him. The other candidates looked surprised as well, even more so when he didn't even spare them a look and approached her instead. 

“Hm. You waited.’’ He smirked. 

He made her wait there on purpose. As some sort of test?

Fay opened her mouth to ask him what was happening, but Rochester beat her to it. Helen wasn't with him, but he told everyone who stayed to follow him back in. Fay stayed put, mainly because Damian was too close and blocking her way. She watched the other two candidates go in. The doors shut close and just like that she was left alone with the devil. 

“Why-I am confused,’’ she muttered quietly.

It was a paper envelope, A4 size.

“The museum is hiring for a Program Manager role.’’ He replied. She wasn't sure what that meant. “The candidates you saw just now have been selected to go through one-week probation. Their ability and knowledge will be tested. Rochester will then evaluate them and decide who is getting what role. Much like yourself, their critical thinking skills, resilience, and ability to think quickly on their feet will be tested.’’

Like herself? 

Did that mean...it was the same challenge? That's what the role was? 

She didn’t think it’d be easy, but she had assumed – hoped – it’d be manual labor; maybe clean the museum, refill coffee machines, sweep…that sort of thing. It made sense he’d ask for a lot more than giving what he was offering in return. 

“Am-am I helping, any of them…or?’’

“Not exactly. You are a child, an unaccompanied one at that. So, you will pose as a volunteer, the daughter of one of the angel investors. Rochester has already been informed and he has been instructed to maintain discretion. The other candidates will have to do the same if they wish to stay in this race.’’

People would still ask questions, though. They must have about Damian too, who despite his obvious intellect and serious attitude, was still a child. 

 “Wh-what exactly…am I meant to be doing?’’

“Finish your reading for the time being. There’s more where that came from. Keep your phone close, I will contact you with the when and where.’’

Wait.

That was it?

He made her come there, wait over two hours just for five minutes of conversation? He could have easily just texted or called her. 

It wasn't until later that evening that she decided, yes, he had really been testing her by having her witness her unofficial competition. 

And she still had no clear idea what exactly her week would consist of. 

 

Chapter 6: Of green-eyed tyrants, altruism and smoke bombs

Notes:

Chapter has been revised/rewritten as of 19th of August.

Chapter Text

 

“No one is useless in this world who lightens the burdens of another.’’

- Charles Dickens

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A week in the making…

 

Damian Wayne was a tyrant.

He used the phone to terrorize her at all times of the day regardless of where she was: be it the solitude of her attic or working at the soup kitchen or already running errands for him. Did he ever sleep?! If she got even a moment for herself throughout the day, he’d text her. Two days in, the only time she's gotten away was when she snuck in at the gym to take a shower - very quickly, that is, as if he was there to rush her through.  

He had to be spying on her, right? There was no other explanation, as irrational as that was.

That's maybe too paranoid of me. 

Damian quizzed her incessantly, expecting her to extend her research well beyond the material he’s given her, ‘to show initiative’.

He sent her another four boxes on Monday afternoon. Even with her inclination to only sleep a few hours each night and quick reading ability, she still struggled with keeping up. He didn’t care if she had to complete shifts at the soup kitchen. She either made it through the challenge or she didn’t.

Whenever she didn’t know the answer to a question, he’d tell her she lost points although he never told her how the points system worked.

When did Gotham Museums burn down? Apparently, it burned more than once. Clearly, she should have known, had she read the papers correctly, he berated in one message. 

What was the visitor rate in 2007? He wanted the exact number, not an approximation. Percentage of elderly vs the young, too. 

How many exhibits did the museums have previously? 

Which floor contains the remnants of an ancient Greek shield?

How many staff members are employed currently?

How do the holidays impact visitor volume?

How many seats did the new movie theatre have?

He was a tyrant, indeed.

One that also ordered her to make sure she stayed properly hydrated, because ‘he did not go through the trouble of lying for her only for her to disrespect the opportunity. He also criticized her choice of clothing, which made her self-conscious. 

One that at the end of each day would ask her if she wanted to withdraw; if she did, he won’t bother to try and change her mind. 

She never did.

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Fay Kipling.

That was the identity he gave her.

Kipling. As in Rudyard Kipling. There was no doubt that’s where he took inspiration. In the short space of time she has known him, Damian has proven that he rarely, if ever, did anything by chance. He was a deliberate individual, and he had deliberately chosen that name because her ‘dog’ is Bagheera.

It was strangely poetic. Ironic. 

And incredibly painful.

And so, the new identity consolidated that she was no longer Fay of Maysoon but Fay of that world. In a way, it was a prison because, with a simple piece of paper, a falsified one at that, Damian had ripped away from the protective veil of anonymity she hid behind. In another way, however, accepting the new identity meant she could pretend there was never a Fay of Maysoon. 

She had no idea who Fay Kipling was though.

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On Wednesday, at five in the morning, he texted her a list with thirteen different destinations, all scattered across a twenty-mile radius.

None of them were in the poorer or particularly dangerous areas of Gotham. Three of the destinations required her to cross over to Burnside, which ate at least four hours of their day. For what, exactly? To deliver some files she first had to collect from the museum to two different factories. There, she found out that the documents had already been sent over via email. 

Damian Wayne managed to feel her incensed in ways others couldn't and it scared her. Because from annoyed to that other emotion, was a very small gap. 

The tasks were testing her patience. And her sanity. 

All those trips could have been easily been mitigated by using a phone or email rather than having her running back and forth. They had to return to the museum three times alone in-between the various destinations. By her tenth destination, Fay struggled not to cry - again - and she was ready to withdraw. She felt ridiculed and humiliated, and once again reminded of another time when she went to great lengths to prove herself and please others only to make a fool of herself. 

Fay particularly disliked Damian that day. Bagheera would have gladly sunk his teeth into his ankles. Or throat.   

So, at six in the afternoon, after over twelve hours of walking and running, Fay returned to the museum struggling not to blackout from exhaustion. 

She found Alfred waiting for her in the meeting room Damian told her to go to. 

With food. Hot, delicious, home-cooked food. 

“Are…is this a…joke?’’ She asked. Her feet ached so badly she could barely walk and the skin of her ankles was chaffed. She was sure her toes were also bleeding but she didn't stop to check. She didn't have the time. 

“Not at all.’’ Alfred gestured for her to take a seat. “Master Damian has mentioned your rather challenging day, so I thought perhaps you’d like a break now that your tasks are finished?’’

“I, um…. okay.’’ She was starving. Fay made sure Bagheera ate, but she hadn't had much of an appetite otherwise. 

Bagheera was not as tired or affected by all the running about, as he had the energy supplies and stamina of well…not a dog. Not even close. 

Grateful to be sitting down finally, she savored each bite of Alfred’s delicious cooking. Then she was a car ride back to the soup kitchen.

Damian Wayne was a tyrant.

But maybe he wasn’t just that. Just maybe. 

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She’d always try the gym first and if it turned out to not be an option, they’d walk to the Gotham Academy, which was, unfortunately, a tiring option. Bag didn’t require to be cleaned as regularly but with the increased workload, she had found herself not wanting to go a day without washing herself. She never really stayed at the library anymore.

She had enough reading to complete as it was.

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Fay wouldn’t say she slept better, per se because she barely slept the first three days of that week, trying to stay on top of the reading list. She did not want to give Damian an excuse to take off points. She had no idea how many points she had or if there was a target, but she was in the game now and she was going to try her best. 

From Wednesday, he had stopped texting her after midnight but she stayed awake either way to keep reading. He didn't text until six the next day. 

It was some…improvement.

The nightmares and natural chaos of Gotham still disturbed her sleep. 

Still, she felt different, if only slightly. She couldn't put her finger on it. Physically, she was still weak. Emotionally, she still struggled. But something...changed. 

She felt something at the end of the day that wasn't dread or anxiety for what the next will bring. 

Each end of the day brought her a small but indubitable sense of satisfaction. She'd fulfilled her tasks and it didn't matter if, in the end, she won't win the challenge. 

She didn't give up and she made it through, day by day. Not just on auto-pilot but with a purpose. 

Suddenly she felt she could see what lied ahead beyond the limbo. 

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Bag enjoyed the challenge more than she did as he had the opportunity to tap into his reserves of energy far better than previously. Fay made a mental note to stimulate him more in the future.

In the meantime, Fay allowed him to take the lead when roaming Gotham, turning their errands into an obstacle course. A few times, they even split apart—just on opposite sides of the street from one another- to race each other, as they used to in the olden times. Once she even allowed herself to give in the adrenaline and fearlessly recall how it used to feel when she ran in the jungle, instead of worrying about how she'll feel later. 

Bag was happy. His man-cub felt briefly like her old self. 

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Damian watched the red dot zig-zag through Gotham every day. He knew where she was at any moment of the day.

He shamelessly took advantage of it.

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Competition can be cut-throat. It can push people to rely on underhanded or unethical tactics when winning is everything to them.

Fay has never been particularly competitive. As a child, she did not have much difficulty keeping up with her studies because she required little incentive to keep her nose in a book. She was nowhere the prodigy her father had been, but she found it easy to focus if the topic interested her enough. She didn't settle for being average, and if the situation called for it she would try to prove herself. She wanted to make her parents proud and she wanted to be like them, so that's what motivated her. However, she is not sure she ever was willing to sabotage another in order to put herself ahead. If she did fail, she was more likely to internalize that disappointment, turn it into herself.

Then her parents died, and she no longer stood a chance against anyone. Her morale was destroyed, her ambition wilted and her self-worth virtually non-existent. Why compete when she's already lost? Why compete when, even if she wins, she'll never be enough? Why compete when the world around her made no more sense? 

Despite her complexities, Fay had worked as hard she could. It's just that her hard work was simply not enough. She did not feel encouraged by the competition others offered, she felt scared. Ashamed. Insecure. Fay had been blind of course, to the extent that others would go to win and once that veil of ignorance had been lifted, she realized that in a way she was crippling herself by holding onto her principles. It wasn’t as if she’s never cheated – especially for Master Tora’s written tests - and she had been taught to take advantage of a loophole if presented with one, but she’d never be able to do so at the expense of another.

Problem was that she rarely ever allowed herself to believe she was worthy of a win. But Fay had grown better at reading people in the process. Pain, rejection, and isolation had, in a disturbing and unexpected way, made her more acutely aware of people's behaviors. 

Caleb Stratford, one of the candidates she’s seen a few days earlier, was exactly the type of individual who’d step on others to get where he wants. A sycophant who spent all his efforts in portraying himself as a trustworthy, capable person. He complimented others frequently and made constant small talk and made his presence known. 

Rachel was also competitive, but she didn't rely as much on social connections. The woman was sophisticated, composed and from the looks of it, very good at commanding authority when she needed it. She didn’t smile much but she wasn’t cold either; just very disciplined. She preferred getting things done, quickly and efficiently. 

Helen was the outlier. The woman acknowledged the competition but didn’t allow it to define her week. She treated people with an enthusiasm that Fay had, admittedly, assumed was false initially – why would anyone be so happy all the time? - but by Thursday she had changed her mind. Helen Wilmot was a genuinely positive person, who worked just as hard as Rachel and made herself liked just as Caleb did, just by being herself. A bit gullible, maybe but just as capable and hardworking. Being away from the workforce for years and then jumping straight into a competition for a high-profile role couldn't have been easy. 

Fay really liked her. She wished she could be like that---keep her head up regardless of the condescending looks or cruel whispers or being told she shouldn’t be here. Because some staff members did say that, not to Helen’s face but Fay heard them, because they often ignored her presence, thinking she was just a rich child running wild due to her parent's connection. 

Helen's too old. She’s too friendly, nobody should treat others with such familiarity. It is unprofessional. She should be more composed. She smiled too much. She didn’t smile enough. She dressed too informally; perhaps she shouldn’t be there if she can’t afford to dress better? She doesn’t understand business because she is a mother. Shouldn't her husband be at work instead? A mother shouldn't abandon her children. Did she really think she can be hired at such a prestigious place? She isn't pretty. 

There were other things being said as well. It took Fay a while to understand that some people there were also biased against Helen because of her race. 

The emotion-not-to-be-spoken always bubbled to the surface whenever she'd hear the whispers. She might have as well been back in Maysoon; human nature was all the same, regardless the worlds, she’d think irately. The bracelets would get slightly warm and remind her she had to control herself. The world was like that, unfair. Not just to Helen but to many others. Why should she care? 

Because her parents would have. Because Fay can imagine her mother tear down anyone who dared discriminate Helen. She can imagine Caleb not standing a chance against her father’s calm wit. 

Because that’s what’s right, they’d say. If you’re able to help someone, you should. If you’re not able to, well, you still think about it, see if there is a way. If they turn out to be undeserving or helpless, it would still matter that one has not stood by, indifferent. That’s how the world gets its light, even if it will never be just light.

And that is how, on Thursday, Fay offered to help Helen even though she had enough to worry about, even if she was jeopardizing her own week. Fay went to Helen's home. She met her twin boys and they immediately fell in love with Bagheera. Helen’s family had little, and they struggled financially, and they lived in a rundown house that constantly had issues with plumbing and leaks and insulation. Yet her husband, despite being wheelchair bound, cracked jokes the entire time Fay was there making her smile several times. He and Helen loved each other dearly, as much as her parents did and Fay stood in their cluttered, watching them with an aching heart. 

It wasn't enough, she'd think morosely, for people like Helen to make the world a better place. Not always. 

Yet, she stayed at the house for several hours helping the woman with her presentation. 

Every candidate was meant to present an original take on the answer to the question ‘why the museum?’, which would then be marketed heavily for weeks, if not months. It was bound to consolidate a candidate's win and the exposure they’d receive after would significantly impact their careers.

Helen admitted that obtaining that role would help her family significantly but it wasn't just about money. She was truly passionate about people and education and culture. 

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She did not have a Bad Day, that week.

Small panic attacks, yes. Nightmares, yes. Self-criticism? Of course. 

But no Bad Days where she wished she was dead because she couldn’t bear the pain.

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‘Why the museum?’

Damian wanted her to answer that question as well, even if she wasn’t competing officially for the vacancy. The other candidates have no idea of course, that she isn’t just a volunteer, that she isn't the daughter of an obscure wealthy family that could roam free around the museum because she knew Damian, and well, 'you know rich kids'

It makes her dizzy when she thinks that she’s pretending to be rich when she’s actually poor but she's never actually been poor for most of her life.  

Fay spent hours agonizing over the question because Damian had told her she had to be original and he'll also judge her presentation – even if they’re more qualified or experienced. They were actual adults, from that actual world with the knowledge she could not catch up within a few days. She didn't think it was entirely fair that she was being judged against them when she wasn't even officially in the race. It wasn't as if they'll hand the 'Program Manager' role to her, emancipated or not. 

But she didn't want to quit. 

Then, on Friday morning, she had watched Dana through the pass-through as she walked around the tables, checking in on everyone in the canteen. There were twenty-odd people in already, most of whom came there almost every day, but Dana still stopped by each and one of them, making small talk. She wasn’t as cheerful as Helen but she listened, asked questions, smiled, and made others smile in return.

Fay had to look away because Dana was suddenly reminding her of her mother.

That’s when she got the idea.

She only had three days. Damian didn’t stop quizzing her at any point, and she had also promised to help Helen again that afternoon, but she wanted to try. She had no idea how well she was doing with anything she’d completed so far because Damian only ever told her when she did something wrong. She could have already failed, for all she knew, so she might as well go through with an idea that was close to her heart, that she would have approved of.

Fay couldn't remember when she last felt that motivated to be good at something.

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Rochester came across as a mild-mannered man who always spoke in a low, gravelly voice. However, Fay was starting to think he was just as tyrannical as Damian.

The museum director had discreetly pitted the candidates against one another by giving them a second task halfway through the week. It centered on the inaugural event for the new Science Museum. The proposal had to be thorough, from detailing which catering company will be used to the decorations. The guest list had already been provisionally compiled, and it consisted primarily of Gotham's richest men and women, along with some academics and artists. Some select journalists will also be allowed to attend.

Fay knew Helen struggled that week, with both presentations, whilst also looking after her children and husband. Mr. Wilmot had physical therapy to attend and Helen still had to attend her late part-time job at a local supermarket to ensure the bills were paid, because the disability and dependents checks didn't suffice. 

The first presentation was on the right track, but Helen had difficulty organizing the one for the inauguration. So, on Friday, Fay finished earlier at the soup kitchen and rushed to help Helen in choosing a caretaking company. They only had until five in the afternoon that day. The other two candidates were ahead, having already handed in their proposals. 

It wasn’t just time that was their enemy, as it turned out. Helen’s guest list file was gone; one of her boys had accidentally deleted it while playing on the laptop she also used for work. Without a guest list, they did not have any food choices or seating preferences, two elements that no candidate was allowed to modify because the guests have already RVSP’d weeks earlier. 

It was the first time Fay had seen Helen's optimism falter. The woman was exhausted and she'd already spent more than expected on expenses incurred by that trial week. If she went to Rochester about the file mishap, not only she’d come across as unreliable, but she might even embarrass herself.

“Oh, duckie.’’ Helen sighed, as they both sat down on a bench. “It’s best if we count our losses for the day. The other presentation might be just enough.’’ Likely not. 

It isn't fair. 

Fay's phone buzzed and she resisted the urge to throw it away. Damian hadn’t stopped quizzing her. The world could be in flames, and he would still probably text her random questions about the museum. 

Ignoring him for the time being, even if she knew he was bound to be even more insufferable later, Fay thought about the events that she'd attended as a child. 

Hm. 

“Mrs. Wilmot…?’’ The woman looked up at her startled when Fay suddenly rose to her feet. “You--you said something about the guest list? That it’s …. exclusive?’’

“Oh. Yes, dear. Rumors are that quite a few of Gotham’s most generous philanthropists are attending. Artists and…some University folks.’’ The woman didn’t seem to think that ‘exclusive’ guests might include Fay’s made-up family so the girl didn’t say anything. Helen had asked her about her parents earlier that week, how come they were never around, and if she was lonely, but Fay just told her that her parents were busy people. Like Dana, the woman didn’t push any further neither did she treat Fay any differently just because she knew Damian or might be the daughter of someone important. Caleb attempted that but when she blanked him, he immediately stopped. Fay could tell he disliked her after. 

“But—but no other people? I mean…. regular people?’’

Helen’s brows furrowed. “I can’t be too sure, not without seeing the full guest list. I don’t believe so.’’ The woman’s eyes lit up, as she caught on Fay's line of thought. “It is a shame, isn’t it? Oh, but I suppose that’s how these things work. There are events planned for visitors, though, planned in the first weeks after opening.’’

Not good enough, perhaps. Fay thought about Dana and her own mission; and how people seemed to come together in those places. Not always, but most days they did.

“…maybe there can be a buffet?’’

“A buffet?’’ The woman repeated curiously. “Oh, so you mean we wouldn’t have to worry about who gets what food. Not a bad idea, but we don’t know who the guests are or how many.’’

“So, we…order everything?’’ Good food is still good food, right? “What---what if we had other people too?’’

“You want to invite more people?’’ Helen asked with a mixture of amusement and confusion. Fay nodded. “I mean, this—this whole thing, the new design and um, the r-renovation—they are all for the people of Gotham, right? The poor…and the rich, even if---even if only rich people are attending the night.’’

Helen’s lips pursued. “I think I understand. You’re saying the inauguration shouldn’t be just about the people donating money or artists or scientists. But people who will actually visit the museum on a regular basis.’’ Fay smiled slightly. Mood lifting, the woman’s face brightened again. “VIP members!’’ She exclaimed suddenly. “Oh, how good would it be if the most loyal of our visitors received an invite as well? It would certainly make them spread the word to other people.’’

Fay hadn’t thought of that herself, but it was a great idea. Words spread fast, after all. Many citizens might look at the newspaper and think differently of the museum if it didn't feel as exclusive. Isn't that what Damian wanted too? 

The presentation that Helen ultimately put together really was inspiring. 

Damian was decidedly not happy she missed on several of his questions. She was still intimidated by him, but she didn't regret her choice. 

She felt satisfied again.

And she looked forward to working on her own idea. 

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7th of September, 11:02

The week was over. Fay was certain she's lost several more pounds, and she couldn't recall a time when her feet didn't hurt or weren't blistered. 

Damian was expecting her at the museum at lunchtime, with her own presentation ready and his evaluation completed. She had had to worry only about the first proposal unlike the other candidates, which had been an oddly lenient decision on Damian's part. He had also unexpectedly stopped texting her questions over the weekend. Somehow that made her feel more worried. 

However, without the green-eyed tyrant robbing her off of her time and attention, Fay was able to focus on her idea. Her time had been limited, and she'd learned quickly just how unfriendly Gothamites can be, especially when a girl and her big dog knock at their door asking questions. On a few occasions, they had been chased off, and once they had just barely dodged a bucket of hot water thrown at them. 

Dana had asked her what she was working on when she saw Fay trying to work out which neighborhood was best to try out. Fay offered a partial lie and told her that she was working on a project that she'd like to submit to a free entry contest at the museum. If the veteran was suspicious, she didn't show it. Instead, she helped Fay the entire weekend. 

If it wasn't for Dana, Fay would have never gotten as many accounts as she did. They still weren't as many as she would have liked, but by Sunday evening, her notebook was full, bursting with the notes she'd taken. Then Robby helped her type everything on his computer, as it was both safer and practical to have everything there. When she wasn't satisfied with some of the pages, he allowed her to keep the laptop so she could keep working on them through the night. 

Fay barely slept, and this time it wasn't because of nightmares. She felt enthusiasm. She would have liked to win but she didn't feel pressured. Her loss wouldn't sting as badly in that world, and she'd take away an unexpected sense of satisfaction that had characterized the rest of her week. 

The world is an unfair place, however, and it makes no concessions for people just because they work hard and are good people. 

Not even for the likes of Helen Wilmot. 

Fay had agreed to meet the woman at a coffee shop near the museum, an hour before they were expected at the museum. 

The moment they arrived at the establishment and Fay saw Helen seated by the window, she knew something was wrong. Helen didn't even seem to notice them walk past, despite Bagheera's unmistakable large presence. Fay stepped inside and approached the woman with a wary expression. The cafe shop was relatively busy and the scent of fresh pastries only made it more inviting. 

Helen looked as white as a sheet, and she was absent-mindedly running her fingers over the cup in her hands. Her hair was out of place, and her blazer - new, because she wanted to make a good impression - was falling apart at the seams of her right shoulder. Her lipstick was smudged slightly, and her eyes were red. 

Sadness did not belong to a woman like Helen Wilmot. 

The woman had finally noticed her standing there, and she tilted her head. Fay frowned when she saw the bruised flesh underneath her left eye. The cut on her nose. 

“Mrs. W-Wilmot---what happened?’’ Fay asked with increasing horror.

Helen smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes and she reached to brush a hand over her hair. There were no tears then but she had clearly been crying.

“Oh, duckie, it’s just one of those days, you know, that God throws at you. Testing you.’’

It had nothing with the Gods, Fay thought. Gods do not respond to people’s pain. She would know.

What kind of God throws yet another test at a woman who had plenty? 

“I---I stopped at the store, you see, just a couple of blocks down. I wanted to grab some fresh yeast, to bake something for my boys tonight regardless--of the decision. These rowdy teenagers, they walked and—‘’ A look of disbelief appeared on her face. “They started destroying everything, waving around a knife…and asking people to give their wallets.’’ Helen paused, in favor of raising the cup to her lips and take a sip. Her hands were shaking. 

Fay slid down in the chair across from her, a cold sensation settling in her veins. 

“I—I didn’t protest of course.’’ Helen lowered the cup and smiled at her. "You are a wonderful child, and I am sure your parents are great parents. But a word of advice, never fight back okay? If you’re in a position like that. It’s best to just give them what they want. Your life is not worth some jewelry and money.’’

How ironic. Her parents would likely tell her to do the exact opposite. They wouldn’t want her to risk her life, of course, but they also wouldn’t expect her to be defenseless. 

It wasn’t right, hearing those words. Fay had grown up in a world where warriors were a fact of life. She was raised and trained with the idea that one day, she will be a warrior too. Her parents had never placed the heavy expectation on her, but what else could she be if not like them? She just had never been particularly inclined to battle, however, preferring to stick to her books and fantasies of adventure. 

But could she really judge Helen when cowing away was all she did? 

Fay’s wide eyes flitted to the bag the woman had propped by the windowsill. One of the handles was broken and she couldn’t see the contents inside but---

“Mrs. Wilmot—‘’ she started slow, her voice tight. “Where is your bag? The one with the presentation and--and your laptop?’’ Helen had even created some sketches, revealing she had a surprising talent for interior design and illustrating that on paper. Something about having taken a course when she was younger. 

“Unfortunately, it--it's all gone, dear.’’ The woman said tightly. Fay's heart felt as if it suddenly plunged into her stomach. “I—It was in my car, you see. Unfortunately, they… took my car keys, too, and my car. I contacted the police, but it was an old car and these things take time.'' 

She didn’t protest, Helen had mentioned. Yet they slapped her. They hadn't been satisfied with just robbing her although she had so little. They had to make her hurt in other ways too.

''Hold her down.'

Something unpleasant skittered across Fay's skin, making her shudder. It was those phantom hands again. 

Not real. It's not real. 

The world is an unfair place. It is an illusion to think otherwise. It was an ugly thought, but Fay was willing to bet other candidates have not experienced as many challenges in completing their week. Yet it was Helen, with her optimism and loving family and debts that had to deal with one more burden. Not that Caleb or Rachel deserved to be robbed, even if they weren't as pleasant as Helen.

But there was no balance in the world, was it? One person is not exempt from further suffering just because they’ve already experienced it. 

“My apologies, duckie. You do not need to hear such issues—you are just a child.’’ No, no she wasn’t. Nobody was just a child in her homeworld, not when they learn about death early on in life. “I—I was so shocked, I just needed to have a sit. They took my phone, too so I had no way of contacting anybody. The lady here—‘’ The woman glanced towards the barista at the other end of the room. “—was kind enough to allow me to call my husband and let him know. We—were meant to pay rent today, you see, so…’’ Helen sighed. Then shrugged. 

"We'll find a way to move forward, like always.'' 

You shouldn't have to. 

The animosity that filled her vein was like acid, seething and burning and all-consuming. Fay felt her body temperature rise in her neck and cheeks. It was that emotion, one which did not need to be named because giving it name was giving it power when it already was so incredibly corruptive that it changed her from inside out. It was the reason why she had to wear the bracelets. 

Optimism won't help Helen endlessly. Fay saw the pile of bills in their kitchen and even with her little understanding of finance in that world, she knew the numbers were frightening. Why did something have to happen that day of all days, when it was Helen's chance to turn her life around? To offer her family a better life, her husband better medical care, her children a better future. When it was her chance to follow a long-lost dream. When she clearly loved the museum and helping people and wanted to pay forward her kindness just like Dana did.

Fay had allowed her loss to define her for months, she had wallowed in them – she still did -, so she earned the additional heartache because she failed to deal with what happened and move on. But Helen? The woman was a ball of sunshine who saw the best in people, who saw the glass half full, who saw the world as a whole beacon with just some dark corners even if she was smart enough to know that wasn't true. Helen chose to believe the world was good, even when it wasn't. Just like Dana. 

Just like her parents did. 

And there it goes, that light being extinguished. 

But.

But.

If you can help someone, especially a deserving person, you shouldn't stand back and watch. Even if the world is cruel and unfair to you, don’t let it change you. 

That's what her parents would say. 

Helen was unaware of the mounting agitation Fay felt, as she kept talking. Not in that cheerful, enthusiastic way she always did but in the way that said she was trying to process what transpired. She was still trying to remain positive but Fay could see through it. The Wilmot family was already late on rent, having invested money in Helen being able to fulfill the trial week. Nanny for the children, gas money, supplies. That was all on top of what they had already to pay. 

Fay felt guilty she had allowed the woman to feed her and Bagheera. 

“Mrs. Wilmot…What time is your presentation?’’

“Oh. I was second in so—um, let me think, oh! About half-past twelve, dear. I am going in after Rachael as it will take about forty-five minutes for each of us. I should probably call Mr. Rochester and let him know I will have to withdraw---‘’

Fay could imagine all those two-faced, nasty staff members who underestimated Helen feeling satisfied that she lost. Feeling justified in their bigotry and prejudice, because they were right in seeing her as undeserving. 

No.’’ The woman blinked in surprise, at the girl's sudden outburst. “Y-You can’t withdraw. Your idea was good.’’ It was. Fay had helped her with the presentation boards for hours. She knew Damian’s vision of the museum, and she believed Helen had managed to offer exactly the type of input he said he needed. She didn’t know what the other candidates’ proposals looked like, but Helen's was indeed original and heartfelt. If there was anyone who could successfully lead the projects at the museum, and not lose track of the visitors' interests, it would be her. 

She was only missing that proposal. The other had already been sent out. 

Helen was halfway there. 

She can't give up now. 

Not yet. 

“Oh, Fay, that’s really sweet of you to say.’’ Helen smiled at her warmly. “But everything was in my car. They won’t allow extensions, so…Don’t worry about it, dear. I am sure there’ll be other opportunities.’’

Unlikely. Not on that scale and with such great benefits. Not when Helen would be too busy to deal with the fallout of them not having money to pay rent, or medical bills, or her children’s education. That job could have changed her life, but her desire to be there wasn’t just financially based.

She genuinely loved the museum. That mattered just as much. 

“Go to the museum,’’ Fay said, meeting her gaze. Her flux was instinctively being summoned by the hot emotion unfurling in her chest, making the bracelets feel warm against her wrists. “Please, Mrs. Wilmot.’’ She insisted when the woman opened her mouth to protest, a look of puzzlement crossing her features. “You--you are going to present your idea today.’’ One way or another, she had to. “You are.’’

All those people who underestimated Helen could not be proven right. 

“But Fay…everything is gone. The police---even if they decide to look for such an old car, it’ll take days—and my laptop was there. The sketches too—‘’

Please, Mrs. Wilmot.’’ Fay breathed, as she jumped up to her feet. Bagheera who was sitting outside and watching them through the window straightened. “You have to. I will help you.’’

Helen was visibly taken back by the otherwise quiet and timid girl looking so galvanized. “Duckie, I know you’re trying to help me. I am sorry if I scared you---‘’ 

“It’s—it’s not that, Mrs. Wilmot.’’ Fay cut her off and the woman stared at her wide-eyed. “I think the world is…awful. I mean, not always because---because there are good people, too. Like you and your—husband. Y-you always help people and-and you don’t expect anything in return. So, you deserve help as well. Please, Mrs. Wilmot—‘’ she begged. “Please let me try.’’

“How—what are you talking about? What…do you mean try?’’

Fay let go of her hand and reached into the pocket of her trousers where her phone was. She sat it next to Helen's code. “The code is 0303.’’ The date they arrived in that world. “Call--call your husband and tell him that you are going to the museum. So, please go there. If---if you go last, then you will have more time.’

“Time for what…?’’

“I will just grab this, Mrs. Wilmot—‘’ Fay lunged over the table, and grabbed the bag from the windowsill. There was nothing in it except for lipstick, some napkins, and a half-eaten jellybean bag. “—just one moment.’’ Then she quickly exited the coffee shop and walked over to Bagheera. She allowed him to sniff the bag. 

"She was attacked and they stole her car,'' Fay muttered to her paladin. "Can you get their scent, Bag?'' 

Her paladin moved his nose over the bag, then growled. Got it. 

Helen followed Fay out of the shop and watched in disbelief. The girl turned around and handed her the bag, while her furry companion was already sniffing along the ground, seeking the targeted scent. 

"You---you said the shop was close by?'' Fay asked. "Can you please tell me where?'' 

"What--'' The child wasn't surely intending to...? "It was just the small grocery store, the one with the green doors.'' 

Fay's brows furrowed, then nodded. She remembered passing by that store a few times, so she had an idea where it was. They could get a stronger scent from there. 

"Fay, please don't tell me you are going to---you're not going after them.'' Helen placed a hand on her shoulder. "That's very altruistic, but even if you could find them, it's too dangerous. I don't want you to risk your life.'' 

The girl forced a smile as wide as she could without it looking forced. "....I know someone who can help.'' She lied. 

"Who?'' 

“One of the---one of the people with masks that protect Gotham.’’ As far as Fay knew, the vigilantes wouldn't just appear because they were summoned by citizens. But perhaps, Helen didn't. 

Helen stared at her in awe. “What? You—you can do that? I really don't think this is---this is a crime worth--’’

“Trust me. I--I will be safe.'' 

Before the woman could open her mouth and protest again, Bagheera started running, having caught the scent he was looking for. 

"Go to the museum, Mrs. Wilmot,'' Fay said quickly before she took off after the paladin. 

.

11:57

Bagheera tracked the scents almost five miles from the grocery shop, in a rundown neighborhood that they always stayed far from when running their errands.

Except for that day. 

Fay and Bagheera watched the group of boys, only slightly older than Robby, loitering around Helen’s car – Ford was the manufacturer called apparently – with bottles of alcohol and cigarettes in their hands. She and Bagheera were hiding behind an abandoned vehicle only a couple of hundred feet from where Helen's car was now parked. Fay pulled on the soft hoodie she kept in her bag and covered her head. 

“Are you sure it’s them?’’

Rgggg.’’ Definitely. Her paladin's sense of scent was incredible, but they've never quite had to track anyone in an environment like Gotham. 

Fay watched two of the boys laugh raucously while their other two friends roughhoused with one another. There was a girl, as well, sitting on the bonnet and a bottle in her hand. They were older and bigger than her, but they weren't fighters. By the looks of it, they didn't look entirely sober either. 

Bagheera alone could easily take them all down. He might only need to give them a scare, and she could quickly grab Helen's items---

Her paladin growled softly, and she followed his gaze which had fallen on a man exiting the block of apartments in front of which the car was left. He was tall and muscled, decidedly a decade older than the car thieves. He looked dangerous. The teenagers were clearly afraid, because they immediately fell silent and lined up to greet the man. Fay's heart sunk when she saw them hand the battered leather suitcase that belonged to Helen to the man. 

When the man reached to slap one of the teens over the head, Fay caught sight of the shiny item strapped to his belt. A firearm. 

Damn it.

Her valiance faltered, anxiety creeping back in as she watched the man head back towards the apartment block, suitcase in hand while the teenagers followed. The car was left abandoned. The license plates were missing. No wonder it'll take the police days to find it, even if they decided to look. 

Focus, Fay. 

If they went inside that apartment block, there was a chance that the man wasn't the only one with a weapon. They were two against five and on the enemy’s territory. Unfamiliarity with the building’s layout was also a disadvantage. Fay was physically weaker than she'd been in Maysoon, and she could not use her flux. A panic attack could put both her and Bagheera in danger, and the latter was already bound to do all the work anyway. 

She exchanged a look with her paladin. "...what do you think, Bag?'' 

It was incredibly stupid and reckless. Just like going into a burning building.

He blinked twice. 

They went in anyway. 

.

12:07

Fourth floor.

The apartment block was—well, as filthy as the rest of that area. The scent made Bagheera's disgust palpable and Fay tried not to think about the sticky wet surfaces she had stepped on as they climbed the stairs. Using the screeching, tight metal box that passed for an elevator was out of the question. 

On the way to the fourth floor, they passed by a few residents who paid them no attention. Once they were on the level they wanted, Bag stopped her abruptly. The hall split in four before them, and he tracked the scents to their left. When Fay leaned to glance around the corner, she caught sight of the burly man she saw earlier. He was standing with his back to the small window at the end of the hall, and to his left, there was a door. Fay didn't need Bagheera's keen senses to hear the amalgamation of voices coming from inside or to catch the scent of nicotine and beer. 

She had no idea how Bagheera could stand the scents. 

"H-how many?'' Fay whispered. She lifted her fingers, one by one, until her paladin nodded twice. A silent yes. 

He stopped at seven. 

"Including...the man there?'' 

Bag blinked twice, again. 

Seven people. Fay swallowed. That was...a lot, considering her state and lack of resources. Five of those individuals had to be the teenagers she saw, but there was an additional person as well. What if they were armed as well? 

This was a bad idea. 

Fay almost walked away. Then she remembered Helen's sad smile, and her family and the petty whispers. 

Think, think, think. She willed herself to stay calm, running her hands over her face. 

Old teachings dictated a diversion was required as they were outnumbered. They also had the element of surprise but it would be short-lived because no one would look at her and think she's a threat. They would if they looked at Bagheera, though. But that would also encourage their target to shoot, so she couldn't have her paladin go in blindly. He couldn't use his battle form, either. That was bound to attract the type of attention they could never run away from. 

Fay and Bagheera perked up as they watched a woman exit her apartment at the opposite end of the block. She slammed her door close, then seemed to struggle to lock it before finally running down the stairs in a rush. She didn't even notice Fay and Bagheera stand down the hall. 

Fay eyed the door pensively. 

Hm.

It was time to see how much of her tutor's lessons stuck. 

.

12:21

The guard in front of Apartment 23D tapped his fingers across his wrist, as he kept his hands crossed in front of him. The boys inside were far too loud for their own good but the Boss didn’t seem to mind, so he didn’t say anything. He was there for protection, not to express his opinions, anyway. Not that anybody seemed to care in that shitty building.

Something shiny down the hall caught his eye. He ignored it at first, but then it shined in his eyes making him blink rapidly.

What the fuck? Someone was crouched behind the wall of the corridor to his right. 

It was a boy. Or a girl? He couldn’t tell but they were young, small. Dressed in baggy clothes with a hood on and holding a---mirror? —using it to reflect the light coming through the window behind him. In his eyes. 

Little shit.

“Hey, kid!’’ He snarled. “Stop that! Don’t make me teach you a lesson!’’ He stopped only a few feet forward with the intention of intimidating the brat. It didn't work. The light was redirected in his eyes again.

Gritting his teeth, he moved closer towards where the four hallways intersected each other, picking up the pace. The child immediately disappeared behind the wall. 

He hated children. And he wasn't paid enough to deal with such pests, that's for sure. The man was about to turn and walk back to his original spot, when something slid down the floor, rolling down towards his feet. Multiple somethings.

Rolled…newspapers? Smoke trickled out from the tightly rolled newspapers, quickly rising in the air and burning his eyes. The smoke grew thicker, clouds of it filling the corridor and invading his nostrils. Within seconds, he no longer had visibility of his surroundings and he struggled to breathe. The air felt toxic. 

Something darker than the smoke before him. 

What the--

A shadow? 

A very large one. The growl reverberated and the guard froze on the spot. No cat or dog could make that kind of sound. Maybe a lion. His hand went to his gun out of instinct, but he was too slow. That shadow moved so quickly he didn't have time to react, and the air was knocked out of his lungs as something heavy knocked him back. It was akin to being hit by a wrecking ball. 

The guard fell backward, gun slipping out of his grip and sight. Something sharp pressed into his chest---claws, those were claws---and luminous, pale eyes stared at him. His mouth opened, screaming in terror as the shadow creature moved away, and he felt its teeth latch onto one of his legs. 

He has pulled down the hallway as if he weighed nothing, his echoing screams the only indication he had ever been standing there. 

.

12:25

It worked. It worked!

The adrenaline rush pushed her to keep going with her plan because it was now or never.

Fay covered her mouth with a stolen scarf as she quickly ran over to the window that the guard had been previously standing by. She pushed it open, in order to air the corridor. The gaseous smoke contained ammonium nitrate, very dangerous if inhaled, so she quickly moved down back the hall. The guard had blacked out, and Fay had tied his limbs together with the makeshift rope she created out of a cotton sheet before moving him as far as possible from the area affected by the smoke. 

Coughing slightly, she hid behind the wall again and heard, rather than saw, as the door to apartment 23D opened. A man's voice echoed down the hall, the tenor of his voice indicating he was older than the teenagers who stepped out in the hall moments later. Fay crouched down and grabbed the thick cable from her end. On the hall across from her, Bagheera grabbed his end and although she couldn't see him properly, she felt the tell-tale tug. 

The smoke hadn’t cleared just yet, so she listened to the footsteps growing closer. Just two people, as far as she could tell. They also wouldn’t be able to see clearly ahead of them, much less the trap waiting for them where the halls met in a cross. She listened as they stumbled in the smoke-filled area, coughing and retching, and soon enough, their figures stumbled in her view. 

Now, Bag!’’ She jumped up and then stepped back pulling as hard as she could her end of the cable while Bagheera did the same. The cable became a taut line, and the already discombobulated teens immediately tripped over it. Fay used that little element of surprise she had to tape their hands behind their back. Her work on that was clumsy, as the moment the two teenage males realized what was happening, they startled struggling and she didn't have quite the strength to hold them down. 

However, whatever she did manage kept them down and Bagheera easily dragged them away just like he did with the guard. His presence terrified the boys from reacting, giving Fay a chance to incapacitate them more effectively. 

It went all well until that moment.

The smoke had cleared significantly, but it still left her light-headed and breathing with difficulty. Bagheera was capable of holding his breath, and he wasn't easily affected by the toxins, but she was. She felt him brush against her as he moved with lightning speed and it took her a moment to realize he was charging at someone. 

The other two teenagers had come down the hall and their horrified screams triggered her deep-seated fear, which suddenly made its presence known underneath the adrenaline rushing in her veins. Fay raised to her feet, instinctively wanting to follow her paladin but she lost her balance and stumbled to her knees. She wasn't sure whether it was a panic attack or the ammonium nitrate or just her body giving up again because she wasn't eating and sleeping properly. 

The noises on the hall blurred with the sounds of faraway memories and unwanted flashbacks. Except there was no time to sit it through on that occasion. 

Fay crawled, but her vision was swimming. 

Bang! 

Bang! Bang! Bang!

No. No, no, no. Bagheera

"What do we have here?'' 

'There she is!' 

A pair of shoes stepped within her line of vision, a figure towering over her. A pungent combination of alcohol and cheap cologne manages to protrude even through the remnants of smoke. It wasn't the scent of her past tormentors but it made her stomach churn with fear all the same. 

'Grab her, don't let her run!'

A large hand grabbed her by the hoodie, and hoisted her up, making her feel like a rag doll. Fay's protests were futile and she tried to choke back a scream of her own. It was a mistake. It was all a mistake. What was in her mind, thinking she could do this? 

Fay was slammed into the wall. Pain bloomed in her skull and back, as her bones jostled against the cement. She was almost just skin and bones by that point, so she felt the impact all the more. Something wet trickled down her cheeks, as she sunk down to her knees, struggling to distinguish between reality and memory. 

The level of fear and pain she felt was horrifyingly similar. Except there weren't multiple hands holding her down and hurting her, but just the one man. She had made a fool of his lackeys so he was fully intending on teaching her a lesson. Much like in the past, Fay found herself unable to fight back. 

A kick to the ribs send her sliding down the floor. A painful stab of pain replaced her nose, and she cried out. The slap that followed split her lip and grazed a cut into her cheek. 

Stop. 

'St-stop it, please. Please! Why are you doing this?'

'I--I am sorry. Please stop!'

Why won't they stop?

I am so tired of it. 

Fay was forcefully pulled up to her feet, like a sack of potatoes and a muscled arm kept her steadied against a solid body. Something cold and sharp was pressed against her throat. The flashbacks receded, physical pain quickly resetting her sensorial perception and she realized she was being used as leverage. 

Her paladin was standing down the hall, fur standing up making him look even more frightening. He snarled, jaws parting to reveal the sharp teeth. He wasn't threatening her, of course, with that display but the man holding the knife to her throat. Fay's right eye was swollen and shut, and she could barely see from her left, but she spotted the female teenager knocked out behind Bagheera. The other two must have run away. 

Of course.

Because Bagheera always protected her. Even back then, even if he arrived too late by no fault of his own. How did she repay him? By dragging him there in that world where he had to sleep in a cramped up space instead of the jungle; where he had to wait outside of stores and bear the fear of other people who saw him as a pet, although he is a thousand different things they’ll never be. He has to spend his days accompanying her down the dirty streets of Gotham instead of roaming the wilderness of Maysoon, babysit her, and serve as her emotional anchor instead of fulfilling his potential as a paladin. 

He must put up with her Bad Days, and the moments of apathy, and her mood changes. Yet he never once abandoned her, never hurts her even if they're no longer equal. The warrior-to-be and her paladin. 

The anger rose to the surface like the magma of a volcano threatening to explode. The bracelets were there now to hold her back from losing control of her flux but they could not contain the rage she felt. 

She wanted to do something though. To act. To change something. Anything. If not for herself, then for Helen. If not for herself, then for Bagheera. 

When an opponent tries a rear choke, the defender can break the opponent’s grip with an elbow strike to the solar plexus. The opponent’s air will be knocked out and they will be temporarily incapacitated by the pain and lack of oxygen. Fay did not have enough strength, or the right height to elbow the man in that region but she did elbow his groin instead. Hard. Once incapacitated, make sure the opponent will stay that way to ensure a safe escape if an escape is what you want. The man yowled, bending at the waist, and released her in favor of clutching his bruised crotch. The knife stayed in his hand, and he swiped it towards her shoulder as she moved away. It cut through the cloth of her hoodie but she didn't feel the blade touch her skin. 

Move. Move! She whirled on her feet, muscle memory and instinct guiding her movements. Facing the man, feet slightly apart, she rotated her hips as she brought her fist towards his face. It was a weak jab compared to what she was once capable of, but it still took him by the surprise making him stumble onto the wall to her left. The knife fell down, and she kicked it away. 

‘Let's teach her a lesson.'

With all the strength she could muster, Fay brought her foot above the man's knee. “You fucking bitch—Argh!!!’’  The move may have not broken his bone, but it certainly caused the man to wail in pain and crumple to the ground. He was not going to get up for a while.

Fay stumbled back herself, the burst of energy that fuelled her quickly draining away. She watched as Bagheera dragged the man away, but without not giving him a very close glimpse of just how sharp his teeth were. 

She wasn't sure if there was a place on her body that didn't hurt, and she knew it would only get worse the moment the adrenaline diminished. Bagheera brought her backpack - she hasn't even realized she'd lost it - and then helped her up, allowing her to use him as a crutch. 

Once in the apartment, Fay looked around with one eye, taking in the white powder lines on the low table in the middle and next to that, the numerous wallets and purses. Helen hadn't been the only victim then. She found the woman's worn messenger bag thrown in a corner with the proposal papers sticking out of it. Her laptop was on one of the dirty couches along with a plastic bag full of jewelry. Fay did not consider taking any for her own benefit, although they would have been easier to pawn than the stones in the attic. Instead, she shoved Helen's laptop in her bag, along with hers and several other wallets. Maybe she could find the other victims and hand them back. She wasn't thinking clearly at that moment. 

The police sirens echoed out in the distance, as they made their way down through the fire staircase. None of the residents that came out of their apartments alerted by the gunshots and screams and smoke, saw them clearly. Just a small figure and a large lupine creature quickly rushing down the stairs. 

Once outside, they had to hide behind a car to avoid being detected by the officers stepping of the police car. 

Fay had no watch and her phone was with Helen, so she couldn't tell the time. 

She just hoped she'd make it on time even if her face and hands were bleeding, and her ribs ached and her ankle was swollen.

.

13:41

With her hood on and the messenger bag around her shoulders, Fay had clutched onto Bagheera's fur as he carried her back towards the museum. She had managed to run for a while before the pain made her trip and fall down, ripping new holes into her trousers and scraping her palms. She wasn't actively bleeding from anywhere as far as she could tell, but when she touched her face, she felt just how disfigured it must have looked. 

She likely had a concussion too, judging by how dizzy she felt. 

Bagheera had moved them atop the buildings, where he could move with ease and not have to worry about civilians or other obstacles. When Fay closed her eyes, she swore she could almost imagine being back in the jungle but she struggled to enjoy any of it because she was struggling to stay conscious. 

Fay wasn't sure if they were early or late but it couldn't have taken them long to get back. Once near the museum, she dismounted her paladin and limped towards the entrance. Helen would have been inside if she had decided to trust Fay and wait for her, but there was no way she could go inside the museum in her current state. 

Instead, she limped her way towards the entrance, grateful there weren't that many people around, and knocked against the glass of the emergency door sitting near the revolving one. One of the guards immediately looked up, and she lifted the suitcase up, waved it, and then left it on the ground. The man, alarmed, quickly pulled out his radio to make his peers aware of the weird hooded kid dropping a mysterious package before running away rather clumsily. 

Fay would find out later that she ended up being the reason why they almost evacuated the entire museum. 

.

"I know--I know, Bag,'' Fay mumbled. The adrenaline was completely gone, leaving her to deal with the aftermath of her ordeal. She wasn't healing. Not the way she should have.

Bagheera was upset when she refused to go knock at the back door of the kitchen. She knew her paladin had a point - she needed medical attention - but it was too much of a risk. "Maybe--maybe later.'' She moaned softly, as she carried herself up the fire staircase. 

The stairs felt neverending, and each one made her hiss in pain. 

They were almost at the top when Bagheera suddenly stopped and tensed underneath her arm. Fay struggled to lift her head, and she asked him what's wrong, oblivious to the person rising from the sill of the dance studio's window and stepping on the landing. Her paladin growled softly. 

"What is it--'' Fay lifted her gaze and her words died in her throat at the sight of the green eyes staring her down. The boy stood at the top of the stairs, a thunderous expression on his face and hands closed in tight fists by his side.

He had a delicate temper, and she'd seen him irritated plenty of times since they met but she's never quite seen that look on his face. 

It was positively murderous

There were so many questions to be asked - why - how - when - why him again - but her mind had had enough to deal with for the day. So did her body. 

It was a small respite, but she did not have the chance to think about anything else. 

The stairs and the boys and world around her tilted to the side just as what was left of her vision grew dark. 

And then nothing. 

Chapter 7: Of signals, puzzles, and hidden threats 

Chapter Text

 

“I could see why Archimedes got all excited. There was nothing finer than the feeling that came rushing through you when it clicked, and
you suddenly understood something that had puzzled you. It made you think it just might be possible to get a handle on this old world after all.”

― Jeannette Walls

.

.

.

 

8th of September

It was the sound of thunder booming across the sky, like a giant anvil dropping, that jolted her awake. The booming and blasting lasted for several seconds before a mausoleum-like silence followed, interrupted only by the rhythmic pattern of water drops hitting an obstacle in their quick race to the ground. Her flux was weak, muted so she could barely feel the pull of natural energy that fuelled the storm outside. 

Where...am I? 

Only one of her eyes opened, the other stopped by what felt like gauze over her lid. She was greeted by a grayish-blue coffered ceiling, her mind slowly trying to process her newest predicament. Her anxiety levels stayed uncharacteristically low, and her body felt boneless. It ached in some parts, like her ankle and her ribs, but she felt overall relaxed. 

Her memory slowly returned, as the drowsiness vanished. Helen, the thieves, going after them, then making it to the museum. She doesn’t remember much of the trip on the way back to the soup kitchen because she’d been in so much pain, but she does recall arriving on the third floor and…. Damian was there. Unexpected, and silent - he was always so silent -and angry. He had felt dangerous, like walking on a predator’s territory although he was the one trespassing onto hers. 

How did he know she’d be there? If he was already there, how did he know to wait for her there? Fay doesn't recall ever telling him she lived in the attic. 

Fay tentatively moved her fingers, then her hands before willing herself into a sitting position. She had to lean to the side because one side of her body felt tight, uncomfortable. It was where she was kicked by that man. The small movements left her breathless, but she managed to settle with her back against the pillow. 

The bed – which could have easily contained four of her – was covered in navy sheets that smelt of vanilla and were coordinated with the rest of the room's color palette. The walls were painted in a pale grey, offset by occasional splashes of colors such as the vanity table to her left-hand side painted in beige or the light blue carpet. She spotted an opaque glass door next to the vanity table and on the same side of the room, there was also a seating area with navy blue armchairs and a low glass table in front of them.

To her right there was another door, which she assumed led outside, flanked to its left by a large desk and chair, largely devoid of any decorations. The space between the bed and windows felt unnecessarily large, perhaps to draw the guests’ attention to the panoramic view they had of Gotham. 

That view. I am at the penthouse again.

The turbulent skies outside were a ruinous, vulcanite-black and they loomed ominously over the Gothamites and their residences. 

A soft whine. Her paladin's head popped up and she realized he had been laying down on the floor, by the end of the bed. She opened her mouth to call him, but her throat was too hoarse. Bagheera jumped on the bed, either way, gently sliding by her side to lean his head over her lap. She scratched one of his ears and that's when she saw her hand was bandaged. Her left ankle was also bandaged, not quite as swollen as it had been. 

She frowned when she realized her old clothes have been removed and replaced with a simple navy shirt and cotton trousers. Fay wasn't sure what mortified her most: that there was a possibility Damian had done that or that it meant he has seen her scars. Her marks would have been hidden by the effect of the seals but that hardly consoled her. 

Fay met her paladin's gaze. She couldn't feel his emotions at all which was odd. He rarely ever hid like that from her. Was he doing it on purpose? If he was ever shut her out, it was generally because he was upset with her (very rarely) or injured and did not wish her to worry. He was definitely not wounded, and she isn't sure if she's done anything so serious to cause him ire. 

They weren’t in danger or he would have been far more agitated. 

Meowww….’’

Fay's lips parted in surprise when a silver-haired cat – her cat- jumped gracefully on the bed to stare at her. Not just the cat, either. The curly dog was there with her too, curled up on a---was that a dog bed?! – by the entrance in the room. That only left---A soft chitter to her right drew her gaze to the floor where the ferret was busy playing with…was that plush toy shaped like a bat?

From a rational point of view – easier to adopt when she wasn’t exhausted and emotionally frayed – she found she had no rational explanation. Fay was certain they were at the penthouse which meant Damian brought them there, rather than the hospital. And he also brought the strays. 

Wait a second.  

If the animals were there, that meant he went in the attic. Damian had stepped foot in her attic. He went in her personal space, her territory. Where she kept her books and effects and…crap, crap, crap. The other stuff, too. Last she remembered the box in which she kept everything was safely nestled behind a couple of loose bricks. Her journals, three of them by that point, were hidden in the bean bag that she had kept and also used as a seat now and then. 

Logic dictated that Bagheera would have stopped Damian from looking around. Why would Bag allow him to go up there? Was he really that worried? They’ve been through far worse though, however. Perhaps Bagheera could feel how physically weak she's grown even better than she did. 

Bagheera reached to lick her good hand. Caught in her own thoughts she hadn’t initially paid him attention but then he nipped her gently, which earned him a confused look. He met her gaze, then licked her hand again, slowly, deliberately so.  

One, two, three.

Her eyes widened slightly. Of course. How could have she not realized it before? It was one of the signals she taught him years before; all paladins were trained in the use of customized signals with their partners should the situation require it. Her heart sunk in her stomach as she understood the meaning of the signal he gave her. That’s why his emotions were hidden from her: they weren’t in immediate danger but he wanted her to be aware of it either way. Fay took a deep breath before nodding at him, as she patted his head. 

Tilting his head away from her, she followed his gaze land on the double doors at the end of the room.

Someone was coming.

The person announced their presence with three soft knocks. Whoever it was behind the door did not alarm Bagheera, but he did pull himself away from her to get down from the bed and lay on the floor, looking deceptively relaxed.

She knew better. From that position, he could attack easier without having to worry about her getting caught in the crossfire.

“…Y-yes?’’ She managed. 

Act normal, she told herself. They weren’t in any immediate danger, that much was clear.

“Miss Fay, may I come in?’’

It was Alfred.

“Ye--ye-yes.’’ Her throat felt awful. 

The butler came in carrying a silver tray with a steaming teapot, a bowl of sugar, and lime wedges on a small plate, which he all placed on the nightstand to her left. The scent wafting from the tea told her it was ginger and chamomile.

The digital clock on that same nightstand said it was 8:17. That meant it was the 8th of September, which meant she had slept at least seventeen hours. Regardless of how tired or battered she may have been, sleeping almost a full day was not something she would have achieved without some…assistance. The only other times she's ever slept for such long, uninterrupted stretches of time were after intensive training sessions but even then, she was aided by herbs and potions. Moma also had her own recipe that she prepared whenever Fay struggled because of the nightmares. 

Did that mean she had been sedated? 

How can Bagheera think we're not in danger, though? 

Sedated or not, seventeen hours of sleep had done wonders to clear her mind. She hadn't felt that emotionally stable in weeks, if not months. 

“Good morning, Miss Fay.’’ The butler greeted cordially, ignoring the small dog who trailed after him and begged for attention. “How are you feeling?’’

“Um...good.’’ She murmured, flinching at how hoarse she sounded. Alfred handed her a glass of water which he'd also brought in along with the tea. Fay drank it entirely, the cool liquid soothing her throat. "Is--is this the tower?'' she asked, as he took the glass away from her hand. 

“Indeed, it is. Master Damian has brought you in, and I must say, I am relieved he did so. You were in quite a shape, but thankfully you have no broken bones. Just badly bruised and a few cuts.’’

Fay wanted to think he helped her, but she found it hard to perceive any generosity in his actions when there was so much else to consider as well. “I—um, I am sorry for imposing.’’ She still felt compelled to be polite, however.

She did like Alfred, all things considered. 

“Not at all, Miss Fay,’’ Alfred said gently. The ferret tried to crawl up his leg, but the butler gently removed it and set it on the bed, much to the aggravation of the cat. The ferret had a terrible habit of biting her ears, playfully so but she rarely ever was in the mood for games. If the butler thought her menagerie of animals was strange or felt bothered at having them in that luxurious space, he didn’t show it.

“I do must apologize for having to take dress your wounds while you were unconscious, but it was imperative to check for any broken bones or internal bleeding.’’ She nodded. It was reasonable, and it would have been worse if they'd taken her to the hospital instead. “I have also given you a mild sedative as you kept waking up, and I worried you might aggravate your injuries.’’

Fay hadn’t expected him to admit to that. 

“I—I understand.’’ Just a mild sedative explained why she didn’t feel as out of it as she used to when the healers gave her sedatives but had she been really that tired? “Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth.’’  

“You are most welcome. Now, the door over there---‘’ He gestured to the glass opaque door. “—is the bathroom. I’ve left fresh towels and a change of clothes for you. You will also find bath supplies in the cabinets, including bandages.’’

Fay nodded, eyes lingering in the direction of the bathroom. She would love to have a shower but not until she figured out why Bagheera sent her that signal. “Okay, thank you.’’

“Once you're done, I'd also like to suggest having some breakfast. It will aid in your recovery.’’ Alfred suggested.

Her stomach said yes, her self-preservation said no. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to drink or eat anything without seeing the food being prepared; she’d been raised to question the hands that touch her food if she's not in an environment she trusts. It would look weird if she didn’t, though. 

Fay doubted she'd be able to walk out of there anytime soon.

She was also starving.

“O-okay. Um--I am just a bit confused.'' She hesitated. "Why--why I am here? I mean, in-instead of the hospital.'' 

"Master Damian believed it was wiser to have you here given your predicament. Your injuries were also not serious enough, thankfully, to require the emergency services.'' 

She nodded. It didn't explain why the boy was waiting for her at the soup kitchen though. 

"W-wait. What--what about Mrs. Wi-Wilmot? Did--did she get her items back? I left them at the museum.'' 

Alfred looked ever so slightly amused. "She has indeed, although the young master will have more details on that.'' 

Which meant she will have to, at one point, talk to Damian. Explain why she had been in that state, how she retrieved Helen's items. What in the world spurred her to commit an act he'll definitely brand as stupid and reckless (he wouldn't be wrong). 

She could not catch a break. And for some reason, the green-eyed tyrant was always there to see her at her worst. 

“Good. The tea will help with any nausea, in the meantime.’’ 

“Thank you.’’

Then he told her to call if she needed him by using the phone on the right nightstand, before leaving her alone. Fay spotted her dirty backpack on the chair before the vanity table. 

“A shower sounds nice, doesn’t it, Bag?’’

.

Three licks to the hand. Blinking twice, three times in a row. Three taps of a paw or the tail. They all meant the same thing. 

A hidden threat.

It was a signal they had come up in case Bagheera sensed something was wrong, but circumstances prevented him from communicating with her as usual. In her world, not many expected Bagheera's unique abilities because he was a half-breed. That meant they had the advantage of being able to communicate with one another and no one else would realize. They were finely attuned to each other as a result. Fay remembers only a handful of times when Bagheera has used that signal before, and it was almost always during training when her tutors were trying to teach them not to rely just on her paladin's abilities. 

Bagheera would often subdue his emotions so others wouldn't realize what he was capable of. But hiding them, Fay realized, had been for her sake, so she wouldn't panic if she felt his apprehension with the hidden enemy. 

Fay froze when she caught sight of her own reflection in the large mirror hung above the marble counters. She hadn't realized, until that moment, just how fragile she looked. The injuries only made it worse. It was as if all the ugly and sad in her heart was reflected in her body. 

She generally avoided mirrors like the plague, even when she used the gym or Gotham Academy's showers, preferring to check herself briefly in any other reflective surface that wasn't as clear as a mirror. She certainly avoided looking at herself naked, and despite feeling revolted at that moment, Fay removed her shirt and trousers. 

Growing up, she'd always been on the thicker side but in the year after that night, she had lost significant weight as a result of grieving, difficulty sleeping, and stress. She also knew that in the moments they've been in that world she lost significant muscle mass, but she didn't think it was that bad. 

Her skin was pale, almost translucent with splotches of purple and yellow morbidly scattered across her limbs. She could easily count her ribs on the side that wasn't bruised. The angle of her hip bone and her collarbones were also visible, and she found it incredible that her limbs, so thin now, had managed to carry and support her for so long. Her shoulder-length uneven hair was thin and dull. 

Her face looked gaunt even with the parts that were still swollen. She removed the patch from her eye then opened her eyelid. There was minimal discomfort and her eyesight was unaffected overall, but the puffy redness around her nose blended in with the purple ring around her right eye. The only injury that seemed to have healed nicely was the spit on her lip but even that stung sharply when she brushed her lip against it. 

She had certainly not grown at all since her eleventh birthday. 

Fay was not well. Her mind and heart were suffering, and so did her body. Which meant the flux and its development were also affected. Perhaps that's why the seals on the bracelets behaved differently. 

Sickened and teary-eyed, she refused to linger on any of the scars she carried, especially the one on her back. Alfred must have seen most if not all of it, though and there was some comfort it had been someone as professional and discreet as him to treat her. She removed the bandages on her hand - her knuckles were bruised too - and her ankle before she stepped in the outrageously sized shower cabin. 

After washing herself slowly, she stayed under the hot pelting water until her skin was red and her bruises ached. Then she used one of the towels Alfred left to dry herself, before inspecting the spare set of clothes. They were all brand new, and far more expensive than she'd consider buying in her current predicament. A loose black shirt, soft cotton joggers, and underwear. In a square box, she found a brand new pair of running shoes. 

Fay considered what it would mean if she accepted all those clothes but she found she had more important things to worry about. On the floor she placed the towels she hadn't used and she sat on them, flinching as she did. A notebook and pencil laid in her lap. 

Bagheera approached her. 

Always remember you don’t know what you don’t know. 

With a slightly shaky hand, she started jotting down what she did know. When in doubt, work the issue backward, map out your knowledge to identify gaps and uncertainties. 

Twelfth of August, she first met Damian at the museum. Then she officially met him on the twenty-first of the same month. They would have met a day earlier if she hadn't panicked and ran away. On both days, however, he had her come to him. 

He purposefully tracked her down – how exactly? Was still unanswered on the paper – and had her deliver an order he did not need, just so he could offer her an insane proposal. The memory of that meeting still irked her, even if Damian had somewhat changed his attitude after. He came after her. Twice. Once at the soup kitchen for something that was decidedly not an apology and then again, when she turned him down a second time around. 

Damian Wayne did not strike her as the type of person to chase others. Unless, maybe, he had something to gain from it. Fay was not interesting as a person, and he was obviously not interested in striking a friendship. He wanted to reward her for her allegedly heroic behavior. Yet it still felt he was withholding something from her. 

Did it matter if she wanted the money or not? Shouldn’t that be her prerogative? Why not just donate it to other people if he was so interested in fulfilling his social responsibilities. He had deceived her to begin with, omitting that he knew she had ventured into that burning building. Why? He was impatient and pragmatic. Why waste time when he could have told her up front why he was seeking her out? 

She would have done that had she been in his place. 

Instead, he insinuated himself in her life. He watched her have a panic attack and bawl like a child. He brought her to the penthouse and had his butler treat her hand. He gave her food, and privacy and had been simultaneously thoughtful and intrusive about her past. He kept his promise not to report her to the authorities and made counter-proposals. He punished her for her morals by putting her through a hellish week but also had his butler cook her food. He showed up at the soup kitchen and found her in that state, and he brought her there again. 

What a confusing, unpredictable creature. 

Fay didn't trust him still. She had no idea what to make of him, truth to be told, but she preferred to remain cautious. Damian said he wasn't playing games, but it still felt that way. As if he was just bored, and decided to entertain himself by turning her life upside down. She looked so breakable, she has to come across as a weak target. He was obviously very smart, so maybe he could sense something was not....normal with her. 

She just made it worse, by going after those criminals. She could no longer say she just happened to be at the wrong place and wrong time when she had even told Hannah that she intended on taking action. She purposefully tracked a group of individuals and then, by all intents and purposes, attacked them. A clumsy, unorthodox one but she succeeded in her endeavor. 

Fay sighed loudly. 

Damian kept his end of the bargain when he said he won’t question her further, even if he had pushed the boundaries last time she had been at the penthouse. Fay doubted he’d just leave this incident alone, not after bringing her there. Thinking about his potential motivations made her feel dizzy and she hadn’t even considered yet why Bagheera alerted her to a hidden threat.

When she looked down at her journal, she grimaced at the number of unanswered questions she had. 

“Help me out here, Bag.’’ She muttered. “Remember…blink once for no, and twice for yes. Okay?’’

He blinked twice. Good.

“Are—are we in danger?’’

No.

“So, um, we don't need to escape?’’

No.

She stared at him confusedly before she decided to rephrase her questions. “But it is dangerous to be here?’’

He blinked twice. Damn.

“Oh-okay.’’ She took a deep breath, then exhaled as gently as possible. “Is---is Damian dangerous?’’

Yes.

That made her heart skip a breath. She had already sensed that herself - Damian never felt not dangerous, even when he was calm. 

When she met Damian for the first time, he had made her fight or flight response go haywire, but she had assumed it was because of her own emotional state that day. He may have been abrasive and rude, but it wasn’t his fault his eyes reminded her of her mother although they weren’t even the same shade; it wasn’t his fault that she was already on the brink of a breakdown even if he rattled her further. She hadn’t stopped thinking he was dangerous for reasons that were still valid – his wealth, his influence, his ability to get under her skin and in her head, how perceptive he was, the fact that he could very easily destroy the semblance of a life she built there if he wanted to.

But maybe she had missed other reasons to consider him a threat. 

“Does---he want to hurt us, Bag?’’

No.

….okay?

“Are—are you sure?’’

The paladin blinked twice and grunted softly. He was certain.

Because Damian is dangerous, but not towards us?

“I mean, we knew that, right?’’ She told him. “He’s—really rich and he, um, tracked us down---‘’

Bagheera whined, interrupting her.

“So, it’s not...that? Or just that?’’  

Now she could feel the anxiety and frustration rolling off him, his emotions no longer subdued. There were other ways – easier ones – they could have been communicating had it not been for his own genetical makeup. Members of his species generally possessed the ability to project their thoughts onto their partners, something Bagheera never inherited. Instead, he had been gifted with an incredibly keen sense of emotions. It was disadvantageous in moments such as that as he could not clearly show her what he wanted to tell her.

But what other ways could Damian be dangerous that she hadn’t already laid out?

“…physically?’’ She muttered out loud. Damian could overpower her if he wanted to, not that it took much given her state. He clearly liked taking care of himself and given his status, all of his life he would have had access to fine foods and resources other children wouldn't dream of. Fay did not know other children her age in that world, but she could tell he spoke more formally than even some adults. He had a seriousness and self-awareness about him that made him seem so much older and she'd seen the way he commanded others around, despite being younger and not as experienced. 

But the expensive clothes and wealth are not actually what stood out the most about him. It was the way he carried himself, striding with purpose and casting those striking glares, daring and challenging others to question his presence there. He also could be silent, unnaturally so for humans of that world, fluid like water yet never any less self-assured. On at least one occasion, he managed to take Bagheera by surprise with that stealthiness although his scent had betrayed him. 

Damian moved like someone talented in her world would have. Like she should have, had she been more capable. 

Then there was that look on his face before she blacked out. It wasn't just that, though. It was the promise of lethality, even though he isn't physically imposing nor he was carrying weapons. He is just a boy, a wealthy one, but just a boy. 

But he never felt just like a regular boy.

Fay wondered if that's what he saw when he looked at her, except instead of grace and intelligence and confidence, he saw instead how broken and inadvertently outlandish she was. 

“How, Bag?’’ She asked softly. "How--is he dangerous?''

He growled softly. Right. Open-ended questions would only make things more confusing. Bagheera would probably grade someone’s physical prowess within the parameters in their world. 

Fay pursued her lips slightly, ignoring the way that made the cut sting. “Do you mean like…other children? In Maysoon, I mean.’’

Yes.

“But-but how?’’ She murmured to herself. “You mean…he is smart?’’

Yes. Then he huffed, his head jerking to the side in an imitation of a head shake. 

Not just smart, then. 

“He can…fight?’’

Yes.

What does that mean in this world? 

“Okay…but people can fight here too. I know it’s, um, different here, Bag, but children could be taught to defend themselves too.’’ Especially genius children whose father is one of the richest men in the world. With that in mind, she'd be more surprised if he didn't know how to take care of himself, but he likely also had people protecting him. She’d only ever seen him accompanied by Alfred who may well have been in charge of his security and not just errands. 

Just like Moma.  

Her paladin growled in frustration and started to pace back and forth before her, his emotions shielded again. He was upset, but not with her, just with his own inability of not being able to communicate better. If he could have just shown her, then she wouldn’t have to ask so many questions and still be unclear on his message.

Fay knew he felt the sting of failure as much as she did sometimes.

“Hey—hey, Bag. Bagheera—‘’ She grabbed him by the fur on his neck and pulled him closer, repositioning herself on her knees, despite her discomfort, so she could wrap her arms around him easier. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. You’re doing a great job.’’ She pulled away to look into his eyes. “You are so, so smart. I wouldn’t have known all this without you.’’ 

He whined softly, brushed his nose gently against her chin before sitting back down.  

“You’d never disappoint me.’’ She said firmly and she meant every word. He was the only one who never disappointed her, the one she trusted wholeheartedly. If something happened to him, he would be the final crack before she died of heartbreak, that she was certain of.

Fay caught sight of the clock on the wall, next to the bathroom entrance. They'd been in there for over an hour but surely Alfred would understand that, given the circumstances.  

“Bag---they, um, didn’t see the marks, right?’’ 

He blinked once, and she sighed in relief. “Go-good, good. Did they---did Alfred do anything else to me? I mean, besides cleaning and bandaging me?’’

No.

Alright. “We’ll figure it out, okay?’’ She told her paladin, leaning to press her forehead against his head. “If--if they’re not a danger to us, that’s—that’s a good start, right?’’ She’d take the small wins for now.  

He blinked twice.  

Fay wanted more answers, but her stomach started growling and her head was hurting. She really did need to eat something. 

In the bamboo drawer, she found a comb, fresh bandages, and other bathroom supplies that she wasn't interested in. She dried her hair then combed the knots away before letting her hair loose, as it partially shielded her face. She checked her backpack - it seemed untouched, even the stollen wallets were still there - and shoved her notebook back inside. 

When she finally exited the bathroom, she found the dog lying belly up amongst the pillows and the ferret chasing the cat around the room, which Bagheera quickly worked to stop before they damaged anything they wouldn’t be able to afford to pay back. The new clothes looked expensive as it was.

The shoes feel so comfortable. Maybe I should buy some new clothes as well. 

She was just in the process of figuring out how to tie her shoelaces without bending at an angle that hurt her when someone knocked at the door. Bag immediately stiffened, ears perking up.

The knock was firmer than Alfred's but louder.

She should have realized that. 

“…y-yes?’’ She asked while sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bed with her foot propped on the chair she pulled before herself. It was probably rude, but she was bound to trip on her feet if she left the shoelaces free. 

The door opened.

Green met brown. She froze, in that position, leaning towards her foot. 

“Pennyworth wanted to make sure you don’t get lost on your way to the kitchen.’’ The boy said coolly. His expression held nothing of the anger it did last time, but she also couldn't tell he was thinking. Green eyes moved from her face to her shoe, and back. She expected him to remark that she looked ridiculous or stupid. 

"There's no need for shoes.'' He said curtly, but not unkindly. 

Fay swallowed, and straightened, feeling very self-consciously especially since now she knew exactly just how terrible she looked. She slowly removed her leg from the chair and removed her shoes. The socks should do just fine. When she looked back at him, Fay expected him to still be scrutinizing her. Instead, he had crouched down and petting the cat who seemed quite...taken with him. 

What the--?!

The cat eagerly jumped in his arms when he opened himself for it, then purred and rubbed her head against his chin. Damian straightening, still holding the cat. 

He glanced at her with a raised brow. “Breakfast is ready. ’’

It wasn't fair really.

The cat never came to her when Fay beckoned her. 

.

The dog and ferret were left in the room, but the cat refused to leave Damian's arms and he didn’t seem to care. Fay followed him down the halls, at a painfully slow pace because she was sore. Bagheera stood by her side, ready to catch her if she lost her balance and surprisingly, the boy didn't walk ahead of her but on her other side. 

That made her very nervous so she avoided looking at him. Any questions she had were caught in her throat, refusing to come out. He had seen her in that state, yet he had nothing to say? He was behaving as if it hadn't even happened even though the evidence was plainly available on her face and in her uneven gait. 

The cat meowed. Fay blamed her nerves when she ended up throwing the furry creature a dirty look. She felt betrayed. 

And it was Damian out of all people. Who knew he was capable of being nice to another living creature? The new information was so startling that it did shift her perspective of him the tiniest. She had a softer spot for animals than she did people, so she found herself wondering if that was the case with him. 

It doesn't matter. He still did all those other things. 

The walk to the kitchen was silent and longer than it should have, but when they finally made it, Fay nearly cried at the incredible scents that greeted them. And the sight of what appeared a gourmet breakfast. 

Whoa. 

Waffles, plates filled with peeled and chopped up fruit, fresh croissants, toasted bread. She also spotted different jars of jam, peanut butter, and chocolate spread. Alfred, who appeared to be busy wiping the counter, seemed slightly surprised when he saw them come in, or perhaps she's imagined it because his face looked as placid as usual a second later. 

“Master Damian. Miss Fay.’’ The butler greeted. “Please help yourselves.’’

Just like...that? Fay momentarily started overthinking table etiquette but Damian let go of the cat and pushed an empty plate down the counter. 

Naturally, she did not catch it. Not lack for trying, which made it worse. 

The plate shattered, noisily. Fay stared at it horrified, immediately apologizing profusely. Alfred threw a look towards the young boy who did not seem bothered by the damage, and instead handed her another plate, this time by placing it within her reach. 

"Don't worry about it.'' Damian rolled his eyes. "Just eat.'' 

Fay hesitated but Alfred's look encouraged her. She didn't want to gawk at the items on the counter for too long, nor she wanted to gorge herself albeit she felt tempted to try everything. So she settled for scooping some omelet with chopped vegetables, and half a waffle on which she poured chocolate syrup. 

She eyed the stool when she realized she might have some difficulty sitting down there. 

"Come on,'' Damian said gruffly, a plate in one hand as he walked past her and towards the large open space that contained a leather sofa and another TV set like in the other living room. The penthouse was always empty so she wondered if anyone even used any of those spaces at all. 

Bagheera was served a bowl of fresh meat by the kitchen island, which left her alone with Damian. She sat as far as away as possible from him, reminding herself that he was dangerous but not to her. Not yet. To his credit, Damian didn't disturb her nor he paid her any attention as she ate quietly, feeling much more comfortable on the safe. 

Her headache was alleviated. She debated taking the empty plate back to the kitchen but she felt too sore. Her right hand also prickled, the bruised knuckles more tender than before. 

“The bandages are too tight.’’ She jumped slightly and when she looked up, Damian was looking at her. His plate was empty and on the coffee table in front of them. "Allow me.'' 

Fay isn't sure what compelled her to allow him to reach to her and touch her hand, but it was not common sense. Just like last time, his fingers were light and clinical as he unwrapped the bandages. Her hand felt better the moment the blood was no longer constricted from circulating properly. 

She watched him quietly, stiff as a board, as he started rewrapping the gauze around her knuckles. His hands were warm, and the small callouses got her attention again. Some of his fingers were also taped, in ways she'd seen others do before. Swordsmen, primarily but also any other warriors who trained for hours with their weapons. 

The cat crawled along the back of the sofa before plopping down and watched them lazily. Fay flinched slightly when the boy brushed his finger against the small scar on the side of her middle finger. It was nothing compared to other scars she had. Perhaps because she didn't have such a negative memory tied to the one on her finger. 

“The cut went to the bone.’’ He remarked. “How did that happen?’’

Fay pondered whether she should answer at all because he was being intrusive again. He wasn't demanding but he wasn't being polite either. “I—I grabbed something sharp.’’ She almost lost her finger.

“Hn. Odd angle.'' It was a blade. Sometimes instinct didn't equal common sense. 

His seemingly more...tamed behavior threw her off. Which is probably why she ended up speaking. "Is that from a sword?’’ 

I am an idiot. 

She could feel his eyes on her face but she refused to meet his gaze.  “A sword? What makes you think that?’’ He sounded bored, not alarmed or weirded out, however. 

Crapcrapcrapcrap

Think, Fay. Think!

“I-um, --I know someone who used to—use a sword. He used to-to tape his fingers like that.’’ She pointedly looked at his fingers. 

It wasn’t a lie but she still felt nervous. I just had to open my mouth...

“Do you?’’

“W-what?’’

“Know how to use a sword.’’

“N-no.’’ She did, the basics, just barely. She’d never shown an affinity for swordsmanship, always finding it hard to move with the added weight. It felt counterintuitive to her but she admired anyone who did master that art. 

He scoffed lightly, sounding more amused than scathing. She didn't expect him to actually answer her questions since he seemed to enjoy always evading them. 

"I have learned how to use a sword since I was young.'' He said. "And I am excellent at it.'' 

Swordsmanship was a dying art in that world, so she found herself intrigued even if he was obnoxiously arrogant. 

She shouldn't feel interested. 

He was still dangerous. 

And unpredictable. 

“Why not?'' 

"Um, w-why not...what?'' 

He finished wrapping her hand, and she immediately took it back. Damian didn't move back to his initial spot on the sofa, staying closer to her than she liked.

Fay caught on to what he was asking, not surprised he was refusing to repeat himself. She was starting to get to know him whether she wanted to or not, it seemed. 

“I don’t--um, care much about it.’’ Then, worried the questions might thread onto topics she wasn't comfortable discussing, she added, “…h-how did you know I-I was at the soup kitchen?’’

If he didn’t expect the question, he didn’t show it.

“Wilmot came to the museum and explained that she was withdrawing, then she asked for your parent's contacts-'' Fay grimaced. "- because she was worried you were putting yourself in danger.'' 

Ah. She hadn't thought of that. Fay forgot Helen didn't know she was an orphan and hadn't considered the woman would want to contact her fictional family. "She had also attempted to call the authorities again, but I have convinced her that there was no need. I went to the soup kitchen because I knew you would go there, eventually unless of course, you died while playing hero.'' 

"Oh.'' 

"Yes, oh.'' Damian snarked. "I take it the vigilantes you promised to call weren't available.'' 

Fay's cheeks burned, as she sputtered slightly. "I--what--no--I just said that---'' 

"I am curious. Who were you going to call? Robin, perhaps?'' 

He was definitely mocking her now and clearly enjoying it. 

Fay sighed. "I--I didn't know what to say. It just--came out.'' 

Why would he wait for her at the soup kitchen instead of alerting Dana as well? Why come after her at all? He was likely worried the lies he made up about her identity would come out, most likely. 

"You are either incredibly stupid or suicidal,'' Damian said, his tone cutting again. "Do you have any idea how reckless you were?'' 

'You stupid child.'

'Do you have any idea how reckless you were?'

"You have not only jeopardized the identity I crafted for you, but you also---'' Damian fell silent when the girl turned away from him and bent forward, visibly struggling to breathe properly. 

He had seen her in that state before. It was a panic attack. 

Fay felt as if she'd been punched in the stomach again. 

No. No way. 

How could I have not seen it until now? 

The puzzle had come together, and it felt as if she was being swept by a tsunami, different emotions battling for dominion. Fear and panic dictated that she should just alert Bag and try to get out of there immediately. Ration, as muted as it was, told her that she had to calm down because the way she was reacting would only trigger suspicion. 

Maybe she was wrong.

She had to be wrong. There was no way she’d be that unlucky, right? 

"You need to calm down.'' 

“I—I can’t---bre---breathe—‘’

Then she blacked out.

Chapter 8: Of different perspectives, layers, and curiosity

Notes:

Chapter revised/rewritten as of 20th of August.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“People, I have discovered, are layers and layers of secrets. You believe you know them, that you understand them,
but their motives are always hidden from you, buried in their own hearts.’’

-Veronica Roth

.

.

.

 

He did not forget having met her but he also had not given thought about their encounter at the museum after that night. However, it was perhaps the image of her crying at the sight of his painting that spurred some of his curiosity, because she had also been crying when they met for the second time around. 

Hundreds of people passed by that painting in the week it had been put up for the exhibit. The critics, as incompetent as they were, have interpreted the painting incorrectly in most of their reviews. Perhaps one or two had come close in identifying accurately the emotions that motivated the author. Still, they had no idea. None of them did. Damian himself hadn’t fully put much thought into it when he’d painted; using the canvas as an outlet because the training room had already been torn apart and Alfred had made it clear he would not see the gardens ruined again. 

It all went back to Wyatt, the source of his ire. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d crippled a man like that, and his intention was never to kill him but to ensure the effects of the physical damage were long-term, permanent. Wyatt was scum. He did not deserve just a few years in prison only to be released early due to overcrowding. He had enjoyed killing Hannah Walker, so yes, Damian had some level of satisfaction in hurting him. 

Father was being a hypocrite for holding that against Damian; just because Wyatt hadn’t fought back, it didn’t mean he didn’t earn the beating. Damian understood why his actions were at odds with his father's philosophy. He just struggled with identifying entirely with all those principles. He was keeping his killer instinct in check, wasn’t he? It’s been over two years now. What else must he do to prove himself? 

As if Batman has never left criminals comatose before. 

(Deep down he didn't like the part of himself that enjoyed the man's suffering either, because that side was more Mother than Father)

Painting number twenty-three was produced as a result of that argument between him and his father. Damian didn't care others didn't understand its meaning - they were undeserving anyway - but the way the girl had cried at the sight of it had been...unexpected. She had no right to be so moved by it. She could not even begin to comprehend its significance, the hidden layers. 

What were the odds that the same girl would come across him in that building? Damian did not believe in fate. He believed in facts. Numbers. He could justify his curiosity because it wouldn't have been smart to ignore the circumstances of how their paths have crossed. So, if he decided to find out what caused her to react that way to the painting, it was only because it would give him a more accurate psychological profile. 

The fact was that Fay did not exist. She was a ghost. There was no birth record, no family to trace her to, no photos of her on any database, no missing person report assuming her family cared enough to file one. In that day and age, there were not many people who could achieve that level of anonymity, not without considerable resources. Either she had been raised in complete isolation, or the so-called family she’s run from has enough power to make the information go away.

Damian believes the first theory holds more weight. Her nervous disposition, symptoms indicative of post-traumatic stress, and desire to remain under the radar would be conducive to the trauma of having been raised in an atypical environment, one that affected her emotionally and psychologically. The way she spoke about her family indicated that her life took a negative turn the moment her parents died. She was terrified of physical contact and required more cajoling than regular children as emphasized by Alfred having to persuade her to look at her hand, then have her eat. 

The possibility that she was unwittingly protecting her abusive family was also a possibility. Her actions point to a large inoffensive if reckless creature, but Damian was taught to be thorough, so he had her DNA tested.

She was human, just not Homo Sapiens. Her genetic makeup had something different, but the tests were inconclusive on whether she was dormant metahuman or...something else

His reason for offering the trial week had been twofold. One, to see whether she displayed any signs of having developed special powers – she didn’t – and two, because he wanted to test whether her obstinate self-righteousness was genuine – it was -. He still lacked information about who she truly was, but her actions spoke volumes of her character and if he had any doubts that her presence in that building, those were put to rest the more he observed her. 

But her presence in Gotham was still an anomaly, he reasoned, so he decided additional monitoring was warranted. 

Her altruism seemed to be deeply rooted in a low sense of self-worth, or at least that's what he has concluded initially. Then he watched her struggle with his tasks, but despite coming close to giving up several times, she'd always persisted. Winning had to be important to her if she finally agreed to his proposal, yet she was willing to jeopardize that to put Helen ahead. He had made it clear that while Fay wasn't officially part of the recruitment process and she won't actually be hired as a 'program manager', he was going to judge her within the parameters he did others. Did she not think she'll win then? Then it meant she stayed on out of a twisted sense of honor. 

What a nuisance. 

Damian had been raised to destroy his enemies, to crush the competition, to put his victory above all else. So, there was a part of him that recoiled at her weak-willed behavior. But as Robin, he has also learned to protect others than himself even if it meant putting his life on the line. Fay did not have the resources, training, or skills to do any of that but she still made the same choice, again and again. Was it truly selflessness, however, if she did not care about her life? 

What was her trauma? What is it that made her stutter and induce crippling panic attacks? He saw how talking about her family simply snuffed the life out of her eyes, and put such a dark expression on her face that she looked years older, yet simultaneously like a lost child. Disgust and shame colored her face when he called her actions heroic, fuelled ever so by a sliver of anger. He wondered if she knew that, how much of an open book she is. It was a privilege for her to receive such a comment from him, but rather than flattered, she looked as if he had slapped her. 

Survivor’s guilt, perhaps? 

So what, he asked himself? Gotham was full of traumatized, abandoned children. Runaways that had been in far worse situations, most likely. 

Yet. 

His instincts told him something was off with her. It was the inconclusive genetic results. It was the slight accent she had although he could not place it (ridiculous). It was that dog of hers that was clearly a hybrid and likely far from being a dog. Tests might reveal some relation to the Canis lupus species but he wasn't just that. The same way she wasn't just an orphan. There were layers to her character that he found himself greedily wanting to break down. Because she was a puzzle and because she was in Gotham - his territory - and that meant it was his duty to find out everything. 

Despite her genetic make-up, she was nothing special – appearance, intellect, ability – but she was something. 

She had been reckless in hunting down that group of offenders. But she had also been calculating. Resourceful. He had gotten the details of what happened in that apartment block, he had inspected it himself, had read the police report. Ammonium nitrate. She created smoke bombs out of newspapers soaked in ammonium nitrate she found in icepacks after pick locking and breaking into an apartment. 

Well, isn't she a creative one? To be taken down by a wisp of a girl, her targets were bound to remember that. 

Damian wishes he had been there to see exactly how it went, to see the look on her face as she planned everything. Did it take long for her to figure it out? Was she afraid as she usually was? She had assessed her target, had concluded that she was disadvantaged indicating critical thinking skills. She broke into an apartment – a crime in itself, how ironic – to find a way to increase the odds in her favor. Did she even think about calling the police and just rat the adolescents out? The phone he gave her was with Wilmot, so she removed a potentially life-saving communication channel. She was also an idiot, then. 

Timid, anxious, and stuttering Fay had behaved like a vigilante and she had even done an adequate job. Given her circumstances, it was even impressive. It wasn’t a flawless plan. Something went wrong given how battered she was. Even with her take on the element of surprise and her dog's support, she would have been outnumbered. 

He knew which offender gave her the most trouble. Daniel – aka Danny Boy – Doyle. Small-time drug dealer, who made money running a ring of disenfranchised adolescents. Fay wouldn’t have known any of that but having Doyle arrested had caused a domino effect to several other of his associates, some of which weren’t quite as petty. Damian took care of them all, of course.

It was Doyle who got to her. Given his size and weight in comparison to hers, he could have snapped her like a doll. 

Yet Doyle was the one in the hospital with a displaced patella, a hairline fracture of the orbit, an eye filled with liquid and testicular torsion. She fought back. Her. The girl was crippled by constant fear. She would have done so after Doyle got his hands on her, which meant she had to retaliate while bearing those injuries. 

What motivated her to get up? It had to be something powerful. He wanted to know. It was all part of his analysis of her, that's all. It wasn't needless curiosity if he had a logical reason behind it. 

Testing her resilience in the past seven days had revealed there was more to her than it met the eye. But that only raised more questions. 

He’d watch the dot move quicker than usual at times, had seen the CCTV capture her running around the city boldly changing her usual routes even if it meant increased difficulty in navigating around Gotham. He watched the way she pored over the reading material, not paying attention to where she walked. He didn't install any cameras in her attic, but he knew she barely slept throughout the trial, in order to stop on top of the reading. 

He wanted- no, required to know more. It was his duty. 

(He wanted to know everything)

But.

He didn’t want to hurt her. He was certainly not going to beg for her attention or chase her any further if she chose to part ways. He could continue to monitor her remotely. 

There was a part of him who was reminded of Hannah Walker when he looked at the girl. He thought about the dangers lurking in Gotham, how easy it would be for someone like Wyatt to separate her from her dog or use the animal as leverage. The many ways she could be broken. 

The ways she must have been broken already. 

He heard the cries while she was asleep. He wasn't there when Alfred checked her over, but Damian caught sight of some of the scars she must've kept hidden underneath those clothes. He had felt how impossibly thin she was when he caught her at the soup kitchen and then carried her to the car when Alfred came to collect them. 

‘Please…please! Stop--it hurts-- I am—I am sorry.’

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.

.

“Pennyworth, the penthouse. Don’t hold back.’’ 

When Damian texted him to come to the address where the soup kitchen was located, Alfred had suspected something must’ve happened with the girl. He had dropped the young master himself at the museum only a few hours earlier, and although Damian did not inform him about the decision he’s made in the girl’s regard, the passport he’d seen in the Batcave earlier that week provided all the answers. 

Alfred had to commend the young girl when she recovered because while Damian had certainly not made it easy, she had refused to bend. Even if his boy had pushed the boundaries too hard, not as much interested in her worthiness as much as he wanted to test her resilience and determination, she saw the challenge through.

Damian was curious about another child, a civilian one at that, and his solution to satisfying his curiosity was to test her in that manner rather than just engage in regular social contact. Understandable, given his upbringing but Alfred had found himself warning the boy about threading carefully if he did want to form a bond with the girl. Damian may have scoffed at the notion, becoming defensive when Alfred mentioned that perhaps befriending her required different tactics.

The butler knew better than to be convinced by the boy's speech of ‘I have no need for such meaningless bonds’ or ‘I am gathering data as any good detective does’. He’d seen how aggravated the boy had been when Fay turned out to be a far more stubborn character than he’d anticipated, one whom despite her submissive and timid nature, managed to defy his expectations. 

At the beginning of the week, Alfred wouldn’t have necessarily expected her to make it through given her fragile disposition and he had worried Damian might push her too far. Acquiring his attention had disrupted her life to an extent, after all. The boy had tried to downplay her actions of that night initially, but Alfred had observed Damian watch the museum footage, observed him trying to track her down, and arrange an - unnecessarily so– elaborate plan to get her attention. Then he learned, the hard way, that people had ways of being something more than they appeared to be even if they didn't know it themselves. It was ironic, considering the same could be said about Damian himself. 

Perhaps that's exactly why his curiosity remains unsatisfied. 

Fay had come close to giving up. Alfred had read it in her expression when she arrived at the museum on Wednesday. It wasn't due to the toughness of the tasks or because she did not want to learn. If anything, she seemed far more engaged than previously with all tasks and material she was being given. 

But she was afraid. Damian was not warm or polite or particularly considerate with her. He rather violently intruded in her life, pushed her boundaries, and then demanded her time, her attention. It would have been discombobulating to anyone. 

Yet she persisted. Not for herself, but for her dog.

Damian knew that, too. 

Alfred silently observed how Damian rectified his demands, even if minimally, by quizzing her less in the subsequent days and no longer sending her on long trips around Gotham. His growth had never been linear, but it was there, reflected in how the boy realized that he may have pushed her too far all on his own. 

It was also reflected in the choices he made. Offering her an identity, trying to monetize his gratitude because he struggled to process it otherwise, secretly documenting his research on child malnutrition. Refusing to let her go to a hospital because she'd be terrified rather than as a result of her lack of documentation. That could have easily been addressed, especially in a private hospital sponsored by Wayne Enterprises. The barely perceptible frown on his face when Alfred told him her weight, and her measurements and noted how the scars on her body couldn't have all been as a result of accidents. When Damian asked him to offer sedatives because she kept crying in her sleep. 

The way the boy disappeared for hours before patrol and retraced her steps and tracked down the individuals who caused her injuries. 

Alfred recalled other orphans catching the attention of a Wayne heir. 

He wondered if Damian was also unconsciously trying to prove himself to his father. 

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.

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His Fay.

He so dearly loved his Fay. Man-cub, that’s how her mother used to say, a term from that book the girl loved. He got his name from that book too, and how he wished his Fay would read it again to him.  It was okay, however. It did not change who he was to her - his to protect, to fight alongside, and to guide her -, her paladin. Even if she had no strength to do the same, he’ll always be her paladin.

He hadn’t been succeeding very well at helping her though. Not since that night. His Fay was still lost. Still afraid. He wasn’t sure when he last felt her experience happiness. Sometimes she felt too much, even for him. It was overwhelming. Humans generally were intense creatures, but his Fay had always been sensitive; she had always cared more than intensely than others. 

They hurt her. The other children. Adults, too. They are responsible for the burning, dark emotions that were buried beneath the bitterness of her grief. Bagheera wanted to hurt them. All of them. They had no right to hurt his Fay like that when she had already suffered enough.

He knew she felt guilty for them being in that world, but he’d follow her to the world’s end if she asked. Coming to that world meant that she was away from those people who caused her to hurt, she was safe from being reminded of what she lost. What he lost, too. His Fay didn't feel quite as alone in that world, she was more responsive to his attempts at cheering her up. It was just her and him in that world, and nothing else in-between, and that's what mattered. 

He missed the jungle. He missed the other paladins and Moma the loud caretaker that liked to spoil his Fay. He didn't care as much about the other members of the family but he missed their paladins. 

It's okay, though. His Fay is safe. And he is by her side. 

Her Bad Days still felt bad. But she felt other emotions, more often than she did in Maysoon. She was both scared and welcomed Dana's affection. The cook entertained her. The boy that helped in the kitchen and liked to bring Bag all kinds of treats, made her enthusiastic about the colorful papers he brought in and the stories he told. The butcher made her nervous, so Bag didn't like him but the man who always allowed him inside the bookshop made up for it. 

Then the boy showed up. 

Bagheera had wanted to take his Fay far, far away since that day. Because the boy was dangerous; he felt exactly like those other children. Arrogant, proud. Angry, so angry. He felt like a predator himself. His Fay was smart, of course. She’d have never said yes to him. She didn’t need Bag’s abilities to read other people; she could tell herself that the boy was no good.

Then the brat showed up at the soup kitchen.

On their territory. The nerve of him to approach his Fay. Was he not going to stop until she was hurt again? Just like the others.  

Except he wasn't like the others. Not entirely. Bagheera had required to focus, but he could feel other emotions beneath the boy's arrogance and rage. There was no malice, either, even if the boy was easily irritated and impatient. He was...curious. Affronted, even, by Fay but there was no intent...to harm her. No disgust or hatred, not like the others. 

The boy was better at feeling anger than the other emotions. He too tried to deny and hide, just like his Fay did. For different reasons. Whereas his Fay did it out of fear, the boy did it out of pride.

He'd upset his Fay one too many times with the way he ordered her around and tried to dominate her. He frightened his Fay, too, because he must have reminded her of the others. 

Bagheera hated the boy then. Wanted to hurt him, too. 

But the boy was confusing too and contradicting. He could subdue his emotions, as well as Bag but he could also feel as volatile as Fay did. 

Why didn't he leave his Fay alone? Bag didn't know. He may sense others' emotions, but he didn’t always understand why other creatures behaved in the way they did. Humans were particularly complex. It made Bagheera's head hurt. 

That past week his Fay had felt different than usual. Even if she was more exhausted than usual. It was because of the boy. 

So Bag decided, maybe, the boy shouldn't be maimed just yet. 

A bite to the ankle wouldn’t hurt though. But his Fay wouldn’t like that, so…. hm. Maybe when she’s not looking.

The boy's concern was hidden underneath his rage, however. He had been gentle with his Fay when he carried her in the car. He had made sure she was comfortable, and he had held her even as they made their way in the moving box in the tall building. He felt the boy's incensed emotions when his Fay cried in her sleep. 

There was no satisfaction in the boy's heart that she had been hurt. No. The boy was just as angry as Bag that someone had hurt her. 

Hm.

Maybe he wasn't like the others even if he felt that way. Even if he was dangerous still. 

Then….Bagheera heard them. 

The man who helped his Fay with her injuries and the boy. Bagheera had stood in the hall, guarding the bedroom door and even if the humans were on the other end of the penthouse, he was able to hear them still. It was a shame he could not feel their emotions so far away. 

Are you going after them, Master Damian?’

‘They are criminals, Pennyworth. I am going to make sure Gotham police, as incompetent as they can be, doesn’t allow them to walk away easily.’

‘Miss Fay has handled herself rather well, wouldn’t you say so? She is, however, fortunate to have escaped with no major injuries.’

‘She was reckless, and she risked her life for a stupid reason. For a woman she doesn’t even know. She didn’t even think to call the police. She wouldn’t have---she wouldn’t have said anything to me, had I not tracked her down.’

‘Is that so surprising, though? You have told me yourself that when confronted with the building incident, she had been rather adamant about not seeing herself as altruistic or brave. She’s a humble soul.’

‘She has the self-esteem of a rock.’ The boy paused.  ‘She….is not concerned with her own life.' 

' I would not eliminate altruism as an element fuelling her actions, sir. Shall I inform Master Richard you are going on patrol earlier?’

‘No need, Pennyworth, I will be back shortly. I won’t hurt them…much, so you have nothing to worry about. Robin will just finish the lesson she’s started. Being beaten by two children in one day should haunt them for long enough.’

The Robin. The one his Fay helped that night, the colorful one.

The one she stayed behind for, even if at the expense of her life.

A warrior of that world, his Fay said. 

Damian Wayne was dangerous in more ways than one; he was a threat hidden under the façade of a regular, human boy.

A hidden threat.

If Bagheera could speak, he’d certainly have used those expletives humans seemed to like yet be embarrassed about simultaneously.  

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.

.

Dana Mercher prided herself on her ability not to be disconcerted easily. She can have a temper, yes, and she’d swear like a sailor when she was particularly worked up, but she’d also talk herself down because she knew some battles took longer than others. Or they weren’t worth fighting. After all, she’s experienced enough failures and hardships to learn that nothing worth having was easy to gain. 

The world didn’t change because you wished it or prayed or swore at it; it changed when others worked together to change it. That doesn’t happen often, unfortunately. But Dana wouldn’t be running a soup kitchen if she thought giving up was ever an option regardless of how hard it is sometimes to get out of the bed or how much her wallet protests.

Sometimes she'd feel too jaded and bitter to believe in the world. Dana’s no stranger to depression or nervous breakdowns, and she'd gotten better over the years, but recovery was not linear. Sometimes she was just sick of life throwing her curveballs. 

Dana had been thinking more than usual about her late husband. Maybe it was due to seeing their son grow up so frighteningly quickly. Just yesterday he only came up to her knee and now? Now he’s preparing to go to medical school. She finds it hard at times to reconcile that the young man before her is hers and his and theirs and that someone so beautiful and capable and so good came out of her.  

It wasn't Robby though who made Dana mull over her husband's endless optimism. It was Fay. 

Robert would have taken care of her too though. Especially if he saw how vacant the girl’s eyes would get sometimes, the way she flinched whenever Mack would pull her into a bear hug. The way she roamed Gotham around with that big dog of hers. Fay is clever, in a quiet, unassuming way and she noticed things that Robby never did at his age which Dana found both eerie and intriguing.

The girl also saw the world for what it was; there was no innocence left in those eyes. But she was still such a gentle little thing. One that always reminded Dana she hadn't eaten, one who would patiently sit by Mack listening to his political rants, one who would scrub the kitchen clean with such discipline that it’d rival army cadets. 

Talking about her family was a big no, and it made the kid agitated and withdrawn, but Dana had gotten enough out of her to know her parents were dead, and that she’s run away from her remaining family. Why is unclear but Dana didn’t need to know. What mattered is that she was safe, that she was allowed to discover herself outside whatever environment she’d escaped from, that she knew she wasn’t alone beyond that insolent far-too-intelligent dog of hers (whose knowing looks and perceptiveness made her uneasy often enough). Dana didn't question Fay's motivations for running away because she didn't think the kid would without good reason. 

Fay wasn’t the only homeless child in Gotham; she wasn’t also the only one that came through to soup kitchen doors. Dana would help them all if she had the space and resources and funds, of course, but it had been Fay the one she felt drawn to. Maybe it was those eyes of her, or how she looked around the canteen differently – as a veteran- or how she was more worried about getting her dog food than herself.

The attic was meant to be a temporary solution until she’d figured the best way to help the kid; Child Services wasn’t her first option or second or third, to be honest but she did have some connections that could have helped.

But the girl stayed, and the weeks passed by and she became a permanent fixture in all their lives. It was selfish, she knew but she really did like Fay; she wanted to gain her trust and find out who or what hurt her, and she believed the girl had potential. Dana would have never turned her life around if it hadn’t been for someone else to believe in her.

It was rather heart-warming knowing she was up there in her attic with Bagheera and those strays of her – they were really drawn to her, weren’t they? – reading and eating snacks and just hidden from the rest of the world. It was also heart-breaking because Dana knew Fay had bad days in ways someone her age shouldn’t; that she experienced symptoms indicative of post-traumatic stress. Dana had seen how low Fay's mood could get that she’d barely talk the entire day, how red and puffy her eyes would be, the bags under her eyes, the loss of appetite. Dana had experienced bad days throughout her life; she knew how they could drain a person’s spirit away.  

Fay had also developed several coping mechanisms. Dana had heard her count backward and saw her run laps up and down the alley under the watchful gaze of her dog. 

So, Dana threaded more carefully, even if she was curious, even if at times it was hard to just stand back and watch her struggle. Fay had opened gradually in those few months she’d been with them, so the veteran did not want to do anything to jeopardize that progress. Dana wondered what Fay did when she wasn’t at the soup kitchen. She’d told Dana that she and Bag liked exploring, that she’d go to ‘Mr. Fitzwilliam’s library’ or the park. She’d also stopped helping the butcher weeks earlier, and Dana was rather relieved to hear. Yuri wasn’t a bad man, but he could be a demanding ass which is why he had a high turnover of staff members.

Yuri also told Dana that Fay stopped making deliveries after his latest client took her to the affluent area of Gotham. It had been a successful delivery too. Dana may not have been the most academically inclined student, but she was clever enough to put two and two together when that boy showed up at the soup kitchen, and the formally dressed man that drove him there told her he was comfortable with the boy volunteering on his own while he waited outside. He was even willing to sign an affidavit when Dana protested. 

It was a busy day, so Dana had reluctantly agreed. The boy wasn’t impolite but the confidence he carried irked her. She didn’t see Fay’s reaction upon seeing him but when Dana glanced at them later, she saw them talking; Fay looked nervous but then again, she always did. She didn’t ask for help so she must have been somewhat comfortable with him. 

Fay had a panic attack not long after, and Mack told her that the boy demanded some ice before he rushed away with it out in the hall. He made Fay feel better, calmed her down, and while she found the entire situation odd, Dana didn’t stop Fay when she insisted on not going to the hospital. But Dana did not relax for a second while Fay was away. The boy's grandfather, who turned out to be his butler actually, had kept her updated. Fay's hand would recover without complicates but she had fallen asleep, so he intended on returning her later that evening. 

When Fay returned, she looked infinitely better. Calmer, too. They didn't talk about her hand, and the boy was nowhere to be seen for days after. 

Dana barely saw her when she wasn't at the soup kitchen in the week that followed. 

Something changed.

There was a certain buzz about her, and when Dana checked the attic for her one evening she had found numerous books and papers strewn all about. Apparently she had decided to volunteer at the museum but Dana had to wonder how that was allowed given she was an undocumented minor. The boy had something to do with it, for sure.

Fay looked more exhausted than usual, but she was also more focused. It made Dana happy when Fay asked for her help with her task of researching why the museum was important. Dana knew well that having a goal can help one’s mental health and it seemed Fay had found one hence the positive changes in her attitude.

But.

Something went wrong on Monday. Fay didn’t check in at all for the entire day and when Dana searched after closing the soup kitchen, she had found it empty. The strays were gone too, but her personal effects were still there. Fay never stayed that late out in the streets of Gotham, she was smarter than that.

Dana ended up waiting all night. Mack told her they should wait until morning before alerting the police. 

As if they'll do anything about it. 

God, she prayed even if she is not much of a believer, please don’t let Gotham swallow her whole like it has others.

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A girl, huh? Dick thought with a mixture of amusement and apprehension. Girls had been confusing when he was thirteen; being genetically perfect and a genius won't necessarily make it easier. Alfred didn't believe it was a crush or an infatuation, but simple curiosity. Dick was somewhat relieved. He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the idea of the boy having a crush, although he would have liked to be there for him when he finally did. Or God knows what will happen. 

Except it wasn't any girl. It was the one from the burning building. The one who carried him on the balcony then made a run for it after Dick got her on the roof. If only the kid knew how to strike up a conversation without tormenting her for days; really, the convoluted ways he had chosen in approaching her were borderline insane. 

Dick had also spent enough time with Damian to know that he did not procrastinate, he did not draw things along. If he had really wanted to repay the girl for her bravery, there were several ways he could have done so without even needing to engage with her. If he was truly suspecting her of being a threat, he could have monitored her from afar. 

Yet, he did approach her. Repeatedly. Apparently, the girl turned him down, twice.

Ouch.

She couldn’t be blamed though. Alfred described her as a lovely young girl, incredibly polite and thoughtful. Noble, too given her recent actions to go after a group of dangerous adolescents, motivated by the desire to help a woman she barely knew.

She had a vigilante’s heart, huh?

Alfred had a point in wondering whether Damian was going to such lengths to prove himself. Is that what it was? Damian taking a page out of his father’s book to see through his eyes and prove he was just like him? 

Dick didn't think that was the reason, or the only one. Damian may genuinely crave a social bond, unconsciously so. Or perhaps he acknowledged it but he didn't know how to process it. It wasn’t his fault he was never taught how to be a kid.

All the more reason why Damian needed guidance, not judgment. 

“Hey, little D.’’ Dick greeted cheerfully, landing on the edge of the roof where the boy was perched like a gargoyle, hood pulled on. He hadn’t behaved any differently that night; just as focused and precise as he usually was. “Your inability to abide by our codenames is abhorrent.’’ Okay, so a little testier than usual, then.

“Something on your mind?’’ Dick continued in a light tone, undeterred as he plopped down next to the boy.

“Pennyworth has reached out to you, hasn’t he?’’

The kid was too perceptive for his own good at times. “He wasn’t tattling. Just wondered whether you’d like to talk to someone else who might offer...a different perspective.’’ He watched the boy relax visibly, before sitting on the ledge, one knee pulled up to his chest. Damian really wasn’t that much of a mystery if one was patient and paid attention that underneath the soldier there was still a child. An angry, confused child that never experienced unconditional love and yearned acceptance.

“He’s told you already, so why you don’t just cut to the lecture?’’ Damian said, defensively. Testing Dick to see if he was going to use the information against him. Damian must've thought Dick perceived his interest in the girl as a weakness, something to hide away and possessively keep to himself lest the world might see he had a heart. Or perhaps he was worried Bruce might interpret it as such.

Talia certainly would have. 

Dick shrugged. “He has given me an outline only. I would rather you tell me.’’ He offered, giving the boy the opportunity to come to him if he wanted to rather than force out the information. “From what I hear, she and I may have some things in common. At least when I was her age.'' 

Damian was silent for a second, and Dick didn’t rush him, didn’t press. “She is a ghost, she does not exist on any database.’’ He finally said, voice quiet and hood casting shadows on his masked face. “She has informed me that she has run away from home, after the death of her parents but is not forthcoming beyond that. She displays signs of post-traumatic stress disorder and…. abuse. Physical and emotional.’’

Ah.

“I see.’’ Grayson nodded. “You think her family may be responsible for her current predicament.’’

“Hn.’’

So…Damian was worried. In his own strange ways, he wanted to help her. She risked her life by going in that building yet refused to be acknowledged for her efforts. Damian's pride must have certainly suffered, and there was an element in all that situation that spoke of his inability to let go of things when they didn’t go his way. Maybe in this case it could be channeled towards something positive, however.

“Well, I think you did well monitor her, to see if she was in danger. However, if her family was abusive, it couldn’t have been easy to escape so for her having someone approach her, even with the best of intentions, will only make her more afraid.’’

“-Tt—.’’ I know. 

But Damian has no idea how to gain respect or trust without fighting for it. He did not know how to create rapport with other human beings without seeing them as something to be conquered. A beneficial give-and-take, a transaction. Fay wasn’t a fellow vigilante, one that he could impress with his skills or gain her respect by showing off in battle. He did not interact like other children, and likely will never will. 

It spoke volumes to Dick the boy chose to reveal himself to her as Damian, not Robin. That was a sign, the former Robin thought, that Damian wanted her to see him as a person, not the prodigy or the assassin. He wanted to be seen beyond the mask and the identities offered by either one of his parents. 

I wonder if he is aware of that. Knowing Damian, he would be. The boy was self-reflective and analytical. But he was also likely searching for ways to rationalize his own actions, to offer them a logic that he could be comfortable, as the person he was. 

“Entering one’s life when they’re still learning to deal with their losses can have a significant impact on their life. It can be either positive or negative.’’ Dick remarked patiently. He didn’t elaborate further on that. Damian would understand the older man was referring to himself as much as he did about Damian. He had left Talia and the League of Assassins, which may not have been home, but it was all he knew, to stay there by Bruce’s side. He virtually had no allies, part because of his background and part because of his own mistakes, so he had to continuously work on that. 

Dick had watched him grow from that ten-year-old who could not control his killer instincts. His progress wasn’t linear, but it could no be denied. 

Be careful, is what Dick was trying to tell him. For both of their sake. The boy didn’t respond but Dick knew that he’ll mull it over, that he’ll understand the hidden message.

“The night is still young. What do you say we go take down some bad guys?’’

“Hn. Just don’t stand in my way, Grayson.’’

Dick chuckled, as the boy grappled to a nearby roof and let himself fall off the ledge.

Nightwing followed right after him.

Notes:

Hi everyone,

As the plot thickens, I would like to offer some insight as to where I draw my characterization of Damian and other characters. It is no secret obviously that I adore this character/fandom given how much I am writing and I can only hope I do him justice. Now, Damian has been depicted in comic books by different writers throughout the years.

Spoilers below for anyone who's not read the comics yet/entirely:

My first contact with this character was through Morrison's work. I loved Tomasi and Gleason's 'Batman and Robin' and it is one of my favorite series. I loved seeing Damian being mentored by Dick Grayson. It was a character journey that only continued in the Batman and Robin series as it focused on Bruce and Damian's struggles. The plot of Batman Inc will not be considered because I personally found it...out of place with the Dark Knight's desire to keep incognito, but I am thinking of including it as part of a future plot maybe.
Damian's death and resurrection are still considered.

Did I love Robin, Son of Batman? Yes, but I will draw some elements from it.
Did I enjoy Damian joining the Teen Titans? Not really. The Daman in those comics was not the same, and I overall did not like the way he was characterized.
I will absolutely not consider Damian as he appears in the animated DC. Just..no. I will likely draw elements on the 2021 Robin# series but again, I am very disappointed by it so far.

Chapter 9: Of epiphanies, cold showers and Dickens

Summary:

Chapter rewritten/revised as of 20th of August.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"People are more what they hide than what they show.'' 

- Province Hurbungs

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.

.

Damian Wayne is Robin.

Well.

Shit.

When she came to it, she found herself staring at the coffered blue ceiling again.

Maybe it was all a bad dream?

“You fainted, Miss Fay, because of a panic attack.’’

Of course not.

Bagheera leaned in her line of vision, pale blue eyes wide with concern. She held his gaze for a few moments, before glancing over to her side where Alfred’s voice came from. He was alone, thankfully. No sight of him.  

“You were only out of it for ten minutes, but perhaps it’s best to avoid further physical exertion for the day. I shall bring you some additional breakfast if you'd like to eat some more.’’

That was a thoughtful gesture, but it went unregistered.

“Is—is it okay if I call Dana, now?’’

She didn’t know why but she suddenly wanted to hear the woman’s voice.

“Of course. Your phone was damaged during yesterday’s incident— ‘’ She completely forgot about the phone Dana gave her. It made her feel stupid. “--so, you may contact her from the landline.’’ She didn’t say anything and instead pulled herself against the pillows, making sure to drag the duvet as high as possible, all the way to her neck. The small dog jumped on the bed and tried to snuggle next to her, but she was too distraught to pay him any attention.

She needed time to process everything, to write her thoughts down before they threatened to make her head explode.

Minutes later, Alfred brought her a plate with another portion of complete and a croissant, before leaving her alone. 

At one point she wondered if jumping through the window would be easier. Had she been able to fly again, that wouldn’t have been a problem.

She could have been free as a bird.

Alas, that was no longer an option.

.

.

.

“Perhaps criticism is not the best ice breaker,’’ Alfred said dryly when he returned to the main sitting area and saw Damian brooding on the sofa, while the cat stretched itself on his lap.

The boy didn't answer. The butler approached the sofa, with a sigh. “If I may suggest something, Master Damian?’’

"Hn.'' 

I am listening. 

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.

Fay sighed when she was finally able to get off the phone with Dana, feeling simultaneously better and worse. Their conversation had centered mostly on Fay trying to convince the veteran that no, she hadn’t been kidnapped, no, Alfred was not a pedophile, yes, she was safe, no, Dana doesn’t need to take out her bat and hunt down the ‘little shitheads’ who attacked her, and no, Mack couldn’t join her in that venture (she was willing to bet he’d use his spatula).

Dana acted as if she was a family member, not the orphan child that lived illicitly in the attic of her soup kitchen building. It made Fay's heart wrench painfully; that’s exactly how her family would have reacted as well (if not more dramatic and destructive). They were likely very worried, it's been months already since she's missing. 

Or maybe they're relieved. 

Fay told Dana that she had gotten bullied by a group of older boys on the way to the museum, and she had asked Damian’s help because he was closest within her reach. She wondered how long it’ll take the woman to figure out that Damian was the heir of Wayne Enterprises. Fay was not prepared to deal with the line of questioning that’d follow, so it was best to keep Dana in the dark for the time being.

After her phone conversation was over, Fay went to the bathroom, turned on the shower again, and shoved her face into a pillow she carried inside. Then screamed. Hard. 

Hm.

It was rather therapeutic.

To clear her head, she resorted to a coping mechanism she hadn't used in a while. A cold shower. She didn’t even bother to take off her clothes as she stepped inside the shower cabin and turned the faucet on the cold setting. She allowed the water to rewire her emotional state, overriding the anxiety muddling her thoughts. 

Damian Wayne is Robin.

No wonder he tracked her down so easily because that’s what he did for a living.

The mother of the boy she found in the building had probably not even reported it. It was truly embarrassing she hadn’t pieced it together earlier. He had a first-hand account of the events that night, no wonder he’d been so sure of himself about what took place.

Fay knew Robin was young himself, but she’d never considered it as an odd thing. How many child warriors did her world forge with every generation, even in an era of peace and prosperity? 

That world wasn’t like that though, was it? Robby had told her about a group of protectors called ‘Teen Titan’ based in another city – San Francisco? – and that Robin had been a member of it himself, so she’d assumed that was just an unofficial guild. That world seemed to be full of them: Justice League, Teen Titans, Batman, and all those individuals who bore his symbol. What was worse is that she did hear Mack once mention Robins ‘keep getting younger these days’ and criminals must feel peeved at being beaten by a child, but she’d not made the connection then, either. 

Damn it. How could she have been so slow about it? If she didn’t allow her anxieties and panic attacks to dominate her psyche, she wouldn’t have been so oblivious. 

Then again, that night at the building, she hadn't paid much attention to who may have been hiding underneath the mask. 

Taking advantage of the size of the shower cabin she paced back and forth, both because it helped her think and to maintain a modicum of body warmth. Her fingers and toes were starting to get numb, and her muscles – little she had left – were contracting rapidly, trying to maintain her body temperature at an acceptable level. Bagheera watched her warily. 

Damian Wayne is Robin.

His father is Bruce Wayne, tech billionaire and genius----and---and….is Bruce Wayne…Batman? It would have made sense in her world. Father and son fighting side by side. It was an undisputed tradition in many clans for children to follow in the footsteps of their warrior parents.

Or was he Nightwing? Come to think off, she hadn’t seen Batman at all that night when she first met Robin.

No. Nightwing seemed quite young as well. But the same could be said about her parents. 

Damian sought her out purposefully because of that night and he may have spoken the truth about wanting to repay her but his continuous involvement in her life did not make sense. He risked his secret identity. Maybe he thought I was too dumb to figure it out? He hadn’t been wrong on that, had he now?

Okay. If I was in his place….

Fau would have wanted to reward that other person, regardless if they thought they deserved it although she wouldn’t have been as abrupt or criticizing or arrogant about it. She wouldn’t have come up with proposals of that nature.

So perhaps that was just his personality at play. 

The question was: how much did he know of her and was that why he kept on insisting on her to accept the deal? Because he realized she wasn't of that world? If she worked for him, he could monitor her. 

This is scary. Just how much does he know? 

What does he want from me? 

Fay had to accept that Damian has likely been monitoring her.

The universe really had a dark sense of humor making her cross paths with someone like him.

Just how dangerous was Damian? If he could fight side by sight with one of the greatest heroes of that world –  Robby’s words – then he wasn’t just a boy putting on a mask to deal with petty crimes. That night, she may have found him in a precarious situation, but nobody is infallible, so she didn’t think that situation was a reflection of his capacities. Fay could no longer judge him just based on the power his wealth offered. She had to consider his fighting prowess as well. 

But she might have some leverage. She wasn’t sure how much he knew about who she was and she didn't know what his true intentions were – Bag did confirm he wasn’t a threat to her, at least for the time being – but Fay didn’t think he knew she knew. She wasn’t interested in telling anybody else about his identity or letting him know she did, but she could use that piece of information to guide her interactions with him.

It won't help much. By missing the deadline for the presentation, she had inadvertently failed the probation period. That meant he would have to hold his end of the bargain for them to never speak ever again, to part ways indefinitely. 

But that was Damian Wayne's promise, not Robin's. He could still be monitoring her after and she wouldn't be able to stop him. He will eventually find out she's not of that world if he didn't know it already. He will find out about her plans to travel to Europe and what then? 

The cold water was a skilled thief in stealing away the heat of her body. Her skin was rough with goosebumps and the numbness had settled in her limbs. When the water started feeling so heavy she struggled to stand, she decided it was time to get out, body shaking so hard that it took her a few tries to get the towel off of the rack and wrap it around herself.

I don't have any clothes to change into. 

If I ask Alfred, I will have to tell him why I am wet.

Bagheera had to help her back in the bedroom, because she was stiff as a board and shaking so hard, she could barely walk. She knew she should be taking her clothes off, but she didn't want to expose herself like that. Not without other clothes to change into immediately.  

The paladin nudged her towards the door. Protesting was futile what with her chattering teeth. 

Given how that day was already going, she wasn’t surprised when Alfred was nowhere to be found. 

Instead, she was forced to seek the very person responsible for her current state. 

.

Brown met green.

What an idiot. 

The girl could not be left alone for two minutes or she’d find herself in a predicament of sorts.

Damian was starting to think she was a masochist.

“S-s-s-sor-r-ry, ha-hav-v-e you—you s-s-seen- A-a-a-a…’’ She clamped her mouth shut, but he could still hear her teeth chattering. Between the pale skin tinged blue by the early onset of hypothermia and her injuries, Fay looked cadaverous. 

“What did you do?’’ He snarled. 

She just whimpered and wrapped her arms tighter around Bagheera. 

“Don't move.’’ He ordered with an irritable sigh, turning around to walk back into the room he’s claimed for his own while at the penthouse. Moments later he exited carrying a pair of joggers and a hoodie; he was not going to consider clothing beyond that because well…. he’d rather not. Alfred could take care of that later on. 

Fay straightened up but she didn't take the clothes from his hand. 

“Any problems?’’ He asked tersely when she gave a dubious look to the clothes. Really, the girl ought to be more grateful considering she was the one putting herself in such situations. “N-n-n-no.’’ She shook her head, throwing a few droplets of water and with a pale, trembling hand she accepted the clothes before turning around, no doubt rush back into her room down the hall, like a scared rabbit to its hole.

“Ah, ah, ah.’’ He said, following her. “Not so fast. Get changed and come back out.’’

“W-w-hy…?’’

“Because you are exhibiting signs of hypothermia. Seeing as you obviously can’t be trusted to be on your own without further worsening your situation, you’ll come to stay by the fireplace.’’

“B-b-b-bu-t— ‘’

He gave her a withering, which quickly stopped any further complaints and she limped back towards her room, aided by Bagheera.

Damian waited outside her door, leaning against the wall as his sensitive hearing picked up on her hisses and gasps, and the telltale sound that she'd tripped somewhere in the process of changing. There was a period of silence after that. She was likely considering to defy him. Again. 

“I will come in and drag you out.’’ He threatened loudly.

Two seconds later, the door opened.

So predictable.

The clothes looked disturbingly large on her despite that they are close in age. 

“Follow me.’’

.

The clothes smelt clean, of…jasmine? And something else, that she couldn’t put her finger on. Maybe that was Damian’s own scent. And now it was on her. She’d have felt mortified if she wasn’t so cold, and she shoved her hands inside the pockets of the hoodie he gave her, trying and failing to get them to warm up. They didn’t feel as numb as they did before, pins and needles starting to form at her fingertips, but it had been difficult removing her clothes and bandages, even with her paladin’s help. Her marks were faintly showing against her pallid skin, so she was grateful the clothes were loose, allowing her to hide under them. She had also rubbed the excess water out of her hair and pushed it back with her headband.

Damian led them back to the main living room, the one where they’d talked the first time she had been there. The fireplace was under a sleek large TV screen, a square hole in the wall that filled with ember flames once Damian lit it up. She sat down on the sofa, relieved to take the weight off her unsteady feet and huddle in on herself. 

He wordlessly then walked away.

Might she be so lucky that he’ll leave her alone, after all?

Bagheera settled down by the fireplace, and she dug her feet harder in the soft carpet, eyeing the book left on the low table before her. It was a heavy tome, black leather with gold lettering and curiosity getting the best out of her, she reached for it.  And of course, that’s the moment he chose to walk back in.

She clumsily floundered with the book in her hands, almost dropping it several times before finally settling in her lap. 

Well.

At least her face felt warmer now.

Damian ignored her, although she was sure she was crossing a boundary by touching something that didn't belong to her. Fay studied him nervously, noticing he brought back two thick folded blankets. He dropped them next to her. She would have thanked him had she not been too stunned by him sitting down next to her. Granted, he wasn’t sitting as close as he did earlier that morning but did he have to sit next to her at all?

With some difficulty she unfolded the blankets and then wrapped them around her, crossing her legs in the hopes it might help warm her feet quicker. 

“Does it help?’’

She didn’t look at him, staring at the fireplace instead, watching the flames dance. “W-w-what d-does? T-t-the b-bla-n--'' 

“The cold water. With your panic attacks.’’

It seems to do the job when I am dealing with you.

Fay nodded, knowing it was a moot point to try and lie. He doesn’t know, she reminded herself. He doesn’t know that I figured it out, so she needed to keep it that way. Until she had a feasible escape plan, she had to be extremely cautious about what she said and how she behaved.

“Next time, alternate.’’ This time she did look up, but he wasn’t looking at her, green eyes glued on the fireplace. “Once you’ve established a temperature with which you’re comfortable, gradually decrease until it is no longer the case, then switch over to the original temperature, increasing it each repetition. You will not risk developing hypothermia or scalding yourself, and it will be effective in recalibrating your nervous system.’’

He's…. giving me advice? 

“I— ‘’ She blinked a few times because he continued to throw her for a curve that day. “O-okay.’’ She looked away again. “Thank you.’’ She muttered because well…it was good advice.

She wasn’t new to water therapies. They had been part of her training. In Maysoon she used to spend hours in the water, both for leisure and to better understand the element. 

“Here.’’

Looking to her left, at the hand tilted in her direction she saw a…a handkerchief in his hand. 

"Your lip is bleeding.'' He pointed out, and with a shaky hand, she brushed a finger against her lip. It felt wet. Her finger glistened with blood. Her mouth was so numb she hadn't realized she reopened the cut there. 

Fay accepted the square cloth of fine cotton and dabbed at her mouth. 

He is...being nice.

As she continued to dab gently at her mouth, Fay watched the ferret - she hadn't even realized he followed her outside of the room -  play with the tail of her paladin who kept moving it out of his way teasingly. The small dog had taken to explore the room, sniffing every nook and cranny before appearing in front of them. He stared at Damian, momentarily, head tilting to the side as if he was trying to figure out the boy before he decided to jump on his lap. 

Without further deliberation, the small dog lifted himself by propping his paws on the boy's chest so he could lick his face. 

Fay accidentally bit her tongue at the sight of it, then groaned. As if she didn't have enough injuries. 

Damian made an annoying sound at the back of his throat, then grabbed the dog with both hands, holding him suspended in the air. “Don’t make me throw you in the fire.’’ He threatened but there was no heat in his words, as irritated as he may have looked. The dog must’ve sensed that too because he just started wagging his tail and yipping happily. Then the cat showed up, looking every bit like a person who’s just discovered they’ve been betrayed by their beau. The situation only escalated from there with the cat starting to hiss at the dog, and Damian trying to order them around as if they’re humans. 

Fay didn't even realize she was smiling until she felt her mouth curl underneath the handkerchief. Damian must've noticed too because his head whipped towards her, eyes narrowing. She immediately averted her eyes but she felt no less amused. 

The cold shower had really messed with her head it seems. 

In the end, the dog left the couch, looking castigated to snuggle against Bagheera. He was the unspoken older sibling, the alpha, the one even the cat didn't dare to defy. Victorious, the feline sprawled over the boy’s lap, content at having conquered his undivided attention again.

“Why have you not named them?’’ Damian asked as he stroked the cat’s head.

Fay watched the cat stare at him adoringly, musing at how animals seemed to be drawn to him. She didn't like admitting it but it was hard not to consider the animal's acceptance as them vouching for his character. Had she been in Maysoon, she would have trusted the jungle and its wilderness to pass judgment, so why not there? 

Because it wasn't so simple. 

“I—um, I d-don’t know.’’ Her teeth have stopped chattering as heat emanated from the fireplace, rapidly warming the room, but she was still shivering, so she pulled the blankets tighter around herself, the book in her lap forgotten. She felt embarrassed to rifle through it although it was useless pretending she didn't have it. 

Fay hadn’t named the strays because she knew they’d leave Gotham eventually. The journey was too hard to take them with her, even if she would have liked to bring them home with her. If her plan worked, maybe she could do that after all but then there’d be the matter of traveling around Europe with three different companions that didn’t always listen to her commands (the cat primarily). Worrying about their safety would only be distracting but she did plan on finding them home before she left. Maybe Robby will adopt one of them or all, seeing as he loved animals too. 

“Hn. Aren’t you going to read it?’’

Full of questions again, wasn’t he? Fay lowered the handkerchief, satisfied the bleeding had stopped, and then she glanced at the book in her lap, silently reading the title. 

It was a collection of stories by….

“C—Charles Di-Dickens?’’ She opened the hardcover, to study the index. No wonder it was so thick. It contained over fifteen different stories, a comprehensive collection of the author’s most famous works such as Oliver Twist, A Christmas Carol, David Copperfield, Great Expectations, and A Tale of Two Cities. She couldn’t help but smile slightly at the sight of those titles.

She had read all of them, except for Great Expectations.  

“I take it you're familiar with his work.’’

Fay frowned, remembering that he had been in her attic. Which meant he must've seen all the books she had. What did he think of it, she wondered? 

It doesn't matter. 

“Y-yeah. I re-really like the th-this author.’’ She glanced at him. “Is this yours?’’

“Pennyworth bought that for you. He thought it will offer an element of familiarity while you're staying here.’’ Did Damian tell him though, that she liked reading?

The book was full of colorful illustrations and the paper was slightly glossy, the layout incredibly aesthetic. The leather covers had a handmade quality, and out of habit, she lifted the book to press her nose against the pages. Best smell ever--she frowned when she realized what she was doing and caught him looking from the corner of her eyes. 

She quickly lowered the book. 

Fay would have loved to accept it. She hadn't owned a book of that quality since Maysoon, and Dickens had been one of her parent's favorites as well. “I—I don’t think I can— ‘’

“Do you want to offend Pennyworth by saying no?’’

Well, no. Of course not. The man had been so cordial and polite and thoughtful, regardless of everything. 

“Um, no.’’ She shook her head. “…thank you.’’ She’ll leave it somewhere before she leaves, even if she had no idea when that will be. Fay had told Dana that she will not be back until later in the day and glancing at the clock above the TV, she noticed it was ten past eleven. The rain outside showed no signs of easing, and the penthouse felt darker than usual, the glow of the fire casting sharp shadows over the furniture. 

“I think Dickens is an adequate writer enough, but he is unnecessarily verbose, and his characters are far too sentimental,’’ Damian commented suddenly. She blinked, and when he didn’t add anything else, she looked up to find him staring at her expectantly.

Oh. He was expecting her to respond to that.  

Well, when it came to books….

“I don’t---don’t think that. He does de-describe a lot of objects and um, places, and people but…. I enjoy that. The world is not—simple, and so—so why should his. The ones in his books, I-I mean.’’

“You don’t find his writing style tedious and characters outdated?’’

Why did it matter what she thought? Why was so curious all of a sudden? Just a couple of hours earlier he had harshly criticized her. 

“No-no, of course not. It’s not…modern but that’s normal…right? The books were written a long time ago and people…. wrote differently. I-I think…. people had different lives back then so for t-them it must have been…really entertaining to read his books.’’ Her lips were tingling, the cut throbbing with renewed force. She ached all over. Pain in exchange for warmth, it seems. “He-He is not outdated. I think that’s why he is…brilliant. Be-because centuries later, he…he is still relevant. That’s— ‘’ She smiled slightly, her cheeks feeling stiff. “…powerful. Um, as a w-writer.’’

“Relevant. How?’’

She paused, to find her words. Her mother had introduced her to Dickens along with many other famous authors in that world. But it was her father who stoked her desire for reading; the solitude and quietness of such a pastime appealing to them both equally. She has avoided thinking about those beautiful discussions she used to have with her father for over a year. 

She wasn't sure why she was suddenly doing it for Damian, all of a sudden. 

“They’re…us.’’ She said, staring into the fire, letting it hypnotize her. Fay could almost hear her father’s words resonate in her head and finding their way onto her lips. “The, um, characters are...people. I mean--ordinary people. Not—not special people, just….re-regular. He de-described the world…as it is, and he managed to show people why...they are what they are.  And he—he did that in that era w-when people…didn’t really believe in that? But-but he understood people anyway.’’ Of course, Dickens had described a world that was not hers. But the beauty of his literary works was that it showed people in her world weren't that much different, her father used to say. 

“Hnn.’’

Books had a complicated spot in her life. They were an escape, a distraction, a coping mechanism. But they were also a powerful connection between herself and her parents, a bridge between what she knew and the vast unknown, between past and present. For a long time books had been her only connection to that world, along with other 'souvenirs' her parents introduced her to. 

She recalls a time when she imagined coming to that world for adventures and exploration. In a way she did that, but for very different reasons. 

“Let me guess. Your favorite novel is Oliver Twist.’’

A presumptuous yet not entirely unfair assumption.

“Um, no. I-I-I mean – it is. But…I really like Christmas Carol.’’ It was similar to other stories from her lands, as well. 

Damian scoffed at her choice. “Idealistic novel. As if the intercession of Christian-based beliefs can convert away from the darkness of a world.’’ She was starting to think he was going to contradict her on everything she said just to aggravate her. Talking to Damian was always an effort and not just because of his attitude. He is an incredibly eloquent speaker and sometimes she struggled to understand the vocabulary he used. 

But his cynicism wasn't unjustified. After all, she knew how dark and ugly the world could be. It’s not as if she was idealistic about it.

Not anymore.

Fay couldn't resist engaging in the conversation She might reveal her thinking and knowledge on books the process but reading was not a crime in that world, was it? Or anything unusual. Fay doubted he’ll leave her alone anytime soon, clearly in a mood to rope her in a debate of sorts and as puzzling his behavior was, she thought about his words. She wasn't sure what he meant about Christianity - she knew that was a popular religion in that world, but not much otherwise. 

“It is…id-idealistic.’’ She agreed quietly. “But-but-if the Ghosts had fa-failed to change him, then…what is the point?’’

“The point is the world doesn’t work like that. You said that Dickens writes the world as it is but clearly that is not true. In the real world, men are not redeemed by ghosts. ’’

“E-exactly.’’

He looked at her, brow raised slightly. She avoided his gaze. 

“The-The world is…an awful place.’’ She swallowed. “Un-unfair things ha-happen to good people and…. bad guys get away all the time.’’ She wondered if he’d take offense to that statement. It was not her intention to insinuate that people like him and Batman did not do a good job. They must have given Gotham had been deemed a safer place after they’ve started protecting it. “It—it doesn’t matter h-how many…heroes are in this world. Bad things…will still happen. G-good and, um, evil will al-always exist. And-and I don’t think…everyone would change as Sc-c-scrooge did. But—but….it shows that people aren’t born evil, I don’t think. They are…. influenced. By, um others. And ex-experiences. Good and bad. S-some people are taught how to…deal with the b-bad and others…don’t. Or there’s—there’s too much of it.’’

The cat shifted, lifting its head to glance at her through half-lidded eyes, before putting it back down, stretching her body to press herself deeper against Damian’s stomach.

“Sc-scrooge is…like that. He—he had no r-reason to be kind. W-why would...he? T-The world was…awful to him. He, um, had a right to be…upset and angry and…b-bitter. It doe-doesn't mean it--it was o-kay for him to act that way but…nobody tried to te-teach him...a different way? The G-ghost of Past re-reminded him of why he was the way he was but-but it also reminded him that his life hadn’t been just bad memories. Then—the Ghost of Present showed…the impact of his actions and how…how people would have liked to be there for him if he—if he didn’t treat them so badly. They didn’t- They didn't understand but-but they still tried, and he…hadn’t seen that before. Then….’’ She was vaguely aware she was ranting but she couldn’t stop herself.

Books are how she made sense of the world and the world hadn’t made sense for her in quite a while. The past twenty-four hours alone had been incredibly taxing and confusing. Talking about what she took away from those stories grounded her because there was almost a sense of control to it. The story was written, it had a beginning and a middle, and an end. Everything that happened in those stories was predetermined and set in stone. 

She could live a thousand lives between the pages of books, and they'd all be better than what her life had been reduced to.  

“The-The Gh-Ghost of Future s-shows him what could be. That-that is idealistic. Not-Not everyone gets…. a chance at cha-changing themselves and um,…not everyone wants to. But--but some people would and…I-I think that’s what matters. That Scrooge did—did take that path. It…shows people that…it’s not always late. That the world---doesn’t have to be all bad.’’

Fay exhaled, crossing her arms tightly over her chest underneath the blanket, Dickens's book still on her lap. She felt exposed all of a sudden. 

“You think people can be redeemed. The main character was avaricious but not a criminal. Would you think the same if it was a thief like the ones that robbed Wilmot? Or someone who’s taken the life of another? Who abused others? Used them?’’ That felt less like a Damian question and more like a Robin one. He was asking the question as a man -boy- who imparted justice every day.  

“I---I don’t think there’s…a simple answer to that. It…depends.’’

“On how guilty they feel?’’ He was being sarcastic, and she wondered why he wanted to talk about it all of a sudden. Was he trying to find another way to criticize her for her actions? 

“…If-if person feels no remorse…they-they won’t change. But---it also depends on how-how they chose to live their life after. Hurting people---‘’ She swallowed, her breath hitching. “Hurting people...can-cannot be undone. Even---even if they forgive you. So…I-I think it matters what…what a person does with that mistake but… there are other factors too.’’

“You’ve admitted however that not everyone changes. Or wants to. What about them?’’ He challenged. 

Isn’t that your job to know? She thought a bit sourly. 

Damian wasn’t as demanding as he usually was but there was a tenseness to his voice that should have silenced her instead of spurring her on.

Did he, as Robin, find it difficult to understand who was deserving or not of a second chance? If so, why seek answers from her? She wasn’t’ even sure she was deserving of forgiveness for her own mistakes, after all.  

I wonder if this is just a test. 

“I-I don’t know.’’ There were many answers she could have given, none of which were simple or comprehensive and would have revealed too much of her upbringing if she did. “But…but so-someone once told me that-that a person is not defined only by their mistakes.’’

“Do you believe that?’’

“….I want to.’’ Because that meant there was hope for her too. If her parents had been alive, she wanted to think they would have forgiven and helped her move on. Moving forward did not mean forgetting the impact of her mistakes, it just meant taking the learnings of it and applying them to be a better person next time. But Fay had failed at that and rather than persisting as they would have, she gave up.

In theory, she knew the only way was forward, but how was she going to achieve that when she found it difficult to find any meaning in her future? And there were plenty the days when she didn’t think she deserved it. To be alive, to move forward, to want to get better. It was all a vicious circle that she hadn’t figured out how to break. The anger that she kept under a figurative lock and key wasn’t quite in agreement with those thoughts. It bore a different type of criticism that one; not directed at herself but the world around her. It was a dark, scorching emotion. Nothing good came out of her listening to it, especially since she knew how easy it could resonate with the deepest parts of her heart.

Fay absent-mindedly ran her finger over the engraved letters on the cover of the book as the silence enveloped them.

There was a sharp stab of pain on her side, and she grimaced before trying to move in a way that shifted her muscles in a more relaxed position. She’d experienced worse pain than that. And none of Maysoon's healers or Moma's herbs and encouraging words could help her. The phantom hands never really went away, for example. 

“Are you nauseous?’’

“Um, n-no…just…a bit in pain, that’s all.’’

Damian sighed, tutted to himself then raised to his feet much to the indignation of the cat who was forced to interrupt her sleep and relocate onto one of the armchairs. Fay didn’t look in which direction Damian went because moving her head just made it throb harder.

Bagheera whined softly and she met his pale gaze before he got up and left as well, following the boy with the dog in toe. The ferret crawled up the sofa, and into the blankets around herself, snuggling to her side, chittering softly. She reached to pet him. 

Approximately fifteen minutes later she heard the dog yipping with glee, the sound of his smaller footsteps swallowed by Bagheera’s and Damian's as they returned to the living room. Soon after a plate was shoved in her line of vision, and she nearly knocked her chin into it. Two fresh slices of toast had been buttered and placed on it. There was also a yogurt cup with seeds and walnuts in it, a spoon next to it. She glanced at him and saw him stare at her expectantly, an apple in his free hand.

“This is the first and last time I will ever do you such a favor especially seeing as your current predicament is of your own doing.’’ He jutted his chin towards the plate. “Eat up. Then take the painkillers before you faint again. I believe you've done enough of that.’’

Th—thank you.’’ He reminded her of her uncle, the harsh manner with which he helped her. She wouldn’t go as far as saying Damian was concerned but his gesture was…. kind. Thoughtful.  

It didn't feel right. For him to be like that. To her. 

Fay ate everything he put on the plate knowing Bagheera must’ve watched him closely to ensure the boy didn’t tamper with it. When she was finished, she took two of the Ibuprofen pills he gave her. She hadn't warmed up entirely, but eating had alleviated her headache and the painkillers kicked in quickly. 

Their discussion did not end there because he started prodding her on Dickens and his work again; what she thought of the characters, constantly challenging her views and even undermining them. 

She didn't mind it as much as she should have.

At one point, during those conversations, Fay found herself assessing the situation from his perspective. 

It was his responsibility as a protector of that town to investigate anything that stood out of the ordinary. She’d be naïve to think she wouldn’t come across as outlandish even in a city like Gotham. He would immediately find out that Fay didn't exist in that world, officially and that went beyond her being an orphan on the run. She might have as well have been born the moment she showed up in Gotham. It is not unreasonable that he’d want to investigate further, although frankly, Gotham had enough criminals that he could be worrying about.

Robin was a hero, whether she trusted or liked the person behind that identity. He was someone who studied, and trained, and dedicated his life to protecting the innocent. Robin had been in that burning building because he had risked his life to save that boy and his dog. 

He did, the boy sitting next to her. Damian Wayne did, as hard as it was to reconcile the two identities as one.

The rude, arrogant, harsh boy she met at the museum was the same one who wore armor to patrol the dangerous streets of Gotham at night. Damian was intimidating and dangerous but objectively, he was one of the good guys. He wasn’t a criminal – although he did not shy away from illicit offers clearly -, he was a warrior of that world.

He wasn’t raised like a normal child, she realized starkly, and suddenly his idiosyncrasies compared to other people in that world made more sense. Judging by what Robby told her, the position of Robin was coveted, demanding one. Fighting side by side with ‘one of the greatest heroes in that world’ meant he had to have fulfilled a series of criteria, right? She’d already established that he must very capable to have done so but even with natural talent, he would still have had to train rigorously for the role, to adapt his entire lifestyle to accommodate his other life. For someone so young to be this accomplished, she could only imagine how atypical his childhood must be compared to other children in that world.

Mentally comparing Damian and Robby made them feel like they were worlds apart and not only because of their social status. 

And if Batman was his father, then perhaps the pressure was even greater. Because parents can cast a large shadow. 

Ironically, when put in that perspective, she and Damian probably had more in common with one another than expected. 

The universe truly had a dark sense of humor.

Notes:

Minor edit made to the plot:

#1: In first chapter, Fay thinks about the time she has left to obtain a way back home. It was initially put down as eight months but I've changed it to twelve. Math is not my strong suit.

Next update: 7th/9th of February (just proof-reading new chapters).

Chapter 10: The beginning of something (I)

Notes:

Chapter revised/rewritten as of 20th of August.

Chapter Text

“People don’t tell me what I need to hear.  I listen to the unsaid words, observe quietly, read the unspoken words between the lines.
The words they think, they hide from me. This kind of listening is an art in itself.’’

Unknown

 

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When Alfred finally returned to the penthouse in the early afternoon, he found both children sitting down on the floor before the fireplace…. arguing? No, no. Debating. On Dicken’s influence on society, it seems. There was a clear dichotomy between their tones – Damian’s assertive and Fay’s quieter – but they both seemed equally invested in the discussion. Bagheera was laying down next to them watching them curiously while the ferret was insistent on trying to chew the spine of the tome that was placed on the floor between them.

It was the small dog who came up to him, with an earnest look in his eyes.

Ah. So, the creature has learned who was the best person to beg when it came to getting food.

Approaching the sitting area, Damian glanced at him from the corner of his eyes and the larger dog’s ears perked up, head tilting in his direction. The girl stopped mid-sentence and turned to look over her shoulder and Alfred’s eyebrows raised slightly at the sight of the hoodie she was wearing and the two blankets pulled tightly around herself.

Looks like he’s missed an interesting development because in the three hours he’s been gone, Fay had bathed again, Damian has given her spare clothes – from his own wardrobe – and they’ve made progress in communicating one with another. Hm. So the boy has taken his advice to find a common ground with Fay and he chose books.

A wise choice, by the looks of it.

“…hello, Mr. Pennyworth.’’ The girl greeted politely. She looked paler than before, the injuries on her face stark against the skin.

“Miss Fay, Master Damian.’’ He returned. “My apologies for the interruption. I shall go prepare a late lunch.’’

Fay looked mildly surprised by his words and she glanced at the clock above the TV, “Oh…I-I didn’t realize it-it is so late.’’ She said softly. Some of the usual tension returned in her shoulders and she turned towards him again looking ready to politely decline the lunch offer but Damian beat her to it.

“The ibuprofen will wear off soon, and if you want to take any more, you need to eat again.’’ His tone left no space for arguing.  

The girl frowned, looking slightly reluctant but then nodded.

“O-okay. Th-thank you, Mr. Pennyworth.’’

Perhaps she’ll rub off some of that politeness onto the boy as well.

“Pennyworth--bring some tea. China cup, brown sugar not white.’’

That shall be a miracle, indeed.

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Lunch was a quiet affair, and the awkwardness returned along with the dizzying thoughts about how strange that day was turning out to be. Alfred served them chicken and mushroom with a type of rice cooked in broth that he had termed ‘risotto’, a dish native to Italy. It was sublime, and she had ended up eating everything even if she had to do so at a slower pace than Damian, who to his credit hadn’t commented on it nor rushed her. It was hard not to feel paranoid about this change in their…whatever their rapport was.

It wasn’t friendship, it wasn’t an alliance, but they weren’t exactly strangers either. Not anymore. 

Eating had given her time to reflect further. Damian was still a brash character, especially when he disagreed with her opinions despite asking for them in the first place. She had wondered several times throughout their discussion whether he was testing her patience on purpose. Just to see how she’d react. He had managed to exasperate her enough times, but she hadn’t felt…anxious anymore. If anything, she had felt compelled to engage in the discourse, she had…enjoyed it.

She was being gullible. 

If he wanted to gain her trust to find more information, then it made sense why he’d suddenly want to engage her in that manner. He had seen the books, hadn’t he? So, at the very at least he knew she had an interest in them, just as he knew about how naturally curious she was. He even knew how many times she’d gone to the museum.

Fay hated herself for the sliver of disappointment she felt at the idea that he was using her, rather than genuinely wanting to discuss with her. I don't need anyone but Bag. She should have known better. 

After lunch, Damian led her back to the study, instructed her to take a seat on one of the armchairs, and then pulled out a thick plastic file. It was the same one he’d given her days earlier so she openly stared at it with confusion. 

He can’t be serious---

“It’s all yours.’’ He handed her the file so assertively she instinctively took it. “The new identity, the money, and all other benefits detailed last time. There are no expectations of you to complete any further work for the museum, or myself, however. ’’

What?!

He was just going to reward her for losing the trial week? Furthermore, he was also willing to let her walk away just like that? 

It was a joke. It had to be. Except he leaned back against the desk, arms crossed over his chest and looked at her expectantly. There was no smugness, no malice, no ire. 

He was serious. 

“…Why?’’ She blurted. “I---I failed the the-the challenge. Y-You said—you said I had--I had to be on time with everything, especially...especially on Monday!’’

“Do you know how many questions you got right?’’ He asked calmly, not even waiting for her to respond before continuing. “I’ve asked you two hundred and thirty-two questions. A hundred and seventy were correct, and seventeen additional ones were only partially so. That gave you an eighty percent mark. The same exact questions have been offered to the other candidates, as a two-hour examination part of the recruitment process and the highest score was ninety-seven by Richards, followed by Wilmot at ninety-one and Stratford at eighty-nine.’’

Fay opened her mouth, but nothing came out as the information sunk in her brain. She had scored lowest out of all candidates but that wasn’t what left her bewildered. She didn't know the other candidates had also responded to those same questions as she never brought it up with Helen. 

Eighty percent. Out of a hundred. That was...still high. Right? 

No way. 

“You do not have their skills or qualifications, which you’ve attempted to make up for by studying intensively, even at the expense of sleep. You refused to take time off from helping Mercher even if she would have likely agreed, thus increasing your chances to win. On Wednesday, you completed all the tasks even after you've realized I was testing you. Even if you had to walk approximately thirty miles around Gotham. I never stopped quizzed you throughout the week, either. In comparison to the other candidates, you were disadvantaged significantly, as you faced stress factors they did not. They had the same material to prepare themselves over, but the environment in which they conducted the test was designed to alleviate their anxiety.’’ He raised an eyebrow. “Do you understand what I am getting at?’’

She did. And she found it harder to breathe suddenly.

Not because of anxiety.

Because she hadn’t expected to feel how light she suddenly felt. Satisfaction. She was experiencing a sense of satisfaction. Her self-negative thoughts tempered the emotion, reminding her that it wasn’t such a surprising result when one considered she’d grown up absorbing large quantities of information, and dealing with incredibly stressful situations beyond her age. But…. but it’s not the same, she thought. That world presented challenges even in the best of circumstances and Damian had only made it harder for her. 

Could she really allow herself to be proud of that? It felt illicit. 

“I-I think so.’’ She exhaled. “…wait. What--what about yesterday? The um, presentation.’’

“I meant what I said earlier about your recklessness. However, you have also just proved I had been right all along. You would put your life before others like you have weeks earlier, so it also proves that this entire challenge had been unnecessary on your end to prove you’ve earned the reward.’’

So after all that trouble, he still was on the winning side of the argument. 

“I…’’ She stared at the portfolio on her lap, feeling conflicted about whether to accept it or not, especially now that she knew about his identity. Did he really want to reward her so much for something she didn’t even consider heroic? “Why…Why did--did you say I-I don't need to work f-for you? I...lost. I mean...the deal. I lost.'' 

He circumvented her question. 

“You have said it so yourself. The world is a dark, unfair place where suffering and death make no exceptions for good people. Justice is certainly not a guarantee, just look at Gotham and its maniacs.’’ He’d know better than anyone else, he had to face them on a regular basis. “You have experienced suffering, yourself, have you not? You ran away from your family and have had to survive on your own. Yet you continue to risk your life for others. Why?’’

 “Because…’’ Her voice trailed off, mind scouring through the many answers she could have given, searching for one that’d not reveal too much of herself. “Because…it was the right thing to do.’’ She said finally and it was no less genuine than her other answers. It had been the right thing to do, helping Helen; in her world, it wouldn’t have been considered reckless but a duty. 

The values they instilled in her will always be there. They were a fundamental part of who she was. That night hadn't managed to take away absolutely everything, in the end.

“Just like that?’’ He challenged again. 

“Yes.’’ The world would not get better just because of that one action but…” Just--just like that.’’…maybe it did for the one person. That was enough.

“Well, you’ve answered for yourself, have you not?’’

“No…no. Wait…’’ Was he seriously saying that everything that transpired – the stalking, the offer, the incentive, and the generosity- was because...because of the choices she made? “No, it doesn’t.’’ She said. “You didn’t---have to-to keep offering me things or..the challenge. Even---even if you were right, you could have just...’’ She shrugged. “I-I don’t know, found another way to give me the money…?’’

He smirked. “Yes, but then you wouldn’t know I was right, as well, hmm?’’

Insufferable, arrogant, obnoxious, assho— “Then-then I don’t want it. You—said this wasn’t a game but…it was. Just-just to prove a point.'' 

"All of which could have been avoided had you not refused the first time.'' 

Fay's heart sunk. She was wrong. It was not about what she did, but his own pride. 

"...that's--I-I don't believe you.'' 

He gritted his teeth. “Your stubbornness is ridicu—‘’

“You... don’t know anything about me.’’ Fay cut him off, feeling the emotion-not-to-be-named bubble up to the surface. He may have observed how much she struggled emotionally, but he did not understand the source of it, did not understand why she was the way she was. He had no idea of the wounds he was reopening constantly. “You-You have no right to—to make me go through…all--all of that just because you wanted to be right.’’

He scowled. 

“Admit it, I am not the problem here.’’ He straightened; shoulders pressed in a straight, taut line. “The problem is you thought you’d fail, and you were proven wrong. Winning didn’t fit with your perspective of your own self-worth, so you prefer to find fault within my reasoning than admit that you earned it.’’ She opened her mouth, but he just barrelled on, stepping closer towards her, chipping away at any sense of courage she managed to muster. “I gave you the chance to prove yourself because you were too principled to accept the offer and you did. You earned the reward, Fay, twice over considering yesterday as well. You earned your place as a competitor as well.’’ He was less than an arm’s length away from her and she could see the gold flecks around his irises.

“Accept it.’’

You’re a loser.’’

‘’Did you see how she embarrassed herself out there?’’

“You have failed the mission. I was wrong, you weren’t ready.’’

“We expect no less than excellence from this child and yet her lack of control and discipline continue to bring shame.’’

“I…’’ She couldn’t answer. Not without baring herself in a way that’d be sure to have devastating consequences for both her heart and their position in that world.  

Damian was right. She had been the one to tell him she didn’t think she deserved anything he offered – she still didn’t – and he had responded in kind, rather than leaving her alone as she had expected (isn’t that what everyone else did?). She hadn’t expected him to keep challenging her, and it threw her off. She had also convinced herself of an impending failure because it had been easier.

Being a loser hurts less when you’ve already resigned yourself to it.

“You enjoyed the challenge, didn’t you?’’ He asked, head tilting slightly to the side, staring at her as if she was an open book. 

Yes…I did. Underneath the exhaustion, and the aggravation he caused her she had felt purposeful. That’s why she had felt different. She may have not stopped grieving or thinking about her parents and her homeland, but those thoughts had to compete with her desire to learn, with her focus on completing his tasks, with---simply wanting to do something else than just fill her day with distractions to keep the panic attacks at bay. 

She liked what she found outside the limbo. 

In Maysoon her days were filled with challenges too, and Damian’s, as harsh as they may have been, would not hold a candle against what she’s had to put up with back home. Unlike in her homeland, however, she had gone through his challenge unfettered because there were no judging eyes, no Elders to scoff at her, no constant reminders of whom she had to live up to, no constant whispers behind her back of how broken she was, of how little control she had, of how could someone like her possibly be their daughter. No cruel hands holding her down and hurting her. 

There had been something liberating – and cowardly- about already considering herself out a loser, because she hadn’t worried about what he thought of her. Failing his challenge, wouldn’t have taken anything away from her person as it would have in Maysoon. She had wanted the money, and the identity and the service dog certificate - but she never raised her hopes about obtaining them. 

Fay had wanted to give it a shot. But in not giving herself pressure to win, she had ended up enjoying it. That was the real win. 

It was staggering he had realized that before she did.

He had also just confirmed how much attention he’s been paying to her.

“I will hold my end of the bargain in our communication ending here if you’re worried about that,’’ Damian said. 

 Really.

After they’ve spent hours discussing Dickens, now he was just going to tell her that they could just go back to strangers? His presence in her life had discombobulated her; he had forced deeply buried emotions to resurface and now he was going to decide to leave her alone? She was tempted to say yes. She could accept the money and benefits, then she’d decide whether to use any of it, before walking away from him.  

Damian Wayne could be out of her life. Permanently.

Except.

She didn’t know if Robin would. It was Damian who was giving her a choice, but who was to say that he’d really, truly leave her alone?

“…my help was--was never really needed, was—was it?’’ She asked tentatively.

“I did not lie about that. An initiative is planned to go live next week in obtaining feedback from a wide range of audiences with a primary focus on schools. There will be other volunteers allowed to support, so you would have been one of them, officially speaking.’’ Unofficially, she’d be getting thousands of dollars for what sounded like minimal work.  

“I…I will accept. The offer.’’ She said after a moment. “But---I still think it’s too—too much, so…would it be okay if I paid some of it back by, he-helping?’’

Damian looked smug again. She felt like she'd just walked into a trap. 

“Fine. But you will work for it. Same standards as until now.’’ He warned.

She nodded. “O-okay.’’

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“Thank you again, Mr. Pennyworth,’’ Fay said after slinging the duffel bag over the shoulder of her good side. He had dried and ironed both her old and new clothes, but she had left the penthouse wearing the ones Damian gave her because, by the time she’s realized it, she was already in the car on the way to the soup kitchen. Neither one of them had commented on it so it had to be alright, although she found it very embarrassing. They weren’t friends or siblings so wearing his clothes like that felt….out of place. Inappropriate. As if she was allowing him to take hold of just another piece of her life.

The rain had receded into a light drizzle by the time Alfred parked on the quieter alley near the soup kitchen. It wasn’t particularly cold outside, but she shivered all the same when she stepped out. That cold shower had really messed with her internal heat, but deep down she knew she was colder than usual. Not just on that day, but in general. 

“You are most welcome. Are you sure you do not wish me to speak to Miss Mercher?’’

She shook her head. “N-no.’’ She thought you were a pedophile. “I—um, I will just explain everything to her.’’ She glanced down the narrow alley, at the familiar staircase, and the bins separating it from the back door of the kitchen. There was nobody there, but she could hear the chatter of people echoing from the canteen and Mack’s radio. He always turned it so loud.

“Oh! I almost forgot.’’ She whirled around, reaching towards her backpack which was hanging from Bag's mouth by the straps. The ferret and the cat had each been placed in two different carriers, but the dog had been let loose, keeping close to Bagheera the entire time. Once they were both out of the car, he had taken to sniff the familiar scents of the alley.

Fay pulled out the heavy book and showed it to Alfred. “I sort of…just took this but I-I should have asked you if it’s okay. It looks— ‘’ she glanced down at the engraved letters. “—like an expensive edition and—and you’ve already been so generous to me so…’’ In theory, she now could afford paying for it, but she would have still been using Damian’s money to do that, so it didn't make sense doing that. Plus, she needed time to think before she decided to touch anything from the offer. 

Alfred stared at the book with a curious look, before shaking his head. “Not at all, Miss Fay. That was a gift from Master Damian, so it is all yours.’’

“Pennyworth bought that for you. ’

“D—Damian?’’ She repeated in case she’s heard that wrong. “He-he bought it?’’ 

“Yes. He is a fan himself of Dickens although perhaps not quite as ardent as yourself, from what I hear.’’

WHAT?!

“Are—are-are you sure?’’ She blinked rapidly, brain buffering.

“Yes, of course.’’ If Alfred found it annoying that she had him repeat himself so many times, he didn’t show it. “Okay, um…. thank you.’’ She slid the book into her backpack. She took the ferret out of the cage, holding him with her good hand, and released the cat from the other, who hadn’t been particularly enthusiastic about leaving her new favorite person behind.

Fay had half a mind to just leave her at the penthouse because she’d seemed happier there. Damian didn't seem to mind either. 

“Have a good afternoon.’’

“You—you too, Mr. Pennyworth.’’

Seconds after Alfred drove away the door to the kitchen swung open, rusty hinges screeching loudly. Fay froze on the spot, watching as Dana exited holding a heavy rubbish bag in one hand and her phone in the other, which she was looking at unhappily.

Is it because of me?

The small dog barked happily, rushing to her and the woman jumped, startled upon seeing the dog. Then she looked up, making eye contact with Fay who smiled nervously in return. “Um, hi.’’

“….’’

“….’’

“What the hell happened?!’’

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 “Damian…Wayne? As in Wayne Enterprises?’’ Yes. And Robin too, defender of Gotham, Batman’s partner. The bane of my existence. Robby would have a meltdown if he knew. He’d probably ask for an autograph first, though.

Fay nodded, as she sat down the bean bag in the attic, leaning back slightly to take some pressure off her bruised side. She had taken another two ibuprofens after lunch, but Alfred had told her she could take another two later if she waited at least four hours in-between.

Dana opened and closed her mouth a few times, looking lost.

You and me both.

“Okay, I am going to need a bit more context. If that’s okay with you.’’ Fay would have preferred Dana didn’t know at all but lying would only complicate things and plus, she’d eventually figure out who Damian was. He may not have made many public appearances, as he had admitted himself, but everyone in Gotham knew to one extent or another who the Waynes are. Kings’ sans crowns and official titles, really. 

So, Fay told Dana that she met Damian at the museum, and they became friends which was a hysterical thing to say. She wasn’t sure what they were – business partners? stalker and his victim? – but they were certainly not friends. Fay also told her that she hadn’t known who Damian was until after the canteen incident, but it made little difference as she didn’t care about his status (she didn’t, not as long as he wasn't a threat). 

The woman had understandably looked concerned: it wasn’t as if she couldn’t be friends with Damian just because he was rich, but Dana was worried he might be inevitably putting her in unpleasant situations. Surely the wealthy Wayne heir would not want to jeopardize his reputation if anyone knew about Fay’s own status? 

“Do you have…. a crush on him?’’ It was a good thing Fay was sitting down or she might have collapsed. She was too young to have a heart attack, but she came close to it at that moment. “I am sorry---I am not trying to pry, nor I am judging you for it. It’s normal at your age.’’

Fay just stared at her horrified. “W-w-what?’’ 

Dana shrugged. “I mean, you are a bit young but he’s a cute kid, and you’re really sweet. I had my first kiss at twelve so--’

“Please stop,’’ Fay begged in a pained voice. She’d rather be kicked again than having to sit through that kind of conversation.

Was her face on fire? It felt like it was on fire. She wasn’t sure of many things most times, but she was positive she did not like Damian that way (even if he did have pretty eyes). She wasn’t sure she even liked him as a person, considering half of the times he scared her and the other half he made her want to escape Gotham. 

“Sorry.’’ Dana smiled sheepishly and gently grabbed Fay's good hand to pat it in a comforting gesture. “I am sorry Fay. I have no right to ask these questions, I know but I just want to make sure you’re safe. I hope this is just…you know, a friendship but I don’t want to see you get hurt. You are a clever girl, and I know Bag will keep you safe, but he is…well a very rich person with a lot of connections if you get what I am trying to say?’’

“He’s powerful.’’ Fay nodded. “So—so he could hurt me.’’

“Clever, what did I say?’’ That was a low bar to achieve, but Dana couldn’t have known how much experience Fay had with the wealthier class. “I am not saying rich kids can’t be friends with well…someone in your position. You absolutely deserve friends.’’ No, I don’t. Not that anyone wants to. “It might be a really positive thing for you but…someone like Damian gets a lot of publicity. This means people that know him may also be on that receiving end. I am not trying to scare you---‘’ The woman stammered, caught between trying to advise her and not overstepping any boundaries. "--But, I know how important it is for you to maintain your privacy.'' 

Fay's heart was swollen with affection for the woman. Dana really did see her as just a normal kid in an unfortunate situation.

If only she knew.

“I-I understand. My family— ‘’ She stopped herself, realizing what she’d blurted. Dana just stared at her with a quirked brow but didn’t press it. Fay felt obliged to at least offer some information in return for how much concern the woman was showing her, so she continued. “My…parents taught me--to-to be careful, I mean. They weren’t…rich but um, I get it. He might….be using me or he-he might not want to be my friend for long so-so…I am not raising my hopes. I know people can—use other people like that.’’

Dana smiled ruefully. “You always think ahead, don’t you?’’ Fay shrugged. It wasn’t anything special. Fear could be good at times. It kept her wary. 

“Please--please don’t tell anyone about this,’’ Fay added. She didn’t think Damian would retaliate against Dana if their arrangement fell through but people...are deceiving. “I—I don’t want anyone to find out we’re, um…. we know each other.’’

The woman shook her head, as she let go of Fay’s hand. “I am no interested in that all that paparazzi bullshit. But all I am asking is that you tell me, at any point if you feel unsafe or if he’s no longer---friendly.’’ 

Dana wouldn't be able to stop Damian from hurting Fay, though. She nodded anyway. Fay only had six weeks to put up with Damian. He had confirmed that should she want to sever ties; she could do so at any point. According to Bagheera, he had felt honest but his abilities weren't foolproof. And people changed their minds all the time. 

“How bad is it? Do you want me to look?’’ Dana asked gently when Fay shifted in the bean bag and flinched slightly, hand pressing against her side. 

Fay shook her head. “I am just bruised but...it’s okay. Mr. Pennyworth has given me a cream and-and it helps.’’

“Mr. Pennyworth, huh?’’ Dana raised a brow, looking bemused. “Isn't he a jack of all trades? Certainly no grandfather.'' 

Not in the literal sense, no but Fay had started to suspect Damian perhaps did see him that way to an extent. “I guess so.’’

Dana glanced at the duffel bag Fay abandoned near the hatch. The attic was still full with all the material and boxes Damian had sent her.

“Generous, aren’t they?’’ Fay nodded. “Just…be careful, okay? I know I sound like a broken record but— ‘’

“It’s okay…. I don’t mind. I--I appreciate it.’’

She really, really did.

“Wanna go to the big supermarket with me today? If you feel well enough.’’

Fay wanted time to think but she could tell the woman was asking for both of their benefits. Judging by the bags under her eyes, she didn't look like she'd gotten much sleep. 

She didn’t have the heart to say no.

.

.

.

After a long trip to the grocery store, Dana helped her clean the attic. All materials were neatly packed back in the boxes and then shoved in a corner of the storage room on the third floor. Damian had told her not to worry about them, as he'll have someone collect them later. With her attic freed, Fay set up the new fairy lights she purchased while Dana vacuumed. The veteran left shortly after that, reluctantly so as she'd have preferred Fay slept at her house for a couple of nights. 

Once her shopping was put aside, she emptied the duffel bag, smiling slightly at how nice her clothes smelt as she put them aside in the plastic drawer where she kept the others, although not folded as nicely. Looking down at herself, at the trousers and hoodie – his clothes - she decided to get changed and made a mental note to have them cleaned before returning them.

Alfred had thoughtfully added a first-aid kit in her duffel bag along with the painkillers, and some sugar-dusted waffles packed away in a plastic container. From her backpack she pulled out her personal items, the file Damian left her with, the rectangular box containing her new phone, and all the loot she found at the thieves’ apartment. She had to find a way to return those wallets, or otherwise what had been the point of taking them with her? There were photos and cards and money in all of them, but Fay didn't touch move any of it. 

Propped against the wall near the circular window, she studied the details of the offer, finding it hard to believe still, that she was being offered such a large amount of money. The phone, she’d found, had been turned on and charged, because it had vibrated briefly inside the box startling everyone in the attic. Picking it out of its container, she flicked her thumb up making the screen flicker to life.

Thursday, 14:45, at the museum.’ The contact name appeared as ‘D.W’, just as it did in her previous phone.

Damian had been with her for the better part of the morning, even when Alfred had handed her the duffle bag with the new phone.

Which meant that he had already set up the phone long before it came into her possession. It was a new one as well, as he couldn't have anticipated her giving the other one to Helen. 

Which meant he had expected she'll say yes. 

No, no, wait.

He hadn’t made any offers that day, he just told her that she was free to take the money and benefits, but that she wasn’t expected to work for him for it.

Instead had been the one to offer to help this time around---

---oh no.

He had manipulated her into offering herself in his employment, by pointing out – accurately – how much she’s enjoyed the challenge and leaving her no room for debate on why she felt she was underserving of his offer.

He made her think it had been her idea when he was just reeling her back in like a fish that’s just bit on bait.

Arggh!!!’’

Bag and the strays just stared at her confused as she pressed her face into her pillow to scream again. 

Robin or not, hero or not, he was still a despotic, arrogant, obnoxious boy. 

So much for thinking she was clever in keeping enemies closer.

The enemy wanted to keep her close too.

.

.

.

9th of September

“Please---please don’t cry, Mrs. Wilmot.’’ Fay was a stiff as a board as Helen held her in a bear hug, vanilla perfume-making her eyes water. The woman started talking very fast about how happy and grateful she was Fay was okay. The girl awkwardly accepted the embrace, uneasy with her private bubble being trespassed in such a manner, regardless of how much she liked the woman. Bagheera made a sound, which sounded suspiciously like a chortle, and she glared at him from the corner of her eyes, over the woman’s shoulder.

Her injuries hadn't fully healed, but her face looked considerably better. Helen, immediately realized that Fay had indeed gone after the group of teenagers who attacked her. The girl asked her to keep it a secret, and instead to go along with her story that she was in an accident. Helen refused, wondering what her parents made of all the situation, but Fay awkwardly reassured her that it was all okay. Her parents knew the truth, and they were upset with her recklessness but they didn't blame Helen. 

Helen then hugged her so enthusiastically that she almost lifted Fay off the floor. Not that it required much effort. 

“I, um, ---can’t really breathe, Mrs. W-Wilmot.’’ Helen instantly let her go, tears prickling at the corner of her eyes. “Oh duckie, I am so sorry!’’ 

Fay smiled half-heartedly. “It’s—it’s okay.’’ Just to be on the safe side, she took a couple of steps back from the woman.

Helen was wearing a new suit, tailored to fit her form, and the dark blue color suited her complexion. Her brown hair had also been cut recently, styled in soft shoulder-length curls that fit her. It made her look so youthful.  

“You look...very nice, Mrs. Wilmot.’’ Her smile grew genuine when she saw the badge pinned to her blazer, with the words ‘Program Manager, Helen Wilmot’ printed on it. “Congratulations.’’

“Oh shush, you. I should be thanking you. You---you are something else.’’ The woman said whole-heartedly, reaching to pat her shoulder. Fay nodded and didn’t stop smiling, an unfamiliar level of delight filling her up at seeing the woman has succeeded in her role. Damian hadn’t told her anything about it when she was at the penthouse, but as Helen informed her, Rochester had agreed to allow her to present her proposals a day later.

Rachael Richards also received the Program Manage role, and they’d be working with each other very closely while Stratford had to settle for the Project Assistant role. That seemed fair.   

Helen left her shortly after that, mentioning that she had a meeting with the board members for the first time which she was both scared and excited about, but made Fay promise that she and Bagheera would come by for dinner. The least she could do, she said.

Two months earlier Fay would have panicked at the prospect of doing so.

Now?

She was considering it. It hadn’t been too bad last time they went there and Bagheera secretly enjoyed roughhousing with the twins.

.

.

.

“ - Tt- You're an idiot.’’

“Um, well—well---I—‘’ She gestured with her hands, doing a poor job at aiding herself in explaining why she was in possession of thirteen different wallets, three pairs of car keys likely now useless and a plastic bag full of jewelry which contained anything watches to earrings and rings, and even some necklaces.

“I—panicked. There—there was this picture— ‘’ She raised the dark-red wallet up and flipped it open, a bit too violently because she almost slapped herself with it. “—of-of this little girl. The wallet has--it has four hundred dollars in it. What—what if it’s the only money this person had? For their family.’’

Damian continued to stare at her with a look that backed up his previous statement. 

She shrugged. “I…just felt bad.’’

“You felt— ‘’ He sighed, pressing his thumb and index against the bridge of his nose, reminding her very much of her uncle whenever he was exasperated. Damian acted more like a middle-aged man than a child. “And what would you like me to do with them?’’

Your job almost left her lips but instead, she smiled nervously. “I-I don’t know. I thought—maybe you--you could help me find w-who some of the people are?’’

“How exactly are you planning on delivering them? You do realize you could get reported as a thief.’’

She ignored the condescension in his voice. “I was just going to—to deliver them anonymously, maybe? Like…p-put them in a box?’’

The annoyed expression on his face didn't falter, his eyes rolling at her. 

Fine. I will see what I can do but don’t count on me finding out who these people are. You’ll dispose of any you can’t track, understood?’’

Liar. I see through you now Damian Wayne and you are a liar. She thought with no small amount of satisfaction. Robin will make sure those are turned in to their respective owners. She doubted he'll have that much difficulty, regardless of the act he put on. 

“Okay.’’

“Put this aside before anyone else sees it.'' He couldn't believe she was walking around Gotham with a bag full of stolen effects. It was a good thing he had instructed the guards not to stop her for security checks anymore. "I will not be an accomplice to your idiocy.’’ Says the boy who has forged her a new identity illegally.  

Perhaps knowing he was Robin had more advantages than she assumed originally. 

It was easier to tell when he was full of crap.

.

Two days later, he told her that the matter of returning the personal effects had ‘been taken care of’ in an anonymous way so she didn’t need to worry.

Fay wondered if he actually put the suit on for that. 

.

.

.

13th of October was when her six weeks would be up and she’ll be several thousand dollars richer, which should allow her to purchase the tickets for Europe, pay off some of Robby’s pre-med course fees and help Mack with putting money aside for his dream food truck that he’s spoken to her about recently. Fay also wanted to donate money to the Soul Bowl. It wasn’t enough to repay them for their kindness, but it was a good start.

She also had six weeks to gauge just how much Damian knew about her – and how much more he wanted to find out. If he wished to monitor her beyond their arrangement then leaving Gotham will be harder, as it will be hiding her plan to travel thousands of miles away.

Damian Wayne is Robin.

He was a threat.

Not to her, not yet but she had to keep that information at the forefront of her mind, so she didn’t lower her guard.

As she’d discover soon enough, it was easier said than done.  

.

.

.

11th of September

“You’re healing well,’’ Damian remarked a few minutes after she’s walked in the office and had settled in one of the armchairs. “Any pain?’’ Fay frowned but shook her head. She was glad the bruises were fading away, but she didn't feel well. She still struggled to eat most days, and lately, she's been waking up feeling sicker than usual. 

“Hnn.’’ He pushed the lid of his laptop closed then pulled something out. 

It was a book.

Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck.

“Are you familiar with it?’’

She shook her head.

“Then get started on it. First fifty pages. I have a meeting to attend so I expect you to be done by the time I am back.’’

As it turns out many of their meetings would end up in discussions around books and have nothing to do with actual work.

.

.

.

12th of September

He was a maniac! A complete, utter maniac!

Two days earlier, Damian had sent her a rigorous diet plan to stick by which as she quickly found out, was not optional if she wanted to keep ‘volunteering’ at the museum. She had ignored the food plan the first day thinking he was making suggestions in that assertive, impolite way of his but when she’d later met him at the museum, he had given her an entire lecture about nutrition, and malnourishment and ‘how her self-neglect cannot reflect on the Wayne name regardless if she was an employee or not.

It was a very long lecture. Fay thinks Damian and her uncle would have gotten along rather well.

They were both uptight. 

Alas, Fay was to eat five small meals sparse throughout the day, no earlier than six in the morning and no later than seven in the evening. He had even given her times to abide by because meal timings would train both her mind and stomach to become accustomed to the intake of food. In three weeks, if she adapted successfully, the meals could be reduced to three a day but bigger in portion. She could still eat the lunch meals she usually received in the soup kitchen provided they were healthy enough, and most days she could order dinner at the museum where she’d generally be until six, anyway. Breakfasts and later dinners had to be ordered as takeaway, and she was only allowed to deviate if she was allergic.

Even if it was her day off, she still had to abide by the food plan, and he’d provided her names where she could order takeaways, chosen by himself obviously based on quality, hygiene, and health benefits.

Oh, and she had to provide receipts to prove she didn't skimp on those orders. 

Receipts!!

To his credit, he did give her a separate pre-paid card to use for the groceries. So she never actually had to use the money he'd already given her. 

But he also wanted her to allow Alfred to weigh and measure her every week. 

He was a maniac.

But a week later into his rigorous plan she weighed half a kilo more.   

Two weeks into it, she didn't feel as ill when she woke up in the morning. 

.

.

.

14th of September

Fay fidgeted with the sleeves of her jumper, making a mental note to go shopping for thicker clothes given the colder weather outside. DAmain was in front of her, behind his desk, reading the printed papers he'd asked her to bring in. 

Her proposal. The one she’d never gotten the chance to hand in. Fay had hoped he'd forgotten all about it. 

With only three days to spare, she had only managed to gather thirty-odd accounts out of the fifty people that she approached. Dana had been instrumental in helping her out, but Fay hadn’t really thought about targeting a particular demographic. Her primary aim was to have other people respond to the ‘why the museum’ question themselves; to understand whether it occupied a special place in their heart or if they associated a particular moment of their lives with it, hopefully, a positive memory. Dana had, for example, told her how she had loved taking Robby to the museum when he was younger because it made him so gleeful even if she’d get bored; Mack told her that he liked to take his nieces, and Robby himself told her he used to enjoy having lunch in the cafeteria with his mother, after each visit.

Henry, Dana's veteran friend, told her that going to the museum was a past-time he indulged in often because it kept him distracted. Fay understood what he meant even if he didn’t elaborate.

Gloria told her that she and Ben used to take their late son to the dinosaur exhibit. Ben refused to return after, but she still went at times, because she enjoyed watching the new generations of children and their gleeful expressions awed by the wonders of the world. Her son, Jack, had really loved dinosaurs. He had wanted to be a paleontologist so every year she donated money to the museum in his name.

Mr. Yuri did not like the museum. But his son did because it made him ‘feel smarter’.

Helen Wilmot loved the museum because it made her feel like a child all over again and to her, it was important to maintain that sense of wonder and curiosity. Her husband loved it because it made his family happy, even if he didn’t visit often. Her children loved it because they learned they could be so many things in life: artists, scientists, poets, and well…one of them even pointed the role of a security guard because it was ‘cool’. Why not?

Svetlana, the elderly woman on the third floor of Dana’s apartment block told her she enjoyed the museum because it taught her about the world; it was where she used to spend days at when she first came to the country. She had struggled with the language at the time, but art has a universal language, she’d said. Fay particularly liked her comments because they resonated so well with her own views.

Miguel, on the sixth floor, mentioned he liked the museum because he used to take his mother there on trips every week. She suffers from late-onset Alzheimer’s, and he used to bring her to the special Friday events organized by the Art Museum, which were aimed at encouraging the exploration of art through multi-sensorial activities. The events were canceled a couple of years earlier, but he thought they helped her mother significantly.

All the accounts she’d gathered were in the same vein, and she’d re-written all of them keeping their author anonymous as she had promised, although she had kept their details separate just in case. As far as they were all concerned, she was just researching it for a creative writing entry at the museum. There were plenty those who’ve answered as having no connection to the museum, who never enjoyed visiting, seeing it more as a duty imposed during school days or didn’t have the time to do so, considering the museum to be a leisure activity that was not on their list of priorities.

The work she put together wasn't as much a proposal as it was an essay. Over twenty pages long. She did use some passages from books in her world, and even some statements that belonged to people not of that world, but the information was not any less valid. They fit the narrative. Maybe that counted as cheating, but it was something she could live with. 

Damian was a faster reader, but it still felt like an eternity sitting in that chair waiting for him to finish, while exchanging occasional glances with her paladin.

When he finally finished, he just looked up at her over the rim of the paper.

“You wrote this entirely?’’

“I…well, yes.’’ It wasn’t as if she could tell him about literary works that did not exist in that world. There weren't many, just a couple of paraphrased passages primarily from a book on the impact of art on society that had also been part of her studies. “But I did—I did use some inspiration. From…my parents.’’

“Hnn.’’ She watched as he arranged the stack of papers before shoving them back inside the plastic folder that she'd brought them in. “I will keep this. I assume you have a digital copy.’’ 

She blinked rapidly. “Y-yes…wait. Why—why are you keeping it?’’ She couldn’t tell if he liked it or not. His face betrayed nothing. “The people who gave me those—those notes, I mean…the stories. I promised I’d keep them anonymous.’’

“Clearly since you’ve used initials instead of full names. Don’t worry, the information will not travel beyond me.’’

And….? “But—but—then why-- ‘’ He looked up at her, and she felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She didn’t want to sound needy, but she was curious what he thought, even if he was likely to offer her one of his back-handed compliments. In a way, she welcomed the honesty even if it stung. “What…what did you think?’’

“The writing style was— ‘’ She held her breath. “—articulate and coherent, but the work is centered around the sentiment, not facts and data which is what I find more valuable.’’

Alright, so it wasn’t the worst compliment he could have given her. She could live with that as well. 

“The other candidates have based their answers on statistics, focusing on proving how Gotham could benefit if the museum was successful in its endeavor of educating its citizens, and how attracting visitors and benefactors alike will play a key part in that.’’

So, she was not anywhere close when it came to having offered the right answer.

“Do you know why Wilmot got the job even though Richards had already been made an offer as well?’’  

She shrugged. “…they were both good?’’

“That’s all? That’s all you can come up with?’’ Why did he always have to push like that? 

Fay pursued her lips, mulling over the two women. She had no idea the qualifications Rachel had except that she had been the top of her class at Gotham University, and had business management experience. Helen herself was just as qualified, though. She didn’t need to judge their experience and expertise against one another, because it was their personalities that stood out the most. Helen was sociable, warm, and incredibly optimistic with a generally sunny disposition. Rachel was quiet, stern and although she was as cordial and hard-working as the other woman, she had a more no-nonsense attitude. Come to think of Helen thought about the museum in an emotional way whereas Rachel always came across as more…clinical about her work. 

“They’re…opposites.’’ She finally said, realizing what he was getting at. “So—they, um, complement one another?’’

Damian’s lips curled upwards. “Exactly. I told you I wanted an alternative perspective to ensure the museum caters to wider types of communities in Gotham. Richards is the brain and Wilmot is---‘’

“---the heart.’’ She finished, nodding. He sneered at that but didn’t comment on it, glancing at his wristwatch instead. “It’s almost four. I believe Wilmot will be expecting you in the hallway to accompany her to the catering company.’’

“I, um, okay.’’ She eyed the plastic folder in front of him as she pulled herself up to her feet, holding her backpack by one of the straps. “Bye.’’ She muttered awkwardly, not meeting his eyes, although by then she knew he’d never say it in return.

Right before she exited the room, however, he spoke again.

“You would have passed.’’

She glanced over her shoulder, holding the door open with one hand on the handle. He wasn’t even looking at her, as he had reopened his laptop and was staring at the screen. He didn't repeat himself even when she mumbled a 'what' mainly because she couldn't believe what he just said. Bagheera blinked twice at her, confirming she hadn't imagined it. 

“I—okay.’’ She exited the room with a pounding heart and sweaty hands.

Helen was waiting for her in front of the elevator, polka-dotted raincoat already on. The woman started talking as she usually did about her day and her family, but Fay barely heard her as she followed her in the elevator.

I would have passed it.

Bagheera nudged her forearm with his head and she looked down on him.

The pride she felt was coming from both.

.

.

.

 

18th of September

It was never entirely clear what she should expect when she arrived at the museum.

On the four days she worked at the soup kitchen, he’d have her go to the museum right after her shift whereby now staff members have gotten accustomed to seeing her and her ‘large dog’ waltz around with the same freedom as an employee. As it turns out, Fay Kipling was very close friends with Damian Wayne. Rochester and the other staff members have been instructed to maintain the utmost confidentiality in her regard, however so no one dared ask questions. 

When Damian was there, she’d spent most of the day in the office. He’d generally start off by interrogating her if she’d eaten because that was as far as his small talk skills went – finally someone worse than her in that department – before he’d ask her to give him an overview on her work with Helen, which generally consisted in helping the woman with random, basic tasks (printing out papers, filing documents, being her soundboard for various ideas).

Beyond those twenty-odd minutes, they’d generally discuss topics of unpredictable nature that he'd always initiate. They’d initially start off by being related to the work at the museum, but they’d always fizzle out in debates and discussions that had little to do with what they were first talking about. Fay was not sure whether he was testing her knowledge and critical thinking skills – he made everything feel like a challenge – or whether he truly wanted to talk about those topics. He obviously had been educated in a vast array of fields, well beyond his years so she didn't think they were talking because her opinions were interesting. 

Had it been her homeland, she would have been particularly comfortable with topics such as history and art history but in that world, she had barely scratched the surface. She often felt confused by some of the arguments he posed, and she'd always felt she'd managed to reveal something crucial about herself in those moments. Especially when he caught her several times lacking information that was otherwise well-known in that world. 

But she couldn't help the growing enthusiasm. She was learning more in those moments than she did by reading or attending the museum because he was challenging her preconceptions and existing beliefs as well. 

It was frightening how easily she was getting accustomed to that routine they had fallen into although no day was the same.

Damian Wayne was dangerous in more ways than one, she reminded herself.

And some of those ways were going to hurt her heart sooner or later. 

.

.

.

19th of September

There were days when she missed Titoh, despite the conflicting emotions she had in regards to her foster sibling. 

Five hundred days.

It has only been five hundred days since that night. Five hundred days since she had parents and a brother and thought it impossible to ever lose them. She had trouble remembering their scent and voices and sometimes she couldn’t even recall their features correctly. Yet she refused to look at the photos she kept hidden in her attic. 

As petty as it was, she blamed Damian for missing Titoh. The way they'd talk, just the two of them and Bagheera, reminded her of the times when she used to think she'll always have her brother to do that with. Granted, talking to Damian was far more challenging. He pushed her, constantly. Titoh, on the other hand, was always more of a listener especially when she'd go on about all the adventures she dreamt of having. 

That day she ended up vomiting everything she ate and constantly tethered on the edge of a panic attack. It was a good thing that Damian didn’t expect her to work over the weekend. Dana immediately gave her the day off when she saw how pale she looked. They had enough volunteers that day, she said.

It did nothing to assuage Fay’s guilt, but she could barely stand up. 

She was quite certain that if she saw Damian that day, she’d end up breaking down completely.

There was something about him that made her think constantly of her parents and homeland.

He was forcefully pushing her more and more out of the limbo she'd lived in until then and she couldn't stop him. 

(Or maybe she was finally ready for it)

.

.

.

20th of September

Fay did not have nightmares the night before, but instead, her dreams had been filled with an amalgamation of moments from the life before. Somehow, dreaming of the happier times was worse because then she’d wake up and realize that they were just that: vivid, temporary reminders that used to have everything. 

Disturbingly ironic, those good dreams can easily turn her day into a Bad one. 

Her mind felt like a wound she once had on her left knee that kept reopening for weeks because it kept getting infected. It eventually scarred. But it wasn't as straightforward with her mind. Would it ever come at peace with what happened at some point? Moma used to tell her the pain won't go away ever, but in time, she'll grow more resilient. When, when, when, when, she'd ask herself impatiently. 

Fay knew many of her issues started in her mind. It wasn’t as if she did not want to get better, or that she hadn’t tried doing so. There was a part of her that hoped for that moment when the pain stopped breaking her and instead fuelled her to look towards the future. When the sorrow stopped clouding her judgment. When she stopped allowing the ugly voices to dictate her worth. She desperately wishes she could think about the incidents without feeling afraid, without triggering a panic attack. 

She wishes she could feel comfortable in her body, to see past the flaws and scars. Instead, she always feels wrong. That sentiment grew exponentially each time the elements rebelled against her, starting with no longer being able to brave the skies. The bracelets had offered a temporary respite but she barely felt the connection to natural energies anymore. 

If her parents would have been alive still, they would have told her to use all the negative feelings to her advantage, to become stronger. That was what they did their entire life and as horrific her trauma had been, she knew they suffered even greater. She understood what they were trying to teach her but how? How, how, how, how? They died before they could teach her all their secrets. Or perhaps they did tell her, and she just couldn’t recall it anymore.

It was hard not to listen to all the cruel voices, the demeaning whispers, and the pitying tones that still rung in her ears even months after leaving Maysoon. She had no right to be this weak. Others have suffered greater than she did and moved forward regardless. 

It was hard not to view herself as undeserving of her survival when others would have done a better job at putting their grief behind. They would have done something good with it. 

The healers have tried many ways to help her, some approaches more effective than others. Her mental health would always regress eventually, and it was Moma whom told her it might be a good coping mechanism if she kept track of the good and bad days. It could give her a semblance of control because bad days were inevitable, so if too long passed in-between she’d know when one such day was overdue. In retrospect, she must have meant it as a temporary solution, not something Fay should obsess over and define her life by.

Keeping track just made things worse. The constant fear of relapse in that debilitating state cast large shadows over her, bigger and darker with each day that passed further from her last Bad Day. 

Bad Days are about heartache. They are about missing her parents and her brother-not-brother, and all the fractured bonds and the pain inflicted on her and the pain she caused others.

Bad Days are about horrifying flashbacks. Relieving over and over that traumatizing night although her memories of it are muddled. It was normal, the healers said. Just amnesia, not uncommon for the young to experience after such an event. 

Bad Days are about the loss of her free use of the flux, of being pinned to the ground rather than weightless in the air, of mourning the exhilarating emotions she used to experience when training to master the elements.

Bad Days are about despising the bracelets as much as she did herself for having made them necessary.

Bad Days are in a way about feeble attempts at trying to overcome it all because she didn’t fully give in even when the pain in her heart was excruciating. 

Bad Days, sometimes, are about keeping the anger at bay because it would attempt to seep through all the others, insidious. 

That particular Bad Day was just as bad as the rest. 

But something had changed, ever so slightly. 

She wasn't sure what but it all began with Damian Wayne. 

 

Chapter 11: The beginning of something (II)

Notes:

Chapter revised/rewritten as of 21st of August 2021.

Chapter Text

 

“I am afraid to hope but I can’t help it, and the idea of hoping in this most hopeless of all places makes me want to cry.’’

- Beatrice Sparks

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.

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20th of September (cont’d)

The dot hasn’t moved since Friday at four in the afternoon. He’d let her leave earlier than usual because she was clearly not in the right frame of mind, so what was the point of having her there if she was so emotionally frazzled. The bags under her eyes had looked darker than they had in a while, so she must have been experiencing trouble sleeping again. She admitted to not having had much of an appetite that day, settling for some walnut oatmeal and chopped fruit. It was considerably less than what he'd asked. He chose not to berate her for it although he had felt tempted. Eating so little would only make it harder for her to recover, especially with the little sleep she was getting.

Damian traveled to the soup kitchen when she hit the forty hours mark of being stationary, justifying his visit as making sure she wasn’t dead, telling himself that he would not interfere if she was fine. 

He watched Mercher climb down the stairs, an untouched bowl of soup in her hand and a pronounced frown on her face. She looked worried, and the cook was waiting for her on the threshold of the kitchen door, looking just as concerned. Crouching down behind the bins, Damian’s sensitive ears picked up on their hushed towns which carried down the alleyway. It appears Fay hadn’t eaten properly in over twenty-four hours and she ended up vomiting that morning’s breakfast; Mercher was getting worried because the girl had hardly gotten out of the bed. 

“Should we call someone? Maybe that Brit? Isn’t she friends with the kid or something?’’ The cook said.

“She said she doesn’t want to.’’ Mercher pointed out. “I don’t trust them, either, to be honest.’’

“They can’t be all that bad if they looked after her before and haven’t reported her status.’’

The woman snorted. “I am not convinced her injuries weren’t because of them. Ever since they showed up, Fay’s been getting into a lot of trouble. Remember how upset she was when she thought she couldn’t return to the museum?’’ She paused briefly. “I am going to give it a few more hours and check in on her again. If she doesn’t feel better, I will take her back to my place and ask Dennis to have a look.’’

With that they went inside, letting the kitchen door close noisily behind them.

Damian made a mental note to check Mercher’s connections and find out who this Dennis was, as he swiftly climbed up the staircase and then went through the window of the dimly lit dance studio. The hatch was closed, and when he’d paused, listening to the sounds above him he’d heard heavy footsteps, as well as smaller, quicker ones.

Bagheera and the smaller dog then. Damian opened the hatch and lowered the foldable stairs. The large dog’s head popped in the view almost immediately, jaws pulling back in a soundless snarl. The smaller dog appeared a second later, yipping happily upon seeing Damian.

The boy climbed up and Bagheera huffed at him, unhappy with his presence in what he must’ve deemed his territory. He stayed planted where he was, blocking Damian’s free path to the bundle on top of the inflatable mattress pushed to one side of the attic. Fay had completely covered herself with the thick blanket, only strands of brown hair sticking out on the pillow underneath her head.

Her breathing was steady, and she barely stirred at the noise. She was asleep. 

The short-hair cat was more welcoming than the rest of the strays, immediately rushing to him from the bean bag tucked in the other side of the attic. She brushed herself against his legs, purring loudly. Damian spotted the ferret sneaking through the piles of books pushed against the inclined walls.

Fay whimpered, and shifted under the blanket, turning around in her sleep. Bagheera turned away from Damian, to look at her, ears perking up before stepping over to her. Damian silently followed him and crouched down next to the paladin, green eyes falling on the small bundle before her. She cried softly, then whimpered before her breathing grew louder. She was no longer asleep.  

She protested when he grabbed a fistful of the blanket and tugged on it gently. “Nggg…no. Bag, leave me alone.’’ She sobbed, then sniffled. She was crying again, then. 

“I am not Bagheera.’’

She tensed up, pulse increasing rapidly Thud! Thud! Thud! She wasn’t just surprised but afraid as well. Was that why she told Mercher to not contact Alfred or himself? He would have responded in her favor, had she done that.

Idiotic girl. 

“Fay.’’ He called out firmly, if not a bit irritated. “Stop acting immaturely.’’

She didn’t respond.

TT. 

He tugged on the blanket again, this time harder. “I am not here to impart judgment.’’ There was a part of him that did judge her for her emotional display, for her weakness, but he forcefully pushed it away because that was the same part that sided with Mother’s teachings instead of Father’s. Fay had started opening more in the last weeks, had become more responsive. Her stutter would often vanish when she’d get caught midst discussion, the anxiety taking second place to her curiosity.

But she still didn’t trust him. Bagheera whined softly again, louder this time as if to reassure the girl. He leaned forward and nudged her with his nose. He didn't like the boy's presence there but his Fay was really unwell. Her pulse had felt very weak, and Bagheera didn't like the way she kept coughing earlier that day. 

That was new. 

 “Why-why are you here then?’’ She asked pitifully, voice hoarse. She must’ve been crying extensively.

Because I want to know.

“Mercher contacted me.’’

“I...don-don't believe you.’’ Hm. Look at that. She could be feisty when she was hiding behind a blanket. "G-g-go away, please.'' 

He didn't bother to deny his lie. 

“You are undoing all the progress you've made physically.’’ It wasn't much. She was struggling to put on weight. Alfred had started considering intravenous feeding, but he also suggested that perhaps Fay required a specialist to check her. Damian knew it was the logical choice to make, but he could imagine how she'd react at that. 

If it came down it, he might just have to take drastic measures. 

Pl-please.’’

He was not nearly as satisfied as he thought he would be hearing her beg him like that. She sounded…tortured. Leaning with his elbows on the edge of the inflatable mattress, he propped his cheek on one of his hands.

“Why? Are you ashamed?’’ He knew she was. The girl practically oozed those emotions. Her family was responsible for that, regardless if they abused her or not. Because someone has hurt her, and they should have known about it. They should have protected her. 

She didn’t answer but she sniffed again. Then a barely-suppressed sob. 

She was crying again.

Sigh. What a nuisance. 

“Don’t be.’’ He would have never wallowed in his self-pity like that, spending days crying. But… “It’s…fine to mourn them.’’

“What?’’ Another sob escaped her and it sounded like something brittle snapping.

“It’s about your parents, is it not? All of it. The panic attacks, the crying, the guilt.’’ The small dog jumped on top of the mattress, snuggling himself against the girl’s back. The cat slid between Damian and Bagheera, leaning against his hand when he reached to scratch her ears. “The pain won’t go away if cry, however, so it’s a waste of energy.’’

She stilled underneath the cover, and he could tell she was holding her breath. Unnervingly, he couldn't tell what was going on in her mind. 

“It is your responsibility to decide whether you'll allow that pain to define you.’’ Damian tutted. “There are better ways to channel it than crying about it.’’

“I-I k-know.’’

He raised an eyebrow although she couldn’t see him. “Is that so?’’ He scoffed. “What do you know then?’’

She was silent for twenty seconds – he’d counted- before she responded again. “P-pain…can fuel a person to be better. To---to make them stronger. I, um—my father had a saying about it.’’ Fay was transparent emotionally, but she was very guarded about discussing what caused her to experience her emotions so intensely. She had secrets. He was a selfish being, so he wanted to know all about them. He’d not force her though. “That…painless lessons are useless, be-because people who sacrifice and—and overcome their pain…have a heart of fire and steel. They…they are—are strongest people.’’

“He sounds like a wise man.’’ He agreed. “So, why are you not following his advice?’’

“I…I tried.’’ She whispered, voice lowering again. “I, um…. I couldn’t.’’

“Would have your father given up?’’

“…no.’’ Had it been anyone else they wouldn’t have picked up on that small sound she made. It was barely a word.

“Then why are you?’’

“I—I told you…’’ He sighed loudly, lowering his hand away from his face so he could forcefully drag the blanket away from her head, just about done with the ridiculous way they were conversing.

Red-rimmed brown eyes stared at him widely, face blotched red and cheeks wet. Her hair was disarray and the knitted wool jumper she was wearing was far too big on her, the sleeves falling past her hands as she kept them bent up towards her face, fidgeting constantly. She had been biting her lips extensively judging by how red and chapped they were.

A few fat drops of tears slid down her cheeks when she closed her eyes and reached to cover her face from him with her hands. 

“Excellent hiding techniques.’’ His voice dripped sarcasm. “I can’t see you at all.’’

Bagheera leaned forward and nudged her head, before huffing in her ear, making her squeak and reach to bat him away, clearly ticklish. “St-stop, Bag.’’ She whined softly when he grabbed onto a few strands and tugged on them, forcing her to reveal her face. 

Smart dog.

Fay looked even smaller than usual if that was possible. Two days without food spent crying would have undone most of the progress she made so far. He had already suspected her weight loss and lack of appetite must be related to her emotional state, but now it was clearer how deeply the impact was.

He flicked her forehead hard, and she reached to touch the spot with a look of indignation and surprise. “O-ow.’’

“Answer my question. Why are you giving up?’’

“I…I already did.’’

She tried to tug the blanket up, but he held it firmly away, down to her waist.

“No, you didn’t.’’ He leaned forward and she pulled away, like a turtle trying to pull back into its shell. “You only said you tried, and you failed. So what? You’re still alive so why are you wasting your chances to improve?’’

“I—I didn’t— ‘’ She pouted, futilely trying to release the blanket from his hold. She had about as much strength as a mouse. “Let let go. Let go---.’’

“No.’’

“You’re…you’re really--'' He raised a brow. ''--mean.’’

“I don’t care.’’ He scoffed. “Tell me.’’

She stared at him with that guarded look she’d often get even discussing innocuous stuff which meant she was being cautious about revealing her thoughts again.

“I—I am—I am not giving up. I just---I just tried. More…more than once. I just…I just am not---‘’ she swallowed, eyes becoming wet again. “…strong enough.’’

“So?’’

Brown eyes – there were gold flecks in them – stared at him bewildered. “W-w-what?’’

“So, you’ve failed repeatedly. You’re weak. Keep trying then, until you get it right.’’ If he had ever been anything other than exceptional, he’d work twice as hard to make up for it. Failure was not an option. Getting up and doing it all over again – faster, stronger, better – each time was the only path.

Because the alternative was death. And not a quick, swift one.  

You are either strong or dead in the League. There is no in-between because the enemy will not give you second chances, they will not allow you to gather your bearings and ‘try again’. You either won or died trying, crushed at the hands of the enemy. Of course, he’d generally been the one bestowing death on others, not the other way around. The expectations were even higher given his heritage so meeting the bar wasn’t sufficient; setting new heights was mandatory or otherwise, he’d face the punishments. He'd learned quickly that they were designed to make death seem a more pleasant choice. 

“What’s the point of being alive if you’re just going survive to live another day in the past?’’

“I…. don’t know.’’

So, she’d pondered it, then. Her own death.

'My life does not mean anything.'

Honor suicides were not uncommon amongst the assassins but Ra’s al Ghul rarely ever allowed them to escape their shame so easily. Damian recalled traveling to Japan and learning about the seppuku rituals, of how samurais preferred taking their life over being prisoners. Choosing death in fear of torture was not an option, his Mother said, because he was meant to rule the world, and that meant both his mental and pssyhical limits will be pushed far beyond what regular people would be able to deal with. And Damian Wayne was not regular.  

“Do you want to be?’’ He asked. “Alive.’’

She reached to rub her eyes. The bags under her eyes made her look infinitely older, like an old soul stuck in a twelve-year-old’s body.

“I, um…’’ she hesitated, gnawing on her lip. “I…I don’t want to…die. They…they, um, would not want that either.’’ 

Face pinching in pain she reached to her temple, and she took a deep breath but seemed to struggle to do so. Her breathing became ragged, and she tugged uncomfortably at the jumper, revealing a long-sleeved shirt underneath. 

“Claustrophobic?’’

She nodded.

Damian glanced outside the circular window up on the wall behind her, where he could hear the pitter-patter of water drops growing in intensity. It had started raining again.

Coldwater.

Hm.

“How about a shower, hmm?’’

"W-w-what?''

.

By the time they had climbed on the roof, walking around the inclined walls of the attic to reach flat ground, the rain was so thick it felt like fabric, something Fay could thread her fingers through. Her clothes were drenched within seconds, the water and cold seeping through to her skin so strongly that it felt as if she was standing in the flow of a river falling from the limestone-grey sky above her head.

The rain was cleansing, crushing down the thrum of anxiety, and releasing the invisible chains that have been intermittently tightening themselves around her ribcage. The punishing claw of sorrow squeezing her heart loosened, dark thoughts losing their grip on power as her mind recalibrated to the sensations assailing her.

Fay is not sure when the bracelets became a cage. She suspects it was right after they've arrived in that world. Perhaps the crossing through the veil had somehow affected her seals? The bracelets were meant to serve as invisible sentries ready to stop the flux if it grew volatile, only to activate if she failed to balance her mind to her body. Since she was young, her flux had always been temperamental because it responded to her emotional state, and she'd always been sensitive. At least that's what others would say. Her mother was never quite as worried, being a flux master herself, and instead believed that Fay will learn how to control in time. Despite what others said, Fay only paid attention to her words and so, she too believed that it was only a matter of time until she grew into her abilities. After all, a flux master is bound to go through many changes throughout their life. 

It only became a true problem after that night. At first, Fay battled a period of emptiness in which the weeks passed her by unobserved. Once the shock had worn off, and she'd ultimately processed what happened, the grief settled in. She struggled during training, and meditation was simply not an option. Her thoughts were too loud. She didn't like having time to think. Physically, she was fine, the healers have said. But the mental blocks stood in her way of improving and she's had to watch others grow better in what felt like leaps and bounds. 

Then the incidents happened, as her family called them. Fay became very much aware of the whispers. She became aware of the looks thrown her way when people didn't think she was looking. At one point, Fay could tell that some didn't even bother to hide. Even without Bagheera's abilities, Fay had started becoming incredibly aware of the thinly-veiled revulsion. The anger. The hatred. The disappointment. 

It wasn't on everyone's faces. But Fay had to wonder who was being genuine and who wasn't. She felt so very alone. 

The weeks leading up to her running away had culminated in series of larger incidents. Disasters, really. Days only before she left, Fay agreed to wear the bracelets. But they could not take away the soul-crushing humiliation, the constant feeling of hands holding her down so others could freely hurt her. She couldn't forget the vitriol words, the ghastly laughs and she certainly couldn't forget the incredible public display of loss of control. Was there even a soul who didn't know of it? Fay wasn't sure. 

Not even the jungle could console her for it had started feeling cold where it had always been welcoming, terribly silent when it had once been her confidant and haven. Fay wondered if the jungle, too, had decided to forsake her for being so weak and pathetic. Her mother said that'd never happen, but she was also not meant to die, so there goes that. 

The bracelets had felt unpleasant. Suffocating. They diminished the world around her. It took her four days to adjust. When she had a panic attack next, they had appeared to do their job as intended. She could still use her flux, but the seals would tamper with whatever she could not control. A brutish solution, that not everyone in her family agreed with because they felt she was too young. She was still growing, developing, changing and so was her flux. Those seals were generally used in advanced training sessions and by adolescents on the cusp of maturity. More powerful versions are also used in prisons. 

If she truly wanted them off, her aunt Sysa had said, then all Fay required was a counter-seal. It was like a puzzle. It would never break unless she had the right key which consisted of another set of runes she could draw onto the bracelets, and then focus the smallest of her energy onto them. 

With that in mind, Fay ran away. Once in that world, they've encountered such trouble initially that Fay had no choice but to attempt to remove her bracelets. The counter-seal did not work. Fay ultimately had to force the use of her flux, which caused the first terrible burns on her wrist. Since then, she's only attempted its use a few times but each time, the amount of energy she could summon grew smaller. 

Fay arrived in that world, disoriented, and lost, frightened both because of how different it was from what she's expected. Bagheera was also missing. So was her backpack. The first days were a blur, but she had ascertained quickly that she had not arrived at the location she had been expecting, rather thousands of miles away. She had nothing. No money, no clothes, no identity. She had wanted to run away and shed the burdens of who she was in Maysoon, and she had suffered the price for it.

She stopped being Fay of Maysoon but her grief and guilt and shame had still traveled with her, etched into her being no matter where she went.

Between scavenging for food and shelter, the thoughts filling her head were rooted in the despondency she experienced. What if Bagheera died? What if the body of her beautiful, brilliant paladin was laying somewhere in that strange, foreign world rotting away? All alone. Because of her. What if Bagheera was across the world, just as lost as she was and it’d be weeks, months, years before they’d meet again?

Fay set to finding him, because no matter how long it took, no matter how far she had to go, she had to survive just in case Bagheera had indeed arrived in that world as well. Fay owed it to her paladin to find him. They did find each other ultimately, but it wasn’t before they both learned just how much darkness that world carried as well. It may have looked different, but it was no less dangerous or treacherous than theirs. 

The bracelets had initially only dulled her perception of natural energies. But as they traveled that world, Fay became gradually deaf. Just not in the traditional sense. The thrums of energies she’d been accustomed to ever since she was a young child had gradually dulled out until she was cut off from it entirely. Summoning her flux, trying to tap into the natural energies that she knew existed even if she could no longer feel them was suddenly impossible. Except the flux was still there, not entirely severed, just…out of her reach, only coming out against her will when she reached new emotional heights. 

Sometimes she’d feel things, faint echoes of sorts. When nature decided to make its power known, she’d try to bask into it, because she’d feel the buzz of electricity and the pressure changes even before the skies darkened. 

And that day, there was a storm brewing and it felt…exhilarating.

Fay had been so enraptured by the pains of the Bad Day that she hadn’t paid attention, even if the flux hungered to connect with the natural energies of the world, to break free from the unforgiving chains that her bracelets had morphed into.

The winds intensified, turning into howls that bounced off steel and brick and glass structures. Gotham was quieted down by the thick sheet of water that befell on it. She felt the ripples of energy, ever so faintly, prickling her marks and filling her with second-hand power.

Thunders exploded in the distance like demented creatures. Flashing bolts of lightning appeared miles out to her left and she shuddered. Electricity had never been her element, wilder and more unforgiving even than fire. Approaching the edge of the roof, ignoring the water squelching beneath her feet, she glanced down at the unusually quiet streets. 

Even in an untamed urban setting like Gotham, nature could still impose itself disruptively onto its citizens. It was not power for her to yield, regardless of the bracelets. Perhaps just borrow from it. Even then, she’d risk being consumed by it.

The world felt alive.

She closed her eyes and tilted her head to the sky. If she tried hard enough, she almost felt one with the rain. 

.

It worked.

Her features and body relaxed underneath the thick sheet of rain. The clothes clung to her thin frame as they would on a skeleton. Damian half-expected her to be dragged down by the additional weight. 

When he stepped to stand to her side, wondering what it is she found so fascinating about the world below, he saw she had closed her eyes. 

She was smiling.

It was the first time he’d seen her smile like that. Fay rarely ever smiled in a way that wasn't desultory. Bagheera was on the receiving end of brighter smiles, but even those did not quite reach her eyes. Mercher and her kitchen troupe, Wilmot received smaller but genuine smiles. 

He never did. Even when she smiled, it was caused by nerves and fear. 

Yet at that moment, he was seeing the brightest one yet. Still not directed at him, but had he not brought her up there, he would have never thought she's capable of smiling like that. There was a sad quality about it, still. 

Damian was getting drenched too, clothes sticking and hair plastered to his face and neck. 

An unidentifiable emotion formed in his chest. 

It wasn't just curiosity although he wanted to know what was causing such a reaction. 

(He wanted to do something about that sadness.)

.

Drip! Drip! Drip!

Achoo!’’

Drip! Drip! Drip!

“Come closer. I don’t think you’ve quite covered me all in your germs.’’

Drip! Drip! Drip!

“S-sorry.’’

Drip! Drip! Drip!

Their clothes hung over the central beams, water dripping constantly on the floor. Fay was grateful for the small electric fan that Dana made her buy because the shelter had started feeling rather cold, especially after she spent twenty minutes in the rain. Damian had ordered her to get changed before they ended up looking awkwardly at each other when they’d realized that would have required him being there when it happened considering he was in her space. Fay almost had a conniption. 

In the end, she gave him the hoodie and joggers she’d never remembered to run - although she had made sure they were washed and folded carefully- in which he changed using the bathroom on the third floor.

She changed out of her clothes as fast as she could. Dana had gifted her a hooded, fleece sweatshirt from her own wardrobe which fell almost to Fay's knees. It was one of her favorite items, not only because it was a gift from Dana but also because of how soft and comfortable it felt, allowing her to hide in it as she would in a blanket. She combined it with thick tights and fuzzy socks that she had bought recently.

Being in the rain had cleared her head and pushed away from the sense of suffocation she previously experienced. But it had also made space for a renewed sense of hunger, that gnawed at her stomach and made her head throb. 

Damian didn’t return immediately to the attic, and she had wondered whether he decided to just leave after changing. Thirty minutes later, however, he announced he was coming back up while she was busy toweling off the excess water from Bagheera’s fur.

The boy appeared through the hatch with…food. A lot of food. It looked like he had ordered for several people, and as it turns out not, he had also considered paladin and the other stray’s needs. Fay just stared at him bewildered, even when he criticized how unhealthy her stash of sweets and snacks was, wondering when her perception of him had changed as the word 'kind' struck her mind while looking at him. 

Fay gawked at him, marveling at how the boy before her – genius, heir, warrior of that world – stood in her attic – on her territory – so close to the items that could destroy the fragile wall she fought to keep him from discovering who she really was. 

Damian had no sense of propriety, or perhaps he did not care just as he didn’t about small talk or being nice or polite. He dumped the food on the ground between them, while she sat propped against the mattress with Bagheera on it behind her. 

He trespassed again. Not to offer pleasantries or words of encouragement, or to comfort her, yet his words had struck deeper than any gestures of concern. Damian had made it sound so easy, not giving up, just like her parents did so she silently admired the boy's will. He struck her as the type of person for whom giving up was not an option. I wish I was like that. He contained a beguiling fire that seemed unextinguishable and he made it look easy, being better than others and capable of surmounting any challenges. 

As blunt as he had been, he had not made her feel the way her uncle did when he’d try to exercise tough love, or when Moma would try to console her by telling her it will get better in time or when the Elders looked down upon her. 

Damian’s message was clear. You’re alive, so the only option is to forward. Just like that. She’d heard variations of it before, of course, she'd hear far more inspiring speeches than that but his words….made her feel funny inside. Fay wanted to know how he could just believe in moving forward with such conviction. Has he too experienced pain and sorrow, and as such he knew what a terrible weight they were? 

I want to know.

He was her age. As far as she knew, he was entirely human. He behaved like a prince, and he treated the world as one. Fay wasn't fully knowledgeable of the beauty standards of that world, but to her Damian was beautiful. He was, really, everything she wasn't. He was everything she'd wished she was and everything others had hoped she'd be. Her parents told her she was perfect to them. 

Not for the first time, Fay wondered if they lied. 

Damian can be kind, too, she thought silently. She hadn't wanted to concede that initially, given the trouble he's caused her. 

His kindness wasn’t obvious and could be easily be mistaken for something else. His kindness was wrapped up in the anger and steel that he seemed to be made of. He was perhaps the first person close to her age that showed her kindness in a while, excluding whatever brief encounters she's had before Gotham. 

She wanted to believe he was still deceiving her. Because that meant she wasn't as gullible as she used to be; because it was safer that way. However, the more time she spent around him, the more she realized that he did not need kindness to destroy her. He also had no reason to be kind to her. He thought she was reckless and stupid and a nuisance, and never hid that. He didn't pretend he was anything but who he was even with his Robin identity. 

Damian was unapologetic about who he was and even if his words cut through her at times, it was also refreshing. If he really wanted to, he could be as cruel as the others. But he wasn't. 

Instead, there were moments like that, which threw her off completely because she expected him to be unforgiving and hurtful. She wasn't sure what to do when Damian behaved in that manner. He made no promises of friendships or long-lasting bonds, and it was only a matter of time, though before he’ll either get bored or discover she wasn't just an orphan. Then he'll look at her the same way others did. 

Maybe he'll even imprison her as Robin if that's what they did to people there who come from other planes of existence. 

He made her hope it'll last a little while longer because she enjoyed the conversations and she enjoyed the work. 

“Are you just going to stare at me or are you going to eat your food which I went through the trouble of providing you?’’ His voice washed over her thoughts, and heat pooled in her cheeks when she’d realized she'd been spacing out while staring at him. 

“S-sorry!’’ She squeaked, and quickly lowered her head to stare at the array of food containers he’d laid out. “Th-thank you. For—for the food.’’ 

Grabbing one of the bags that he’d pushed towards her she found grilled chicken and salad wrapped in a warm flatbread. They ate in silence, as the weather outside worsened making her fear the windows of the attic might end up being shattered by the winds.

The cat naturally preferred to stay close to Damian, while the dog watched her with tongue lolling out of his mouth in hopes she might give him additional pieces of food. In the end, as much as Damian loved criticizing her sweet tooth, he ate his way through a large bag of M&M’s which he shamelessly took out of her stash, while brazenly inspecting her collection of books and trinkets.

She’d lie if she said she hadn’t been hoping he’d initiate another one of their conversations.

He did.

.

“Steinbeck was an anti-socialist writer that chronicled— ‘’ Damian stopped and glanced over his shoulder from his crouched place where he was perusing through a stack of books. He’d spotted Schopenhauer amongst fiction and travel guides, which was a rather interesting finding. Her tastes were…not limited, he’ll give her that, although he’d question the validity of some of her choices in also purchasing mainstream titles. 

Fay was no longer paying attention, she'd fallen asleep. 

Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was early afternoon, which meant they’ve been talking for a little over three hours. Throughout their conversation, Fay had moved back onto the mattress, curled up in the oversized hoodie. The small dog had tucked himself against her stomach and Bagheera was laying down on the ground by the makeshift bed, serving as usual as a barrier between the girl and anyone who wished to disturb her. The ferret had gone back to playing with his toy while the cat had stayed close to Damian's legs. 

Hm.

There was a part of him that was tempted to wake her up so he could chastise her for rudely falling asleep while he was talking.

Instead, he grabbed the blanket that had piled up in a corner and threw it over her, despite the quiet snarls of the dark beast.

Damian put on his shoes which were still slightly wet before opening the hatch and letting the stairs unfold towards the floor. Fay mumbled something in her sleep and turned around, but otherwise didn't stir. Her anxiety had melted away gradually and she had seemed far more tempered towards the end. Colour had returned to her face once she'd eaten as well. 

“Hn.’’ He could have easily jumped rather than using the stairs, but he did so for the benefit of the blond woman standing in the dance studio. He’d heard her climb the fire staircase while he was tying his shoes.

“Mrs. Mercher.’’ He greeted dryly, unfazed by the mix of alarm and suspicion that lit her eyes or the way she crossed her arms, attempting and failing terribly at making him feel intimidated. “She’s asleep now.’’ He remarked, strangely satisfied that he'd managed to lull the girl into a calmer state. 

“Fay had mentioned she did not want to contact you.’’ The woman said.   

Damian understood what she was insinuating, but he didn't care. “She’s changed her mind, clearly.’’ He replied casually, shoving his hands inside the pockets of his joggers. There was something in one of his pockets, a tightly folded piece of paper shoved deep. Hm. He hadn't noticed it before. Turning away from the woman, Damian headed towards the window leading to the fire staircase, in no mood for chit-chat. 

“I don’t know what your intentions are,‘’ Damian resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course. Here comes the obligatory warning. “but Fay is not a charity case.’’

“Oh?’’ He stopped by the windowsill. “Hypocrite are we, Mrs. Mercher?’’

Dana's eyes narrowed. "It is not the same thing. I think you are smart enough to realize that.'' She unfolded her arms. "Don't hurt her.'' 

Feeling amused by the woman’s threat, Damian lifted a brow. “Or what?’’ It was laughable the woman thought she could anything against him or that she had any right to control who Fay talked to.

“Or she’ll suffer,’’ Dana responded firmly, stepping closer to him. “Fay is a clever, kind girl but she’s also sensitive. If you are going to pretend to be her friend just because—I don’t know – you’re bored, then don’t. She’s been through enough as it is.’’

You know nothing about her. He thought viciously. He didn’t either, not entirely – not yet - but he certainly knew more than Mercher. “Not that it’s any of your business who Fay talks to— ‘’ He started coldly. “—but rest assured, I have no nefarious intentions.’’ Not on my watch. That last thought took him by surprise. When had he become so invested in her? When had he stopped seeing her primarily as a potential threat?

He knew the answer, even if he did not like admitting to it. It was a series of moments and observations. The museum. The building that night. The way she worked hard for the smallest tasks. The way she ate like a bird because she couldn't keep food down. The way she believed her only choice was to go after a group of criminals to help a woman she barely knew. The way she kept coming back to the museum, wanting to learn. The haunted look she had in her eyes at times. The way talking about literature and art and everything in-between melted away the anxiety she constantly felt. The care she took in looking after her dog and the strays she took in, even if she couldn't afford it and her shelter is as small as it is. The way she always puts others before because she thinks her life is meaningless. The way she believes some people can be redeemed and in acts of kindness, even if it was clear the world had not been kind to her. 

Who did that to her? Make her think that she was worthless? Damian had many opinions of her but worthless was not one of them. 

Perhaps that's where his perception changed. 

Dana did what must’ve been her best impression of a scrutinizing look, but he held her gaze unflinchingly. Tch, please. 

“I wouldn’t worry about food.’’ He said smugly. “She already ate.’’

With that, he went through the window and then took off down the staircase. 

.

“Hey, little D. Where’ve you been?’’ Dick turned in his chair, away from the Batcomputer to look at the boy as he came down the stairs, hands in pocket.

 “Out,’’ Damian replied curtly, green eyes moving over at the images taking center stage on the main screen.

George Sanders. Twenty-two years old. Missing since May 17th, around the same time the Aceline auction house he worked for launched an internal investigation about a missing painting. News of the theft was leaked to a journalist, leading the media to automatically brand Sanders as culpable, which wasn’t difficult to sell, given his record as a juvenile offender. Damian knew all that without having to read the files on the screen because he had already investigated Sanders.  

George Sander's probation officer and long-term mentor had died shortly after his disappearance. Her name was Hannah Walker. 

Damian had not managed to gather data on what has caused Finnegan’s mutation, or on the explosive for that matter. The golf-ball-sized bomb he was carrying in his trousers was not innovative per se in terms of size and destructiveness, but it was the way that looked that piqued Damian’s interest. Finnegan, as rabid as he had been, had been just as distracted by it when he took it out. There were carvings in the dark metal, and it looked as if it had been filled with a dark blue liquid. Damian kept a sketch of it, which he had used to try and find similar weapons recorded in the database, but no match so far.

Game-changing weapons, hmm? Sounded like the Sponsor. 

Digging deeper he’d found that Sanders had known both Finnegan and Wyatt, who were several years older than him. They’d previously dragged Sanders into trouble when he was only fourteen, culminating in him being sent to a juvenile detention center. It was Walker who’d turned his life around, from the looks of it, because under her mentorship the teen had cleared his community sentence, raised his grades, and enrolled at Gotham University. He subsequently gained an internship at Aceline’s.

Aceline conducted a mix of live and online auctions of items varying from works of art to rare objects. The auction house’s success had gradually declined over the years since its foundation in the ’80s. It experienced a momentary rise in fame two years earlier when Henry Johanssen, a prolific European collector bought an entire collection of items most of which he later had donated to various museums across the country, including Gotham’s Museum of Art and Antiquities.

“Anything new on Sanders?’’ Damian asked.

Dick gave him a look that said he wasn’t going to like what he was going to say next.

“Just spit it out, Grayson.’’

Said man sighed, and with one hand reached for the digital keyboard to summon a new image on the screen. An average-looking woman, short dark hair, brown eyes. Heavyset, between forty and forty-five years old. 

Caithlin Clarkson. Head of a boy’s group home where Finnegan and Wyatt had stayed as minors and have also befriended one another. As Dick revealed, Finnegan had been involved with Clarkson’s daughter, Josie, for years since they were teenagers, until the girl almost died of an overdose. She went to rehab, got better. Finnegan didn’t, so the two lost touch but a few weeks before Walker’s death, it seems he has tried finding her, resulting in her mother requesting a restraining order. It was approved. 

It wasn’t much of a lead, but it was better than nothing, according to Grayson. No new blackouts have been reported in what was rapidly becoming the longest pause, and Damian suspected it was because what came next will no longer be just a test, but something bigger. 

“What are we waiting for? I will go get changed and we can check her apartment— ‘’

“There’s....no need actually,’’ Dick said, pausing briefly before speaking again. “Tim already checked.’’

“Drake checked.’’ Damian’s voice was deceptively calm, even as his veins filled with vitriol and the anger bubbled up so quickly in his chest that he felt his body temperature rise to a feverish state. “Why is Drake investigating my case.’’

To his credit, Dick didn’t flinch at the murderous look on the boy’s face and instead raised his hands, in a placating manner.

“Still your case, Damian but we all work together so if there’s a chance we can find a lead sooner— ‘’ Because you’re not doing a good enough job. Because you’re not better, is what Damian heard instead. “—then we should take it. Look, Tim tracked down Clarkson and found out that Finnegan had searched for Josie because he was scared. It is unclear of what, but it appears Wyatt dragged him into some business that he wanted out of but was afraid he’ll get killed if he does.’’

Damian’s hands were balled so tight that he could feel his fingernails leave crescent-shaped moons in his skin. “And?’’ He said through gritted teeth.

Drake found Clarkson. He found a potential lead that Damian didn’t.

Dick kept a neutral look. “Well, Josie mentioned that Finnegan seemed reluctant to be dealing with Wyatt and their new employer, who had recruited them at the beginning of the year. It’s unclear how Wyatt came across this employer, but Finnegan had told her that the people they were dealing with were incredibly dangerous and…not entirely human. Josie thought it may have been the drugs talking, but it does confirm your theory that there’s something larger at play here than just blackouts and a robbery turned murder.’’

Hearing his theory confirmed did little to assuage the ire he felt. “I already knew I was right. Anything else?’’

“No.’’ The former Robin stood up and walked over to Damian, with that insufferable patient look of his. “You are on to something, okay, D? If this Sponsor is attracting talent in Gotham, then we all have to be prepared for it. However, we may have an advantage in that he doesn't know we know. ’’

Damian sneered, not in the mood for Grayson or his attempts at appeasing him. It did not change that he had allowed Drake to get involved in something he had been looking into for weeks. To him, it was an unspoken message that he was not trusted to handle the case on his own. What stung the most, even if he buried that emotion as deeply as possible, was that Father had likely not even questioned it.

Yet he questioned Damian all the time. 

“-Tt-. Tell Drake to stay out of his or I will give him a reason to do so.’’ He turned around, to walk in the direction of the training room, ignoring Alfred as he appeared with a silver tray full of cucumber sandwiches. 

“I see Miss Fay has returned you the clothes you’ve lent her.’’

Damian didn’t deign him with a response as he stormed away, leaving the two men to watch his retreating back in silence.

“What was that about his clothes?’’ Dick’s brows went up, as he grabbed one of the sandwiches.

“ I don’t have the full details, but cold showers and Dickens seem to have had something to do with it.’’

“…. wut?’’

“Master Richard, it’s unbecoming to speak with your mouth full.’’  

.

.

.

22nd of September

Damian was in a foul mood when she arrived at the museum, and it seemed she wasn’t the only one who noticed. Staff members gave him a wide berth when he came walking down the hall. Without any warning, he pulled her into the office barely giving her the chance to exit the elevator properly. Fay went stiff as a board at the contact, but before she could protest, he let her go as the doors closed behind them. 

“You’re late.’’

She was. By two minutes. Between the consistent rain and the colder temperatures, the soup kitchen had started getting busier, so she’d been on her feet the entire day helping Mack in the kitchen. Since they opened, the canteen had been consistently packed with people searching for respite from the autumn weather. Beds were set up on the second floor, with the office employees making space to accommodate the throng of people that came through. Some lived in their cars, others were in-between homes and several women were there because the victims’ support charity, two streets down from the soup kitchen, had reached its capacity. 

Fay had considered asking Damian if she could stay behind and help but Dana insisted that she should take some time for herself given how unwell she’d been not only two days earlier. Now that Fay saw the mood Damian was in, it was a good idea she didn’t, although she wasn't comfortable being around him when he behaved like that. He was too unpredictable. 

Damian was not angry with her, she hadn’t done anything wrong so she couldn't be the source of his anger but…something was off.

She couldn’t help herself.

“I--I am sorry.’’

“What are you apologizing for?’’ He snapped, not looking from his laptop as he typed away at it so furiously, she feared the keys might fly off.

Fay wasn’t sure if the words that came out of her mouth were because she felt indebted to him for making her feel better when she was recovering from her Bad Day, or because she would rather not be on the receiving end of his fury. Maybe both. She approached him with as much caution and discretion as she did the more temperamental beasts that lived in the jungle, tempted to bow her head to display a submissive, non-threatening position. 

Knowing him, he might just bit her head off instead. Damian had the temperament of a dragon. Fay mentally shook away the image in her head as she'd started thinking about which species, in particular, he would fit. 

“That…um, you’re upset. I am--I am sorry that you’re upset.’’ That got his attention, and his eyes left the screen to fix her with the same intensity of a predator trying to determine whether she was a threat or not. He looked like he would have preferred to see her as a threat if only to lash out. “Is---is there anything I can do?’’ She asked meekly, both wanting to help and looking for an excuse to escape that office. It suddenly felt very small. 

“Is that so?’’ He drawled, mockingly. She hated when he used that tone. He sounded like the others. “I need something picked up.’’

Hm. Weird.

“…okay.’

“It’s twenty miles out. In Burnside's industrial area.’’ With the weather outside and the limited public transportation in the industrial area, it'd take her hours. She'll likely have to traverse the bridge on foot. 

She stared at him, carefully. 

 “Okay.’’ She repeated. Fay had a feeling he was punishing her even if she wasn’t the source of his frustrations but curse her weak heart. She would walk the twenty miles if needed and it wasn’t just because she did not want to be on his bad side. She genuinely felt bothered that he was upset which was...unnatural. Fay shouldn't have to worry about pleasing him, they were barely more than acquaintances.

She shouldn't care how he felt. 

But. 

He came to see her in the attic, and instead of leaving despite being annoyed with her crying, he forced her onto the roof. He remembered she told him cold showers helped and he even waited with her, regardless if he got wet as well. Then he bought her food and talked to her for hours. 

Stop. Don’t go there. He’s just doing it to gain my trust.

But what if...

What if...

“Alright. I will text you the address.’’ She nodded, before turning around to head towards the door, Bagheera following closely. 

She didn’t even hear him move – he was fast! – as he came around the desk and grabbed her by the backpack, stopping her dead in her tracks. Bagheera growled at him. 

“You’re an idiot. There’s a storm outside and you’re dressed inappropriately for the weather.’’

Fay turned around to look at him, puzzled. “But you said---‘’

The anger had melted away from his face, and his green eyes no longer looked as hard as they did before. There was something guarded about his expression. “You didn’t ask if you could take the private car.’’ He’d always make her take it whenever they’d finish later at the museum. Even gave her a card to use, saying all she needed was to call and make the request, regardless of where she was. 

“I, um…well, no.’’ She didn’t like being in the car, truth be told. The compressed space made her feel anxious. “I prefer…walking.’’ Her body didn't. She'd been coughing more often lately, especially during the night. 

“You were going to walk twenty miles.’’ He repeated with an unreadable tone.

“…I guess?’’ Maybe not all the way through.

“Being a people pleaser will not get you far in life.’’

That struck her deeply. She'd heard it before, from different mouths. 

“I know....when people are using me.’’ She said suddenly, an invisible dagger pushing deeper into her already wounded heart.

Damian's eyes briefly widened before his usual frown settled back in place. 

“I, um, always do.’’ Fay continued. Not always. She'd been naive plenty of times before. “I---I don’t want to treat people the way they treat me.’’

“Spare me your self righteous— ‘’

Fay beat to him, riding the small rush of adrenaline she felt at standing her ground even as she allowed herself to be vulnerable about her own pain. “I-I don’t want others to feel…that way.’’ Because it hurts so much. “And I—I don’t think walking twenty miles…would help you. But…. if it’s the only thing I can do.’’ She added quietly. 

What if...

It's exactly that wishful thinking on her part that got her hurt in the past. But Damian had been kind to her, in that subtle and roundabout way of his, so for the time being she would only see his kindness for what it was. Her heart already decided that even if her mind wasn’t entirely convinced.

Damian gritted his teeth. "I don't need your concern.'' He spat. 

Dealing with a wild beast from the jungle would have been easier, on second thought. 

"But-but--that doesn't mean...I won't, um..be. C-concerned.'' 

What am I even saying? 

Damian looked away from her, towards the windows being battered by the raindrops and she waited silently because she couldn’t tell what was going in his mind. She wished she had Bag’s empath abilities at that moment so she could tell what other emotions he felt. Maybe she’ll ask her paladin later about it.

“Why are you not using the money I am giving you to get better clothes?’’ He’d asked suddenly, eyes back on her, this time scrutinizing her top to bottom from the ratty cap Robby gave her to the old hoodie and scuffed baggy trousers. She wore the new shoes she’d gotten from him which did a great job at keeping the water away from her feet, but she’d otherwise not invested in a new wardrobe. His clothes were at her attic still, washed and folded just like she did with the first set. She wondered if he did it on purpose, so he’d have a reason to invade her territory again. Not that he needed one last time.

“I, um—‘’ She looked down at herself. “I…. forgot.’’ She did. She knew she could afford to invest in new clothes rather than buy them second-hand or accept them as a charity, but it simply had not been on her list of priorities. With the low moods she’d experienced in the past few days, it had been a struggle to maintain her general cleanliness, let alone muster any sense of vanity.

Damian sighed, and pulled out his phone, tapping away at it with one hand while heading to the clothes stand behind the desk to grab the dark red hooded jacket there. 

“Come on.’’

“Wh-where?’’

“You need to get rid of those clothes.’’

…what.

I-I-I a-a-am sorry?’’ Moma would have gutted him saying he was behaving in a very improper way. They weren't friends or family, so half of the things that left his mouth were incredibly inappropriate by her world's standards. 

Fay never cared much for etiquette but Damian still managed to rattle her. 

He tsked at her as he swiftly put on his jacket. “You’re Fay Kipling, the alleged daughter of a business magnate and my…acquaintance.'' Not friend. Even if he allowed everyone else to believe that. "People are going to start question the validity of that identity if you keep walking around looking like a vagabond.’’

“…I-I don’t look that bad.’’

“You’re right. It’s worse.’’

Fay sighed. 

Damian Wayne was a kind person.

But he was also a domineering maniac.

Lately, instead of running or shy away from him whenever he made comments like that, she just got the sudden urge to kick him.

Another thing that's changed. 

.

“Is that who I think it is?’’

“He is one of Bruce Wayne’s wards. How many does he have now? Like a hundred?’’

“That’s the youngest. He is the actual son, isn’t he though?’’

“Ah, that’s right. Can’t say I am surprised. His father is one of the most sought-after bachelors in Gotham, isn’t he?’’

Fay only half-listened to the two shop assistants as they continued their gossip, unaware or perhaps uncaring that she could hear them from the changing room. With a sigh, she inspected some of the clothes that she’d selected after Damian dragged her into the shop despite her protests. There was a time when she wouldn’t have batted an eye at the price of the materials, but at that moment, she eyed the tags apprehensively.

They were nice clothes though, made from soft materials designed to keep the wearer comfortable.

Damn. He won’t let her leave until she bought something, so she’ll go with the least expensive item to get him off her back whilst not also burning through her own wallet. It was important to save as much as she could for their travels to Europe. She had already failed to restrain herself at not buying several - or a few dozen -  books from Mr. Fitzwilliam’s shop, even though she knew most of them would have to be left behind.

The beanie-scarf-gloves set made from merino wool would do, then, priced at no less than two-hundred dollars yet it was by the cheapest of the items she’d grabbed. Fay liked them considerably– they were soft to the touch, and dark red color had delicate white snowflakes patterns. The other clothes would have been nice too, but they were going to cost almost a thousand dollars and she’d be reckless to spend that much money on clothes, regardless of how pushy Damian was being about it.

“Keep an eye on the girl that’s in-cabin four.’’

“Why?’’

“Did you see how she’s dressed? I doubt she can afford any of those clothes so we might want to watch for sticky fingers.’’

“She came in with him, though, didn’t she? So, they know each other. Maybe his friend…or a relative?’’ 

“I doubt a boy like that would be friends with someone like that. And if she was a relative, would she really dress like that?’’

“I guess. She seems sweet though. I am sure you're just overthinking it.’’

“I can smell a charity case. Probably a publicity stunt. His father seems to have a thing for orphans so like father like son, right?’’

“That’s cynical, Louise.’’

“Oh, come on, Elaine, don’t be naïve. I bet it looks good for them when they pick up a new orphan now and then. Shows they have a heart, too.’’

Louise was not wrong, as much of a harpy as she was. With fame and wealth came the pressure to maintain a certain image so one could avoid negatively impact one’s own place in the upper echelons of society. It wasn’t by the far the worst words she’d heard someone whisper behind her back, but her heart stung, all the same, feeling conflicted about Damian once again. He did say so himself that how Fay Kipling looked mattered, especially since she associated with him. It wasn’t unreasonable nor unfair, as indelicate as he may have been about it. It was ironic and borderline hysterical how she was something as lesser still regardless of her identity. In her world, she struggled to keep up with the expectations that came with her predetermined status and in that world, she came across as a charity case.

With a sigh, she hoisted her backpack up by one strap and gathered the clothes she hadn’t even bothered to try on, before pushing away the curtain of the changing room to step out. She’d left Bagheera with Damian in the sitting area nestled in a corner of the shop. The two gossiping women were standing behind a table place at the entrance of the changing rooms. Fay was willing to bet that the blonde who looked her up and down was Louise, because the other girl smiled at her. The names on the badges pinned to their uniforms confirmed her suspicions. 

“All done, sweetie?’’ Elaine said, and Fay smiled politely back, handing her the two sweatshirts, cardigan, and pair of soft trousers she’d decided not to purchase, keeping the box with the accessories in one hand. “You’ll have just that?’’ Fay nodded. Louise stepped closer to her; a plastic smile on. “If it’s okay with you, may I check your backpack?’’

Fay was tempted to say no, finding the woman unpleasant but equally, she did not want to create a scene. Sighing again, she reached to lower the strap of the backpack.

“Touch that and this will be your last day of employment.’’

All three stared at the boy standing a few feet away with matching looks of surprise. Neither boy nor beast looked particularly happy, judging by the withering looks they were throwing the two women. Fay wasn’t surprised by Bagheera having heard the women discuss; he would have felt their emotions as well, particularly Louise's. But judging by the icy expression on Damian's face, he had also heard it.

Fay glanced past his shoulder at the seating area which had to have been at least thirty feet away. She knew he had a very sensitive hearing, borderline inhuman. Sometimes she forgot that he wasn’t just Damian Wayne but also Robin.

A gross oversight on her end. It meant she was growing too comfortable around him.

“I—I am sorry?’’ Louise said.

His eyes were hard, like chips of emerald as they flitted over Elaine, frozen in her spot and still holding the clothes that Fay had handed back. “She’ll take all of those so pack them up.’’ Fay’s mouth opened in protest, but he rounded up on Louise again, with a look that she was certain he gave to criminals as well. “Gossip is for the weak of mind. Reckless of you engage in such behavior with clients that could very well determine your future here.’’ He said coldly. “Apologise to her. Now.’’

He is...

He is defending me? 

“I—what—I haven’t done anything wrong. It’s policy to conduct random searches.’’ The woman defended rather weakly. 

“So now you’re insulting my intelligence.’’ If Louise got any paler, she’d look like a ghost. “Spare yourself the humiliation and apologize to her or this will be the last day you will ever work in this city.’’

That--that was--he wasn't serious, was he? 

The shop assistant looked very uneasy, but she ultimately turned towards Fay, looking castigated. “I am very sorry. It was not my intention to offend you.’’ Yes, it was. But Fay nodded, silently accepting her apology, too struck by the boy's behavior. Something bloomed in her chest and she was suddenly tempted to cry. 

'Hold her down.'

'How about we teach you a lesson?'

'You don't deserve to be alive, you worthless little bitch.'

'I--I am not friends with her.'

'Can you believe how pathetic she is?'

Elaine packed the clothes, placed them in two different brand bags, and then handed them to Fay who hoped the boy didn't notice how shaky her hands were. She wasn't sure if she could explain why she had started trembling. She was so stunned she didn't even protest when Damian used his own card to pay for the clothes. 

Before they left Bagheera huffed at Louise loudly, making her jump visibly and let out a rather undignified sound. “Bag, s-stop.’’ Fay chastised, gently nudging him away from the woman. He could have easily knocked her over with little effort. 

Once they were out of the store, Fay had to take a deep breath because turning to look at the boy. “You…you didn’t have to do that.’’

Why? 

Why would...you do that? 

I don't deserve it. 

“You should have defended yourself.’’ The boy replied curtly. “You were going to allow her to check your bag although she had no valid grounds for doing so.’’

Fay nodded. “I…I know. But—I try to choose my battles.’’ Her father's words. And she generally loses to yield or run away from them. Not what her father would have done. 

Damian glanced askance at her, some of his irritation fading away into a look of curiosity. “Interesting choice of words.’’ Her face felt hot, and Fay fidgeted with the handle of the paper bag. 

Is…is it that strange to say it? “It’s just something…my father used to say.’’ They turned left down the mall walkway, heading nowhere in particular. Fay had always been curious about what a ‘mall’ looked like, after hearing from Robby that he liked spending time there but it had seemed like a very busy setting. She had crossed it off her list of destinations not wishing to spend time in a place that might trigger her panic attacks, even more so if she could not bring Bagheera with her.

However, it was particularly quiet that day. 

It was an interesting building, five stories high with immense parking that was largely empty when the private driver left them at the entrance. The shopping mall had a hundred or so stores full of messages and images designed at attracting the shopper’s attention, and in a way, it wasn’t that much different from the bazaars in Maysoon. Fay preferred those, but she still took her time to admire their surroundings. The ceiling was domed high like a cathedral, made of glass and steel and the aisles were like rivers ramifying in a maze starting from the open hall in the middle of the building where there were elevators and escalators. A wide variety of scents assailed her nostrils from chemical perfume smells to pastries, from flavored tobacco to the fresh pine scent of the shining floors.

Bagheera overwhelmed, had sneezed several times, scaring a few other shoppers. 

“Is that why you had the Art of War by Sun Tzu in your collection?’’ He asked casually.

Damian Wayne did not do casual, so he was trying to find out something from her, she just wasn’t sure what.

But, yes she did. Fay had grabbed the copy from Mr. Fitzwilliam’s store because it was a book she was familiar with - her father having owned several different editions - and because she also thought it might help her recalibrate her own strategies in regards to Damian. Not that she had ever been much of a tactician, certainly not the way her father used to be at her age, but could lie to herself at least. 

She shrugged, not sure how to respond without revealing too much. “My father…enjoyed reading too. He…he liked that book too.’’ There was nothing out of ordinary about that. It wasn’t as if people didn’t read in that world. It just happened that her parents owned a private collection of books that in the past would have warranted a death penalty. “I…I don’t understand all of it.’’ She understood most of it, had even had to put in practice several of those strategies in the past during training exercises. They did not come naturally to her if she wasn't in a controlled environment, though. “It…it just reminded me of him.’’ It did. “He-he used to say that it’s not just for…actual war, but…everyday living, I guess.’’ Stop. Stop there, too far.

But she didn't want to stop. No. He’s Robin. He will figure it out if I am not careful. I can’t let my guard down.

The walkway spilled in a large food court to their left, so she followed Damian to it, where they took occupied a table for two. Does that mean we’re not done shopping? She’d only spotted a dozen or so of people, teenagers mostly and a couple of families with overexcitable children. The mall food stores served mainly ‘fast-food’ but the one they sat before advertised healthier choices, an international buffet of some sort.  

“This isn’t…one of the healthy places on your list.’’ She muttered, looking at the menu on the screens as she arranged the backpack and bags by her feet, making a mental note to thank him for paying for the clothes. And defending her. She was still processing that one, though.

“It’s too early for the other restaurants.’’ He didn’t look particularly enthusiastic, as he remained standing and she realized he was waiting for her. “You’ve eaten breakfast.’’ She’d gotten used to his way of making statements instead of asking questions.

“…y-yes. Oatmeal with nuts and honey.’’ Not her favorite dish, but it was substantial and offered a slow-release of carbs which meant her energy levels lasted longer. She still wasn't gaining weight, though. “Um,’’ She raised to her feet, feeling light without her backpack or shopping bag and she exchanged a look with her paladin. “Stay here?’’

Bagheera just sat down by her chair, his large form requiring to take the space of the table next to theirs as well. Nobody would dare steal her items with him there.

A funny feeling settled in her stomach as they both grabbed a tray and placed themselves in the short queue that had formed. She and Damian weren’t friends, but they seemed to be doing things that friends would. They went shopping and now they were going to eat together, and it felt rather…nice, which was exactly the problem. Fay thought that if she kept reminding herself that there was no actual bond between them, that he was Robin and she was just a momentary distraction, potentially a target too, it’d be easier to detach herself from that sense of…earning.

Bagheera was enough, so why look for anyone else? No one could know who she was. She'd always hide that part of herself, regardless of her new identity. It was too risky. 

It would hurt her again. 

Not liking how her thoughts were heading towards Titoh and the others, she turned her gaze towards the various bain maries and bowls and plates. The set-up reminded her of the soup kitchen except the choices were more varied. With her appetite increasing as the various scents wafted over her, she decided to go for rice with seafood, a dish borrowed from Spain – paella-, a bottle of lime and ginger juice, and a brownie.

Damian didn’t even give her a choice in paying because he went ahead of her – spinach and ricotta pasta, for him – and by the time she reached him, he had already taken care of the bill.

This time she sighed. “You--you didn’t have to— ‘’

“You do realize if you’re paying, it’s still with my money.’’ He remarked. Your father’s money was right on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed the words. He had a way of bringing up her defiant streak too, not just her violent one.

“I…well.’’ Damn it. He had a point. “I had--I had money from the soup kitchen too.’’ She mumbled unconvincingly, following him back to the table. Bagheera had eaten well that morning, but he still perked up at the sight of her tray and she smiled slightly as she took her seat. “I will get you a beef burrito today on the way back.’’ He licked his muzzle, pleased with the idea.

Damian watched the interaction curiously but didn’t comment. Instead, he glanced at her hands pointedly. “You don’t need to work there anymore.’’ At least three of her fingers had band-aids on them because she’d taken off her gloves while scrubbing some of the pots, finding it easier to do so with her hands bare. The scouring pad damaged her cuticles, drawing blood and the cleaning products had given her temporary hives which hadn’t fully disappeared.

“I want to.’’ She responded simply. “…Dana helps others, so I--I like helping her.’’ Fay chose a spoon for her dish to reduce the potentially embarrassing moments in trying to get the rice up to her mouth. The food did taste good, and it was fresh, too. Maysoon had many traditional dishes based around seafood so she felt particularly pleased with her choice. Of course, the dish in front of her did not compare to the ones in Maysoon, but it was acceptable.

“She’s counting on a child to clean her kitchen, and she’s not even paying you a full salary.’’

Fay looked up at him sharply, feeling defensive of the woman while also trying to see it from his point of view. To anyone who didn’t know Dana, she probably did come across as if she was taking advantage.

“She…she helped me. Told--told me about the attic.’’ Fay said between bites. “And---and I don’t mind the work. It’s the least I can do. Plus…’’ With her free hand, she played with the etiquette on the bottle of juice because she could never keep still when she was around him. Particularly him. “She al-always has to-to pay for so many expenses, and she…she still gives me money although she can’t afford it.’’ In the past couple of weeks, Fay had accepted the money Dana gave her, but she’d always find a way to put it back in her wallet. She was tempted to make an anonymous donation already but first, she had to think through carefully her own expenses for the journey to Europe. As grateful as she was, she had to think about their welfare—Bagheera’s specifically.

Damian looked at his food as if it had offended him, and after only one bite, he decided against finishing his meal. Fay half-expected him to storm to the manager of the restaurant to threaten his career. 

Such a prince. She thought amusedly, then immediately berated herself for the lightly endearing light she saw him under. 

What is wrong with me?

“Isn’t the—‘’ He scowled. “—Soul Bowl in receipt of a grant?’’

She had to admit it was a corny name. “Um, yeah. But--but there’s always money missing.’’ She pursued her lips. “Dana said that it’s not just...taxes? I don't--I don't understand much of it. The council wasn’t…. very helpful.’’ They were borderline malicious actually. 

“Hn.’’ He reached for his bottle of still water, unscrewing the tap and taking a few sips.

Fay ate a few spoonfuls until she felt satiated, so she sipped at some of the juice using a straw. She didn't notice the way his eyes narrowed at how little she'd eaten. 

“Thank you.’’ She mustered the courage to say, breaking silence that befell them. “For—for defending me. And um, for paying.’’ 

He regarded her silently, before shamelessly stealing her brownie which made her gap at him. “Your dietary choices are unsurprisingly reckless.'' 

“But-but--you c-can eat it?’’ She asked, feeling miffed.

“I am at peak physical condition. Shall we go over yours?’’ He asked smarmily.

There it was. That urge to kick him again.

And the lightness in her heart. She felt it whenever Baghera engaged her in games as well. 

Playfulness. 

Oh, Sweet Maysoon. 

“No.’’ She mumbled, taking another sip of her juice instead. She was going to stop and buy some sweets on the way to the soup kitchen, extra sugary, too. Just because. 

Fay swore he was eating the brownie purposefully slow just to aggravate her.

“Do you believe it? What your father said about applying military principles to everyday situations.’’ He asked when he was halfway through it.

Fay played with the straw for a few moments, contemplating her answer. If she said no, he’d know if she was lying. “Yes. Maybe...maybe not all of them, but some, I guess so.’’

“Which ones?’’

He wasn’t just asking because he was curious; she had a feeling he was asking as a strategist himself. He had to have experience seeing his nocturnal activities. Fay was suddenly curious about what he looked in his Robin suit. She'd barely paid attention that night. “…All warfare is based on deception.’’ She did not remember all the military principles listed in the book but there were some she knew better than others, as they were also reflected in the teachings she received from her tutors.

“Oh?’’ He peeled the paper wrapping from what was left of his brownie. “I am listening.’’

Careful, she reminded herself. “People care about…appearances. And, um, reputation. How---‘’ She looked away from him to the group of adolescents that took a table not too far from them, to their left. There were three boys and two girls laughing loudly at something one of them said. “----how others perceive them. So…people lie. They…. change who they are so they are---liked. Popular.’’ It was so much more than that, but it was the safest piece of information she could go for, even if it still touched close to her heart.

He didn’t say anything, just stared at her intently so she continued. “It’s not just--just to be liked but…I think many people pretend they are something they’re not. Be-because---it’s easier that way.’’

“Do you?’’

“I, um…well I am not really Fay Kipling.’’

“You know very well that’s not what I was asking.’’ Crap.

He was asking her if she was hiding something. There was nothing coincidental or innocuous about that. “Everyone has…parts of themselves that—that they want to hide.’’ She said, finally.

“Hm. What do you think I am hiding?’’

Does he know I know?!

“I—I don’t know,’’ Fay muttered, meeting his eyes. “It’s none…of my business.’’ He just made it her business when he refused to go away.

“Hmm, you observe though, don’t you?’’ He challenged. “The way you look at people and when you step into a room. You’re not just looking but observing. When we first met at the restaurant, you were looking for exits and you did the same when we arrived at the mall.’’ Was her face as hot as it felt? She felt her trepidation increase, and she hid her hands under the table, fumbling with the sleeves of her jumper. Her hands felt sweaty, but they were cold. “I---what’s wrong with that?’’ Evade, evade, evade.

“Nothing.’’ He finished the last bite of the brownie. “But people rarely observe the way you do.’’ He observed too, far more closely than she did. When Damian looked at her she always felt exposed, and others probably did, too. 

The conversation was starting to feel like a soft interrogation. “…I like observing people.’’ She wiped a hand against one of her kneecaps. “It just helps me…understand better, I guess. P-people, I mean.’’ It was a partial truth, but deception was most effective when rooted in honesty, was it not?

“You’ve observed me as well.’’ Her mouth felt dry although she’d only taken a few sips a few seconds earlier. “You asked about my fingers and deduced why I had taped them.’’

“I…guess.’’ Where was he going with this, anyway? “I mean…I guessed. I—it just reminded me of my father’s.’’

“What else?’’ He asked. “What else have you observed?’’ About me. He didn’t say it, but she heard it anyway.

It was a test.

It had to be.

Fay took a deep breath to steady herself, knowing he wouldn’t let it go if she didn’t answer and it will only come across as dubious if she refused. If he knew she knew about his identity, she might end up confirming it.

“You’ve done it before, telling me what you really think. When I first made you the offer, then again at the museum.’’ He remarked. “Go ahead, even if you think it will offend me. I will not hold you to it.’’

Fay hesitated. Did he really want her honest opinion of him? 

 “I think…yo-you are arrogant.’’ She said tentatively, and to his credit, he looked unfazed.

Well, be it his way then. Bagheera would interfere if things got out of hand, and he’d alert her if Damian decided he was going to hold her accountable for the honesty he’d asked for. “And…entitled. You don’t care if-if your w-words hurt o-other people, generally, and um, you always a-assume that people will just do things your way like…like you did when we first met. It was---offensive and…’’ She ran her tongue over her upper teeth, pausing. There was nothing she could say that he wouldn't have already seen reflected on her face. She wore heart on her sleeve. “And...scary.’’

“Are you still scared?’’

“Y-yes.’’ 

His expression didn't change. There was a part of her who expected him to be smug about it. 

Others have enjoyed terrorizing her. 

“Go on.’’ He said calmly. Too calm. His posture was not tenser than usual, but she felt Bagheera nudge her ankle with his nuzzle. He sensed something else than calmness from the boy, then. Did it anger him to hear that description of himself? Surely it wasn’t anything new.

Or maybe…it bothered him? There were so many negative things she could keep on saying. He was invasive and had no respect for her privacy. He reminded her of terrible moments in her life, but also he reminded her of what she lost. That was, of course, not intentional as he couldn't have possibly known that he reminded her of her parents, and his eyes made her think of the jungle. 

But Damian is not just that.

Or maybe she is being foolish. 

Yet she couldn't help herself. 

“I thought you were…kind of terrible. I still do…sometimes.’’ It wasn’t wise being this blunt, but it felt…good to voice those thoughts. It’s as if some of the power she felt he had over her was waning.  “But--you’re not just that. All those things I said. I-O think you…I think you are kind.’’

The food court was far from being quiet, but they might as well have been just the two of them with the silence that suddenly followed.

He stared at her with a neutral look, but his eyes…. looked darker. Fay couldn't tell what the emotion was.  

“You’re not making any sense.’’ He said, his tone unreadable again. “You’re contradicting yourself. If you are trying to rectify your previous statement, that is a poor attempt. I already told you that I won’t retaliate if you’re honest.’’

Fay had a feeling he didn’t hear those words very often. There was doubt still in her heart, but her words were genuine.

“I meant…what--what I said.’’ Her brows furrowed. “A person is not just one…thing.’’

“But I frighten you.’’

“Yes.’’ For so, so many reasons. “…that--that doesn’t mean y-you can’t be a go-good person.’’

Because you’re also Robin. Because you…you were good to me.

Or maybe her bar was very low. Hadn't she been desperate once upon a time to have others accept her? Maybe she still was.

Damian looked as if he had been slapped yet that look disappeared so quickly that Fay questioned seeing it in the first place. Green eyes hardened, not unlike they did at the store and his jaw was locked tightly.

“You don't know anything.'' He said suddenly. "You do not have enough data to draw such a conclusion.''

Why would he say that? He helps people, doesn’t he?

...data?

“I think you are.’’ She countered in a low tone. Why was she even insisting? Who cares if he believed her or not? “You…you are a kind and generous person, just like Dana…and Mrs. Wilmot. Just---in a different way.’’ Was she wrong? Perhaps she was being too forgiving, maybe she wanted to see him as a good person because that meant he wasn’t the threat she thought he was. Or perhaps it was because she liked the idea that he had chosen to be kind to her out of all people.

She was being ridiculous.  

“You don’t know anything about me so it’s presumptuous of you to be making such absolute statements.’’

Look who’s talking.

“You--You don’t know anything ab-about me either, but you thought I was…heroic.’’ She responded, feeling brave because she could sense he was the one taken back for once, instead of her. “I am---I am only judging based on what I know. So-so, for now…that’s my opinion.’’ She worried – paranoid, hurt Fay expected it– that he’ll disappoint her in the future but she did not wish to judge him unfairly.

Damian didn't seem like he'd ever considered seeing himself as kind. He boasted about his intelligence and abilities with every single opportunity, so his self-esteem was certainly not suffering. 

Maybe he thinks kindness is a weakness.

Did that mean his parents raised him to perceive kindness in such a manner? How can he be Robin if he does not believe in it? 

“It seems to me you insist on seeing everyone for what you want them to be, not what they are.’’ He said in a clipped tone. “For someone who acknowledges the world as a dark place, you seem to forget that easily. You say you understand that the world employs deception just like in warfare, yet you are far too eager to let yourself be caught in it. It is naïve, and it will get you killed, especially in a place like Gotham.’’ His foul mood had returned. His moods could be so mercurial. 

Fay’s hands balled into fists as she felt a sudden rush of anger. His words had hit a nerve, but she had no idea which one exactly. 

“I never--I never forget.’’ Her voice was tight. “I know… there are monsters. I--I know the world is--is dangerous. That doesn’t mean everyone is.’’

Monsters. That was the term she said. Interesting choice. 

“And you’ve decided I am not one either. Are you sure want to gamble like that?’’

“…yes.’’ She did not have much choice but to gamble, really.

Isn’t what she’s been doing since she’s accepted his offer?

“Fine.’’ Damian tutted. “Be it your way.’’ He raised to his feet swiftly. “I believe we have a few more stores to visit, so let's move. We’ve wasted enough time as it is.’’

As if she’s the one who dragged him there.

Fay nodded, gathered her stuff, and followed him out of the food court. Bagheera brushed his head against her shoulder in a comforting manner. Fay couldn't tell what he was feeling. 

Damian didn’t act any differently for the rest of their shopping ventures, but something changed.

She couldn’t place her finger on it but…something did.

Again. 

Chapter 12: The beginning of something (III)

Notes:

Chapter revised as of 21st of August 2021.

Chapter Text

“You are afraid to let anyone in, but you still leave the door open, hoping someone
good will shut the door behind him and throw away the keys.’’


- Jenim Dibie

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.

.

 

 24th of September

“Son of a bitch!’’

Fay jumped, nearly cutting her finger off with the knife she was using to chop tomatoes on the main table in the kitchen. Bagheera curled up at the entrance also perked up while Mack, startled, dropped the wooden spoon on the floor.

The cook leaned towards the pass-through to glance into the canteen. “What is wrong with you, woman?!’’ Thankfully, the soup kitchen hadn’t opened yet so there was no one else to hear his yells or Dana’s colorful language.

Mack bent down to pick up the spoon, grumbling under his breath as he did. “Always telling me not to swear around the children, yet she goes ahead and drops bombs like that.’’

The door opened with a violent swing and Dana stepped through, pale-faced and eyes bulging. Fay put down the knife, concerned, and wiped her hands on her apron. Dana slid the stool out from underneath the table to sit on it. She was clutching a sheet of paper, the creases indicating it had arrived as a letter. Her hands were shaking. 

“Jesus, woman, just get to it,’’ Mack said gruffly. “What is it? Did someone die?’’

Fay nodded. The woman didn't even pay them attention, eyes still glued on the letter. 

“I must be losing my mind, but can one of you read this for me? There’s no way it says what I think it does.’’ Dana said, baffled before handing the letter to Mack.

“For the attention of Dana Mercher, my name is Colton Harris and I am contacting you on behalf of the Gotham City Council. It has recently been brought to my attention that you have had experienced issues in receiving your monthly charitable grant for which I would like to extend my deepest apologies. Our Foundation was implemented with the vision of supporting Gotham communities, and your organization, the Soul Bowl soup kitchen, has single-handedly been supporting hundreds of our underprivileged residents. We would like to thank you for your continuous efforts and to confirm that we will compensate you for any discrepancies you have experienced since opening your meal center. Considering your commendable commitment, the City Council would also like to offer you a…’’ Mack trailed off, eyes widening and thick brows raising so high they almost touched his hairline.

“….an additional grant of fifteen thousand dollars, in according with Section 607 blah blah---‘’ Mack jumped a few lines, now looking just as baffled as Dana. “…. if you agree, we expect you to provide us with regular monthly reports, or as often as required by our organization. If you wish to accept, please respond within the next seven working days at the email address detailed below. I would welcome the opportunity to discuss this new arrangement with you face to face at your earliest available…’’ He stopped there.  

Silence.

Mack and Dana stared at each other bewildered.

Fay realized she was gaping so she quickly closed her mouth. 

No way. 

Damian was behind it, wasn't he? It had to have been him. 

“Wow.’’ Mack broke the silence finally. “Boy, they really know how to make up for a mistake, don’t they?’’

“There has to be a-a scam, right?’’ Dana asked incredulously. “How does the Council even have this kind of money? They never offer more than a couple of grand yearly and you know how difficult it was to even get our grant. I will call this Harris guy and make sure it’s not some sort of scam.’’ It isn't, Fay thought but remained silent. 

Damian was responsible for it. She had only briefly mentioned the challenges Dana was facing. Fay hadn't even considered he would care, much less go out of his way to address them. 

There's also additional money.

He really is...

“Maybe— ‘’ the two adults turned to look at her as she spoke for the first time since Dana walked in. “Ma-maybe they just saw---how much you help others?’’ Fay offered. “So, um, they decided to help you?’’ You deserve it. 

Mack seemed inclined to agree, as he placed the letter down on the table. “Kid’s got a point. Think about all the money you’ve lost yet we never closed, not even we had to fish hundreds to fix our plumbing.’’ Dana looked unconvinced, as she grabbed the paper to read through it again. 

“I don’t think I’ve been this lucky about anything.’’

It wasn’t luck.

Fay’s gamble was paying off.

.

Damian stared silently at the message that arrived on his phone.

Thank you for helping Dana.’

He didn’t respond.

Dick had to wonder why the boy smirked while he was looking at his phone. 

He just hoped he wasn't getting himself in any trouble. Just for twenty hours, that's all. 

He really, really needed a day off.  

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.

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25th of September

“Hello, there.’’

“Um, hi.’’ Fay greeted back shyly, finding it hard to look away from the man’s magnetic smile. He was very handsome. 

He extended a hand towards her, and she felt compelled to shake it, face turning redder when she realized just how small hers is compared to his. She quickly took it back but his smile stayed in place. 

“My name is Richard Grayson, but everyone calls me Dick. You must be Fay.’’ Cobalt blue eyes moved over to the wolf-like dog pressed against her. “Oh, and you must be Bagheera!’’ Dick’s smile was infectious. And really kind. 

She started fidgeting. 

“…um, how—how did y-you know that?’’ She asked. It was perhaps a silly question to ask but he was the only other soul she’d encountered at the penthouse that wasn’t Alfred or Damian.

Fay was sitting in the living room when he came in, enjoying the warmth coming from the fireplace and scrolling confusedly through the TV channels. Damian was...somewhere. He told her to come to the Wayne tower after she was done at the soup kitchen and a guard led her upstairs, but she hasn't actually seen him. Alfred wasn't there either. 

It wasn’t the first time they’d come to the penthouse instead of staying at the museum, and over the weeks she’d grown so accustomed to that place to the point she learned layout by memory. Fay was silently grateful for the car that Damia sent for them.  The weather had significantly deteriorated and it was playing a number on her lungs. Fay wasn't sure what to make of it -- she grew up in a tropical area, but she doesn't recall being that sensitive to the cold when she had traveled with her parents to other territories. 

Alfred had also broached the topic of her seeing a more qualified doctor. She was gaining very little weight week on week and it was worrisome. Fay convinced him to give her more time, pointing out she's also very active so that's why. 

“Little D has been telling me all about you.’’

Who?

“Little…D?’’ Amusement bubbled in her chest. Damian was.....little D? “I, um…he did?’’ Fay found it hard to imagine Damian talking about her, at least not in a favorable way.

Dick was still alive despite calling him ‘Little D’ so they had to be close. He also had access to the penthouse which she knew from Alfred was exclusive, limited to a small number of people only.

“Yup. I am his older brother, by the way.’’ He said, addressing her confusion in the process.

“Oh.’’ Damian was the only blood son of Bruce Wayne, so Dick had to be one of the adopted ones then. “Nice—nice to-to meet you, s-sir.’’ She bowed her head. 

Dick looked amused. "There's no need to call me--'' 

 “Grayson.’’ Fay didn’t need to be an empath like Bagheera to feel the murder intent rolling off the boy as he walked into the room, as silent as a panther and perhaps just as deadly. He was dressed in a dark turtleneck and gray trousers, a tablet under his right arm.

Ah, that's right. They were meant to be watching the documentary film that Gotham Museums planned on distributing to all schools across the city. Damian didn't explain why they couldn't have just watched it at the museum. Or give it to her to watch separately. 

“Hey, Damian—‘’ 

“-Tt-, why are you here?’’ The boy cut him off coldly. Fay was forced to move aside from her spot when Damian gestured for her to do so because he just had to sit in that corner of the sofa. 

The rest of the sofa was free. She thought sullenly. He just liked being rude. 

“Alfred’s told me things have been going really well at the museum, so I went there to have a look, but they told me you’d already left,’’ Dick explained. He stared with a mix of curiosity and amusement at both, and Fay scooted further away from Damian because she’d realized their elbows and knees were touching. The boy paid her no mind. 

Fay shifted her gaze between the boy and the older man, curiously. She had never paid much thought about what Damian's family must have been like other than suspecting Bruce to be Batman. Damian was Bruce's biological son, and rumors went that it was due to his father’s, erm, womanizer as Robby put it. That, in turn, made her empathize, as Damian was likely on the receiving end of considerable unwanted attention. He certainly did not strike her as the type to enjoy socializing with others. Fay could imagine him holding his own easily against sycophants and gossipers, however. 

She also thought about Titoh briefly and their relationship. Damian had several foster siblings to deal with. Was he close with any of them? Did they ever fight? Did they consider themselves a family even if they weren't related? 

Damian's brother was undeterred by his attitude. He must be immune, just like Alfred. 

“I must be interrupting--‘’

“You are. Leave.’’ Fay glanced at the boy, surprised. 

He did not get along with his siblings then? 

Dick looked at him with a patient look. “Okay, okay. I will leave you two alone, but first I needed to speak to you about something.’’

Damian tutted, visibly annoyed as he leaned forward to place his table on the coffee table. He got up and started walking ahead of Dick, who unlike him, smiled and even winked at her before he followed the boy.

Fay couldn’t hear what they were saying but her paladin could, with whom she exchanged a knowing look. He’d let her know if something was amiss.

She was almost certain that Richard Grayson was Nightwing. 

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26th of September

“How’s that? Do you want it shorter still?’’ Dana asked, gently tilting Fay's head back up from the bowed position so the girl can look in the mirror. 

Dana tried not to let the excitement get the best out of her, or lest she might end up scaring the girl away. Fay had agreed to come for dinner to her house more often, and that evening she even agreed to stay over after helping Dana all day, accompanying her all-around town again.

It was progress.

Fay still wasn’t particularly forthcoming about herself, but she engaged in conversation more than she did weeks earlier. Dana worried about her health though. Fay was eating more, something to do with the Wayne kid, but she was still so very thin. The veteran had also heard the girl's coughs a few times. She hoped the girl was not getting a cold, as Dana didn't think she had a very good immunity system. 

After dinner, Fay asked Dana if she'd be okay to cut her hair. It delighted her infinitely that Fay would trust her with such a task. Two months earlier, she couldn’t even stand having Dana closer than six feet.

The dog watched them attentively the entire time while Robby entertained himself with the ferret and dog in the living room. The cat wasn’t particularly interested in either of the humans, and only allowed Fay to touch her, but she had claimed a spot by the kitchen window and hadn’t moved since then. Dana had cut Robby’s hair many times over, as well as her own but she took her time with Fay, ensuring she didn’t touch the girl more than necessary and that she was as comfortable as possible.

Her hair was straight as a straw, dark brown with a light auburn shade that made Dana wonder if it became brighter in the sun. Her hair was perhaps thinner than it should have been and Dana wasn't surprised. Who knows how long Fay had been homeless before Gotham? She wanted to ask, but she did not wish to jeopardize the newfound trust Fay had. 

I wonder if I can convince her to let Dannis have a look at her. He was a pediatrician, and although he wouldn't have agreed with Dana not calling Child Services, he would be willing to help. 

Fay had started wearing some new clothes in the past weeks. Damian Wayne had to have something to do with it again.  

Dana did not like just how little she seemed. 

She's...what? Twelve, she said. I don't think she is even close to the weight she should be at. 

“No…that’s okay, thank you.’’ The hair fell just slightly above her shoulders. Fay preferred it that way. She didn't like other people touching her hair, especially not after that time, but she trusted Dana. 

The veteran smiled at the mirror. “It looks good. Maybe I should have made a career out of it.’’ Fay reached with her left hand to brush her fingers through her fringe. The other one was holding a towel around her neck.

“May I ask who do you take after? Your hair, I mean.’’ Dana asked tentatively. “Only if you want to tell me, of course.’’

Something flashed in the girl’s eyes making the woman regret she’d asked but much to her surprise, Fay did answer a few seconds later. “Um, my father. My-my hair is, um, more like his.’’ She said quietly.

“Okay. Alright.’’ Dana nodded. “Thank you for telling me. I take after my mother. She had light blond hair, and my father was also blonde so ta-da!’’ She flicked one of her locks. “Not for long though, given how many grey hairs I keep finding. I swear there’s five more every day.’’

The girl didn’t comment. Dana removed the towel from her shoulders, letting the cut hair fall on the floor which she then swept quickly. Then she brought in a couple of clean towels.

“You need to fiddle a little with the faucet, so be careful. Water is frigid for the first couple of minutes.’’ She warned, then glanced at the duffel bag and backpack that Fay had brought along. “You got everything you need?’’

Fay nodded. “Thank you.’’

“Give me a shout if you need me.’’

With that, she closed the door and left the girl to her devices.

It was progress indeed.

That night, Fay didn't sleep at all. Dana knows, but she doesn't say anything the next day. 

She wonders if it's out of fear. 

.

.

.

1st of October

Fay had largely stayed away from the final preparations for the Science Museum's inauguration. Her latest visits to the museum had been primarily about doing menial work, but she did not mind. Damian had been absent as well, so she hadn’t seen him in over three days. They have barely talked at all. 

It was strange. She thought she'd be relieved but instead, it felt...unnatural. As if something was missing from her life. 

The only text she'd received was that he wanted her to report daily to Alfred on how she felt. 

Fay did. But lied about her symptoms every time. 

Something was wrong with her body and it wasn't just due to how skinny she was, or the lack of sleep. Her marks would ache so hard at night that they’d have her rolling around in bed in frustration. During the day, she’d find it difficult to wear the newer clothes as they were tighter on her and they felt like an invisible scour. The sensation had to be in her mind given the soft, fine threads.

Fay had started experiencing random nosebleeds. Her headaches would escalate into such painful migraines that it’d take her far too many painkillers to reduce them to a manageable level. That many pills in return would cause her to be ill, starting a vicious circle. She’s experienced all those symptoms before, but it was generally whenever she’d overexert herself using the flux. That was clearly not the case. 

She was afraid of having anyone examine her closely but she was also starting to worry about her state. Was she going to get worse? And what if she did? Who will help her? No one in that world'd understand her physiology, not unless she found the Seekers. That was months away, and hardly a guarantee it'll happen. 

Feeling particularly anxious, the evening of the inauguration gala, she found herself running laps back and forth down the narrow alley to clear her mind. It helped, but the cold air was making her throat feel sore and scratchy. Mack, who’d stayed behind to close the soup kitchen along with Robby and a couple of other volunteers, saw her when he took the trash out for the night.

“You alright, kiddo?’’

“F-fine.’’ Fay breathed heavily, before coughing into the back of her gloved hand. Sweet Maysoon, how could she be out of breath just after two minutes? She may have not been training at the level she had in Maysoon but she and Bag walked thousands of steps each day; she was eating and drinking more regularly and paid more attention to the nutritional intake so how could she be tired already? She also vomited often, though. Did any of that food even get a chance to be absorbed and converted into nutrients? 

“Running in this weather will get you a cold, and it’s not safe either.’’

“I am—I am done.’’ She wasn’t, and instead waited until Mack and Robby had closed for the day and left before she ran a few more laps. She was around her fourth when she started coughing so violently she had to lean against Bag so she didn't fall over. Too busy trying to regain her breath but finding it difficult to inhale without breaking in another fit of coughs she didn’t notice Bag’s ears perk up and his head tilt to glance behind them.

Neither did she feel the figure walk up to them until they placed a hand on her shoulder. She jumped, startled, and tried to turn around, but her feet caught one onto another, making her lose her balance. Fay never hit the ground because the intruder caught her, and although she couldn’t see his face properly in the darkness of the alleyway, she still recognized him.

“Da—Damian?’’ She rasped out.

“I see you’re being stupidly reckless again.’’ He remarked harshly, letting go of her.

“I, um…I couldn’t sleep.’’ I think something is very wrong with me. “What—what are you – cough – doing – cough – here? W-what – coughcough – about the pa-party?’’

He completely ignored her questions. “Hnn. Get back in the attic before you give yourself pneumonia.’’

“But I— ‘’ He didn’t wait, grabbing her wrist and pulling her after him towards the staircase. He ignored Bagheera's growling at him. Fay was going to protest herself but another coughing fit stopped her and so, she found herself letting him take the lead.

His grip was tight, almost bruising and she could tell he was in a foul mood again. He didn’t let go of her until it was time to climb back inside the dance studio. It was dark in there as well because she didn’t trust leaving the lights on as that might attract attention. Dana had told her that the landlord didn’t live nearby, and he rarely ever came around, but she didn't want to risk it. 

The place where he'd touched on her wrist burned. And it had nothing to do with the bracelet. 

As soon as they were in the attic and the hatch was closed, she turned on the lights and covered the windows, just to be cautious. She removed her shoes and jacket, before sitting down on the mattress, with Bag planted protectively between her and the boy.

Fay regarded Damian quietly. He was dressed in a suit, which fit him. He seemed contrite, shoulders taut and fists clenched. His face, although generally set in a frown looked as thunderous as it did the day she’d caught him waiting for her on the stair landing. 

“Is—is everything oka—‘’ She doubled over, unable to finish her sentence because she started coughing so hard she feared her lungs might be expulsed in the process.

Something was wrong with her, indeed. The coughing didn’t subsidize for another several minutes. Fay felt as if she’d run a marathon, her ribs aching, and her throat raw. Pulling herself deep into the fort and wrapping her newly bought duvet around herself, she attempted to warm herself up. She felt very, very cold as if she'd been sitting under cold water again.

The dog and ferret, startled by the awful sounds that she made, had scurried away from her. The cat had stopped being interested in anything else in favor of offering her attention to Damian. The boy on the other hand didn't say anything. He did, however, toss her the bottle of water a few feet from her bed. 

“I’m---I am sorry.’’ She managed after drinking a few large gulps.

“Tch. You always apologize then you still go ahead and do stupid things.’’ He sneered. 

“No…. that’s—that’s not what I meant.’’ Fay glanced at him, as she lowered the bottle. “You---you always help me. But—I—I can’t repay you…or help you.’’ 

Although if he asked her to walk twenty miles again, she’d probably have to say no or risk blacking out.

 “I don’t need help.’’

He was such a proud creature, wasn’t he? “…okay.’’ She bit her lip, hesitating before giving a voice to her next question. “Are—are you okay?’’ He didn’t seem okay. Damian was volatile. He was easily irritated and borderline aggressive, but she’d rarely ever seen him so furious. She didn't feel as threatened as she once would have. 

“I am fine.’’ It was well within her rights, but she didn’t dare ask him why he was there.

“…a-alright.’’

An awkward silence settled, interrupted only by the chitter of the ferret as he sneaked back towards the mattress, taking his place in a corner and the cat meowing as she rubbed herself against Damian’s legs. The dog also settled inside the fort, taking his place on a small round pillow that he had claimed for his own for weeks now.  

The right thing to do would have been to ask Damian to leave because he was clearly not in a civil mood – even less so than usual - and she felt her paladin’s apprehensiveness when she touched him. If Damian had come there with the intent of hurting her though, Bag would have never allowed him so close. 

So.

Curse her weak heart.

“Do…do you want to sit?’’ Fay offered meekly, pushing herself deeper into the fort and to the side. If her sense of self-preservation had had a psyhical form, it would have slapped her. “We, um…don’t need to talk but if you want to read….’’ Being stuck with him in a small space when he was in that mood spelled disaster, especially if he ended aggravating Bagheera as well.

Yet there she was, still offering. Clearly whatever ailed her also affected her decision-making. 

“Hn.’’

Shoes, blazer, and tie abandoned on the ground, he did join her inside the fort and even accepted the spare blanket. Bagheera watched rather unhappily, preferring to be the one to sit on the mattress next to her but eventually settling his head on the edge, keeping his eyes trained on them both.

“It was a success,’’ Damian said eventually, as he perused over the book she’d left abandoned on the bed when she’d decided to go for a run. It was a compilation of short stories by Agatha Christie’s, focusing on Hercule Poirot. “The donations made have exceeded the estimated numbers.’’

Fay smiled weakly. “That’s---that’s really good.’’

He didn’t look satisfied, though but she didn’t pry, however curious she may have been about. In the end, they sat in silence for hours, which gradually became less uncomfortable until she was hardly paying attention to him as she became absorbed in Robinson Crusoe. Damian shamelessly claimed the other book for himself.

The wind outside made the windows rattle, and the small electric heater struggled to keep the air warm throughout the attic, but she felt sheltered under the duvet. She tried not to think about how...comfortable it felt even if he was intruding, even if he still made her nervous. 

She tried not to think about how curious she's become, how she's started seeing him as a boy who may be carrying quite a few burdens of his own. She may be wrong but she thinks Damian may have experienced pain as well. Her heart was betraying her mind, but Fay wanted to know more. If he ever smiled, if he was ever truly happy, what relationship did he have with his family, if he was loved – as she had been -. Did he have friends? If he didn't, was he ever lonely? At least she had Bagheera by her side. 

Fay wanted desperately to know what he thought of their...arrangement because she was becoming fast invested in it, her heart corrupted by old wishes, ignoring how wrong it’s been before and how much it had hurt.

One of her tutor's words echoed in her mind. 

The moment you humanize your enemy, the moment you start thinking about where he came and what is he like, you can consider you’ve lost the battle even before it started.’

Damian had never been her enemy, per se. Not in the traditional sense, but he was a potential threat, one she had little ways of defending herself against. She had accepted the offer as much as to repay his generosity as it was to understand just how dangerous he’d be to them down the line; to know what he knew and assess the risks.

She had been deceiving herself, of course, into thinking she won’t become emotionally involved. Her, the girl who always felt too much too often, to the point she required a prison in the form of bracelets to keep her under control.

He is not my friend, not even my ally.

I don’t belong here.

He doesn’t belong in my life and I don’t belong in his.

None of that has changed.

Except.

In the end, she fell asleep (Master Yara would have popped a vein if he knew how easily she lowered her guard) and when she woke up in the early hours of the morning, Damian was gone.

She wondered if he had even been there at all. Bagheera's grumpy attitude confirmed it. 

A book that she swore had been at the bottom of a pile was left next to her. It was Shakespeare’s Macbeth. Fay knew well who the author was and his significance in that world, but truth be told, she hadn’t managed to get herself immersed in his works as she did in others. His tragedies had a way of triggering her. She wasn’t sure why Damian left it there when Agatha Christie’s collection was put away on the floor. 

Maybe he just likes Shakespeare? 

However, as she scrolled curiously through the used pages – that book must have passed many hands before it arrived in her possession – one drew her attention. The page contained Act 1, Scene 4.

The book was filled with doodles and underlined words, and notes left by previous owners, but she was certain the drawing she found in the corner of that page had not been there before. It was a small rendering of what must’ve been Macbeth given the presence of a crown, but his features were unclear, shading delicate and lines blurring, a quick portrait.

So, Damian…drew it? The sketch had been done quickly, without much attention to detail but it was good. Fay wouldn’t have pegged him as an artist.

She ended up reading Macbeth cover to cover. 

But her eyes would return again and again over that page, wondering if there was a reason why he chose to draw on it.  

“O worthiest cousin, The sin of my ingratitude even now Was heavy on me.
Thou art so far before That swiftest wing of recompense is slow
 To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less deserved,
That the proportion both of thanks and payment Might have been mine!
Only I have left to say, More is thy due than more than all can pay.’’

.

.

.

4th of October

Gotham was still noisy at night, and she still struggled whenever the chaos would get too close to the soup kitchen. It must have been even worse for her paladin what with his keen senses, and it was no surprise Bagheera rarely ever slept deeply. That night she found herself leaning over the windowsill of the circular window glancing at the empty dark streets. In the distance, towards Gotham River, she saw a cloud of smoke lift itself towards the sky. Police sirens echoed all the way to her building. 

It was a frigid, starless night and the air only worsened her cough, which she concluded had nothing to do with a cold. Her stamina was worsening as well; working in the soup kitchen or walking at the museum, were now tasks that drained her rapidly. When Dana saw her sway on her feet that morning and heard the ragged breath – she had only been mopping the floor, hardly an effort – she asked Fay whether she had the flu. The girl just shrugged, muttered ‘maybe’ because she wasn’t sure what o say. 

Damian didn’t let it go quite as easily when he saw that she was out of breath and needed to drink an entire bottle of water before she could speak properly. He insisted on her going to the penthouse for rest where Alfred would have checked her, but Fay refused. She told him she was susceptible to the cold and that's it.

Ultimately he let her go earlier.  

Fay vomited as soon as they returned, and her marks ached for hours. It was the kind of pain that reverberated all the way to her bones and made her want to crawl out of her own skin. 

An unnatural coldness had set deeply into her body, and she struggled to warm herself up for hours, even with Bagheera and all the blankets to aid her. Then, her temperature skyrocketed and she found herself wishing she had a shower because her skin was on fire. Her flux felt weak and whenever she tried to summon it, pins and needles assailed her skin. 

Fay chugged down several painkillers and tried to focus on the calming emotions that Bagheera projected onto her. She’d lie if she hadn't considered texting Damian because she was starting to feel very afraid of what was happening to her. At the very least maybe he’ll start one of their discussions, and he’d keep her grounded.

Immediately after, she felt disgusted with herself. Damian was not a coping mechanism. He was not her friend. She could not allow him to see her in that state. It didn't matter how generous he'd been or how surprisingly kind he could be. 

That day quickly turned into a Bad Day. She barely slept the entire night. 

In the early hours of dawn, as she leaned over that windowsill and stared in the distance, she spotted dark figures gliding through the air swiftly as birds. Damian had to be one of them, and she was curious what he looked like when he was in the air like that, wearing that incredibly colorful uniform of his. She wondered if he used his sword too, as Robin. 

She hated herself for it, but she also worried.

Needy. Desperate. Undeserving.

No wonder Titoh didn’t want her around.

Damian would come to the same conclusion, soon enough.

.

.

.

7th of October

Fay was pulling away. He knew she’d experienced another ‘Bad Day’ as she seemed to label them, three days earlier, and it had taken its toll on her body and psyche. The little weight that she did put on was lost again, and the bags under her eyes were darker with each day pass. It would be naïve to think that her nightmares had stopped just because she had a better routine, but it seemed it was more than just a bad day that was affecting her. She was quieter, reserved, refused to let him in, although they’ve made progress in the past several weeks.

He lost his patience the third time he asked a question and she answered with less than three words, clearly not taking the bait. She flinched, and she quickly bowed her head. Something bitter curled in his throat. 

She was getting worse.

Fay had grown gradually more lenient in allowing him in her personal bubble over the weeks. Generally, he’d grab her by her hood or backpack to get her attention, refraining from personal contact. He'd seen how uncomfortable she got whenever Wilmot hugged her for too long, whenever a staff member at the museum touched her shoulder or got too close. 

She started wearing her old clothes again. He didn't question it. 

That day she seemed intent on keeping him at least six feet away and when he tentatively stepped closer, pretending to reach for the strap of her backpack she had flinched away violently as if she'd expected him to hit her. Everything about her screamed fear. 

It made him sick to the stomach.

Because for her to fear contact to that level meant she had been given a reason to. 

Fay had told him she still feared him.

He shouldn’t have cared; he liked it when people were afraid of him. They had every right to be.

But he didn’t want her to be.

“I know… there are monsters.’’ Monsters was the term she used that day. Not 'people' or 'men' or 'women' or 'other children'. Monsters. 

Did she see him as one of the people who hurt her?

A monster, as well.

(What would she think if she knew how close to the truth she was?) 

.

.

.

6th of October

Bagheera whined softly, letting his concern project over to her as she stood a couple of feet away, dabbing a cloth into a bowl filled with water that was steadily turning rosy. “I-I am fine,’’ Fay said, unconvincingly because she didn’t know if she was fine or not. It was the sixth nosebleed that week, and she’d had another five the previous week. They were getting worse, just like the ache she felt in her marks, and the crippling migraines. She was trying to push through with eating and drinking as per the food plan, but her appetite was severely lacking. 

It was as if her body was determined to destroy itself.

Fay couldn’t hide her growing worry from her paladin, but she had managed to keep her state a secret from Damian by lying that she’d been gaining weight still, although she struggled to do so.

He will figure it out eventually, he always did. He will probably push for her to see an actual doctor and she wasn’t sure she’ll be able to stop him, which meant it was only a matter of time before Damian would find out that she wasn’t like other children there.

Her paladin didn’t think it was such a bad idea anymore, if she saw a healer in that world, after coughing joined the other symptoms.

Fay pretended she didn’t see the blood on her hand whenever she’d finish hacking and rasping.

She really, really missed her parents in those moments. She missed her family.

It wasn't the first time she thought she was cursed.

.

.

.

8th of October

As much as she had been looking forward to visiting the Science Museum, a week passed since its opening and she had yet to do that. Fay hadn’t spent that much time at the museum lately because most days it was swarming with people as they came to visit the new exhibits. That day Dana had given her off from the soup kitchen, worried over how pale and tired she’d looked so Fay had spent most of it in the attic reading and going over her notes for the journey in January, trying not to fall prey again to the insidious thoughts of what will happen to Bagheera if her health continued to deteriorate.

Dana had also started asking her if she'd be okay with seeing a doctor. A friend, she said, so Fay didn't need to worry about her status being exposed. Dana had no idea that Fay now had an identity. 

Damian texted her later in the afternoon asking her to meet him outside around six. Fay didn’t want to see him, nor travel wherever he intended for them to go because she felt weak, and she’d been crying all day and her marks were aching again. Bagheera insisted though, and it was only because of her guilt at causing him such concern that she got dressed and left the attic to wait for Damian.

At six sharp, a car arrived and the driver got out, greeted her with a curt nod, and opened the back door. Damian was waiting for her inside, and she allowed Bagheera to climb in first. He plopped himself on the leather seat across from the boy leaving her to sit on the same side as him. Fay threw him a look. Bagheera wanted her to ask for Damian's help. 

As spacious as the seat was, she still huddled close to the door, putting as much distance between them as possible.

He didn’t greet her nor he made small talk. He never did, and she felt grateful for that because she was not in the mood to talk either, keeping her gaze out the dark window. The back of her head prickled. 

He was watching her.

The entire car ride was silent.

Fay stayed quiet even when she was surprised at finding themselves at the museum after hours. Damian led them to the third floor of the Arts and Antiquities building, where the glass suspended tunnel served as a passage to the Science Museum. They were the only souls there at that time, save for the guards who paid them no mind. The buildings felt even bigger than usual without the streams of people and incessant chatter.

She’d only caught a glimpse of the Science Museum once before when she’d helped some of the other volunteers carry boxes filled with promotional flyers and something called ‘swag bags’ to the other side of the tunnel, but she was familiar with the general layout of the building, having seen the blueprints many times over.   

The Science Museum could be accessed through the campus outside as well, and visitors had the choice of starting their visit from the ground floor then work their way up. The third floors of both buildings were connected by the suspended passage. 

The room they stepped into was circular and tall, like a temple or a castle’s tower, and it was where the main entrance to the movie theatre was, capable of hosting approximately a hundred and twenty people. There were bathrooms, and a fountain, and even benches for those who wanted to catch a break. An arched opening across from the double doors of the theatre led into a transition gallery dedicated to Earth’s history, which the documentary also focused on. They had watched that together, and Fay had found it fascinating but then again, she was biased. She ended up staying at the penthouse that evening, having fallen asleep on the sofa. When she woke up, she was in the guest room she previously woke up in and Alfred was at the penthouse. Damian was gone. Bagheera had let her know that he had been gone for the most night, actually. 

Past that the initial galleries, the guests were led into an open space stretching for five out of the six floors, and reminded her both of the mall's structure. 

There were thirteen permanent galleries and a further four that were temporary with exhibits already planned for the next six months. Three different laboratories were situated on the lowest floor, primarily for researchers from the University of Gotham. On specific days, educational demonstrations of science experiments also took place. 

Damian told her that they could explore the museum as they wished and left it at that.

Fay removed her beanie and coat, shoving them inside her backpack as she walked around the rooms unfettered. The new museum was the single biggest distraction she's had in days. She wanted to make the best of it. 

Energy, environment, medical arts, chemistry, space, and transport. Holographic presenters and reimagining of the most famous inventors appeared at the click of a few buttons. Display cases full of historical objects – real and fake, alike – as well as giant replicas of steams engines and cars and planes and rockets from different eras. Bagheera trailed after her, watching her zig-zag from one side to the other, while Damian walked behind them with little enthusiasm, more preoccupied with his phone than the wealth of knowledge around him.

Of course, he was from that world so he probably didn’t find it quite as fascinating. He was also ‘light-years ahead of other children' as he’d put himself so perhaps the information in those rooms wasn’t anything he didn’t know already.

She didn’t care.

In those hours it was just her and that world which had been compressed into over twenty thousand square feet. 

.

She is so childish and easily impressionable, Damian thought as he watched her from the corner of his eyes when she leaned over the balustrade to gaze down at the lower floors.

But she looked less miserable.

She’d been crying again, judging by how red-rimmed and puffy her eyes were when she’d gotten in the car. Her face looked gaunt; her wrists too thin. He caught the way her hands were shaking as she fidgeted with her sleeves and how she kept shifting uncomfortably in the seat, trying to rearrange her clothes as subtle as possible.

Not discreet enough for him, of course. Fay was in pain, or at the very least was experiencing psyhical discomfort.

Was it phantom pain or old injuries? Maybe both. Either way, she'll eventually have to see a specialist. He'll resort to more drastic measures if it came down to it. 

Alfred had also proposed another potential solution, but he did not feel it was wise without knowing in full what was ailing her. Especially considering her different genetic makeup. 

Damian brought his eyes back to the phone when he saw her turn around and start walking in his direction. He was leaning against a pillar, the large dog sitting a few feet away watching her like a hawk. “I am--I am going to the bathroom.’’ She announced softly to the dog, before turning away to follow the signs to the bathrooms located down a small walkaway between the galleries.

The beast was worried, Damian noted silently as he watched the dog’s fur rise slightly on its back and his temptation in following her, which he ultimately decided against.

.

Fay leaned back against the locked door of the toilet cubicle, listening to the water running from one of the sinks. She barely got the chance to turn on the faucet and rush into one of the stalls before her stomach lurched and she reflexively opened her mouth, regurgitating whatever little food was left in her body. Her legs buckled under her and she found herself sitting on the ground coughing harshly into a tissue she pulled out of the pack she now carried all the time with her.

The blinding migraine that assailed her was short-lived but felt like eons, and she squeezed her eyes shut, clutching her head. The pressure was so tight that she had to bite down on her lip to prevent herself from crying out loud because she was frightened and she wasn’t sure what was wrong with her and there was a part of her that thought she was dying.

It didn’t feel like the migraines she had whenever she overexerted her flux. 

It felt more as if something was…breaking. Physically, not just mentally or emotionally. The bracelets scalded her wrists, and with unsteady feet, she pulled herself up, unlocked the bathroom door, and rushed over to the sink, to place her wrists underneath the cold water. That may have helped with her skin, but it did not help with the way her flux coiled painfully underneath her skin. 

It’s the bracelets.

They were making her ill, because they were no longer just a dampener for her volatile energy but…. something. Something toxic. The runes were affecting her flux in ways they shouldn’t have, and it was making her ill; it was like caging a dragon who until then had been reassured that albeit in a cell, there’d still be exits to take whenever he pleased. Her flux was that dragon. It wasn't sentient energy, but it is a part of her being. 

That---that wasn’t supposed to happen. It was unnatural for her flux to be restrained in such a manner; it was a fundamental part of her. Locking it away entirely….it was inconceivable and that wasn’t what she had agreed to do when the bracelets were placed on her. 

Did…did uncle know this would happen? 

But Fay had been explicitly told that the bracelets were only there to teach her limitations, to control the flux when she failed to do so. They were meant to help her, and even if they crippled her in the sense that she did not have full access, the runes should not be….poisoning her.

She hadn’t even used her abilities and her health was already being affected. So, what would happen if she did need to use her flux to defend herself?

Will the bracelets kill her?

He couldn’t have known.

There is no way anyone could have known. 

It was her fault she’d run away; that she was in that predicament where nobody could offer her answers or the necessary help.

With shaky hands she pulled out the cooling gel from her backpack and a fresh roll of gauze, using them to tend to her irritated wrists before pulling down the sleeves of her sweatshirt, glad she had worn the one where she could thread her thumbs through so she could keep her hands hidden from the knuckles up. The bracelets still felt warm, but the sensation was manageable, and she splashed cold water over her face, rinsed her mouth then took a few deep breaths to steady herself.

When she came out, she found boy and paladin standing closer than before, each with their own tumultuous expressions. Damian looked angrier than he did worried, and Bagheera was tense as if he was poised to attack. The type of threat she faced now, however, was not one he could deal with it.

Even she didn’t know how to deal with it.

“I, um…don’t feel well.’’ She admitted because there was no point denying it.

“Have you thrown up?’’

She nodded. She didn't want to think about how he could tell. 

Did he hear her? 

“Have you been abiding by the food plan?’’

She hesitated. “I tried…but—um, I find it difficult. I just...can't.’’ It wasn’t the food plan, though. If anything, it was that structured diet that kept her energy levels up.

Damian bristled. “I told you to let me know.’’

“I am sor—‘’

“Stop apologizing.’’ He hissed. “Let’s go.’’

She didn’t move, continuing to lean against the door of the bathroom.

“I, um, I am not sure I can…’’

Damian sighed.

.

“This—this is really embarrassing,’’ Fay muttered out loud, trying to look anywhere but at him, which was hard giving they were practically glued to one another. “I-I mean…there was no need.’’ 

“You almost fell on your face and as entertaining as that would have been to watch, I don’t have time for it.’’

Fay was suddenly self-conscious about her weight, how she smelt, and even her heartbeat, beating a mile by the minute, which he had to be aware of, what with his hearing skills. Well, she couldn’t be blamed, could she? It wasn’t as if she wanted him to carry her, but she supposes it was a less humiliating position being on his back than in his arms. That image alone was threatening to give her a nosebleed all on its own, so she quickly pushed it away. Bagheera walked by their side, holding her backpack by the straps glancing at her now and then as they backtracked their steps through the galleries and back to the circular hall they came from.

It wasn’t as if Damian was uncomfortable; he held her as if she weighed nothing and he was warm and well, he smelt rather good. His hands were firmly planted right above the back of her knees which was reasonable, but she still found the contact rather overwhelming and it had nothing to do with him. Her arms were loosely draped over his back, hands on his shoulders. Fay initially tried to avoid touching him as much as she could, but she was dizzy, so that plan quickly went out of the window.

At least he looked just as displeased by it as she felt humiliated.

Had he let her speak before demanding that she climb on his back, he would have found out that Bagheera could have also carried her.

Hm. Best not to poke the beast while she’s riding his back.

She’d also never tell Bagheera that being piggybacked by Damian felt rather nice.

.

“-Tt-‘’

Alfred’s expression, to his credit, didn’t change when he saw Damian come out of the building with the girl on his back, who looked as if she was tethering on falling asleep at any moment.  

Interesting development.

“Penthouse, Pennyworth.’’ The boy said curtly, the gentle way he removed the girl from him a stark contrast with his irritated expression and tone. That night he was going for patrol, on a potential new lead for Wyatt so neither one of them had time to be at the penthouse; the manor was an option, but one that Damian did not seem to want to consider.  

Not yet. The butler thought it unwise to eliminate that scenario.

By the time they were back on Jubilee street, Fay was sleeping soundly.

Alfred didn’t comment when the boy pulled her out of the car and kept her in his arms all the way up to the penthouse. Fay had fallen asleep, so for once, she wasn't tense or nervous. 

"Prepare the intravenous fluids, as discussed,'' Damian said. 

.

Fay was only vaguely aware of her shoes being removed and the duvet being pulled over her. In that state of semi-dreaming, her tired mind conjured an image of her mother tucking her in, after one of her ‘episodes’.

“Mother…’’ She mumbled. “It hurts again.’’

The voice that answered her sounded nothing like her mother, but her mind processed it as if it was anyway.

“What does?’’

“…. everything.’’ She sobbed. “Please…make it stop. I-I am really…tired.’’

I miss you so much.

A wave of calmness and affection washed over her. Was it Bagheera? It had to be.

Mother was dead. She wasn’t there to make everything better.

Nobody could.

But someone did answer.

“That’s not…possible. However, nobody will hurt you ever again.’’

“Hm.’’ That’s a lie.

“Do…do you promise?’’ She asked the imaginary voice.

“You have my word.’’

Her parents said the same thing.

And then they were nothing. Dead. Gone. Dust.

But the voice was compelling, deceitful enough to make her want to believe those words.

So, she did.

Because it was all in her head anyway.

.

When she woke up, a square patch of gauze had been taped to her right forearm, and Alfred told her they administered her fluids. 

She felt better than she did in weeks. 

She wasn't sure that'll last for long. 

.

.

13th of October

“Wilmot will need further help from all volunteers, particularly with the All Hallows Eve and Thanksgiving special events. I personally don’t care about either of them, but they are an important opportunity to garner more visitors.’’ Damian explained, after placing the leather folder in front of her. 

Six more weeks. He wanted her to stay on six more weeks to complete tasks that were paying bad dozens of times more than they should have been.

Given her state and how quickly January was approaching, the wise answer was no. 

“Al-alright.’’

She’d been feeling better lately, again; Damian had changed her food plan to include smaller, lighter portions, and several times in the past week, he had her travel to the penthouse where Alfred put her on IV fluids. She only had two nose bleeds in a week, and her cough had been subsidized. The marks still ached but the episodes were more manageable.

Fay doubted that improvement was permanent, so in planning her journey she’d started considering complications and risks they might face if she became unwell again. She had every intention to keep herself healthy, for Bagheera’s sake more than anything else, so she abided by the food plan religiously, increasing her intake of vitamins and proteins in addition to whatever Alfred had her take. 

They had to go back home.

Or else.

She might die in that foreign world she hadn’t even had the chance to explore fully.

And Bagheera would be left all on his own.

Chapter 13: Of detective work, connections, and come full circle

Notes:

Chapter revised as of 21st of August.

Chapter Text

’Fate had a weird way of circling back over paths that were meant to cross.’’

 

- Gail McHugh.

 

.

.

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20th of October

She started feeling unwell again. 

When she vomited next, there was blood too. 

.

.

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28th of October

It’s been three days already and no word from Damian.

Alfred contacted her the first day to inform her that Damian was unwell – the flu – and that he’ll not be available for several days as he needs his rest. She was not expected at the museum during that time, but if there was anything urgent, she should contact the butler directly. Fay had learned enough about Damian to know he was not the type of person to be taken down by the common flu, not in such a way that’d have him ‘resting’ for days. The only logical explanation was that he must’ve been injured while doing his job as Robin. If he was on a mission out of Gotham, then he could have just told her he had gone on a business trip which she was certain he’d done before.

Fay resigned herself to the concern she felt for his wellbeing, as only her paladin was privy to it. She contemplated sending a message to Damian, telling him she hoped he’d recover soon but after rewriting the text several times, she ultimately decided against it. It felt…too personal, as much as she did want to know if he was okay. He’d just berate her for being sentimental – which she was – or might think she was being needy – as others have.

She’ll wait a couple more days, then she’ll contact Alfred and ask him if Damian was recovering well from the ‘flu’.

Had she been braver – like in the old days - she would have sent him a get-well hamper, complete with plush toys, because that would also have been rather funny. She could imagine his expression right before he’d probably set them on fire and give her a lecture about it.

Hm. When was the last time she did something for fun? Not just small games she played with Bagheera, but something truly, truly entertaining. 

She couldn't remember. 

It was her day off, so taking advantage of the lack of commitments, they left the warmth and comfort of the attic to head to the cybercafe a few streets down from the soup kitchen, to keep working on the details of their journey to Europe. They needed to be as prepared as possible. 

Cyber cafes weren’t a particularly popular venue it seems, but that worked in her favor because there’d hardly be any people regardless of the day and time she went. The shop also operated until late evening so she could spend hours in there, making sure to order a beverage or a sandwich every hour or so, as the store’s policy dictated. There was a long line of desks with computers on them separated by panels to maintain privacy amongst its users, and Fay always took the one by the window with Bagheera sitting by her feet. With her journal and notes and various printed papers spread over the surface of the desk, she set herself to work, going over the journey from Gotham to England, United Kingdom. Her first stop. 

After some research, she’d decided that the Regina cruise ship was their best bet out of Gotham, and it’d cost her approximately three thousand dollars for two tickets, which she planned on buying by the end of the month. The earlier they left the more time they’ll have to explore Europe, so she looked at mid to end January for potential dates, before settling for 24th. The direct journey across the Atlantic, from Gotham to Southampton, England will take them seven nights, which was hardly an issue especially when considering the amenities available aboard.

Fay had two challenges to overcome first: one, paying for the tickets, and two, convincing Dana to accept the tickets and accompany them on the other side of the world. As far as it concerned the tickets, paying for them in cash was, unfortunately, not an option unless she had an adult accompanying her because it seemed her emancipated status was not valid overseas. It was dizzying reading about the different European laws on it, but from what she’s gauged so far, there were no guarantees she won’t be questioned about her status at the border. Dana will also find it strange given Fay had yet to tell her about her Fay Kipling identity. 

So, paying by card, then. Damian would be able to track the transaction though, and she didn’t trust he wouldn’t follow up on it. At that point, she did not know if he was monitoring still, but she had to err on the side of caution. The chances he’d discover about her planned journey were high. Fay had considered telling him about her wish to travel to Europe, in a sort of ripping the band-aid gesture, but ultimately decided against it. Damian might arrange their travel to the other continent and as incredibly useful that would be, there was no way they’d be free to explore. It could take weeks before – and if – they found the seekers, and then what? How would she explain it to him? As generous as he could be, he was not one to just leave things unquestioned like Dana.

There was a part of her that wondered if he’d help her if she were to tell him the truth. He was Robin, Batman’s partner. Meeting a creature from another world was not so uncommon in his line of work, was it? Not when his own partner was part of the Justice League which famously comprised of aliens and god-like warriors. Not when he, himself had been part of Teen Titans which according to Robby was not entirely made of humans or individuals from that world?

It was incredible how tempting that idea had become, as ridiculous as she found it initially.

But. She was afraid. Once she told him, there was no going back and there’d be no escape if he decided not to help her. Fay wanted to believe he wouldn’t hurt her, but he was not the type of person that took well to being deceived, did he? 

Fay and Bagheera were anomalies. She was a trespasser in that world, one that had accepted his money and false identity and had been hiding the fact that she knows about his secret. They weren’t friends. They weren’t allies. He owed her nothing, and she doubted she could appeal to his emotions.  

With the cash and bank payments out of the window, there was only another choice. Have Dana purchase the tickets herself for all three. Fay was planning on telling her about the money that Damian’s been offering her and justifying the journey to Europe as a desire of finding a distant relative of her mother. She was at least seventy percent confident that the woman would accept if Fay laid out her reasoning in that manner.

Fay had agreed to go to Dana’s house for the 31st of October, All Hallows Eve. It seemed Gotham was particularly dangerous on that night, so Dana had insisted for Fay, Bagheera, and the strays to stay with her, just in case. Her apartment block was not immune to Gotham’s inclination to chaos, but it was in a relatively good area that hadn’t experienced many issues in the past. She’d talk to Dana then, and she’ll also give her the money which Fay had already cashed out gradually and placed in a plastic envelope.

Assuming Dana agreed, they’d leave Gotham on the 24th of January and arrive in England on the 31st.

Fay bought travel guides and filled them with notes and additional information that she printed out at the cybercafe, creating contingency plans, and coming up with different safe routes. She was not a natural strategist like her father or brave like her mother, but even a fool who prepared had better chances of surviving than someone who didn’t.

.

Several hours into having sat down at the cybercafe, Fay was on her third hot chocolate and second muffin. The intravenous liquids that Alfred administered her every three days had helped with her energy levels but not her appetite. Had Damian been there, he’d have certainly criticized the amount of sugar she was eating. I shouldn’t care about what he thinks. She shook her head to herself, as she flipped to a clean page in her notebook, which was already three-quarters completed. Fay felt quite satisfied with the progress she was making.

As the royal ship would leave them in England, she’d planned for them to spend at least three weeks in that country with most of that time in the capital. It was logical to think the capital would have been a location of interest to a seeker. If that location proved fruitless, they’d cross into France to travel to Paris and if needed, from there through Bruges, Amsterdam, and Berlin. Then, they’d move back south towards Spain. Fay was looking forward to visiting all those locations, but she would have preferred they did so under different circumstances. 

Had things gone accordingly, they would have never arrived on that side of the world but in Europe in the first place. 

The passage from England to France will be tricky but she’d settled that their best option was the ferry from Dover to Callais. Dogs were not allowed on board except for the one ferry from Newhaven, England. As a child, she will not be able to purchase tickets for herself and Bagheera anyway, so it looks like they will have to cross the border illicitly. They'll also not have many legal ways they could travel in Europe primarily due to her underage status, but she jotted down details of several different routes from each destination to another, as well as possible accommodations they could seek. Wilderness was her first choice – if they traveled through the forests, it might take longer but they wouldn’t have to worry about being questioned. Fay was perfectly capable of navigating and surviving in the wilderness, and her paladin would certainly welcome the change in scenery – they both grew up in the jungles of Maysoon, after all.

She’d lie if she said she wasn’t becoming enthusiastic at the idea of connecting with nature again, of living off the land, away from the urban pollution and noise. Maybe, she lied to herself, that'll also make her feel better. Maybe she'll recover.

Fay was researching Germany and the best route from Berlin to Spain when a webpage manifested itself into a separate tab. She was ready to close it assuming it was just another advertisement page – incredible how many of them there were – when she realized it was a news website. Reading briefly through the page, she found it was the largest of its kind across Europe and it catered to English speakers.

The headline on that page, large and in bold screamed ‘Former flame of art collector Von Richter breaks silence two years after his mysterious disappearance.’ Not particularly interested in that type of information, she closed the page and resumed her research. A few minutes later while scrolling down on another webpage, reading her way through the myths and legends associated with the Black Forest, another article from the same news outlet popped up again. Same headline.

How annoying. Perhaps there was something on the other websites that kept linking her to that type of sensationalist article. Feeling slightly restless after sitting for so long, she decided she might as well take a break. It wouldn’t hurt learning more about real-time issues that the world concerned itself with, and seeing as she did not own a TV, an online newspaper might be a good substitute.

As it turns out Von Richter’s death and his ‘former flame’s’ appearance in public was of particular interest, and not just in Germany. Once she clicked on one article, she found it difficult to stop reading, part out of interest and part out of boredom.

Bruno Von Richter. Art collector and dealer, philanthropist, archaeologist, historian, writer, owner of several successful businesses in Europe and Asia. A contemporary adventurer, several articles labeled him. Richter had already been rich, to begin with, born wealthy, but he had raised to fame for his expeditions across the world in search of a lost art and obscure relics of long-forgotten civilizations. Further intrigued by that aspect of his career, Fay spent over twenty minutes reading about his ventures and accomplishments.

Bruno had been deemed eccentric and borderline mad at the turn of the century when he experienced the peak of fame after his peregrinations became shrouded in mystery. After 2004, he stopped publishing books on his travels, and he started going away on long journeys with little or no team to support him or document his discoveries. He remained an active member of the art community, buying and selling various art pieces. Two years earlier he had gone missing after reportedly growing more and more erratic. One of his servants had told the media that Bruno was borderline insane and that he knew he wouldn't be returning from his latest trip. It was unclear where that was.  

He had been in Gotham, too, for various high-profile auctions. Shortly before his death, two years earlier, he had, in fact, come to that part of the world eager to purchase a series of paintings whose origin remained unclear. Perhaps a private collection. The Gotham tabloids did mention his presence in the city, but they paid more attention to his generous donation to the museums than the reason why he had been there. When Fay had a look at the items he’d donated, she realized that she was familiar with some of them – she’d seen them displayed in the Arts and Antiquities building.

Huh. Small world.

Ultimately, she went back to the original article, to get a better look at his so-called ‘former flame’.

Daphne Barlowe. Sixty-seven-year-old, world-renowned psychologist and professor emeritus of Oxford University, in England. White hair was intricately coiffed at the back of her head, and she had pale skin, silvery-blue eyes. Striking. She dressed in tasteful, monochromatic clothes and she had a confident stance. Her expression was stern, her eyes cold. A beautiful woman, she looked at least a decade younger than her actual age and incredibly private woman, who rarely ever makes public appearances. Whenever she did, Daphne had a famous distaste for being photographed. Clearly, her wish wasn't always respected. 

The newspaper made it seem as if she’d revealed ground-breaking information about Richter when in reality she appeared to have only provided a statement on her choice to visit his grave in person, although she never attended his funeral. 

If Bruno was eccentric and enjoyed the attention of the public, Daphne was the complete opposite. The two met when they were young, as college students in London and it was unclear how long they were together for, but most newspapers gave them at least ten years together. Daphne married someone else, and Barlowe courted several different women over the years, becoming a sought-after bachelor. Not much else was known. Some had speculated they were to be married but it was unclear who broke it off if that had been true; there were different theories which Fay wasn’t particularly interested in.

What she found interesting, however, was that Daphne Barlowe grew more and more secluded from public life although her work in the field of psychology continued, and she became critically acclaimed, earning honorary degrees from various universities across the world. She had been a professor at Oxford University for over twenty years. A significant portion of her research was centered on psychological traumas, but her publications covered a wider range of topics from the impact of childhood abuse on an individual’s psyche to the cultural and social impact on mental health.

While looking up some of her books, Fay's attention was caught by an article that mentioned Daphne’s background remained a mystery, even more so after her last interview ever made face to face, in 1983. Curious, she clicked on the link in the article which took her to an online video-sharing platform, to footage with poor image quality.

After wiping them down, Fay used the flimsy public headphones on her desk to listen to the audio, unsurprisingly just as of poor quality. 

The interview was a little over seven minutes long and almost from the start, the conversation made Fay cringe. Daphne, barely thirty in that year looked even more striking at that age: her hair, a pale blonde framed her delicate features and accentuated her pale complexion. She had a cold, almost ethereal beauty which the interviewer felt the need to comment on several times, with crass, inappropriate remarks such as when he asked whether she was worried men might think she would be able to warm their beds at all given her looks. Fay imagined her mother sitting in that chair and the chaos that would have ensued had she been talked to like that too, but different worlds, different times, different women. Daphne maintained her composure throughout the interview, batting off comments with grace while offering a cordial smile throughout. It never reached her eyes.

The televised interview was supposedly about her work as a psychologist and what was it like to be a woman in a field ‘made for men’ as that’s how psychology was seen back then. Daphne had clearly managed to surpass those barriers to become the woman she was now. Very few of the interviewer’s questions were centered on her research, as he seemed more interested in her personal life, interspersing his questions with backhanded comments about how a woman her age had chosen not to settle down, get married and have children. He kept interrupting Daphne or speaking over her whenever she tried to change the subject away from prying topics. The entire interview took a turn for the worse when he mentioned ‘the audience is keen to know whether the rumors are true’.

Said rumors being that Daphne had slept with Henry Reid, a sociology professor at the University of London, who took her under his wing when she was in her teenage years. The interviewer boldly implied that Henry was a man in his forties who would have been easily swayed by her beauty. It had been nothing but advantageous for her to be adopted into his family as well, as she benefitted from fee remission at the University – although she ultimately attended Oxford, so that was a moot accusation – and was even left with a sizeable inheritance upon his death.

It was the first time throughout the video that the woman’s calm demeanor cracked; something in her expression darkened and her lips thinned in contempt. She politely asked the interviewer to change the question as she’d rather not discuss her personal life further, but the man was relentless, looking amused and unsympathetic that he was violating her privacy, even going as far as insinuating that her silence was perhaps a confirmation the rumors were true.

Daphne was dressed simply, in a long-sleeved wool jumper and a long skirt, with gloves and a scarf around her neck, which fit the rest of her ensemble well but also left no inch of her skin exposed. When the discussion became more heated the more the interviewer pressed on, the woman had started tugging at the dark scarf, revealing something on the left-hand side of the pale column of her neck.

Fay frowned, alarm bells going in her head.

It can’t be.

She replayed the part where her scarf moved ever so slightly away from her neck, but she couldn’t see clearly what the mark was. She paid little attention to the rest of the interview, eyes trained on the woman’s neck but even when Daphne abruptly stood up from her chair and walked away from the interviewer, Fay was not able to get a good look.

With an increasing sense of trepidation, Fay searched for more photos of Daphne Barlowe. The few that she did find were blurry or taken from afar, or Daphne found ways to hide from the camera. She always wore a scarf, or a high collar, or some sort of neck cover. Even when she failed to deter photographers from getting a close shot, her neck remained hidden.

It couldn’t be a coincidence.

There was a picture of her and Bruno Von Richter, in their mid-twenties, at what looked like a formal event given the elegant clothes they were wearing. Daphne looked like a princess in the dazzling navy gown she was wearing. White fur was draped strategically over one shoulder, shielding that side of her neck although her long hair did the job either way. The dress was long-sleeved, and she wore gloves as well. 

I must be wrong.

She wasn’t.

After almost fifteen minutes of perusing articles, forums, and academic publications she finally found a picture that confirmed her suspicions. The picture had been used on the back cover of one of the early editions of Daphne’s first published book, and it was being sold as a used item on an online sales website. Fay had to zoom in to see it clearly, and even though the scarf was present as usual, it had failed to cover the mark entirely. Daphne, looking as young as she did in the interview, posed up-close to the camera, sitting in a chair, and gazing in the distance. It was a flattering photo of her profile.

Daphne’s neck was exposed halfway through, and Fay stared at the scarred flesh with a frown, the hot chocolate and brownie threatening to leave her stomach the way they came in. Alerted by the sudden change in her mood, Bagheera raised into a sitting position which was enough to bring his head above the line of the desk.

“Bag…is that what I think it is?’’ She murmured keeping her eyes trained on the zoomed view of the woman’s neck.

He growled softly.

The scar was not random, and the pattern could not have been replicated by any objects in that world as far as she knew. Because it wasn’t meant to exist there, just as Daphne wasn’t.

Just as Fay and Bag weren’t meant to be there.

The scar was the mark of a ‘sullied’, indicating a fallen clan member. If her pale features were indicative of her clan, then there were only a few that Fay knew of that practiced the tradition of branding their own members like that. The reasons could vary but it was generally reserved for the 'fallen' members. Such practices had been gradually abolished as the revolutions spread like wildfire, decades earlier.

Abolished but not forgotten. 

Her back burned, and Fay shuddered. 

The interviewer mentioned Daphne was taken in by Henry Reid at the age of eighteen, so she must’ve been in that world for at least five decades – that meant she would have still been born in an era when such practices were not questioned as heavily as they were in present times.

Why?

Did she run away after being marked?

Why did she stay though?

Maybe she couldn’t find a way back or feared retaliation? Or perhaps she’s simply grown accustomed to her life there, given her rise to fame and clear passion for the field of psychology.

Either way. 

Daphne Barlowe was from her world.

Once she had gotten over the initial shock Fay told herself that she shouldn’t have been so surprised. It was naïve to think that only seekers traveled to that world. Her, being a prime example, although the journey had been unpredictable and almost cost them their lives. Her parents were another good example. They hadn't been first, either but the way they did was not common knowledge. 

Daphne – a false name? – had clearly built a life for herself there, and if the mark on her neck was any indication, she had left a much worse fate behind.

Greedy to find out more about her – how could she not – Fay started researching Henry Reid further. He had served as a professor of sociology at the University of London for decades, before dying peacefully in his sleep of a heart attack at only forty-nine years old, eight years after he adopted Daphne into his family. She had changed her last name soon after she and Bruno Von Richter departed ways when they were both in their late twenties, maybe an attempt on her end to start fresh given the amount of sexism and rumors she’d faced.

Henry’s actual daughter was around the same age as Daphne, but Fay could not find much on her. One article speculating on Daphne and Von Richter’s engagement mentioned that she was estranged from the Reid family, having been barely in touch with her foster sister who relocated to the States.

In Gotham. 

For decades, Daphne's foster sister, worked as a mentor for young juvenile offenders, after another ten as a social worker. Her husband, whose surname she adopted, was American, and they relocated to Gotham from Syracuse, New York State in the past decade or so, where she carried her work as part of a juvenile mentoring program that she developed further. Her husband died three years earlier, but she continued her work with just as much passion. Fay knew that because as soon as she searched for the woman’s name in Gotham, the page was flooded with results.

Hannah Walker, nee Reid, was dead. Murdered weeks earlier in her apartment, shot in the head by a pair of burglars that were never identified. A senseless death the newspapers called it; her apartment had been ransacked and her car was stolen. Days later, one of the culprits was brought to the hospital, after being beaten within an inch of his life. He’ll never walk again and if he does wake up, he was unlikely to regain full cerebral function.  

He wasn’t in any state to be sentenced to prison, but it would have been a lesser punishment if he had. Fay felt little sympathy. 

Although a tabloid or two acknowledged Hannah as being Daphne’s foster sister, there was no real information beyond that. It seemed that Hannah did not have many relatives left, and none of them lived on that side of the world. Her husband’s lineage died with him. They had no children. Fay did find an outpour of heartfelt comments from hundreds of individuals who had worked with Hannah throughout her lifetime; children that grew up to be stable, functioning adults all thanks to her mentorship. She had been particularly popular with communities of Syracuse where she’d spent approximately thirty years although she had lived in other cities across the country well. The ‘Rise up’ foundation in Gotham also praised the positive impact of her work and her efforts at introducing new initiatives to help juvenile offenders.

It was unfair, of course. That a woman like her, who dedicated her life to helping others died in such a manner. It really was a senseless death.

Then again, Fay was no stranger to senseless deaths, so perhaps she was far too jaded to summon any sentiment of shock. Her heart ached all the same because reading about Hannah Walker reminded her all too well of how many other good people have been lost that night.

Death does not discriminate between good or bad people, not really. And neither does cruelty or greed. 

Fay wondered if Daphne mourned her foster sister if she had already realized that the world was not much that different from theirs when it came to experiencing loss and grief. There was no mention of Daphne attending Hannah’s walker which otherwise attracted hundreds of visitors.

There was one family that was affected particularly by her death – the Sanders family. Michael Sanders’ son, George, was a former juvenile offender that Hannah mentored for years and helped turn his life around according to his father’s words.

George Sanders went missing on the 14th of May of that same year. He was only twenty-two, and a college student at the University of Gotham, close to obtaining his business management degree. He worked as an administrative assistant at the Aceline Auction House. Some newspapers were eager to link his disappearance to an alleged theft of a painting that took place in that same week he disappeared. The auction house director, Edward Edelstein made no official comments on that, nor he was able to divulge details on the painting itself, citing that the seller wished to have his privacy respected. Yet it was an ‘inside source’ from the auction house that leaked to the press that the item went missing the same time George did.

His family was devastated of course as George never came home nor was tracked down successfully by law enforcement. Fay found little information on the search conducted for him past June, just the occasional mention that neither he or the painting had been found. The police remained eluded on his whereabouts, while his family – unsurprisingly aided by one Hannah Walker – increased their efforts of trying to find him leading search parties of their own.

If it hadn’t been for the missing painting tied to his disappearance, Fay doubted George would have even gotten that much publicity in the first place. Gotham was the type of place where people died and went missing rather often, was it not?

Fay had been taught to look for patterns and connections, to pay attention to details as much as to the bigger picture, and while she did not inherit most of her parent’s natural talents, she was good at research. She enjoyed it. It gave her a purpose and it made her mind stay far from darker territories, even if discovering Daphne Barlowe’s existence had rattled her.  That woman was the first real – flesh and bone and breathing – connection to their world. Fay doubted the woman would help them, even if she did have any ties left to their world but knowing there was someone else than her in that realm made her heart feel lighter. At the very least, maybe Daphne would want to talk to Fay – tell her of how she got there if she knew a way back. It was a farfetched idea, but maybe she knew how to help Fay with her bracelets. 

Fay had no way of contacting her because the woman was practically a recluse, and even if she did use her professional contact, it wasn’t as if she could just write a message saying ‘hey, I am from your world, want to be friends?’. If Daphne had laid roots in that world, she might not even want to acknowledge her previous life, so for the time being Fay didn’t think it was a good idea to contact her just yet. Maybe when they arrived in England where the woman allegedly lived and still conducted lectures at the academic institutions there.

But Hannah Walker had lived in Gotham which meant there was tie to Daphne right in that city.

Hm.

What were the odds?

.

29th of October

The constant drizzle outside turned into nothing short of a gale almost as soon as they went down in the soup kitchen that morning. She and Bag sat in a corner, surrounded by the warmth and the scents of food and sound of chatter coming from the canteen which she had grown so accustomed to that she now found comforting. It was a busy day, but Mack had been well prepared, so he largely busied himself with passing fresh containers through the pass through while Robby washed dishes and cleaned. Dana had several volunteers helping her upfront, so it was a relatively good day for everyone.

Fay admired how conscientious Robby was, always helping in the soup kitchen several times a week even if he had so much other work to do outside of it: a part-time job, online courses he signed up for to increase his chances of a scholarship and still finding time for his friends. She thought he’d make a good veterinarian given both his work ethic and his love for animals.

“Whoa.’’ He said as his sweeping of the floor brought him near her, and he peered down at the papers and notes in her lap. “Please tell me you’re not up to solving crimes now.’’ He joked lightly.

She shook her head. Hannah Walker’s death bothered her, so she had been mulling over it since the previous day.   

“Oh. George Walker, huh?’’

She looked up at him curiously. “…do you know him?’’

Robby shrugged. “Not personally, no. But his sister used to be in my class. We never talked much but she is really nice.’’ He said with a dreamy expression before shaking his head as if to banish away whatever he was reminiscing. With a more serious look he glanced at the picture of George Sanders in one of the articles she printed out. “She was meant to be in my grade this year but had barely shown up since school started. It’s just her and her dad, and from what I’ve heard, he’s not doing very well.’’

Understandable.

“But---but they don’t know where he is still?’’ She asked quietly. “Or why he disappeared?’’

“Nope. There are all kinds of rumors. Nasty ones, too, because of some issues he had a few years ago. Vandalism used to get in fights a lot, and he got caught shoplifting as well. It was Mrs. Walker—‘’ He pointed at one of her other papers which had a picture of the deceased mentor. “—who straightened him out. He went to Gotham University, and I can’t remember the course he got in, but it was apparently not easy to get into.’’

“Business…. management?’’

“Yeah, yeah. That’s it. Business management. Gotham University offers some of the best courses on this side of the country in business, so the program is pretty competitive.’’

She looked at him curiously. “How---do you know so much about him?’’

The boy’s cheeks reddened so quickly that he could have rivaled her own moments of embarrassment.

“I, um, well…he was Julie’s brother so---‘’ He shrugged. “You know. People talk.’’ He finished casually although Fay believed none of his nonchalance.

“Ha! He obsessed over her for years!’’ Mack piped up from across the kitchen with a wicked grin. “Seriously, the kid was this close to stalking the poor girl.’’ He teased, wiggling his brows at Robby who had turned crimson.

“Mack! Don’t tell her that, that’s not true!’’ The boy’s voice was suspiciously high too, and Fay’s lips twitched in amusement. Robby threw a withering look at the cook who just laughed and turned his attention back to the large pot of gumbo he was preparing.

“I wasn’t stalking her. People talk and-and –Julie was popular and everyone knew----okay, maybe I liked her a little bit--’’ Robby defended himself – too- quickly, and Fay bit on the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling because the more he tried to explain himself, the guiltier he looked. For once she was not the one who was floundering for words.

“Okay.’’ She nodded, for his own benefit. “I believe you.’’

He sighed and brushed a hand through his sandy blond hair, the same shade as his mother’s. His blue eyes, perhaps from his father? He didn’t look much like Dana, for that matter, except they both held cutlery and pens in the same way. There were other similarities too, in their mannerisms but physically, he must have taken after his father. Fay didn’t know much about him except that Robert Mercher died when Robby – Robert Junior – was around one year old.

It was a sensitive topic, so she’d never broach it, although it explained why Dana was so careful with Fay’s own boundaries as well. 

“Anyways,’’ Robby cleared his throat, still looking flustered. “George was pretty well known in high school. I didn’t meet him personally, but I heard he used to skip classes a lot to hang out with older boys who were into some hardcore stuff. I only saw him a few times when he used to pick up Julie from school---we sometimes studied together.’’

“One of the articles says that he ran away because he…. stole something?’’

“Yeah, maybe.’’ Robby shrugged. “But Julie— ‘’ Fay saw Mack wiggle his eyebrows at them again, but Robby’s back was turned to him, so the boy didn’t see him. Her lips twitched again but she suppressed the smile. “---she got a lot of crap for it at school. People saying that her brother stole the painting because they’re poor and all that kind of bullshit. She had to miss most classes at the end of last year because of it.’’

People were people, no matter the world, hm. 

“What…about the police? Or um, Batman and…. the others.’’ Somehow referring to Damian as Robin felt strange, even if she had already accepted the association between the two. Fay didn’t really know him as the ‘Boy Wonder’, aside from their brief, muddled encounter in that building; even as Damian Wayne, she didn’t think of him as the heir of Bruce Wayne. He was just the – tyrannical, maniac, unpredictable, kind, aggressive, arrogant – boy with green eyes. A dangerous, hidden threat that forced her to go shopping and eat better and ordered her around as if she was his lackey and made fun of her emotional nature and was kind in dizzying, unexpected ways.

If he was that confusing as just Damian Wayne, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know more about his Robin persona.

“No clue. The police would probably not get involved. I heard this owner of the private collection is very rich, although nobody knows who he is. And—‘’ He shrugged again. “Maybe he did just leave town. Not all crimes get solved, given how many they are. Or maybe they already found him and he’s in some sort of witness protection. Who knows?’’ He sighed. “But Julia has set up this amazing forum where people can post stuff--’’

Fay looked at him pointedly. So did Mack and Bagheera, for that matter.

“I am not stalking her, I swear!’’

.

A lease agreement does not terminate automatically with a tenant’s death. It depends of course on the type of contract the tenant had signed when – and if - the property could be reclaimed by the building owner, but in the condominium that Hannah Walker used to live in, very few apartments were rented. Most were owned. It was a generally good area to live in, according to Fay's research and the accommodations there seemed to reflect that. Even more, the reason why Hannah’s death came as such a shock to the inhabitants of that building – there haven’t been many burglaries in that area in recent years and none had certainly ended in the death of a loved member of the community.

It had been more difficult to access Hannah’s apartment than it had been to sneak in after the group of thieves weeks earlier because there was a secured entry system that required tenants to carry special keys. Any visitors had to request access via the intercom at the entrance. Fay had no information of any people that lived in that building aside from Hannah so she couldn't lie her way inside. They had to wait a couple of hours. 

It was a delivery man in the end who made it possible for her to enter. Bagheera had to stay outside, hidden because he attracted far too much attention, but she’d told the carrier that she was there to visit her grandmother and had lost her key. He didn’t pay much attention to that.

With her hood on, she sneaked to the first floor, thinking about how that was the third time in as many months that she was breaking and entering. There were no cameras thankfully, but she had to avoid other inhabitants because, unlike the last building, the residents there were bound to ask questions. They had their security breached not too long ago, so they had to be quite suspicious of anyone new. 

Hannah Walker’s apartment door looked innocuous as if a murder hadn’t even taken place there. Fay fiddled with the lock several minutes longer - the last one had been much easier-  than she probably should have. Once she was inside, she made sure to lock the door behind her, before carefully examining her surroundings. Past the dark hall, Fay found the living room to her right and the kitchen to her left. There were other doors down the hall, but she stepped to the left, gazing around the spacious room.

There was a strong chemical scent that permeated the air –chlorine. The wooden floor was barren, and she stared at the dark stain in one side of the room, for several minutes, trying to quell her nausea. The carpet must have been removed because of the blood, and the apartment cleaned of any traces of the murder that took place. Except for that stain. The rest of the apartment was left largely untouched judging by the layers of dust that was gathering on the furniture and items that sat atop of them.

Carefully as to not disturb anything, Fay looked around the room – inspecting the small shelves of books, various collections – timbers, coins, porcelain figures – before stopping in front of the wall to her right. There was a massive cork board mounted on it filled with what must have been easily over two hundred photos of different people, cards – store-bought and handmade -, certificates, and other paper awards celebrating a wide variety of milestones like ‘Valedictorian of 2006 class’.

Fay licked her dry lips, her heart twinging at the sight of that wall. Hannah had created a makeshift memorial of all the people she had encountered throughout her career, those whom she must have successfully mentored towards a better life judging by all the warm wishes and thank you’s on the cards.

She wondered if the burglars saw it too if they felt any remorse at any point upon seeing the type of person the woman was. 

Maybe. Or maybe not. Not everyone can be redeemed. 

Fay found flyers too, scattered on the round table near that wall and they were all centered around the disappearance of George Sanders, but when she looked through them, she could not find anything of interest. On a shelf mounted on the wall, there were several frames. Hannah with Henry Reid when she looked no older than five or six, another with both her father and who must have been her mother around ten years of age. Hannah with her husband on their wedding day – she looked beautiful – and several other pictures of them that indicated a happy marriage, because they never stopped looking happy as they grew older. 

Fay found a photo album filled with photos that just continued and added to the stories the frames started. There was only one picture of Daphne Barlowe, tucked at the end of the album in an envelope, whether to hide it or preserve it better, Fay wasn't known. Hannah was in that photo too. Both women appeared to be in their early twenties, and their arms were around each other, as they stood down on a blanket beneath the shade of a tree. Daphne too was smiling although not quite as unreservedly as her companion but she looked…relaxed, content. Happier than in any of the pictures Fay found of her in her research. They have must have been close then, but there had to be a reason why that frame was pushed behind all the others.

There were a few words scrawled on the back, ‘My sister, Daphne.’ Fay tried not to think about the vortex of emotions building in her chest and instead continued her scrutiny of the apartment. Forty minutes later, she found nothing in the other rooms and had backtracked to the living room, to stare at the board again, feeling suddenly drained and disillusioned. She wasn’t sure for how long she stared at the board, but she was about to leave when one of the pinned items caught her attention.

It was a ‘Mother’s day’ postcard, pinned to the far bottom left, and partially covered by other cards and photos.

But Hannah didn’t have any children, though. Maybe one of the students was particularly close? Curious, Fay unpinned it to take a closer look. It was a handmade folded card, with clumsy, rudimentary but colorful flowers drawn on the front. The handwriting was messy, with big bold letters wishing ‘Happy Mother’s Day’, each letter a different color. When she opened it, she found the same messy, scrawled writing inside – a child wishing their mother a ‘super-duper-best’ day and informing her that ‘she was the best mum ever’. Fay would have mused more on that message except for the text on the other side of the card caught her attention.

The writing there belonged to a different person and the author had pressed so hard on their pen that Fay was surprised there were no holes.

‘Slush puppies, Tilt ‘n ‘Spin.’

There were initials written underneath that short message, as well.

G.S.

George Sanders.

It was lead. It had to be.

But what in the world is slush puppies?

.

As it turns out it’s a frozen beverage, mostly ice and flavored syrup that came in different colors, including red. Robby told her the green one was the best. She’d have to take his word for it because she wouldn’t know any better. He was also the one who told her that ‘Tilt ‘n ‘Spin’ was a former entertainment complex where people could go roller skating, complete with a food court and arcade games. Increased criminal activity in the area had led to its demise. 

Again, she’d have to take his word when he mentioned it was a ‘pretty lit place’ because she had no idea what that meant but judging by the enthusiasm on his face, it had to be a positive thing. She didn’t understand how something could be ‘cool’ and ‘lit’ at the same time, but she’d figured it was just colloquialisms of that world that she had yet to learn in more depth.

The only other person in her age bracket was Damian, and he hardly spoke like a child. Even Dana said so. She couldn’t imagine him using any of the slang words that Robby did, but the mental image did amuse her slightly.

A lead is a lead, though.

Not once did she consider not following it.

it was annoying that she kept hearing Damian's voice in her head, telling her she was being stupidly reckless again. 

He just had to insinuate herself in there as well, didn't he? 

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31st of October 

Fay may not have inherited her father’s tactical genius or her mother’s quick mind and while there were days when she struggled to think of herself as anything other than a loser, she knew she wasn’t stupid. Not all the time anyway.

The research-turned-investigation felt rather stimulating, and it filled her with a lost sense of adventure. She wouldn’t dare say she felt braver, but she did feel more like her old self, the Fay of before. The one who used to spend days thinking about the adventures she’d like to pursue, the one who immersed herself in scavenger hunts organized by her parents which were far more exciting than any of the masters’ tests.

And if she suspected that Damian was tracking her using the phone was not because she was particularly sharp, but because it’s been bred into her to be alert about potential tracking and spying tactics employed by others, as much as she’d been tentatively trained in learning how to rely on those tactics herself (she did not have much experience in that area, though). Plus, she knew he was Robin. 

So, she hadn’t been carrying the phone when breaking into Hannah Walker’s apartment and she left it behind when she and Bagheera headed to the ‘Tilt ‘n Spin’ building as well. 

What a sight.  

It wasn’t just the former rink roller that was abandoned – the entire street was. It wasn’t empty, homeless women and men huddled in makeshift tents or huddled around fires trying to keep themselves warm in the cold autumn weather. The wind was particularly chilly that day, biting at any inch of exposed skin so she had wrapped herself in several layers, scarf tightly wrapped around her neck, working in tandem with her beanie to keep her face warm. 

Keeping close to her paladin, nobody dared approach them as they walked down the street. The rink roller was built inside a brick and mortar warehouse and there was nothing about it that inspired Fay to think it was a safe place despite how unaffected it remained against time, neglect, and the natural elements. Bagheera sensed no danger, so after looking around the dilapidated building, they went through the main entrance which formerly might have been painted red, but now the splintered door was a bare tarp.

Once inside, they left footsteps in the sheet of dust that gathered on the rotting wooden floors, boards creaking in protest under their weight. They were quiet, but even the slightest step echoed through that dark chamber, up to the sagging roof above their heads. The dust-coated windows lining the upper part of the walls no longer sufficed to beckon whatever autumn light there was, but instead only added to the growing sense of gloom. She grimaced at the clogging odour of damp and rotting wood. 

Bagheera sneezed, sending clouds in the air and frightening rats into scurrying away into hiding. 

Flashlight in hand, they walked around the large rink roller, a circular space that took the better part of the room and was now inhabited by vagrants seeking shelter from the unforgiving weather. There were abandoned tables and chairs, and just like Robby said, a food hall carved in one side of the building along with several arcade machines that sat there, dilapidated, untouched for years.

Stopping in front of the former concession stand, she used the flashlight to peruse over various items – popcorn stand, plastic, scratched displays, abandoned promotional merchandise -, finding the triple ‘Slush Machine’ sitting towards the end of the counters propped against the wall. The plastic holding tanks were cracked, nozzles missing for the first two.

Fay stepped behind the concession stand, so she could take a closer look. If George had hidden something in it, there were not many places he could have done so. With the flashlight in her mouth, she tested the machine to see if there were any parts coming apart, potentially revealing a hiding spot, heart starting to pump faster with a mix of wariness and…well, maybe a sense of excitement. How long had it been since she’d been on a hunt for clues to solve a mystery? 

Too long and too painful to think about.

Her thoughts did not get a chance to spiral down to unpleasant territory because she found something in the third tank. Or rather, the drip tray of that tank. Pulling out the tray towards her, she removed the plastic grill and saw there was a small dark device. A USB flash drive. She’d seen Dana use one many times, and Robby also had one attached to the ring of keys. A data storage device. Rather outdated, due to other technology available that made it possible to store data without the aid physical world. 

Damian had explained some of it when she'd asked him about it, once, but she didn't understand everything. However, the so-called 'cloud' technology did not seem that different from the one in her world. 

George Sanders had reached out to Hannah Walker and left her a clue. She died, and he was still missing but the USB was left behind so it was safe to assume Hannah never had a chance to follow George’s lead.

Which meant that whoever killed her must have been looking for that flash drive, as well. 

The logical next step would be to reach out to the authorities for help. Damian was an option, too, but that'd mean revealing she knew of his identity.

What was the disappearance of a young man and a botched robbery was turning into something far bigger and Fay doubted law enforcement was aware of it. It was only practical for her to take a step back from that point onwards because she’d satisfied her curiosity, followed the clues, and found the USB. 

It wasn’t any of her business what kind of affairs George was involved in that forced him to make a run for it, hide information in an abandoned building, and potentially get Hanah involved as well. Plus, what could she possibly do if she found out who was responsible for everything? Go after them in the state she was?

It would be reckless and stupid. 

But that never stopped her before.

.

.

.

She should have known it wasn’t going to end well.

Chapter 14: Crescendo

Notes:

Chapter revised as of 22nd of August.

Chapter Text

“Three things cannot be long hidden:

The Sun, the Moon, and the Truth.’’

Buddha

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25th of October

Damian had been right about his own lead. Most importantly, he proved that Drake was nowhere close to cracking the – his – case. Something bigger was at play and the former assassin would have put his hand through fire that the next attack would take place on Halloween night. It was the night when the crazies all came out, even more so than usual, and all heroes’ attention would be divided across the city. From a tactical view, blackouts – plural, because multiple would only add to the growing instability of the town – would represent the perfect distraction.

From what, though, was the question. What was it all orchestrated for – the sake of chaos? Robbing banks? Spreading thin the presence of law enforcement and vigilantes in such a manner couldn't be just about money, and while causing mayhem effectively can elevate one’s status as a criminal, Damian suspected the criminal ringleader had a bigger agenda than that.

Josie Clarkson had not been an entirely dead lead, not that Drake needed to know that. In her account of Finnegan coming to visit her, babbling about inhuman threats in what she had assumed to be a drug-fuelled paranoia, he had also mentioned that he changed his plan about helping Wyatt because he did not wish to get his hands bloody. Finnegan had visited Clarkson weeks before Hannah Walker’s death, so it was unlikely he was referring to her.

The man, however, reportedly informed his former girlfriend that ‘it had been all Sanders’ fault’ for things going south. 

Damian’s theory was that Walker had known more than she let on, seeing the close relationship she had with Sanders. The runaway might have reached out for her help. Walker had been incredibly vocal about finding him, rallying members of the community – and she certainly had the numbers to reach out given her reputation – in conducting searches for him, spreading awareness about his disappearance, and even organizing a protest of over well two hundred people in front of the Aceline Auction house. The director, Edelstein may have not officially accused Sanders of the theft, but he had also refused to deny that his organization considered that possibility. Plus, the journalist that published the defaming article on Sanders obtained the information well before the insurance company or police did, so it could have only come from one place.

Perhaps Walker was in on something all along, and Damian had to admit his respect for the woman had increased throughout the investigation. She had not been just an elderly victim. She had been an activist, a mentor to hundreds of disenfranchised young individuals, a loved member of the communities in which she had lived over the years. That did not mean she could not have cracked under the pressure of having a gun pressed to her temple, but perhaps there was more to her than that. 

They were all connected: Finnegan, Wyatt, Sanders, Walker, and Edelstein. So, Damian set to investigate the auction house. Everything was squeaky clean – or that’s what it would have looked to the Gotham Police, had they ever decided to investigate themselves. Except the members of GCPD could not even dream about being anywhere in Damian’s league when it came to hunting people down.

And what a fruitful hunt it had turned out to be.

It only took him a few hours to discover that the Aceline Auction house had been dabbling in illegal activities, increasingly so over recent years starting with auctioning off-the-record goods. Such goods were provided by the very same members of GCPD police, from the looks of it. Damian had at least three corrupt detectives on his list by the end of his research.

That’s when it got more interesting. Over the past year, the three officers – Anderson, Garcia, and Nelson – had, altogether, closed off successfully thirty-four cases, out of seventy-three they were assigned, officially anyway. Forty-six percent rate. At first glance they appeared of average ability, especially when looking at the cases they resolved: petty thefts, malicious damages, grand theft auto. Previous years showed the same patterns. 

It was the car thefts that piqued Damian’s attention. They have had four cases closed throughout the year so far. A range of American and European cars, older models, worthless. Nothing that would put the three officers on the list of GCPD’s best detectives but would, at the very least, demonstrate they are competent enough to keep their jobs. The cars had modified chassis, to allow for secret compartments filled with money and drugs. Unsurprisingly, the cars were registered in fake names, and they were later sent to be destroyed. The money and drugs were sequestered by the GCPD.

Three criminals were found guilty of the trafficking, all of whom were subsequently arrested and convicted. One of them committed suicide. Another was killed in prison, two weeks after he was sent there. A third suffered a heart attack.

How convenient.

Neither one of the three detectives had investigated Walker’s death or Sander’s disappearance. However, both Anderson and Nelson had arrested Finnegan and Wyatt in the past – it took some time to unearth those records, but they were there, black on white.

There it was. The connection. Damian set out to track the three officers. 

Nelson had been out on sick leave for weeks, whereas Garcia was on vacation somewhere in Asia with his family. That left Anderson who had shuttered himself in his apartment for over a week.

It was from him that Damian learned that the seventeen illegal cars they’d found months earlier had not contained just drugs or money but also different types of weapons. Anderson wasn’t sure what they were, as they were sealed away. Finnegan and Wyatt had roped George Sanders into helping them at the auction house where the weapons were taken. Anderson and his two accomplices were generously paid off for their contribution. The three criminals that smuggled the cars were unsuspecting parties/ No record was made of the weapons. 

The origin of such items was largely a mystery although Wyatt had told the officers someone referring to themselves as ‘Angel’ was behind the entire operation.

Sanders threw a wrench in their plan when he refused to cooperate any further and had seemingly obtained evidence of the illegal activities. He ran away. Finnegan and Wyatt believed the boy had reached out to his former mentor, Hannah Walker for help. Anderson himself monitored the woman for days on end but there was no evidence of her getting in touch with Hannah so he preferred to leave the woman alone. Wyatt, sadistic and unhinged as he was, decided to take the matter into his own hands, afraid that the ‘Angel’ will find out it was his very contact who was jeopardizing the operation.

Anderson had no longer been contacted until a few days earlier when he received a package at his home address. It contained parts of Nelson’s body. He had no family and lived alone, so no one checked on him.

When he reached out to Garcia, he’d found that his partner had received a similar delivery.

A day later, a man called them warning that they must ‘clean up the mess’ by killing Edelstein or they’ll be both framed for Nelson’s murder. Garcia decided to take his family and escape, but Anderson stayed behind as he had gambled all his money away and had no way of exiting Gotham as quickly.

He had also considered following through with the request. He didn't but Edelstein went missing a day later. Anderson assumed Nelson cracked under the pressure. 

The corrupt officer was on the verge of offering his theory on who the ‘Angel’ might be when his apartment was attacked by several masked men. They were not quite the amateurs that Finnegan or Wyatt had been but had also not presented a challenge to Damian. The smoke bomb they used was odd, however – there were herbal undertones to it that made the young Robin suspect it was just another one of the new weapons being put in circulation. 

It was strong enough to disorientate a person, nausea violent nausea, and physical pain judging by Anderson’s reaction. Damian had managed to pull the man out of there, but by the time he had arrived at a hospital, he was already dead. Heart attack. Had Damian not been there, Anderson would have been found dead on the floor of his apartment out of apparent natural causes.

Damian didn't care much that Anderson was dead, although the preferable outcome would have been for the man to be exposed for his corruption and punished accordingly.

Gordon was made aware of the findings on the man and the other two police officers. As it turns out, Garcia’s family had reported him missing while making a stop in Singapore, so it was safe to assume the so-called Angel had gotten to him as well.

The assailants from Anderson’s apartment were identified and interrogated. Former convicts. They were recruited anonymously, by the same voice that had threatened Anderson, but they did not know anything beyond that. One of them did admit that they were not the only ones to have been hired – it seems the Angel had been dabbling into heavy recruitment which only reinforced Damian’s theory that a large-scale event was imminent. They also had no idea what the smoke bombs contained or who manufactured them. They were simply offered to them along with anonymous instructions to attack Anderson. 

It was possible that the Angel was just another identity that the Sponsor used. Or someone trying to attract the attention of the latter. 

Damian tried to narrow down the list of possible suspects but frustratingly lacked in data. 

Not good enough.

He asked Alfred to let Fay know that he would be unavailable due to the flu, and if she required, to contact the butler directly. She will stop by the penthouse for her transfusions and once he was done with the case, Damian planned on having her looked at by one of the best medics in the country, even if he had to do it by force. Alfred will keep an eye on her until then.

He had checked the tracker in her phone several times in the days that followed. Nothing out of ordinary.

Good. He did not want anything to draw his attention from the case. 

(He pushed away from the sliver of annoyance at how easily she accepted his absence.)

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31st of October, 19:23

Grayson made Father aware of what Damian suspected would take place in Gotham. Batman was expected for an immediate return, his affairs with the League over. Damian should have been relieved. Yet he felt that perhaps it was just another sign his father did not trust him to protect Gotham on his own; even though he had been planning for days now how to best position Gotham's vigilantes in preparation for a large-scale event.  Oracle had agreed with his formation, not that he was looking for approval.

He had even included Drake. He was being pragmatic, rather than anything else. 

With Oracle as their eyes and ears, they had been ready to act since the first hours of Halloween day. 

At dawn, Edelstein’s body was found on the banks of Gotham River. Broken neck. No fingerprints or DNA traces. A clean kill. 

Perched atop a medium-rise building, in the southwest of Gotham, he watched the civilians below. The city was busier than usual at that time of the day, as the frenzy for Halloween celebrations reached its peak with children going out for trick or treating, teenagers pranking unsuspecting civilians, and adults dressing themselves in the most ridiculous of get-ups.

Damian firmly believed that anyone who dared to wear a Batman or Robin costume should be charged with slander.

His head throbbed. The migraine had been consistent for the last forty-eight hours, and painkillers had done nothing to alleviate it. Earlier that evening he had also felt nauseous – he wholeheartedly blamed it on Grayson’s idea of taking over Alfred’s duties and serving them all burgers of his own making. Damian had not been allowed to leave until he ate at least two, although he refused to go to sleep as the former Robin insisted.

He'll sleep when he was certain that Gotham was safe. Just like Father would. 

Failing to stop the Angel was not an option, especially with his father set to return to Gotham that night. It was a great opportunity to show him that Damian was more than ready on conducting missions of his own and to also re-emphasize that there was no need to go back to the Titans (which his father had hinted at wanting to propose again once he returned).

His sensitive ears picked up on something shifting through the air, so discreet that it could have been the wind, and shuriken in hand, he turned around ready to block or defend but he found there was no need. The lupine creature landed swiftly from one building to another with an agility that no dog could be capable of. The boy’s hair stood up on the back of his neck when he saw the backpack he was holding in his mouth.

If Bagheera was there, looking specifically for Robin, then it was safe to assume Fay of his secret identity.

There was no deliberate on that. 

If Fay wasn’t with him, however, it meant something had happened.

“Where is she?’’

The beast growled, dropping the backpack to the floor before tapping his large paw against it. 

Shuriken away, Damian rushed to it and quickly opened the bag to find a plastic envelope with a USB key in it. There was also a rectangular card, attached to a lanyard. Tom Yale. Security guard. At Gotham Academy.

Blood had seeped between the lanyard and the card.

Not her blood. It couldn’t be. If she had been wounded, Bagheera would have never been left alone which meant….she purposefully sent her dog for him. With a clue.

Someone was attacking Gotham Academy.

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Earlier that evening….

Fay had every intention of contacting Damian the moment she’d seen what had been stored on that USB. It was footage of George Sanders, filming himself in a dark location she could not identify, stating that if someone did find that video, it likely meant he was dead. He urged the viewer to ensure that the ‘truth’ is passed on to the police, and to his family whom he professed his love for, then apologized for ‘failing them’.

It was a heartbreaking sight. She could see the fear and guilt that colored his voice, but also the resignation in his eyes. George didn't think he'd survive. 

George seemed to have left a sort of testimony behind explaining that former boys he grew up with had blackmailed him in helping them at the auction house. Edward Edelstein, the auction house director, was running illegal, private auctions in which dangerous weapons, drugs, and other luxury goods were being brought in and sold off to different criminals that had been recruited by an unknown person.

Something is being planned for the last night of October, on Halloween. ‘Gotham City is in danger, George continued. Having investigated on his own, he found out that Edelstein had been involved with what he believed to be ‘very dangerous people'. 

When he’d confronted his former friends, George found that they were employed by the very same people that orchestrated the illegal activities. One of his blackmailers, John Finnegan, warned him that they were likely to end up dead if they tried to back out. Not wanting to be a part of it any longer, George revealed in the video that he tried to find out as much evidence of the operation as possible. Police officers were also involved in the illegal operation, so he knew he didn't trust law enforcement, but he hoped that the media might help. However, ‘the Angel’ saw him ‘that night', so he had been on the run ever since. He subsequently learned that the media was saying all kinds of him that were untrue.

They were making sure he had nowhere to hide.

The video cut off abruptly with George looking up frightened over his shoulder, to something – or someone – behind. Someone must have discovered him. Perhaps he had been hiding at the Tilt ‘n Spin, and upon realizing he’d been tracked down, hid the USB drive in the Slush Puppie machine.  

Hannah Walker must have known given she had the card with the lead on it. It doesn't seem she had a chance to follow it. 

With increasing trepidation, Fay tried to look at the other files. There was a folder that was password encrypted, and she left it alone after being denied access. There were also several photographs taken of a computer's screen. Some were blurry as if they were taken in a hurry (they must have been if George had been trying to obtain evidence undetected). They appeared to be documents containing personal information, with each one containing a square photo of a child at the top corner. 

George managed to photograph at least a dozen of those files. 

They all had a stamp at the bottom. Fay recognized it immediately. Her heart sunk, and her stomach clenched. 

The final page looked like a—flyer?- no. Black, full of illustrations of pumpkins and skulls and ghouls, with letters drawn as if they were made of blood announcing the annual Scarefest.

Students and staff members only.

On 31st of October, 18:00.

At Gotham Academy. 

It was currently 18:17.

.

From a logical standpoint, she should have gone to Damian directly with her findings and let him take over. Bagheera could have tracked him down, or she could have found a way to contact him. She had memorized both his and Alfred’s numbers after all. Fay, once again, made a different type of choice. 

Perhaps she was suicidal, after all. But she wasn't risking her life because she wanted to die. 

She was merely following her instincts. 

The rush of adrenaline momentarily muted her anxiety. Fay knew it was dangerous to follow a lead like that, especially in her weakened state. Yet she rushed towards Gotham Academy as quickly as she could – she didn’t know what for, except that the students were in danger - hoping she wasn't too late. 

After a mile so, her breath felt ragged and she'd started coughing, so Bagheera allowed her to ride on his back. They crossed the gap from their location to the academy in no time. 

The Halloween decorations gave the building a morbid décor, what with the hanging skeletons and artificially lit jack o’ lanterns and fake cobwebs that had been applied a bit too enthusiastically in some corners. Posters, using the same color palette as the invite she’d seen on the drive, were also hanging from the wall – announcing that the main event would take place in the recital room, where there’d be refreshments and music and a ‘haunted house’ that had been built by the very same students of Gotham Academy.

Once inside, Fay and Bagheera quietly sneaked from one end to the other of the Academy, having accessed the property using the sports compound. When Bagheera picked up on the sounds of footsteps heading in their direction, they had to hide in an empty classroom to avoid them. Through the door gap, Fay watched the students roam around dressed in all kinds of costumes. She wasn’t familiar enough with that world to identify all of them, but it didn't seem all of them were meant to be scary. Some students were wearing attires that resembled the armor and attires of protectors of that world – like Superman, and Wonder Woman.

Her heart skipped a breath when she spotted a particularly colorful attire. Then she realized the boy wearing it was nothing like the one he was copying. 

Fay decided that she couldn't hide in there forever. She ended up pulling on a dark hooded robe with a red interior. There was a crest on the cloak, but she had no idea what it stood for. It was the simplest item she could find on the rack of clothes that had been pushed to the side near the classroom she hid in. The recital room was at the end of that hallway.

Bagheera nudged her back into the classroom. A second later, a man and a woman exited the recital room through the double doors. Fay watched them again through the door gap. They looked as if they were from a catering service judging by the aprons and matching uniforms.

But they were wearing combat boots. Bagheera growled softly, jaws pulling back in a silent snarl. 

He thought there was something off about them, as well. 

The man and woman walked past the classroom they were hiding in and deeper into the academy. 

Heart pounding, Fay shut the door and turned to look at Bagheera. Her paladin had moved away, to step towards the back of the room. There was a door there and when she approached it, she noticed a dark pool of liquid coming from underneath. 

Fay closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She didn't want to look inside but what if whoever was in there, bleeding, was still alive? 

Bagheera positioned himself ready to attack if needed, as she reached for the doorknob all whilst taking care not to step in the blood. She gently turned the knob and opened the door, body trembling. 

Sure enough, the lifeless body of a guard had been shoved inside, his head lolled back revealing the deep cut around his jugular where the blood had gushed out, staining the better part of his pale blue uniform. The rest pooled under him and had spread past the threshold. 

Fay stepped back, closed her eyes again, and took several deep breaths. It wasn’t the first time she saw a dead body. She had been eight, the first time she did – late by the standards of older generations of Maysoon, but too early, if you had asked her father. It was ironic, given he had first witnessed death at an even younger age. She wasn’t sure it would ever get easier, especially not after that night. But Fay didn’t retch or scream, just took a couple of minutes to compose herself to avoid having a panic attack.

Taking a few more deep breaths, she pressed the nails of her fingers into her palms, the sting there keeping her grounded.

Think, think, think. How many are there? They’ve killed the guard – but she’s seen several others patrolling about – so maybe they’ve taken their identity. Just like with the catering staff. To do what?

Gotham Academy was a prestigious school attended by some of the richest children in the city. So, it would make sense for them to be targeted--to kill them? No. What good would that do? And it seemed too…simple, as ruthless as that may have sounded.

In the video, George had mentioned Gotham city was in danger, so the Academy wasn't the only point of interest. If the auction house director had been part of a weapon trafficking operation, then just targeting the school didn’t make sense.

The encrypted file - that could offer more information on what was planned. Damian would be able to access it. Cursing herself for not having made the decision earlier, she ended up asking Bagheera to go search for him while she stayed behind. Her paladin had been very reluctant, but ultimately followed her request – people were in danger, after all.

Fay had put the guard’s ID card inside her bag – keeping her flashlight and multi-purpose pocketknife (courtesy of Dana) – before handing it to Bag. Fay hugged him, pressing her head to his in a quiet goodbye before she watched him jump out the window.

Left alone in that dark classroom with the dead body not too far from her, Fay had momentarily stared at the lights of the buildings around the Academy.

She doubted she could save any of those children if they got attacked or kidnapped.

But at the very least, she could pass off as one of them and try to understand what the criminals wanted.

Bagheera would find her.

He always did.

“Always counting on others to save you, huh? You’re embarrassing.’’

 

.

.

.

Bagheera was no regular dog if one at that. Damian had always known that. He had asked Fay once how she came to have Bag, and she had been offended at the implication she owned him, pointing out that he is her ‘partner’, not ‘pet’. Unsurprising, given her strong attachment to the beast. They were rarely ever apart. 

Damian understood why they appeared they were so finely attuned to one another. 

The emotions that washed over him, like an invisible wave, were not his, even if some did coincide with what he’d felt as well. Concern, wariness, anger, affection – they were so strong that Damian was momentarily stunned, almost dizzy when he’d felt those emotions wash over him. It wasn’t the first creature he’d come across that had that ability – he had worked with someone else who had similar powers only months earlier, after all. 

Bagheera was an empath.

.

.

.

The recital room would have been fascinating to explore had it not been for the fact that someone was targeting the school.

Fay also struggled to make sense of all the 'spooky themes'. How was she supposed to tell who was suspicious or not with everyone wearing all those costumes? 

Not that her homeland did not have festivities that were in the vein of celebrating the dead. Or costume parties, for that matter. Pulling the hood of her robe over her head, Fay tried to make herself as inconspicuous as possible as she walked towards the long buffet table. Unsurprisingly, even the food was Halloween-themed what with ghost-covered pizzas, witch cakes, and cheesecake…eyeballs. Huh.

Fay couldn’t tell if there was anything out of ordinary with any of the food. Unsure how to proceed, she ended up staring at the room before her, observing the many decorations – orange and black garlands, fake headstones, skeletons, and jack o’ lanterns again – and the guests – children and staff members alike – mingling with one another. Across the room from her, there was a large red sign that pointed towards the left announcing the ‘haunted house’ was in that direction and when she followed it with her eyes, she saw two older children dressed as---something furry. Who knows. They seemed to be in charge of allowing others to go through a door that’s been decorated with cobwebs and fake blood. When Fay looked towards the right end of the room, where the theatre platform was, she saw that the drapes were drawn closed and a sign announced that the haunted house was in motion so no one should go through that way. 

Fay jumped, startled when someone near her squealed, and she turned to see a girl around her age staring at her. She was also wearing a robe just like Fay's.

Oh no. 

The girl grinned as she pushed her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose. She had blue eyes, and her blond hair was curly, falling past her shoulders.  

“Hello, fellow Gryffindor!’’ 

What---what is a griffin…door?  

Panicking – disturbingly more than when she discovered the dead body – Fay glanced behind herself, wondering if the girl was speaking to someone else. There was nobody around them. Then the girl was suddenly very close-too close- and Fay had to take a step back, hackles raising. The scent of mangoes wafted over her.

“Wh—what?’’

The girl leaned forward, and Fay comically leaned back, as the blue eyes scrutinized her openly, head to toe. “It’s not the best rendition I’ve seen but it’s pretty good.’’ She said, pulling back, then smiled again. “I haven’t seen you before--- are you in Grade 7?’’

What

Wait. School grade? Think, think.

“Um, --I am new,’’ Fay responded. “Just—just, um, moved here.’’

“Oh?’’ The girl blinked. “When was that? From what school? How old are you? I am thirteen. Well, twelve and ten months. But I am in Grade 7 as well!’’ The girl didn’t stop there but instead kept barraging Fay with a slew of questions that she had trouble keeping up with. Fay considered just taking off, but she couldn’t be sure the girl wouldn’t have followed, and subsequently cause a scene.

I don’t have time for this. I have to---I must tell someone what is going on but…She glanced at the staff members standing across the room. Some were dressed in costumes as well, while others have preferred to keep their formal uniforms on, but they were all wearing tags hanging from their necks. They did not seem worried, as they alternated between talking to one another and monitoring the students. 

They were completely oblivious that criminals had infiltrated the Academy and that there was a dead body in the room adjacent to the recital room.

Unless…they were in on it. Or some of them.

What could she do? Call the police? George had said they couldn’t be trusted so what was to say she wouldn’t end up alerting the criminals that she was onto them. Find a way to contact Damian or Alfred and let them know? Bagheera would be faster, most likely than if she tried to find a phone.

If she told the teachers, they might not believe her. Even if they did, they would have the same options as she did. If one of them was indeed the enemy in disguise, she’d only expose herself.

Crap. 

“I am sorry.’’ Fay blinked and turned to look at the girl again, having lost track of what she was saying. The blond looked embarrassed, cheeks reddening slightly. “I talk a lot, don’t I? I didn’t mean to.’’

Fay suddenly felt guilty even if she didn’t know the girl. Come to think of it, the blonde was alone, although everyone else there seemed to have paired up with someone else or were part of a group. Fay spotted a group of girls standing a few feet away from the table, snickering as they cast not-so-subtle mocking looks towards them. Or specifically, the blonde girl. She seems to have noticed because she glanced at them with a frown. 

“It’s, um, okay.’’ The blond looked up at her in surprise. “Um, I don’t mind.’’ She did, but she wasn't sure what else she could say or do, either. Maybe Bagheera and Damian will get there before anything else happened. 

“My name is Cora.’’ The girl extended her hand. Fay hesitantly shook it, but then released it quickly “Fay.’’

“Fay,’’ Cora repeated. “Is it short for something?’’

Yes. “Um, no. Just—just Fay.’’

Cora opened her mouth to ask something else, but she was cut off by the loud voice booming across the room. Someone had walked up on the stage, holding a microphone, and was demanding that everyone’s attention revert in that direction. Lights dimmed, and the room would have been plunged in darkness had not it been for the various fluorescent decorations.

A woman had walked on the stage, wearing a white, silky cape that reached the ground and pooled slightly around her. Her dark hair was coifed back in a bun and she was wearing a delicate, lace mask that had white feathers curling outwards. It was a dazzling ensemble, completed by the white gloves and white attire she was wearing underneath, especially in that room full of ghoulish, colorful attires.

She looked like….an angel.

It was the woman from George’s footage.

Fay's blood turned cold, her guts roiling. 

Around the room, there was a mixture of confusion, awe, and surprise on the faces of students and teachers alike. Cora looked puzzled herself. “Who is that?’’

“Ladies and gentlemen, girls and boys---‘’ The woman announced suddenly, smiling widely, just as smoke burst through the vents above their heads in clouds of green. A few children standing nearest the vents started coughing loudly. “---Tonight is a night you will remember for the rest of your lives.’’

It took a few moments for everyone present to realize that, in fact, the woman was not part of the Halloween festivities despite her get-up. The man and woman Fay had seen earlier came back inside the recital room, their uniforms now replaced with darker outfits and their arms holding large firearms. Fay had seen the like before, but she wasn't sure what they were called.  

They placed a gas mask over their faces. So did the woman dressed in white. 

Students started panicking, their voices growing louder. Fay stayed rooted in her spot and watched as the intruders wearing blocked the exits. Some of the teachers tried to fight back, but they were quickly knocked out which only contributed to the terror of the students who immediately huddled close to their friends. Many of them attempted to use their phone to call their parents and authorities but to no avail.

The devices didn't work. 

Nothing electronic, did, in fact. 

“Oh my god, oh my god---‘’ Cora cried, face red and tears welling up in her eyes. She turned towards Fay. “Fay! – They---They are going to kidnap us!’’

Fay just stared, the panic attack assailing her quicker than the smoke did. Defenseless and impotent, Fay watched as children succumbed to it, one by one to the effects of the thick, green fumes. Not too long ago, she had been to incapacitate the others in such a manner. 

Cora grabbed onto her, coughing hard but Fay barely registered the girl's words. 

The visibility around them reduced, and Fay’s mind quickly worked in replacing reality with frightening flashbacks. She watched fictive shapes of eldritch terrors appear in the smoke, and she wasn’t sure if the screams she was hearing were of the children in there or the ones from that night. She was vaguely aware of Cora falling at her feet.

In a twisted way, she had welcomed the smoke making her blackout, stopping her from having to deal with the panic attack.

I just stood by...and did nothing. 

.

When Fay finally regained consciousness, she found herself in a dark, small space. She struggled to move her limbs and pull herself into a sitting position, room spinning around her and head pounding. The floor was hard and cold, and her coat and shoes had been removed, leaving her in the baggy dark sweatshirt and her trousers. The space she was in was a hollow cube of grey stone, with no windows. Logic dictated there had to be at least an entrance but she couldn’t see it. Her eyes had difficulty adjusting to the dark, and she found herself propping herself against one of the walls. She placed her hands against the wall, running them over the surface as she slowly moved to her right, hoping to find the end of that wall and the next. 

Irrationally, there was a part of her that feared there was no end to that cell. What if she'll be there in that darkness forever? 

The air felt colder in there, but there was no wind or breeze that she could feel, and it smelt…musty. Was it a basement or…a dungeon? Did Gotham even have dungeons? It was a cell of some kind, that she was at least certain of. She did find a door, on the second wall to her right– locked, of course. Made of metal, heavy.

Her stomach turned. A thin, sharp pain laced through her every single cell, and chills wracked her body even if she could feel the marks burning. Fay wondered if the bracelets were even managing at keeping them hidden anymore. 

Fay barely registered the footsteps echoing outside of her cell, growing closer and closer as she doubled over to vomit. The door she found screeching loudly as it was pushed open. Fay tried to push herself away from it, but she was suddenly too weak. There was blood in the liquid she expelled again. 

A pungent, flowery scent invaded her nostrils, making the nausea return. With teary eyes, Fay looked up at the person who had stepped inside the cell. 

It was a woman. Tall, slim. Dark, curly hair fell over her shoulders but pulled back from her face. She was dressed in a two-piece white suit. The mask and cape were gone, but unmistakably, it was the same woman she saw on stage at Gotham Academy.

The Angel.

“Ah. You’re finally awake, I see.’’ She remarked casually. 

Fay tried to crawl back from the woman, but her legs were wobbly, so she barely managed a few inches. A gloved hand gripped her chin roughly. Fay could feel her sharp nails even under the leather, as her head was forcefully tipped back. Fay’s eyes met the woman’s darker ones, and she got a close look at her features. She was beautiful, a cold sort of beauty because her dark eyes were cruel, and her smile was cutting. There was only malice on her face. 

Fay had seen that brand of malevolence before. 

“Who are you?’’ The woman asked, coldly. “You are not a student of Gotham Academy, so I am curious as to how you got in.’’

“I---I---I was already there. In, um, the library.’’ Fay managed. It was rather hard talking when her cheeks were being pressed unnaturally like that. “Some---sometimes I sleep there.’’

Damian told her that the identity of Fay Kipling was largely fool-proof and if authorities ever had a reason to question it, they won’t find anything out of ordinary. Her parents, employees of Wayne Enterprises, worked primarily abroad leaving her in the care of an unknown guardian. If anyone asked how she met Damian, she had to say it was through charitable events, and that she was home-schooled, just like himself.

It did give her a plausible explanation as to why she did not attend a school like other children, or why she was largely free to do as she pleased. However, Fay was uncomfortable revealing to what she assumed was a criminal leader – the Angel – that she was close to Damian Wayne, heir of Wayne Enterprises. The children – were they even alive? Where were they? – had to have been kidnapped because of their social status. Why else?

If the woman knew Fay was on 'friendly' terms with the richest and most powerful child in Gotham, what if that’d get him in trouble? What if it interfered with his identity as Robin and the woman somehow found out that he was the same? What if she decided to use Fay as leverage? 

“Is that so?’’ The Angel let go of her, and Fay immediately pulled herself away, as clumsy as a newborn calf, one hand reaching to her tender cheeks  “Quite the little delinquent, aren’t you? To seek shelter in a school for the rich.’’ The woman had an accent, one that Fay thought she found familiar, but it was hard to concentrate with both the fear and sickness affecting her. A burly man appeared in the hall beyond the cell and cleared his throat drawing the woman’s attention.

He was holding a tablet, which the woman grabbed from his hands, as she momentarily turned her back to Fay. It was a lost opportunity to attack. Her tutor would have decidedly berated Fay for missing it. 

“Fay Kipling.’’

Oh no.

The woman grinned. Her smile was ugly, despite her pretty features. She stared at the tablet at what Fay presumed were the false documents Damian had created her. “My, my, my.’’ Her smugness made Fay feel nauseous again. “Your family works for Wayne Enterprises.'' 

Shit. Maybe Damian was a bit too good at crafting the identity. Had he not done that, the woman wouldn't have ever found Fay. 

Fay didn’t respond and tried to control her expression when the woman approached her again, turning the tablet towards her. A photo had been pulled up and it was of her and Damian at the museum. It seemed to have been taken from afar, and from outside, just barely catching their shape as they stood near the entrance, in the Grand Hall. The quality and resolution were good enough for both to be identifiable in the picture, however.

“Now, how about you tell me the truth---‘’ The woman reached to caress a hand against her face, which was deceptively gentle, in comparison to the words that came out of her mouth next. “Before I cut you apart and post you back to your parents.’’

Postage would be expensive. Fay blamed the inappropriate, dark sense of humor on the toxic fumes she’d inhaled. 

“I---My parents are Jonathan and---and um, Erica Kipling. They—they, um, they work in Europe. I---My uncle is taking care of me.’’

“And you’re friends with Damian Wayne.’’

Up for debate, really. Months into their arrangement, and she still could not find a simple explanation for what they were. “…our families are.’’ She said quietly. “I—don’t know him that well.’’ The Angel would not be interested in her, or the Kipling family, but she’d want to have some sort of leverage to get to Damian. She had clearly been monitoring him. 

Fay could not have that – even if the boy was more than prepared to deal with such a situation. He was Robin, after all. He probably had to deal with people coming after him regardless of his identity. 

It was her fault, though, that she was in that position. If the woman used her as leverage to contact him, Fay knew he’d come- not as Damian, but as Robin. She would be a distraction, a liability, one more burden for him when Gotham was already in danger as it was. Fay had faith Bagheera would succeed in finding him, but she could only hope that he had enough time to figure out what the Angel planned beyond kidnapping the children at the Academy.

Would her paladin manage to find her wherever she'd been taken? A sense of deja vu struck her. They'd been in that situation before.

They always found each other in the end. 

“Well. We shall see about that, won’t we?’’ The woman straightened and then handed the tablet back to her lackey. “Put her with the rest.’’ She ordered. They’re still alive! “She might more useful than we thought.’’ With that, the criminal mastermind turned around and exited the cell, her footsteps growing distant at a rapid pace. The burly man stepped in.

“Get up.’’ He ordered gruffly. “Don’t make me drag you.’’

Fay did as she was told, although the man wasn’t patient as she tried to gather her bearings and he pushed her roughly out of the cell. When she stumbled and almost fell, he just forced her back up, a meaty hand gripping her small, bony shoulder painfully. He pushed her towards the left, but she had managed to catch a glimpse of the long hall towards the right, where the woman went. There were other doors down there.

The halls were made of the same greystone as her cell and just as windowless. The draft of air that passed through her felt like ice against her feverish body. She started trembling. 

The corridor to the left was relatively short and she could see the end in sight marked by a heavy metallic door She counted two doors to her left, and three to her right. They stopped at the end of the hall. The man raised the key fob hanging from his belt and scanned it against the black box placed halfway on the wall, making it go from red to green.

Fay heard an array of gasps and barely suppressed screams as he pulled the door open, before shoving her inside. Ungracefully – and shamefully – she landed on all fours, and Cora – disrobed herself and left in just a long-sleeved white shirt and a pleated skirt – immediately came to her side. “Fay!’’ The girl exclaimed. 

The door was slammed shut. 

Gasps, and whispers, and soft chatter filled her ears. 

Fay groaned as she straightened herself. Her hands felt bruised, and she could tell the fall had also damaged her trousers. A neon above her head, dimly lit already, flickered. The new cell was windowless as well, but significantly bigger. 

Large enough to accommodate over a dozen children from the looks of it, who huddled close to one another, trembling and crying. Their elaborate costumes had been dismantled by the kidnappers, leaving them with few layers to keep them protected against the cold of the cell. Most had pushed themselves against the walls, trying to keep each other warm. 

Cora’s glasses were missing, and she was shivering visibly. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, and there were still tears in her eyes when she’d looked at Fay, shaky hands reaching for her.

“It---is this everyone?’’ There had to have been at least fifty children at the academy, and Fay had counted ten staff members. Where was everyone else? 

Were they....? 

Cora sniffed and wiped at her eyes. “I-I think they’re kept in the other cells, we heard them.’’ She looked around. “I don’t--I don't know where we are. We all just woke up here.’’ Her blue eyes zeroed in back on Fay. “It was that woman---did she do something to you? Where were you?’’

“I-I woke up in, um, a cell as well-then the guard just moved me here,’’ Fay said, omitting the part where she'd been interrogated on her identity. “Did---did the woman say anything?’’

Cora shook her head. “She came in a while ago and said that if our parents cooperated with her demands, then they’d let us go. She---she, um, took pictures of us.’’

Of course, she did. To prove to the parents that they were still alive.

What time is it? I wonder if Bagheera found Damian.

They’ll be able to track us down.

Right?

Fay was not like the children in there, yet she was just as defenseless as them. 

Defeated, she propped herself against the wall, near the door in hopes of hearing anything that might tell them where they were and what was the Angel planning to do with them. Cora sat down next to her, shoulder brushing against Fay who was too wrung out to care at that moment. 

Fay couldn't help but think that If her parents had been alive, they would have been disappointed. 

.

Fay wasn’t sure how long they were there for but she had fallen asleep – or perhaps she fainted again – arms wrapped around herself. She felt the ground beneath her tremble, which she would have mistaken for a hallucination had it not been for several of the children screaming. Cora nudged her as well, horrifiedly announcing, "Fay-Fay, I think---I think it's an earthquake.'' 

An earthquake? 

No, it wasn't that. A moment later, a booming sound followed. It was close, enough to rattle the cell they were in even harder than before. Fay ignored the screaming that followed, as she tentatively pressed her head closer to the door. 

An explosion. 

Was it the Angel or was it....? 

Gunshots followed, the popping sound startlingly close to where they were located. 

Students pulled themselves to their feet, stepping back from the door when they heard other metallic doors down the hall being opened and the voices of the children held captive there echo down the hallway. Their agitated chatter blocked other sounds but Fay raised to her feet as well. Cora followed, standing behind her with a hand clutching Fay's sweatshirt. 

The door swung open. 

“What the---‘’

“Wait a second.’’

“It’s Robin!’’

"What is that thing?'' 

“Is that a wolf?!’’

Fay’s heart soared at the sight of her paladin. A familiar masked figure stood next to Bagheera. Fay realized that it was the first time since that fateful night in the burning building that she saw him in his full warrior attire. The curl of his lips was unmistakable, so it was truly a wonder that it took her so long to make the connection between Damian and Robin. 

Or perhaps it was easy to recognize the boy behind the vigilante persona because she'd spent so much time around him. 

“Everyone, out! Now!’’ The boy ordered. Definitely him. “Go straight down the hall and don’t stop.’’

The children didn’t need to be told twice, as awed as they may have been at the sight of the masked hero. They all rushed past Fay, ever so slightly wary of Bagheera who, instead, walked inside the cell towards her. Once all the children were out, she immediately wrapped her arms around his neck, trying hard not to cry. 

She could always, always count on her paladin. It was a shame that didn't go both ways. 

“You did it!’’ Bag's satisfaction was obvious. “Oh, you’re the best paladin ever.’’ She whispered, basking in the affection and relief that he projected onto her. 

“You two can hug it out later— ‘’ Damian said firmly. He was slightly taller when he was wearing his uniform, and as nerve-wracking she found his scrutiny at times, she would have preferred being able to see his expression.

“You owe me an explanation’’ He said, albeit not unkindly. There was something in his voice that promised she would not get away with anything less than the truth. 

“I know.’’ Fay nodded. Understandable, even if she hadn’t planned what she’ll say to him. But she had understood that their identity has been compromised the moment she found that USB drive. Fay couldn’t have possibly pretended it never existed, regardless of the implications of Damian knowing the truth.

“Let’s go—ack!’’ The boy suddenly doubled over, clutching his side.

“Da---Robin!’’ Fay exclaimed. “What’s---what’s the matter?’’ His uniform looked intact. He didn't seem injured. 

“I am fine— ‘’ A hiss left his lips but he suddenly toppled over. Fay tried to cushion his fall but she was thin and weak, so she ended up awkwardly falling on the ground while trying to hold him. 

"He-hey--'' His face was pinched in pain. Fay instinctively reached to brush the hair falling over his forehead and frowned when she felt how warm his skin was. That couldn't be normal, not for a human like him. 

He is burning up!

A dark green ooze trickled out of his nose, and she stared at it horrified.

Oh no.

It can’t be.

Bagheera growled fiercely, the animalistic sound making her head snap up wondering why he was suddenly reacting in that manner.

The Angel was back. And she was standing several feet away from their cell – gas mask back in place- with several other men behind her. She threw something on the ground, a small, circular object. Clouds of green smoke hissed out, immediately clogging her lungs and attacking her senses. 

With a blurry vision, Fay watched Bagheera move towards the woman, snarling and claws poised to cut through her. 

The Angel raised her gun and fired.

“N-NO!’’

The last thing she saw before she fell unconscious again was her paladin falling limp to the ground.

Chapter 15: Fortissimo

Notes:

Warning: It is a more graphic chapter than the ones before, with injuries being described in detail.

Enjoy!

Chapter Text

 ‘For once in your life, here’s your miracle,

 stand up and fight.’

- Kenny Loggins

 

 

.

.

.

 

When Damian woke up, he became aware of several things immediately, his brain going in overdrive even as he struggled to open his eyes and regain control over his body. 

One, he was in pain. Significantly so – it felt as if hundreds of needles were being pressed through his skin, particularly over his torso. No, no. Inside of him – the pain was coming from inside, near his pancreas. 

Two, he was outside. The crisp, cold air bit at his cheeks. The ground was wet, muddy. The rustle of trees as a gust of wind sailed from east.

Three, he wasn’t tied up, but he might have as well been given how heavy his limbs felt. His head was throbbing anew, and his mouth felt incredibly parched. His body was not well, and not just in the general sense that it was injured or exhausted. Something was draining his energy.

What was it? Poison? Internal hemorrhaging?

Damian heard footsteps. Firearms are being reloaded. The criminals had their pick from a generous stock, from what Damian had observed, but so far, it wasn’t anything that wasn’t already on the market. Nothing innovative about the weapons. He had counted seventy-three bodies in addition to the thirty-two children that were taken. Fay was one of them. 

Damian had disposed of seventeen in the bunker alone, and Bagheera had taken out a further thirteen. That left forty-three guards, not including the so-called Angel. 

The Angel’s secret headquarters was built atop an old unfinished military bunker, forty miles outside of Gotham. A metal chain-link fence delineated the base, which measured approximately a mile in length, and half that in width. Military tents have been sent up across the compound with at least three small-to-medium size buildings dedicated to weapon storage and vehicles. Damian had not been able to find any blueprints of the bunker, but he and Bagheera had stalked out the base for a while before finally infiltrating. The entrance to the bunker was located at one end of the compound, so he had planned to have the children evacuated as a priority before focusing on the rest of the criminals.

The USB key that Fay sent out to him had offered almost all the answers he was looking for. It also confirmed his theory that several areas in Gotham were going to be targeted that night. The password-protected file took him under thirty seconds to unlock – really, why even bother to put a password – and on it, he had found information on Edelstein’s illegal bidding activities, as well as an encoded message – again, hardly a challenge – that once solved, offered coordinates on where and when the next attacks would take place. Still, he had to appreciate Sander's efforts. He had gathered information to expose the entire operation. 

Eight locations scattered across Gotham City, poor and rich areas alike.

At midnight, 31st of October.

Gotham Academy, however, had not appeared in any of the coordinates. Damian understood why Fay ended up there, as he examined the files on the students and he certainly had many questions to pose her, but they could wait until the Angel was taken care of the and children rescued.

The Angel. Or better said, Angela Russo. Daughter of a low-ranking member of the Italian-Canadian mob, presumed dead at the age of sixteen following an assassination order put out by none other than Falcone himself, twenty years earlier. The family car, with both of her parent’s bodies, was found at the bottom of a frigid lake. Her body was never found, but the chances of her having survived were almost non-existed. At least that’s what the press assumed.

So must have Falcone. However, Angela clearly found a way to survive, reinvented herself, and assumed the moniker of Angel, which Damian found neither original nor fitting.

With most of the Batman’s allies busy back in the city, Damian had set out to track the kidnapped children aided by Bagheera, who continued to be full of surprises – his sense of smell was excellent as were his tracking ability. That explained how Fay found the thieves that robbed Helen so easily.

They stopped at the Gotham Academy to inspect the damage. The teachers and several other staff members had been left incapacitated in the recital room, and it seemed Angela had been selective – not all children had been taken. Bagheera tracked a scent well out of Gotham after which Damian worked out the possible locations they could have gone to himself. 

It became obvious what the Angel was planning. The children had been kidnapped in a discreet, relatively clean manner as to not attract attention and by the time anyone would have realized what transpired, it would have been too late to stop her. The blackouts and the chaos they would have caused were bound to concentrate everyone's attention elsewhere, thus giving Angela time to start bribing some of the wealthiest families in the city in exchange for having their children returned safely.

Not all of them would have given in but with the protectors of Gotham busy keeping the city from burning down, she would have roped enough parents in transferring her millions of dollars. She had gumption.

And her plan would have potentially worked if it hadn't been for Sander. And if it hadn't been for Fay, as well. The Angel was not even aware that the child who contributed to her plans being ruined was in her hands. 

Damian wanted to keep it that way. 

He was also positive that Angel wasn't the Sponsor. But she had a connection with him. The way she meticulously planned the entire operation and didn't even seem interested in punishing Falcone's family meant she wasn't there for revenge. She wasn't interested just in the chaos or financial gain. She would have predicted the amount of attention her actions will draw. Perhaps it was a way of ingratiating herself to the Sponsor and accessing his circle. 

“Oh, look at that. It looks like the little Robin is awake!’’

“—Tt--.’’ No point hiding. He opened his eyes – his domino mask hadn’t been removed (yet) – and saw the Angel standing a few feet from him, her white cape back on. “A poor attempt on your end to free the children although I must say I am impressed you’ve figured it out.’’ His cape and utility belt had been removed, as well.

Damn it. The Angel’s men were hardly a challenge for him – so evacuating those children should have been just as easy.

Wait--Fay. Last, he’d seen her, she had stayed behind with him. Was she with the other children?

What about Bagheera?

He glanced at his surroundings, ignoring the way the movement made his skull feel as if it was being cracked open. A semi-state of paralysis was affecting him. He could feel his limbs, but they did not respond to his brain’s commands. 

He should have just ripped the whole place apart, to begin with, but that would have jeopardized the work the others were doing back in the city. Angela did not know they knew about the eight locations. If she found out too early, there was a high probability she'd decide to dispose of the children and escape. With just him there, he could simply justify having followed a lead from Anderson if she found it suspicious.  

A soft moan, then a wet cough.

His expression remained neutral even as his blood ran cold at the sight of Fay laying down a few feet away to his left. She wasn’t tied up either, but she looked as if she was having trouble moving. Blood dripped down the side of her mouth, and two men were standing by her, rifles poised--- a silent promise they would not hesitate to kill her if the situation called for it. When she looked up, her hair damp, and sticking against her small, gaunt face, he frowned at what he saw.

A dark bruise had formed around her left eye. Someone hit her. She was crying too - tears spilling over her cheeks and rolling down onto the ground where her face was pressed. He'd seen her cry before, just something was different. There was something desperate about her expression. 

That's when he realized. Fay was alone. 

Bagheera was nowhere to be seen.

Which meant…. No.

“Feisty little thing. She broke one of my men’s hands when he tried to grab her. ‘’ The Angel remarked amusedly. “Must have really cared about that mutt. A fine specimen, shame we had to put it down.’’

No. 

Fay would not survive if Bagheera died. Not emotionally, anyway.

Anger build-up in his veins like steam, burning him from inside out. The Angel was going to be on the receiving end of that rage, and he will make her regret crossing paths with him. Damian willed his body to move, even as acid bubbled its way up to his throat and he vomited again. Blood was mixed in the bile. It had to be poison. 

“Ah, ah. How long had it been since my men tracked you at Anderson’s?’’ The woman asked, tapping her finger against her chin. Penchant for dramatics, then. Damian sneered at her. “Oh yes. Six days. You have a strong body—I’ll give you that. However, the spores reach full maturity between five and seven days after which they will---‘’ Angela smiled. “Well. The parasite that forms from these spores will spread to all your major organs, faster than any illness or poison. Then, once it's down highjacking your guts, toxins will start being pumped into your veins and organs. A slow, painful death will follow.’’

How?

The smoke at Anderson's apartment. The odd scent. 

Anderson died on the way to the hospital so that made him a non-viable host. 

His father had protocols in place, however, for thorough physical checks after each patrol. Nothing had shown up on the scans that Alfred ran. 

He had felt fine. 

Until. 

The migraines. And the fever. Symptoms then. They had started manifesting two days after the incident. Hm. Poison Ivy would have been proud. 

There was a parasite growing inside of him. 

How annoying. 

The Angel glanced at the sleek watch on her wrist.

“Got somewhere you need to be?’’ Damian snarked. The pain in his abdomen was cutting. He could feel something pulsing and throbbing inside of him. Developing faster with each minute that he was wasting on that ground. He needed to find a way to remove it before it was too late.

Angelica smirked. “Seven more minutes, my dear Robin. And Gotham shall never forget this night.’’

Damian's lips twitched. She really didn’t know, then – good

His satisfaction was short-lived. Damian was no stranger to pain, especially not of the physical nature and his threshold was higher than most adults, let alone children. Yet the searing pain that he felt was molecular, affecting every single inch of his being and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe. It felt as if there was acid being poured inside his veins, but he refused to cry out. He’ll be damned if he gave the woman the satisfaction of watching him writhe in pain.

“Now, I am curious to see who’s under that mask of yours.’’ He heard Angela approach him. An invisible vice tightened around his head, pressing and pressing. 

“Don’t— ‘’ He spat through gritted teeth “---touch me.’’

The woman crouched in front of him, her perfume doing no favors to his nausea and he felt her fingers ghost over his face. Oh, how he wanted to cut off her hands ---

A bestial, roar suddenly ripped through the air, so powerful that Damian felt the sound reverberate in the ground under him. Angelica clearly felt it as well because she paled instantly and straightened, mouth parting open in shock. Even with a blurry vision, Damian could see the terror in her eyes as she gazed at something in the distance. 

A second roar followed, closer this time and it was akin to thunder. The Angel flinched. 

The men that were out in the open in the compound looked visibly shaken, as they started taking steps back, poising their rifles at the great shadow approaching. Angelica stepped back from Damian and retreated behind her men.

Coward.

“Bagheera!’’ Fay cried with unbridled relief as the two men standing beside her stepped back, equally frightened.

A hulking dark mass shaped like a wolf landed between the two children and the criminals, shielding them.

Bagheera, clearly not dead as the Angel assumed, was transformed instead. He was easily three times bigger than his initial size, and he looked more like a dark specter than an actual living creature. Wisps of cobalt energy swirled and shifted off him like steam. 

Ah.

So, the beast was not done being full of surprises it seems.

Fay pulled herself up. “Bag! Keep--keep them away while I help Robin!’’ She yelled as she rushed towards Damian, nearly falling on her way there. 

“Help me?’’ Damian asked as she kneeled by his side. “You know how to remove it?’’ She definitely owed him an explanation.

Fay was trembling, and she looked uncertain for a moment. Then she nodded. “Yes---I think so. But I---I need to look to be sure.’’ She pursued her lips. 

“There.’’ Damian moved an infuriatingly week finger to point behind her. His utility belt---it had been left on top of an empty crate, approximately two hundred feet from them. “There'll be tools in there.’’

Fay nodded, and he watched her rush across the compound to the crate, grab the utility belt and rush back to him. Bagheera, in the meantime, was busy turning the tables on the Angel and her men, as he easily dodged their bullets and bulldozed his way through them as if they were bowling pins, sending them flying across the compound. He was hurting them enough to incapacitate them but refrained from killing.

“Lay--lay down on your back, please,’’ Fay instructed, as she pulled one of his shurikens. With some difficulty, unzipped the red and yellow-lined main vest, before cutting open the dark shirt underneath. She was uncannily comfortable with the knife, he noted silently, as another wave of searing pain circulated through his body, making his muscles contract and his fists clench tightly.

“Oh…no.’’ He heard her whisper. 

“What?’’ Damian hissed.

She didn’t respond, and when the pain faltered allowing him to lift his head slightly, he glanced down the length of his body.

There was a tumorous bulge on the left side of his abdomen, the size of a tennis ball. Spidery green veins protruded from the tumor and ramified across that entire side of his torso. The veins throbbed, extending, and growing, conquering his body inch by inch. The mass moved. It was a morbid, twisted version of a living entity gestating. There. That was the parasite.

Damian couldn’t make Fay's expression with his failing vision, but he could tell that she was nowhere as disturbed as any other child would have been. She’d seen this before. “It’s---it’s not too late.’’ She said. “The spores have entered the fourth stage---‘’ She paused briefly. “That’s--that's when they attach themselves to the---hosts blood vessels. When they reach full maturity— ‘’

“The toxins will be automatically be carried in the bloodstream destroying the host.’’ 

"Y-yes.'' 

The ground shook---gunshots echoed through the hair and Fay looked up, where Bagheera continued his fight against the Angel and her entourage. Then she looked back down at Damian. “Okay.’’ She muttered, more to herself. “The---the parasite has not itself to any--to any major arteries from what I can see. And um, so...there's still time. I think.’’ How reassuring.

Fay searched his utility bell, before pulling out the surgical glue in one of the pouches. Then she curiously stared at the taser.

“I---I need to cut it out.’’

“Do what you need. And fast.’’ He grunted. “I can feel it moving.’’

He may have spoken too soon.

“I also, um, need to…electrocute you.’’

At that, he frowned. Did she really know what she was doing? “It---it’s alive. But if I use electricity or---or heat, like powerful heat, it will shrink. So--so I can remove it. The parasite will...not detach itself easily.'' 

He tutted and glanced at the taser in her hands. “Do you know how to use that?’’

"I--I think so. Y-yes.'' 

“Get on with it.’’ And just because he was who he was, “Try not to butcher me.’’ 

It was not a favorable environment for surgery, but he would risk a post-op infection rather than having a parasitic spore growing inside him. 

Fay grabbed the taser, fiddled for a second with the frequencies as he guided her verbally – she’d mentioned she did not need a high frequency for the parasite. Good news for his body, but it also meant he’d be awake through it.

“Okay. I will—I will start now.’’ She said softly, as a warning, a shuriken in her hand. 

She brought it against his side. 

Damian's teeth gnashed so hard his face hurt but he didn't cry out, even then she started cutting a deep line near the bulbous mass. Fay explained that she had to make sure she didn’t break through the parasite’s outer membrane as it will cause the toxins to flood into his body, and to her credit, she worked as delicately as possible to ensure that. She has done this before—or she was trained to.

Blood dripped down his side, pooling on the ground and staining his uniform. 

A choked sound left his throat when she was done with the cutting and switched to using the taser. His muscles seized. The parasite was not a fan of her actions, because it writhed against his side and Damian's whole body burned again. He did end up having to bite down on his gloved hand when he felt her fingers go inside him, and he’d lie if he said there wasn’t a split moment when he felt like maiming her for the way she just went exploring in his damn insides. The parasite felt like a suction cup that refused to budge, and she first tried to do so gently, but she was unsuccessful.

The hard way, then. “I am sorry.’’ He heard her whisper, her voice hitching. Was she crying? Of course, she was. 

Then he found out exactly why she was apologizing to him. 

On the second try, Fay didn't hesitate. She ripped out the bulbous mass as one would remove a band-aid as quick as possible to make it less painful. Except, in that case, it seemed to have the opposite effect. The vein-like tendrils of the parasite scratched his insides, as they tried to clutch on his veins and arteries, and organs. 

He wasn’t proud of it, but he blacked out.

.

Fay stared disgustedly at the dark, throbbing sac in her hands. It was a little bigger than her fist and through the semi-transparent membrane, she could spot the pockets full of toxins. The parasite had multiple thin membranes sprouting from it, and they moved, not unlike an octopus’s tentacles, trying to latch onto her after she forcefully removed it from what it had certainly considered a good host. She quickly threw it away from her and watched with some wariness as it tried to crawl back, but ultimately gave in.

The senwi was incredibly fragile when exposed to the elements, so within seconds it was dead. 

Turning her attention back to Damian, she quickly worked on closing his wound. It didn't seem any of his arteries or organs had been affected, but he had still lost a significant amount of blood. The affected area looked better than before but dark bruised had rapidly formed across his skin. 

Damian was also going to need powerful antibiotics and blood transfusions. A small number of toxins would still be present in his bloodstream for several days. Fay just hoped her assessment wasn't overly optimistic. 

She used the small container of skin glue he carried in the utility belt to seal the cut she’d caused him. Not an ideal solution, given she’d had to operate in a very unsanitary environment with equally unsanitary hands, but it was better than leaving the site of the surgery open. Fay was no healer, so she couldn’t guarantee she hadn’t nicked something important nor was she able to fully assess the extent of internal damage.

Bagheera's familiar growl made her glance up. Her paladin retreated to where they were standing, growing smaller in size as he did. The battle form always took such a toll on him, so Fay wasn’t surprised, but she was incredibly relieved to see him. The gas had knocked her out before she could see how serious his injury had been. When Bag was close enough for her to inspect him, she discovered that the bullet had only scratched the upper apart of his front right leg. Deep enough to draw blood but not life-threatening.

“Bag---‘’ She glanced behind him at the destroyed compound. Assailants laid on the ground, unconscious. Several tents were on fire. One of the cars that had been used to gain leverage over Bagheera’s larger form was thrown aside, bent out of shape and upside down. There was no sight of the Angel.

“I am so glad to see you,’’ Fay murmured and smiled as he brushed his head against hers. 

“Ngggg….’’ Damian stirred. Bagheera pulled away from her and looked at the boy pensively, before placing his paw gently against the boy’s stomach, careful not to touch the area where he had been injured. He hadn’t fully returned to his usual form, so he was able to tap into his abilities easier---Damian shifted, jaw clenching before his face went slack as the paladin’s energy seeped into him. Fay knew the action would only drain Bagheera further, but it was his prerogative and she couldn’t bring herself to tell him to stop. Damian needed help.  

Bagheera huffed softly before removing his paw. The blue energy dissipated, and he shrunk to his original form, panting heavily as he laid down to rest. Damian wasn't out of the woods, yet. Neither were they. How were they even going to get out of there? The Angel had gotten away but Fay doubted she had left the compound. The children were also still captive, as far as she knew. 

The boy shifted and Fay watched him rouse to a sitting position, a few moments later. A gloved hand lifted to brush lightly against his side. Damian looked at the cauterized wound then at the lifeless and shrunk carcass of the parasite a few feet away.

“You did it, then.’’ He remarked, sounding impressed and Fay just stared at him, unsure what to say. Her hands were red, slick with blood – his blood- and they were shaking visibly.

The side of her face throbbed, and she felt exhausted even though she hadn’t been the one to fight dozens of armed men nor the one who had to put through with being operated on with no anesthetic. Fay tried to push down the shame, not because she thought it was out of place but because she didn’t want her paladin to sense it. He had been through enough – the last thing he needed was worry about making her feel better (which she knew he would).

Damian stubbornly rose to his feet, even when she protested and he zipped his vest over the damaged undershirt. Grabbing his utility belt, he let it hang around one shoulder rather than around his waist. Fay stood up as well, although her knees felt weak because it didn’t feel right to rest when he seemed so determined to carry on.

“The Angel? ‘’ He asked, hoarsely. “What happened to her?’’

 “I am not sure.’’ She glanced at her paladin. “Bag?’’

The dark beast stood up, slower than usual and he huffed, making his irritation clear.  

She got away, then.

“I don’t know where the other—other children are.’’

Damian tutted as he checked over his equipment. “Comms are cut off, but the tracker is still on. Someone will be on their way.’’ Fay gaped at him when he signaled her to follow him. “Let’s move.’’ He was no less than his demanding self, either.

“Wh-what?’’ Shouldn’t they wait? She was useless, he was wounded and Bagheera was tired. The Angel could still be around, ready to attack. 

“The Angel wouldn’t run away, not yet. She’ll find out soon – if she hasn’t already – that her plan to launch multiple attacks on Gotham has been foiled, and the children will be the only leverage she has left. They need to be released earlier than later.’’ He glanced over at her, then Bagheera. Fay couldn't see his eyes. 

She suddenly wished she could. 

“I will distract them, and you and Bagheera get them out of here. With your...partner's keen senses, you should have no difficulty finding your back out of these woods.’’

Fay glanced at her paladin, but he didn't protest. He agreed with Damian. 

They…. they both continue to get up.

And I can’t even…. help them.

As they moved across the damaged compound, Fay stared at Damian's back with a mixture of awe and admiration. Damian had just gone through open surgery in the middle of what was essentially a battlefield and had a toxic parasite removed from him yet there he was.

Standing up, even if he was visibly in discomfort and weakened, determined to finish what he came for. Bagheera’s flux wouldn’t have healed him, not entirely – it had merely offered a small boost, just enough healing to take the edge off the pain and stop some of his internal bleeding. But he was still in pain, and Fay had studied the senwi enough to know that it had lingering effects on the body – migraine, severe dehydration, vision problems, disorientation. Damian would have checked all given the parasite had been in the fourth stage when it was removed.

Yet the boy persisted with unending determination. 

In the weeks they’ve worked with one another, Fay had grown to admire Damian’s intellect and how easily it came to him to just…be excellent. Fay thought she had successfully reconciled Damian Wayne, the Wayne heir with the Robin persona, the protector of Gotham. She'd often wondered what kind of training he had, what motivated him to be Robin, what kind of warrior he was. 

She got her answer.

He really is…incredible. Just like...they were. 

He’s a better warrior than I’ll ever be. 

.

It went smoothly – evacuating the children from the bunker. They had been forced back inside the cells. Any guards that would have been tasked with guarding them must have rushed to help the others on the surface. The silo was empty. 

Fay watched as the children came out, one by one, shivering and crying and chatting amongst themselves frightened. Cora spotted her standing several feet away and Fay approached her. The girl was fine, physical but she seemed even more erratic than before. Cora gasped when she saw Fay’s bruised face and bloody hands. “What-what happened to you?’’

“I—I am okay.’’ She really wasn’t, but she was not affected by the situation the same way they were. Fay was no stranger to blood or battlefields or casualties. If she was rattled, it was primarily because she felt she could have done more. And because the general sickness never left her body. She could no longer recall a time when she felt healthy and strong.

“Robin…. saved me.’’

The said boy checked the bunker, and once he was satisfied that everyone had been evacuated, he loudly ordered for them to follow the ‘wolf’, as he’ll lead them out of the compound. Fay watched Bagheera circle the children, not unlike an actual wolf herding its sheep and he was met with mixed reactions – some children were scared, others were amazed – before he started moving towards the fence separating them from the woods.

As he walked past her, Bagheera glanced at her and Fay nodded in understanding. She was to follow them as well. 

'She's useless.'

Damian cut open the chain-link fence, creating a gap for the children to go through while Bagheera gently nudged all those who were terrified or struggled. The compound was eerily quiet---all guards had been disposed of but there was no trace of the Angel, not even inside the bunker. Her instincts told her that something wasn’t right---was it over already? It seemed…. too easy.

Then again she hadn't faced the same challenges as either the boy or her paladin. 

Fay was last to go through. She hesitated when she noticed that Damian was bent slightly at his waist, teeth grinding and hand clutching his side. When he caught her staring, he straightened and walked closer to her. 

She didn't want to ponder on the sudden concern she felt for him. She didn't like seeing him like that, she wanted to make his pain go away. 

“No sight of the Angel but I doubt she’s gone far. I will track her down---you go with the others.’’ He remarked. 

Fay didn't feel right turning her back and leaving him alone. “You should---get medical attention first.’’ She said quietly. “The sen--parasite can have lasting effects on the body.’’

He smirked lightly. “This is nothing---I have been conditioned to deal with far worse.’’ Damian sounded boastful, as he usually did but Fay didn't feel reassured. Even the most seasoned of warriors would require days to recover from the effects of the senwi.

Bagheera growled from the other side of the fence, drawing their attention. All of the children had successfully walked on the other side.

Damian gestured for her to follow the others and she did as she ultimately did as he instructed her. Fay could at least help the others navigate through the woods if it came down it. She was good at that, at least.

She was just on the other side of the fence when her paladin's ears perked up. He quickly stepped back towards the compound, looking alert towards the compound. 

There was nothing there that hadn't been there before. 

Yet her paladin would not suddenly feel so alarmed for nothing. 

Fay was struck by a terrible sense of deja vu. That night, he had sensed the danger first too, before she could see or hear it. 

The Angel re-emerged, eliciting gasps and screams from the group of children. Some of them took off in the woods. 

The woman looked livid. Her cape was gone, and her once impeccable suit was covered in dirt and splotches of blood. Her hair was no longer pinned back, curls falling around her face. Her eyes were wild. 

“You stupid brats! How?!’’ She screamed. “HOW DID YOU KNOW?’’

….and she was definitely not happy.

Damian smirked, as haughty as usual. “Your plan was stupid, to begin with. Did you really think you’d get away?’’ Hm. Maybe he shouldn’t bait the crazy, armed woman. With his back turned to them, the boy signaled with a hand for them to leave. Bagheera responded quicker than Fay, as he turned back towards the children and with a few curt growls, guided them deeper into the woods. 

There was something ironic about children being guided by a large wolf in a dark forest. 

.

Damian, for his part, approached the woman, shuriken in one hand. It was well past midnight. Given the woman's reaction, her operation in Gotham had failed. And with the children released and her men defeated, Angela had no leverage. No power.

“It’s over.’’ He snarled when he spotted the gun in the woman’s hand. "Don't embarrass yourself, further.'' 

The woman’s eyes were bulging, her brows furrowed. She looked unhinged. Damian wondered what she’d think if she knew her plans have been foiled by a twelve-year-old girl that had been in her hands all along. Angela was frightened too, he could tell, from the way her eyes darted over to his abdomen, realizing that the parasite had also failed in killing him. That must have been her ace in the cards, thinking that she got one over Robin---and if it hadn’t been for Fay, she would have.

But Fay had also been right about the parasite affecting him long after it was removed. He rarely experienced sickness of that level. 

It was not in his nature to back down, however. 

Angela turned and started running away, in what he initially deemed a desperate attempt at escaping. He followed but placed distance between themselves when he realized she was heading for a small building tucked to one side of the compound across from the bunker’s entrance. It was large enough to accommodate a couple of cars at most and the doors, sealed by an electronic system, had stayed shut throughout the commotion. When Damian initially arrived at the site, he had inspected that area as well and he found the building empty save for what looked like supplies – uniforms, fuel, boxes of food. 

“You’ve ruined everything---‘’ She hissed, lipstick smeared across one side of her face. The Joker would have been proud. Except she lacked his mad genius. “But you won’t make it out of here alive, that I promise you.’’

The Angel pressed a few commands on her phone, and the ground vibrated. Something was shifting inside the building.

An underneath passage, perhaps. 

The building doors unlocked and opened. 

Several bodies emerged, stumbling forward. 

Not human. Maybe once upon a time. Their bodies were deformed, an amalgamation of fur and spikes sticking out, jaws opening and unhinging unnaturally to accommodate a sickening number of fangs. The bodies vary in size as much as they did in the beastly characteristics they possessed. Some had horns sticking out of their heads, others had hooves for hands and feet. They looked as if someone had tried to fuse their body with different animals in attempts to create chimerean monsters. 

They all had one thing in common, though.

Their pitch-black eyes, wide and maniacal, burning with hunger. Just like Finnegan's. Dark veins had ramified themselves all across their bodies, turning their skin into a cobweb of black lines. 

Those hungry looks locked onto his form and their jaws clamped repeatedly, salivating. 

Damian really, really hated Halloween. 

.

Bagheera stopped abruptly, although they were making progress on putting the compound behind them. It had not started raining, which was positive, but the air was frigid, so the children needed to obtain medical attention as soon as possible before the hypothermia settled in.

After traversing for several minutes through the dark woods, they had exited into a field. There appeared to be a hiker's trail starting on the other side of the field and leading presumably to civilization. Some of the children had already crossed the field and stepped onto the track, eager to get out of there as soon as possible. 

“Why---why are we stopping?’’ 

Her paladin met her gaze. He was worried. 

“Is something wrong?’’

He blinked twice. 

Fay bit her lip. Damian was all alone in dealing with the Angel. 

What if he was hurt? What if his fellow warriors won't get there in time? 

A few children had chosen to walk slower, feeling safe around the large creature who clearly had their best interest at heart. Plus, the forest was bound to be full of wild creatures as well, and they'd rather not be alone if they came across one. 

“I am really cold.’’

“What if nobody finds us?’’

“Where is Robin?’’

Cora, who had stayed close to Fay throughout the trek, gripped her forearm, cold hands shaking. “Fay---why is it stopping?’’

Danger. He’s sensing danger.

“I---I don’t know.’’ Fay lied, even as she felt her own panic build again.

It was too familiar.

Too alike to that night when Maysoon found itself under siege. When it all happened, she and Bagheera were deep in the jungle, away from the most affected area. 

Bagheera looked undecided between leading the children further in the forest or turning back. 

Fay didn't want to be left alone. But Damian was in danger of losing his life faster than she was. 

She nodded at her paladin discreetly.  

You shouldn’t have to do this on your own. I am your partner, and you are mine.

Yet….

Bagheera's gaze lingered on her before he ran back through the woods in the direction of the compound. 

You are the one protecting me, always.

Shakily, she pointed out to the other children that there was a sign and if they took the hiker’s path, it would most likely lead them to someone who could help. It didn’t take much to convince them to go in that direction, although some were hesitant to venture back amongst the trees without the wolf to guide them. It was truly, terribly shameful how Fay, born and bred in a world of warriors, could not gather the strength to be their leader, to be a role model for courage and resilience. Instead, she trembled just as hard as they did. 

But when she heard a familiar roar echo in the distance, she ended up running back to the compound herself. 

.

Heart pounding, the adrenaline pushed her to run through the dark trees, the sounds from the compound guiding her back. She paid no mind as branches scratched against her skin, drawing blood in the process or how her marks ached. The flux coiled underneath her skin, and the bracelets responded in kind, activating, burning her wrists---trying to tame it down. Silencing it. 

She ignored all of it.

Please

Please don’t let it be like that night

Please

She came out of the woods, stepped through the gap in the chain-link fence, and ran across the compound until she finally arrived where Damian and Bagheera were fighting for their lives.

Bagheera had switched back to his battle form, and she watched as he jumped out of the way avoiding the attack of—a---was that a--a- Duanima? No. No. Duanima did not look like that, regardless of their feral counterparts. 

The creatures looked like a caricature version of a Duanima. Uncontrollable. Savage. More animal than human, rather than a balance between both. 

How---how is this even possible? 

Damian himself was battling two, his body dwarfed by theirs, but he held his own, even if his movements were unusually stilted. His arm had been injured, three parallel cuts that had gone through his uniform and reached his flesh, drawing blood. Judging by the amount of blood that stained his arm, they were deep as well. 

“You idiot!’’ Damian yelled angrily when he spotted her. “What are you doing back here!’’

Fay was frozen on the spot, tears rolling down her cheeks. She wasn’t seeing just Bagheera or Damian fighting. She could see all the warriors that had fallen protecting Maysoon, the rivers that had turned red with blood, the bodies – men, women, young, elderly – lifeless on the ground, some torn apart while others had taken their last breaths holding onto their loved ones. Fay could feel the scent of burnt flesh and toxic fumes. The sounds in her ears were so loud she wished she could go deaf. Children were crying, and paladins roared, and warriors’ weapons clinked.

The jungle screamed too, that night.

Fay collapsed to her knees, clutching her head with her hands as she tried to regain a semblance of control.

It's not real. It's not real. 

She heard her paladin’s pained cries as he was forced to revert to his old form when one of the chimeras – boar-like in appearance – threw him violently on the ground. Bagheera rolled away, putting distance between him and the beast. When he raised to his feet, he was able to lean his weight only on three of his legs. The front one was kept lifted, bent. It must have been broken. His fur was matted with blood in several places.

Damian pushed Fay out of the way, just as one of the beasts appeared from her left; a large, clawed hand swinging at her head to decapitate her. 

Petrified, Fay stayed on the ground, on her hands and knees, and watched as the boy took on the beast. Even if Damian took his opponent down, there were several more approaching them. Bagheera was incapacitated, drained, and had switched to defensive, focusing on evading the chimera’s persistent attacks rather than attacking.

Fay watched helplessly.

Just like that night.

She watched, as others fought and fought and kept rising even if their bodies were being pushed beyond their limits.

And all she could do was curl up in on herself, crying, as various voices invaded her mind and the panic attack that assailed her was the worst one she had in weeks. 

 

“Run---you need to run, Fay!’’

“The barriers around the capital are failing—‘’

“Mother—Where is my mother? WHERE ARE THEY?’’

“Maysoon is--- falling.’’

“---We are all going to die.’’

“HELP ME---!’’

 ‘The quicker you accept what happened, the better.’’ 

  ‘You loser—why didn’t just die along with everyone else?’

“You are a disgrace.’’

“The girl will never master the flux. She’s too broken.’’

‘’From now on, the bracelets will help you with control.’’

‘’I have decided to send you up North. I think it will be good for you---to be away from here.’’

“…. You are not my sister. We’re not really a family. Not anymore.’’

'Hold her down.'

'Let's teach her a lesson.'

“This is all your fault, Fay.’’

“What…. have you done?’’

 

“My darling fey, remember that no matter what happens, we will always be proud of you.’’

“You are proof that people can change.’’

 

It wasn’t fair.

 

It wasn’t fair that her parents died.

 

It wasn’t fair that she was left to deal with the aftermath, alone. Or that her brother was no longer her brother.

 

It wasn’t fair that the other children treated her with cruelty and hurt her and abused her. 

 

It wasn’t fair that the Elders looked down on her, and clan leaders judged her, and her family found it so easy to move on. That they could not understand that she was not like them; that she had always been different, so she did not feel things the way they did.

 

It wasn’t fair that she was broken still, that everyone had a different solution for how she could be better but lost their patience when they proved unsuccessful.  

 

It wasn’t fair that she had to stand there, on that cold ground watching as her paladin tried to get to her, to protect her and comfort her even though he was injured. Even though it was her fault she was putting him in that position. That he had to worry about her. Again. Again, and again and again.

 

It wasn’t fair that the boy with green eyes invaded her life like that, forcing her to revaluate the limbo she had been existing in, to make her experience emotions she had thought herself undeserving of or had forgotten about. That he could unnerve and tire her out, that he refused to leave her alone even after he’s seen just how weak and pathetic she is, that he didn’t want them to be friends yet she had ended up seeing him as one. It wasn't fair she started caring about him when he could easily just break her heart as others have.

It wasn't fair he raised her hopes that someone else aside from her parents, and her paladin, could finally see her. Just her. No Fay of Maysoon and no Fay Kipling. 

It wasn’t fair that she was raised to be a warrior, yet she was uselessly watching as Damian placed himself as a shield before her, even if he was bleeding and injured and struggled to stand up.

I am so sick of it.

The anger that constantly bubbled underneath the sorrow and grief and fear erupted. Like magma, fiery and consuming, it crawled through her body, filling her veins. The bracelets glowed and scorched her skin, and at that moment, she despised them with such a passion that she felt defiant. 

She was sick of the damn bracelets, and she was sick of being sick

It wasn’t fair that they had been restraining her flux, in a way that was not natural, taking away the little defense she was meant to have.

It wasn’t fair that the bracelets were killing her. 

Flames curled in the pit of her stomach, and the fear shrunk back as anger took over. Unforgiving. Unrepentant. Powerful, in ways that fear would never be. Dangerous, oh so dangerous because in moments like that, Fay wasn’t filled with just self-hatred. It wasn’t all directed just at herself, but the world as well. The anger was always there, of course, but she rarely ever acknowledged it, her shame serving as a sentry that told her that she had more reasons to blame herself than the world for the pain she felt. 

At that moment, watching Damian crouch before her, arms extended protectively to his side, ready to take the next hit for her, Fay found she didn’t want to deny the anger anymore. It had caused her to lose control before, resulting in people getting hurt---but even when she ignored it, people still got hurt.

So, what was the point?

Fay was angry. 

 

I want to….

 

I want to fight back.

 

I don’t want to watch people die in front of me again.

 

I don’t want to be useless.

 

Her marks throbbed, and she felt her flux grow in intensity, fuelled by the waves of fury that coursed in her veins, defiant against the seals on the bracelets. The metal was shrinking around her thin wrists, the runes branding her mercilessly until she smelt burnt flesh. 

She ignored the pain.

 

And got up.

 

She will summon her flux. Whatever it took. She will let it loose and she will regain that part of herself that's been silenced for months. 

The energy that coursed in her body was…incredible.

Like water to a man’s parched throat. Like food to an empty, starving stomach. Like rain to a burning forest. Like sun to a plant that’s been pushed in the shadow for too long.  

The bracelets were punishing, but the sudden resurrection of her flux numbed her to any discomfort she felt. 

Maybe, just maybe, it would be enough.

.

 

Damian stared, lips parting yet no sound came out.

 

…. No. 

 

The seven-foot beast that he had been fending off had recovered quickly, the hard kick to the chest doing little to prevent it from attacking. Angrier than before, the creature roared, jaws parting wide to reveal shark-like teeth and its muscled arms contracted.

It had several advantages over him: weight, height, and in that moment, stamina as well. Its inhuman strength was also an issue – Damian knew he might be able to push both of them out of the way, but he’ll likely incur more injures in the process. 

It couldn’t be helped. He had to keep Fay safe---and if Batman or Nightwing didn’t show up soon enough, he’ll need to think of a plan to get both girl and beast out of there.

 

Except.

 

Damian hadn’t even felt Fay move from behind him, let alone have the time to react when the girl suddenly appeared in front of him.

 

The beast swung its arm, curved dark claws like a bear’s, coming down on the girl’s left shoulder, scratching through cloth and flesh. Blood sprayed—a few drops hitting Damian’s forehead and cheek—but she stayed up, unfaltering like a statue. Her back was turned to him, and with her right hand, she was gripping the beast’s thick forearm. The claws had cut into her skin, deep enough to cause her to bleed significantly but….

 

…. she had stopped him from cutting through her.

 

It was a visual dichotomy, watching a scrawny, trembling mess of a girl like her holding back what was the limb of a creature weighing easily over three hundred pounds of muscle.

 

Her hands were…. glowing? Green energy swirled around them-not just her hands, he realized. It was swirling around her body, ever so faintly, forcing the debris and dust near her shoes to rise in the air, circling her like a personal vortex. 

“Don’t touch him.’’ Fay snarled, staring the beast back unflinchingly even as it bared its fangs at her, foam and saliva dripping down. The other arm swung, but it never got the chance of reaching her because she moved, with agility he would have never thought her capable of.

Fay removed the claws from her shoulder, forcefully pushing it away, then bent her knees, pulling her right arm back. Fingers were coiled in a tight fist, the energy growing brighter right before she landed the punch against the creature's solar plex. It went flying backward as if pulled by invisible strings. Damian could feel the energy that reverberated off her – just like Bagheera, it appeared something that came from within her body - warm, and wild. 

This time around the beast struggled to get back up. The punch had managed to break through its tough skin. Mangled flesh and blood marked the spot where Fay had hit it. 

Fay flinched visibly as she removed her damaged sweatshirt, leaving herself in a dark vest even if the temperature outside was dangerously close to zero. The claws had left deep holes along the line of her shoulder and she was bleeding profusely, rivulets of blood sliding down her back and arm.

She was also glowing. Or rather---the marks littering her skin were. Those hadn't been there before. Alfred would have found it strange and told him. 

There were scars as well. 

The marks were thin and delicate, like calligraphy, and they glowed green--moving, and shifting across her skin, changing patterns and shape. The bracelets, too were, glowing but---they seemed to be burning her skin. Blood dripped down her hands, and blisters had formed around the area. 

The bandages she wore around her wrist….it was because of the bracelets.

They are hurting her.  When using her…. He wasn’t sure what it was that she was using. The energy was powerful, and it seemed to be tied in with the presence of the marks on her skin.

The commotion had drawn the attention of the remaining beasts. Three to the left, two to the right, one before them.

All their attention was on the girl, and he watched as she braced herself.

 

She was going to….

 

She is going to take them on alone.

 

Damian opened his mouth to protest because regardless of her abilities, she was not in any state to be taking all beasts on her own.

"Stop it--'' 

 

Or was she?

 

Not that he was able to aid her – his vision was intermittently blurry, and his body locked as it did earlier when the parasite was still inside him. Fay did mention that he would be experiencing subsequent effects. It would have been good if she mentioned he would experience partial paralysis again.

 

Shit.

 

Bagheera managed to crawl over him, the beast as tired and injured as himself. 

 

“Get him away from here, Bag.’’ Fay instructed suddenly, not turning around to face them as she remained standing where she was, watching the beasts get closer. There was an uncanny determination to her stance, an unexpected refusal to back down even if she was about to be attacked by several monstrous beings. 

The paladin allowed Damian to grab onto him, so the boy could stand up but he refused to leave. 

Damian would have lied if he said his attention wasn’t absorbed completely by what happened next.

 

.

 

The world is made of energy.

 

Everything is connected, even when it doesn’t feel that way.

 

Everything is one, and one is everything.

 

And the flux is exactly that--energy. A sacred connection between mind, body, and soul. A gateway between an individual and the world's primordial forces. Elemental energies are the most traditional ones – water, air, fire, earth. Its mastery differs from person to person. No one’s flux is the same as another’s just like each person has a different thumbprint than others.

Fay herself had displayed an affinity towards air and water since she was a child---but the flux was not static. It changed and evolved and mutated as a person grew and changed, so to fulfill its potential, one requires to train rigorously for years. Discipline, study, and patience are the backbone of successful mastery along with emotional control. 

For Fay, being anything less than exceptional was not an option---not given her lineage. Unfortunately, she had never managed to reach that. Even though her flux had been particularly strong since she was an infant, her control over it had left much to desire. Her emotional nature had often been deemed as the cause behind it, while others have theorized that her flux had simply not stabilized yet. 

 

Fay had a complicated relationship with her flux. It was a fundamental part of who she was, but that did not mean she fully understood it. tutors often said that mastery of the flux requires control and as such one must have control over themselves. One must know themselves in-depth if they wanted to unlock their full potential. Her mother used to tell her that the flux was not a force meant to be tamed, but rather as a part of herself that she had to learn to understand. It'll take time, but when she finally does, it'll be 'as easy as breathing'. 

Her mother had always had an in-depth understanding of her flux, an enviable mastery of it. 

Fay was nothing like her. 

Fay didn’t realize how much she’d missed using her flux until that moment---it was exhilarating being connected with the world around her in that manner. She wasn't sure how long it'll last. Holding her grip on the flux was harder than it used to be. It was like trying to grip rapidly melting ice only for it to trickle through her fingers. The seals tried to snuff the energy she was summoning and she fought to keep herself tethered to it. 

Objectively speaking, the beasts she was about to face, could not hold a candle to the threats that existed in her homeland, but she did not want to underestimate them. They were driven by primal instincts, so they would keep standing up, again and again, until they devoured everything in their way. If she could not incapacitate them, Fay had no choice but to kill them.

They were beyond saving. They could no longer go back to the humans they once used to be, condemned instead to be mindless, hungry beasts. 

Fay had never killed a human being before, but she had killed. In hunting exercises primarily, even if she generally avoided harming her designated prey. She'd rather fail the test. But she understood the need for it, at least in Maysoon. She understood that had she passed the trials, she would have had to prepare for the eventuality when she might need to kill another individual. Even if it was just in self-defense. 

The beasts attacked. 

Here it goes.

Years of training, hundreds of hours spent going through the same motions resurfaced and guided her as she moved. She ducked and dodged and swirled on her feet, not quite flying, but using the wind as her carrier, allowing herself to jump higher than her body would normally allow, to escape strong swings of the beast's claws and evade them in a manner that only antagonized them further. In that situation, her small stature was an advantage even if she wasn't as graceful or fast as Damian or her paladin. 

For once the universe felt on her side because dark clouds gathered above their hands. The drizzle turned into a downpour and the cold drops felt heavenly on her tender skin. 

Yes. Yes, yes, yes. 

I can do this. 

I have to. 

I will protect them. 

Water is flexible.

Water is as soft or as strong as she wants it to be because when she connects with water, she is water. And water is her.

Fay molded her flux to the water drops in the air, in her clothes, on the ground and willed it to her follow her commands. 

Liquid pooled around her in growing bubbles and then shifted, converting to hard sheets of ice. 

Rough shapes formed next, a clumsy replica of short spears and blades.

I will protect them!

With as much energy as she could gather, she unyieldingly directed her newly formed weapons at the beasts. Many of them missed or were easily dodged by her opponents. Fay ignored her disappointment and repeated the process, creating new pieces. She couldn't stop, or her connection might break permanently. 

Again, and again, and again. 

'Hold her down. I'll give her something to cry about.'

'Let's teach her a lesson.'

'That stupid beast of yours won't save you.'

 

Fire was not an option. Not for her. That element had always eluded her. Before her parent’s death, she was told she lacked the conviction to control fire. After, she was too emotionally unstable. The fire was an element she feared, so she did not even consider using it.

 

Earth had been her mother’s element---and Fay herself had a neutral perspective on it, although when she was younger, she had desired to be as proficient in its use as her mother. But the earth was not as fluid as water, or as responsive as the wind---it required force. It required a strong will and physical strength, which she lacked.

Yet at that moment, Fay found herself using the element all the same. She crouched down and after infusing her hands with energy, she slammed her palms against the ground, ignoring the way her bones jostled and her muscles protested. She likely fractured if not broken the small bones of her fingers, but the adrenaline numbed away the pain.

The ground shook, and cracked, splitting open, enough to trap another one of the beasts at it charged towards her. The hole wasn't deep enough to trap it. A miscalculation on her part. 

Pins and needles filled her chest and she coughed violently, blood spattering on the ground. 

No. 

No. 

I can't stop. Not yet. 

The beast angered by the attempt at being buried alive crawled out and moved towards her at a frightening speed. Distracted by the pain flaring inside of her, Fay momentarily lost control of the flux and was defenseless when a muscled hooved leg swung at her. Just barely, at the last moment, she managed to bring her hands up to protect her head.

It did nothing to make the impact any less painful. A pained gasp escaped her throat, as her body went flying backward. She lost control of her body as she rolled over and over on herself several times, the harsh ground scraping her face and bared arms. 

A second beast pounced, clawed hand ready to take a swing at her jugular. Instinct guided her out of the way and she tapped into her flux again. It was even more painful than last as if someone was pouring liquid fire into her veins. Fay sent a semi-frozen spike at the beast, pushing it through this chest. The creature stumbled but didn't give up, killer instinct overriding any pain they may have felt.

Bagheera came to her aid, knocking the beast away with his body before savagely biting its jugular until it no longer moved. 

It wasn’t over, however – three more to go.

Damian was on the ground, looking as if he struggled to stay conscious.

It was honestly a feat that he still was awake.  

"Watch out - to your left!'' He yelled. 

Thanks to him, she dodged just in time as the horned beast tried to grab her in its massive arms. 

She was going to protect them. 

Even if the bracelets killed her. 

.

Damian gritted his teeth, silently cursing himself for his weakness at that moment. He could hear Mother’s voice in his head, mocking him, telling him that he was laying down, needing to be saved like a mere civilian, not the warrior he was meant to be. But his body refused to cooperate. He was forced to stay on the ground when Bagheera jumped to help Fay. 

Fay. 

Fay did not fight as if she was guided just by instinct. No. She had been trained to move that way. She relied on that green energy to control the elements rather than martial arts or weapons but she wasn't entirely defensive when engaging her body.

He’d later blame it on the blood loss, but he found it…. fascinating. Not just the way she seemed to shift from one element to another – water and air primarily – or the way she converted their composition and natural state. 

She was fascinating. Because the girl before him, injured and bleeding, using floating shards of ice to fight monsters several times as big as her was the same one he'd watched trip on her own two feet all the time. It was the same girl had been speaking to for weeks that constantly shied away from him and stuttered and cried easily. It was the same girl who is afraid all the time, the one who told him that she hadn't quite figured how to move forward, that was so thin and frail that he was surprised she didn't break with the slightest bump. 

That girl was the same one who was in front of him, fighting with such a fire that she felt different. 

Two more down. She had moved back to where he was, putting herself as a shield between him and the two remaining monsters. The one with goat-like horns and the one with claws like an eagle were the only ones left.

They were particularly vicious. He wouldn't say smarter, but there was a degree of intelligence in the way they kept evading Fay's attacks. 

While she had represented an unexpected challenge, in the beginning, she was becoming painfully predictable. Slower. She couldn't go for much longer. 

When she first attacked, Fay had kept on moving around, barely allowing any of the enemies to get in proximity with her. But she had grown sluggish switching to a stationary position.

She was in pain. 

…. the bracelets are reacting whenever she uses her abilities.  

Yet there she was, standing between him and the last two beasts. She was shaking, and when she extended her arms, as to form a barrier, he got an up-close of just how damaged her wrists really were. The bracelets had left her with third-degree burns, the blisters crawling up towards her forearm. 

Her hands looked raw. 

“Stop…’’ He found himself muttering, hating himself for how weak and pitiful it came out. “Those things on your hands---they’re affecting you whenever you use---your abilities.’’ 

 

Fay didn’t look at him when she responded. “...I know.’’

Something clenched around his heart.

Side effects of his injuries, of course. What else could it be?  

“I don’t need your protection.’’ He snarled, settling on anger because it was an emotion he was more comfortable with than whatever he felt at that moment. “So, I demand that you stop it.’’ It was only through a sheer will that he managed to pull himself on his feet and it was only due to the anger he felt that he was able to ignore the searing pain. 

She couldn't do that. 

She couldn't die for him. 

She couldn't behave like a martyr, act as if she did not have a choice but be there. 

She had no right sacrificing herself for him.

“Stop it, Fay.’’ He called. “I can take it from---‘’ He couldn’t anything because the pain in his side and shoulder made him double back over.

Damian sunk back to his knees, cursing out loud.

Fay moved again, as the beasts did. He watched her struggle, far more than previously as she fell on the ground. One of the beasts had slashed her legs, cutting through her trousers and into her flesh. Bagheera forced them to back away, giving Fay the chance to rise to her feet. The paladin pushed her away, bringing her closer to Damian again. 

Fay said something to her companion. It wasn't English. 

Then she stood up again. 

Alarmingly, her lupine partner stepped away from her and came to stand by Damian's side. He watched with an uncontrollable sense of horror as she summoned the green energy in her palms. 

She looked far worse than he'd ever seen her and there was barely an inch of her that wasn't bathed in grime and blood. The rain kept washing it off, but the constant fight had simply added new layers of dirt. 

He counted at least six different places she was bleeding from, including her incredibly damaged wrists. 

“Stop.’’ If he was going to die, he’d rather not have it at anyone’s expense. Not hers. “Don’t be stupid and get out of here.’’ He growled. “I will survive but you won’t if you keep---‘’

 

“I won't leave!’’

 

He blinked. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever heard her angry before. Or speak in such a tone. 

Why? 

Why was she still there? 

Was she truly that self-righteous? 

Or perhaps suicidal. 

“I won’t blame you.’’ He found himself saying as he once again stared at her back. “So, you can go.’’ 

“I am not leaving,’’ Fay announced determinedly, then visibly flinched. The bracelets sizzled. “And I--I am not leaving you.’’

Fay looked at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were filled with tears. 

But she was smiling. 

She fucking smiled. Not one of those small nervous, or polite smiles that she always offered.

It was a genuine one – like the one he’d seen on her face that day on the roof when she was standing in the rain. Wider, even. 

And this time it was directed at him. 

“Thank you, Damian.’’

What. 

No.

She glanced at her paladin, who whined softly in response. Then turning her head around towards the approaching beasts, she braced herself again. 

She was going to charge at them. 

“Stop it!’’ Damian yelled. “Stop it, right now!’’

Fay didn’t listen, moving forward as energy shifted powerfully around her. She was recklessly planning on taking both beasts on at the same time. Even if it was the last thing she did. 

 

‘My life does not mean anything.’

 

 

The blast of energy was bigger than anything she'd used before. The powerful glow forced Damian to turn his head away and to squint. He felt the crackle of energy against his skin. The atmosphere shifted around them, pulling and pushing. 

Rather than punching her opponents directly, Fay had summoned the green energy into a ball which she violently pushed forward. The impact was devastating for the two beasts as they were sent flying halfway across the compound. The ground shattered beneath the girl's feet, sending mud and debris on both paladin and the boy. 

The energy dissipated quickly, but its scorching heat had caused steam to manifest as the rain continued to pour down on them.

Then silence.

Damian coughed, and stood up, using Bagheera to support himself. His mask was starting to peel off but he ignored it. 

Less than a hundred feet away from them, was a shallow crater. And in the middle of it was Fay. 

Fallen to one side, back to them, unconscious. 

She wasn't breathing. 

 

Chapter 16: Diminuendo

Notes:

Revised as of 23rd of August 2021.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Chapter 16: Diminuendo

"One never gets to know a person's character better than by watching his behavior during decisive moments.
 It is always only danger which forces the most deeply hidden strengths and abilities of a human being to come forth."

- Stefan Zweig

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.

.

 

When Dick informed him of what was happening in Gotham, Bruce returned to his city as a matter of urgency. He did not have the full details, but it appears Damian's investigation on the blackouts has unearthed a sinister operation orchestrated by someone identifying themselves as the 'Angel.' The presumed dead daughter of a mafia member. Damian himself had not disclosed to Dick how he came across the USB key that ultimately allowed them to foil the several attacks across the city, but the former Robin had drawn his conclusions.

It was a girl – Fay Kipling. It was unclear how she became involved as Dick himself was under the impression she was but a civilian. However, the girl was kidnapped along with other children from Gotham Academy. His son - and the girl's dog? – tracked them forty miles outside of the main island, at an old abandoned military bunker which the Angel appears to have used to set up headquarters.

And so that is where he went. 

Nightwing and Red Robin arrived shortly after he did – the thirty-two missing children were found scattered down an old hiking path. They were frightened, wet, and cold but otherwise fine. No injuries, except for some minor scrapes and bruises.

Bruce himself went straight for the compound, its location easily identifiable by the rings of smoke rising through the trees.

It looked like a war zone.

Except war zones don't generally have decapitated chimerean beasts. 

And….ice? It was partially melted, but it was clear it had been used as a weapon, judging by the giant ice picks protruding from the chest of one of the creatures. A fierce battle had taken place there, but Bruce could see some areas had been more affected than others. 

Like the one where the ground had been displaced as if an earthquake had taken place close to the surface. 

His son was kneeling in the deepest part of the damage next to a small body. A girl. Fay Kipling.

Both children were a sight with their tattered clothes stained by mud and blood. Only of them was conscious, however. The rain had eased into a drizzle, and the blood pooling beneath the girl was being carried away in rivulets. A dark wolf was standing next to Damian and the girl, and the animal appeared to be just as injured.

He is out of Gotham for five minutes, and look what happens. 

Damian looked up at him - his mask was missing - with an uncharacteristic tightness around his eyes and mouth. "Her heart stopped, but I have performed CPR. She needs medical attention, now." He did, too, for that matter. 

"We will get her to a hospital---"

"No." Damian interrupted. "She's not...like the other children." The boy paused, and he seemed to struggle with his words. "She's my responsibility." He said, finally in a tone that allowed no debate. 

Bruce wouldn't have usually allowed him to dictate anything, especially given the boy's state. 

But Damian's choice of words was unexpected. 

Seventeen minutes later, they were back at the Batcave.

The wolf, as injured as he was, had been incredibly reluctant to leave the girl's side, but when Damian reassured him that she was safe with them, the creature had relented. He stepped away, limping as he did, and sat down near the medical table where the girl had been placed, giving space to Alfred to assess her injuries. 

"He's not a dog. He's an empath." Damian offered curtly. 

According to his son, the beast has aided them in the battle, while the girl was performing surgery on him to remove a parasite. The parasite came from spores he had inhaled while interrogating one of the corrupt police officers on Angel's payroll. And all that was before she risked her life to protect him, using abilities that seemed to have been sealed away by the bracelets she was wearing.

Damian didn't explicitly confirm she had saved him. He didn't need to. Bruce had heard the subtle undertones in the boy's voice – respect, concern, perhaps even admiration – when he talked about how she took on several of the beastly creatures, even if her body deteriorated throughout the battle. 

The boy saw her as his responsibility because she'd almost lost her life for him.

And well, they may or may not be friends. 

It was a testament to the life he lived that Bruce found that part harder to process. 

With Alfred busy working on Fay, Bruce had assessed Damian's injuries – the boy blacked out not long after he'd offered the brief explanation and after the butler reassured him that he'd do everything in his power to ensure Fay comes through. Damian hadn't asked to do so, but his refusal to give in to his exhaustion and wounds had spoken volumes of his otherwise well-hidden concern.

Alfred had ultimately sedated him lightly, for his good.

The parasite had done numbers on his body. The scans revealed how deeply the parasite had taken root. Fay had managed to remove it, but there were lingering traces of the toxins in his bloodstream, which they'll have to wait for his body to flush out naturally. The cut she'd made onto his side was infected, but the medical glue had held well despite constant movement on his end. There were signs of internal bleeding, which seemed to have…receded. 

Bruce had found a lifeless sac at the compound and carefully brought it back to be analyzed. Nothing came up on the database, but it bore similarities with the parasitic fungus known as Cordyceps, generally affecting ants. The internal organs become food, and the exoskeleton serves as a protective shelter in which the fungus thrives before ultimately reaching maturity and consuming the host entirely.

It was a devastating but ingenious way of dispatching your enemy. It was airborne as well, which made it all the more dangerous. Bruce would have expected Poison Ivy to come up with such a creation, a possibility which he hadn't ruled out by the end of his analysis. There was no way that some of Gotham's more seasoned villains hadn't played a part as well. 

Bruce sighed as he reached to brush his son's hair. 

He had missed out on a lot.

(Again)

.

.

.

"How bad is it, Alfred?" Dick asked after he'd returned to the Batcave. He and Tim had scoured the area near the compound to ensure no children had gotten lost in the chaos, but thankfully they had all been retrieved. Most of them were quickly reunited with their worried families. They were in good hands. Tim hadn't returned with him as he wanted to inspect the bunker for any tracks on Angel's whereabouts. 

"Let's just say that there is a long road to recovery, and that is entirely dependent on the next twenty-four hours," Alfred said grimly, as he stared at the digital scans. "She has suffered second-degree burns from her knuckles almost all the way to her elbows, and there are several lacerations across her body, most of which have required a multiple-layer suture. There is some deep bruising around her abdomen and her sternum is bruised, which must be as a result of Damian performing CPR. What worries me most is that she has lost a significant amount of blood. Her pulse is very weak."

Dick stared grimly at the small girl. It was a miracle she was alive. 

Alfred gestured towards the pair of bracelets he had removed from her hand. "Damian has mentioned the bracelets are responsible for the damage on her wrists. They may have also been the source of her frail health and poor metabolism." 

"She couldn't take them off?" 

"It's unclear. Although I don't believe she would have purposefully kept them on if she had a choice. Perhaps she did not realize their effect." 

"Do you think he knew?" Dick asked Alfred, watching him attach a catheter to the girl's left elbow while the other end was connected to a bag of hypertonic saline.

"I am not sure." The butler said. "If she does not stabilize, then we may have to prepare ourselves for a worst-case scenario."

Dick glanced at Damian's body on the bed to the left. Bagheera, who had required medical attention as well, was laying down between the two stations, sleeping.

Quite the night, huh?

.

Damian woke up six hours later. Pulling the IV drip stand with him, he approached the surgical bed only a few feet from his. Green eyes flitted over the screens and machines in charge of monitoring the girl's progress. Her blood pressure was still low, her pulse weak. 

She looked impossibly small. Had he not seen with his own eyes, he wouldn't have believed that hours earlier she had fought the way she did. Alfred had cleaned her as best as he could and exchanged her tattered clothes for a sleeveless surgical gown. It was the same size as the one he was wearing, yet it looked at least two sizes bigger on her. 

There was hardly an inch of her body that hadn't been wrapped in gauze. Several layers were required for her wrists and hands, making them look disproportionately big. Her face was deathly pale, cuts and bruises marring her visage. Her brows were slightly furrowed, lips curled downwards. She was in pain. 

Damian disliked the sudden comparison his mind provided, but Fay looked like a doll.

A broken one. 

All those injuries. All that pain. All that sacrifice. 

Only for her to smile at him and express her gratitude. 

He turned around and walked away. 

Suddenly, he felt like there was not enough air in there. 

.

"Hey, little D." Dick smiled, as he peered inside the room. "I see you're feeling better." 

Damian had disappeared from the Batcave to seclude himself in his room, much to Alfred's chagrin. Titus was happy to have his young master with him, however, and the Dane sat curled around Damian. The boy, for his part, looked exhausted. Drained. 

Whatever the origin of the parasite, it had clearly done a number on him even if Damian pretended otherwise. 

Yet the kid refused to take a break. Damian had taken Fay's backpack and removed all of the contents inside. A gross violation of her privacy.

Dick frowned as he stepped closer. 

No wonder the girl's backpack always looked so full. There were books and journals and pencils and notes - small, large, folded, post-its. Travel booklets on European destinations and...cruise ships? Hm. There were biscuits and apples and a bottle of water, and a small bag with what appeared to be full of knick-knacks. A plastic folder contained first-aid items such as bandaids and bandages. Bagheera's certificate as a 'service dog'. Her lanyard and keyfob gave her free access to the museum. An apron with 'Soul Bowl' etched in one corner. Charger and headbands and half-opened bags of sweets and a used map of Gotham. All kinds of flyers. 

Tissues stained with red splotches. 

A sketchbook. It was set aside from all the other items, along with two other journals. Damian must have deemed it of interest. 

He was in that moment perusing through a small notebook with red covers. His jaw was clenched, brows furrowed so deeply Dick worried his expression might permanently stay that way. 

"Hn. I am busy." Damian grunted.

Clearly, having a parasite inside him did not deter him from being a prat. Dick still loved him, though. And he could tell the boy was more ruffled than usual, judging by the way he sneered slightly at the item in his hand. 

The former Robin sighed and plopped down next to the boy. "What's the matter, D?" He wanted to tell Damian that it was wrong for him to go through Fay's stuff like that. But he wanted more to know what was going on. 

Damian seemed determined to ignore him. Then he snapped the small notebook shut. 

"There is not enough data." He said, finally without elaborating further. 

But Dick understood, either way. He was clearly talking about Fay. 

"You want to know about her past and why she is here."

"Obviously."

"Does it matter? Right now?"

Damian looked at him with a mixture of skepticism and surprise. "What kind of question is that? You ought to know better than anyone else the answer to that." He tutted. "She is a ghost in this world, and I have just watched her single-handedly take on and kill several monsters that were three times her size. She also knew how to remove a parasitic entity that the Angel had infected me with. There is a connection between her and these new weapons that are being put out on the market."

Ah. So that was the source of his ire. 

Logic vs emotion. Logic dictated that Fay had lied to him and that Damian needed to be cautious. 

Emotion....well. 

Dick regarded him curiously. The boy was particularly contrite, but it had not gone unnoticed how Damian had checked on her the moment he was awake. Fay had become a constant in Damian's schedule in the past several weeks regardless of how the boy justified her presence in his life. Gratitude, monitoring, duty. It did not change that he had taken steps to ensure he dominated her attention, consciously or not. Bringing her to the penthouse, having Alfred monitor her health, taking her shopping apparently. Dick still had a bit of difficulty wrapping his head around the last one. 

"May I see?" Dick asked as he reached for the notebook in Damian's hand. The boy didn't offer it but he didn't resist when his former mentor took it. 

The small pages were full of notes. Her handwriting wasn't particularly neat but still legible. She seemed to have documented dates and times and.....

….symptoms?

Nosebleeds, coughing with or without blood, migraines, muscle aches, dizziness, nausea. 'Burning hot' or 'freezing'. Throughout the summer months, the notes were sparser with the symptoms documented once or twice a week. Nevermore than two or three symptoms together. In October, however, one by one the symptoms had started presenting themselves with recurring frequency. New ones were added. 

'The bracelets – can't feel flux.'

'Coughing blood.'

'Get tired easily.'

'Vomited three times.'

'No weight gain. Tell Mr. Pennyworth yes.'

'The pain is getting worse.'

'Do not use flux. It worsens symptoms'

'DEATH?' Was circled at the bottom of one page with the date' 6th of October' at the top of it.

Then….

'Tell Damian.'

'18th of October - Transfusions. Feel better. Can't sleep.'

'23rd of October - Feel sick again. Vomited blood'

'28th of October -- Who will look after Bagheera?' '

'Damian - Will be kind to Bag. Train him.'

'It's all my fault.'

'Write letters to everyone. Just in case.'

Oh.

God. 

Dick had not been there when the fight took place, and he was not sure what she meant by the 'flux' but Damian had mentioned that she had used a form of energy that allowed her to channel and control natural elements. It was safe to assume that the flux was the terminology she used for it.

If so, then she had already established for weeks that using her abilities would worsen an already pre-existing condition. The bracelets had impacted her health. Damian said he had removed them while out on the field, and they all had seen the damage it had done to her wrists, leaving her with horrifically burned skin. The otherworldly runes had etched themselves onto her flesh like cattle brands.

But she had kept fighting. 

Fay fought to protect both Damian and Bagheera. Dick didn't think she wanted to die, but she had obviously considered her demise judging by the notes. 

And she had considered leaving Bagheera in Damian's charge. She trusted the boy would take care of her companion because she thought of him as kind. Not because he was wealthy or Robin or capable even if those had been factors she considered as well. 

Damian was not like other children. He would not express emotions as others.

But his actions always spoke louder. Alfred had to sedate him because he had stubbornly refused to give in to his own exhaustion. He had to have verbal reassurance Fay would be taken care of, even if he knew that she was already in the safest place possible. 

Fay was willing to sacrifice herself for him – not the first time, hm? - and now he was standing there looking at her notes which offered him a glimpse into her actual heart. Yet those notes were also offering a conundrum. They revealed that, in fact, Fay was not who she said she was. She was a ghost, just like Damian said. One that was far less defenseless than she appeared to be. She kept her worsening health a secret. Likely out of fear Damian might treat her differently. 

Those notes also revealed what she thought of him. 

Theirs was not quite a friendship, and not an alliance but their strange arrangement seemed to help them both. Fay was slowly growing out of her shell according to Alfred and Damian, for his part, showed interest in another being human. In a strange and borderline insane manner. Regardless.

I know what this is about.

The boy was discombobulated by her actions and affronted that she had eliminated the option to tell him the truth. Fay – and anyone who didn't know Damian well – probably hadn't realized that as harsh, arrogant, or bratty he could be, Damian also bled a need for acceptance. The light that Talia hadn't snuffed out struggled to stay on the surface due to years of indoctrination and his pride and insecurity. But Dick knew Damian continuously worked on that even when he behaved as if he despised it. Even when he actually did despise it. 

Damian felt betrayed. And betrayal begets anger. Anger is an easier emotion to hang onto rather than concern. It was easier than acknowledging that Fay managed to keep secrets from him, that she suspected she may be dying but kept it from him. It was easier to be angry with her than admit that he would have preferred if she confided in him. 

In the unhealthiest manner possible, Damian was trying to justify his own hurt feelings by trying to detach himself, by falling back on logic and numbers, and statistics. 

Oh boy.

Who does he take after, I wonder?

Seeing as his younger brother was like a live wire when it came to emotions, the best – and safest – tactic was to give him a (hard) nudge. Damian was smart enough to figure out the rest.

"A detective always posits his theories based on existing data, not before."

The boy stared at him fiercely. "Where are you going with this?"

Dick shrugged. "You say you need more data on her which is true." They did need to find out more about who she was and how she knew about the USB key, along with everything else. However, "Until that time comes, you do have existing data on her. Not her name or background or anything about her past, but you have been interacting with her for weeks now. I am sure you have already built a profile of her character." The older man smiled. "I don't know as much as you do about her, but the facts are that she is the type of person to go into a burning building to save others. From what I hear, she also risked her life to help another civilian."

"Unnecessary on both accounts---"

"The fact, Damian, is that she knew the consequences of using her abilities, but she had not hesitated to come to your aid. Had she?"

The boy looked away. "She's suicidal. She knew she was going to die so she just chose a faster way out." 

Boy, the kid could rationalize the hell out of a situation. 

Dick pushed further. "Perhaps. Had she truly been suicidal, however, I do not think she would have chosen such a way to go? Maybe her deteriorating health was a contributing factor to her decision but I highly doubt it was a primary one. Regardless, someone's past does not have to determine who they are now, or who they'll be in the future." It was a bit close to home, but he knew Damian would pick up on his message. The boy, after all, did not like to be judged on who he had been in the past either and was constantly trying to prove he was more than Damian Al Ghul.

"So, my advice, as one detective to another, is that maybe, for the time being, it doesn't matter who she was. It is necessary, yes, as protectors of Gotham to understand potential risks but her first instinct had been to send the USB key to you, was it not? She trusted you with---"

"She trusted Robin." Damian sneered slightly. Not me. Not Damian Wayne, whom she had known for longer. Otherwise, she'd have told me everything else. Those words were unspoken but Dick heard them all the same. "And she'd barter her life for anyone that came her way." He added, quieter, if not a bit sourly.

So, I guess, you don't want to be just anybody in her life, little D. 

It would have been cute if it wasn't for how fucked up it was that a twelve-year-old was not capable of forming healthy bonds with other children because he had been raised to think of them as a weakness. Damian had to constantly rationalize why he wished to keep her around because the alternative was not acceptable. It wouldn't have been in the League. 

"She may have laid her life down for others, but so would have you as Robin. That doesn't take away from her character." But it does from their bond which potentially meant more to Damian than it did to her. "My first impression from these notes is that she's scared. She's alone and she is frightened. We don't know how long she's known of your identity, but she considered you to be the best choice possible in taking care of Bagheera whom she cares deeply about. I doubt she would make that decision lightly, with anybody else."

The boy didn't respond.

Dick raised to his feet with a sigh and he ruffled the boy's head which earned him only a half-hearted threat about he is going to lose his hand. He was about to walk away when the boy suddenly spoke.

"She thanked me."

"Hm?" Dick glanced down at him, but Damian's face was turned at an angle that made it difficult to read his expression.

His tone was carefully neutral. "The bracelets had damaged her extensively during the fight. I asked her to stop. I asked her...to run away." Pause. "She refused then deliberately made the final move---but she knew. The consequences of doing so. Right before that…she thanked me. And---" He made a sound at the back of his throat, in frustration perhaps, as he struggled with his own words. For someone as eloquent as Damian, he could be terrible at putting emotions in words. Then again, most of them were.

Very quietly, almost whispering the boy added. "She was smiling." 

Oh.

Well.

That's something.

"I am sure she had a good reason to do it," Dick said. 

"Hn."

Dick smiled slightly to himself.

"I have ordered pizza. After the day we've had, I think we earned it some extra pepperoni and cheese."

The boy scoffed. "Your diet choices continue to remain abhorrent. At this rate, Grayson, you are headed to an early grave."

Still, he got up and followed him out of the library.

.

Fifteen hours after bringing her back to the Batcave, Fay's body temperature skyrocketed to a hundred and five degrees. Bagheera was already up and supporting himself with his front paws on the edge table when Alfred rushed to check on her. Damian followed closely behind. 

"We need to cool her down, stat." 

The paladin growled and refused to let them touch her. 

"Her temperature is too high--" Damian told the beast. He huffed and jerked his head to the side. 

They waited. 

Fifteen minutes later, they noticed that the bruises on Fay's face had healed. 

The rest of her body followed. Slowly, but surely, she was healing on her. Much more rapidly than a regular human. 

Bagheera jumped down from the table, walked over to the Batcomputer, and proceeded to fix the untouched sandwich Bruce had near his hand. The Dark Knight glanced at him, stoically. Bagheera growled softly, head bowing slightly. 

Curiosity piqued, Bruce handed the creature his sandwich. The paladin didn't eat it, however, and instead brought it back to the medical bay area. Then he spat the sandwich at Damian's feet. He made eye contact with the boy, then turned towards his Fay. 

"Food?" Damian raised a brow. "You want us to feed her." 

Bagheera jerked his head in his own rendition of a nod. Then he turned his head towards the IV bag. 

Smart creature. 

"She got better, temporarily when we had her on the transfusions." Damian nodded, remembering her notes. "Pennyworth." 

"Already on it, sir." 

Bruce watched from afar. 

"Smart dog--"

"--partner." Damian corrected. 

"I see." 

Alfred connected the catheter to the girl's wrist. 

"Master Damian, perhaps Bagheera requires some attention as well." 

The boy looked over the paladin, at his matted fur and bandaged paw. He, too, was healing quickly but Bagheera hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours. 

"Come on, beast." 

Bagheera stayed put, eyes trained on Fay. Alfred gave him a small smile. "I shall guard her with my life." 

"Rggh." Reluctantly, the paladin followed the boy out of the Batcave. 

Bruce waited until they were out of the cave to return his attention to Alfred. 

"You seem familiar with the girl." 

"Miss Fay is a lovely and hardworking volunteer at Gotham Museums. She has been helping Damian." Alfred's smile was wry and ever so secretive. "The young master has been very keen on having her input." 

Bruce brushed a hand over his tired face. 

When did his son decide he wanted a friend? 

Thirty-two hours after Angel's defeat, Fay woke up for the first time. Disoriented and in pain. Her vision was blurry. She wouldn't remember it later. 

Bagheera whined to her left then he nudged her hand. He was alive. Please. Please, don't let it be a dream. 

Someone was standing on her other side. 

"Go back to sleep." 

"Da--Da--Da...mian?" 

"Who else." 

Relief made her exhale loudly. Her lips curled. 

"You--you're....alive." 

"Obviously." 

"I...I am-re--really...glad." 

"Shut up and go back to sleep." 

"...hm.'' Her eyelids felt heavy so she gave in easily. Her paladin's head was a warm, comfortable weight next to her hip. She felt his affection thrumming. It had to be real. 

Her other hand instinctively reached for the person on the other side. Damian? Was it Damian? Now she wasn't so sure. Everything was fuzzy. 

She missed a few times. 

Then she touched something warm and calloused. 

The people in her dreams were never warm. 

So it had to be real. 

.

Bagheera was exhausted. The battle form had taken its toll on him. One minute he was sitting by his Fay, watching her. The next, he was asleep. He slept for hours but it was okay. 

His Fay was getting better. Her heartbeat was stronger now. 

And her flux no longer felt…as if it was kept hidden. It was faint but for the first time in months, it seemed to flow through her uninterrupted.

He could not help with her injuries though, and he could feel the blood and the burnt flesh underneath the bandages.

But his Fay had fought back.

He was proud of her.

And she'll heal now. 

In more ways than one. 

.

Good Days, Bad Days, and Green Days.

That's how she labeled her days on the folded calendar poster she kept tucked in one of her journals. 

The Green Days started on the 12th of August. That was the day they first met. 

Green. Because his eyes are green…?

Silly girl.

(Still, the collar of his neck felt considerably warmer after that. Grayson must have been messing with the thermostat again).

Facts mattered, though.

Fay was a ghost in that world. She was human. Just not like other humans. 

Fay could fight. 

Fay was not above killing, at least as far as it came to beasts driven by their hunger for flesh and blood. She hesitated though, had tried to incapacitate them first. The killing had not been her first option.

That offered Damian information on her character, as well.

Her dog-not-dog was an empath, had a human-like mental capacity in terms of understanding emotions, communicating with others, and critical thinking. He was also capable of mutating into a second form. A beast in his own right, that fought just as fiercely as Fay had. He had come back to aid Damian although his priority was always the girl. He chose to fight by Damian's side.

Fay had scars. Not many, but enough to speak of an upbringing that is far from being painless. Until that night, the tattoo-like marks on her skin had also been invisible. 

Facts mattered.

Even if they weren't centered on numbers. 

Fay is…a selfless creature. She puts others ahead of herself, at her own expense.

Fay suffers from panic attacks and low self-esteem. Her traumas had a strong grip over her psyche, but she is---she is not weak. She is independent. Quietly determined to live another day even if she had no idea how. Resourceful. 

Fay is emotional and cries easily. 

Fay has a strong aversion to being touched by others. 

Fay has been hurt by others, and likely by her own family. 

Fay does not smile often. When she does, it is hardly a smile. That night she smiled. Brightly and widely and had looked at him in a way she hadn't before. As if she suddenly had something to be happy about. 

Fay thanked Damian Wayne, not Robin. She had likely considered those would be her last words and made peace with it. 

Thank you. For what? For offering her money and food? For having Alfred treat her wounds? For coming after her and the other children? The gratitude she had shown him had the same quality and intensity that victims did. Except when she did thank him, Fay was not being saved. She was protecting him and Bagheera, using herself as a shield, even if the bracelets were killing her.

She had meant it. It was not the blood loss or the heat of the battle that prompted her to say that. Fay had deliberately turned to him, made eye contact, and thanked him. 

Damian still needed to know her real identity, where she came from. What her purpose was. How she knew the things she did. He was Robin, after all.

But,

'My life does not mean anything.'

'…people aren't born evil, I don't think. They are shaped by their experiences. Good and bad. Some people are taught how to…deal with their pain and others… don't. Or there's—there's too much of it.'

'…someone once told me that a person is not defined only by their mistakes.'


"Do you believe that?"
"…. I want to."

'I know monsters exist.'

'I think you're...kind. Just in a different way.'

'I am not heroic.'

'Thank you, Damian.'

He didn't who Fay had been in the past. But he did know who she was at that moment. 

Perhaps that sufficed, after all. 

(Would she say the same of him?) 

.

.

.

4th of November

Fay felt unusually calm when she woke up, not unlike the last time she had been severely injured and woke up at the penthouse. 

Maybe she's been sedated again. 

I...am alive. 

She shouldn't be. Not with the extent of injuries she had, not with how weak her body is. Not with those wretched bracelets. 

Fay had felt them sap her life energy. She had felt them try to shut her down. 

Even if her brain required a few minutes to escape the fog of sleep, Fay's mind was uncannily clear. She felt...lighter. Not in the way she used to feel once upon a time but better than she's felt in months. It was as if an invisible weight had been lifted off of her. As if until that moment her body had been functioning only on twenty percent and now it was finally free. 

There was a renewed sense of strength she had forgotten she had ever felt before. Her flux was weak, muted but Fay could feel it in every inch of her body, running freely like a river that's no longer blocked. Unrestrained and no longer being punished. When she moved her hands, Fay saw only the thick layers of gauze extending from her forearms to the tips of her fingers.

Yet she knew all the same, without having to check beneath the bandages. The bracelets were gone. And with them so was the cage that had gradually grown smaller, damaging her body. 

Fay couldn't bring herself at that moment to worry about what will happen when she'll struggle with her flux. When she'll have the next panic attack or when she'll get angry. 

Instead, she felt relieved. So relieved, she could almost cry. The bracelets were gone, and she was alive and Bagheera--

--her beautiful, brilliant paladin was sleeping deeply in a corner of the room. One of his paws was still bandaged but he looked uninjured so far. He was clean as well, all the grime and blood she'd last seen on him rinsed away. 

She didn't call out to him, preferring to watch him as he slept fitfully. 

The room she was in was unfamiliar, and not as modern as the penthouse guest bedroom, but there was an antique opulence about it. Fay looked around curiously, before settling on the wall behind Bagheera, where the wall was largely taken by two tall windows. 

A thunderstorm roared outside, yet she could not find the weather more soothing, as it bequeathed a percussion of water drops. The rain was so thick she could barely make out the gardens that her windows seemed to face towards and although the clock on the nightstand read '11:47', the sky was so dark it might have as well been the early hours of the evening. Flashes of light illuminated the skies now and then the distance. Fay felt the buzz of electricity, ever so faintly. Her marks, now fully visible, were still very tender but she didn't care. It felt as if she'd been underwater for a very long time and now she was finally allowed to the surface. 

She stayed like that for a while before her bladder started paining her and she could no longer deny a visit to the bathroom. She refused to think about how or who took care of her while she was unconscious and couldn't use the bathroom. 

Her body ached all over as she slowly shifted out of the bed and she had to keep a hand on the edge to steady herself. Fay looked down at herself. She was wearing a dark red shirt and light cotton shorts. Both were quite baggy on her and they smelt strongly of not any scent she could specifically place except that it tickled her senses in the best of ways. The detergent used, perhaps. While bandages were covering the bigger part of her limbs, Fay could tell that she wasn't as injured as she'd been. She had to have been healing better than she did before. 

With some difficulty as her legs felt like jelly and her hands were still stiff, Fay wobbled over to her paladin. He stirred awake even before she reached him and he instantly whined when he saw her awake. A combination of happiness and affection rolled off of him and Fay smiled at him. She awkwardly kneeled before him so she could wrap her arms around him and plant several kisses all over his head. 

"You are the best paladin ever." She whispered, in their native language. 

He purred, keeping his head pressed underneath her chin and against her chest. They stayed like that for several minutes until her injuries started throbbing. Fay planted another kiss on his nose then told him to go back to sleep as he was clearly still very much in need of it. Bagheera didn't protest but helped her rise back up to her feet. 

Once he had settled back in, Fay made her way to the door to her left, stopping only briefly to look out the window. They were definitely not at the penthouse and she's never seen that place before. It must have been safe though if Bagheera was that tranquil about them being there. 

Fay turned on the lights and shut the door behind her, before staring at the large bathroom. Black marble floors, white and gold countertops, large mirrors above. A bathtub pushed near a window. Tempting. A shower cabin, as well. Smaller than the one at the penthouse, more traditional she supposes but still generous to fit three of her inside. 

She walked over the countertop and stared at her reflection. Just as thin and pale as before. Alfred, presumably, must have cleaned her because she was not covered in grime or blood. Her hair had been combed back into a braid but she could tell it was oily and needed a good scrub. The clothes didn't look as if they were made for a girl and she wondered if they belonged to Damian again.

'I won't leave you!'

'Thank you, Damian.'

Oh. What was she supposed to do now? What was she supposed to say? Everything was out in the open. 

After she freed her bladder, Fay scrutinized herself in the mirror again. Her face was splotched with bruises and when she removed the bandages on her legs, she found another patch of gaze over the deep cuts she had incurred at the hands of one of the beasts. That area didn't hurt particularly but her skin was tight. Perhaps stitches? Either way, she was in a much better state than she'd anticipated. 

Her torso was also covered in bruises. A larger square piece of gauze was kept in place against the shoulder by a bandage wrapped around her torso. When she tentatively peeked underneath she could see the inflamed and bruised flesh, but instead of the gnarly claw marks, she found another set of stitches. Huh. 

Fay admired the presence of her marks. It felt more natural seeing them on her skin even if she didn't spend much time looking in her reflection. Some of them were tender to touch but otherwise, nothing has changed since they were last visible on her. 

Her hands seemed to have healed the slowest but Fay was relieved to see the horrific burns she had that night had receded into superficial ones with several blisters littered across her skin. The area where the bracelets touched her was inflamed still as a result of the runes that had been branded into her skin. Given their depth, they were likely to scar. 

Her knuckles were deeply bruised and she struggled to flex them properly. Her right middle and index finger had required a splint and so had her index left one. On most of her fingers, the flesh underneath the nail had been bruised as well making her nails look as if they'd been tainted dark. Fading yellow splotches and minor cuts were still present all across her hands overall. A thin, stabbing pain followed whenever she tried to move her wrists too much. Perhaps she'd injured the bones there as well and were to still heal fully. 

Fay stared at the door nervously, wondering if she should go back to sleep. She wasn't tired but she could probably sleep for a few more hours. 

And then.... she'll have to see Damian sooner or later. She'll have to talk to him. 

Fay chewed on her bottom lip. She wouldn't say she'd resigned herself to death. She didn't want to die. 

But she had been determined to do whatever it took to keep Damian and Bagheera safe. 

I...fought back. 

And...I won? Could it be called winning if she almost did die? She wasn't sure what happened after she blacked out. If something had happened to Damian, Bagheera would have let her know. That's why she safely assumed she was there because of him. As nervous as she was at the prospect of talking to Damian, she wanted to know if he was okay. Did he recover from the clumsy surgery she performed? Did he feel any better? Was the Angel gone now, the enemy vanquished? 

What about George Sanders? His family is still desperately looking for him. 

What about her and Bagheera? What'll happen to them next? Just because they were being treated as guests, it doesn't mean that'll be the case once she reveals who she is and where she came from. She is not particularly good at lying so Fay wouldn't even know what other story to offer. Humans in that world had extraordinary abilities as well, right? They didn't have to know she is from another world. 

Fay shuddered. Then wishing to alleviate her parched throat she turned on the faucet of the sink and brought her lips to the cold water. It looked clean compared to the one in the dance studio's bathroom. Fay doubted the owner - Damian?- required as many filters and regular checks as the soup kitchen did. 

Although her thirst was satisfied, Fay immediately regretted taking such quick, large gulps. She hasn't had solid food in hours - or days? - so her stomach did not agree with the sudden liquid pouring down. She leaned over the counter, flinching when she accidentally pressed too much weight onto the splinted fingers. 

Fear filled her veins when her head started throbbing all of a sudden, the pain quickly developing into a migraine as painful as the one she used to have before. The bathroom lights felt too bright, the thunders outside too loud. Fay groaned softly as she shifted her weight onto her elbows. 

Why? Why was she still sick even with the bracelets gone? 

Maybe she was still recovering. Or maybe she was just very ill and it had nothing to do with the seals.

Or maybe it was...too late. 

A shadow moved in her peripheral vision. A warm hand was placed on her shoulder. 

Fay jumped at the contact and tensed, but she didn't pull away. Another hand reached towards the faucet and turned it off before she was gently guided away from the sink. Fay sunk to the floor, back pressed against the wooden drawers and knees pushed up to her chest. Someone was sitting close to her, enough that she could feel their body heat radiating and a very familiar scent. She'd felt it before on clothes she's been loaned. It is a scent she'd grown accustomed to whenever she was at the office and the penthouse. 

The migraine faltered as sudden as it came, but Fay refused to look at the boy beside her, keeping her head bowed. 

Well, that answered her questions on whether he was alright or not. 

She wondered if there was a chance she could stay on that floor for the rest of her life. 

Damian shifted. She jerked away from him. His hand stopped midway to her shoulder. 

"I am not going to harm you." Fay swallowed and refused to respond. "Your shoulder is bleeding." 

Alarmed, she glanced down at her shoulder, and surely enough, two red spots had appeared on the gauze. Before she could stop herself, her head lifted and she looked at him -- green eyes bare of any mask - then she immediately averted her gaze. 

Fay pulled her knees higher up against her chest. 

"I will not touch you more than necessary. If you've reopened your stitches, you will require new ones." 

Why couldn't he get Alfred to do it? Fay doubts the butler will make her nervous. 

But then she spotted Bagheera peeking inside the bathroom, drowsy yet concerned. 

She nodded. "Al-alright." 

Damian didn't make her move from where she was and she focused all her attention on the marble floor while he gently pried the bandages away to take a look. He kept his promise, barely touching her at all, his movements light and quick. Airbrushed against her exposed shoulder. The injury was deeper towards her neck and back than towards her arm which meant he didn't need her to remove her top. 

If he had, she would have rather died. Although she doesn't think he'd actually have asked something like that. Damian was many things, but he was not lecherous or physically aggressive. He could very well be the latter if he really wanted to, but he had never shown that side with her even when he was in a particularly foul mood. In fact, the only time he's ever grabbed her roughly was that day when he rushed her into the office but even, he had released her as soon as he noticed her discomfort. 

"Hn." Fay wondered what he thought of how bony she was. "It's healing satisfactorily and there are no broken stitches. Just discharge." Turning on the balls of his feet, he opened one of the cupboards and rummaged through it. A few seconds later, he pulled a fresh patch of gauze with sticky sides. 

Fay would have done it herself but with her splinted fingers, she was likely to cause more damage. Damian didn't ask her and instead, he removed the old bandage, cleaned the area, and then re-applied the new bandage. In the process, he unintentionally brushed against some of the marks present on her upper shoulder. She didn't flinch but Fay couldn't help grimacing. 

"They hurt you," Damian remarked. "They don't appear injured." Of course, he'd notice. He noticed everything. 

Fay stared determinedly at her hands. 

"They don't hurt." She said softly. "They're just...sensitive." 

"That is why you stopped wearing the new clothes."

Fay nodded. That and because she was also embarrassed about how they seemed to call out her frailty. 

"They weren't there before." 

She shook her head. "...the bracelets kept them hidden." She murmured. 

"The bracelets were also killing you." He stated. "You've known that for a while. 

How...does he know that? 

"I've read your journals." 

Fay's head whipped. "W-Wh-what?" 

Oh no. That means he went through her backpack---her backpack! Of course! She basically handed it over. Oh, she had definitely not considered what that implied. 

There were so many items in there that she hadn't shown anyone else. The travel journal and the research she's complied, the other journal with observations and notes she made every day or so. Things she learned. Things she wanted to remember or found interesting about that world. 

And her notes on her health deteriorating. Oh. 

"Oh." Her face contorted into a look of mortification. "Oh no--" 

"Oh yes." Damian, confusingly enough, did not look as angry or hostile as she'd expected. Instead, he just sat down with his legs crossed and gave her one of his trademark 'you are an idiot' looks. "So, let's see. You have been experiencing symptoms pointing to severe health issues for weeks and at no point, you decided to highlight that. If anything, you've lied to Pennyworth and me about improving." 

"Um, I--" 

"I must say you are remarkably good at deceiving others, considering you knew about my Robin identity yet you continued to work for me. How or when you discovered is unclear, but I suspect it was for much longer than just Halloween day. This brings us to the fact that you have somehow gotten your hands on a USB drive containing details of a large criminal operation. Now, the first logical theory would be that you are far closer with the Angel than you let on---" 

"Wh-what? No, I--" 

"--but that theory did not hold. The Angel had no idea who you were, that much is obvious. She was also not aware that your actions have trumped her plans to attack Gotham and unleash chaos---" 

"I don't--I didn't know--" 

Tears prickled at her eyes, and Fay pushed herself away from him. She really, really wanted to run away. 

"I am sorry." She cried out, finally, as her breaths grew laboured. "I am sorry--I--I didn't mean to cause any trouble--I don't know---I don't even understand everything--of how--of how this world works. I don't--I didn't want to know you were Robin and I didn't tell anyone but I--I thought you were going to arrest me. I mean isn't that what you do? And I didn't mean to be here, or in Gotham but everything went wrong and---I don't know if I am breaking any laws but I am not a criminal---" She could barely breathe, words just tumbling out of her mouth in broken sentences matching the storm of thoughts running her mind. 

"Calm down--" 

Tears started sliding down her face. 

"I am really, really sorry---" 

"Stop apologizing." He snapped. 

"---and--and I didn't want to lie and I felt bad taking the money but I wanted to go to Europe and--and---but the bracelets--something was wrong with them and I couldn't remove them even though my family said I can--and I am--I am not like other humans and I didn't want to--to get Bagheera in trouble---" 

Damian leaned towards her and she immediately pushed herself away, like a scared animal. 

"--I didn't mean to take advantage or--or discover the USB---I--I just wanted to leave home and--" She sobbed. "--I am really sorry--" She wasn't sure what she was apologizing for anymore. Perhaps for her pathetic display. 

Warm hands gripped her forearms, suddenly and she tried to move away, but she found her back knocking against the shower cabin. She hadn't even realized she'd been pulling herself away that far. 

"Stop. Stop." Damian ordered. Then quieter he added, "Stop crying." 

Fay stopped talking. She'd blurted out so much information she'd probably told him things he didn't even know to begin with. She sobbed a few more times. 

"I am not going to harm you," Damian said, still holding her. "Look at me." 

She shook her head, despite how that childish that was. 

"Look at me, Fay." He rarely ever said her name. And she rarely ever heard him speak in that softer tone. 

Fay swallowed and lifted her head, to meet his gaze. 

"I have questions. And I will require answers. Honest answers." He said as he released her arms. Bagheera was standing a couple of feet behind him, watching intently. "But you are not under arrest nor you are here as a captive. Do you understand?" 

Fay nodded. 

"I know you are not like other humans." 

"W-what?" 

"I recognized you that night. As I do not generally believe in coincidences, I monitored you. I noticed your unusual amount of visits to the museum and I also found out of your various work for Mercher and Zuraite." 

So, she had been right about that. She just hadn't considered Damian may be monitoring her because he was also Robin. Not at the beginning, anyway. 

"There was no record of you. You wouldn't have had the resources to make yourself disappear like that. So either your family did or you never existed in the first place. I sampled your DNA---the analysis pointed that whilst you are human, you have different genetic markers to the majority of the population." 

Fay just stared at him, stunned. She hadn't even considered he would do that!

"The initial conclusion was that you were a meta-human. A dormant one." 

"What--what is that?" 

Damian's lips curled. "Humans with different biological markers which grant them extraordinary abilities. Except that you did not demonstrate any. Until four days ago."

It's been four days?  

"Oh." Fay reached to wipe at her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Is--is that why you kept--asking me to work for you?" 

"-TT-A primary reason." He didn't elaborate on that. "I was not lying when I said that you've earned the money, however. The test has been real." 

She wasn't sure what to make of that. Or anything else. Nausea came and went, and she suddenly felt drained. Her energy must have left her along with her tears. 

Damian didn't say anything and she could feel him scrutinize her. Her eyes moved over to his dark jogger pants and the white shirt. She could see the outline of bandages underneath. "Um, is--are you better now?" She asked, not sure what else to say. Out of all reactions he could have possibly had to him hearing she was from another world, it was not that nonchalance he presented. Perhaps...he didn't hear correctly? 

"It is healing accordingly. While you lacked in surgical finesse, you have removed the parasite accurately. I guess I should be thanking you for that." Yet he didn't. Unless he counted that as a thank you. 

Fay continued to stare at his abdomen with a frown. 

"Does---does this world have the senwi, as well?" She asked. 

"Is that what it's called?" 

Fay nodded, then frowned when he told her that no, that particular type of parasitic spores did not exist there. 

But that meant...someone brought them there. From her world to that one. 

"I...I am so confused." She admitted quietly. "And, um,...I am feeling sick again." 

"Tch. That's what you get for getting unnecessarily worked up and jumping to conclusions." 

Fay took offense at that. "... that's--that's not fair. I have no idea how warriors work like in this world. I thought--I thought you'd, um,...throw me in a dungeon." That was dramatic, even for her. It wasn't as if Maysoon only used dungeons for its prisoners. 

"A cave would be more practical." 

She looked at him horrified. "W...what?" 

Damian sighed. Then without any warning, he pulled her up as if she was made of feathers. Well, not far from it. When her legs refused to hold her weight, he slid an arm under the back of her knees and easily hoisted her up in his arms. Fay let out an undignified sound and instantly gripped his shoulders. That hurt her fingers, particularly the splinted ones and she cried out. 

"I find it hard to believe you've traveled between worlds given your penchant for getting in unnecessary danger." 

That, he finds it hard to believe. Prat. 

Fay shivered, suddenly feeling very cold. Not as terrible as she used to, but it was becoming clear that she'd have to wait before getting better. She just hoped it wasn't the opposite. Damian carried her out of the bathroom and back to the bed, where he sat her gently down and watched her slide back underneath the duvet. 

"Your body temperature has dropped." Her skin felt as if she'd been standing underneath a cold shower again, albeit not anywhere close to hypothermia. Fay looked scared. Lost. "...I, um, don't really know why that happens." She admitted softly. Bagheera jumped on the bed and settled next to her, his head settling over her knees. He radiated a warmth that she dearly welcomed.  

"Is it because of the flux?" 

Fay was surprised momentarily, then she remembered he had read her journals. It wouldn't have been hard to put two and two together. 

"N-no. I mean...I don't think so. I thought it was the bracelets." The next words left her mouth before she could stop them. "What if...I don't get better?" 

"Don't be ridiculous," Damian said irritably. "Your body has started behaving differently the moment those things were removed. You have been healing faster than before. That didn't happen before. Even if that's not the case, then we will identify the root causes and address them." 

Just like that?

Even if she wasn't from that world? Even if she was weak and broken and cried all the time? 

"Re-really?" Fay's brows furrowed. 

"I believe you have known me for long that you know I do not say things I do not mean." 

"I mean, you did, um, lie before--" 

"Fay." His sudden use of her name and the heated tone forced her to look at him. He stared at her sternly. "I do not like to repeat myself so I will only be saying this once. You are under my protection now, and that means I expect you to be honest with me. About everything. In return, I will ensure that you stay in this world and Gotham is not jeopardized and neither is your..." He scowled slightly. "... partners." 

Fay wasn't sure if that was a bribe or not. What happened if she didn't tell him the truth? There were some topics she simply could not talk to him about. Her heart won't allow it. He must have read the doubt on her expression. 

"If there is something you do not wish to discuss, I will expect a reason behind it. If it is reasonable, I will not coerce you. You are not my prisoner." 

It just seemed too easy. The universe wasn't in the habit of giving her easy. 

"But--what if I want to leave? I mean, to go back...to what I was doing before, or um, if I wanted to leave Gotham?" 

"We will have to address your health, your abilities, and anything you may offer in terms of this...senwi and the creatures that attacked us. Once all those three conditions are met satisfactorily...." He crossed his hands behind his back, and his eyes moved towards the door leading into the hallway. "....you are free to go." Damian omitted the part where he would continue to monitor if it came down to that. 

Unlikely. She won't have a reason to leave. 

"Al--alright." Perhaps she was agreeing too soon, making a deal with the devil again, but she felt dizzy. Damian often had that effect on her. 

"Excellent." He lingered, looking like he wanted to add something else but then changed his mind. Instead, he threw a quick look over her form. "Pennyworth will continue to administer you transfusions but you will be weaned off of them soon. When he comes in for your check-up, explain in detail what your symptoms were and anything else concerning your health and physical fitness. If your current symptoms worsen, you are to call for help immediately." 

Fay felt compelled to nod. 

Damian seemed satisfied with that. He then started walking towards the door but stopped right before reaching for the doorknob. 

"Your bracelets were clearly meant to act as a tamper to your...abilities. You have yourself admitted that they have behaved unexpectedly, deteriorating your health." Fay blinked, and stared at him, unsure where he was going with that. "Who is responsible?" 

"What--what do you mean? I, um...I accepted. To--to wear them." Fay swallowed. "--to help me in...training my flux." 

"You've accepted whilst under the impression that they would help and not kill you, slowly. Leave you defenseless. Correct?" 

"Um, yes but--" 

"Who was it?" 

Fay tensed up. Why did it matter? "My--my uncle. He--he suggested it." It wasn't that simple. His uncle had been reluctant, but even he wasn't sure what else to do to help her. Some of her tutors backed up the decision which was further encouraged by healers. 

"Is this uncle," Damian asked icily. "In this world? Seeking you out. Or anyone on his behalf?" 

What? "I--I don't think so. I...am not sure anyone knows that I...came here." 

Damian's expression betrayed nothing. 

"Very well." The ice in his tone was gone as quickly as it manifested. "Pennyworth will administer you some mild, herb-based sedatives to aid with your insomnia. A temporary solution but essential considering your state." 

"I--" He opened the door, stepped into the hallway, and closed it behind him. 

Fay sighed. Then she met her paladin's gaze. 

"I am so...confused." 

Damian Wayne was truly an unpredictable individual. 

She'll definitely ask for some of those sedatives. 

Notes:

Many, many thanks to my Beta-reader AegyoButPsycho, who had to put up with my many grammar errors but has made the chapter flow so much better.

Enjoy! And as always, I welcome your comments.

Chapter 17: Intermezzo

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

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“Tell me.’’

 “What would you like to know?’’

Everything.

 “Start by telling me telling me about your world, and how you got here.’’

“Oh—okay.’’

I can’t tell him everything.

 

There are many theories on how her realm came to be. The most ubiquitous one is about a man referred to as the White Sage or the Prophet of Worlds. He is credited with having led a group of followers from Earth into a new, paradise-like realm. Her realm. The details of when, how, or why remain highly debated to that day, due to a lack of evidence and contradictory ancient scrolls. Stories of the Prophet have been passed down orally, generation to generation, making it difficult to distinguish between what is mythology and embellished stories and what actually took place. Some tales say that the Sage created the realm himself and that he was not a man, but a god, while more modern theories posit that it was not a creation, as much as it was a discovery of a lost world. There is no unanimous agreement on where the cradle of civilization began but researchers in her world have, in recent decades, been able to discover more information on the first settlements. 

The belief in the Sage and his followers has persisted to the present times, and for thousands of years, religions have posed him as a central figure, hailed as a symbol of peace and unity. Such values were reportedly passed down to The First Tribes of supposedly lived in peace and prosperity, regardless of race or species. Fay's realm offered everything and more for that to be achieved: from its unique flora and fauna to the advanced technology.

Another dominating philosophy in her world is that of the art of mastering primordial energy. It is as much a philosophy as it is considered an art and an energy manipulation technique. It allows others, such as herself, to interpret and call upon the energies that permeate their world. According to their philosophies, there are different types of energies and they are not all, if any, exclusive to her world. The primordial energy is what has created everything and thus it is what ties everyone and everything together. Some are simply born more susceptible to it than others although that's a rather simplistic view. 

“Interesting. There are philosophies in this world that share in that belief. Are you familiar with the concepts of Qi, Mana, or Orenda?’’

“Not…all of them. My…parents talked to me about how the flux is something acknowledged in this world but by different names.’’

“Can everyone use the flux in the manner you do?’’

“No. Not…everyone. The flux can manifest differently…just like magic does. One can be born with a strong flux, or um…they can attain it. But not everyone can do that.’’

The Sage may have been historically credited with establishing the first human settlements, but neither he nor his followers were the first inhabitants in her world. Regardless of which interpretation one gives more weight to, humans were not the only sentient species to forge tribes nor were they the only intelligent ones. There are species of the plant and animal kingdoms that both worlds share, and those that are unique solely to her homeworld. Likewise, there are creatures in her realm that Damian's world is no stranger to, if only largely as part of mythological stories, such as dragons.

Dragons are powerful beings whose knowledge had been subsequently been passed down to other species and it is thought they carried all the secrets to unlocking the power of primordial forces. Generally peaceful creatures, once at the top of the food chain – at least until other species developed and vied for dominion of territories and resources, leading to conflicts and wars. Once, free creatures, dragons had been hunted, enslaved, and weaponized, their numbers fluctuating and diminishing throughout history. It wasn’t until recent times that they have started being considered as a protected species and yet that still does not protect them completely. It is thanks to the dragons, that others have learned how to tap into sacred, ancient energies leading to different variations of its use. 

It is not just the animal kingdom that is revered for having mastered the use of the flux. A good example is Maysoon and its jungles.

Maysoon. Are you aware that’s a word from one of these world’s languages?’’

“Yeah, um, it’s not well-known knowledge but my mother once told me…. I can’t remember the name. A—Ara--.’’

“Arabic. That is the name of the language. Maysoon means---‘’

‘’----Beauty?’’

“That’s correct. Why is it---‘’

“I—It’s…. I will get to that.’’

“Hn.’’

 

The jungle of Maysoon is legendary for how breathtakingly beautiful it is. Songs and poems have been singing praises for centuries but also issuing warnings to any of those who dared venture through it. The jungle is the source of thousands of myths and tales about the dangers that come with its beauty. For centuries it had been considered untameable and inhospitable. The jungle is hailed as sacred territory for it had withstood terrible, dark periods of bloodshed and conflict yet continued to prosper. Unsurprisingly, the jungle and other similar locations in her world became coveted targets for conquerors wishing to claim them as the center of their political and military power.

The history of her world is complicated, just like his, so she would not be able to offer him a linear account without deviating to other topics and falling down a rabbit hole, but she tried to offer him a succinct account of it. A near-impossible feat because there was just so much that Fay didn’t still know herself even with her thorough education. It simply was not easy explaining thousands of years of history even if she spent days doing so. Fay had been learning about his world since she was a child and had studied it religiously after traveling there but she knew she had just barely scratched the surface herself, so she wasn’t even sure what topic to broach next when discussing her world.

There was also the added pressure of being cautious about what she revealed. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned the dragons? Should I even talk about how the flux works? Or how our territories look like?

Fay did not have the time to consider all those questions, so she settled for summarising the history lessons that she used to receive from her tutors. She was not a strategist like her father, but even she knew that offering too much information on her world might inevitably compromise it in the future. 

However, it was a give-and-take situation: Damian was helping her. He was also not treating her as an intruder or suspect when he could have easily done so, and she did know more about his world than he knew about hers. There was an implicit need to balance the information they had of one another. 

It was impossible denying that people from her realm had access to his when she was living proof of that. Then, of course, there was the matter of someone trading in weapons from her world and Daphne Barlow’s existence.

Fay was worried. How many more people had crossed the veil between the worlds to be there? How many of them are criminals, breaking fundamental laws of her realm by trafficking resources and violating years of secrecy? Did the Council even suspect something like this was taking place? Did her uncle know? Had her parents?

So many questions and no answers.

If there was one thing, she was certain of was that cooperation is key. Fay did not want Damian or any other warriors in that world to use the actions of a few to draw an unfair assessment of her world. What if they started thinking war was being planned against their world or that threats from her homeworld could travel there at any moment and endanger everyone’s lives? She would no longer be offered asylum. Instead, she might be used as leverage. 

Fay did not want to think Damian would ever do that (curse her growing weakness towards him). That didn’t mean, however, that he would not change his mind in the future. It was his job as a warrior of Gotham to preserve the safety of its citizens, so duty will come first if push comes to shove.

Right? A warrior was a warrior.

“You’re growing more agitated. What’s the problem?’’

“Well…I— ‘’

Presently, Fay was the only positive, or at worst, neutral connection Damian and the others had to her world. It was a laughable concept but the burden of representing her world had fallen on her shoulders. She was essentially an ambassador. Her. The failure. The cry baby, the broken one, the girl who lacks control, the girl who had humiliated herself over and over. The outsider and runaway and fallen---

The universe really hated her.

“…. I just---I am worried.’’

“Tch. Is this about your safety here? ---- Don’t look so surprised I figured out. You are ludicrously easy to read.’’

“I just don’t understand…. how could there be all these items from my-my world being exported here. Travel between the realms is very---difficult and highly monitored.
Not many are interested, or…. who believe that contact should not be made with outsiders.’’

“If it’s so difficult, then how are you here? You’ve mentioned your parents teaching you about this world, providing you with literature. So, they had access.’’

“Um, yeah. There are ways…. dangerous ways. Not many know of them.’’

‘’I take it they taught you, then.’’

“Not, um, exactly. They thought it was too…. dangerous, so I um, I tried to find it on my own. A way here, I mean.’’

“How?’’

“…..’’

“This is not the time for you to be withholding information. You’ve traveled between the realms and any information you have is essential to the investigation in how someone like the Angel came in the possession of weapons from your world.’’

“To a-assess the, um, threat.’’

“Obviously.’’

“And dispose of it.’’

“You are a true observer of the obvious—Tt--. I see. You’re worried about disclosing information about your world. Do you think we are going to use the information against you and your homeland? That I am going to dispose of you once we have it.’’

“I---I mean…. well.’’

“Fair enough. That’s a logical consideration to make and would have been naïve of you not to.’’ He conceded. “But this is your chance to prove that your world is not defined by the actions of a few.’’

Perhaps he could read minds, after all. There was no way she was that transparent.

“…..’’

“Tch. I believe we already established that you are not my prisoner. That, of course, is not an immutable status but unless you’re planning on committing crimes in this world, I will not go back on my word. I have not given you a reason to doubt me as you had not given me a reason to doubt my assessment of you. I think I made it clear what it was.’’  

And exactly was his assessment of her? 

It wasn't as clear as he made it out to be. But she knew Damian well enough by that point to understand it was a moot point asking for further clarification. He’ll just get more annoyed.

Perhaps it was that wretched hope again, but she felt that maybe he felt offended too. That she did not offer him more credibility.

That he cared. That she wasn’t the only one becoming emotionally invested in their....arrangement. Nothing more. 

I am so pathetic. Why would he ever want to be my friend?

(Why would anyone?)

“- Tch – Let me put it this way, then. You do not want anyone to be using resources from your world to perpetrate crimes here, do you?’’

“Of—of course not.’’

“Which means we have a common enemy. You want me, as Robin, to think that your world is not the enemy. Then do that by helping us apprehend whoever is doing this. We both know that you would not ignore the problem if it poses a risk to innocent lives. You have the information, and I have the resources. What’s more, the enemy doesn’t expect it.’’

Good point.

He is using me. Even if he can be kind and is a hero and protects others.

He would never see me as---

“Alright.’’

What was it that father used to say? Effective lies are the ones containing truths.

Traditionally, people in her realm have thought of him as an ‘outside world' and that was a theory that had been capitalized upon by the ‘old regimes’ for generations, who fed a constant message that other worlds cannot be accessed or shouldn’t be as they would post an existential risk. Several decades earlier the Resistance ushered the world into a new era. The efforts of these rebels – civilians and warriors alike banding together– had led to a series of revolutions and the gradual fragmentation of power that the old rulers had held onto for centuries. The former government systems did not fall overnight, of course. It took years to establish a new and fairer governmental system. True.

The interest in the ‘outside’ worlds had not changed significantly even with the changes that followed. Her parents’ interest in that realm was not something many shared, and Fay had not known any other children that have been taught about its literature and cultures and history like she had. True. Mostly. To many, Damian's realm remained something they could not access or had no reason to do so, and to others, keeping ‘outsiders’ out was not seen as an option but a necessity. Traveling to other worlds is also not a topic that is often discussed in public; if anything, it is generally frowned up. More or less. 

“Not your parents, however.’’

“No. My mother…. she was raised with the ideals of the Resistance.’’ Yes, and no. “And she thought…differently. That this world is not…an enemy or lesser. She was---well, she was an explorer, I guess.’’ True. But she had been so much more than that, too.
She couldn’t tell him everything about her parents. For many reasons, but primarily because it was too painful to talk about them. She could only offer generalized descriptions of them, hoping that a panic attack would not get triggered in the process.
The grief sat heavy in her chest. 

Fay is unsure how or why her parents started traveling to that world but they have only done so a couple of times. False. Her mother had told her that it was incredibly dangerous whenever Fay became too curious and expressed a desire to see that world as well. However, her parents had kept journals and souvenirs and other items from her travels – books, music, photos – of that world that Fay had been privy to as a child. True.

“Sun Tzu, Kipling, Dickens.’’

“Y-Yes…I had---I had books on them.’’

Her parents had never disclosed the full details of their travels to that realm, mentioning that she was not old enough to learn, nor she would have been allowed to travel so young, given the risks. Not entirely false. Traveling to that world was illegal. Truth. Her mother, an explorer, had found a way to do so in secret but there were very few - if any - that knew how. Partially true. Fay had started thinking about traveling to that world because she had been curious about it. True. Not the only reason, though. Fay had tried using the information she had to find a way to travel between the worlds herself, after running away from home. It was during that journey that she came across a man who claimed he knew the way between worlds. True. Mostly.

And?’’

“…. I don’t remember much after. He, um, asked for payment and told me that he will show me how to--how to open a portal. I--don't know if that's how-how my parents traveled but...I assumed it had to be. I don't, um, remember anything after that. Neither does B-Bagheera.’’

It wasn’t false information. Fay truly could not remember how she and Bagheera ended up in that world. However, she doubted Damian would react well if he knew that people from her world had regularly been sent there to study his. Hypocritically, it was the very same men and women who dismissed the existence of an ‘outside world’ or vilified it, that were responsible for such secret operations being conducted.

The Seekers’ existence has never been made public, not even after the Resistance's victory. These individuals were not warriors as much as they were explorers, their only purpose being to observe how other worlds evolved and developed. Officially, anyway. Her father had told her that Seekers had perpetuated crimes on behalf of ‘furthering progress', as well. The Seekers’ activities had presumably stopped when the Council ruled that their world should not engage in such exploratory missions anymore. Fay knew there were some things left untold. Allegedly, some Seekers had chosen to permanently settle in that world, in the lives they’ve built around their false identities, but they had the means to communicate with the Council regularly.

The last known location was Europe.

It was that information that had spurred Fay to consider her world travels seriously. She had also omitted in telling Damian that she initially sought one of her parent’s old friends as she believed he could help her. Disappointingly enough, she was unable to track him down. With her only other choice being to tuck tail and return home, she had tried to seek one of the ‘hidden paths’ that her mother had told her about. Except she had no idea what that meant beyond what the name implied. They could have very well been portals. Unofficial, unsanctioned ones, unlike the ones that the Seekers had used in the past. 

Seeing as she chose not to talk to Damian about the Seekers, she had left that entire part of her journey out.

Fay hadn’t been entirely dishonest – her mother had not shown her how to find and use the ‘hidden paths’ and she did come across a man named Len who helped her. His knowledge presumably came from a former Seeker he had known in the past. When telling the story to Damian, she only mentioned that Len had seemed convincing enough about knowing a way between worlds.  

“You trusted a stranger to just offer you a passage between worlds.’’

“Um, no. I mean---I didn’t think I would. I was…curious and I wanted to see the information he had. I remember…. I remember thinking that I would not use it but---but I guess, I did. I can’t remember beyond that.’’

“You are here so there had to be some validity to his claims. As you do not remember, however, there’s no say if you were the only one who crossed over.’’

“…. I don’t think there--there were other people. The man had said that --that generally, no more than one person can travel. He--he wanted me to leave Bagheera behind. That’s why---I had changed my mind. Or—or I thought I did. I was…afraid something would happen to Bag.’’

That was the last thing she and Bag remembered. From that moment until she opened her eyes and realized she was in that world, there was a constant gap in her memories.

Fay had also expected to arrive in Europe which is why she had been wanting to travel there. True.  

“You’ve mentioned such travels are uncommon and highly restricted so there must be laws forbidding them.’’

“…There are.’’

“You violate them by being here.’’

“Y-yes.’’

“What is the punishment for someone who breaks such a law?’’

“…. I am-I am not entirely sure. I, um, don’t remember how I got here, and I haven’t traveled here to…to cause harm so-so...’’

“But you are talking to an outsider. You are disclosing information about your world. Would you not be considered a traitor?’’

“…I-- don't---I- I think so.’’

“You guess? You planned your escape from your family, sought out a dangerous way to travel between worlds but did not consider the consequences of doing so?’’

Fay had hoped Baiji, her mother’s old friend, would be the one to guide her to that world and back. Looking back, that was a very naive perspective to have. She also had no idea who knew that she had chosen to be there. As far as she was concerned, her family had assumed she was kidnapped or killed during the journey. Even if they did figure it out that she has run away, traveling to another world will not be their first assumption. 

Fay told Damian the reason she wanted to go to Europe was that she had wanted to explore it. The culture, the landmarks, the art. It was all true. But she also wanted to travel to Europe because that’s where the semi-retired Seekers were supposedly stationed. They allegedly communicated with one another via encrypted messages. Her mother had taught her about codes and secret ways of communicating but Fay had yet to figure out how the Seekers communicated in that world. There were just so many communication outlets that she had no idea where to start from. Social media still eluded her, so if they used that, she will never figure it out.

The world had changed significantly from the time her parents had visited it so it was safe to assume the Seekers must’ve adapted in the process, changing their codes as well.

There was always a chance her lies would come to bite her in the ass, but she was…afraid. Fay did not think of Damian negatively, certainly not in the way she used to but there was no guarantee he won’t choose his duties as Robin over any promise he made to her. People broke their promises all the time. Many had with Fay. She would understand if he did because it was obvious he only saw her as an ally of sorts ‘against a common enemy' (which stung, but she ignored it, feeling foolish about how sensitive she was being) so she had to be cautious.  

Fay wouldn’t have faced punishment if she had managed to return home with no one knowing about her real identity. She wasn’t sure what the Council would do to her if it was revealed that she was exposing information on her world to high-profile individuals such as Damian and his father.  

“I did. I just…. things happened fast and um, then I woke up in this world. We both did. It was…too late to do anything about it.’’

Almost a week since Halloween, Fay found herself sitting in the Batcave after a quick, dizzying tour from Alfred.

Wait a second. 

'A cave would be more appropriate.'

Damian....made a joke?

No. No, of course not.

He was probably just trying to scare me. 

Bruce Wayne and Richard Grayson were watching her which was nerve-wracking. Bruce was an intimidating man, and she knew enough about the Dark Knight to understand how privileged she was in seeing the man behind the cowl. He was a living legend (Fay knew a thing or two about being amongst legends). Dick, too, had a reputation of his own and from the brief interactions between him and Damian, she could tell the man was a mentor to the boy.

Dick was also more approachable, so when discussing how she came upon George Sander’s USB key, she had instinctively looked at him more. Damian was standing next to her, once again, far closer than she wanted or he needed to. Yet at that moment, he was the individual responsible for keeping her safe and potentially, from being treated as a prisoner.  

When she was finished with her story, Dick looked rather amused. Then glanced to her left side where Damian was leaning against the table. She had chosen to sit down, unsure if she'd be able to stand and speak before such an intense audience. She didn’t dare look at the boy. 

“…W-what?’’ She asked meekly, feeling self-conscious. Her face felt as if it was on fire.

“Nothing. Actually---that’s pretty good work.’’ The man said with a smile. “Quite a detective, huh?’’ He sounded slightly teasing but not in a mocking way, so she didn’t take offense.

Fay shrugged, feeling embarrassed. “Um, I…just like researching things, I guess.’’ 

“Do you know what creatures you and Damian fought back at the compound were?’’ Bruce asked, after a moment. He had not uttered a word the entire time she was there. His stern countenance reminded her of her uncle and she felt as if she was under a microscope because he had the same scrutinizing eyes as Damian. His tone hadn’t been unkind, however, nor he maliciously look at her.

Bag would have reacted if he did, but her paladin felt calm so far. Fay fidgeted with the sleeves of her sweatshirt. Alfred had brought her new clothes and they have all been purchased a few sizes larger than what she needed. Fay wondered if that was because Damian knew how sensitive her skin could be at times. 

It was really hard to remain detached when he kept doing like that. 

“I--I am not actually sure.’’ She admitted, then grimaced. “I thought...they were Duanima.’’  

“Duanima,'' Damian repeated by her side.

She nodded. "They are...not--not entirely human but um, also not an animal. It's...um, more complicated than that. But--but they are part of--of my world just like humans and any other species.'' Fay also added that Duanima's are also intelligent beings. They coexist with other species -- in fact, they're not that much different from humans in that they are characterized by bipedality, complex brains, and capable of living in social structures. 

"That doesn't match the description of what we've encountered.'' 

"No--no, they looked wrong. Duanima's do--do not lose control like that.'' Well, they could but Fay was rather certain it wasn't the same case. "They were...feral. And even the way they--they looked. It was as if....'' 

"Someone put them together. A failed experiment.'' Damian finished.

Fay nodded again. She failed to notice the way Bruce's eyes moved from her to Damian and back, brow arching in a nearly imperceptible manner. Fay glanced at her paladin, who met her gaze and blinked twice, offering silent approval to continue. 

Dick smiled at Fay. "Do you know what a chimera is, Fay?''

"I am not sure. I think I've heard of it before.'' 

"A chimera is a single organism made from two or more separate cells. That means there may be two or more separate sets of DNA. According to Greek mythology, the Chimera was a fire-breathing creature comprised of more animals. In our world, the chimera term has been used to describe anything that is composed of parts that are unusual or unnatural.'' 

Fay nodded. The Duanima, then, would more or less fall under that category at least from that world's perspective. She was certain there was an equivalent for the chimera in her language as well but at that moment she couldn't remember. 

"Do--do chimeras e-exist here, then?'' 

"More or less. Generally, as a result of experimentation rather than as something that occurs naturally.'' 

Oh. 

Her world was not a stranger to such experimentation. Those were not tales they were generally spoken of in detail as children but Fay came across them in books. Her parents didn't really shy from telling her about some horrific approaches of past rulers in creating what they perceived was the perfect soldiers. 

"...I don't know--much about that. It's not something that...wouldn't happen in my world, I guess. But--I have never seen a Duanima like that. If, um, that's what it was.'' 

A cold dread filled her veins. Those men and women were now dead. They had no humanity left, no self-control. Had they agreed to become the monsters they were? Or were they unfortunate victims chosen by a cruel mastermind that was still out there, lurking in the shadows? 

Was there something that could have been done for them? She hadn't even considered that during those moments even if she hadn't wanted to kill them. All she could think was that they might get their hands on the boy and her paladin. 

Damian surprised her once again.

“They resisted all of her attempts at incapacitating them, ignoring their own injuries in favor of trying to kill us. They were mindless beasts whose biology was irreversibly altered.’’ He said suddenly, startling her, and this time she did look at him. 

Was he....? 

…. he is defending me? Or at least…justifying my actions.

“I believe you,’’ Bruce said, but Fay wasn’t sure if it was directed at her or his son. “What about the parasite?’’ She looked back at the patriarch of the Wayne family.

Most of their conversation went like that. Their questions weren’t that surprising, all things considered so Fay tried to be as cooperative as possible. She told them about the senwi. The spores are released by a cannibalistic plant that thrives in hotter environments. The plants cannot feed on all plants but they can infect the flora and fauna with potentially deadly toxins. Once it reaches full maturity, the plant will release the spores that Damian came across as well. 

Individuals with a strong immune system will not fall prey to it as easily, as evidenced by Damian himself. Once inside a person's body, the spores will take anywhere between forty-eight and seventy-two hours to develop. The fungus metamorphizes into a pouch-like of poison that continues to grow, passing through several different stages with the fifth one being final and irreversible. The hyphae invade soft issues and then the cardiovascular system while paralytic toxins incapacitate the host. Surgery can still be conducted but it is unlikely the host will survive. There's also a risk that newly formed spores will be inhaled by those performing the surgery. 

Likewise, if the membrane is damaged during surgery, it can be highly contagious if in proximity with it. 

Fay failed to notice Damian glancing at her as she kept talking. "Ho-however, once removed and if it's not--damaged, then it won't survive.'' She grimaced when she looked at the lifeless and shrunk parasite that was now being stored in a glass container. The sight of it only caused her to admire Damian further because had she been in his shoes, she would have had a nervous breakdown at having that thing growing inside of her. 

"A most terrible thing,'' Alfred remarked as he handed her a cup of hot tea. "We are most fortunate that you were there to take action.'' 

Fay blushed. 

"Would the senwi survive transportation, that you know of? Or harvested in an artificial environment?'' 

Fay took a few sips first, feeling cold again. Her body temperature did not fluctuate as drastically as it did before, but she still had moments when she would either break into shivers or feel impossibly hot. "--I think so? They--they are sensitive plants, though. But--'' She glanced at Damian. "--you said the spores came from a--a device?'' 

"Correct.'' 

"That's....really strange. I mean, I don't know everything about it but---but I didn't know the spores could be, um, contained like that. They have a--short life span.'' 

All men exchanged a look. 

"Hm. So they are either harvested locally or someone found a way of growing their lifespan.'' Bruce said. 

Then they asked her about a drawing Damian had made. He was even more talented than she assumed.

How unfair. Was there anything he couldn't do? 

Damian had drawn a spherical object with curving indentations around it. There was one going around the sphere right in the middle, the only one color, in a dark shade of blue. Damian told her that the device had gone off in Finnegan’s pocket, in turn causing the explosion in the building she had ventured in. Fay was not familiar with any blue substances capable of triggering an explosion of that nature, so she had told him she wasn’t sure. Fay had seen bombs of similar size and shape before and had even practiced with ones of lower intensity, but she was not sure what the indentations represented. It could be a warrior personalizing their weapons, almost like a signature or it could be marks representative of a guild. None of which she was familiar with, however.

“I’ve seen something familiar---they can be activated by moving the upper or bottom part,’’ Fay mentioned, making a motion with her hands as if she was rotating one side of an imaginary sphere. “But---I’ve never used one.’’ Not ones capable of such destruction, anyway.  

Damian tutted but he didn’t prob any further. Then he told her about Finnegan and how he had become rabid after he swallowed a dark capsule. He behaved similarly to the chimeras; except he had largely retained his human appearance.

Fay frowned at him. “…a dark capsule?’’ She knew of several ways an individual could go feral, but none of them involved pills so she just shook her head and told them that in that regard, she was not able to help. However, Fay vaguely knew some plants being able to cause one’s primal instincts to go haywire, switching them to an almost primitive state but they were nowhere potent enough to cause a person to act the way Finnegan had.

“…. None of them would cause dark pupils, either.’’ She added.

Dick pointed out to the other two vigilantes that perhaps it was a modified version of Venom and how it was possible to have been modified using the plants that Fay mentioned. She just listened quietly, despite having many questions herself. Subsequently, they asked her if she had seen Angela Russo before, which she hadn’t or if she had heard or seen anything that might have been useful during her time at the compound. Unfortunately, she could not help in that regard either.

In the end, Damian had been the one to end the interrogation after she started feeling unwell again. Dick smiled and thanked her for answering all their questions, to which Bruce nodded as well. He didn’t thank her. Fay had no idea what he thought of her being there. 

The moment they were back in her bedroom, Fay had nearly pushed Damian out of the way to rush to the bathroom, taken by surprise by a strong sense of nausea. She wasn't surprised that Bagheera stayed close within her reach but she didn't expect Damian to stay as well. He didn’t say anything, but when she was done, he kept close as she stumbled to the sink so she could cleanse her mouth. When she lost her balance a few times, he steadied her but otherwise didn’t touch her further. 

It was equal parts unnerving and thoughtful to have him follow her like a shadow. Only Bagheera did that generally but that was different.  

Fay crawled under the duvet. 

Damian said something but she didn’t catch it.

“…what?’’ She mumbled, exhaustion creeping in like a silent enemy and making her feel drowsy.

“Just go to sleep.’’

‘You did well.’

‘’You have an accent. Your English is fluent, however.’’

‘’It’s not…uncommon. My parents taught me. Not many people know it.’’

The ‘outsider’ languages are not popular, no. English had been used by some factions of the Resistance, but there were not many who bothered in learning it just as they did not care about anything else of that world.

“But you do.’’

“Yes. I guess---I am different.’’

Her parents spoke to her in English all the time, so she had learned it along with several other languages that she was expected to know. Other members of her family could speak it as well, but it was rarely the first choice. 

“Are there other languages from this world that you’re familiar with?’’

“…very l-little. Some words or—or general knowledge. I’ve been researching them---at the museum, too. Italian, and um, Spanish and s-several others. Some of them sound really…. nice.’’

“You haven’t told me yet. About Maysoon.’’

Hundreds of thousands of warriors have tried to conquer and tame the fabled jungles known also as the ‘garden of the gods’. The jungle never allowed them. Its allure drew many souls to it but very few ever made it out. Conquerors, in their spite and anger, have even tried to destroy it. If they could not have it, then no one else would. They all failed, of course. Until a warrior named Tora came along. He succeeded where others failed, building a village right in the heart of the jungle.

Maysoon.

Her homeland.

Legend has it that Maysoon was the name of the woman Tora was in love with it. She was a legendary warrior, an idol amongst female warriors. Tales and poems describe her as incredibly beautiful, as well. It is unclear how she died except that she did so young, and many believe that she was the sacrifice the jungle requested of Tora in exchange for living there. It would explain why he wanted to commemorate her by naming the village after her.

“Do you believe that?’’

“…I don’t know. I prefer—I prefer the other interpretation. That she became a guarding spirit.’’

“Hmph. Spiritual, are we?’’

“Hm. Maybe.’’

If only he knew what the jungle was really like. What it was capable of. It wasn’t just a dangerous territory of exotic flora and fauna.  

“Maysun aism jayd.’’

“…. huh?’’

“It’s Arabic.’’

“You---you can speak it?’’

“Tch. I can speak nine languages fluently. Arabic is my natal language---what are you gawking at like an idiot?’’

“No—nothing. It’s just…. amazing. I mean…I never met anyone who knows it. I don’t even know that much about it. What----what was that you said?’’

“Maysun aism jayd. Maysoon is a good name.’’

“Can you say more things---I mean; I know you can, but will…will you l-let me hear it?’’

“…..’’

“Please?’’

“-Tt-. Maybe. After you finish telling me about your homeland and how you got here.’’

“…. I already did. I mean about how I got to this world---‘’

“Gotham. How you got to Gotham.’’

Maysoon is one of four empires, ranking second to Atlabas Empire, size-wise. All empires’ dominion had fluctuated throughout history but Maysoon had remained an uncontested power for centuries because of its resources and strong lines of warriors. The Empire is currently divided into twelve regions, which are led semi-autonomously by different rulers. Several of them come from long lines of warrior clans, going as far as Tora’s times even. It was the ancestors and founding fathers of such clans that contributed to Maysoon’s expansion and development from a village to a powerful empire.

Maysoon’s royal clan had stayed in power for hundreds of years, with the Emperor and Empresses as absolute monarchs. The mounting number of revolutions and subsequent wars in the past century have led to the decentralization of power, however. The rulers of the twelve regions had been offered autonomy in the process, with the Empire’s ruler no longer having the authority to act solely as judge, jury, and executioner. The current Emperor, for example, is still a powerful political figure but it no longer serves as an absolute ruler who can easily overrule other territories' decisions. 

There is also the Grand Council. An intergovernmental organization whose mission is to preserve security, peace, and friendly relations between all four Empires: Maysoon, Atlabas, Aedyr, and Vontagor. There are territories not subject to any of the empire’s dominion. Tribes, villages, smaller kingdoms. Some had agreed to the Council’s laws, while others have chosen to remain independent.

“You grew up in Maysoon.’’

“…yes.’’

“Is your family a warrior clan?’’

Damn it. She had hoped he wouldn’t ask. Had purposefully skirted around that topic.

“…My father’s family, yes. He---he was one. A warrior. My mother was…. she was an explorer.’’

 In a way. She was certainly an adventurer.  

Fay found it hard to breathe. 

“You were trained to be a warrior?’’

“…. Y-yes...I am---I am not one.’’

“Hn.’’

They were seated facing opposite directions that day as they sat on one of the stone benches outside. Daily one-hour walks had become a habit in her second week there.

Fay was glad he could not see her face because she felt like crying.

Please. Please don’t ask me about it. Or my parents.

I just…. can’t.

Tell me about how you arrived in Gotham.’’

Thank you. 

“…Well. It’s a long story.’’

“Last time I checked, you had nowhere to be.’’

Fay felt like kicking him again. 

When Fay woke up in that world, she found herself in South America. A Colombian city on the Amazon river, with a small population, at least compared to Gotham. Several thousand, at most. She was taken in and tended to by one of the fishermen and his family. Their oldest son, Camilo, spoke English better than his parents and told her that she was found on the shore. It looked as if she had been brought in by the water currents.

She was alone. No sight of Bagheera.

Fay had tried looking for him, but she was disoriented, confused, and frightened. The merchant and his family were kind and generous and gave her food and shelter for a few days. She told them that she did not remember who she was or where she came from, so three days later, Camilo told her that they were going to have the local authorities help her.

Panicked at the idea of being asked questions she could not answer, Fay escaped into the rainforest. She had grown up in a jungle, so it was perhaps the closest thing in that world that reminded her of home. In some ways, she found it easy to adapt there, so she spent several days learning her surroundings and trying to think about her next steps. Fay decided to keep moving, as she hoped Bagheera had made it safely and that he was also in that part of the world.

After approximately two weeks, Fay came across a girl, around sixteen or seventeen years old, running through the jungle. She was injured and frightened.

Two armed men were chasing her. Fay attacked them. At the time she was in a much better physical shape and she still had access to her flux, so it wasn't that much of a challenge. The girl, Eva, didn’t speak English so Fay did not understand much of what she spoke but she was clearly in danger. Unfortunately, danger followed her---several other men came after them.

Fay escaped but Eva was re-captured and brought to a camp with other people being held hostage. Fay followed her there. One of the prisoners spoke English and told her that the men holding them are criminals trafficking drugs and humans. That is when she decided to remove the bracelets. 

The ritual did not work. If anything, it had caused her so much pain that she was unable to channel the flux for hours after. 

The prisoners were transported to a place called the Darien Gap. As Fay wanted to keep moving anyway and she did not want to abandon Eva and the others, she followed. 

“The Darien Gap is one of the most dangerous jungles in this world.’’

“…I didn’t know that, at the time. The-the other prisoners mentioned it, but I was—I was really confused about where we were.’’

“Do you think it’s a coincidence? You grew up in one of the most dangerous jungles of your world, as you said it yourself. Now you found yourself in a similar territory.’’

“I am not sure if it’s a coincidence. It…doesn’t feel that way, does it?’’

In a way, it had been a blessing. In others, a series of wretched circumstances.

Bagheera found her. He had been tracking her down for miles, and he also had her part of the equipment she had brought along. He had no voice to tell her in detail of his own adventures but from what Fay could tell, his journey had not been any easier than hers. With his help, Fay destroyed the camp and released the prisoners. That was the last time she used the flux in such a manner. She's attempted to a few times after, but the bracelets would cause her pain or she'd be left feeling incredibly drained. 

She'd assumed that perhaps she'd used the wrong seals or that Len did something to her. Her health didn't deteriorate immediately and if she did experience weight loss, fatigue or migraines, Fay assumed it was due to the lack of food and their long travels after. 

One of the men that Fay and Bagheera helped, offered her help with the passage. His family was in Mexico City and he led them there, after which they parted ways. Fay and Bagheera traveled by foot all the way to the border between Mexico and U.S, where they discovered just how complicated the passage from one territory to another is. It took them a week to cross it -- an elderly couple had allowed her to hide in their trailer. For Bagheera, it was easier as he could move quickly and undetected. 

Once across the border, they walked for miles and miles. At one point they took shelter in a house in Texas. Fay admitted that she broke in, as they were both thirsty and starving. Bagheera, particularly, as he had also had to carry her whenever she was too tired.

“Erm, I am sorry. I know you’ve asked me if…. I committed any crimes.’’

“…did anybody catch or see you?’’

Not at the beginning. Fay was able to steal food from the house and some clothes. They weren't found until the next day. A farmer found them hiding in the barn. 

Fay didn’t want them to spend their entire journey breaking into homes, so she tried to pawn off one of the stones.

“What stones?’’

“Erm, right. I—I didn’t tell you about them. Well…. you see, um,’’

“Cut to the chase. If you stole them, it’d hardly be the most surprising of your actions so far.’’

“I didn’t steal them! I mean, not really….not all of them.’’

“You don’t make any sense.’’

Because it was complicated. When Fay ran away from home, she took money and precious stones with them, along with other items she felt would make their travel easier. She even had weapons and medical supplies (most of which were lost or stolen or have been used). It may have been a spur-of-the-moment decision to leave that day – seizing the opportunity – but she had been tentatively planning for days. Truth was, she didn’t think she’d ever go ahead with it.

What changed?’’

“I---‘’

She had heard her uncle discuss her ‘situation’. He wanted to send her away to one of Maysoon’s northern territories – to stay there for an indeterminate amount of time. Fay hadn’t been privy to the entire discussion, but she didn't need to. It was hard to assume that they were wanting to send her away for anything else than shame. 

So, she waited until they left the capital. Both her and Bag made a run for it during their second stop.

“…I did. I changed my mind. I---I guess really did want to see this world.’’

It was true. But it was hardly the only reason. Or the original one. 

Damian once again, surprisingly, didn't push further. 

“The stones. Tell me about them.’’

Most of her money and several of the stones went to Len.

But she had kept a few as well. Fay had done her research– some of the stones didn’t exist in that world, so, they were irrelevant. If anything, they are bound to cause her more problems. She didn't mention those. She had emeralds, though. And several diamonds that she had grabbed unknowingly when stealing some supplies from the men in the jungle. Fay did not want to use them. 

“Why not?’’

“…people died for those diamonds. I don’t---it doesn’t feel right.’’

“Even for your own survival?’’

“…I mean, if--I really had to.’’

There was a gold bracelet, instead, that she tried to pawn. It had small stones encrusted in it but that was not its most unique feature.

It was the design that was eye-catching.

That bracelet had been one of Moma’s, her caretaker. Hardly the most valuable of items that Fay could have taken and perhaps the least valuable one she had in her backpack.  

Fay liked to think that Moma wouldn’t have been upset if she knew – it was for their survival. She also knew that she was taking risks trying to pawn it – a weird, dirty child walks in a store saying she found a bracelet that was worth thousands whilst digging in the dirt (she even got the bracelet dirty to make it plausible). The pawnshop owner offered her thirty dollars saying it was a fake, which she knew was a lie. She refused, even if thirty dollars would have been useful as well. The other man that worked there – maybe his son – had followed her out of the store and tried to accost her. Bagheera scared him off.

Later, she found herself with authorities after her. It seems she had been reported as having stolen it from him.

Bastard.

They ran away again, hiding in someone’s else property. The disabled man who lived there offered them food rather than kicking them out. She didn’t talk so he assumed she was a mute. They stayed overnight but the next day the woman who came to help him with chores around the house – he was paralyzed from the waist down – ended up reporting them after she was startled by Bagheera. 

They had to escape, once again, but the man – Louis – gave her money. Only fifty dollars but it had certainly helped them. She left him with the bracelet, if only for his kindness. 

After that, they walked and ran and hopped on trains and buses and slept in all kinds of places. 

They did steal throughout their journey – food and sometimes money – and they sometimes broke into other people’s houses if Bagheera could tell it was empty, and if there were no cameras. Fay never stole from those who looked as if they didn’t have much themselves, and she would lie if she said she didn’t purposefully target men and women who looked wealthy. A couple of times she almost got caught but she was hardly newsworthy if anyone did report her. Fay always ensured Bagheera wasn’t seen with her in those moments because people were bound to remember the large, black wolflike creature accompanying a thieving child.

They arrived in Gotham by chance. Or rather because the original train they wanted to board - to New York - had to be abandoned when a conductor discovered them. She and Bag were chased – again – and they ended up sneaking on a cargo train.

A train that came to Gotham. They roamed the city for a while before finding Dana’s soup kitchen, where they returned for several days in a row. Then Dana told her about the attic and allowed them to stay in there. It was meant to be temporary, but the woman gave her a job and food and it wasn't as if they could afford to go to Europe. 

''Why Europe?''

"Oh, um,...my parents talked about it the most. I hoped..maybe, I don't know. It will be a better place. Maybe--maybe find a way back.''

"You said you left your family because you wanted to be someone else.'' 

Of course, he'd remember that. Fay had forgotten she even mentioned it. 

"I...yes. I just--It--it was a mistake.'' 

"So you want to go back to your family and be who they wanted you to be.'' 

"No-no but...I don't--I don't know what other choice I have. I was--unwell and Bagheera---'' 

"You are not unwell now. You are obviously recovering. So nothing is stopping you from resuming your original plan.''

"I--I su-suppose so.''

They traveled for approximately three months before they arrived in Gotham. She had been in Gotham for a month when she first met Damian at the museum.

“Wh-what?’’

“Hn. Nothing.’’

You are just full of surprises, aren’t you?

“You’ve been sitting on thousands worth of stones in one of the most dangerous cities in the world.’’

“Well…what choice did I have?’’

You could have told me.

“—Tt—Do you still have them?’’

“Um, yeah. They’re in--in the attic.’’

She must’ve hidden them. The floor. Or the walls.

“Give them to me.’’

“W-why?’’

“What do you think? I will have them appraised and ensure you are paid correctly.’’

“….You--you would do that?’’

She doesn’t trust me. Still.

That needs to be addressed.

“You’ll also need to tell me which locations you passed through.’’

“Huh?’’

“Damage control. People may not remember you specifically but they will not forget the dog who looks nothing like one.’’

“I, um, okay.’’

The girl had been in his house for sixteen days now, but Bruce had only seen her up-close twice. When he carried her in the Batcave and later when they ended up questioning her. Damian determinedly refused to let her out of his sight on most days. When he did, Alfred or Dick were close by. It didn’t take long for the Dark Knight to figure that it wasn’t just because Damian wanted to make sure she was being monitored. Not for the reasons he mentioned, anyway. 

Damian was behaving in a borderline possessive manner. Fay, to her credit, had cooperated with them although she was clearly frightened and anxious about them knowing her secret. She was not a threat, currently but questioning her was only logical. His son agreed, but there were subtle behavioral markers that spoke volumes of what he thought of the girl. 

When Alfred told him of the time they've spent hours together for weeks– discussing, shopping (?) – it was clear that their strange arrangement wasn’t just a business affair. Damian had insisted on consistently interfering in her life until the girl had no choice but to agree to work with him. And that was after he'd been tracking and monitoring her with the same pathos he did a criminal. 

Damian had no idea about her abilities or her alien origins until Halloween night. While he may have suspected that Fay was peculiar, either because of her seemingly selfless actions or her genetics, Damian wouldn't have been required to engage with her. Not in such a personal manner. 

Which meant he wanted to. His son - unruly, violent, rebellious, and prodigious - had purposefully wanted her to be aware of him. He introduced himself to her as Damian Wayne. He brought her to the penthouse time and time again. It was no surprise Fay had been so reportedly intimidated of him at the beginning. She would have found it strange and confusing, even more so considering she wasn't of that world. 

It was unclear what that made her in his son's eyes. She did not appear to be infatuated. Damian wasn't a whimsical creature, either. It would have had to be curiosity, to begin with, but it couldn't be just that. 

Not when he treated her as a secret. 

At least from Bruce. Alfred had inevitably known about her from the beginning and Dick subsequently found out when the boy opened up to him. But not to Bruce himself, even if they talked at least twice while he was away. Granted, the conversations were brief and almost clinical, but Damian had had the opportunity to tell him. 

Even now, over two weeks since she's been staying at the Manor -- Damian insisted -, the boy remained secretive. Bruce knew he was going into the girl's room to talk to her, just as he had right after she woke up although Alfred ordered him not to upset her. Yet he went ahead and did it anyway, although it appears he has also...Bruce wouldn't say Damian had comforted her. But he had wanted to make her aware immediately that she was under his protection. 

Damian continued his visits throughout the two weeks, sporadic and varying in length. It could have been chalked up to the boy feeling restless - and not too happy - about being benched for several days from patrol. Except, he hadn't protested as much as he usually would have even if he didn't agree that he needed more time off (his pallor indicated he absolutely did). 

Outwardly, he didn’t behave any differently than before. Not unless one paid great attention. 

Bruce wanted to show Damian he was being trusted so he left it alone.  

For now.

But the Dark Knight wouldn’t be who he was if he didn’t consider a scenario in which Damian will no longer be objective, in which his perception was compromised. Batman had a duty to step in if that happened, just as it was his responsibility to explore the risks that came with having -another- otherworldly creature living there. 

As a father, however, he did want to see Damian behaving as close as possible as he could to a regular child. 

“Damian?’’

“What?’’

“What---what happens now?’’

“You can stay here until you’re well enough to function on your own.’’

“And--and after?’’

“You won’t go back to the attic.’’

“Oh.’’

“I have made arrangements for alternative accommodation. You will be safe there, and I am certain you’ll enjoy the amenities you’ll have.’’

“O-okay. Is it---is it okay if I said goodbye to Dana?’’

“Don’t be an idiot. Once the Angel is apprehended, you’re allowed to speak and see her.’’

“What--what if she’s not caught?’’

“She will be. Until that happens, you need to lay low. The new accommodation will be the perfect place to do that.’’

“Alright…. Thank you.’’

.

.

.

‘Thank you, Damian.’

Notes:

A few notes I would like to make, now that Fay has revealed more about where she comes from and who she is (more or less):

- Fay's anxiety and paranoia will not vanish just because of what happened on the night of Halloween. She trusts Damian more and her perception of him has changed (positively, so). But she does have a tendency to question people's motivations and be wary of secret agendas (several reasons, which will be gradually revealed in the future).

- I have kept the information on her world rather generalised, not only because it fits Fay's concerns about protecting her world but also because I haven't finished building her world. I do not want to put information that will later need to be changed. I also want to keep the element of surprise as there's certainly more - lots- stuff coming up.
Also, imagine being in her place and having to describe your world someone else.

- I like keeping my characters complicated, at least for the time being. People are complicated, and so are emotions. Damian is certainly a difficult, complex character and so is Fay, to an extent. Their motivations and thoughts are never so simple.

- My apologies if the Arabic is not correct. I don't know the language (although I would love to) so I must rely on google translate (which is not particularly reliable).

Chapter 18: Of recovery and changes 

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

"Do not worry that your life is turning upside down. 

How do you know that the side you are used to is better than the one to come?" 

- Rumi

.

.

.

18th of November

Angela Russo was tracked down all the way across the country. In Portland. She was dead. Her body had been cut into several pieces and then shoved into a barrel at the bottom of a lake. A family came across it while swimming there. 

Her financial and weaponry sponsorship had attracted a sizable number of criminals willing to work for her. Several smaller illegal activities linked to her were further dismantled in the two weeks after Halloween night. However, once word spread out that the Angel was dead, things have quieted down. Well, as quiet as Gotham could be, anyway. 

Angela had operated primarily in Russia before switching her attention to that side of the world and interestingly enough, her Angel persona only made itself known a little over a year earlier. In fact, before then, it seems Angela had preferred to work as discreetly as possible sabotaging and robbing off several oligarchs. There was no evidence that she was in any way linked to the Sponsor.

However, someone specifically went out of their way to kill her. It could have been one of her long-standing enemies or a criminal scorned by her failure in Gotham. It could have also been the Sponsor ensuring they tied some loose ends of their own. 

Damian still strongly believed that her sudden decision to make herself known to the world was based on two crucial elements: her access to weaponry no one else would have or even expect, and that she may have been trying to get the Sponsor's attention. However, that theory presented issues. If she was trying to prove herself worthy of the Sponsor's inner circle, why would he give her access to the senwi or the chimerean beasts? Was it some sort of incentive or did those resources come from somewhere else? 

Whoever it was, the likelihood they knew about Fay's existence or that she was helping them is low. Good. She will not only be safer that way but she'll also be an asset. 

Fay had been cooperative, despite her reservations and cautiousness. Her behavior was understandable. Her distrust of him, however, was an issue and frustrating for reasons he preferred not acknowledging. Damian could be patient. He knew Fay had no choice but to accept the arrangement he offered, so it was only a matter of time until the matter of trust will be addressed. 

Some progress has already been observed while she stayed at the Manor. Fay would freely talk to Bagheera, no longer afraid of appearing strange and the beast, in return, openly projected his emotions. Fay still shied away from many topics, particularly if they concerned her family or why she left her homeland, but she's been more honest about what she finds confusing in that world, be it common knowledge or not. Most importantly, she showed more willingness to ask him questions, the more she realized she won't be shut down for it. 

Damian wouldn't say she was livelier but removing the bracelets had visibly improved her psychical state, and to smaller extents, her psychological one. In the first week of recovery, Fay slept between fifteen and eighteen hours each day, her body behaving like a battery that struggled to recharge. She was administered only a light sedative dosage to help with her insomnia. Her nightmares had not led to any major episodes but Damian could tell she was terrified of being caught during such a vulnerable moment. 

He did, as a matter of fact. At the beginning of her second week there. Damian had just finished a long training session and he had passed by her room on his way to his when he heard the sound of a lamp falling down and breaking. He immediately opened the door to check. Fay was out of bed, huddled in the corner between the bathroom door and the window, looking terrorized as she clutched her head. Her marks were visible underneath the short-sleeved shirt, and they glowed intermittently, like a firefly's glow. Bagheera had looked concerned, but he was keeping his distance, observing her. He had reluctantly allowed Damian to approach her.

Not fully awake, Fay had muttered about smelling burning bodies and not being able to get the screams out of her head when he tried to calm her down. It took Bagheera's empath abilities to dampen her anxiety so Damian could nudge her back to bed. Damian waited until she was fast asleep wondering what the source of her terrors was and whether the burning bodies she dreamt of belonged to her parents only. 

She did not recall the incident the next day and he didn't bring it up. She'll only withdraw if she knew. 

A week after first waking up, her sleeping time gradually reduced to twelve hours of sleep, then ten. However, she could not go for more than three to four hours without feeling exhausted, nauseous, or experiencing migraines. All the symptoms have reduced in intensity, but Fay was unsure of the extent of the damage the bracelets had caused her. She was tight-lipped about the reason they were put on her, but she hadn't denied it when he asked if it was her family's choice. He didn't comment on her family's potential of wanting her dead because she wasn't ready to hear it. 

He would have preferred if she stayed at the Manor. But she wasn't entirely comfortable there. Fay was a survivalist – an admirable one, judging by the tales she told him – and a resourceful, independent creature. She required her own space, even if it was provided by himself. If she was on his territory, she would not feel safe. She would not lower her guard. But if she had a space to claim as her own, one that she'd eventually allow him to access freely, it would offer her a sense of control. 

So he'll offer her just that. 

Dana was told Fay had gotten injured on Halloween night, requiring her to be privately hospitalized. It had been a good thing they kept the details of her injuries vague because Dana would have found it strange if she saw Fay's third-degree burns reduced to superficial ones. The girl still had her wrists bandaged: the indentations left behind by the runes had yet to close correctly so, occasionally, they'd still bleed. After two weeks, her wrists were the only part of her body that hadn't healed fully whereas everywhere else she had to deal only with some significant bruising. 

Fay suspected it was because her wrists were the point where the seals had the closest contact with her flux. 

In her absence, Dana had initially taken home the strays. She hadn't been happy about not being allowed to visit Fay at the 'private hospital' where she was kept, but her concerns were significantly assuaged by Fay calling her on a daily basis. Once Damian confirmed that the Angel was dead, he allowed her to pay Dana a visit under the condition that she would be monitored. 

Fay found it to be a reasonable proposal considering everything that happened. Her mood was lifted the moment she stepped foot in the soup kitchen and Fay realized just how much she considered that place a constant in her life. A source of normalcy even. The noises, the scents, Mack's radio and his gruff voice, Dana's perfume, and Robby's superhero t-shirts.

Dana had, as expected, interrogated her on her whereabouts as soon as they saw each other. How injured was she, how it happened, if she had been treated well, if there was anything she needed. Fay offered the explanation that she rehearsed over several times with Damian - on Halloween night, she was caught out late and some unruly teenagers had thrown fireworks at her feet. It was only plausible because she had managed to heal so extensively and that fabricated story also explained the bandages around her wrists. 

After a large bowl of chicken soup that filled Fay with all kinds of emotions, she found out that Dana now owned the entire building. All three floors. The council saw to it, on behalf of an anonymous charity. The previous landlord had been paid off in exchange for relinquishing the building, whose ownership was subsequently offered to Dana. Rent and bills were subsidized to virtually nothing, and the anonymous benefactor even offered to pay for any repairs such as the old water pipe system. 

And on top of all that, a further check of fifty thousand dollars was offered towards the 'expansion' of Soul Bowl on the upper levels. 

Dana finally had space, the funds, and the freedom to put in motion all the plans she had previously put on the back burner. The veteran, however, has been reluctant to accept as she had already been suspecting the Wayne family had something to do with the sudden generosity. 

"You didn't have to do this, you know." 

Fay stared at her, bewildered by the news. "I didn't ---I didn't ask him." Damian hadn't told her anything about it, either. Dana didn't believe her, pointing out that it could not have been a coincidence given Fay's friendship with Wayne, but thanked her all the same.

"You are my lucky fairy, you know that?'' 

Her mother used to say that too. Fay had to pull away from the hug after only a few seconds in fear she might end up crying. 

"Come live with me. Both of you, of course.'' 

Fay stared at her wide-eyed. "I--what?'' 

Dana sat back down on the stool but she didn't take her hands off of Fay's shoulders. 

"I don't want you living in that attic forever. I wasn't sure what the next steps would be in the beginning but you deserve better. You deserve to go to school and be a normal kid, and you deserve to have a home. I won't officially adopt you if you want to wait, but you can live with me. Then we'll see what'll we do about your documents. I was going to speak to a lawyer.'' 

Fay felt as if all the air was knocked out of her chest. Dana wanted her...to be a part of her family? It was a dizzying and painful and wonderful proposal. She quickly imagines what that would be like. Fay completely immerses herself in that world and fully integrates it into her Fay Kipling identity. There won't ever be another Fay of Maysoon again, not for a long time unless her actual family decided to come for her or she found a way back home. 

Rather than feeling entirely relieved by such a potential life scenario, Fay felt conflicted. She could pretend she was the child Dana thought she was, but it would be a lie. 

"...I can't,'' Fay said. Dana to her credit, hid her emotions but as Bagheera would confirm later, she felt saddened by the answer. "I--I really appreciate it and--and it's not that I would not--not like living with you. It's just that---'' Her words failed her. She had no idea how to express what she felt, not without revealing her origins. 

Dana smiled reassuringly and reached to push back Fay's hair behind her ear. "It's okay. I don't want you to feel pressured about it. I know it's a lot to take in, and you've only just gotten out of the hospital.'' The woman removed her hands and instead let them fall on her lap. "But we can't have you live in that attic, especially with winter coming?'' 

"Actually....'' Fay hesitated feeling like a traitor. How was she supposed to tell Dana she agreed to Damian's proposal right after she turned down her thoughtful, kind one? 

"I have made arrangements for her.'' 

Fay jumped in her seat. Dana's eyes widened briefly before they narrowed as they moved towards the back door of the soup kitchen, where the voice came from. Damn. When he said she was being monitored, she assumed that had something to do with Alfred waiting patiently outside in the car. Damian didn't even go with her, so where did he even show up from? 

"That entrance is for staff members only.'' Dana quipped as she raised from her seat. Fay turned around and glanced at the boy leaning against the wall in a leisurely manner as if he owned the place. He could if he wanted to. Instead, he chose to be incredibly philanthropic and not even boast about it. 

Damian ignored the woman's remark entirely. Didn't even look at her, actually but instead he fixed Fay. "You said you wished to grab your effects.'' In other words, get a move on. 

Dana looked at Fay confusedly. "Wait, is he serious? Where are you staying?'' 

"That's hardly any of you---'' 

"Um, with Damian.'' Fay cut him off. Good thing Mack wasn't there. She couldn't guarantee he wouldn't have attempted to chuck his spatula at the boy's head. Not that Damian was so easy to hit. "I--I agreed to stay with him.'' It wasn't exactly true, and it was very embarrassing to even suggest that. 

Dana leaned towards her and whispered. "Is he blackmailing you?'' 

Surprisingly, no. He wasn't. "Um, no, of course not. Just--for now, I, um, prefer that.'' 

"I am helping her become emancipated from her family.'' Damian piped up.

Dana looked at him again. "You're helping?'' 

"Obviously, the Wayne family has the best lawyers in the country on a retainer. It would only benefit her case if she was under my family's care.'' 

Dana wasn't convinced. Fay had little knowledge of laws or law work to judge the accuracy of his statement. But Damian was not one to say silly things. 

"I-I will visit. Often. And I, um, don't mind helping if--if you want me to.'' Fay said, encouragingly. 

"What about education?'' 

"I am homeschooled. She will be as well until she is legally independent.'' 

Fay could only nod. 

Dana relented, but the tension didn't leave her body entirely. Before she could inquire further, Fay told her that the strays can come live with her as well. And that she'll visit as soon as she was able. With that, Fay left the kitchen and climbed up the fire staircase - for the last time, it seemed - to the third floor. The three flights of stairs shouldn't have left her winded, but they did. Bagheera followed her first but Damian stayed behind when Dana asked to speak to him privately. Fay really, really hoped the conversation would remain civil. 

Once in the attic, Fay started packing the most urgent of her items into a duffel bag. She tried to ignore the sense of loss she was experiencing. That place wasn't a home, not the way Maysoon was, even if she had made a shelter out of it. But it was the first place she had experienced a semblance of normalcy in a very long time. 

Dana had said the offer to stay with her will always be open if she changed her mind. 

Fay had to pinch herself to stop herself from crying, feeling foolish. She was no stranger to her life turning upside down, and nothing could beat the way her entire world had shifted after that night, but leaving the attic and the soup kitchen and the strangely comforting routine they had there was slightly perplexing. 

"Bag?" She glanced at her paladin, who stood waiting for her by the attic's hatch. "Are you going to miss this place?" 

He blinked twice. 

Well, okay. At least she wasn't the only one. 

"Do you miss Maysoon, too?" 

Yes. 

Fay nodded to herself. The paladin approached, nudging her shoulder with his nose. " Rgg …?" 

"I don't know. I mean, I miss the---the old days." She said tightly. "I do miss everyone else but, um…. I am not sure." She missed the scents and the food and weather and the jungle. She missed her parents. So, so much that it still managed to take her breath away. Many of the things she missed were from the days before. And what came after is what pushed her to be there. The expectations and the hurt and the failures and the feeling that she's stepped into an alternate version of what her life used to be. At least in that world, she was far away from it. Being physically detached from her world helped.

The people she met there also helped. One, in particular, more than the others, even if she didn't like admitting it. 

When she pulled the items from the hiding spots, she was extra careful not to accidentally look at the photos that she kept tucked away, out of sight and out of mind. After filling her duffel and backpack, she left the books tucked to the side along with some other items she planned on taking, such as the fairy lights, the jumper Dana gave her, and some of the comic books that Robby left her with. There was a box too with mementos she gathered throughout the three-month journey, which she decided to take with her as well. 

With one last look at the attic, they left. Bagheera carried the duffel bag, and she followed at a slower pace, backpack strapped to her back and plastic box in her hands. Dana waited for her at the bottom of the stairs, poorly masking her disappointment at seeing her leave. Damian was standing a few feet away. No one was hurt. Good. 

Dana reminded Fay to call her, make sure she eats properly, and not forget about Sunday dinners which the girl committed to attending on a bi-weekly basis. Fay nodded several times before reassuring her that they'll not be losing touch, and yes, she'll definitely say something if things go south with the Wayne brat', and yes, she'll get Alfred to call her himself to confirm she was safe. 

"Can I give you a hug?" 

Fay nodded and allowed the woman to wrap her arms around her, but she did use the box as a pretense not to return it in full. It wasn't Dana's fault, of course, that her motherly concern was close to triggering an emotional storm. Fay didn't want to end up crying and alarming Dana.

Damian snatched the box from her hands wordlessly and then he walked towards the car parked down the street. Fay waved at Dana one final time before she followed him. Alfred was already waiting for them outside of the car, holding an umbrella over his head. It hadn't stopped drizzling the entire morning, and the dark clouds approaching Gotham from north indicated the twenty-four-hour storm forecast was bound to hit sooner than later. 

Belongings in the boot and themselves seated in the warm, dry backseat, Alfred drove them away. 

Damian insisted on keeping the location of the new place secret. 

If Fay didn't know better, she would have thought he was trying to surprise her. 

Fay had fallen asleep a few minutes into the car ride. Her stamina levels were still embarrassingly low, despite the progress. The long hours of sleep have been replaced with intermittent naps. A loud horn blaring near the car startled her awake and she accidentally knocked her head against the window. Bagheera chortled in amusement. Damian didn't pay attention, his eyes on his phone. He looked bored. 

Looking outside, Fay realized they have stuck in traffic on the Robert Kane Memorial Bridge. Once they escaped the long line of cars, Fay thought they might be heading back to the Manor, is that why he didn't want to say anything? but then she remembered Damian told her the property where they'll be staying is a new build. 

The car made a few turns before keeping a straight line for several minutes, leaving Gotham River and the city island on her left-hand side and Gotham County's woods to her right. They were driving parallel to the Wayne Property, she realized and approximately twenty minutes after they left the bridge, the car pulled down an unpaved road that snaked its way through a thick grove. The road couldn't have been longer than a couple of miles before they arrived in a clearing where a large brick warehouse painted in a limestone grey towered over them. 

The path leading to the warehouse was simple, made of gravel and dirt, and the building's brick façade looked unassuming, despite its size. The smaller, flat-top unit attached to the building's left-hand side served as a garage, judging by the slatted door painted in the same color as the rest of the building. Fay watched from the backseat as Alfred pressed a button on a small device. The door started rolling around itself allowing the butler to park the car inside the illuminated space, which could have easily fit at least two other vehicles. 

"Go ahead,'' Damian remarked dryly. "You're free to explore it.'' 

Fay didn't need to be told twice. She stepped out of the car and looked around curiously, whereas Bagheera immediately started canvassing the area, taking in the new scents, and inspecting the layout. Standing in front of the property, Fay could spot in the distance the top of some mid-rise buildings. She was several miles away from Burnside and any other neighborhoods from the looks of it. 

Alfred led her inside the house through a door in the garage and gave her a tour. 

And what a tour it was. Fay couldn't help but appreciate a great combination of style, practicality, and luxury when she saw it. The warehouse had been converted from being a place of business and manufacturing to a place that could serve as a luxurious abode. The cavernous space and the towering ceilings reminded her of the Maysoon architecture, which tended to favor open spaces. It was a drastic change compared to the compressed space of the attic. 

The door they stepped through led into the kitchen area, which was as spacious and minimalist as the one she'd seen at the Wayne Tower. It also looked like it was built to fit the needs of an entire family. Fay admired the sleek high gloss of the dark marble counters and their pleasantly aesthetic combination with rustic elements such as the hardwood – heated! – floors and splashes of browns and beiges. The granite kitchen island still had its protective packaging on, and she watched as Alfred tutted at the glossy plastic, muttering something about how everything should have been unpacked already. The dining area was built parallel and across from the kitchen, near the double-height windows. 

Halfway through the warehouse-turned-house, Alfred stopped in front of the double-door entrance and showed her the digital screen mounted on the wall. She could operate the security system from there if she wanted to. There were cameras all around the property and if she wanted to, she could access them either from the screen there. Alfred also that Damian programmed and installed the security system, so he'd be the one to tell her in more depth. 

Talking about the devil. Where was he? Fay glanced behind her, towards the garage but he was nowhere to be seen. Did he choose to stay in the car? Why bother to come to the soup kitchen, in the first place? 

Halfway across the immense space, to her left, there was an L-shaped staircase with a wide square landing in the bed which led to the second. There the floor was split into two parts with a mezzanine on each side offering a view of the ground floor. Alfred told her there was a storage room under the staircase and behind it, two more doors. One that led to a bathroom and the other to the laundry room. Leading her to the other end of the building, she found the seating area, as spacious as the kitchen and dining area put together. She gawked at the large TV screen. Fay had never owned one, but she had watched it several times at Dana's house and then at the Wayne Manor. It was very much addicting. 

The favorite part of her tour was at the end when Alfred showed her that the glass doors near the living room led to a tall sun terrace. That couldn't have been part of the original architecture given the dominance of brick and steel in the rest of the building. The terrace had the same width as the warehouse and stretched before her for at least a couple of hundred feet. The height was only half of the rest of the building. There was no sunshine to filter through the glass roof at that moment but Fay still liked how that space offered the opportunity to watch the sky freely without concern for the weather elements. 

For the better part, the space was empty, except for a table with bench-like seats in the middle and a few flower pots. An exit led to a small, clear area that could have been a garden had it not been for the frost carpeting the ground. The trees looked barren, like skeletons, and the floor was covered in mulch and leaves that hadn't yet been absorbed back into nature or swept away by the biting, harsh winds. Fay watched the churlish clouds above their heads as they started coughing out gouts of water, turning the drizzle into a torrent. The sounds of water hitting against the glass felt soothing, and her flux coiled ever so slightly inside of her. She wouldn't have needed any other space but that one, really. 

Fay followed Alfred upstairs after that, whereas Bagheera stayed behind to continue his inspection of the house.

From the mezzanine, Fay could see most of the ground floor below and she also had a better look at the Gotham neighborhood in the distance. Her enthusiasm died when Alfred told her there was a bedroom on each wing of the house, each with its own bathroom. 

"Two …. bedrooms?" 

Alfred's expression was unreadable, which made her anxiety flutter harder in her chest. 

Oh, sweet Maysoon, please don't let this be what I think it is

"Obviously." A male voice piped up. Fay froze. Oh no. 

"Master Damian," Alfred acknowledged. He was just showing her the bedroom on the left-hand side of the house which will be hers. Fay was too nervous to acknowledge the incredibly large space that she and Bag will be sharing. "How good of you to finally join us." Fay would have been amused at the dry, sarcastic tone; had she not been focused on getting her heart to stop feeling as if it would beat its way out of her chest. Slowly, she turned around to look on the other side of the stairs where sure enough, the green-eyed devil was standing. The door to the bedroom behind him was ajar. 

Oh. 

Oh no. 

"I---no---what----wait a second." Fay knew she sounded like an idiot but who could blame her. "You—you are going to live here?" With me. In this house. WITH ME?!

Damian hadn't actually been that insufferable while she was at the Wayne Manor, but then again, she's also slept for a good part of her stay there. Regardless of perceiving him with different eyes than before, Fay wasn't keen on the idea of sharing a space with him. Even if it was a large space. 

"No." He said, crossing his arms over his chest. "However, I have used this property as a safe house in the past." 

Fay stared. Okay. The 'no' part was useful. Right? Not that he had a track record for always being honest. Neither did she, but that was not the point. 

"But—but…you--- that's --- what ?" Her brain was really struggling. 

Much to her growing horror, Alfred excused himself, saying he'll bring her baggage in, and left them alone. 

Damian rolled his eyes at her as he came round the mezzanine to stand closer. "Calm down before you give yourself a heart attack." 

Right, right.  

Fay took a few breaths, not bothering to hide the panic she felt because, well, she knew there'd be changes, but she didn't think it would be quite at that level. The house was no longer just a shelter. It was built to look and feel like a home, which was dangerous because Fay did not want to get attached to it in such a manner.

A small part couldn't help think that the new accommodations were but a gilded cage. 

"I think---I need---to—to—sit—" She felt woozy. Not as nauseous as she did weeks earlier, but there was an uncomfortable sensation in her stomach. 

Fay leaned her back against the glass balustrade and sunk down, crossing her legs before her. Damian crouched in front of her and surprisingly guided her in a breathing exercise. 

A few minutes later, she was breathing normally and felt better, despite the throbbing at the back of her head. 

"I will not use this as a safe house." 

She blinked. "W-what?" 

There was a dark expression on his face, the line of his eyebrows set low, and his jaw clenched. 

"If you are so terrorized by my presence that it induces a panic attack, then you have nothing to worry about." He said tightly, and she realized he was gritting his teeth. He was angry. Her reaction had been cruel, hasn't it? Uncalled for, even. He had set up those incredible accommodations for her, and regardless of the implications of him having free access over it, she should not have reacted in such a manner. Not after they risked their lives for each other, not after the past two weeks in which he had upheld his vow to not force answers. They may not be friends, and their alliance may be temporary, but his – and everyone's else- treatment of her has been thoughtful, respectful. He didn't have to bring her there or offer all those amenities. Or disclose another secret to her, such as the location of one of the safehouses. 

Fay was still afraid, but very little of that fear had to do with him personally. She was fearful of what Robin could do to her and Bag, how he could endanger their freedom and her world. But the reasons why she feared the boy beneath the mask were deeply rooted in moments in her life that had nothing with him. 

She felt compelled to want to do better by him. 

This is why she ended up grabbing his wrist when she saw him shift away ready to get up and walk away. Or she would have, but he instinctively grabbed her hand before she could even touch him. The grip wasn't painful, but it was tight. He didn't let go and met her gaze questioningly. 

"I am--I am sorry. It's not--it's not you." Fay managed, heat rising to her cheeks at her own silly gesture. "I mean, some parts are but--" He stayed silent, watching, as she struggled with her words. She couldn't very well stop now and might as well just get it out of the way before she lost the courage. "I…do believe you're a good person, just like Dana or Mrs. Wilmot. I do. But---sometimes, it's...hard.'' It's hard to stop being afraid. " I don't really know how--how to explain it, but---" I have a way of making people want to hurt me.  "--- it's difficult not to think about the worst. I don't want to, but---" I was wrong before. "—it just happens." 

He grunted as he lowered her hand down. 

He didn't let go, though. She didn't mind as much as she used to. 

"You're not wrong to fear me. I can hurt you." He said simply. "So, if your instincts tell you that I am dangerous, you should listen to them because I am." 

Fay bowed her head slightly, but she couldn't avert her eyes from his. 

"I vowed, however, that you will suffer no harm." He added, irritably, likely because he had to repeat himself when he didn’t like doing so. 

He could easily hurt her, but he chose not to. Fay already knew that, but she wasn't fully reassured.

"I prefer actions over words myself," Damian said. "So, time will tell then." Yes, time would. 

She nodded. 

He rose to his feet, pulling her up after him without much warning, making her sway slightly. He let her go once she was stable on her feet. 

"Is the rest of the accommodation…to your liking?" 

Fay smiled slightly. "It's…. really great." She glanced towards the window. "I like that, um, there's trees. Gotham doesn't have many green places." 

"The property is owned by a subsidiary of Wayne Industries, and it includes seven hundred acres that are fenced in, so you don't need to worry about trespassers. The security system will also capture interlopers if they go over the boundary of the property." Fay could feel his eyes on her so she turned her head to meet his gaze again. "It's yours to explore as you wish." 

Her heart soared, a warm feeling settling in her chest. "…really?" Oh. Having all that natural space to themselves will be incredible. 

Wait. 

Is that why he chose that place...? 

"Gotham is one of the most dangerous cities on this side of the world, and while you've…. adapted, I will give you that, you also have a penchant for getting in situations where you’re over in your head. It is more practical for you to live here---this property doesn't officially exist, and it offers a private environment." He looked away, to the windows. "You mentioned that the noises and urban landscape are triggers. Gotham is not as loud here, usually. The building offers better protection against noise pollution than the attic.’’

Fay smiled. Gilded cage or not, he had gone ahead and taken into consideration observations she confided in weeks earlier. She knew he had an incredible memory but he didn’t have to make adjustments based on a brief discussion they had. 

"Thank you." 

"Hn." He turned away from her, heading towards the stairs. Cursing her weak heart silently, she stopped him. 

"There's ---a reason." He looked at her over, eyebrow raised. "One--one of them. I—I, um, I have nightmares." 

"I already knew that." 

"…no. I mean—terrible ones. I think they're called---" 

"Night terrors." 

She nodded and looked down at her wrists as she fidgeted with the sleeves of her jumper. "…Bag usually helps. But sometimes---that doesn't work." She hoped he understood what she was trying to say, because she found it difficult to find her words. Talking about her nightmares made her feel vulnerable and humiliated.

"You're afraid I will hear you." 

Fay avoided his gaze and didn't say anything. Silence could be an answer too. 

"I don't care." At that, however, she tilted her head up but didn't quite meet his eyes, instead of stopping to look at the small symbol on his shirt. She didn't recognize the logo, but it was a good point to focus on. "Whatever you think I will hear, it won't be anything I haven't heard.’’ What is that supposed to mean? “And if I do happen to be here when it happens, I will not interfere if that's what you're worried about." 

She nodded. There was a slight sense of relief, although she still balked at the idea of him hearing her when she was in the throes of a night terror. Or worse, what if she lost control of her flux in that moment? She hadn't had any incidents since the bracelets were removed but she refused to believe that her flux was no longer volatile. 

"There's...um, another reason.'' 

Damian sighed. Fay approached him, stopping on the step he was on, so she could whisper the next words. 

"The--the bracelets helped me. With, um, control.'' Fay couldn't bear to look at him. "I--don't want to lose control or--or hurt anyone. But--'' What if she did? Will he look at her with the same expressions the others did? Will he change his mind about her being a threat and decide to put her in an actual cage? 

Damian was silent for what felt like an eternity. 

"Then we will find a way for you to have better control. Come. I will explain how the security system works." He said simply, before going down the stairs. 

Fay watched him, speechless. 

He will regret that. 

She shook her head to herself, before following him. 

Time will tell. 

Damian had specific rules that she had to abide by, and as uneasy as she had been about them, Fay had to admit they were reasonable. For Damian, anyway. 

The phone must always be on her. It will be tracked. 

Fay must report to him if she does go into the city: when, and approximate location. Damian doesn't care what she's up to or where she's going as long as it's not particularly dangerous areas, like East End Gotham. He would also prefer if she used the private car that he did before for the museum travel but Fay refused, not liking the idea of being chaperoned everywhere she went. Ultimately, she had to compromise by agreeing that she and Bag would only travel by foot if her health allowed it and if the weather was favorable.

She must not absolutely engage in dangerous situations or investigate potentially dangerous leads. If danger cannot be avoided, then she must contact him immediately.  

She should not be in Gotham after ten in the evening. Ideally, she should be back at the warehouse before sundown. Fay should let him know if that's not the case. However, there will be exceptions: if she is staying with Dana or with him or Alfred. That also implied that they'd be hanging out together, and Fay wasn't sure how she felt about it. 

If anyone asks for her name, it's still Fay Kipling. If anyone tries to contact her guardian, she should offer the number he'll give her. The call will come through a secure line, and the caller will be none the wiser that who they're talking with is not, in fact, her guardian. The caller's identity will be identified relatively easily from that point, and he'll also be able to track the call if there's a need for it. 

Fay can still visit the museum, but she should keep a low profile. She will no longer be volunteering, and if anyone inquires about her absence, she can go ahead and say that she is busier with her education. 

She should not be breaking into Gotham Academy anymore. If there are books or resources she wants, Damian will provide them. At that, Fay turned beet red. "You---you knew about that?!" Damian threw her the look he always did when she asked what he considered stupid questions. It was a stupid question. She should have known better.

Fay pouted slightly. She considered apologizing about it, but it felt redundant at that point. "I didn't steal anything." She mumbled defensively. "I was just curious. And---I like books." She said weakly. 

"Yes, we've established you're quite the deviant character." 

“I am---I am not deviant!’’ She protested. 

Although, if he knew about my family….

"I…adapted." She defended, using his own earlier words.  

Damian raised a brow at her, giving her a slightly mocking look. 

"I clearly should have not been generous in using that term." 

Was he trying to rile her up? 

He was, wasn't he? 

"I only stole what I needed," Fay grumbled.

And he succeeded. 

"Yet you kept refusing my offer so you obviously enjoy engaging in illicit behavior." 

Fay got the sense he was still sore over it. His pride knew no bounds, really. 

"That was…different. Dana was paying me so—so I would have been fine. I only…stole a few times on our way here." 

He clicked his teeth. "And how, pray do tell, did you plan on getting to Europe with the meager pay Mercher was offering?" 

Fay shrugged. "I don't know." Her lips twitched upwards. "I would have adapted." 

Cheeky.  

"Tch. How clever. It is truly a wonder how you survived so far." 

She didn't take as much offense to it as she would have weeks earlier. 

Fay just smiled harder. 

(He always looked away when she did)

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19th of November

Fay did show him the precious stones she had kept hidden. The few ones that could be found only in her world were still tucked away in a box along with other items she rarely dared to look at. Damian told her that selling the jewels won't be a challenge, but it had to be done gradually and likely via proxies to avoid attracting attention. So, instead, he offered her the equivalent in cash from his own immense fortune.

He paid her for the diamonds too, but the proceedings from the actual sale of those stones will go to a charity.

Within twenty-four hours, Fay had enough money to be considered in the wealthier class. Most of the money was divided into several bank accounts but Damian had also offered her cash. She had to keep it stored in a safebox in her room. 

Three months earlier, she was agonizing over her small budget. 

Now, she has a quarter-million dollars in her name. 

Of that, her family would have been proud of. 

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21st of  November 

It took her a few days to become accustomed to the new environment. The cons were centered primarily around the presence of cameras and the fact that Damian had essentially placed them in a box – a fancy once – that he monitored with far more ease than he could have if she had stayed in the attic. He also tended to drop in unannounced at all hours. But he held his end of the bargain – he never came into her wing, and if she was in her bedroom, he didn't request her presence or attention. In fact, she could hardly tell he was there at all. 

Bagheera could, however, and he'd taken to sleep outside her bedroom door. There was a tentative alliance between boy and beast, but her paladin didn't necessarily like him. Not entirely. 

The pros of staying there outnumbered the cons, however. 

First, she had a bathroom just for herself. Ever since she's met Damian, she has had easier access to showers and baths without needing to sneak into Gotham Academy or the gym, but she hadn't given up on them as a choice entirely until then. The first evening they were there, Fay spent over an hour in the bathtub until the water had gone lukewarm. 

Second, having all that space had made Bagheera and the strays infinitely happy. Damian had the animals collected from Dana and delivered to her the day after she moved in. A large playpen was built near the lounge area for the ferret, and dogs and cats with their own pillows and bowls. Fay would have assumed it was Alfred's doing had she not found the boy sitting on the floor with the cat in his lap. 

By the end of the day, they all had names. Seeing as the cat preferred Damian, Fay allowed him to name her. Nada. She liked it. They debated and argued over the names for the other pets, but ultimately the dog was called 'Pip' and the ferret 'Hector'. 

Third, the grove was hers to explore. Nobody else lived near them within the two-mile radius. Fay started marking the trees to see how far she could walk each day, testing her energy levels slightly further each day. It was a challenge she was happy to take on, even with the cold temperature and constant rain. Fay felt as if a missing piece of her had been returned to her. 

Fourth, she now had amenities that she didn't have the luxury of putting down on her list of priorities. Watching TV was addicting, especially when there was one in her bedroom as well. Having a fridge and freezer large enough to fit the needs of an entire family made shopping easier. Having a kitchen all to herself meant she could cook---she was average at best, but it was a good distraction, and she was curious about trying new foods that hadn't been an option before. 

Damian was still a tyrant about what she ate, but she had a growing appetite that matched his dietary requirements. She was gaining weight and each day, she felt stronger physically. 

Fifth. It wasn't related to the new accommodation per se, but she felt---energetic. Not quite in the manner of the olden days but close. In the last several months, Bagheera had been the one to instigate games, but now Fay found herself turning the tables on that. Chasing each other through the grove of trees made her feel as if they were back home, back to those times when there were hardly any other worries but to seek an adventure more extraordinary than the last. 

Sixth, the nightmares didn't go away either. Without the bracelets, her flux was also free to react in line with her emotions. It felt good, in a way, because there was no burning sensation in her wrists anymore, and her marks didn't ache as they used to. Cold showers and running outside helped. There were no incidents. Yet. 

The seventh major change made her feel conflicted. She and Damian were engaging in lengthy discussions again. It was irregularly so because she had a strange sleeping pattern and there was no say when he'd show up. When they did, however, their discussions were rarely under a couple of hours. He was curious about her world, and she was about his, so the possibilities of topics felt…. endless. 

It was still a give-and-take sort of situation. He answered her questions, but she had to answer his, too. Damian made good on his promise – if she was uncomfortable or had difficulty talking about a particular subject, he didn't push. Not always, anyway. If he didn't take the cue that it was an off-limit subject, she'd tell him verbally. He never pushed once she did that, even if sometimes he was annoyed or impatient. 

Fay was learning about that world through the lenses of someone who had been thoroughly educated in a wide range of fields. It felt…good. Talking to someone else like that. It did before, too, but not having to pretend was a relief. Fay could freely admit if she didn't understand something, no matter how mundane, and she didn't have to worry about coming across as weird. 

It was an illusion too. Damian's desire to be there, talking to her. They were pushed together by circumstance. She was something new, foreign. Something to dissect and learn about: Damian wasn't interested in Fay of Maysoon and her story and scars and dreams. On truly seeing her. She was an ally of sorts, an interloper of that world that he chose to protect and make his responsibility until…. until what? She wasn't sure. They hadn't discussed her long-term stay in that world or what would happen once they found more about Daphne Barlow. 

All she knew is the thought of seeing him as a friend has taken root in her heart, and she couldn't do anything about it. 

But he would never know that. How foolishly content she felt when they'd spend hours drinking hot chocolate and discuss everything and in-between. How she'd make secret lists of questions because it helped her gather the courage to ask them. How she felt she mattered and how her knowledge and experiences no longer felt insufficient. 

For a little while longer, she will go along with the illusion. 

Damian said time will tell whether she can trust him – but time will also reveal that she's not worth the time and attention. 

Sooner or later, he will look at her just like everyone else. 

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23rd of November

It was a Bad Day. 

Fay laid in bed throughout the day, listening to the shrieks and moans of the trees and the hard thrum of rain against the windows. She dipped in and out of a vicious line of thoughts that made her anxiety levels rise to uncomfortable levels. Physically, she did not feel quite as beaten down as she did before. She couldn't eat that day, but the headache and nausea weren't overall bearable. Her grief and fears felt just as powerful as usual, though. Bagheera stayed by her side, projecting his calmness and affection onto her, more effective than any painkillers in taking away the edge of her suffering.

But she did not feel okay. Not at all. Especially when the flux felt out of reach. 

Damian didn't bother her. Bagheera allowed him to step into the bedroom around three in the afternoon, but he didn't stay. He also didn't say anything. Fay couldn't see his expression, hiding under the covers the moment she heard the door open. Then she started crying.

She's always been a cry baby. Sensitive. Bad Days just had a way of bringing that up worse than usual. 

Fay fell asleep at one point, lulled by Bag's presence, and when she woke up a couple of hours later, she found something on her nightstand that hadn't been there before. 

It was a book. 

Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe. It sounded vaguely familiar. Perhaps it had been amongst the many books that her parents had in their collection. Fay hadn't read all of them, as far as she knew. Or perhaps she did but could not remember.  

So, she read it. For hours – it wasn't a particularly thick book, just shy of three hundred pages. But she took her time, even rereading specific passages. The story itself was not something she hasn't heard before; a man having to contend with loneliness, his will versus nature. Her world was full of such stories, but she was captivated by the book all the same. 

Robinson, a young, brash man, abandoned his life full of comforts because he sought adventures and treasures, bringing him down a wild path of both successes and failures. He experiences hope and despair and loses his freedom only to regain it soon after. All that could have been avoided had he just settled for the predetermined path set by his family, a safer route. A predictable one. Yet he desired excitement. There's no way to say if his life would have been as dull as he made it out to be, but he took risks, not waiting to find out if he was right and ultimately found himself on an island, forced to survive and rely on his own wit to make it through. 

He was resilient, but that did not mean he did not have moments in which he faced hopelessness. He improvised, adapted. Even though he had already met other setbacks before arriving on that island – nearly dying, being enslaved -, he still found a will to survive. He moved forward, even if he was motivated by survival. He was even…optimistic - " look more upon the bright side of my condition, and less upon the dark side, and to consider what I enjoy, rather than what I wanted", but it did not mean he was not frightened or lonely. All those emotions existed simultaneously for twenty-eight long years. Crusoe had even considered his castaway experience as a divine punishment for not having listened to his family, and when he tried to right his wrongs for leaving, he found that the home he left behind was already gone. 

She read it twice, eyes devouring the words.

It made her cry, too, just not for the reasons she had been crying up until then.

That whole world was her island. Wild, foreign, unpredictable. She was from most things she was familiar with, forced to make do with resources at hand and apply them practically. She had help compared to Crusoe, though – she had met people willing to guide her even when she was reluctant to allow them. She didn't think her time there was a punishment -- not entirely, not anymore. 

Because Fay was different than she had been when she first arrived in that world. For better or for worse, she was different. 

By the time she was done reading, the day felt different as well. 

Bagheera dropped the book at his feet. His emotions were hidden, but the creature seemed pleased. The pale blue eyes moved from his face towards the kitchen. 

"I am not cooking." Damian scoffed. The beast growled softly at him, irritated. When the boy refused to budge, Bagheera walked away with a huff and opened the fridge doors himself before proceeding to noisily take out items, letting them fall on the floor. 

Damian ignored him. He grabbed the book and noticed the first page of the book had a folded corner. A written message was on that page. 

' Thank you.' 

He sighed and got up, approaching the furry beast. 

"Are you trying to bring her food or give her food poisoning?" He snorted when he saw the mess on the floor. 

Bagheera sneered at him. 

Then his eyes fell onto a packaged item tucked on one of the kitchen shelves' lower shelves. 

It wouldn't hurt teaching the boy a lesson. 

.

Half an hour later, Fay had a plate with two sandwiches and a bowl of fruit being served by her paladin. 

For some reason, he was also covered in flour. 

Notes:

*A big thank you to my Beta-reader AegyoButPsycho for supporting me with proofreading and always being so encouraging.

Chapter 19: Of reflections, laughter, and hidden truths

Chapter Text

"Pleasure is very seldom found where it is sought;
our brightest blazes of gladness are commonly kindled by unexpected sparks."

- Samuel Johnson

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24th of November

Thanksgiving was coming. Fay did her research on the celebration, interest was piqued. She read about the colonists of the seventeenth century and how the celebration came to be. The traditions and rituals are observed each year. Based on her research, North Americans' tradition of Thanksgiving is rooted in English traditions and has a harvest festival's characteristics. 

Dana had asked her if Fay – and Bag, of course- wanted to join her and Robby for Thanksgiving dinner. It was customary for friends and families to come together to share bountiful meals and say what they were grateful for, and Dana was no different. Mack himself was going to travel to New York to visit his sister and nieces. Fay had been tempted to accept, flattered Dana saw them important enough to invite them to such a festivity, but she wasn't comfortable attending in such a busy setting. She still felt guilty about turning Dana's proposal down. 

She much preferred being at the warehouse, eating the turkey and pumpkin pie – staples of Thanksgiving, apparently – with Bagheera and the other furry companions. It was safer that way.

Fay wondered if Damian and his family celebrated Thanksgiving. They did not come across as a typical family, justifiably so.  

She wondered if he ever felt alone, even when surrounded by his family.

Just like she had.

.

.

.

26th of November

It was slightly past dawn by the time Damian had finished patrol and traveled back to the warehouse. He was angry. 

His father had felt the need to mention that Damian had been visiting Fay lately and perhaps that wasn't a very cautious move. Unlike Dick, he was not very approving of her continued presence in their lives. Damian believed should be free to do as he pleases and most importantly, he should be trusted more. Naturally, an argument ensued. 

Fay wasn't really the problem, it was the lack of faith. Bruce would have never imprisoned, coerced, or tortured Fay for information, either and he had agreed with Damian that it's best if she is moved to a safer place. Otherworldly or not, she is not a threat, nor there is any indication she might be one. That, too, they agreed on. Her killing of those chimeras has crossed boundaries, but Fay had no choice. She did what she had to do for him and Bagheera. 

That's where the problem was. His father preferred to hang onto his principles regardless of anything else. Damian struggled to align himself with that philosophy of his. 

(Dick wouldn't have judged him as harshly, even as Batman)

Perhaps that's why he went to the warehouse right after patrol. He had wanted to ask Fay more on the philosophies her world had on killing, and subsequently on what she thought of it. She was raised in a warrior culture, so death and killing are not concepts she balked at quickly; she did not perceive them as taboo. She acknowledged the darkness and cruelty of the world but she also believed in redemption and second chances.

Halloween night has brought to light several aspects of her personality. 

Despite being generally crippled by her own fears, Fay did not lose her composure when she had to cut the parasite out. She had been afraid, yes. Her hands were shaking, and her heart rate was through the roof, but she had not hesitated when the moment came to operate on him. Fay was no surgeon, but she had enough medical knowledge to identify the extent of damage of the senwi to his body. She has taken a risk in removing the parasite, but her quick thinking had saved his life. 

Fay had the option of running away and leaving him there, using Bagheera to get to safety faster than the other children could. If Damian had died in that field, the others would have tracked her down given her involvement in the case, but they wouldn't have necessarily suspected she was from another world. She wouldn't have had to expose herself the way she did by staying behind to help him. Fay does not value her secrets more than she did the lives of others.

Fay also changed her mind later that evening. Bagheera did, too, by coming back after him, but her return had been particularly unexpected. For one, she was in the throes of a panic attack --he had seen the way Fay stared at the battlefield, terrorized but not quite seeing. She was reminiscing something, and she had been so enraptured by her memories that she didn't even seem to notice when he pushed her out of the way.  

Damian had wondered for several days what caused the shift in her behavior. Between her laying on the ground, defenseless, fallen prey to her own fears and the moment she had stood up and wreaked havoc in her wake. It was as if a new person had taken her place: the determination, the courage, and destructiveness of her attacks. Damian did not offer others admiration lightly, but she had earned it at that moment, even if she wasn't aware of it. For the indomitable will, at least. She did not fight like an assassin, stealthy and with precision. No.

There had been something decidedly…wild about her.

Fay's body was so fragile yet she had gotten up that night – again and again, and again. He knows she had been in significant pain. He had seen the way she coughed blood, the way her features had contorted whenever she fell down, how she'd started shaking. Then he realized what it was that drove her to keep rising to her feet.

Anger.

He had recognized it but hadn't put a name to it until days later. Anger was not uncommon in the heat of a battle. He'd know better than anyone. That it had been Fay who expressed it so intensely is what made it peculiar. She had shown signs of irritation or exasperation before, just as she has proven capable of defiance and stubbornness but never that level of passion. 

What he saw that night wasn't a fleeting moment of annoyance, a temporary flare of her temper. It was the type of scorching rage that runs too deep for it to be new. The kind of anger that must have been festering underneath the anxiety and fears and decided to manifest itself stronger than either of those.

Fay was angry. He wondered if she was even aware of it. Or if perhaps she went to great lengths to keep it hidden.

After all, that type of fury could be…powerful. It had been for her, fuelling Fay into braving a situation with the verve of a soldier. Fay did not cry or flinch when the beast tore her shoulder; she gazed back at chimera, challenging it. They would have had to get through her if they wanted to get to him. Her attitude could have been perceived as either as the bravery of a warrior or the carelessness of a person who doesn't care if they live or die (maybe he'll credit her both). When he asked her to stop fighting and run, she had shown him anger too. He didn't think it was because of him, though.

Fay had been fighting different enemies on that battlefield, and not all of them were physically there. She had shown less fear in dealing with the chimeras than when she experienced a panic attack, which meant that the monsters in her head – either real or fictional – are far more frightening than what she faced at the compound. All that anger that she kept in, must be, at least in part, related to the loss of her parents. Perhaps her family too, now that she's realized the damage the bracelets had done to her. The bracelets they asked her to wear, as she's confirmed it herself.

What else, though? It couldn't have been just that. The thieves she faced when recovering Wilmot's items had hurt her physically too, but she had not reacted in that manner. What was it about that night that pushed the anger to surface like that?

Fay had not looked angry when she thanked him. It had vanished by the time she had decided to deal the final blow to the chimeras. She had looked at him with gratitude and…. something else.

An emotion that he has rarely been on the receiving end of but that he was no stranger to. At least to some versions of it. Talia had shown that emotion, too, but hers has always been conditional. Damian had seen it clearly on his father's face in the first moments after he came back to life. Bruce's, too, was conditional most times. Damian has had to earn it time and time again, and his actions still weren't enough.

Grayson's has stopped being conditional early on, but his took shape differently. It manifested as a confidential space in which there was more acceptance than tolerance, patience as opposed to his mother or father's stances on 'my way or no way'. Pennyworths wasn't conditional either, but it was more subdued. It was not something Damian acknowledged openly, but that emotion was among the primary reasons why Pennyworth or Grayson were the ones he preferred. 

Fay had shown him that emotion too. Openly, unfiltered, unwarranted. What a puzzling sight. Damian isn't sure why it was directed at him, what has he done to deserve it, but it was unmistakably directed at him. For days, he has told himself that it was the reaction of a person resigned to death. That, if she was thanking him for something, it had to be the money he'd given her, the hospitality he'd shown. Fay may consider him a good person, but she was also afraid of him. She thought he was arrogant and demanding and she still believed he would hurt her.

For her to express that emotion that night was illogical (as most things she did that night, for that matter).

Damian has been giving it more thought than he wanted, but every time he shut down those thoughts, deeming them irrelevant, they found a way of resurfacing whenever he interacted with her. He wanted to know why. 

Temporarily deactivating the security system on the house, Damian slipped through the main entrance. Bagheera was already at the bottom of the stairs, the dark of his fur blending in with the shadows. Only his luminous pale-blue eyes were visible, narrowing at him. Damian ignored him (despite being equally impressed and annoyed that the beast always managed to sense him), and instead, he moved towards the kitchen, curious as to why Fay had left the lights on.

The scent of butter and cheese permeated the air. On the kitchen island, he found a plate with two grilled sandwiches. They were still warm.

A note was next to them.

'For Damian. Even if they're not healthy.'

A soft thump from the ceiling above his head told him that Fay was still awake.

She wouldn't have known he was going to be there that day. He hadn't shown up at the warehouse regularly, and he generally used the window in his bedroom to get inside. Damian liked taking advantage of the privacy and quietness that the place offered to be with his own thoughts or conducting research. Fay, to her credit, was discreet and never bothered him when he chose to stay in his room. 

Yet...there she was. Doing illogical things again. 

The grilled sandwiches were nowhere as good as they could have been. Maybe he'll get Pennyworth to teach her, seeing as she wanted to leave food out for him.  

Still, he took the plate and retreated to his room.

He has not figured out why yet, but undoubtedly Fay cared.

About him.

The boy capable of hurting her, the one she was afraid of. 

He hasn't decided how he felt about that.

The warm feeling in his chest, however, decided for him. 

.

.

.

Fay had slept more comfortably than the previous night, but she chose to stay in bed that morning after assuaging her hunger with grilled sandwiches (she had to thank Mack again for introducing her to that simple yet delicious dish). She left the door to her bedroom slightly ajar, as Bagheera liked moving back and forth throughout the night. Especially if Damian was there.

It was also for her own sake. Her paladin could open doors, but he was not particularly quiet about it.

Encouraged by the rainy weather outside, she spent the entire morning dozing off and on, watching TV. Around eleven, she found herself researching Daphne Barlow again. Damian had given her a brand-new laptop which he briefly showed her how to use. She figured out the rest. It was incredible being able to search everything she wanted from her own bed. 

Damian had looked Daphne up in the first week she was at Manor after telling him how her research into the woman has led her to Hannah Walker and George Sanders. There was little more that he discovered on her that Fay didn't know already. Outside occasional lectures or conferences – of which Daphne was very selective in attending-, the woman was a recluse. She has a wide array of staff members at her service, thus removing the need for her to get involved publicly in most, if not all, aspects of her career.

Daphne does have a personal mobile, but she rarely uses it, which means she must use other means to communicate with her staff: postal or face to face. The latter is more likely, according to Damian, given the presence of an office in London. When Hannah Walker died, Daphne had stayed tight-lipped on it– journalists tried and failed to bait her into offering them a commentary beyond the standard response that she was shocked and saddened by the news. She arranged Hannah's funeral through an intermediary, but she didn't attend the event herself.

Cold. 

Fay wondered if that's how Titoh would behave if she died. If he even cared that she was missing. 

Damian's research also revealed that Daphne owned several properties across Europe, and she frequently traveled between them. Her husband, a financial advisor, had died a few years earlier following a heart attack. They have two adopted children, now with families of their own. The son lives in England while the daughter lives in France.

Yet nothing has come up to indicate she was anything but the psychologist, wife, and mother that she portrayed herself as. There is no evidence of a connection between her and Angela Russo, and if it hadn't been for Fay's suspicion that Daphne may be from her world, she wouldn't have been a suspect at all. Damian agreed then it could not all be just a grand coincidence. They needed more data (Fay had mentally added that phrase to his list of favorites).

Fay cannot approach her yet. If Daphne is working with someone else on having weapons and other goods transported from one world to another, they must remain discreet. When she thought about reaching out to Daphne, she hadn't really considered the woman might be a villain, so she had no grounds on which to object against Damian's decision to wait. 

In January, they'll be attending a scientific symposium, for which Daphne's assistant has already confirmed her attendance. Fay will have the opportunity to assess her in real life, and if possible, validate her assumption that Daphne is from her world. Damian didn't tell her what would happen beyond that, but Fay hoped their trip would not be purely observational.

It was ironic how much time she's spent trying to find a way for them to travel to Europe, and now they were going to do precisely that. Except they did not have to worry about documentation or border crossing or roping Dana into it.   

The door to her bedroom opened, and she glanced up, thinking it might be Bagheera. She wasn't wrong.

Except he wasn't alone.

Damian was with him, a towel wrapped around his shoulders, using one of the ends to rub the excess water from his hair. He was dressed casually, with a red t-shirt and a pair of joggers. Fay wondered just how many clothes he kept there because she'd seen him wear several different outfits whenever he came over. So much just for 'occasionally' dropping by. 

She also wasn't sure why he was suddenly stepping into her room. He has never done that before. A moment later, he lifted his free hand, drawing her attention to the large plastic bag he was carrying. The scent of food wafted over to her.

Fay looked at him confusedly.

"Pennyworth delivered it." He said simply before placing it on the edge of her bed. Bagheera could have brought it up too.

Damian glanced around her room, assessing, just as he had done when he came into the attic. No wonder Nada liked him. He was a bit like a cat himself—just going wherever he wanted, judging. 

The bed was situated halfway across the room, pushed against the wall, to the left of the entrance, with nightstands on each side. To her left, at the end of the room, she had double-height windows that offered her a great view of the grove and harbor. Gotham, too, was visible in the distance, and at night she could see all the lights, including the Bat-signal high up on the sky.

There was a desk between her bed and the windows and the door leading to the bathroom. On the other side of the room, straight across from her bed, the TV had been mounted within the large and dark wooden unit that offered a wide range of storage she hasn't found a use for yet. The walk-in closet on that same side was only partially filled, but she planned to shop for more clothes soon. Near the windows, there was also a seating area built under the windowsill. It was one of her favorite spots. Her books, transported from the attic as promised, have already been organized on the shelves.

Fay tended to be messy, so her embarrassment rose when she spotted the jackets and jumpers thrown haphazardly over the chair at the desk and the items scattered through the room – notes, napkins, journals, books, sweets, pencils, other clothes.

In her defense, she hadn't expected him to be there.  

So, why was he there?

The boy lowered the towel from his head, leaving his hair into a spiky damp mess, as he walked over to her bed and lowered the bag down. She couldn't read his expression.

"Barlow, again?"

Fay shrugged. "I was curious, I guess." She eyed the bag in his hand, and setting the notepad aside, she leaned over to grab it. There were different insulated food containers inside – fresh waffles, peanut butter sandwiches, omelets, bowls of fruit salad—even fresh orange juice in glass bottles. Even by Alfred's standards, the quantity of food in that bag was too much for one person. The butler wouldn't have prepared double portions on Bagheera's account because he knew her paladin preferred fish or raw meat (which she now kept plenty of in the fridge).

Also, why he would go ahead and prepare her food at that time? How would he even know she was awake? 

Fay looked up at Damian curiously.

It had to have been him.

It wasn't just her wretched hope making perceive things that weren't there.  Right?

But when he turned to walk out, she couldn't help herself.

"Don't…. don't you want to eat as well?" She asked. Why would I even say such a thing?! Of course he'll say no. She could just take out some containers for him to take in his room. Damian didn't reject her though. He stared at her, assessing. To her surprise and mortification, he went ahead and sat down on the bed, next to her. When he caught her gaping at him, he just raised a brow and she immediately closed her mouth. 

Alright, then. 

The laptop and her notes were pushed to the side to make space for the food. Fay didn't ask him about the grilled sandwiches, feeling silly she left them out in the first place. He probably ignored the plate and knowing Bag's appetite and strange rivalry with the boy, her paladin had likely stolen them instead. 

"I don't understand what it is you find entertaining in this," Damian remarked, halfway between his omelet, looking at the TV across the room. Fay had left it on the cartoon channel, and currently, there was a new episode of the series centered around a cat trying to catch a mouse. It was rapidly becoming one of her favorites. She shrugged again. "I guess… they're just funny." She leaned over to her left to take out another sugar-powdered waffle. "But it is a bit strange how popular this type of entertainment is here."

Pip jumped on the bed and plopped himself in front of Fay with a begging look. Nada, who had already made herself comfortable near Damian's knee, gave the dog a derisive look. The girl smiled slightly at the dog and gave him a piece of bread with peanut butter on it. The apples that she found inside the bag had already been claimed by Bagheera.  

"Does your world not have this type of telecommunication medium? Or cinematography?"

Fay pursued her lips, contemplating that. It was hard explaining it in English, as she did not know the equivalent of all terms. She doubted it would be possible to translate everything anyway. Fay did not know how truly advanced technology was in that world but based on what she’d seen so far, her world was either on the same level or ahead. In some regards, anyway. 

But she focused on answering that specific question alone.

"Th-there is, um, entertainment similar to this." How should I explain it? "Oh! W-wait. This world has something--something that we do too---um, what's it called? I've seen it at the museum." She instinctively looked at him for help. "Like-like photography but not really---"

"Holograms?"

Fay nodded, smiling slightly. "Yeah. Holo-holographic technology. I don't know…. how advanced it is here, but we use that for a lot of things. En-entertainment, too. We do have---movies, as well. Or a form of them, and there is an industry based on it--- it's quite new, though. Not as big as it is here." She thought about the numerous posters on public transport and buildings and the obsession Robby had with certain movies. "I guess, um, before the revolutions, people didn't have time to think about things like that."

"You're not familiar, then, with any of the cinematographic adaptions of the books you've read," Damian said. 

The girl frowned. "…I know about them. I-I never realized----well, how much of it there is. I have never seen them.'' She looked back at the TV. "I didn't--I didn't really have access until now. Plus, books are just as good. I can just--just imagine the characters and stories myself." Her mother used to be a great storyteller. 

"You're afraid they won't match what you've envisioned."

Fay glanced at him, tempted to deny she was afraid of yet another thing but then thought against it. "..Y-yes. I suppose so.'' 

"Hn." He finished his omelet, then leaned over to pull the laptop closer between them. She hadn't locked it, leaving it on a zoomed picture of Daphne Barlow attending a charity ball, decades earlier, with Von Richter. Damian was interested in his disappearance as well but there wasn't much information they could gather on him either. Damian had told her about the criminal calling himself the Sponsor and how he may be involved far more closely with her world than expected. As Bruno had been close with Daphne, he was a person of interest. His disappearance and later the decision to declare him dead had warranted a public response from her, something she hasn't even offered her foster sister despite Hannah’s considerably more unfortunate demise.

"She was beautiful," Fay remarked softly. "She still is."

"Any ideas on which clans she might originate from?’’ Fay had told him about the 'mark of sullied' and the long history of many clans practicing such ritual with its own members. Damian had assumed that was why Fay had run away when he heard. She has admitted to being different from her family, after all. It was only logical to think she might have been in danger of being marked herself. Fay had looked surprised when he asked her and had told him that hadn't been the case. Her family did not partake in that type of tradition, nor she had ever been threatened with it.

She was telling the truth, but it wasn't the whole story. Something tenebrous crossed her face when he'd asked and she's tensed up so hard he imagined she might break just like a glass figurine if he pushed her down. He wondered if she was thinking about the bracelets as a symbol of her being rejected. Or if it was something else. That same thing made her fear others being close to her. 

Fay wasn't sure which clan might still partake in such a brutal ritual. "Her h-hair." It reminded her of someone else. "The color is, um, not that uncommon, but I am not sure she's from Maysoon. Not the capital, anyway. The Northern Tribes….maybe." She pursued her lips, then shook her head to herself. "There are several clans who--um, historically used so but I don't--I don't know which one would be in this case.'' 

"Is it different for each person? Or clan? So, it's identifiable."

"It-it depends, yes. On, um, the clan, and on the reason for the mark." She stared at the photo sadly. "If s-she lived in this world for such a long time, she...must have received the mark when she was young." Well, it depended on her lifespan, really. But she'll leave that topic for later. Damian grunted and leaned back against the pillows, watching her from the corner of his eyes.

"She lived here for over four decades if we start with the date of Reid officially adopting her. She built a life on a false identity, but nonetheless, a life of her own choosing. Barlow has settled here permanently, studied, worked, and became an accomplished psychologist. Even has a family." Damian had actually heard of the woman's name before, in passing. Talia had considered her to be his tutor. She didn't make the cut ultimately. If she had, she would have been dead by the time Fay arrived in that world and looked her up. Perhaps the girl would have never ended up researching her, setting in motion the long chain of events that had followed.

Fay seemed to understand what he was getting at, judging by how her eyes widened ever so slightly. They were brown again. But that night at the compound, they had been a different shade. Like molten gold. Was that the effect of her using the flux?

"You can't tell me you haven't considered it," Damian said, pushing just a bit further. "Criminal or not, Barlow is still a prime example of how well someone from your world could adapt and settle in this one."

Fay turned her gaze away, looking pensively. "…I su-suppose so. But-but I don't think I would want to be here permanently."

"Why not?"

"Because this, um, is not where I belong."

"And you belong to Maysoon?" He would call bullshit if she said yes. Fay was attached to her homeland, but she wouldn’t have gone to a whole different world just to seek adventure like Crusoe. At the very least, her family was not a place she had wanted to be. They had pushed expectations on her that she had not been accustomed to and which she had not fulfilled. He deduced the second part, but she hadn't denied it when he asked her if the reason she didn't consider herself a warrior was tied in with her desire to escape.

"I--I want--to belong to myself," Fay said. "I----I just----I just don't know who I am. Or what I-I really want."

Something heavy settled in his stomach, his heart rate spiking ever so slightly at those words.

He knew those words.

He thought them many times over. Admitted to them after he had killed Nobody. She glanced up at him, eyes wetter than before and expression haunted again. "I don't want---I don't want other people to-to decide who I am. I don't know how…how to do that, however. I thought --I wasn't. Before---be-before…they died." She swallowed and turned her head away again, probably ashamed of the tears that started gathering in her eyes. Damian didn't care about them. 

But he understood what Fay was trying to tell him even if she wasn’t eloquent about it. He also heard the unsaid parts.

"My world is……I don't ---I don't want to abandon it. I just---needed time." She paused, then she quietly added. "I still do." Because in that world, she did not have to deal with expectations. No one there would try to mold her in their vision. She was just Fay, the orphan runaway, and her big dog-not-dog. 

There it was. The crux of why he's felt compelled to go to her so many times, to start that arrangement and bend the rules – his own, personal rules – for her. Judging from their conversations so far, her values and principles have primarily been passed down from her parents. However, after their death, Fay had to contend with a world that did not treat her as her parents had. Damian understood, too, what it meant to grow up believing the world to be one way, and then being told it's not. To adapt to those new perceptions. To control aspects of his upbringing that few understood.

It sounded like Fay has been loved unconditionally by her parents, so in that respect, they differed. However, pain was pain. The circumstances that led her to question her self-worth and identity did not matter because they had the same result as his.

Maybe they were both birds sitting on a different branch from everyone else.

Nobody had spoken after that. Fay sniffed quietly, wiping away at her eyes while Damian mulled over her words.

They ended up watching cartoons in silence. The atmosphere changed when he snatched the remote and tried to switch to a different channel. He didn't actually care, but the action addressed the tension that had formed between them. Fay could be argumentative when she wanted to be, he knew.

And he was rather excellent at starting arguments with people.

(She didn't need to know that Pennyworth had given him the food in separate bags. Or that he cooked the large breakfast because Damian asked him to.)

.

.

.

29th of November

After the night of the attack in Maysoon, few things could elicit a smile from her. Fewer things still could bring her laughter. It got easier, slightly so, as the months passed by.

Fay used to be a joyful child. A carefree one that sought adventure and engaged in mischief. It wasn't as if she hasn't experienced negative moments growing up, but they were mere blips in comparison to the horrors that came after. They didn't feel as such at the time, but she would take a thousand of those moments than that night.

Animals would always make her happy, however. Or just generally being outside in the wilderness, where there are no secret agendas or expectations or judgemental looks. The wild has its own rules; it is a world of its own, and Fay has always had little to no difficulty finding her place in it. The jungle did not care if she was emotional. It did not care that Fay wasn't like her parents or about her failures. It does not set expectations other than she must treat it with respect, which she would have done anyway.

It is not quite that simple, most would say, being accepted by the jungle. For Fay, it had been, however. Growing up, she had sought and preferred the company of the ancient trees and sentient creatures that lived there. And she had always been welcomed as if she was a part of it. The jungle, as dangerous as it could be, has never hurt her the way people have.

Even if it had felt different after the war. Even if Fay had struggled to connect with it after what happened (after what she felt that night). But, yes. Nature will always make Fay happy. This is why taking Pip, Nada, and Hector in had required little deliberation, even if it meant sharing her limited space and resources. It has never felt like a sacrifice to her.  

Damian would never understand the relief she felt having that piece of nature to herself (what he has gifted her with). How…healing it could be.

Just her and the wild.

That morning, taking advantage that it wasn’t raining anymore, Fay earnestly ventured into the grove. Bagheera and Pip followed. Nada wasn't interested in being outside when she had all the house to herself. With Hector, release in the wild was not an option. His domesticated behavior indicated he has been a pet for a while before they met, so he would not have the skills to survive independently. So, she left him in his playpen as he seemed very happy with it.

They ran for several minutes until they arrived at a small meadow. It was a barren, brown sight full of puddles and mud that gurgled and bubbled underneath her boots. Bagheera didn't hesitate to jump in, splashing dirty water and sludge over her trousers, instigating her to play with him. She immediately engaged, Pip following along.

Within minutes, the mud slipped underneath her sleeves and beneath her collar, but she didn't care. She didn't care, far too delighted by the entire situation. She couldn’t recall the last time she had felt so untroubled. Fay basked in the emotion with the same enthusiasm she did with the mud.

Pip, small and curly as he was, looked like a ball of mud after rolling around in a puddle. A ball that dripped and barked so that made her giggle. The poor thing was stuck, his small legs sinking rapidly into the soil quenched by water. Her paladin chortled loudly before he pulled the dog away from the puddle by the collar around his neck.

Damian had gotten all the pets one. It was the only time she'd seen the cat get annoyed with him.  

Fay leaned back, spreading her arms beside her, and ignoring the mud caking her clothes and hair, the cold seeping through. She stared at the sky, admiring the coiling and writhing of dark clouds, taking in the chill bite of the wind and the refreshing earthy scent of wet soil.

She closed her eyes.

It was a while before her peace was interrupted by someone tugging her at the laces of one of her boots. The pull was too strong for Pip, so she assumed it was Bagheera.

"Bag…no. Go away." She muttered.

Bag moved away from her boot to stand over her. He whined softly.   

Wait. That doesn't sound like Bagheera.

Fay opened her eyes and found herself staring into the curious gaze of a familiar Great Dane. He looked rather funny from that angle, what with his floppy jaws and ears.

If Titus was there, that meant….

"I knew you were immature, but to engage in such child play is a new low, even for you."

Ah yes. The green-eyed devil was with him, as well. Of course.  

Mud squelched behind her head as the boy approached her, his boots stopping only a couple of feet away. Green eyes and tanned skin and ebony locks replaced her view of the sky. 

Fay hardly felt ashamed. Not when she was in such a good mood. What was wrong with playing in the mud, anyway?  

"Hello." She smiled goofily, then giggled when Titus gave her a long lick over her cheek, tickling her. Pip yipped and clambered over her, and soon she found herself under attack by both dogs. Fay struggled to get up, feet sinking in the mud and nearly losing her jacket as the dogs tugged playfully on it. As soon as she was up, she slipped and ended up falling on her ass.

She laughed sheepishly when she saw Damian roll his eyes at her.

Bagheera stepped near the boy and made eye contact with Fay. He was not projecting his emotions, but Fay detected the mischief in his eyes all the same. That was the only warning she or the boy had before he suddenly started shaking his fur. Vigorously. It did not make much of a difference for Fay or Pip as they were already dirty, but Damian, on the other hand….

Standing so near the boy had been a calculated move on her paladin's end.

Silence fell between them. Fay stared bewildered at the sludge that had landed on Damian's clothes and his face!. Bagheera chortled, projecting his amusement intentionally, no doubt so he could rub salt in the boy’s metaphorical wound. Her paladin had forged such a peculiar relationship with the boy. They both liked antagonizing each other.

Fay didn't get the chance to reflect on that, far too distracted by the bubbling feeling in her chest. It manifested as unexpectedly as it did when she had formally met Damian at the restaurant. This time, she didn't hold back.

She laughed hard.

It wasn't funny enough to warrant such a reaction from her, but Fay could not help herself. There was something hysterical about watching the boy reach and wipe the mud away, only to smear it further. His thunderous look only egged her on, despite her self-preservation telling her that he was bound to reconsider imprisoning her if she kept laughing at him.

The sound of her laughter felt foreign to her ears after such a long time, but it was indubitably coming from her.

Then chaos ensued.

Damian jumped her, Bagheera jumped him, and Titus and Pip joined in, if only because they didn't want to miss the action. Fay lost her beanie and gloves and found herself rolling around in the muddy ground, either trying to escape Damian or avoid getting tangled in all the furry limbs. Her amusement didn't fade, not even realizing she was still smiling as she managed to get up and start running away, chucking her jacket in the process. It weighed her down.

Fay wasn't in danger, or otherwise, Bagheera wouldn't have allowed Titus to push him away from Damian, starting a playful fight of their own.

Within seconds, Fay found herself back on the ground, not even able to make it five feet before the boy caught up with her. He really was fast. She squealed when he shoved a handful of mud over her face, an action which she regretted immediately because some of it went in her mouth. But it was a Good Day, and she did have more physical strength than she has had in months. The adrenaline quieted her fears and thoughts, and instincts took over. Fay isn't sure, but she might have loudly called him an asshole at one point when she started fighting back (oh, she had wanted to do that for a long time). They both ended up grappling on the ground.

Albeit a human child, Damian moved with almost the same agility and speed that Bagheera had. He also had the strength to overpower her. Fay realized he must've been going easy on her when he became twice as forceful as before after she managed to throw him off once. Instinct and memory muscle drove most of her movements, but she was rapidly growing tired of always trying to evade him. She ended up on her stomach, arm twisted behind her back. Not painfully, but enough to block her from moving.  

"You ought to yield before you hurt yourself." He threatened, smugness coloring his voice. “You don’t stand a chance.’’

'You loser. You're not even fighting back?'

'How about we make her beg?'

Fear, cold and bitter settled in her veins, immediately dispersing any positive emotions. Fay shifted, and when she couldn't move, her panic only skyrocketed. She could feel hands that weren't really there hold her down, gripping her limbs forcefully, nails biting her skin. She felt the breathing of people that weren't there and the laughter that made her want to scream. 

"Ge-get off me.'' 

'Please...please stop.'

Damian didn't detect the panic immediately, not until a sob left her mouth. The weight on her back was gone in a second and Fay pulled herself away quickly, to bring her knees up to her chest. Her marks throbbed. The scars burned, just like the day they were first put on her. It was all in her mind. Blood dripped out of her nose, bringing along with it a strong sense of disappointment. Having fun was such a rare occurrence for her; why did they have to be tainted in that way, too? Why did they have to take it away when they were worlds away? 

Damian crouched next to her, handing her a handkerchief. "Are you hurt?" he asked quietly. Fay looked up at him and saw that he was as caked in mud as she felt. There was not an inch of them that wasn't covered in soil by that point. She was trembling now, and she felt a few tears slide down her face to the pool at her chin. 

Yes, I am. It never stops. She shook her head. 

"Don't be an idiot." He snorted. “I—It was not my intention to cause you distress.'' 

"I-I--I know.'' It wasn't Damian's fault. It really wasn't. 

Bagheera stepped beside her, concerned. She didn't have the strength to smile at him. 

"Where did you learn those movements?" Damian asked. "Was that part of your training?"

Fay didn't respond at first, not until the sensation on her limbs disappeared. "Y-yes, and um, no. Physical combat was something I had to learn, but I, um, wasn't very good at it." She glanced at her paladin. "I used--I used to spend a long time in the jungle, so…I, um, played with animals there." If only he knew. She bowed her head, wondering if he'll make fun of her. Others have. 

"Hn. It has resulted beneficial for you."

She blinked in surprise. Was that a compliment?

"Wh-what?" She looked up at him. "You—you don't think it's…weird?"

Damian smirked. "Let's just say I know a thing or two about unconventional training." He didn't elaborate on that. 

"Oh.'' 

He didn't ask her why she reacted the way she did. 

But he did end up giving her a piggyback ride back to the warehouse.

She found it hard not to smile. Damian could really be gentle when he wanted to be. 

And he chose to be that way towards her, too. 

"Stop smiling like an idiot, or I will drag you back."

Usually, she believed him capable of following through with his threats. But not then. 

"That’s---that’s not why I am smiling.’’ Meh, maybe a bit, it was. “….it was--it was Good Day, that’s all.’’ Despite how it ended.

“Hn.’’

It took them several hours to get cleaned.

But it was worth it.

.

Bagheera wasn’t sure if his Fay realized, but she kept smiling throughout the entire time she gave him a bath.  

The boy could hide it all he wanted, but he enjoyed the mud fight too.

.

“I don’t like this any more than you do,’’ Damian remarked gruffly as he reached to scrub Titus’ hind legs. “Stay still.’’

The dog whined softly but stopped squirming.

When they arrived at the property, Damian hadn’t expected the visit to go that way. He had planned on asking her a few questions about her world. Instead, he found the girl playing in the mud, looking uncharacteristically joyful. She laughed, too, at him. He wanted to, but he could not summon any ire, however. Damian had never seen her quite that happy, that carefree. Vocal, too, calling him an asshole. Reckless, thinking she’d get away with it.

He didn’t expect Fay would engage with him in such playfulness, either. It was going rather well...until. 

Until she was afraid again. Not of him. Of whoever must have hurt her before. Physically. Damian wanted to know who it was. He will never allow them near her again even if it was her family. 

He just might maim them as well. 

.

“Bagheera uses the flux, as well. In his other form.’’ Damian remarked as they both sat on the couch, blankets around them as they waited for the food in the oven to cook. There was something undeniably domestic about it, but Fay tried not to ponder on it too much. Or how content she felt that he chose to stay even after her reaction earlier. He wasn't looking at her any differently. 

“Bagheera is a hybrid between two species,’’ Fay said, watching her paladin allow Pip to cuddle next to him. Titus was sitting on the sofa next to Damian, his head propped in the boy’s lap. “And he...is my paladin.’’

Damian looked at her curiously. “…Paladin. As in a knight?’’   

“A paladin is, um, a warrior’s pa-partner, and they are warriors in their own right,’’ Fay explained. Paladins are not pets. To a warrior, they are an extension of themselves and vice-versa. They are loyal confidants and friends. To Fay herself, Bagheera is family. They grew up together, with Fay having known him since she was around very young, and he was but a pup.

Historically, warrior clans have bred certain species that they considered to be most effective in battle, a custom that has been frowned up in recent decades as it was deemed inhumane. That is not, however, the only way for a warrior to have a paladin. Some are paired with one since their birth, while others take their time to find one until they build a strong connection. Paladins must trust their warriors, and they must want to be in that partnership.

Not all warriors have a paladin, and equally, it is no longer thought that only a warrior can have one.

“What about you?’’ Damian asked. “I take it he was assigned to you.’’

“No, not exactly.’’ She paused, hesitating as she always did whenever it was about her family. “My mother…found him.’’ She said after a few moments of silence. “He-he was injured. Badly. It took him a few weeks to recover, and we-we thought he’d die…. but he didn't.’’ Fay smiled, glancing at her paladin. He looked as if he was asleep, but she knew better. “We-we were always together after that.’’ It wasn’t the full story, but it didn’t really matter. The outcome was the same. 

Damian thought about Goliath. How he found the dragon bat during his Year of Blood, his decision to keep and turn him into his own champion. The wrong he’s done by him yet how the beast has remained loyal to him.

“In that case, I believe I have a paladin of my own.’’

Fay looked at him in surprise, then glanced at Titus.

“Not Titus, although he is a loyal companion,’’ Damian said, watching her from the corner of his eyes. “His name is Goliath. He is the last of an ancient species of dragon bats used to guard the sacred scepter of Bialya.’’ He declared proudly, purposefully describing Goliath’s origin to gauge her reaction. Fay stared at him, curiously before smiling. Tight-lipped as it usually was, but a genuine one, nonetheless. She really was unusually cheerful that day.  

What an….interesting development.

“Can I meet him?’’ She asked shyly, eyes shining.

He turned his gaze away from that earnest look on her face. 

Yes. “Maybe.’’

.

.

.

2nd of December

According to Alfred, the average weight for someone her age and height is approximately ninety-two pounds. At her lowest, in the late summer months and beginning of autumn, she was thirty-two pounds under. It was only as a result of her different physiology that she survived that level of malnutrition whilst also remaining quite active despite her body not assimilating nutrients properly. In the two weeks she spent at the Manor, Fay gained ten pounds. The number of nosebleeds and migraines she experienced grew smaller and her appetite was almost voracious, which led her to eat several times a day. Cuts and bruises closed and faded far quicker than before, and she no longer felt sluggish or dizzy. There were still bouts of nausea and vertigo, but only if she pushed herself too hard too soon or as a result of a panic attack.

Her reflexes had improved significantly. Fay was more alert, as well, and not because she felt more attuned to natural energies. It felt as if the veil that had gradually grown thicker between her and the world was being destroyed piece by piece each day. Each week felt better than the last. Her flux was slowly growing stronger, but her sense of it varied through the day. That was a concern for her because it meant her grasp on it was even more fragile than before. 

The mud fight had led Damian to propose a training schedule. Cardiovascular and strength training combined. One hour in the morning and one hour in the afternoon. Almost always she'd have to take a nap right after, and when she'd wake up two or three hours later, she'd be incredibly hungry. Her body temperature no longer oscillated wildly and instead had settled on her above-human-average level. 

But Fay knew she couldn't wait until another incident happened. She had to attempt, at least, at understanding the damage her flux had suffered and how to undo it. In the process, she might also learn how to keep herself in check, at least when she was awake. 

So back to basics it was by incorporating some training techniques from her world into the daily schedule. However, even with the minimal use of her flux, Fay would feel incredibly drained afterward. She'd get a migraine and a nosebleed and a couple of times she had fainted as well. She wasn't quite sure how she'd managed to bypass all that the night of Halloween. 

“Damian?’’ She leaned over the sofa, to get a closer look at him. He hadn’t shown up at the warehouse in two days and had not been in communication since the afternoon after their mud fight. When he did show up that day, he had spent several hours in his bedroom. If it hadn’t been for Bagheera, she wouldn’t have even known he was inside the house at all. It wasn’t until late afternoon that he came downstairs, to lay down on the sofa and tap away at his laptop. 

“What is it?’’

“Can…. can you help me with something?’’ Fay bit her lip, feeling slightly nervous. She rarely ever asked him for anything. “I want to-to change my food plan.’’

He didn't stop typing even as his eyes moved away from the screen to meet hers. “Why? Are you feeling nauseous again?’’ 

Fay shook her head. “No. Actually, I feel…good. But my energy levels are still…low compared to before. When I was in Maysoon, I mean.’’ She instinctively glanced down at her wrists. They were completely healed now, save for a few small scars scattered around the circumference of her wrist. They were no longer recognizable as the bracelets' seals, but they will always be a reminder. If it hadn’t been for Halloween night, Fay wondered if she would have survived at all by the time the bracelets were done damaging her.

“I want to train my flux. Just, um, the basics.’’ She looked at him. “But when--when I do that, I get tired very easily.’’

Damian nodded. “I see. So, you want to counteract that by increasing the level of nutrients. What do these basics consist of?’’

Fay’s lips twitched. She didn’t want to talk in-depth about the exercises and rituals she went through, but she had no choice. If she wanted to return to her former physical state and understand whether the extent to which the bracelets had affected her body and flux, she was going to need his support.

“Well…they’re exercises that I used to do when I was younger. Some of it….is not exactly training.’’ Fay pursued her lips. “It’s about, um, small repetitions, about synchronizing with the elements. Nothing---nothing interesting really, but they can be…. tiring.’’

“May I see?’’

Of course, he’d ask. She wasn’t even surprised, even if she had hoped he wouldn’t.

“Some---some of them, maybe?’’ She asked tentatively. When he raised a brow at her, she sighed. “It’s…been a while, so I need to focus. And, um, if you’re there---‘’ Staring. Judging. Witnessing her failure. “I will get distracted. However—I will show you. Once I get better at it. I honestly don’t even know…. what stage I am at, currently.’’ Fay glanced down at her wrists. “My flux doesn’t feel right, still.’’

He didn’t look happy with her refusal, but he was satisfied with her offer.

“Very well. We’ll go into town tomorrow.’’ He smirked lightly. “I won’t watch, but I expect you to explain to me what the training consists of.’’

She nodded.

Fair enough.

.

George Sander returned to his family six months, two weeks, and two days after disappearing.

His decomposing, twisted body was found inside the trunk of a car abandoned near the docks. Police Commissioner Gordon closed the case officially after reiterating the story he had offered weeks earlier. George had gotten himself caught in the illegal trade of goods organized by Edelstein with the support of Finnegan and Wyatt. The young man had attempted to get in touch with Helen Wilmot, for reasons unknown, which has also led to her unfortunate demise.

No mention was made of the USB key he left behind. Or the Angel, whose attack at the Gotham Academy had been passed off as an unrelated incident. Halloween, after all, had a way of bringing out the crazy in people, especially in Gotham. Fay felt saddened that the world will never know George died trying to do the right thing. If it hadn’t been for his bravery and desire to protect others, she wouldn’t have found the USB herself. Others would have gotten hurt or killed that night. 

Damian told her that it was wiser if nobody knew about the USB or who the Angel was. All that mattered is that Angela Russo was now gone, and the children were safe.

“Will his family know?’’ She asked quietly as they both sat on the sofa watching the news. “That he died—trying to help?’’

The boy nodded. “A version of it, anyway. Gordon will inform the family that the USB key was found at Hannah Walker’s apartment, containing information on records that Edelstein falsified.’’

Fay sighed, relieved. “…I am glad.’’

The two corrupt officers had been exposed, but George will never be publicly acknowledged for his actions. People are still likely to remember him as the boy with a troubled background that inadvertently caused his former mentor's death, a beloved member of the community.

“She knew, didn’t she?’’ Fay asked a moment later, breaking the silence that fell over them after Damian turned off the TV. “Hannah Walker knew where it was, but she---she lied instead.’’

“Yes. It is very possible she died to protect Sanders.’’

Fay wondered how many lies her parents had hidden.

How much of the truth was she missing as well? 

Chapter 20: Of obliviousness, point of no return and training. 

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"There is no point of no return. U-turns are never prohibited in life.
It is just that when we return, we may not find the old place, people or feelings that once existed." 

- Deepshikha

.

.

.

Earlier that week...

"What is he doing now, Alfred?"

'He's finished his training, sir. After six hours. I take it your talk has not gone well.'

"Hn. There was no talk. He's gotten in his head that I have an issue with him visiting the girl." 

'Well, have you told him that's not the case?'

"…I did not tell him I had an issue with it."  

There was a sigh on the other line. ' What exactly have you told him, Master Bruce?'

"That he has been going to the warehouse often lately, and he should exercise caution." 

So, perhaps not the best choice of terms. Not when they were directed at his volatile son, who treated his arrangement with the girl as if it was a secret. Not when he was selective about the information he had on her.  

' I believe you told him he would be trusted with Miss Fay.'

"I do. That does not mean he is not compromised by her."

'And if he is, then? You'll forbid him from spending time at the warehouse?' Alfred was not feeling incredibly patient that day. ' Perhaps this is not about Damian being compromised.' 

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

'It is normal for a father to want his son to communicate with him. Especially when the said son has been…. reserved about his friendships.'

If Alfred had been in the cave, rather than watching Damian from the kitchen window, then perhaps he would have seen Bruce's look of indignation. Then again, the butler wouldn't have been fazed by it. He was immune to the Dark Knight's scowl. 

"Are you saying it's my fault?" That's precisely what Alfred was saying. He didn't need to be the world's greatest detective to figure that out. 

A clipped ' Sir.' Alfred was not happy. ' Are you suggesting that you are compromised by your bonds?' Yes. No. Of course. But they are also crucial to him. Where would he be without Alfred? What would his life be like had he not adopted the children he did? 

Cunning butler. 

' You've asked Damian that he should try to make bonds outside the ones provided by the vigilante environment. Has it occurred to you that Damian may not be open about it because he is still learning? He has chosen his bond and what he needs next is for him to know that he is trusted to find his own way.' Even if it means he won't come to Bruce for help. That he'll go to Alfred or Dick first, which Damian already has. 

Because he is Batman first, then Bruce Wayne. 

It was rather annoying, but his old friend was right. Bruce would have preferred if Damian talked to him about what was happening, not just as Robin to his Batman but as a son to father. 

"What do you suggest?"

'Be patient.' 

Batman could be patient. 

Damian's father found it more challenging.

But he did not wish to let his son down.  

.

.

.

4th of December

Fay helped Dana in the kitchen for a few hours before paying a well-needed visit to the museum. 

After returning to the warehouse, Fay spent most of the early evening on the ground floor seating area, watching Tv. Damian didn't say whether he would come over or not – he never really did- but when he didn't show up by eleven in the evening, Fay knew she won't see him until the day after. She told herself the reason she couldn't go to sleep was that she had too much energy. That day she hadn't gone running, and the trip to Gotham had only been partially on foot. It hadn't snowed yet but it was only a matter of time given the single-digit temperatures. At night, the weather grew even colder causing the streets to be particularly slippery. Damian insisted on her taking the car, at least on her return from Gotham. 

Fay found herself...looking forward when Damian was around because it meant they'll talk again and he'll teach her all kinds of stuff about that world. Fay immediately squashed those thoughts away, feeling humiliated with her own neediness. What would Titoh think if he knew? He probably wouldn't care. 

It had been a relatively Good Day, she told herself. Why ruin it with such thoughts? 

Fay distracted herself with a few chapters from the Hunchback of Notre Dame while the cartoon channel, set on a low volume, was on in the background. She fell asleep after midnight.

She wasn't sure what triggered the night terrors that night. Was it the thoughts of her brother-not-brother, which inevitably led her to think about her parents? Was it the insidious thoughts of what will happen once her arrangement with Damian comes to an end? 

Fay had no idea. 

But she dreamt of a field full of disfigured bodies in a Maysoon that is no longer the home she remembers. It is a pile of burning rubble. Everything is either brown or red. There are no colours. Even the jungle looks---defeated. Wilted. Her mother is there, waiting for her, where the bodies finish, and the jungle starts. She is a burst of color in that apocalyptic, twisted version of her homeland, and she lifts her hand towards Fay, beckoning. 

Let's go home, she says. Let's go. 

Fay has done that before, trying to run towards her mother, hoping that once she reaches the woman, she'll find out that everything is back to the way it was before. That the night Maysoon was attacked never happened. That it's all been one long, elaborate nightmare put in her head by a dream forger. She no longer thinks that but she still tries to reach her mother.

The bodies start moving, moaning, and groaning, and wailing. Mutilated limbs try to stop her, reaching hungrily for her shoes and trousers, and Fay tries to fight them, calls to her mother to help her. Her real mother would have never stood there, watching her struggle like that. She wouldn't have kept smiling. Fay is trapped. She tries to struggle against the hold of the undead, the inhuman sounds starting to take shape into voices. Some she recognizes. They're the same voices that she hears whenever she's in the throes of a panic attack. The ones reminding her of her failures. Other voices are from that night. The ones that screamed for help and mercy and relief. 

Fay tries to scream, but her own voice has been stolen, and nothing comes out. But she senses everything else vividly. The scent of smoke and burned flesh. The tight, suffocating grip of the hands latching onto her body, some more punishing than others as their nails -claws?- dig into her skin.

Fay can't breathe. No amount of struggling will help her, and she desperately wonders how her mother could just stand there and look at her. Except when she looks up, her mother's smile is gone, and she seems just as dead as everything else around them. Part of her face is peeling away, revealing the worm-infested muscle beneath, and her eyes are no longer green but pitch black like an abyss.  

That thing is no longer her mother. It is just a perversion of the woman Fay knew. She tries to look away but she can't, her head held in place by cold, cruel hands. The same ones that had held her down and made her hurt.

Her mother-not-mother opens its mouth and there is nothing but darkness in there. An abyss that calls to Fay. 

Something moves inside that darkness. 

The terror that assails Fay is so deep that she feels it in her bones, in every single cell of her being. The flux is never present in those dreams. She's always defenseless. Fay closes her eyes and screams in her own head that she must wake up. That she cannot be there when the darkness takes shape and exits the morbid caricature of her mother because if it reaches her, she might not wake up at all. 

The blood goes cold in her veins. The bodies disappear, their voices mingling in an unintelligible cacophony of noises that gradually morphs into a loud burble. Her heart is pumping so hard it makes her wonder if it was even functioning correctly before. 

'Fay, wake up.'

…Father? No. Uncle? No, no. The voice is not as deep as theirs. It's familiar, though. 

A sense of calmness washes over her, like a balm for her raw, frazzled emotions, and Fay breathes for what feels like the first time. The world around her shifts and she becomes aware of the cold water running down on her. Someone is still holding her, and she struggles, but the arms are stronger than her again. Are they trying to drown her? 

"Calm down." The voice says firmly in her ear. "You're dreaming. It's not real." 

…Is it not? Are her parents alive? Is Maysoon as it should be? A safe place full of beauty and laughter and dreams? 

She stops struggling, feeling too tired or cold to do so. Her stomach churned and churned unpleasantly. The owner of the arms holding her didn't let go, quietly repeating to her to stay calm, that she's safe, that there's no one there to hurt her. 

Fay opened her eyes.

She was...in the shower? 

She is trembling, uncontrollably so, and the tiled floor is uncomfortable under her, but the body behind her is warm and firm and unyielding. One arm was firmly wrapped under her left arm and around her shoulder and another around her waist. She must have been trying to pry them off because when she looked down, she saw her hands have been digging into the boy's wrists, leaving angry crescent-moon-shaped marks and long red lines.

Fay immediately released him as her mind finally processed what was happening. 

Damian was there. He was there, on the floor, holding her under the cold water running from the faucets above their heads. Bagheera himself was standing at the entrance of the large shower cabin entrance, a mixture of relief and concern projecting off him. That's where the soothing sense of calmness came from. 

And it had been Damian's voice beckoning her back out of the land of dreams. 

"What—what--- no ---" She whispered, mortified. A series of fragmented thoughts came through her mind. 

He had heard her. 

He had seen her. 

Damian had witnessed everything. He knows now. 

He knows how broken she is. 

And she--- I hurt him. 

Did she lose control too? Did he see how volatile she was in those moments as well?  

"Breathe." He ordered the arms holding her tight even when she reflexively tried to remove them. He didn't sound angry, but that did nothing to stop the rush of shame and guilt that she felt. 

heknows,heknows,heknows,heknows

Fay did as she was told, even if she felt like screaming again. When he was satisfied with her breathing, Damian pulled both up, not bothering to turn off the faucet as he guided her out of the shower cabin. Fay opened her mouth to speak, but her teeth were chattering so hard, she barely managed to get through more than a few syllables. Her pajamas hung uncomfortably on her and her bare feet were numb. 

Damian wrapped a towel around her before both boy and beast guided her out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom.

Fay looked around the room. There was not as much damage as she expected but judging by the duvet and pillows strewn on the floor, the chair knocked down, and the disarray on the desk, Fay must have put up a struggle when Damian dragged her to the bathroom. She hadn't lost control of the elements -- not like that day. 

She felt no relief. 

Damian dragged her to the bathroom. 

Because he had been in her bedroom. 

Because he must've heard her. 

Fay plopped down on the edge of the bed, and she clutched the towel around herself, both out of cold and to use it as a shield. Her head was throbbing. She was awake, but it still felt as if she was stuck in a nightmare. One that no cold shower was going to help her out of. 

Bagheera pressed himself against her legs, lending his body warmth. Fay didn't look up, but she heard Damian step into the walk-in closet and rummage around. A few seconds later, he came out carrying a jumper and a pair of cotton trousers, and he sat them on the bed next to her. "You need to get changed." He said quietly. "I will turn around." 

Fay nodded and didn't dare move until he was standing with his back towards her. She lowered the towel and begun the slow, uncomfortable process of removing her wet pajamas. Damian didn't rush her, didn't turn around until she told him it was okay. Fay would lie if she said she didn't contemplate just running out of the room, but she was bound to make an even bigger fool of herself.

Damian turned around and instructed her to wrap the duvet around herself. Fay did as she was told, crawling in bed and sliding underneath the covers. 

Fay refused to meet Damian's eyes. "I am going to get changed." His t-shirt and trousers were just as soaked as her pyjamas had been. Fay eyed the marks on his forearm and wrists before nodding. Damian was gone only for a few minutes, but by the time he returned, Fay's anxiety had built back up, causing her to wring her hands almost obsessively. 

Damian closed the door behind him before he climbed on the bed to sit across from her. Without any warning, he pressed a dry towel over her head causing her to Fay jump. She quickly reached to grab the towel, but her arms felt weak, so she didn't even have the strength to keep her hands up.

There was no need, in the end. Damian rubbed the excess water from her hair himself. It was such an unexpectedly gentle and...familiar gesture that she had no idea how to react. There were just too many emotions to process so, Fay settled for sitting there awkwardly, staring at her hands. When he was done, Damian removed the towel and chucked it aside on the floor. He didn't distance himself from her, only leaned back to cross his legs. Bagheera stood by the foot of the bed, observing. 

Fay found herself staring at the scratches and nail marks she left on Damian's arms. 

"I've had far worse than some scratches." He remarked with a scoff. "So, there's no need to feel guilty about it." 

What kind of reasoning was that? Just because he's experienced worse pain, that did not make it okay. 

"That's --- that's not an excuse f-for what I did." She whispered. Her teeth had stopped chattering, but she was still trembling. "I---I---I am sorry…" Fresh tears gathered anew in her eyes. "……, I can't control it." 

"I know," Damian said simply. "You weren't speaking in English. I have never heard that language before." 

Fay's jaw clenched, her bottom lip catching between her teeth. "Will you…tell me about it? What you dreamt of?" Even before he was done talking, she started shaking her head, an action she regretted because the gesture intensified her headache. 

Damian sighed. "Because you're afraid of what I will think of you." 

Yes. But it's also not easy talking about it. 

Fay's silence, as many times in the past, was an answer. 

"Look at me." Fay hesitantly did.

"My first kill was when I was five years old." Fay's eyes widened at the sudden confession. The boy's brows were furrowed, his lips pressed in a tight line, as he crossed his arms over his chest. "By the time I was ten years old, my count was in triple digits. Every moment of my life until that point had been dedicated to mastering the many facets of art. Particularly killing people. I've excelled in all of them." He remarked calmly, if not slightly boastful as if he talked about the weather and not that he was a killer. Damian's head cocked to the side as he assessed her, trying to gauge her reaction. "My mother wanted to create the perfect assassin, and she succeeded." 

Fay's heart dropped to her stomach. She wasn't entirely shocked as others would have been to him admitting the nature of his childhood. In Maysoon, it wouldn't have been shocking at all. In her family, even less so. At least in the generations preceding hers. However, Fay had not expected to hear any of those words coming out of his mouth or how easily he admitted to his mother, treating him as a weapon. Not that was a novel idea – a parent weaponizing their children – in her world, either. Fay had suspected he grew up in a highly disciplined environment, that he must have trained since young to take on Robin's mantle at that age. She also knew he was dangerous, and when she'd considered that, Fay had not eliminated the possibility that he may have killed. But to have killed hundreds already? She wasn't sure how she felt about it.   

Except… Robin was not an assassin, was he? Robby told her that Batman and Robin supported the police officers in making sure criminals are brought to justice. Damian must've picked up on the confusion she felt.

"I was left in my father's care when I was ten years old." He continued. "I decided I wanted to take a different path. Do you understand why I am telling you this?" 

Fay swallowed. "I—I am not sure." She admitted. 

"There is nothing you can say to me that I would find shocking or frightening. Regardless of how different your world may be, death is death." He said firmly, his tone leaving no space for debate. Fay wasn't sure she believed his declaration---he spoke in absolutes again – but she did understand what he was trying to tell her. That he would not turn away in fear or disgust if she were to reveal herself completely. 

No one has ever asked that before. Or told her they wouldn't care. 

No one really cared. 

"I am not asking to use this information against you." He pointed out, then clicked his teeth. "— Tt --I want to know because I want to know." Well, that wasn't much of an answer. Did he want to satisfy a curiosity, then? And just because he said he won't use it against her, it doesn't mean he's telling the truth. To her surprise, he didn't push further than that. "I do not expect an answer—go to sleep." 

Fay shook her head. She couldn't relax enough to sleep even if she felt exhausted. The fear wasn't gone completely; every time she closed her eyes, she could see that thing that impersonated her mother. The worst part was, she couldn't even ascertain whether she saw such a creature that night when Maysoon was attacked. Her memories still didn't make sense most of the time. 

Damian handed her a bottle of water before settling beside her, this time putting some distance between them. "Go to sleep, Fay." The girl stared at him with a mix of apprehension and confusion, but when it became clear he intended on staying with her until she at least attempted to go back to sleep, Fay tentatively settled against the pillows. Huddling as close as possible to the edge of the bed, with her back turned to him, she met her paladin's gaze as he moved to sit on that side.

Fay did not have the emotional or physical strength to contemplate what had just happened, and despite her initial protests, as soon as she laid her head down on the pillow, she started feeling drowsy. Her paladin's emotions were like a lullaby. As soon as she began to warm up, her muscles relaxed as well. 

She fell asleep within minutes. 

When Fay woke up several hours later, she became aware of a few things immediately. 

One, unfortunately, she had not dreamt that Damian had been there when she experienced a night terror. Nor that she had injured him while he tried to drag her to the bathroom. Why he had been in her room in the first place remained a mystery as he had promised he would not interfere if he did hear her experiencing nightmares. That he had stayed with her, using cold water to jolt her awake and had seemed unfazed by the entire situation, was...unforeseen.

Two, Damian was asleep barely an arm's length from her, and she knew that because she had ended up facing him while asleep. As she had hogged the duvet all to herself, he hadn't used anything to cover himself, but he didn't look cold as he laid supine with one hand bent over his stomach. His trademark frown was not entirely gone, but the lines on his face had…eased slightly. 

An assassin. The boy with green eyes was an assassin. Or he had been before he chose to become Robin. 

Perhaps it was a testament to how dysfunctional her own upbringing is that she found it intriguing instead of frightening. Not that she didn't consider him dangerous or that she wasn't wary of him. Fay felt as vulnerable and ashamed as she did earlier, but she also had questions. From the start, Damian had been confident, prodigious, assertive – bullish at times, really. Then, on Halloween night, she had learned that the toughness she had seen every day in Damian Wayne did not falter when he was Robin. If anything, he was even stronger than she had made him out to be. Not in the traditional sense, necessarily, although she had envied his physical fitness many times over. It was that--- something that she had seen in others. Fay couldn't find the right word for it even if she had witnessed it in her parents as well. 

It was the type of strength that made people go further than most people would. Damian had not screamed once when she was cutting into him. He was in pain, yet he had just gritted his teeth and bit his glove, and then got up and pushed through the pain so he could finish his mission. Saving the children. Yes, Bagheera had helped by reducing some of his hemorrhage and pain but had it been Fay, she doubts she would have been able to walk around as he did, let alone fight for so long. She had fought too, but those few minutes of battle had nearly killed her. She wouldn't have even fought the way she did if she had not allowed herself to be angry. 

But Fay had truly wanted to protect Damian. She had genuinely wanted to be able to fight for him and Bagheera rather than stand on the sidelines. But would she have been able to do that if she had not tapped into that wretched emotion?  

Would she have been able to remove the bracelets in any other situation? Most likely not. 

Fay did not know bloodlust, but she knew what it felt like to fall prey to her emotions. Both posed a danger for herself and the others around her. If it hadn't been for the pain and damage caused by the bracelets, would she have been able to stop herself? Would she have been able to control the flux? She wasn't sure. 

"You are thinking too loud." The boy's voice washed over her thoughts, and Fay glanced up at his face. He had not opened his eyes, nor has he moved from his position. Nada had settled herself next to Damian's legs, whereas Pip was at the end of the bed. Fay had no idea where Hector was---but Bagheera could find him if necessary.

She opened her mouth to apologize, but he cut her off. 

"I don't want to hear it." 

She closed her mouth and pulled the duvet closer around herself. 

Fay had never really had someone sleep in proximity with her outside her family, including Moma. She had been on expeditions or mock missions with other children, which had required them to camp out, but that had been different. Even on those trips, she was generally left out so she had to make do on her own if Bagheera couldn't accompany her. 

That was not the first time she had fallen asleep near him, and it was becoming a rather embarrassing habit. It had nothing to do with him being a boy because she hadn't really made such considerations. It was the implicit vulnerability one has when they're asleep that he was privy to. 

She saw green. Damian was looking at her, caught her staring. Heat raised from her neck all the way to her ears. 

Great.  

"It's incredible how your paladin sleeps next to you with your snoring." 

The nerve of him!

"…um, no, I don't."

"How would you know?" He quipped. "My hearing is excellent." 

"You didn't…have to stay," Fay grumbled, tempted to just pull the duvet over her head. 

Damian ignored her. "Do you have any idea how much you move in your sleep?" 

Fay stared at him, wondering if he had lost his mind. Or if she has and she was imagining it all. 

"…. you're mean." 

"You almost assaulted me. Again ." 

He wanted her to die out of embarrassment, did he now? 

"You-You look f-fine to me." She mumbled miffed. 

Damian flicked her forehead, and she gaped at him in shock. 

"A herb and gruyere frittata is an acceptable payment, to begin with." 

"… What?

He rolled his eyes at her as if she was the one making strange, sudden requests. What in the world was a frittata? 

"For the disturbance you've caused me, obviously." 

"What?" 

Damian was up on his feet within seconds, much to the disappointment of the cat. "Google it. You have the means now. I shall be expecting it served in the next thirty minutes." 

"You---you can't be-be serious." 

He was. 

He definitely was. 

Tyrannical, mad, mad boy. 

In the end, she did get up and cook but only because she was hungry too. Fay took a warm shower, then changed in a loose fleece jumper and a pair of thick tights. After drying her hair, she padded down to the kitchen, where Damian was already waiting for her at the kitchen table. He pointed out that she was late already preparing him food. She ignored him, both because she found his request ridiculous and because she was trying to come to terms with how strange the entire day was turning out to be. It's like he was aiming for a record of how many times he could leave her confused. 

She did look up what a frittata meant, although it took a few tries because she wasn't sure how the word was spelt. When she saw the recipe, she instantly decided that there was no way she would successfully cook it. Instead, she made an omelette that she was rather proud of because it came out fluffier than she thought it would. The fact that it was tasty and not just edible was a win as well. 

Damian did complain about it; of course, he did. Yet he ate his own portion as well. 

"You are defiant." He remarked, towards the end, breaking the silence that has fallen over them. Bagheera belched, having just finished his own breakfast ---while standing a little closer than necessary next to the boy. Damian threw him a disgusted look and chucked a fork at him, which the paladin dodged expertly.

Fay resisted the urge to roll her eyes at them. 

"…I really don't know how to make a fri—frittata." The word rolled off her tongue strangely. Italian, apparently. 

"Not just now." He said. "You've defied my instructions and requests many times in the past. Even when you've refused my offer, despite being afraid, you still said no." 

Fay wasn't sure what he was getting at. 

Damian looked at her. "Why do you insist on letting people push you around if you're perfectly capable of defending yourself?" She has heard that question being asked many times over. Even by her mother. Fay didn't have a straight answer for it. It was fear, shyness, a desire to be liked and accepted, guilt, shame. Thinking she deserves the treatment others give her. There was always the expectation that she had to take the high road, to be diplomatic where others failed to do so.

It was never just one reason. 

 "…I don't know." Because she doesn't. Fay had never been particularly sociable or outspoken, but she had been far more confident when her parents had been alive. It was hard not to. They inspired her to be. Comparatively, Titoh had been quiet too, but he was far better at socializing with others, so they had complemented each other. "I am--I am not a brave person." 

"No?" He raised a brow at her. "Then what do you call what you've done in the past? Going after Wilmot's thieves, fighting against those chimeras?" 

Fay glanced outside the windows at the raindrops hitting the glass and sliding down the surface, racing one another in their descent. "…I am not sure if it was courage." She admitted quietly. 

"Because it was anger." 

She froze, the blood going cold in her veins again. "Wh-what?" She breathed. 

How could have he possibly seen that when he had been injured that night?

Was nothing safe from his scrutiny? 

Damian tilted his head towards her, meeting her gaze. "You're angry." She opened her mouth, but he beat her to it again. "Don't deny it. You can't lie to me." Fay pressed her lips together, jaw clenching, hands wringing again. "You were angry that night we faced off against the Angel. I've seen it before—when you refused to accept my offer, and I am certain it was anger that pushed you to go after Wilmot's robbers. Wasn't it?"

Fay lowered her eyes to her hands. How could a part so private – so hidden – of her be seen so easily? Is she truly that transparent? Dread filled her stomach. Fay thought she had been doing a good job at hiding it.

"Why are you ashamed of it?" He asked. 

Fay bit the inside of her cheek. "Nothing…. good happens when I am angry." 

"If you hadn't gotten angry that night, the probability we would be sitting here talking is low. At least not with all your limbs intact, anyway." Damian remarked. "I would say that was a rather effective use of your anger. It also freed you of those bracelets. They would have killed you eventually." 

If she let the next words out of her mouth, she'd reach a new milestone in the amount of information she revealed about herself. There really would be no turning point. 

"…I—I don't know why." She whispered head bowed. "Why---why I am angry. Not…always. I know—" She licked her lips. "---I know anger can be good but not for me ." 

"Because you have trouble controlling your flux." He drawled. 

Fay nodded. "…. Sometimes. I—the flux is energy. It's tied in with my body and, um, mind and…soul, too. And---I get exhausted, and my marks hurt because I am not---I am not in shape. That's…easier to fix, I suppose." Her eyes prickled, but she didn't cry. Fay rubbed one of her forearms nervously. "I---I am not always angry. It doesn't happen---often. But I am afraid---that if I lose control of it, I will hurt someone. I don't want to do that." 

"Have you?" 

She didn't respond. 

"Fay." His hand nudged her shoulder, making her look up at him. "I promised you I won't hurt you and that there are also few things you could say that I would be shocked, so tell me the truth." 

Fay inhaled sharply, and she glanced at her paladin, who had come to stand near them. He was worried about her again, tenser than usual. She met Damian's gaze. "…um, y-yes." More than once. "I, um…there was—these children, and they were being…" She bit her lip again, giving up on that line of thought. She just couldn't reminisce about that event, much less talk openly about it. "I don't ---I don't even know how it happened. I just got angry, and I---I burned someone. Fire is not—really my element, and I couldn't control it." It was hard to breathe again, and Fay tried to take a deep breath before releasing it slowly. 

"If it isn't your element, how did you summon it?'' 

Because they tried to burn her first. Fay just stared at him. 

Damian understood. 

"Did they die?" He asked, far too casually for the question he was posing her. Calm, too. Why wasn't he angry? Disgusted? Disappointed? 

Fay shook her head. Following that incident, she had lost her brother. Figuratively, speaking. 

"It just—happened."  She admitted. She had wanted to make the pain stop. 

"It served them right.'' 

Her heart skipped a breath.

"W-w-what?'' 

His expression was unreadable. "I do not believe you're capable of intentionally harming others, not without a valid cause. It is clear that they were hurting you the moment that you lost control, so it was really self-defense. It's on them, not you." 

"But--but I--there were other incidents--and I--I wasn't--I mean, they weren't hurting me--'' 

"But they did on other occasions, did they not?'' Fay opened her mouth but was unable to deny that accusation. "You should not feel guilty or ashamed for no longer wanting to tolerate their stupidity.'' 

Just like that. He made it sound so easy and simple. 

He was so accepting. 

"That's why you were wearing the bracelets, wasn't it?" Damian asked. "They were limiting the use of your flux." He sneered. "To prevent other incidents. How convenient for others.'' 

He...he was on her side?  

Fay thought about the wretched bracelets which now laid folded in a cloth in one of her drawers. They were irreparable given the cracked seals. Some residual energy persisted, and she felt it when Damian handed them to her after running an analysis of them. Out of curiosity, mostly, he said. The computer did not recognize all the bracelet's components-- there were steel and another metal. Fay had no name for it in English, but she had explained that it was a type of metal found naturally in her world effective at conducting energy. In combination with the steel, the bracelets were incredibly durable, and the runes inscribed on the inside were meant to act like flexible dam walls, to restrict her flux if it became too volatile. In theory, the bracelets should have barely interfered with her general use of the flux. 

"…they were meant to be temporary," Fay said. "And I told you, um, they weren't meant to…do that to me. To—to hurt me." 

"But it was your family who made you wear them." He said through gritted teeth. 

Fay looked at him warily. "I—I accepted. It was not—not against my will…" 

"Stop defending them." He said suddenly, nothing short of a snarl. "You said it yourself that the flux is a natural part of you. Something that is deeply intertwined with your body, mind, and soul. The bracelets were--" His expression was contorted by the anger of his own. Unlike Fay, he always seemed comfortable expressing it. "---they were a prison. Others have humiliated you and hurt you and yet you were the one who was deemed as uncontrollable."

Fay's chin trembled slightly. His words were in such opposition with her own self-hatred that she felt discombobulated. 

How could he be so...passionate about defending her? About not having even a single doubt that it hadn't been her fault? 

"…I didn't want to hurt anybody, so I accepted them." She said, finally. 

"—Tt—it was easier to put chains on you than teach you how to control your anger." Damian could barely stand whenever his father would ground him from patrol as a negative reinforcement tool. If anyone would have even attempted to chain him in the manner Fay had been, there's no say what he would have done. Physical punishment was a favored teaching tool in the League, but the intention was to test a person's will when it wasn't used for punishment. What Fay's family had done to her was to push a problem away. Not a warrior, she said. Not like her family. Different. They did not accept her, so they sentenced her to an invisible cage that in his opinion, was worse than an actual one. 

Yet. 

Fay has run away from home, traveled between worlds, braved the Darien Gap, walked thousands of miles, and survived Gotham. She knew she could not defend herself properly, but she had gone into a burning building to save him and a child. Fay had hunted down a group of thieves and relied on her wit and resourcefulness because she knew the bracelets would hurt her otherwise. She had concluded they were damaging her body, that there was a possibility she might die if she used her flux again but that didn't stop her from putting herself as a shield between him and the chimeras.  

"Why were you angry?" He said, carefully controlling his tone, pushing the emotions bubbling wildly in his chest. "Halloween night. You were angry. Why?" Fay may have refused to say why she lost control before, but he had filled in the gaps himself. She had been likely bullied--terrorized, really. It would explain much of her fearful behavior. Damian was positive, however, she wasn't the type of person who purposefully sought to harm others. Even if she had been, Damian wouldn't care quite frankly. He has done worse. He has used violence in an unwarranted manner, for no reason that he could. 

Why did you thank me?

Fay avoided his gaze again. "I, um…." She was picking at her cuticles, drawing blood on some of her fingers. "…it wasn't fair. That---that you and—and Bag kept fighting. Even if you were injured…. you kept getting up. I----I should---I should be able to do that as well. I mean, I was raised to…." She shook her head. "I am not sure---but I was afraid that you—you two would die. I haven't done---anything to deserve—" 

"I have told you to banish that ridiculous notion out of your head." 

"…What?" 

"That your life does not matter." He answered in a clipped tone. "Is that what your stupid family has put in your head? That you don't matter because you're different?" 

Fay looked horrified. "No—no, of course not. My family loves me—" 

"If they did, they would have accepted you." He hissed. "They wouldn't have limited you especially if they knew others were responsible for your loss of control. Stop defending them---blood doesn't matter as much as you think." 

"You’re—you’re wrong.’’ Fay breathed. “…I mean, I know. That family is not always---by blood. But you’re wrong about them.’’ Her family was complicated and dysfunctional even by her world’s standards, but they did love her. In their own way, even if it manifested differently to her parents. Fay knew she would sound as if she was protecting them if she said all that, but she wasn’t naïve. Damian believed her family had rejected her and that they secretly tried to kill her. Unfortunately, she could not say her family was a stranger to familicide, but she did not believe her uncles or aunts would ever hurt her. They failed to understand her at times, but she knew they cared. Her parents would have never allowed her to stay with them if they thought she was in danger. 

“I am different.’’ She muttered. “But that---that doesn’t mean they don’t care about me.’’ 

He smiled coldly. “Caring and wanting to kill somebody is not necessarily mutually exclusive.’’ He remarked ruefully. Fay didn't argue further. She couldn’t explain why she chose to defend her family without starting a far bigger discussion about who she is. She had already said far more than she expected or even wanted to, as it is. 

"Al--alright.'' She got up, desperately needing some time to think but he didn't allow her to leave. 

Damian grabbed both of her hands and tugged her back into her seat. 

“W-wha-what?’’ She stammered, embarrassed with his sudden gesture. Did he have to constantly push the boundaries of her personal bubble like that? Still, she didn’t pull away. 

“Don’t hide it from me.’’ He remarked simply. “Your anger. Be angry if you must.’’ She stared, uncomprehendingly. 

“You will never have to hide your anger from me. I won’t judge you for it. Nor I will try to tell you to ignore it.’’ His thumb brushed over one of the scars on her wrist. It was tender but it didn't hurt. “My only request—’’ His only request? “—is that you come to me. That you tell me when you feel you are going to lose control. Or if you’ve lost it.’’

Fay was vaguely aware that there were new tears streaming down her face, but she was too busy processing his words to pay any attention to the wetness of her cheeks. 

How could he just say those things? 

Those words that she hadn't realized she wanted to hear so badly until that moment. 

Or perhaps she's just stopped hoping. 

“Swear to me.’’ She felt his fingers flex at the back of her hand. “That you will not hide from me like that.'' 

“….al-alright.’’ 

What else was she supposed to say?

Fay had run over hundreds of scenarios of the possible ways he would find out about how volatile she could be. Just as many times, she had imagined how their discussion would go. 

She should have known he will just surprise her again. 

Later, when she was alone again, just her and Bag, she’d ask her paladin if at any point he sensed dishonesty from the boy. Fay did not like using Bag’s abilities for herself, but she had to know. Damian was too confusing. That her paladin confirmed the boy was being honest, which left her speechless once again.

What now? 

She wasn’t sure what was worse. 

How little it took Damian to see her and easily accept parts even she wasn't ready to accept. 

Or that she desperately hoped that he will never stop. 

The point of no return, indeed. 

.

.

.

5th of December

Damian’s brow quirked at the sight of the materials she spread out on the table in the sunroom. Fay had told him she grabbed supplies for her training when she was last out in the city, but he hadn’t expected to see the easel and canvas. Or the glass jars filled with water and the paint tubes she had taken out of their packaging. He also didn’t expect the drawing of the flower she had made on the canvas with a pencil. It wasn’t anything special, but she wasn’t without artistic talent. He suspected she was able to draw more than just a flower, but that was a question to be answered later. 

That day he intended for them to go to the museum that afternoon. There was a special exhibit taking place only in December. He told himself that it was because she always opened up more whenever she was in a comfortable, stimulating environment like the museum. Perhaps she’ll answer his question about her night terrors or what the 'incidents' had consisted of. 

It wasn’t the only reason, though. 

Fay's hair was pinned back and strangely enough, she was wearing a sleeveless shirt. The marks on her arms were in full view as were the small scars that now marked her wrists. He watched her as she squeezed tubes of watercolor paint in the jars, before mixing them with water. There were only two digits or so of water in each jar, so the colors remained relatively vibrant. Red, yellow, white, green. 

Bagheera had sensed him from his place across the room but he didn’t react, clearly not wanting to interrupt Fay. Damian stopped at the threshold and watched her quietly from the side. Fay was too concentrated to pay attention to him, brows furrowed together, and her lips pressed in a thin line as she stared at the jars before her. The canvas was set to the side, across the room from where Damian had stopped. 

Fay took a deep breath then lifted her hands just as she closed her eyes. Nothing happened for a few seconds but then she started moving her hands and fingers as if she was threading them through invisible strings. He couldn’t discern a pattern to her movements, she seemed to move them instinctually. Searching. Her marks glowed faintly, the green matching the wisps of energy forming around her hands—it looked deceptively delicate. Like magic. But he had seen how destructive that energy was with his own eyes. 

The water that had a red hue to it moved and within seconds it was trickling upwards out of the jar, just a few drops, one after another. The bubble that formed and floated in the air, its shape held together by her will could have been contained in a tablespoon. Fay tilted her body to the side, the movement of her hands and fingers manipulating the blob of colored water to follow her. He watched, intrigued, as she brought the water against the surface of the canvas. Fay opened her eyes, brows furrowing deeper as she tried to keep the liquid within the borders of the pencil. She was trying to paint the flower, Damian thought. Unconventionally so, by manipulating water directly rather than using a brush as a medium. 

Some of the red went over the border, but the petals – semi-double, hose-in-hose- were colored entirely now. Fay repeated the process – once, twice – painting wet on wet but trying to use the additional layers to offer the flower tridimensionality. She was only partially successful. Fay had been able to shade the petals but not at the cost of going outside the borders again, leaving her with random streaks on the canvas. Her hands were trembling when she switched to the yellow and judging by the pinched expression on her face, she was struggling with channeling her flux properly. The yellow blob was unstable, less spherical than the previous ones, and more reminiscent of a shifting amoeba. Fay gritted her teeth, her hands curving inwards, fingers splayed as if she was holding a ball. Trying to get the water to follow her will and vision for it. 

Fay let out a pained noise, her body jerking as she lost control over the water. The liquid fell prey to gravity immediately, splashing down the jars and tables. To her credit, Fay persisted and after shaking her hands, as if to get rid of the tension in them, she started moving them again. The water bubbled and gurgled in the jar, but it refused to move beyond that. The girl stepped closer, her fingers splayed and curling in a grip-like manner. 

The jar exploded, the agitated water pushing through it forcefully, glass and water flinging off the table and onto the table. Blood dripped out of Fay’s nose, her knees buckling under her weight. Damian caught her, slowing her descent but allowing her to sink to her knees. He felt a faint thrum of energy right before it dissipated along with the green from her hands and the glow of her marks. She was shaking again. 

“Da—Damian?’’ She looked at him startled, just as he pressed the handkerchief to her nose. Seriously, he had started wearing a spare on him just in case as well. 

Bagheera growled softly, rising to his feet, and approaching them, careful not to step in the shards of glass on the floor. Pinching her nose through the cloth, Fay glanced at him. “I am okay, Bag.’’ She said, before turning her gaze back on Damian. “What—you’ve been there the whole time?’’ She asked meekly, cheeks reddening. 

“Yes.’’ No point denying it. Damian’s eyes flitted to the canvas, then the table. “Interesting exercise. Very low impact compared to the way you fought the chimeras, but this requires more control, doesn’t it?’’ He met her gaze again. “Because it requires precision. A scalpel’s work compared to a hammer.’’ Fay stared at him cautiously, before nodding. 

“Yes…exactly.’’ She murmured. They both raised to their feet, him steading her by the shoulders.

“How much better was it before?’’ He asked, looking at the canvas as he guided her to sit down in one of the chairs pushed against the wall. She didn’t protest. 

Fay pursued her lips. “Better than now. It wasn’t hard painting a flower before.’’ She looked frustrated. “…I am getting tired too easily. And---and I can’t hold it. The flux I mean. It feels….’’ She looked at her hands. “Weak, still.’’ 

Damian nodded. “Have you been following the new plan?’’ He had increased her calorie intake by twenty-five percent, but perhaps more was needed. Fay looked healthier than he’s ever seen her, despite the several pounds that she had yet to make up for. She wasn’t developing muscle as quickly as he would have liked, so maybe he’ll have to adjust her training as well. 

“Yes.’’ Fay took the handkerchief away from her nose, testing. Her nosebleed stopped, having been minor, to begin with. “…I can’t believe how easily I get tired.’’ She mumbled. “I used---I used to spend hours in the jungle without getting tired. Right, Bag?’’ The paladin huffed, nodding his head curtly in assent.  

Yes, well. The bracelets have done a number on her. But her reflexes were far better than they’ve been. Fay was faster too. That night when he had dragged her into the shower, it had been like trying to tame a wild animal. A dangerous one that was unhindered by fear and so had no qualms about trying to break his arm when he tried to snap her out of it. Tried being the operative word. 

He had also felt her flux when he had been that close to her. He wondered what it felt like for her to have that constant energy running in her body. What it must have felt like to have it damaged and withheld. 

Fay got up. “I want to...to try again.’’ 

“No.’’ He shook his head, although he was curious to see more. “You risk undoing your recovery. We need to change your plan. You are putting on weight but not developing muscle mass properly. Besides the jungle, was there any physical training you received?’’ She must have if she knew how to defend herself. 

“Um, yes. All, um kinds of exercises. Some were similar to what you gave me.'' 

“Hn. Good. I have some additional ideas about what other exercises you could incorporate.''

Fay was very worried about the way he was smirking. 

Even more so, now that she knew how he was raised. 

Notes:

So, a few thoughts on Bruce as a father.
Do I think he is a good father? Yes and no. I think he would go to great lengths to protect them, perhaps too far resulting in lies, deceit, and so on. The comics had failed his character many timed and i really hate the focus on always edgy dark Brucd. Batman and Robin series had tried to address the failures that Bruce experienced in mentoring compared to Damian but in the long term, that growth seems to have been undone.
Do I think he is an abusive father? I suppose it depends on which comic runs we are referring to. I haven't read all the comics nor do I consider myself to be an all-knowing fan so it is possible there were series in which he was abusive (I remember seeing a comic panel of him slapping one of the Robins). I think he is terrible with emotions and his morals and principles do not always make up for it. His paranoia, I think, is fuelled by a desire to keep those he loves close but often ends up being damaging. That does not mske him an abusive father. Honestly, I don't see Bruce being 100% on board with Fay's presence from the beginning -- she is essentially an alien, she keeps secrets, she clearly is more dangerous than she appears to be and she may be linked to a potentially big and upcoming villain.

Between Dick and Bruce, I definitely see the first as Damian's true mentor and closer father figure. Dick along with Alfred are the two greatest positive sources in Damian's life (excluding I suppose Jon as he hasn't made an appearance and not sure if I will be able to introduce him given there's so much stuff I need to balance as it is).

Chapter 21: Of special days, flying and music

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"Music is a moral law.

It gives a soul to the Universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination, a charm to sadness, gaiety, and life to everything.

 It is the essence of order and leads to all that is good and just and beautiful."

-           Plato

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Her mother had told her about Christmas when she was younger. That it was an annual winter festivity celebrating a religious figure, not unlike Maysoon celebrated the births or achievements of prolific individuals. It was an incredibly important festivity in that world, her mother used to say. One of the most fascinating and beautiful traditions she has come across in that world, so popular that it is celebrated by billions of people. Fay had some information on the religion in which Christmas is rooted, but it was not until living in that world that she fully realized just how much importance it held to the people there.

Naturally, she did what she always did when she did not have information. Reading. Research. Asking many many questions, now that she had a walking encyclopedia in the shape of a boy. A grumpy one, who is not nearly as fascinated by Christmas as she is, so it proves rather difficult getting a better understanding of the 'Christmas spirit' from him. No matter. In the first week of December, when she ends up visiting the Wayne Manor, Fay finds plenty of answers in Alfred and Dick, who are amused by the fact that she has a journal full of unanswered questions.

Damian had injured himself the day before. Fay did not have the details, but it had been Dick to come to visit her and ask her if she wanted to go see Damian for once rather than the other way around. She had a feeling it was an excuse so he could talk to her, although, unlike Damian, Dick did not pry as much. He smiled easier, too, his friendliness infectious, so Fay found herself at ease around him. They ended up making a detour through Gotham and got doughnuts (really good doughnuts).

Fay had thought Halloween and Thanksgiving had sent people in a frenzy in celebrating them, but those two events had nothing on Christmas. Anywhere she looked she was assaulted by something to do with Christmas. Her mother had mentioned she had felt taken back as well by the celebration and how much effort people put in it across the world. What an understatement. She ended up filling half a journal with her notes and observations, regularly asking Dick for clarification. By the time they arrived at Wayne Manor, Fay had more questions than answers, and she had completely lost track of what she knew and what she did not. There was so much in terms of customs, rituals, folklore, and Fay wanted to know everything.

Santa Clause. Nativity. Christmas lights. Christmas trees. Christmas discounts. Mistletoe. Christmas food. Gift giving. Why did Santa Clause only have eight reindeers? Why reindeers in the first place? And if he is capable of such potent magic that he can bend time and space to his will, why travel in that manner? How is coal such a lousy present when there are far scarier punishments a naughty child could receive? Why does one country eat fried chicken for Christmas when it is a regular, if not a daily dish for others? How is an elf on a shelf scary? Rather disrespectful to their species if you asked her.  

Fay resigned herself to the idea that she will not get all her answers that day or even that Christmas. But she was glad she had the opportunity to experience that time of the year.  

December, however, had the potential to become a Bad Month. Or a month full of Bad Days, anyway.

Fay was bound to be thinking about her family very often between all the music, cheer, and family-based traditions that she kept witnessing.

And thus, she was bound to think what she could not have. Starting with the thought of how she would have loved to share all new experiences with her parents and Titoh.

December was going to be a painful month.

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7th of December

It is her birthday. The second one since her parents died.

Not necessarily a Bad Day. The nightmares were not worse than usual the night. Fay did not wake up feeling more anxious than usual or on the precipice of a panic attack.

Fay did not really feel anything out of ordinary, truth be told. She would lie if she said that, in the past, she has not looked forward to receiving gifts on her 'special day' or that she had not basked in the attention she received. However, her birthdays' highlights were always the way her family and family’s friends and closest allies would come together. The way her father would organize a unique scavenger hunt, the way her mother would sing her favorite melodies. The way her godfather would take her on a memorable trip or teach her something new or tell her stories. How on that day, her parents were hers and hers alone, away from any responsibilities that they had at any other time of the year.

They were also the days Fay would be reminded of who she was, of what was expected of her, but she had plenty to comfort herself with so she hadn’t paid much attention to it.

If she had known that her birthday, two years earlier, was the last she would experience such joy, Fay would have done more to ensure her final moments with her family were enjoyed to the fullest. Then again, if she had known what would take place weeks later, Fay would have done everything in her power to stop it. To warn everyone, at least.

(Not that she has not researched time travel.)

Her first birthday after her parent's death had felt like a punishment, not a celebration. The presents, the attention, her family overcompensating in their attempt to cover the hole that all the loss has carved in her heart. Fay appreciated their effort. She really did. But she had also felt angry. That they thought she would ever want to celebrate her birthday again, that they used 'your parents would have wanted this’ card. Maybe that is when the anger started developing first. She was not sure. But her birthday a year earlier had been one of the first instances in which she acknowledged she was furious.

The people who understood her the most were gone. Nothing was good enough. No one was good enough to take their place, as awful as that sounded.

So, that day, on her birthday, Fay felt nothing out of the ordinary. She did not feel blessed, she did not feel excited, she did not want presents or wishes of health and prosperity.

It was easier than last time. Because in that world, she was not the same Fay. Fay Kipling did not have to worry or hide from those wanting to celebrate her day. She never understood that part. If it's her day, why can't she be the one to choose how it should go by? Why was it wrong to just treat it as any other day? What was another year, really for her?

(Everything. And nothing.).

Fay woke up early. Damian had not come by in two days, and she had not seen him in three, not since she visited Wayne Manor. He was caught up in a new case, even though his injury hadn’t fully healed. So, that day, Fay agreed to help Dana for several hours, traveling with a few other volunteers in delivering 'care packages' in more impoverished neighborhoods. She and Bag were not alone in their journey as they paired up with Robby, taking one apartment block at a time, going back and forth between the residences and the vans Mack and other volunteers were driving. Over three hundred families were scheduled for a visit that day.

In her attempts to distract herself, Fay had ended up doing far more than just delivering packages. She ended up taking out the trash bags for the elderly couple on the third floor, helped tidy the apartment of another resident on the seventh floor as they have been experiencing difficulties doing so following an incident that left them temporarily bed-bound. Fay also ended up walking the small yet vivacious dog of a frazzled young mother while Robby fixed her kitchen sink. The dog turned out to be a demon in disguise. As soon as he managed to release himself out of his leash, he had forced Fay to chase him around for over twenty minutes.  

Bagheera would have helped, had not he been busy sulking that he had to wear a cap and vest to tone down his wolfish appearance. A couple of weeks earlier, Damian had smugly suggested they should just shave him entirely, which naturally led to a fight between boy and beast. Fay had walked away, not wanting to interfere in their destructive-yet-not-entirely-serious fight. Most of the furniture in the living area had been ruined, but the perks of being friends-not-friends with a billionaire were that everything had been replaced within twenty-four hours.

Shortly after lunch, Fay decided to challenge her newfound physical fitness by braving the urban landscape's obstacles in self-imposed timed errands for Dana. It had felt so damn good. It was almost like being back in the jungle, except instead of giants made of wood and vines, there were ones made of concrete and bricks and glass.

Vaulting, jumping, scaling, rolling, running. A healthier body allowed instincts and reflexes to take over, and her mind cleared. She felt free. Unencumbered. There was power in moving like that, and Fay had not realized how much she missed it, how much its loss had affected her until that moment.

In retrospect, she did get ahead of herself but a reckless thought had rooted in her mind.

What if, now that she is better, she could fly again?

What if something has changed because she too, has changed? Because she feels different than she did when she was in Maysoon.

What if she could once again be as free as a bird?

Fay often avoided thinking about flying just as she did about her parents, which was an easier feat in that world, seeing as there were no constant reminders (or people asking about it almost every damn day).

They were near the Soul Bowl, traversing from building to building. Low to mid-rise, they should not have been that much of a challenge, except she was drenched in sweat and out of breath. Fay ignored all that – stupidly so – and sprinted towards the end of the building she was on, with an unwarranted amount of confidence in thinking she will make it on the next one, despite the yawning gap between them. She could fly, she told herself. Whatever was broken in her that made flying an impossibility would finally mend, and she would find herself soaring through the air. How could she be wrong about it when she could feel it in her every fiber of being? That sense of anticipation, the lightness in her stomach.

Bagheera, to his credit, had projected his concern once he realized what her intention was but she didn’t stop.

They both jumped at the same time. Bagheera quickly made the jump over – it had to have been at least forty feet – while she…. ended up having a rather ungraceful and painful fall. There had been a moment, seconds at most when Fay really did feel like she could fly. She was up in the air, light as a feather and nothing below her feet. Fay was not high enough to have a panoramic view of the city, but she felt higher than most buildings nearby for a brief moment.

She did make it on the other side.

However, her joy was abruptly cut off when she realized she will not land properly – not a situation she has not been in before, truth be told –, slamming against the side of the building, hands instinctively grabbing onto the edge. It was a brief hold. Her hands slipped, and gravity pulled her down. Out of reflex, her hands flailed, trying to grab onto something – anything – that would stop her descending to the ground. The building was four floors high, and Fay did not think it would kill her, but her paladin would undoubtedly have to peel her broken body off the floor.

Lucky her, the air conditioner units that littered that side of the building had acted like a dampener. She lost count on how many she tried to grapple on, the constant drizzle turning the plastic into a slippery surface. Her descent slowed even as her body jostled all the way down before Fay finally ended inside a…. trash bin? She could swear that she had not been there before.

Fay coughed, then tried to take a few deep breaths in, but it made her body ache harder and her chest rattle. Bagheera jumped down from the roof onto the fire staircase, skipping two levels at a time so he could join her as soon as possible. He kept his distance, allowing her to pull herself on her feet, as slow as she did, his concern barely suppressed.

Her entire right shoulder ached, having landed at an odd angle on top of the trolley, and she could pinpoint the areas on her body where bruises were forming rapidly. Her right hand felt tender, I must’ve sprained it, and there was a superficial cut at the back of her head, enough to draw blood but not enough to warrant stitches. Probably. When she was finally up, legs shaking and her lunch threatening to leave the way it came down, Fay looked around blearily, in search of her backpack. Lord, her head felt like a drum, a beating sensation circling her head.

Fay did not become aware of the tall figure that appeared a few hundred behind her until she noticed Bagheera's soundless snarl and fur rising, his eyes moving past her.

"Looking for this?" The deep voice drawled, and she frowned, tensing up. Fay turned around and saw a man---tall, lean. Clad in a dark outfit, except for his shoes' red soles and the brown leather jacket. His dark hair was tousled, and despite the shadows casting over his figure, Fay could see that his eyes were blue. He stepped closer, looking unfazed by the wolf-like creature growling lowly at him. Warningly. He lifted one dark gloved hand, her backpack hanging from it by one of the straps. Fay did not move, glancing at the bag then at him apprehensively. Her instincts told her he was dangerous and Bagheera agreed with her, his emotions muted, reserved only for her.  

The man looked amused. "You're the girl who found George Sander's USB key." His head cocked slightly to the side. "You're baby bat's Rapunzel." His eyes blue eyes flitted over to Bagheera, who had stepped close to her side. "And that must be the big bad wolf."

Fay blinked, wondering if the man had all his mental faculties intact as she tried to make sense of his words.

Wait. Baby…bat? Was he referring to Batman? …. No. That did not make sense.

Damian. Was he referring to Damian? That did not make sense either. Damian was Robin. He did not even wear the Bat symbol, as far as she knew. 

Yet a funny - and utterly inappropriate image for that situation – was conjured by her mind. An angry little bat with green eyes.

Fay must have hit her head harder than she thought.

"…ba-baby bat?" She repeated. "I am sorry," Best to stay polite. "But, um, who are you? And…how do you know me?"

He stepped closer, his free hand raising in a placating manner towards her paladin, and then chucked her backpack. She caught it clumsily with her uninjured hand. "…no one important." His eyes fell to her wrist, which she kept pressed against her chest, trying to keep it elevated. Then he glanced up the building, assessing the height she fell from.

He looked so…nonchalant about the entire situation.

"That's a pretty nasty fall." He whistled. "Still, nice reflexes. You could have broken your neck or spine."

"…. Th-thank you?"

He pulled out a packet of cigarettes, and she watched, bewildered as he calmly took out one of the tobacco white sticks and then brought the orange part between his lips. Then he swiftly flicked a lighter open – when did he even move to get that? - and lit up the cigarette. "You should get that looked at, kid." He said simply. Fay nodded because she was not sure how else to react.

Bagheera grabbed her by the edge of her raincoat and tugged her away from the man. Fay followed her paladin's lead, but before they exited the alley, she glanced over her shoulder.

There was nobody there. The man had disappeared.

Fay did not go to the Soul Bowl to have lunch with Dana, in the end. Instead, she texted the woman and let her know she was heading home as she felt unwell. Twenty minutes later, a car came to pick them up a mile or so from where she had fallen. It was not until they were inside that she managed to shake off the feeling someone watched them. 

Damian was not going to be happy.

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I am on my way.

Damian clicked his teeth. When he had noticed the red dot speed up on the map, he had figured out she must have been running, seeing as she did not stick to the streets only. His first instinct was to assume she was being chased, but then she stopped at a print shop where she stayed for eleven minutes before resuming running back to where she came from. The Soul Bowl. So, she was running errands for Mercher and challenging her physically in the process.

He would give her credit for her determination, but Fay had a penchant for getting herself in trouble, and Gotham was a fertile ground for it.

Then the dot stopped suddenly. He waited. Several minutes forward, she did not move again, so he texted her. Fay did not answer. But she did start moving again, eventually, slower than before, and ultimately responded, telling him she was on her way. Fay called the private car hire company that he had put at her service (and was owned by Wayne Industries). Within forty-five minutes – traffic issues, he had deduced by the delayed lines of the vehicle on his navigator – Fay was dropped off in the Gotham neighborhood on that side of the river, a little over four miles away from the warehouse, built on the edge of the forest that characterized that side of the county.

The dot had started moving faster after that, so she was either running again or riding on Bagheera. Given it took her less than fifteen minutes to get there, it had to be the latter. Damian was waiting for her by the entrance, ready to point out how silly it was. She insisted on roaming around in the cold, wet weather on foot all the time when she had the luxury of using a personal driver. If she admitted to it, maybe he will take her to that Christmas exhibit, finally seeing as they did not get a chance yet.

Except, his words died in his mouth as soon as she stepped through the door. That she was drenched, from head to toe, was no surprise. The constant drizzle of that morning had mutated into a pelting rain in the last hour or so. With the frigid temperatures at night, recently going below zero, frost had started to settle in the wet, dry ground, and he had increased the power of the heat radiators in the warehouse, seeing as Fay did not do it. She could be a proud thing, not wanting to admit she had no idea how.

Fay was limping, face pinched in pain. Her right wrist was pressed against her chest; it looked swollen. There was a bruise forming on her left cheekbone as well, and her gaze was slightly unfocused.

"What the hell happened?" He nothing short of growled, his temper flaring immediately.

"Um…. I fell off a building." There was something unfortunate on her expression that day, her eyes rimmed red. Was it a Bad Day? If so, why didn't she tell him?

"You fell off a building." He repeated tightly. She had been using them as an obstacle course, as he suspected, then.

Fay looked down with a disappointed expression. There was anger, too, faintly so etched on her features.

Damian sighed. "Get changed, and I will have a look at your hand."

"That's ---actually, there's another wound," Fay muttered, turning slightly to the side and pulling down her hood. Her hair was damp, but a spot in the parietal zone looked red: a small thin line, no longer than three inches at most.

Idiot.

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One warm shower and fresh, dry attire later, Fay was sitting cross-legged on her bed with Damian behind her as he disinfected the wound, then pressed a plastic bag filled with ice. Her right hand had been bandaged and was resting atop of a pillow on her lap, another bag of ice wrapped in a cloth and pressed against it. The tenderness had faltered after she showered and took a few anti-inflammatory pills, but she was bruised in at least seven different places across her body. She wasn't worried--she'll heal.

Damian had barely talked to her except to chastise her and command her to sit down so he could look at her injuries. Fay could feel his irritation even if she could not see his face. Pip had settled near them, noisily munching on a bone she had never seen before but suspected it had been brought over by Damian. She never saw him do it, but he always brought treats for everyone. A few times, she had caught Bagheera with apples as well, but she never asked, knowing the two would have denied it ferociously.

It was sweet, though.

Her paladin had stayed on the floor, keeping close to the radiator while Nada used him as a pillow. Hector was busy climbing on her shelves. 

"What exactly made you think it would be a good idea to jump from a building in your current state?" Damian asked gruffly, close enough that she could feel his knees against her back. She was not bothered by his proximity as she once would have been. Fay admitted to him that she had gotten ahead of herself because she did feel better than she had in months. 

"If the running exercises on the property are not sufficient, we can amend them." Right. Like he has amended her physical training. Fay now had at least three hours of exercise each day, with only one hour of cardio. The others were spent doing strength exercises that felt – shamefully so – more taxing than they should be. He did not supervise her all the time, to her relief, because whenever he did, the session was awkward, and she would end up behaving in the clumsiest manner. Fay has never dealt well with being watched by others.

"It's not that." She mumbled. "I didn't…plan it. I just felt like—doing it at the moment." Today was her birthday. And she could not fly anymore, still. The entire day there had been a crushing feeling in her chest, like an invisible weight pressing down on her. Running had been the only thing that alleviated that. 

It was psychological, the healers had told her. Why could she no longer fly. Physical, there was nothing wrong with her. Then again, her ability to fly had always been unique---an ability she had valued incredibly much because it made her stand out from her parents. She may not have mastered flying within a battle context, but she had been good at it. As easy as breathing.

Fay had not talked to anyone about how losing that ability made her feel. She never thought it was possible for her to lose that ability. Her family had tried to comfort her by saying that she will eventually regain it 'when she was better'. Fay did not think they believed that, so she had not felt consoled by their words. Titoh had felt sorry too, but he never understood what it felt like---being a bird with broken wings.

Damian would not either, but the words tumbled out of her mouth, either way, now that the crushing weight was back.

"I used to…be able to fly." She drew in a shaky breath. "That's why my mother named me Fay. Because---Because I was able to fly at an early age." Before she could walk, actually.

Fay could not tell what Damian’s reaction was. It was best that way. She found it easier to talk if she did not have to look at him.

"What changed?" He asked, shifting the bag of ice away from her head. She did not turn around, and he did not make her.

Fay bit the inside of her cheek, her mouth doing a funny thing as she tried to control her emotions "…I don't know." She swallowed against the tight vice of emotions wrapping itself around her throat. "Nobody does. It is not an ability…that many have. At least not as early as I did. The healers said…" That she is broken. Not to her face, but to her uncle. She had heard them anyway. Their expressions also betrayed their thoughts at times. "…that it was in my mind. Because of what happened."

"You've attempted to fly today." He concluded. "Have you tested it out before?"

Fay nodded curtly. "…it doesn't work. I---I do not understand why." A few tears slid down her face. She saw Bagheera tilt his head in her direction, but she did not meet his gaze. "It was always so…easy. I did not have to think about it most of the time. I thought maybe…. something changed. I, um…. I was wrong." She licked her chapped lips, mouth feeling parched. "I did feel…faster than usual. And it was easier to move around."

Damian did not respond immediately after, but she had a feeling he was scrutinizing her even if he could not see her face.

"I could fly once." Her heart jumped. "Temporarily so, unfortunately." Was he tugging at her hair? It felt like it. Fay did not pay much attention to it, taken back by his confession. "I was not born with it, but I may have as well been. It was never an ability I had necessarily coveted as there are plenty of ways to take flight, to battle in the air. It was a…liberating experience, being able to experience freedom without any external support. Without needing to rely on anything but the mental command to do so." He paused, then much quieter, he added, "There’s power in that, not just freedom."

He…. understood?

Him? Out of all people.

It was always him, though, wasn't it? 

Fay released her breath, realizing she had been holding it. She wanted to ask how come he had the temporary ability to fly but for the time being, it did not matter. Because she had admitted to something she had not dared express out loud to anyone else, not even Bagheera, and he had not treated her condescendingly or with pity. He did not blame her, either. Because he understood.

Some of the weight on her chest was lifted, and she breathed deeply, feeling uncharacteristic…pleased.

"After what happened." He repeated her words. "…. will you tell me about it?"

Damian was perfectly capable of behaving in a domineering, borderline aggressive manner. Yet he had given her the space to mull over his implicit offer to open up about the source of her nightmares after being honest about his own upbringing. Fay had been torn between hoping he will not bring it up again and wanting to tell him. Lately, she has been battling the desire to tell him more and more about what she kept hidden in her heart.

What a dangerous feeling.

"…. I do not remember much." She breathed. It was rather anticlimactic how easily the words came pouring out. That wretched sense of hope had reached unprecedented highs. "My memories are… there's something wrong with them. I can't ---remember the order of…how things took place or…um, the ending. I-I am missing parts--of what happened." Fay shifted the bag of ice away from her hand and flexed her fingers. It felt better.

"Maysoon was attacked." She said, after a moment of silence. "Almost…. two years ago. It was…. unexpected. And---and…. insane." Because she had no other word for it. It still did not make sense to her what happened. "Maysoon is a fortress. One of the…. safest places I can think of." Or was, anyway. "It is a sanctuary and um, a—a safe haven for many. It was not always like that, but….it was to me, growing up. It is proof that the world…can change. For the better." Her chin trembled, and she stopped.

Another tug on her hair. The strands reached past her shoulders now, but they were not long enough to be within his reach. Which meant he was purposefully touching it. The gesture did not bring any flashbacks or negative memories. Because it was him. 

"…People died." Understatement of the year. "Thousands." She fidgeted with the ice cubes through the plastic, breaking easily those that was half-melted. "I remember…parts of it. And they are all…" She is not sure if there is a word fit to encompass the horror she had felt that night. In any of the languages she knows. "…none of it makes sense." She said instead. "I am not sure…what was real and what wasn’t. It is…worse when I have dreams about it. Some of them seem too…. horrible to be true, but um, I think--I think they were real."

"Who perpetrated the attack?"

Fay shrugged lightly. "Nobody…knows. They all just—blame one another. Many agree that it was…. the Vontagor Empire. Because that territory is historically…violent. And um, the ruler openly supported the old regime. But---um, there is no proof they did so. There is—there is a lot of tension right now. Or was when I left anyway." Fay had left a letter for her family in which she explained that she chose to leave, afraid wild assumptions might be made if she disappeared suddenly. The seal and code she used should have been enough to let her uncle know it was a genuine message and that she had not been kidnapped. 

"Your parents died that night."

"…yes."

"Do you remember how?" He asked quietly.

An invisible knife twisted itself in her heart. "…no. Sometimes---I think I do. But, um, no." Fay had not dared look at their bodies during the ceremony that took place after. She had not been present there, mentally speaking, so her memory of it was fuzzy, as well. She rarely ever visited the mausoleum, finding it unbearable.

Fay had spent many months in denial, refusing to accept that they were dead. How could anyone, considering the type of people they have been? In her opinion, it was a great offense to accept it so easily. Maybe that is precisely when her anger had started. The moment she had to watch and hear people move on.

"Can you recall what you were dreaming of last time? You were speaking in a language, presumably your native one." He did not tell her that he found it intriguing when she spoke in that language. When she spoke in English her accent was light, but it could not be attributed to any single language in that world. When she was distraught, she tended to communicate faster and cut her words shorter. Her broken sentences had to be partly due to English not being her native language, but when she was calm or focused, Fay was rather eloquent. Reading as much as she did had endowed her with an impressive vocabulary even if she was not of that world.  Her fluency was impressive. After that many months there, she had even started to adopt an American accent when pronouncing certain words.

"Oh. Yeah. It would have been." She reached to wipe at her cheeks. Fay no longer felt like crying. She shifted slightly, her legs starting to go numb, and she turned around to lean on the pillows pressed against the headboard. It was not comfortable, though, because her back was badly bruised, so she found herself locking up, not sure how to sit best.

"Lie down. You need to keep your body straight." He instructed, and she found herself doing just that, a pillow tucked under her head. Fay was ready to protest because she felt too vulnerable in that position, but Damian surprised her – again – by adopting a similar stance next to her. In that manner, they were both staring at the ceiling above them, shoulders barely brushing. A stabbing pain traveled from her hips up to her spine and shoulders, but it faltered, and soon, Fay relaxed.  

The silence was strange but not unwelcomed.

"I dreamt of my mother." She murmured. "I was…trying to run to her, but um, there were…people stopping me. They were dead. I had---I had no voice and…. I could not fight them."

He made a sound at the back of his throat. "Explains why you tried to take my head off several times." He took everything in stride.

There was an indescribable feeling in her chest, a sense of surrealism that the boy with green eyes that had been terrorizing her thoughts for weeks was the same one laying down next to her. The same one she was spilling her secrets to.

And she wasn’t regretting it.

"Damian?"

"Hn."

"…they don't go away, do they? The nightmares."

"No." He said simply. Damian was not going to sugar coat it. "You just learn to live with them."

"My…father used to say that," Fay murmured. "…I guess I haven't learned how."

Damian snorted. "And what exactly do you think you have been doing until now?"

Fay blinked, her head turning towards him even if it made the small wound on her head brush uncomfortably against the pillow. "…What?"

He had closed his eyes, hands intertwined over his abdomen. "You said you are struggling with facing your fears, overcoming your pain. That you tried and failed. That you are too weak to try again." He paused, barely giving her enough time to remember when she told him such things. "But in reality, you have simply become accustomed to thinking that way."

"I am…not sure I understand."

She swore he rolled his eyes even when he kept them closed.

"You live with your nightmares and anxiety every day. It is crippling you but only because you allow it. Because you want and think you deserve it. You feel guilty about your parent's death and that you are alive when others have died. However, you are still here, are you not? You may not think you deserve to be here, but you still wish to make a difference for others." Lids parted open halfway and tilting his head slightly towards her, his eyes met hers. His expression was unreadable, but his tone nonetheless remained confident.

Fay felt dizzy even though she was lying down. Was he saying…what she thought he was? 

"In this world alone, you have adapted to a set of circumstances and challenges that others far more knowledgeable would have not survived. The past several weeks, you have been focusing on improving your health, and you have been training your use of the flux extensively, even if it has caused you side effects. Today alone, you have risked breaking your neck to test your limits." He raised a brow. "What do you think that says about you?"

She stared, speechless.

"This sense of guilt is not of your own making only, is it?"

Fay's breath felt ragged. She could not speak, but her silence was an answer again.

"That is where your failure lies." He said firmly. "You are giving power to the imbeciles, including your family for thinking that your anger is something that should be ignored. That because you've lost control, you'll never regain it and that it defines you."

"But—but---I---"

"Would you doubt my assessment?" He interrupted, looking at her challengingly. "Given what I've told you---about who I was raised to be---do you think I would assess your character recklessly?" Damian Wayne was raised to be an assassin. He was born and bred to be a warrior. Like her, but not like her at the same time. Because he was successful at it. He excelled. If he had been in her world, Fay suspected he would have an easier time overcoming the trials she had to face.

Yet there he was. Telling her...what exactly was he saying?

"You are perfectly capable of standing up on your own two feet, even with that ridiculous amount of shame you chose to carry. Acknowledging your anger is what has allowed you to fight the chimeras and you did so successfully while severely disadvantaged." He turned his head away from her, looking back at the ceiling. "So, why do you keep insisting on seeing your anger as a negative force simply because of others?"

"…Because I---I can't control it. And it's not just my-my anger. I--I failed at so much--."

"In your world, you have. Not in this one." 

Fay redirected her eyes to the ceiling, the desire to cry coming back full force.

"What…. if you are wrong?"

"—Tt—I am not wrong." He hissed, scandalized. "My conclusions are based on months of observation and empirical evidence."

And left it at that.

Silence enveloped them as Fay tried to process his words. If she started crying again as she was doing so, he pretended he did not notice.

Today was her birthday.

Damian had no idea; it would not have been possible for him to know. Fay Kipling's date of birth was in summer, and she never had it changed because she had not cared to do so. But in that harsh assessment of his, he had managed to give her so much more than she wanted. Something no one had been able to do until now, not with that level of conviction.

Without explicitly saying it, Damian had told her she was strong. Not in the way he is or how Maysoon wanted her to be. 

But he did not consider her broken or hopeless. 

Thank you.

.

Fay fell asleep. When she woke up near midnight, Damian was gone, likely out on patrol. She had completely forgotten to tell him about the strange man in the alleyway.

As it turns out, they did know each other. Because at the crack of dawn, Damian had rudely woken her up, shaking her with such urgency that it made her wonder if the warehouse was on fire. Still dressed in his Robin outfit, he interrogated her on what the man said and did, reminding her of how Dana acted whenever she was worried. Fay offered him as much detail as she could, but there was barely any given how brief her encounter had been with the man.

Then Damian tutted and told her that she needs to be more careful. To let him know if it happens again.

"But, um, you know him?" She asked, feeling drowsy still. "He knew about the USB key."

Damian scoffed as he peeled his mask away from his face. "I would not call him an ally, but he can be useful." Then he looked at her dead in the eye. "He's dangerous."

So is he. And yet, there they are.

Fay stopped him right before he exited her room, feeling a sliver of mischief. "Are you…baby bat?" Since he woke her up, and all that.

The boy froze. His hand twitched by his side. "If you ever say that again, I will stab you." Her lips twitched, not believing his threat for a second. Oh, how things have changed. Bagheera chortled loudly, his amusement projecting strong enough to reach them both even if he was standing a few feet away.

"The man said I must be…baby bat's Rapunzel." She pursued her lips. "What does that mean?"

The darkness of the room masked Damian’s expression. But the paladin still felt the boy's emotions very clearly. 

"Nothing." He said through gritted teeth. "He's insane. Do not pay any mind to his babbling." With that, he walked out of the room.

Stormed, really.

Fay glanced at her paladin. "Maybe I should research this Rapunzel, hm, Bag?" If he could have, her paladin would have smiled widely. Fay ended up spending a couple of hours researching the Brothers Grimm – ordering their entire collection of stories in the process – and the fairy tale of Rapunzel. She ended up reading the plot out loud to her paladin.

She giggled louder than she should have. Damian must've heard her.

Because the next day, he added two hours to her training, and by the time they were done, she could barely walk.

Tyrant.

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12th of December

On her next Bad Day, Damian gave her music back. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Music has always been within her reach.

Two days earlier, they had gone to the Science Museum to the new art exhibit. It was centered on winter wildlife, and Fay had enjoyed it tremendously, especially since they have gone after hours so it was quiet. On their way back to the warehouse, Fay had watched a group of people stand in a nearby plaza, singing carols despite the cold weather. The songs were beautiful. She had recognized one of them.

Silent Night. Fay did not know that it was a song specific to that celebration, only that it was one of the many songs her mother had heard during her travels to that world. But that song had been sung to her many times, growing up. A different version, perhaps but indubitably the same melody. Fay had not cried, as she expected she would, but she did spend the entire car ride back silent. At the warehouse, Damian ultimately asked her if she recognized it, deducing one of her parents must have passed their knowledge of it too.

Clearly making a habit out of it, Fay opened up to him. Not entirely because there were still things she could not talk about, but she did tell him of her mother's adoration for music. How incredible her voice was and how much she loved to sing. Her mother had loved the music of that world regardless of how outlandish it may have come across to others. Fay had records that her mother had collected, still.

Classical music. Blues. Jazz. Rock. Such strange names, but what fascinating, incredible art they all represented.

After her mother's death, music became a taboo of sorts. Her family did not speak of it, and they rarely listened to music. They have never loved it in the manner her mother did, and even less so 'outsider' music. Her father was not a singer, but he could play a wide range of instruments, including the piano. Fay, herself, had never inherited the talent despite both of her parent's affinity for music. That she found it hard to listen to music after they did was implicit. Damian had not reacted in any particular manner, just nodding and then walking away.

Talking about her mother in such detail had made Fay feel nostalgic for the days to come, and she found herself in an incredibly low mood. Not the worst Bad Day she had, but she had struggled to get out of bed. To eat. And she had obsessively thought about how she will never hear her mother's voice again if she never made it back to Maysoon.

For the first time in months, Fay wishes she had that access even if she did not dare to listen to those records before when she had.

Around midday, when she got up to take a painkiller for her headache, Fay found a rectangular, white device on her nightstand, with two long strings attached to it. Earphones. She recognized the device's meaning even if she had no name for it, and after fiddling with it for a few minutes, the noise had started playing in the earphones. Shakily, heart beating a mile a minute, she had plugged the tiny buds in her ears.

Music.

It used to permeate her life before. She never inherited the talent for it, but oh, how her mother would sing. How she would move around, barefoot, and wild and unashamed. How her father could play with such ease that she always admired and envied simultaneously. Music had felt powerful then. Magnificent and enrapturing. It was love and safety and laughter and the promise for adventure. She could have eaten it and drunk it and bathed in it.

It was everything.

Then the world went silent, a silence so deafening that it made her wonder if that was just another form of torture. It had to be. There were records of her parents' music, but she could not even bear to look, let alone play them. The darkness would eat it all away, anyway. Music was not forbidden in her household, but it did become a taboo. Not all music per se, just the one that belonged to them. However, it was tough listening to other music when theirs had done such an excellent job at speaking to the hearts of so many.

The healers did not attempt to use music to soothe her, her uncle did not even want to speak about it, and Fay had considered herself better without it. There were enough reminders as it was.

The curiosity resurfaced after she arrived in that world. There were so many other types of music that her mother had not told her about, or perhaps she had not been aware of herself. Like the songs Mack sometimes listened to in the kitchen. Country music, he called it. Dana preferred the radio while driving, but Robby would immediately change it to his personalized playlist the moment he would get in the car. 'Hip-hop', he called it. R and something else was another type, or something like that.

How exciting that music was to her ears. But she would only manage to listen to a few songs before her mind would wander off, inevitably thinking about what her mother would say if she heard it. She would probably like it. Would she dance to it? Definitely. Would her father enjoy it? Maybe. He would have encouraged her mother all the same. Would Titoh? Yes, he would too. Especially given he did have a talent for music.

Her father would have liked the music that played in her ears at that moment. Classical, soothing. Violins and pianos and cellos. Slow tempos and regular rhythms, low pitches, and tranquil melodies. When she closed her eyes, she could see him stand beside her in front of the piano, his long fingers moving over the keys in a dizzying manner. She could never join in playing, but just leaning against his solid frame, inhaling his scent, and listening to the rich tunes, had been enough. The world around them disappeared entirely in those moments.  

The nightmares did not magically go away that night.

But her anxiety faltered, and her heartbeat slowed, and when she next dreamt of dead bodies and blood-curdling screams and red skies, they were no longer as loud. The music was there, grounding her, enveloping her in an imaginary shield---casting a protective shell made of musical notes - and she dreamt of being back in her mother's botanic garden.

In those dreams, Fay was flying again.

Notes:

One more chapter after this, before we get to meet Daphne Barlow, folks! Thank you all for reading so far and I hope you've enjoyed the latest chapters. As I move forward, more and more characters' perspective will be introduced but I have wanted to take my time with building Damian and Fay's bond.

Chapter 22: Of chance encounters, presents and inspiration

Notes:

Beta-Reader: AegyoButPsycho

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"To be inspired is great, 

But to inspire is an honor." 

 - Stacey T. Hunt

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15th of December 

Cora Montgomery was not like most children that attended Gotham Academy. For one, her family was not wealthy, as in, not at all. Her mother, Olivia Montgomery, died when she was very young because of cancer. Cora did not remember her very well, but pictures informed her that she took after her mother in looks. The curly, blond hair and pale complexion. It was from her father that she received her blue eyes, however. 

Clive Montgomery had raised her alone since she was four years old, and if you asked Cora, she would have said he is a good father. 

Except that sometimes – most times – he is hopeless. Clive lost his job not long after her mother's death, and it had been only a matter of time before their savings were gone, and they were up to their necks in debt. They moved from their lovely house in Bludhaven to a much smaller one in central Gotham. Their time there did not last long, seeing as they fell behind on their rent soon after. They slept in the car for a while. Her father always spent every penny he had to make sure Cora could still attend school, even if sometimes her clothes were not always clean, and she rarely ever had the materials she needed. 

He could not hold down a steady job, and his reliance on alcohol had intensified as the years went by. Sometimes he yelled at her. But he never beat her.

Her father reached rock bottom a year earlier when he had gotten involved with the wrong crowd, leading to scary men with guns to harass them. Clive was lucky that those men, who apparently had worked for an even scarier man, were put away by Batman. After that, he decided to change his habits and started attending Alcoholics Anonymous. 

A few months later, her father had finally managed to secure a job – it was a simple and modestly paid role. A permanent contract, with benefits, included. Best job he has had in years, her father's words. For a cleaning company that was also used by Gotham Academy.

Cora only attended the Academy because of a scholarship which, unfortunately, was not always enough to cover all the expenses. Her uniform alone cost more than what her father made in a month. But Clive wanted his daughter to have a chance at a better future, so he made sure that she would keep on attending. So much so that he would take on odd jobs in addition to his cleaning one. 

The fact that her father was a cleaner became well known within weeks of her being there. It was all thanks to Julia and her lackeys, but what could Cora do? She was the underdog. Not everyone at the Academy was as bad as them, as evidenced that Cora did not always have to sit alone at lunch. But she did not have friends, per se. 

It was ironic then that she had been kidnapped with all the other children seeing as she was nobody compared to them. After Nightwing found them in that forest, scared and cold, he had led them towards the first responders located not too far from the hiking trail. Her father was not there. The Academy had only contacted the parents of the wealthier children only. It was not until several hours later, while at the hospital, that her father had finally shown up, scared out of his wits and looking as if he had seen a ghost. Cora had no injuries, but she had been shaken by the entire event, justifiably so. 

She did not sleep for days after that, too plagued by the nightmares. Unlike other peers who have been in her situation, she had not talked about it even when she returned to the Academy. Cora saw no reason to brag about it or keep alive the discussion around it, as some children have done. 

The counselor that was assigned to her was friendly. Cora had trouble trusting most adults at the school, now, though. How easy had it been for those criminals to infiltrate and kidnap them? Scary. And then there was the matter of the girl she saw that night. Fay. She did not come back to school, and when Cora had asked around, nobody knew who she was. The dean refused to tell her on the basis that it was confidential. After all, not all students have returned to Gotham Academy after what happened. 

So, maybe that was the case with her. 

Or maybe not. 

Fay had been rather strange. She had looked incredibly nervous that night on Halloween, which is why Cora had approached her in the first place. She recognized awkwardness when she saw it. Fay came across as somewhat shy, which only egged Cora further on because generally, people at the Academy just stared at her with disdain or indifference or lost their interest quickly. Not everyone, but still. Enough people. 

Then the woman showed, and everything after was a blur. Fay had not been with them in the cell, though, when Cora woke up. Not in the beginning. 

Maybe Fay was particularly important, then. Cora had been relieved to see her, though. The girl did not look as shaken as everyone else, nor did she start crying, but she was even quieter than before.

Then Robin and the wolf showed up, and Cora lost track of Fay in the chaos that followed. They were forced back into the bunker, and she did not think much of where Fay was, given how terrifying the noises from above their heads were. She did not find Fay until later when Robin had told them to follow the wolf into the forest. 

Fay had looked wounded, exhausted and her hands--her hands were covered in blood. Cora had stuck close to her because she didn't really know any of the other children. They had not walked far, but it was cold, and it was dark, and they had been stripped to the bare minimum of clothing, likely so they could not hide any cell phones on them. Then the wolf, whose origin was still a mystery, had turned back and left them standing alone in that field. 

After Fay pointed to the sign showing the hiking trail on the other side, Cora lost track of her again in the agitated mass of children as they all started running towards it. Cora did call out for her. No response. When Nightwing and Red Robin found them, Cora had found it difficult to tell them about Fay as everyone rushed to them. But she did tell the authorities that someone was missing, except she did not have much detail to offer about Fay. A dark-haired girl, around her age, dressed in regular clothes. Not much to go on. 

Cora never saw her after. But she had been reassured that all kidnapped children were safe and sound. 

She was not convinced, but alas, the weeks went by, and Fay remained a ghost. 

Until that day. 

The annual Christmas Market in the Dion Plaza was a tradition in her family of two. Cora and her father always attended, even if they did not always have money to spend on decorations or sweet treats. The skating rink set up in the middle was cheap, only five dollars for three hours. Her father always found a way of paying, and they would spend the day skating together. That year, he had not been able to join her. He was not well enough. Instead, he watched from the sides as she skated around for a couple of hours before they ventured through the stalls piled up with carefully handcrafted gifts, from wooden toys to candles, ceramics, and music boxes. The frosty breeze carried around the scent of cinnamon and fresh dough, as kiosks catered all kinds of European desserts such as crepes. Christmas carols were just loud enough to cover the chatter of the throngs of people moving about, from stall to stall, either for samples of food or to gaze at the objects on sale. 

Her father had stepped aside momentarily to take a phone call from work, and Cora had been left near a stall filled with finely crafted, hand-enameled wooden figurines from Christmas folklore. Nutcrackers, Santa Clause, reindeers, the Yule lads, snowmen, the Grinch. They were beautiful but too expensive, unfortunately.

As she was studying a figure of Rudolph, she spotted a familiar dark brunette on the other corner of the stand. 

Fay looked different. Almost unrecognizable, especially since she was smiling. Not widely so, but she did not look anxious or scared. Cora stared, wondering for a second if it was really her, but when the girl reached to scratch her nose, there was no doubt. She had done the exact gesture, several times, that night on Halloween. Fay was dressed expensively, just like the other girls at Gotham Academy, albeit nowhere as flashy. A navy dark coat with a maroon cashmere scarf that matched her beanie and gloves.

Fay was not alone. A boy was standing next to her, looking neither friendly nor happy to be there. His frown made him stand out amongst the cheerful men and women around him. He was dressed in branded clothes as well, the collar of his dark jacket pulled high to his chin, but his head left uncovered, dark hair styled upwards while his sides were cut shorter. He did not attend Gotham Academy, but Cora recognized him all the same. People talked about him all the time at school, especially whenever they would be invited to participate in the exclusive parties his family organized. 

It was Damian Wayne. 

One of the stall owners handed Fay a relatively large bag. It looked heavy. Fay smiled politely at the man and bowed her head slightly as she accepted it. That is when she noticed Cora staring. Fay looked confused initially, then her eyes widened in recognition. 

Cora awkwardly raised a hand. "Hey, Fay." She tried not to flinch when Damian's gaze fell on her because he looked at her as if she were one of Voldemorts' acolytes. Except instead of being terrified, he looked as if he wanted to hex her. Was Fay really friends with him? Cora heard that he is somewhat antisocial and rarely ever talked to other children whenever he did make a public appearance. Too much of a genius, some envious voices had said. Others, like Julia, saw him as 'misunderstood' and 'a dark prince'. Cora did not understand the appeal, although the rumors did not exaggerate his good looks. Then again, who wasn't super handsome in the Wayne family? They all won the genetic lottery, in addition to being super-duper rich. 

Cora approached them tentatively, keeping her gaze on Fay rather than the boy because at least the girl now looked as nervous as she felt too. "I am so happy you're okay!" Cora smiled brightly. "I didn't know what happened to you. I did not see you at all after the forest. How come you never came back to the Academy?" She chuckled nervously. "Sorry, maybe that's a personal question." 

"It is." Damian snarked. "Who are you?" 

Cora frowned at him. How rude. "My name is Cora Montgomery. And you are Damian Wayne." He did not look fazed. Just annoyed by her presence. Cute or not, he seemed just as arrogant like the other boys at school. She turned her eyes to Fay, who looked unsurprised by his behavior. "I didn't mean to interrupt anything. I thought maybe…we could talk? If you wanted to." 

The boy opened his mouth, ready to answer instead of his companion, but Fay beat him to it, stepping forward. "I can't, right now. But---" She smiled a little. It was genuine. Kind, too. "I am glad you are alright as well, Cora." Cora did not give up that easily. Instead, she gave the girl her phone number and asked for Fay's in return. The dark-haired girl had shyly done so.  

Then the boy tugged her away with a gruff 'let's go', which Cora found rather annoying. Was he always mean like that? He and Fay were obviously close if they were out there shopping together. Maybe…they were boyfriend and girlfriend? Oh wow. Cora was willing to bet the girls at the Academy would have a cow about it (not that she'd ever tell anyone). 

Fay stopped when she was only a foot away, however, releasing her hand from his grip so she could walk back to Cora. She rummaged through one of the bags before pulling out an object. It was wrapped up in paper, so Cora could not see what it was, but she accepted the package handed to her. The item inside was hard, likely made of wood and of separate parts put together. Easily double the length of her palm.   

The blond stared at it bewildered, then at the girl whose cheeks have turned slightly red. She was smiling, a bit wider than before. Her eyes were kind too, if only a bit sad. Her father smiled like that too, whenever he talked about Cora's mother. 

"Merry Christmas." Then Fay bowed her head slightly just as she did with the shop owner before turning around on her feet to return to the boy's side. They both disappeared down the street amongst the shoppers. 

Cora unwrapped the package and saw that it was a nutcracker. Beautifully handcrafted and painted in bright colors. Cora glanced at the kiosk and saw other nutcrackers that looked just like hers. They were at least fifty dollars; she would have never been able to afford one. Even if she did, it would have felt like a waste when they needed the money for more important things. If Fay was rich, then the cost would have hardly mattered to her. 

But she did not have to give it to Cora. 

Cora decided she liked Fay at that moment.

And hoped that was not the last time they saw each other.

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25th of December

Christmas Eve had primarily been about hunting down the Krampus-inspired killer that had already kidnapped and mutilated several victims. There was no actual mythological beast behind it all. Just a mad man whose family had been killed on Christmas Eve, five years earlier by a crime gang calling themselves the Iron Heads. What a ridiculous name. Not as absurd as their outfits, though. Damian would not say he was sorry about any of their deaths, but Krampus, unlike Batman, was driven by vengeance. And, of course, his father was particularly unhappy about it all. 

Paul King, however, was craftier than one would have assumed for an accountant, and he also had a surprising number of resources. No wonder he has waited a year—King has been planning meticulously how he will take the Iron Heads down. They did catch him a few hours past midnight, right before he could kill the gang's leader and closest of his acolytes. He had every intention of dipping them in hot wax and leaving them to suffer until they died. 

He did not regret any of his actions, and he had been fully committed to blowing the building; they found him with himself inside. King saw suicide as a fitting ending after he has achieved his vendetta. Batman talked him out of it. Damian had not intervened, just watching, surprised as his father rationalized with the madman, pointing out that his family would have not wanted him to be in that position. Or to see him dead. He did have to pay for his actions, regardless of the Iron Heads being far worse criminals than him. 

There will always be people like them, especially in Gotham. 

King had blamed Batman. If the Dark Knight had done a better job, then perhaps his family would be alive. Damian did not often hear his father admit to his shortcomings. Especially not to a criminal. Not in the most obvious way, but he knew his father well enough to detect the undertones in his otherwise calm, deep voice. That night, Batman did not beat King to a pulp to bring him to justice. He had talked down the man into giving himself in. Gordon arrested him a few minutes later, along with the Iron Heads leader and his acolytes. 

"He'll be sentenced to life prison given his premeditated murders, but prisons in Gotham are overpopulated and underfunded. There is a chance he will either be released early or transferred to a prison, where he might escape." Damian remarked, interrupting the silence that permeated the car as they headed back to the Manor. "Comparatively, he would have died happier than he'll be in the future." 

Bruce did not say anything, his expression inscrutable underneath the cowl. "Do you think it would have been better to let him kill himself?" Damian did not really care either. He was interested in the logic behind his father's actions. "My point is that either way, he's screwed. But in prison, he will have to live with the death of his family. He could commit suicide there or go mad and kill others." 

"Or," Bruce started. "He will spend just enough time to reflect on his actions and turn his life around. If he wants to die, then he will find a way either way." It was not guaranteed time in prison will not turn him mad enough to go after other people if he ever escaped or was released. Damian understood what his father was trying to say, even if he did not fully agree with it. By letting King kill himself, it robbed him of the opportunity to change himself. Just as the man could turn out to be worse than he is now, there was also the chance of him turning better. 

He wondered if that's how warriors operated in Fay's world, as well. Most of them organized themselves in guilds, not unlike the way vigilantes in that world worked as part of a group with a common goal. Not unlike all those who choose to wear the Bat-signal. Damian made a mental note to ask her more about it. 

Christmas Day at the Wayne Manor could not have been passed as normal by any person's standard. Not given the people's background and jobs that attended for the late Lunch that Alfred had prepared. There were decorations, however, all around the manor. A large, freshly cut pine tree was positioned in the main seating area, complete with presents under it. His father's attempt at making them behave like a family, he supposes. He did seem to have a great fondness for that particular holiday. 

It was not…completely intolerable. Brown was annoying, but she was bearable compared to Drake, whom Damian could have quickly done without that night. Cassandra was not available to attend, which was a shame. Dick was there, if only just for lunch and to exchange presents, as he had promised he would spend the afternoon with Starfire. Gordon had sent her presents but was otherwise spending her day with her family as well. Todd never showed. For the best, seeing as Damian was still annoyed about how he had approached Fay. He had been curious, clearly but Damian doesn't think he would actually hurt her. 

"Hey, gremlin," Stephanie smiled cheerfully, leaning over the back of the armchair he was laying across, staring at his phone. He did not deign her with an answer, much less his attention. Earlier, he had committed the mistake of tasting her 'special' hot chocolate. It was abhorrent given how much cinnamon it had. 

Fay would have liked it, what with her equally ridiculous sweet tooth.

The blond tried to snatch his phone, but he moved it out of her way. Too slow, obviously. "Girl blunder." He sneered. "Don't you have somewhere to be? Maybe a new serenade to this years' tree?" The year, the blond had drunk too much of Alfred's eggnog in which Damian may or may have not poured some additional rum in it knowing it will be her choice of beverage for the day. Then he watched her make an idiot out of herself. It was rather entertaining.

Shame she didn't take the bait anymore that year. 

The monkey was learning. 

"Don't you?" She quipped, a shit-eating grin on her face, although the skin under her cheek twitched slightly at the reminder of last year's concert she put on. "Did you get anything nice for your friend?" 

Damian's eyes narrowed at her. "Why is it any of your business?" 

"So, you did, huh?" He was not going to play such infantile games with her. With an unreadable expression, he returned his attention to the phone. Or that had been the intention. Brown squeezed herself on his chair, squishing him between her body and the chair. Her perfume, not entirely unpleasant, was tainted by the scent of cinnamon and alcohol. 

"Do you have a death wish?" He snarled. "Move." 

Stephanie smiled at him. "Can you just stop hissing like a cat for a moment and listen to the advice of an older, experienced woman?" 

"Fatter, as well." 

She rolled her eyes. "You better not call Fay that... You realize how damaging that is to a girl's psyche?" Out of all the traumas Fay carried, he doubted being called fat was at the top of that list. Not that he did not mock her about it whenever she over-ate sugar.

"I think we've already established you have brain damage." He snarked, shifting in the chair, elbowing her in the ribs harder than necessary. He would be damned if he would sit up---she was childish, but she would not chase him away from his spot. It was quieter on that end of the room so he chose that seat on purpose. "Not that there was much to damage, for that matter." 

"Charming." She glared at him. "Seriously, though, Damian. First Christmas in this world. It must be pretty overwhelming, but I am sure she would appreciate one even if she doesn't celebrate it." 

Damian did not really believe in the gift-giving custom of Christmas. Talia had put a different twist to it in the past, and it had nothing to do with generosity or religion. Alas, he did play his part in contributing to the presents underneath the tree. Even for Drake, if only because the prat had challenged him by pointing out he was good at gift-giving. 

"-TT-" 

"Can I get a hug?" She jutted her bottom lip out. 

"Don't make me decapitate you." 

Stephanie stared at him with a severe look. Then she grappled herself onto him like a sloth. "I am glad you have a friend." She said in a hushed tone before pulling away quickly, rising to her feet. One second more, and he might have just stabbed her. 

Dick finds him stewing in the chair, half-sneer still planted on his face. He handed Damian a dark violet box with a green bow wrapped around it. It was not for him—Dick's present was in a navy bag under the tree. Damian already knew what it was inside. He knew what all the gifts had in them, for that matter, whether they were for him or not. 

"Kori has sent this." The older man said. "She knows well what it is like to be adjusting to life in a completely new world, so she thought Fay could use what's inside. I gave her a hand." 

"Hn." Damian knew Dick would not have given the present to him without considering whether it was appropriate or not for Fay. So, he accepted it. "I will let you know her feedback." 

The man put a hand on his shoulder, and Damian met his gaze. "I am sure Fay is glad she has someone to guide and support her. Kori had the Titans, but it was still difficult at times, regardless of that." The former Robin smiled. There was an implicit offer of support in his words, and Damian recognized it. He was quietly thankful for the trust that was being put in him, however. Dick liked Fay, and he was also open about her being under their protection.

Far easier than his father did. 

"Tell that to Drake. Not me." He said tightly. After all, lunch ended on a sour note when he and Drake started arguing, and Bruce ended up snapping at them both. Drake started the fight, though. By insinuating he was holding Fay against her will. That she was some sort of pet, like Titus and Alfred the cat. If he thought Damian was not going to strike back at him, he was mistaken. Damian could care less that it was not in 'Christmas spirit'. But, he does think he should have used something else than Alfred's apple pie. Something sharper, maybe. 

Dick sighed. "All he did was ask whether Fay is comfortable with her new arrangement." 

Damian's teeth gritted. "He also insinuated that she is there against her will. That--she has no choice." No choice but to tolerate him. Drake may not have said exactly that, but he might as well. He thought that Fay cooperated and accepted Damian's presence because she was afraid of him. That he was nothing more than the demon child, and she was his victim. Oh, how Drake was wrong on both accounts. 

He wished his father had defended him better. Prove that he disagreed with Drake. 

"Do you think that?" Dick asked. "Or that Fay believes that?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Damian scoffed. Fay was not there against her will. The girl could be a pushover, but she could be stubborn too. Defiant, even. And she is clearly capable of defending herself when the need arises, although she might not defeat him in an actual battle. Even if she considered herself a prisoner – she did not – that beast of hers would have never allowed him around if she felt miserable. The fact that Bagheera did only proved just how much progress Damian has made in gaining her – their – trust. Fay was not only more open or vocal with him. She looked at him differently, too. He wondered if any of that would change if she knew his full background---but telling her, he had killed hundreds of people had not made a difference so far. If anything, it has paved the way for discussions that he had estimated would take longer to instigate. 

"Good." The man said, removing his hand away from his shoulder. "She is doing much better, from what I've seen when I visited last week. More talkative. Looking healthier, for sure." Sweet girl, Dick thought. Seemingly opposite to Damian, but perhaps not as much as any of them initially concluded. More fun, though. Not that he would tell Damian that, or he might risk a pie to the face too.

And then Alfred might just kill them both. 

"Hn." Dick could tell Damian was pleased. Slightest bit proud, too. Fay was a challenge, in many ways. Gaining her trust, helping her, guiding her. Not precisely as a mentor but still requiring interpersonal skills that the boy had not really mastered. He was terrific at acting, but Dick highly doubted that he was pretending when it came to the bond he had formed with her, which meant all his – their – progress was genuine. He also knew that Tim regretted his words. That he did not believe them (mostly). Damian was protective, overly so which was only fuel to his temper and rivalry with Tim, but a wiser choice of words could have been employed. On both sides. 

"Tell her said I said hi." Dick grinned. "And Merry Christmas, little D." Then he walked away, having already eyed the yule log that Alfred had left on the table.

No reason why he could not get another piece – or three – before he left. 

.

Damian knew he would be off that night. The day after Christmas was generally quiet and after eleven days of continuous patrol, his father had already told him he will be benched that night. Damian was not exhausted, nor he was entirely pleased with the decision, but he had seen it coming. He did not bother to protest it, because it was a fruitless action, and cooperating meant he had some leverage the next time Bruce will want to put him off patrol.

Dressed and backpack on, Damian was on his way out when he crossed paths with his father on the stairs. They both stopped, regarding each other with equally impassive looks. "Where are you going?" Bruce asked, brow tilting lightly. "Alfred will be putting on a movie for us to watch." Yes, yes. Miracle on 34th street. They watched it last year too. Damian had not been impressed, but he would have stayed had it not been for how irritating he found Drake that night. His father too, for not having taken his side. 

"Out." He replied curtly. "Not interested." 

Then he moved to brush past the man, but a heavy, calloused hand stopped him. It was bigger than Dick's, but it did not reach out for him as often as the former Robin's. Bruce opened his mouth, then closed it, looking mildly conflicted. I am proud of you. I am glad you are my son. Drake is wrong. He is not the better son. They were all suitable phrases he could have said but Damian knew better than to allow such wishful thinking to form in his head. 

"Alfred has made extra pies." Blue eyes met green. "Just in case. I told him to pack away one." The hand was removed from his shoulder, leaving that spot unusually cold.  

A discreet stamp of approval. Maybe. 

Damian will take it. 

"Merry Christmas, father." 

"Merry Christmas, Damian." 

.

Fay had been shopping more extensively now that she didn't have to worry about money as much. Clothing, books, art supplies, all kinds of items that she had wished she could have bought before but did not have the means to do so. The Christmas Market, despite Damian's criticism that it was nowhere as good as the European ones, had turned her day into an extraordinarily good one. The crowds of people had made her slightly anxious, but she had been so engrossed in trying to visit every single stall that she had paid little attention to others. Bagheera had stayed in the car, as Damian mentioned he might attract too much attention or that someone might recognize him from Halloween. Wise decision, given Cora's presence at the market as well. Fay had been nervous about her presence there, even more so when the other girl started asking questions she could not answer or had not been prepared for. 

Why would Cora even want to spend time with her? They barely knew each other. 

But Fay was happy Cora was safe and sound. She was not sure what compelled her to give the girl a gift, but she thought it might be nice, seeing as it was a custom people engaged in there. Damian had thought it silly, as they were strangers, but he was more annoyed that she had not told him she interacted at length with another child at the Academy. Fay told him about how Cora had approached her that night, forcing her to come up with an excuse as to why she was there. She did not offer her last name though, and later at the compound, they barely saw each other. Later, Damian told her she need not worry about Cora – she hadn't - because he has done a background check on her. She was not a wealthy child, so in theory, she should not have been kidnapped along with everyone else. Fay wondered if that is why the other children had seemed so mocking in her regard that night. 

Cora did text her a couple of days later with a 'Hey, Gryffindor.' and asked her if she would like to meet for a hot chocolate. Fay had said no, mentioning she will be going out of town with her family. Then she felt bad about it and suggested that maybe they can meet after New Year. Cora will surely give up by then, and even if she did not, Fay would find another excuse. It was not Cora's fault, she seemed nice enough, but Fay felt daunted at the prospect of her discovering the truth. She was not also particularly interested in socializing.

She did, however, finally understand what 'Gryffindor' meant. Apparently, it was a reference to a series of books about a human boy who discovers he has magical powers and travels to a magic world to attend school there. Fay bought the entire series. How could she not? It was rather ironic that she had worn the crest for the Gryffindor house, characterized by courage and determination, that night. Fay would still have avoided describing herself in either of those terms.

She did not decorate the warehouse for Christmas. At least not to the extent she has seen others do it. Fay had managed to stop Damian from having a humongous tree delivered to the warehouse, purchasing instead a smaller one that was only slightly taller than herself. Artificial, too. She and Bag had filled it together with the baubles and hanging decorations after placing it in the seating area on the ground floor, setting many other purchases around it. To her, they were more souvenirs than anything else, but Fay was particularly taken with how beautiful they are, as well as their religious or cultural meaning. The rest of the house was left largely void of decorations. 

There were several presents tucked beneath the tree. Dana, Robby, and Mack each gave her one, as did Gloria and Ben. Helen, whom Fay had only seen twice since Halloween and briefly so, had sent hers via Damian. Fay had given them gifts as well, but she had not been sure what to expect from the boy. She did not necessarily expect or want him to give her a gift. Damian had already given her so much, materially, or otherwise.

So, so much. How could she make up for it? 

Fay knew Damian tended to go over the top with, well, most things but she had not expected to see several different presents from him under that tree. She had not opened them yet, no matter how curious she has felt. Partly, because she had been embarrassed by his generosity and partly, because she wanted to wait for the 25th, to be in line with the tradition. Damian had mentioned he would come by as well, so it was a good opportunity to offer him his present which she had kept hidden away for days now. Fay doubted he will like it or that it will be sufficient in comparison to his gifts, but it was, unfortunately, the best she could come up with. Had she been in Maysoon, she would have had far more options. 

"Rggg…?" Bagheera pushed one of the boxes with his paw. He had received presents as well, and Fay had caught him trying to peek inside several times in the past couple of days. 

"Be patient." She smiled. "It's tradition for people here to open it on the 25th and I know it's generally in the morning, but let's wait on Damian." What a surreal thing to say. 

Speak of the devil, as people there said, and he shall appear. 

The intercom at the entrance beeped faintly as the security system was deactivated and the door unlocked. A moment later, the boy stepped through…. carrying more bags. Fay watched him curiously as he pushed the door open, then walked over to her where he dropped the items on the ground. A present from Dick, it seems, and some of Alfred's cooking. Apple pie, fresh. Still warm. It made her smile. The kitchen was already full of dishes others have given her but she really didn't mind. 

She couldn't wait to try everything. 

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Damian said, sitting cross legged on the floor, near the tree after removing his jacket and boots. Fay hesitated, then told him to wait just a minute before rushing upstairs to the bedroom. Pulling the dark velvet box from underneath the bed, she stared at it for a moment, heat rising to her cheeks and heart beating louder, as she wondered whether it was a mistake. Maybe he will think she was trying too hard. With a sigh, she rose to her feet and returned back to the living room, albeit at a much slower pace. 

Damian raised a brow when he saw her hold the package in her arms. She hesitated in handing it over to him, her face feeling as if it was on fire. 

"I thought I said I don't expect anything in return." He remarked, staring at the box in his lap. 

"I know." Fay released her breath. "But I, um, wanted to." She had been working on his present ever since her birthday. "It's—it's not just-just because of Christmas." She added, embarrassedly avoiding his gaze.

Damian undid the bow she had put around it, then lifted the lid off before peeling away the paper around the item inside. The boy paused before he lifted it up for inspection. 

He called them shuriken and told her it means 'hidden hand blade'. Her world had a version of it. Fay had gotten one from him for self-defense at the beginning of the month but after her birthday, she had started thinking about using it as inspiration for his gift. Fay had some knowledge of metalworking but not enough to allow her to forge a weapon on her own. However, Alfred has been very helpful after she told him what she intended to do and within a week or so she had a pentagon-shaped star, almost twice as large as the one he gave her.

It was made of the melted broken parts of the blade Fay had carried with her for months. It was the exard that offered the shuriken its peculiar properties. The darkness of the blade was unique, absorbing light rather than refracting it but it had an ethereal, turquoise sheen to it when held at the right angle in the light. When thrown, the blade would look more like a shadow. A sharp, deadly one. One that carried a message in the inscriptions she carved in the blade.

Fay had spent days working on the inscriptions, ruining several practice blades in the process. The exard, once melted and reforged at a factory Alfred took her, had offered her a brief window of time in which it can be welded easier, with the use of the flux. It was a high jump from the basic exercises with the canvas to inscribing the exard and she only had material for one shuriken, so she had to practice on wooden boards. Bagheera had helped her by using his flux in keeping the exard at a high temperature but she still had to use hers like a carver's knife. She was not entirely satisfied with the result although the shape and colours were as she had wanted them. Fay intended on applying more inscriptions to the blade, but it had not been possible, not with her current level of control and still-weak flux.

So, she had settled for a simpler message, instead. The inscribed letters were still rather clumsy. 

It was meant to be symbolic, not necessarily something he should use in combat. In her world, it would have been considered an honorable gift, if only too personal given the message on it, but those rules did not matter there. The more he stared at it in silence, scrutinizing it, the more she thought perhaps it had been a silly idea. That it would come across as desperate and pathetic, that she had put tried too hard to---to make sure he didn't change his mind about her. 

"You carved them," Damian remarked as he brushed his fingers against the foreign carvings. "With your flux." 

Damian could see where she struggled with some of the symbols, where she pressed harder than in other places. It was meticulous work, however. The symbols curled and undulated and formed sharp angles, not unlike the ones that had been on the inside of her bracelets. He moved the shuriken from hand to hand. It was almost perfectly balanced, the weight of two of the blades ever so slightly heavier than the others. Milligrams at most. He would not have been able to tell had he not been handling weapons such as that since he was four. 

Could still be used in battle. 

Fay had created it, from scratch. For him. She must have spent hours to achieve that precision. Just the other day, he had given her a more complex drawing of the Gotham skyline and challenged her to paint it by mimicking the same colors in the original version he has made. The progress was steady, even if non-linear as there were days when she struggled with even the most basic of movements. That usually happened when she was in a low mood. But for her to inscribe such intricate patterns onto the blade would have required considerable effort---she had kept it a secret, too. Must have worked on it when he was not at the warehouse.

The new shuriken was light but he could tell it was durable. 

"What is their meaning?" 

Her face was red as a tomato. "Um, it's a sort of…message. Given to warriors traditionally to—to wish them protection and good fortune. Like, um…like a blessing." She reached to scratch at her cheek, looking self-conscious. "For safety." She mumbled. "Not---not that I think you need it." She added quickly, looking anywhere but at him. "It’s something…. people do in my world.’’ 

“What is it made of?’’ 

“Exard.’’ Fay blinked, eyes zeroing on a blade. “It’s a very light, very tough metallic substance that can be melted, just like gold. But um, it stays flexible for a few days after---by using the flux and water. Um, Mr. Pennyworth helped me.’’ At that, he looked up at her. “To meltdown, a blade I had--that--that made of exard. It was broken, I cannot remember how---I think it must have happened before I traveled here. I kept it, um because I thought if anyone finds out, will realize it is not a metal from this world and it, um…. might cause issues.’’ 

Damian looked back at the shuriken, trying to compartmentalize some of his emotions knowing the paladin will detect them. Bagheera did not seem interested in telling Fay most times what he felt, but the boy hated the idea of someone else having access to his emotions as if they were an open book. 

“You could have significantly jeopardized your recovery.’’ He found himself saying, even as the skin around his collar felt warmer than usual. Damian was not sure what to say. He had received weapons before, but none of them---none of them were with such an intentional message behind it. Even when his mother had given him gifts, they hadn't carried such a sentimental message.

Fay wanted him to be safe, regardless of if he did not need it and for her to go to such lengths to carve that blade….it was personal. 

“What?’’ She was hurt. He could tell. That he had not reacted in any manner other than to tell her that it had been a reckless act on her. It was the truth. 

But. 

Fay had gruelly worked on it. 

“Why?’’ He said, ignoring her previous question. “Why would you---’’ Deal with nosebleeds and migraines and aching marks, which he was positive she must have experienced. “—give me this? You said it was not just because of Christmas.’’ It could not be just a blessing. That was the message on the weapon, but not what drove her to spend weeks working on it in secret.

Damian made a mental note to ask Pennyworth when exactly she approached him.

“I---well, I had nothing else to give…to give you.’’ Fay looked guilty. “…and, um, I thought you deserved something. For everything—you have done for me I guess.’’ 

“You don’t owe me anything.’’ He did not mean to snap. He'd heard Drake's words in his head again.  

Fay looked at him, with a mix of confusion and hurt. “It’s not---about owing. It is about…acknowledging what--what a person does for another person.’’ She glanced at the blade. “I am-am sorry if I’ve offended you. You—you do not have to accept it.’’ She reached to take it away from him, but he moved it out of her reach. He felt a pang of regret when he noticed that her eyes looked wetter than before. 

“I never said I am not accepting it.’’ He breathed. She leaned back on her knees, avoiding his gaze again. Damian met the paladin’s gaze who in return gave him a scathing look. Fay was definitely upset. But he did not need Bagheera’s abilities to know that. Damian clicked his teeth. “I want you to answer me something. Honestly.’’ Fay looked at him. “The night of Halloween. What was the reason for thanking me?’’

Her eyes widened. “It’s…um, I.’’ she scratched at her cheek and nose again. “…I don’t know— ‘’ 

“Fay.’’ Damian cut her off. “Don’t lie to me.’’ 

She looked uncomfortable, and she instinctively eyed the open space past the sofa where the stairs were. 

“…To become a warrior….um, officially, a person must pass a series of trials.’’ She said, after a moment, keeping her gaze downcast. Her expression had grown sadder. “There’s…different ones. Different…stages. They become more difficult each year and um, then at---at my age, there is an important one. There are all kinds of---training and um, false missions. Some---are real, too. It depends on whether---a group is talented enough since we are…. we placed in a team. Not always---’’ She scratched at her head. “---it’s complicated, but um, I was placed in a team. And…we had missions, together. Even if they were not…real, they, um, they were meant to mimic the danger of one. I---’’ She sighed. “I struggled with many of them. Because of the panic attacks. Because I failed….so did the other children.’’ 

Damian’s brows furrowed but he kept silent. Fay pulled away slightly, to lean against the sofa and pull her knees up to her chest. 

“I did not get better. The healers tried. And um, my masters tried. I---I never passed my trials. It is not that…uncommon, but—’’ It was not acceptable for her to fail. “—because of who my parents are---were---it wasn’t really….’’ 

“Acceptable.’’ He supplied. 

Fay nodded. “…I wasn’t interested in becoming one. A warrior. I mean---I do not even know. I thought it made sense…It seemed like the only thing that made sense.’’ She bit onto her lip, pausing briefly. “…. I understand what my parents fought and died for. I understand and…I even agree with it. Or with most of it. But---But I just could not do it.’’ She fidgeted with the sleeves of her jumper. “…but I think I do now. It kind of feels…. like I forgot about it. But that----night, I think I remembered. Not…not all the way, but it was the first time---I wanted to fight more than I was afraid.'' She finished, all in one breath. "I was angry, and I do not want to rely on anger to be able to fight…. but that night--I did. Because...I had something to protect and I...I didn't want to fail.’’ She shook her head. “I don’t know how to---how to describe it. I just…’’ Her voice trailed off, then she tilted her head slightly to the side. 

“I was just tired of not being able to fight.’’ She admitted, finally. Realizing she has not answered his question, she took a deep breath. 

“I thanked you because….’’ Damian held his breath. Fay’s smiled slightly, as she kept her eyes glued to her lap. “You....made me want to be brave. And fight, too. I was angry---for a lot of reasons, I guess. But I wanted to fight, too. At all costs. Just like you were. Just----just like my parents did.’’ He stared at her, feeling slightly light-headed as he repeated her words in his mind again.

Fay had fought the way she did…. because of him? Because she felt inspired by him

There was a part of him that considered it obvious. Of course, she would be inspired by someone like him. He was Damian Wayne, the former Prince of the League of Assassins, the future Dark Knight. He has had followers bow before him and praise his skill since he was at a young age, and it was because of his title as much as it had been because he had earned it. But.

Fay was not praising his versatility in how to kill a man. She was not acknowledging his ruthlessness or intellect, nor was she in awe of his lineage. Fay was not presuming to be as strong or capable as him, nor was she a full-fledged warrior as she has admitted to having failed to have proven herself. Fay had watched him bleed for her and decided that she would stand up and do the same for him. Even after, according to her own words, she has been consistently failing to do so for months. He had succeeded in inspiring her where her family and healers and tutors have failed. Fay had wanted to beat her fears for him--and Bagheera, of course, but he had been the outlier in that situation. 

By doing something that Damian Al Ghul would have never done. By behaving in a way Talia would have disapproved. By wanting to protect her, Fay found her own strength which he had already told her she was in possession of, albeit channeled erroneously. But he had not known it had been him who had instigated it on that occasion. 

Fay wanted to be brave because of him. 

Nobody has ever said that to him. Not as Damian Wayne, not-the-weapon-Mother-made. 

Damian looked down at the blade, his throat feeling tighter than usual. He pulled himself to stand beside her, shoulder to shoulder. “…I accept your gift.’’ He muttered. “And I am honored by it.’’ 

“It’s—’’ She sniffed, reaching to wipe her cheeks. “—not balanced, properly.’’ 

“I know.’’ He nodded. “But…it does not matter.’’ He will not use it in battle. Instead, he'll place it on the mantle along with the collection of rare katanas he kept. 

They stayed like that a few minutes before he decided to hand her the gift he had for her. The primary one, anyway. It felt inadequate.

Fay being Fay, however, had stared it with unwarranted admiration and awe. 

It was the newest initiative launched by Gotham Museums, in line with the vision he has told her about all those months ago. An A4 hardcover book, simple with black covers and a simple title is written in gold. Below, a hand-drawn sketch of the Arts Museum that Damian had created himself. Inside, the glossy pages filled with photos of the various items on display around the museum and offering a complimentary simplified map at the back of it. The first fifteen pages were full of different random facts about the building and its contents. When was the building made, how many exhibits it hosted, what were its most unique items, the history, and background of certain specific art pieces? 

The bulk of the book consisted of stories. The very same ones that she had gathered from various Gothamites weeks earlier and had presented him with. 

Why Gotham Museum? 

“Oh…’’ Fay's mouth hung open, as she rifled through the pages and her eyes widened further when she recognized what was written inside. Most of the information in the book was based on her own work and feedback. “…wait. All those people I interviewed— ’’

“I tracked them down and asked for their approval to publish the information, either anonymously or using their initials. See?’’ He tapped at the end of the story on the page she was looking at. Only the initials appeared. 

Fay turned to stare at him. “You…tracked them down? And…. they just agreed?’’ 

“Yes.’’ And if they did not initially, offering them a check had certainly addressed their reluctance. 

Fay smiled widely and turned her attention back to the book. “This is…incredible. Wait…. it is going to be public. As in---as in sold in at the museum?’’ Damian nodded. “Look at the back.’’ She did, then gasped when she saw the names that were put down as its authors. D.W…and F.K. “You---You can’t be serious.’’ She stammered. “Isn’t---isn’t that dangerous?’’ 

He scoffed. “Do you have any idea how many F.K.s are out there? Nobody will be able to track it down back to you.’’ He looked at her from the corner of his eyes. “I have put my name down. However, the reception received so far for the book would not have been as positive had it not been for those accounts. Without....your contribution.’’ 

Fay shook her head. “I don’t mind. Your…name deserves to be on there, as well. I did not--I did not know many of the things that are in here…if you had not asked me to study them.’’ She looked at him, smiling brightly again, pulling the book tight against her chest as if it was the most precious thing in the world. “This is…amazing. T-thank you, Damian.’’ 

You are welcome. “Hn.’’ He looked away, glancing at the presents underneath the trees. Particularly the one from Dick. “Open the rest.’’ 

Dana had given her two different book sets, one containing the works of Roald Dahl ’s and the other J.R.R Tolkien’s. There was also a patchwork quilt that Dana had sewn herself, with Fay's etched in one corner. Robby had given her comic books and posters. Mack had given her an annual paid membership to the cinema, along with a children’s watch. Red. Gloria has given her a unicorn-themed bath set and a Monopoly board game, whereas Ben had carved her an intricately wooden box that opened in four different compartments. The floral carving and winter elements were beautiful, as was the silhouette of a wolf pyrographed on the lid.  

“Oh. Bag— ’’ Fay tilted the box towards her paladin. “That’s you!’’ Bagheera looked at it curiously, before huffing in satisfaction. 

Helen had given her toys and board games and colored pencils and a silver necklace with beads she could personalize or add to. There was also a large brown teddy-bear equipped with a pre-recorded message from Helen and her family. The recording told her the Wilmot family will always be thankful for her kindness and wished her a Merry Christmas. Fay was not sure when it was the last time that she smiled for so long that her cheeks were hurting. Damian had additionally given her several different books. Special editions with leather covers and illustrations. 

Fay beamed at him. Damian simply pushed Dick's gift towards her. Inside she had found an ‘A guide to idioms’ book, along with a dozen or so DVDs. She found the items delightful, but the idiom guide was particularly useful as she did struggle with many expressions that people used around her, even with the amount of reading she was doing. Damian told her that Dick's 'lover' was not of that world, either.

Fay, herself, had bought Bagheera expensive meat with Damian’s help because it was the most fitting present she could think of. That, and sharing Alfred’s pie with him after she and Damian each took a piece. In the end, they watched one of the movies that Grayson had slipped inside. Damian knew he had done it on purpose, but he did not tell Fay. 

It was the 1947 version of Miracle on 34th Street

Notes:

Next update won't be until another week from now on.

Enjoy!

Chapter 23: Of Daphne Barlow, long-awaited meetings and ruptures

Notes:

A big thank you as always to my Beta-Reader: AegyoButPsycho.

Chapter Text

"Disappointment is just the action of your brain readjusting itself to reality
after discovering things are not the way you thought they were." 

- Unknown 

.

.

.

18th of January, 11:17 

'You're not listening.' 

"Wh-what? Yes, yes, I am." 

'Repeat what I said.' She might have as well been talking to her uncle. 

"Um…something about being careful." She could almost feel the roll of his eyes even though he was not anywhere near her. 

They were in England. 

Europe. They were in Europe. Fay kept repeating that phrase in her mind, but she had yet to grow accustomed to the idea that they were finally in a place they should have arrived in almost a year earlier. Where they have been trying to travel to. Where her parents had once been. Not that they have not visited other continents, but Europe has always been their preferred destination.

Damian had a good reason to be annoyed with her, though. Fay had been distracted by how busy the enormous conference room was and the multitude of stalls that formed a 'U' shape path in the middle. Wayne Industries had one of the biggest stalls, right in the middle of the room, and it was also one of the most popular ones, constantly attracting queues of students and experts wanting to speak to the staff members there. 

The symposium was taking place in an events room built on the ground floor of a building adjacent to a five-star hotel, for which Damian had already secured them the penthouse. Arriving by a private jet the day before, that is where she, Damian and Bag had stayed and where, that morning, she had stayed back while Damian headed to the symposium. Safer that way, he said. Fay was not happy---she hoped she could at least attend in person – but she agreed with his logic. Bagheera would have had to stay behind or risk attracting attention, and if Daphne was indeed working with someone as dangerous as the Angel, then her being there could expose her.     

Daphne Barlow was one of many key speakers at that event, scheduled to answer questions and sign copies of her newest book at a stall in the corner of the room. Special accommodations Damian had quipped. She was very particular about it. Daphne did not plan on arriving earlier than she was meant to, and she would not stay a moment longer, but she was popular enough that people had already started queuing to the side of the room, waiting to see her. Primarily students and academics. Damian himself had joined the queue, dressed in a pair of dark trousers and a hoodie, which was pulled over his head, one of Daphne's books in his hand. He did not look happy. He usually did not, but he seemed especially irate at having to queue amongst the common people. 

Daphne had refused to grant anyone private meetings, even if the person who asked was the son of a billionaire, instead preferring to hold them at her office in center London, but only by having them scheduled far ahead in time. Damian suspected it was because, in that manner, she could run background checks on her invitees, as she has done so in the past. As he did not think it was wise for Fay to meet Daphne face to face, he had been the one to join the queue pretending he wanted the book signed. Fay, who was sitting across the room, near the buffet area, could also hear and see everything he did through the camera in his false glasses. 

Oh right. Damian was wearing a disguise. Not necessarily because it was needed. He just did not want to deal with people recognizing him, especially the staff members operating the Wayne Industries stall. No science symposium would be the same if Wayne Industries did not attend. This is especially true since the company funded half of the event and sponsored many inventors and young researchers present there. Fay had a feeling he was also sour that Daphne, or rather her assistant, had shut down his request for a meeting rather quickly. After all, the boy still did not like it when someone said no to him. 

Sitting down in the window seat, which offered her a panoramic view of London, Fay watched through his eyes as the queue in front of him started moving with a tablet on her lap. There were tall, cardboard walls separating one stall from another, so all she caught a glimpse of was Daphne's assistant, Jane. A petite, blond-haired woman dressed in a two-piece beige suit stood right at the stall entrance. She had a walkie-talkie in her hand. 

It was another twenty minutes before Damian was standing at an angle that offered her a view of the table pushed near the wall and the woman sitting behind it. Her heart thumped with an irrational sense of anticipation as Fay gawked at the screen. She was beautiful, just like in the pictures, but her smile did not reach her eyes. It was not a cold one, just not entirely heartfelt. Daphne was dressed elegantly in a silk navy shirt with a beige scarf wrapped around her neck. Her white hair was beautifully coiffed at the back of her head, and the jewelry she was wearing was simple but flattering.  

When the two students in front of Damian expressed their admiration, Daphne's smile widened further, red lips parting to reveal pearly white teeth. A beautiful smile, it made her look younger. She had the same accent as Alfred. Well, perhaps not precisely the same, but it was British as well. Fay decided she liked the woman's voice. It was silky, calm. Composed. It reminded her of the way Master Leiko spoke. As if there was nothing in the world that could rattle her. Fay would say there was nothing out of the ordinary about her, regardless of her striking features. 

When Damian finally stepped in front of her, Daphne's smile diminished only slightly, as if she could not maintain it for very long. There was something sad in those otherwise hard silver eyes of hers.  

Fay's jaw parted a little in shock. She was finally there in Europe. Standing before Daphne Barlow---well, sort of. The woman inevitably put in motion a series of events that she was not even aware she did. If it had not been for her, Fay would not have searched Hannah or George. She would not have discovered the USB, been kidnapped, fought, and destroyed her bracelets. Grown attached to Damian and seeing him as a friend. Although that last part was her fault, not really Daphne's. 

"…Ms. Barlow?" Jane queried, looking unsure if the young boy was even meant to be there. No parents were accompanying him.  

Daphne made a curt gesture to let her know that it was fine. Then she glanced at the book in Damian's arms. "A bit young to be reading that." She remarked calmly. "Or is it your parents?" 

"Yes. My parents have given it to me." Damian said in an uncharacteristically shy tone. Even his voice sounds different, Fay thought. And he is not using an American accent anymore. "Would it be alright to have it signed, Mrs. Barlow?" Fay stared at the screen hard. Who are you? Why are you here? Why have you run away? Have you ever gone back? Do you not want to? Is there a way back? The woman extended her hand, and Damian handed her the book. When Daphne bowed her head to open the cover and start signing it, Fay's eyes moved to her neck. The scarf was covering most of her skin, but she saw the edge of the keloid scar. It was not enough.

The woman finished her autograph and closed the hardcover before pushing the book back towards Damian, aka Dennis, apparently. "May I ask you a question?" The boy asked, faking, feeling nervous about doing so. Fay wondered if that is what she sounded like every day. 

Yes, she most definitely did. 

Daphne raised a brow, regarding him – them - with a perusing look. Daphne did not come across as very approachable. There was something undeniably guarded about her. 

"Go ahead." 

"Why did you choose to be a psychologist?" Daphne did not look surprised by the question. She must have heard it a million times over. "Because I am good at it." The woman replied bluntly. "And it helps people." She looked genuine, unfaltering in her statement. 

Fay wondered if Damian believed that as well. 

.

12:37

As Fay could not obtain a helpful visual of the woman's mark – not that they held much hope for it – her office in London was their next target while Daphne was still at the symposium. Inside a white-stucco fronted property set behind safety gates and guards, the office was in an affluent area. According to Damian's intel, it stretched to three different levels; Daphne used that place throughout the week to conduct business and sometimes host private, exclusive dinners. They were few and far between. Her other property, in Cambridge, was the one where she and her husband have raised their children and still had Sunday dinners with them.  

There were two guards outside the office, but there were only two staff members on the property's ground floor. CCTV cameras were overridden to play on a constant loop, and with the security system at Damian's behest, none would be wiser of his presence there. While Damian hacked into the woman's laptop left on the desk, Fay watched through the camera in his domino mask, on the tablet, still at the hotel. She couldn't understand most of the information on the laptop or what he was doing as he moved his hands quickly over the keyboard, accessing different files, closing and opening tabs that she had not generally seen on a desktop before. Fay would lie if she said she wasn't slightly envious, along with being amazed by his abilities. 

A few minutes later, Damian slammed the laptop lid shut. " Nothing. " He said. " Same information I found when I accessed her files remotely ." He soundlessly moved around the desk and then started perusing the office for any secret compartments.

"Hn. I've sent you pictures. Examine those for anything that you find familiar." 

Fay hummed in agreement. "Maybe she doesn't keep anything at her office." She said. "Or on any of her properties. What if, um, it is one of those---those bank things?"

" Safe deposit ." She nodded. " That will require some time to access, but nothing impos- " Damian stopped abruptly, his gaze moving down to his watch. It looked as if he had received an alert of some kind. 

"Wh-what happened?" 

"Have a look for yourself." 

A moment later, an image opened up on her tablet as Damian accessed it remotely. Fay stared at it, momentarily confused by the sight of the blue jacket emblazoned with a school crest she had not seen before. Then she saw the darker spots on the coat. Blood. Next to the jacket, a student card from Hamilton Preparatory School was issued for Arthur Elson. A picture of a blond-haired, blue-eyed boy was placed in the top right corner. The card was also smudged with blood. 

"Is that…. her nephew?" She asked, her heart, sinking to her stomach. "Someone has her nephew." 

Damian grunted. Fay minimized the picture and saw that he was looking at a hologram of London city projecting from his watch. " It just came through. The kidnappers are asking for something in return for her nephew. Tonight, at nine. The coordinates point to a derelict area of London. Barlow has accepted.

"What about, um, the police? Won't she call them?" 

Damian shook his head. " She wouldn't risk it just in case she's being watched. That's why she is acting as if nothing is amiss.

"But what exactly do they want?" 

"That's exactly what we'll find out ." 

18:23

In the hours leading to Daphne Barlow's meeting with her nephew's captors, Damian was able to validate the claim that Arthur Elson had been kidnapped, examined the southern area of London where the rendezvous was taking place, and then connected into the surveillance system at Daphne's house to offer them a remote view of the woman's office. The plan was that he would intercept Daphne before she met with her captors. Fay wasn't sure how he'd do that, but Damian seemed rather confident of himself as usual. 

Fay, for her part, did not do much, unfortunately, other than watch that footage. Daphne returned to the office right after leaving the symposium, looking…not quite as agitated as Fay had expected her. Her hair was slightly tousled, as she seemed to have the habit of running her hand over it. That was the only sign betraying how nervous she must have felt because otherwise, Daphne looked calm. Even when she took her coat down and sat in her chair, her movements were unrushed. When Jane brought her coffee, Daphne simply smiled at her ten minutes later and nodded at whatever her assistant was saying before dismissing her. She stayed at the office the entire day, tapping away on her laptop and making calls. The scarf never left her neck, but then again, Daphne must have been so used to wearing it all the time that it felt natural keeping it on.  

She either did not care about her nephew, or she had nerves of steel. It must have been the latter because she accepted the kidnapper's proposal and promised not to call the police. Or she suspected she was being watched; Damian had quipped in the earpiece he had left her with while he was investigating the disappearance of Daphne's nephew. Arthur Elson attended a private school on the border of Epping forest, and it appears he has failed to present himself for the latter half of the classes that day. Teachers and classmates had no idea where he went. Last he was seen, Arthur was heading to the school's tuck shop to buy something before meeting with his friends for the next class. The cashier at the shop never saw him, which meant he must have been taken during the few minutes of walking between the main building and the shop. 

Fay watched and watched for hours, trying not to fall prey to the thoughts percolating her mind about how much more helpful she should be in that situation instead of allowing Damian to do all the work. He was perfectly capable and happy to do that, as the boy noted he preferred working alone. Still, he likely thought she was a liability anywhere else than the hotel room, where she had been staying the entire time.  

It was around seven in the evening, after the sun had long left the sky in favor of nightfall, when Damian returned to the hotel, sneaking through one of the windows despite them being on the eighteenth floor. Fay was sitting at the table in the living room separating the two bedrooms, a monitor in front of her showing Daphne still at her desk. "She has barely moved," Fay said quietly. "Just a bathroom break and some phone calls. About work." She pursued her lips. "She's acting as if---nothing is wrong." Fay felt like admiring the woman and the steel she seemed to be made of. If only Fay could be that good at compartmentalizing her emotions. 

"Hn. No matter. We will have the opportunity to interrogate her on what she knows." 

Fay blinked, looking at him bewildered. "…. we ?" 

Damian had already walked away to his bedroom to grab his dark utility belt and sheathed the sword, which he hung on his back by the strap going around his shoulder. Fay stared at him, momentarily stunned. Clad in all-black out and fully equipped, Damian looked very much like an assassin. Like one of the Maysoon's imperial warriors that serve as covert operatives in the utmost of classified missions. If he were in Maysoon, Fay wondered if he would have been recruited in that squad. He certainly would have had a chance, unlike her. Not that she had ever been interested (maybe just a little).

Fay wondered what Thelion would think of Damian; if the latter would win a fight against the first regarded prodigious warrior in Maysoon.

"What?" Damian asked, making her jump slightly. Her cheeks heated when she realized she had been gawking at him. "Nothing." She shook her head. "You, um, just remind me of someone." He had no idea. 

"Hn. What are you waiting for?" He said, glancing at the domino mask left on the table next to the screen. "Let us go." 

Fay hesitantly stood up and grabbed the mask, but she did not put it on. She had kept the rest of the outfit on, except for the dark lace-up boots. "I…I am not sure this is a good idea." She looked up at Damian. "I don't—I don't want to be in your way. Um, what if I have a panic attack?" Anxiety fluttered in her chest the more she thought about how wrong it could all go. "What if…. what if I lose control?" She whispered. She hasn't, not once, ever since the bracelets were removed. The flux had grown stronger, and although at times her marks would ache and she would feel the need to release it, Fay had not actually experienced any 'episodes'. Her recovery was going as well as it could go, between Damian's fitness regime and her own training exercises, so much that she had found it easier to channel her flux. Not by much, but the progress, as minimal as it was when it came to controlling her flux, encouraged her to continue her training. 

You are a liability. Damian bit back those words, although it wasn't in his nature to spare anyone their feelings. Objectively speaking, Fay was a liability for the same reasons she had listed. But she wasn't defenseless, nor was she physically weak anymore. Damian wouldn't be bringing her along if he thought she would be in danger or that the mission could be jeopardized.

Did she still have doubts when it came to him ensuring her safety? 

"I will dispose of the kidnappers. All you need to do is ensure that Barlow's nephew is safe." 

"But I—" 

"Fay." Damian clicked his teeth. Her self-esteem is what will eventually kill her. "Trust me ." 

"Alright." 

.

19:59

Daphne Barlow disliked driving. She did not understand its appeal, nor she have a need to do so, seeing as she could afford to pay others to drive her around. But she knew how to drive, and that night she would have to do so or else risk getting her nephew killed. It would take her approximately forty minutes to drive to South London with traffic at that time, but she left early. If her nephew died because of her, that would be unforgivable. If he died because she got stuck in traffic, that would simply be plain ridiculous. She ignored the way her hands shook and held back from brushing her hands over her hair for the millionth time, instead choosing to fix it quickly in the rearview of her car. 

Daphne Barlow was made of steel and ice. She was not always that way, but she forced herself to be. Life did not give her much choice, either. She has heard it all growing up. The Ice Queen. The frigid one. The heartless one. The Snow Queen. When she was young, it had been primarily due to her looks which she had initially tried to hide by dying her hair and wearing contacts. None of those options was sustainable long-term, and seeing as the nicknames stuck, why bother? People saw what they wanted to see. She was something foreign, unusual, nonconforming to their standards, so naturally, people preferred finding fault within her than deconstructing their own beliefs and principles. So be it. There was liberation in being disliked and shunned away, and Daphne understood being an outsider very well. It had been an element of her identity for almost her entire life and, at times, still resurfaced. Except now she reveled in it. 

And made an incredibly profitable career that allowed her to fulfill capabilities she would have never discovered had she not fought to be where she is now. 

Oh, how her family would wail if they knew.

Good

She tightened the scarf around her neck, hiding the scars as she did many thousand times before, before putting the key in the ignition and turning on her car. Daphne was a couple of miles away from her office, just about to turn into a busy boulevard, when the vehicle started behaving as if it had a mind of its own. The wheel refused to respond to her hands, as did the pedals as the car turned in the opposite direction she wanted to go and made a sharp turn to the left, onto a small, dark street. She remained calm when she saw the dark figure approach the car, and she remained calm when one of the back doors was suddenly unlocked and pulled open. 

But Daphne will have to admit that she had not expected to see a child climb in. She would have said it was a prank, like when Arthur dressed as a ninja the year before and kept trying to scare her (he failed repeatedly), had it not been for the cold touch of the sharp blade against her neck. It was real, and the boy was holding it far too confidently to be an amateur. 

It was a testament to who she was that she did not feel particularly threatened. 

"Halloween has passed in case your parents haven't told you." She remarked coolly, placing her hands back on the wheel. The car was turned on, but it did not respond. In the rearview mirror, she spotted the tablet on the boy's lap, lit up, a digital rendering of the car. Huh. So, the brat had access to high-tech gadgets, too. Was such technology even public? Unlikely. Military-grade, maybe. "Or did my nephew's kidnappers have a bad day in recruitment, so they sent a child to monitor me?" She could see little of the boy's face, but he could not be that much older than Arthur himself, judging by his build and height. 

"I am not involved with your nephew's kidnappers." The boy remarked calmly. "But I will require answers." 

"Or what?" The blade pressed closer to the skin of her neck, pushing the scarf away. It cut just deep enough to draw blood. The scar was on the left-hand side of her neck, so it was not visible. "Or you'll be late for your meeting, and your nephew dies." Or he could kill her. It was left unsaid, but Daphne had a feeling the kid was perfectly capable of putting an end to her life and not bat an eye. It would not be his first time, either. If she removed her gloves and touched him, Daphne wondered what she would find there. 

With her car hijacked and time running out, Daphne sighed. "Fine. What do you want?" 

"The Angel." The boy said suddenly. "Does it ring a bell?" 

Daphne remained composed. "I suppose it depends. Are you asking me from a theological or psychological perspective?" 

"Funny." Said the boy, unaffected by her attempt at feigning ignorance. Tough cookie, Daphne thought. "Do you want your nephew to die? Because I have all night." She could have asked why a boy like him wanted a terrorist like the Angel, but he was right. She did not have the time. "A criminal, as far as I know. How about you allow me to start driving, and I will answer your questions?" She glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "As you said, I have no time." He did as she asked, expertly tapping his hands on the tablet. He barely glanced at it. Daphne thought. So, the kid knows what he is doing. He gave her control back of the car, so Daphne resumed her course for the former industrial state that was now a site full of abandoned, decaying buildings and rusting cars. 

"And responsible for the death of Hannah Walker." The boy added an indifferent air as if he were giving her a statement on the weather. "Your foster sister." Her expression and body language may have not changed, but something inside of her ruptured. It felt physical, but Daphne knew better. She did not suffer from the broken-hearted syndrome, no matter how many times her heart has been broken throughout her life. However, the pain was no different, even if she did not express it quite in the way most people did. Ice queen indeed. 

"Your heartbeat didn't change." The boy continued. "I take it you weren't very close." 

Little shit. "You seem to know a lot," Daphne remarked calmly as she stopped at a red light. "You would already know about that as well." 

"Tell me about the Angel. Everything you know." The boy commanded. The sword was unfaltering against her neck. The dark tinted windows and nightfall worked in his favour, or they would have gotten some strange looks already from other drivers. 

Why would a child be interested in that madwoman? 

"It's complicated." 

He scoffed, lips curling. "I've heard that before. Yes, yes, I know. What with you not being of this world and all." 

An average person would have abruptly pressed the break or gasped, startled by such a reveal. Daphne Barlow was not an average person, so she just kept driving, maintaining an emotionless expression. Her eyes did darken, for even she could not be entirely indifferent to her life-long secret being spoken out loud in such a casual manner. The boy was not working alone, he could not have, but if he wanted information on the Angel, he was not one of her acolytes. So…. then? He was not the first person to know her secret in that world, but he was undoubtedly the only one to bring it up in such a manner. 

"I am not sure what you are talking about." She tried, maintaining a carefully neutral tone. 

She could not see his eyes behind the mask, but she had the sense he was rolling them. 

"Spare me. There is no point lying." He said. "Daphne Barlow did not exist until you made her up, and before that, you were but Reid's ward. You did not exist before then." He leaned forward and snatched the scarf away from her neck. "You also carry the mark of the sullied." Well. That certainly warranted a reaction from her, even if it manifested only in her hands tightening their grip around the wheel and her glaring at him in the rearview. 

"Who are you?" She said thunderously. "And what game are you playing at?" After all these years, they would not bother to track me down. They told me I would be left alone. So, who is this kid and how does he know so much? 

"No games." He replied smoothly, ignoring her first question. "I want to know what part you played in Angel's operations. Hannah Walker died to protect George Sanders, who discovered such plans, and you did not even bother to attend her funeral. Guilty conscience, perhaps?" He was mocking her. "Or perhaps, you could not risk being discovered?" 

Daphne inhaled. She would have liked to give him a slap or two. He had no idea what he was talking about, as most people did not. Especially not when it came to Hannah. Daphne had grown accustomed to it: to people making assumptions, taking her silence as an answer, and twisting it in their favour to sell stories and push their own agenda. But the boy knew far more than any of the tabloids or journalists or private detectives that have stalked her in the past did. This is why perhaps she is finding his line of questioning rather unsettling. 

Not that there was not a kernel of truth in his words. Maybe that was precisely the problem. 

"Do you often go around making assumptions about people?" She asked icily. "Think you're the smartest boy in the room?"  

He smirked. "I am the smartest one in the room. And it is not an assumption when you have the facts to support a theory."

Daphne grunted. "I did not have anything to do with Hannah's death." But you also did not help her. A voice whispered at the back of her mind. "In June last year, Hannah called me to ask me whether I still had a contact in Interpol, seeing as I have done some work for them in the past. I asked why she needed it, but she did not tell me, except that she believed she could help. I gave her the name, and that was my last communication with her before she died." Murdered. Put down like an animal. 

"And how is it you know who the Angel is?" 

Daphne paused as she veered the car to enter the street leading inside the Rotherhithe Tunnel. It was not until they were driving through it that she answered. 

"A week after Hannah contacted me, two men broke in and attacked my house in Cambridge. It was kept off the books, as I did not wish to deal with the publicity. They both had wings tattooed on their wrist. I tried to contact Hannah, but she was no longer responding, so I reached out to my contact point in Interpol. That is how I found out about the Angel." She flexed the fingers of one hand against the wall, focusing on the licence plates of the car before them, rather than the mental image of her sister lying limp on the floor, brains splattered onto the carpet. Daphne had seen death before. Far worse than that. She may not recoil from it as she did when she was a child, but it did not mean she was unaffected. After all, she was a psychologist--she knew better than most how traumas can manifest in different ways. "A day later, I was informed that Hannah was killed in a botched robbery." 

"You didn't think of offering anyone information on her outreach to you?" 

She really wanted to slap the boy. Even if she was not naturally violent. "I did. My point of contact in Interpol told me there was not much that could be done but that the Gotham authorities are investigating. The Angel was a wanted woman across several different nations. Made a name for herself, it seems. My family and myself were placed under surveillance." 

"Hn. Your trip to the French coast was not just for entertainment then." He stated. Daphne did not comment. It was true, and it also did not seem he was asking for confirmation. Just how much does he know? "You will not tell me who you are, and I doubt you'll tell me who you work for. But that is all I know on the Angel." Daphne said firmly. "So, what do you want from me?" 

"The men who kidnapped your nephew work for the Angel." The boy stated. "But you've already suspected that." 

Daphne glanced at him through the rearview mirror. No point denying it. "Yes. Whatever my sister and that boy, George Sanders, was involved in, I assumed they wanted information on." 

"You don't seem worried she might kill you or your nephew? You have contacts in high places, yet you did not contact any of them." 

Perceptive little shit, wasn't he? 

"Perhaps I simply do not wish to risk my nephew's life. I would be glad to serve as an exchange if needed." Daphne replied truthfully, just as they came out of the tunnel. They were less than ten minutes away from the destination. The navigator showed little to no traffic, so they could be there even in seven minutes. 

"Do you know how to use the gun in your bag, Barlow?" The boy asked smugly, gesturing to the handbag she left on the seat next to her. 

Very perceptive. Had he been watching her? 

"I am fairly good at aiming." She replied. "Are you going to keep the sword to my neck all the way there? Risk getting caught in the crossfire?" 

"It's not me you should be worried about." He drawled. "You don't seem to care very much. I know you are not who you say you are, Daphne Barlow ." This time, she scoffed. "Child, please. I am Daphne Barlow. Perhaps you should pick up a book or two." Then she glanced at him in the rearview. "Strange. I gave a boy about your age and height an autograph just earlier today. Although I must say, the blond hair had me fooled. Thought it was natural." 

He smirked. "You are so confident in this identity that you've built for yourself, yet you would not tell your family the truth. I suppose they would not accept you quite as warmly if they knew." Daphne gave him an unimpressed look. "Son, I am a psychologist. Do you think that sort of tactic would work on someone of my caliber?" She did not even see when he moved his hand over the tablet, but the car suddenly stopped, doors locking and the engine turning off. They were but a couple of minutes away. They were already surrounded by broken-down, abandoned cars and crumbling buildings. The rendezvous was supposed to take place on the second floor of a former factory. 

It was 20:47. Cutting it far too close for her liking. The sword lowered from her neck, and when she turned to glance at the seat next to her, the handbag was also gone. Damn it. She was being held hostage in her own car while her terrified and potentially injured nephew was waiting for her in one of those derelict buildings. She turned into her seat to look at the boy directly. "Alright. I have had enough of playing twenty questions. What do you want?" 

"What do they want from you?" 

"Money. I agreed to transfer fifty-thousand pounds into a bank account." 

A dark brow quirked up. "And? They would not go to these lengths just for that amount. We both know you have more than that." 

"Information. On Bruno Von Richter.’’ Lord, even in his death, the man had a way of complicating her life and reopening old wounds. "I assume they'll extort me for it in the same manner you are right now." 

The boy's brows furrowed, making his mask wrinkle slightly with the movement. "What kind of information?" 

She sighed. "I don't know. Bruno was involved in all kinds of business---not always legal. He also pissed off quite a few people in his travels. I would like to say this is the first time his insane adventures have caused my family and me issues, but I would be lying." 

"Give me your take on it, then." He demanded. "Richter died two years ago. For an interest to resurface in him suddenly, there must be a specific reason. Is there any reason the Angel would be interested in him?" Daphne stared at him. Her children and grandchildren generally cowered when they found themselves on the receiving end of that gaze. The boy wielding the sword did not react. Even with his mask on, Daphne could tell he was not easy to impress. 

"I've lost contact with Bruno over the years, so I am not aware of what he had been up to before his disappearance other than he seemed very excited about it. So much that it had started consuming every second of his life." He was obsessed. Unhinged. Not the man she had fallen in love with. Then again, he had stopped being that man years before. "So, my guess is as best as yours, lad." She glanced at her watch. 20:54. She will be late. "My nephew is going to get hurt if you make me late." She said, this time heartbeat increasing. The image of Arthur's limp body was not something she could add to the worrying collection she had in her mind already. "Do you wish to have his blood on your hands?" 

The boy grunted. "Get out." 

"It's faster if I drive---" 

" Now ." 

The locks on the doors unlocked, and after removing her seatbelt, Daphne did as she was told. The boy was already out, sword in one hand. There were no lights in that area or much in terms of civilization, but nearby buildings cast enough brightness over the abandoned site that she could walk without tripping. The boy stayed behind her. Silent, she noted. Was he from her world? Or one of those vigilantes? Relatively young, but Daphne was no stranger to child soldiers. The factory she was supposed to meet the others was three floors tall, but the captors were going to meet her on the ground floor. Light shined through the dirty, cracked windows lining the ground floor, and the boy led her towards the entrance. 

The rusting, metal doors were left ajar, and Daphne pushed them slightly open so she could go through, her confusion mounting when she found the large space void of any armed or masked criminals amongst the moulding abandoned crates. Well, no, not void. There were masked men. On the floor, unconscious and hogtied, their weapons pushed aside. The light in the room stemmed from wireless flood lights scattered about the room. 

Her nephew wasn't there. But there was another child, dressed in a similar black outfit as the one wielding the sword behind her. Hooded, mask, dark outfit covering them almost head to toe. Hard to identify, as was the intention. 

Daphne looked around for any signs of Arthur. 

"Your nephew, um, is safe." The new child, a girl, remarked softly. 

Daphne looked up at her with a thunderous look on her face. "Who are you?" She looked at the boy as he stepped to stand beside the girl. "What is the meaning of all this?" She waved her arm at the incapacitated men lying on the floor. 

"I am sorry." The girl said suddenly, bowing her head slightly. "We mean no harm." She said politely—a far cry from the interaction Daphne had on the way there with the other child. 

Daphne tilted her head to show the thin scratch the boy had left on her neck. "I beg to differ." 

The boy scoffed. "Hardly a scratch." 

The girl stepped forward towards her, body language tense. She was nervous. "These men were members of—of Angel's group. We just want to ask some questions." 

Daphne schooled her expression to reveal nothing. "I've already answered plenty of questions. I've told you everything I know." The girl nodded. "You are not a hostage, Ms. Barlow." She said, then glanced at the boy. He nodded at her, wordlessly signaling her that she could go ahead. Daphne's eyes narrowed. So, the boy was the dominant one in that partnership of theirs. 

The girl looked back at Daphne. "The Angel is dead." 

Fay glanced at Bagheera, starting to enjoy the shield of the mask. Her paladin was hidden across the room, between crates purposefully placed in a tower so they could shield his large form. He tilted his head from behind just enough so they could see him blinking. Daphne remained unaware of the creature sitting only a few feet behind her. "The Angel is dead." 

Daphne frowned at them. "Then, why all the questions?" Her paladin blinked twice. The woman was genuinely confused as far as he could sense. Fay had instructed him to blink twice if he thought the woman was truthful and blink once if he felt dishonesty or deceit. It was not a foolproof plan, especially if Daphne was as good at hiding her emotions as she appeared to be, but Damian was also watching her. It was good enough. 

Fay swallowed, her mouth feeling parched as her pulse increased. This was it. The moment she has been waiting for weeks. Strangely, she did not feel quite as excited as she thought she would be. Perhaps because she did not know she would meet Daphne in those circumstances. Fay stepped closer to the woman until they were standing in front of one another. Not too close, though, just to be on the safe side. There was at least two arm's length between them. 

"I believe we are from the same world," Fay said, ripping the metaphorical bandaid off as people liked to say there. "And---and I do not wish to cause you any issues or to expose you. That is not why I am here." She reassured, when the woman's eyes narrowed, a mix of intrigue and skepticism forming on her face. Her silvery eyes were hard, betraying nothing of whether Fay's words meant anything to her. "I just wanted to know…how." 

Daphne scoffed. "Child, just because someone comes up to me and pretends she is from another world, do you think I will suddenly believe you?" She smiled ruefully. "I have had patients who offered far more creative stories than—" 

"You carry the mark of the sullied." The girl interrupted her, suddenly switching from English to a language that Daphne has not heard in years. It had been such a long time that her mind had trouble making sense of what she was hearing. It was indubitably the language she grew up with. The regimes of that era expected everyone to know it, regardless of the various cultures and dialects that existed on the vast territory they oversaw. It was the language spoken by millions in the Maysoon Empire. Beyond, too. 

And the girl was fluent in it. "I am sorry for interfering in your life." She said, bowing her head slightly again. "I will not cause you problems. I just wish to know more about how you traveled here. And—" The girl's head tilted, and even with the mask on, Daphne could tell she was looking at her neck, where the scar was. "—I will not ask how that happened. If you are not comfortable with speaking about it. I understand…that the mark of sullied is a great burden." What a thoughtful brat she was. 

Fay straightened. "So, please. Do you know how to travel between the worlds? Or of others doing it?" 

Daphne just stared at her bewildered, the cold, expressionless façade cracking away. The woman inhaled sharply, then cleared her throat. 

"It has been a while since I've heard that language." She remarked a few moments later, voice distant. "Or since I've met anyone from Maysoon for that matter. How did a child like you end up in this world anyway?" 

Fay's lips twitched upwards against her will. "It's, um, a long story." 

She speaks English very well. She was either taught or has been here a while. "I bet," Daphne said truthfully. "You committed an incredibly illegal act, child. You ought to pray the Royals do not catch you." 

Fay frowned at her, then remembered that it has been decades since Daphne had been in Maysoon. 

"Things…have changed. In Maysoon, I mean." She explained. "The Royal family is…well. They have changed, as well. The old regime does not exist anymore." Daphne looked skeptical again, one pale brow quirking. She wasn't hearing anything that wasn't new, even if she'd lost contact with her former world.

Her smile was cold, cutting. Almost cruel.

"Oh. So, you are telling me the royals no longer enslave people? Burndown and massacre entire villages just to prove how powerful they are?" 

It was not anything Fay has not heard before. After all, the history of Maysoon was not a secret, and Fay had read extensively on it. Her parents have never particularly sugar-coated the reality of the tyranny that many generations faced not too long before she was born. "Yes," Fay replied simply. "It—it doesn't change what happened. But it is different now. It is a better place. Not always, but um…. the royal clans no longer have all the power. There is a peace treaty, and all territories are working together to maintain the rules on it." More or less. 

Daphne's cold smile did not falter. "How nice." She shook her head to herself. "What about the— hm , now what is the equivalent in this language?" She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I suppose it would be death rippers. Of course, they had many names when I was a child. I am not sure I would find a translation for some terms, but you must know who I am referring to. They must have taught you all about it." 

Fay swallowed, her anxiety levels increasing. She could feel Damian's gaze bore into her back, and she found that more unsettling than the woman's continued skepticism. "Yes. Yes, I do." She replied quietly. "It's—it's in the history books." 

"Just the history books? Hm. During my time, they had statues and songs written for them. People venerated them. Then again, if they did not, they would end up with the worst of fates." Daphne snorted.

Fay was starting to get the sense Daphne was trying to rile her up. That, or she must have genuinely held a deep-seated grudge against Maysoon. Not unjustifiably, so.

That was the worst part. Fay couldn't even defend Maysoon for the terrifying place it had once been, and if Daphne had not been there to see how the world changed, or at least learn about it, then it was expected the woman would be so doubtful about it. Daphne must have left Maysoon when the Resistance was only just starting to shake the waters, so she wouldn't have been there to witness any of the historical moments that shaped the Maysoon Fay grew up with. 

Fay wasn't naïve. Things haven't completely changed. Hundreds of thousands of years of wars and bloodshed could not be undone so easily. It was even harder to change people's way of thinking, but the progress was there. That, she truly believed in, even in the moments when she felt Maysoon failed her as well.

"You are from Maysoon, however," Fay said. "May--may I ask where from? Is it the capital?" Daphne regarded her with an inscrutable look before reaching inside her trench coat pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She lit up one, then propped herself on one of the crates while her free hand pulled the collar of her coat higher. The weather outside was close to zero, and the air was frigid. 

Fay was glad that they had managed to get her nephew the medical attention he needed. The kidnappers had cut his hand to draw blood and hypothermia had started to settle in when they found him. Fay and Bag had carried him to the nearest hospital, dropping him in sight of a first responder while Damian had gone for Daphne.

"I was born in the Altas clan. Are you familiar with it?" 

Fay thought about it for a few seconds. "I think so. Is that---a Northern clan? It's—extinct." She could have probably chosen a better word for it. 

Daphne eyed her as she took a puff out of her cigarette, held it in then released it. Interesting. "I was the heir to the clan, and as was the custom at the time, I was to take over when I was deemed to be a woman. Sixteen, more or less, was considered the age for that. However, I refused. If I had become the heir to the clan, then my younger sister would have been sold out as a.." Her nose wrinkled in disgust. "..as another man's pet. Or mistress. Or slave. Depends on who offered the best deal. The clan had strong genes, but we were not warriors as much as we were healers. So, not completely dispensable." She said in dark amusement. 

She took another puff. Two years without a cigarette and the brat in front of her was ruining her record. Her husband would have been disappointed. 

"By stepping down from my responsibilities, I accepted the punishment for doing so." 

"…the mark?" 

"Death, darling," Daphne said simply. "It is better to have a clan member, especially the heir, die in unexpected circumstances than have them alive and shaming the good name of the family." Sarcasm dripped from her voice. 

Fay frowned at her but didn't react otherwise. Unfortunately, Daphne was not the only one Fay met that had horrifying stories to tell. "My father, may Hell burn his soul, was a greedy fucker. So, despite having been granted freedoms and protection from the royal family – not something one could get easily, I might add – he got it in his head that he could turn his back on them." Daphne smiled coldly. "You don't turn your back on the death rippers and think you can get away with it." 

"They…killed them. Your family." Fay said tightly. "The royal family killed them." 

Daphne nodded. "Not everyone. I was an excellent healer. In exchange for serving the royal family, I asked for leniency on myself and my sister." She paused, looking away in the distance. "I was granted, and I did as I was told." 

"But, then….the mark?" 

"I gave it to myself," Daphne said calmly. "To prove that I did not affiliate myself with my clan, and to also ensure my own freedom. A small price to pay." 

Fay's stomach churned, hands feeling cold and clammy beneath her gloves. 

"A few years into my servitude, the Resistance started gaining traction. Nobody took them seriously at the time, but if you say things have changed, I am assuming they have won." Daphne continued. Fay nodded, head lowering. It was hard to acknowledge or talk about any victory the Resistance may have had right after what Daphne had revealed about her background. It did not change the pain the woman had to put up with. "I wasn't privy to the inner circles of the royal family. Very few were. But rumors started spreading about the Resistance being able to travel between the worlds. Like a Seeker would, but through the use of different paths." 

"Seekers?" Damian echoed.

Fay's heart sunk to her stomach, and she closed her eyes behind the mask, holding her breath momentarily. Oh no. That is not how she wanted Damian to find out. She wasn't sure when she would have told him about the Seekers, but Fay had hoped to be the one to do it. As soon as she found a way to explain why she felt the need to lie about their existence. 

Daphne eyed them both with an intrigued look. "Is that not how you traveled to this world?" She asked. "You're telling me a child actually used the dark paths? That's impressive." And impossible. 

"I don't know how I got here," Fay said tightly. "And—" It was too late to feign ignorance. Damian would be able to tell anyway. "And---the Seekers are no longer allowed to operate in this world. Um, according to the peace treaty." 

Daphne looked amused again. "My, I have missed a lot, haven't I?" She watched the body language of the two children carefully. The boy betrayed nothing, but the girl had gone stiff as aboard. She knew about the Seekers, however. The boy didn't, as proven a second later when he stepped forward. The girl refused to look at him.

"What is the purpose of the Seekers?" It was possible the boy was from that world, instead. Daphne squashed down the sudden sense of nostalgia that assailed her. Once upon a time, she had trusted a boy in that world with her secrets as well—one of her life's greatest regrets. 

Daphne didn't answer him immediately, pondering whether the boy would keep the girl's word in not interfering with her life. The cat was already out of the bag, though. And if they wanted to hurt her or her family, they would have done so. 

"To observe, only," Daphne said, for both hers and the girl's benefit. "Researchers of sorts. They were not allowed to interact with people here, however. Just to observe and learn about this world. Not many know about them, however—a very exclusive type of operation. For many years I thought they were a myth, myself. Travel between the worlds was discouraged and forbidden. After all, what need do we have of your wars and conflicts when we had our own?" 

"So, why the research?" 

Daphne shrugged. "Curiosity. I don't know, lad." She took the last puff, then dropped the stub to the ground, where she pressed on it with the heel of her boot to extinguish it. "I would not worry about it much. Like she said—" Daphne gestured to Fay. "—all traces of their existence have been wiped." 

That elicited a response from the girl. "W-what?" Fay breathed. "What—what do you mean?" 

"I had met one of them decades ago. In Germany." Daphne said. "A retired Seeker, operating under the name of Lukas Abicht. He had fallen in love and built a family here, so he falsified his death. He's dead, killed a few years ago." She ran her tongue over her lips and pulled out another cigarette from her pack to lit up. "I think there may have been others, but they all died. Or were killed according to the one I knew in Germany. No loose strings and all that." 

Fay's legs felt like jelly, the room swaying slightly around her as she reeled from the news she's received. 

"If you were counting on them to return," Daphne said, observing the way the girl's shoulders sunk in disappointment. "Then you can forget it. Unless you want to die as well." They wouldn't do that. My family---they wouldn't do that. Fay thought, feeling nauseous. But….what if it wasn't her family that discovered her? What if it was the Council? Or….whoever was bringing weapons into that world?

"That is why you have become a recluse," Damian concluded. "You were afraid you'd be hunted down just like the Seekers." Daphne has been called worse than a 'recluse', so she did not bat an eye at the boy's statement. "Obviously." Among other reasons. But they didn't need to know everything. She had been generous as it is, considering she could be exposed just by talking to them. 

"To answer your question, darling," Daphne said, glancing at the girl after taking several puffs of her cigarette. "I arrived in this world with the help of a Resistance member. I was blindfolded, however, and sedated. For my own safety and for their protection, because they did not wish for others to know of the secrets of the dark paths. Once I was here, I never looked back. As far as I am concerned, the other world had stopped being my home long before coming here. I am Daphne Barlow, and that is all there is to it." She said firmly. 

"What…" Fay swallowed. "What about your sister?" 

Daphne's face was emotionless. "She didn't make it," Daphne said simply as she finished the second cigarette faster than the last. "Which begs the question, how did you? I almost died making the passage." 

Fay shook her head. "I don't remember." 

Daphne made a non-committal sound. "Well, I am sorry I couldn't be of more help. But Maysoon couldn't have changed that much if you're here." An invisible knife twisted itself in Fay's heart, just as indignation filled her veins. With herself, mostly. Fay couldn't blame the woman for holding a grudge still. Daphne had run from their world searching for a better life after suffering some genuinely terrifying ordeals according to her own story.

Fay had run away because she was a coward. Because she missed her parents. Because she could not deal with the expectations placed on her shoulders. 

"Do you have any information on anyone traveling between the worlds? Aside from the Seekers." Damian asked. 

"No." 

"Has anyone contacted you in regards to your former homeland until now?" 

Daphne shook her head. "No." Damian paused, glancing at Bagheera. The paladin blinked twice. He felt she was telling the truth. The boy was inclined to agree with him. Daphne had shown no signs of dishonesty, as reluctant as she may have been to speak to them. But she was very good at controlling her emotions and body language, too. She's been attempting to read them as much as they have her.

Damian glanced over at Fay, whose head was bowed and had fallen completely silent. She knew about the Seekers and did not tell him. Now it made sense why she wanted to go to Europe—she was in search of them. Something cold, sharp manifested itself in his chest. It felt like the cut of a blade. 

He blamed it on the cold weather, although even he knew that was a poor excuse. 

"Anything else you want to ask?" He asked coldly, feeling his irritation mount by the second. 

Fay shook her head. Damian turned to look at the woman. "You're free to go. We'll be in touch if we have any further questions." 

Daphne sneered slightly at him. "I will not be at your beck and call, boy." 

"Yes, you are." The boy said. He then turned and started walking away, sheathing his sword. "Let's go." Fay didn't immediately. She pulled something out of her trousers' pocket and, stepping closer to the woman, she handed it to Daphne. It was a card, with a phone number written on it by hand—nothing else. A UK number, too, but Daphne felt the children came from further away to ask her questions. 

Daphne accepted the card and was surprised again when the girl bowed her head, pressing one palm to her chest. It has been a while since she has seen anyone make that gesture. 

"I know it may not be worth much, but, um…I am very sorry for all the pain Maysoon has caused you." The girl said quietly, switching to her native language. "I hope you are happier in this world." 

The heartfelt wish was unexpected. Daphne was unsure if she'd label the girl as kind just yet, but she was certainly capable of empathizing. 

"You've committed a mistake. Trusting that boy with your secret." Daphne said lowly. "You cannot live in two worlds. Make a choice and live with it." The girl nodded and walked away, following after the boy. Police sirens echoed in the distance. They must have been only a couple of minutes away. 

Daphne stepped out of the warehouse and looked around. The boy and girl were already gone. She could only hope that the entire situation would not come to bite her in the ass. Or affect her family. 

Still. 

There was something about the girl.

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The trip back to the hotel was quiet. Damian walked past her as soon as they were inside the penthouse and went straight to his bedroom, leaving Fay to stare after him disheartened. She glanced at her paladin, whose muted emotions confirmed that he must have felt the boy's turmoil as well. Fay stood there in the living room for a moment before walking into her private bathroom with her pajamas to get changed. Bagheera remained in her bedroom, working his way through a bag of apples. 

Fay could not stop the tears from gathering in her eyes, nor did she attempt to stop them as they started to fall on her cheeks at an increasing frequency. She peeled her clothes off, then her mask, and tied her growing hair into a bun, not in the mood to wash it. She did not feel like doing anything but cry, really, but she was tired and sweaty, and the shower would muffle her emotional outburst, at least.

As such, she spent almost forty minutes underneath the hot shower, and when she came out, her fingers had puckered, and her skin had turned red. She took her time drying off and changing into her pyjamas, feeling disappointed but not surprised when she saw how red and puffy her eyes were. When she exited the bathroom, brushing her fingers through her tangled locks – she felt like chopping all her hair off – Damian was standing at the entrance of her room, face unreadable. He had showered too, judging by the wet, tousled hair. 

"We leave tomorrow at 6 AM sharp." 

Fay opened her mouth, but he was gone before she could even get a word out past her lips. Say something. Say something, Fay. Instead, she watched him walk across the living room and into his bedroom, shutting the door close behind him. 

Shutting her out. 

That is what he was doing. He was not even reacting angrily. Damian was not criticizing her for lying or withholding information. He was not demanding information or an explanation. He was giving her the cold shoulder, treating her…. well, Fay is not sure if he ever treated her quite in that manner. Even when she was just the orphan girl and he was the rich boy from the museum. 

Something had ruptured between them. Whatever it was. 

And it was all her fault. Why am I surprised? She knew it was going to happen sooner or later. Granted, that wretched hope of hers had made her think it would be the latter. But she had lied to Damian, and she continued to do so. There was so much more he did not know, so much more that she had left out. 

The Seekers are all dead, according to Daphne. And she appears to have been a dead-end herself. Which meant, for the time being, she had no way of going back home. And starting that night, the only faithful ally she had in that world had found out she had lied to him. Would Damian even want to help her anymore? Probably not. 

The only person who made her feel seen since her parent's death. The only other creature in that world besides Bagheera that had been capable of making her feel less alone. Less...broken. 

She did not want to stop knowing Damian. She did not want them to stop talking. It had nothing to do with the help he was offering her. 

Fay closed the doors to her bedroom and slid down on the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She looked at Bagheera, for help or for guidance or maybe just as an anchor from the familiar pain blooming in her ribcage, stealing her breath away. Her paladin came to stand next to her, snuggling up against her and placing his head comfortingly on top of hers. He wished he could tell her that the boy was also hurting in his own way. 

Humans could be so complicated at times.  

Daphne sat down at the vanity table at her home in Cambridge, a glass of whisky in one hand as she stared at the card before her. An ashtray full of cigarette stubs was next to it, along with her phone. Arthur was at the hospital with his parents. He'll make a full recovery, physically speaking. Emotionally, he won't be quite as alright for a while. Daphne will start therapy sessions with him as soon as he was released. It was a small victory, but her nephew had been sedated most of the time during his capture, so he did not remember much. 

Her son blamed her. He didn't say it out loud, but Daphne felt it all the same. She couldn't blame him. But she allowed him to think the kidnapping was for the purpose of extortion, not that it had anything to do with Hannah or beyond. Her family did not know much about Hannah, nor did they ever discuss her.

But that evening, Daphne thought about her more than she has in years. She thought about her actual sister, as well. Daphne had failed both of them. The encounter with the two children that night had resurfaced many memories she often kept locked away. And with the memories, the emotions as well. 

She'd been staring at the card on the table for hours, contemplating whether or not she should go ahead with touching it with her bare hands. It has stayed untouched in her pocket while she issued a statement at the police station, while she visited her nephew at the hospital, while she was driven back to her weekend house. She could not bear to be in the office, nor did she trust it was a safe environment that night. 

With a gloved hand, she had laid the card on her vanity table while she washed and changed, and then she sat down on the chair and stared at it for over an hour. 

Daphne doubted that was the last time she'd see the girl from Maysoon or her rude partner. If she touched the card, she would likely see and feel things she was better off without. Daphne had spent decades becoming who she is, detaching herself from a life she never intended to return to. If she touched that card, she would inevitably start rebuilding the bridge she had burned down many years earlier. 

She had a duty to protect her family if it came down to it, however. 

"Fuck's sake." She sighed, taking the last sips of whisky before plopping the glass on her desk. 

Then she touched the card, channeling her flux in a manner she has done thousand times over. The same way she did with her patients and their personal objects. But very few of them had felt as intense as what she did then. 

The memories were muddled, but the sensations were overwhelming. 

Daphne ended up on the floor, glass knocked on the floor, clutching for air. It felt as if someone had punched her in the chest. "Oh—Oh my God---" She crawled, trembling as she leaned her back against the bed. Her face felt wet, her hair coming out of her bun falling in wavy white tendrils down her shoulders. The card had fallen out of her hands onto the floor, and she eyed it with mortification. 

She should have never touched the card. 

Chapter 24: Of loneliness, road trips and rock songs 

Chapter Text

"It is a lonely feeling when someone you care about becomes a stranger." 

Unknown 

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25th of January 

The warehouse felt too big. Too empty. Too quiet. 

And it was all her damn fault. For caring so much. For getting attached in such a manner. For growing dependent on Damian's presence just like she is on Bagheera, to want his friendship so badly that she lost sight of how easily he will break her heart. To his credit, any heartache she felt was of her own doing. Fay had not told him about the Seekers or the real reason she wanted to go to Europe. At the time, it had felt like a wise decision. To an extent, it still was. She would not be regretting her decision had she not grown to care for Damian in the manner she did. 

It is all her fault if she is once again experiencing the sting of rejection. And oh, look at that. It took so little this time around. The ultimate proof that it was not just Fay of Maysoon people did not wish to be around but just Fay. 

They did not speak on the way back to Gotham, sitting at opposite ends of the luxurious plane. Fay had spent hours locked in an internal battle about whether she should go up and talk to him. She couldn't bear to see that cold expression being directed at her, so in the end, she sat on that seat, battling tears and distracting herself with nonsensical games on her phone or by reading a book that took her longer than it should have to finish. From the airport, Damian sent them back to the warehouse. Alone. With hardly a word other than that he will keep monitoring Daphne and let her know if there was anything she needed to know. Cold, concise.

Fay had not seen him in a week ever since. She thinks he may have come once or twice judging by Bagheera's reaction, but he never visited her, nor showed any interest in talking to her. 

Fay was used to that type of treatment. To be treated as if she does not exist, she is just an ornament to walk past and not even worth a second glance. It should hurt less. 

It does not. 

Perhaps Daphne was right. She had clearly had an even stronger bond with Bruno von Richter, seeing as she had been in love with him. They almost got married, too. Their years in a relationship were nothing compared to the few months of friendship-not-friendship Fay had with Damian, so Daphne knew better than anyone what it felt like to have her old identity cause her issues. Fay did not know the whole story, but the woman had looked…hurt. 

It was a mistake. Letting herself be so vulnerable, sharing so many hidden parts of herself, trusting Damian with all of them. 

She had been so, so weak. 

How much of herself had she betrayed in her nonsensical desire to be seen by him? To be closer? To being acknowledged? The entire Maysoon would laugh at her if it ever came to light the pathetic way in which she had acted. Again. 

Her thoughts only spiraled on from there, even if that had not happened in a while. She wondered if Damian had noticed how desperate she had been for his friendship. Of course, he did. She wondered if that's what Dana saw when she looked at Fay: a lost child who is clinging to the attention of someone who is hardly her match. Probably. 

After all, hadn't she been through this already? 

The warehouse no longer felt like a haven. It no longer felt something akin to a home in that world. Another mistake of hers. Perceiving that place as home. 

Her ridiculousness knows no bounds.

In the span of a few days, old insecurities returned ferociously just as the mocking voices in her head did. 

Fay was not quite sure if she ever had a Bad Week since she left her homeland. 

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26th   of January 

"He's destroyed the training room three times. At this rate, Wayne Enterprises will go bankrupt." Bruce remarked, all while feeling amazed by his son's ability. Dick sighed as he stepped to stand next to his former mentor and father figure, both of them watching the youngest member of their family take his training onto one of the cave's platforms. It wasn't the dummies' day, that's for sure. 

"Yeah, I don't think the trip to London has gone very well," Dick responded, eyeing the older man from the corner of his eyes. 

"What?" Bruce could feel his son's insistent gaze, interrupting a rare moment of being able to drink his coffee in peace. And it was still hot, too. 

Dick gave him a knowing look. "Well, have you tried to ask him what's going on in his mind?" 

"Hn. He prefers to work it out of his system in his own way." 

"You mean the unhealthy way like you do." Bruce could swear Dick and Alfred took turns dissecting his parenting skills. 

"Fine. You do it your way. But don't complain if next year, I get the best Christmas gift again." Dick teased as he turned to walk towards the stairs leading down from the mezzanine. 

Bruce grunted. "Keep telling yourself that." 

Damian stared at the damage he's caused. It should have been satisfying, but it wasn't. Hm. He had considered the garden, but Alfred would never let him hear the end of it.

And he was not in the mood for anyone nagging him. 

"Hey, little D!" Dick saluted cheerfully. 

The boy sneered. Talking about nagging. 

"Go away, Grayson," Damian said curtly. "I am not in the mood." The older man was undeterred, as usual. Damian would never admit that there was a part of him that was always relieved that Dick never walked away no matter what he said. That the former Robin would stubbornly stay rooted by his side and display a continual sense of patience. That he was the big brother, Damian never knew he needed and still struggled to admit he wanted. 

"I went to see Fay." 

Okay, so Grayson was looking to be punched by opening the conversation with her as a topic. Damian schooled his expression to reveal nothing while he feigned air of indifference when picking his shuriken out of what was left of the dummies. The shuriken she'd given him was no longer on his mantle but thrown away angrily in a deep, corner of his room. 

"She hasn't been eating," Dick remarked. "And it doesn't look like she has been sleeping either. I think she may have lost weight again." Damian didn't react, ignoring the uncomfortable knot sitting low in his guts, and reminded himself it was of her own doing if they were at an impasse. His fault, too. He had lowered his guard, recklessly so, and had gotten himself involved far beyond what was necessary. Fay did not trust him. Even if she did care, it was not sufficient to see him as a familiar. 

Contrary to what Grayson and Pennyworth may think, Damian did not feel angry. He wanted to be angry, had even sought reasons to feel that way. From a logical standpoint, Fay had done nothing wrong, and he knew that. She was loyal to her world, and he had already established she would be cautious about offering information out of a sense of protection. Of course, that had been before. 

And that was his error. To think there had been a before and after to their arrangement. To have perceived a development when there was none. But he did not feel angry. The emotions roiling in his chest, switching between hot and cold constantly, weren't just irritation. It was something else. Emotions he felt inclined to reject, much less acknowledge. Feelings he would have not experienced had it not been for his own oversight. 

Those wretched emotions made him imagine Fay returning to her old underweight self with red-rimmed eyes and low appetite, the one that looked as if she could break at any minute and never smiled. The one with broken eyes and no desire to follow up on any of her hobbies or passions. Those emotions made him worry about that image, and he didn't want to. She didn't deserve it. 

(Yes, she did.)

Fay only saw him as a means to an end, and her desire to open up, to be vulnerable around him should have not been mistaken for trust and…camaraderie. The paranoid part of him thought that it was all just an act. And if it was, she deserved a standing ovation. A much better actress than he'd given her credit. 

(He was vaguely aware he was down a rabbit's hole with his own assessment)

"I don't know what happened in London but--" 

"Yes, you do. Pennyworth has already spoken to you." 

Dick rubbed the back of his head. "Fine. I know some parts. I know enough to understand why you have both been miserable." 

Damian bristled. "I am not miserable." What a preposterous notion. 

Dick looked like he didn't believe him. "Damian. You are the person she is most familiar with in this world. And you are ignoring her. Treating her as if she doesn't exist. Do you think that won't have consequences?" The boy's fists clenched, inadvertently curling around one of the shurikens. He ignored the way the metal dug into his skin, drawing blood. He hardly registered the pain as a wave of indignation filled him, and he turned to face Dick with a thunderous look. 

"How is this my fault?" He snarled, every bit looking like a dragon that's been poked too many times. "She is paying for the consequences of her own actions. She lied to me. She insisted on keeping secrets that might be crucial to the investigation, and had it not been for Barlow, would have continued to do so." Dick looked at him patiently, with that infuriatingly understanding look in his eyes which only made Damian angrier. And in return, he opens the floodgates to all the emotions Damian has been holding in. 

He really really wanted to hurt someone. 

Not Fay, even if she was the reason why he wanted to. And that was the problem. She was the source of his issues, yet punishing her wasn't tempting. Not satisfying at all. Damian did everything as he was meant to. He was patient. He listened. He shared parts of his background so she could see he understood. He spoke through actions, not words, which were meaningless in his opinion, and it hadn't been enough. Fay had plenty of opportunities to tell him the truth. She just did not want to. 

"You're disappointed." Damian's veins filled with ice, and he stared at Dick, momentarily stunned. "Aren't you, Damian?" 

Yes, that's precisely what he felt. He had known enough disappointment – often caused by either of his parents – to be familiar with it. He just had refused to acknowledge it. It felt like giving Fay more power over him, admitting that she could cause him to be disappointed because…because he wasn't enough. Despite everything.

Dick sighed and stepped closer to him even if the boy was a walking, live wire, and just as deadly as one. 

"For what it's worth, I don't think her intention was to break your trust." 

"Why are you defending her?" Damian hissed. "You don't even know her." 

"You're right. But you do." Dick nodded. "You two have known each other for months and have gone through a lot. Fay has changed a lot since the first day I met her, you know. And I think that was because of you. Do you think she would disagree?" Damian wanted to say yes. He tried to take every memory of Fay and see it as a dishonest act on her end. But that would mean ignoring the facts and thinking with his heart. Strange how even when he tried to be logical, everything still worked against him. 

"— Tt —" No. 

"From a rational point of view, we both know she hasn't done anything wrong. Fay has been cooperating willingly since Halloween, despite not being sure if she could count on any of us. Then she had to place her safety and identity into your hands, which must have not been easy." 

"You have a talent for stating the obvious, Grayson. Where are you going with this?" 

Dick gave him a look that both relaxed and made Damian want to recoil in disgust. Oh, the wonders of being raised by Talia. 

"I know you'll want to stab me for saying this, but I think neither of you expected to be friends." 

Friends. 

Friends. 

"You're wrong—" 

Dick gave him a look. "Come on. You're smarter than that." 

Damian shut his mouth. Because his older brother knew precisely how to trap him.

"You're disappointed because your friend has lied to you about something, not because Fay has lied to Robin. And you know what? It's okay." Dick put his hand on his shoulder. "I know it's not easy for you to trust someone, and from what I've seen, it's not easy for her either. So, I can't say I am surprised by how long it took you both to get to this point. But, Dami---" The hand on his shoulder squeezed slightly. "---you need to decide what you want because, from my point of view, Fay's friend is pretending she doesn't exist for something she must have struggled with keeping to herself. Don't be friends if you don't want to---but don't punish her as if you were." 

The hand was removed, and Dick smiled at him. "For what it's worth, I think she'd be a good friend to have." 

Then he left the boy to stew in his own thoughts. 

Man, being the big brother could be a minefield at times.  

.

.

.

27th of January

Fay had packed and unpacked her backpack several times. She's lost count. Just as she's lost count of the many times, she decided that, yes, running away was the best option. A silly one, because Damian was bound to hunt them down, quite quickly too. He would undoubtedly be even angrier if she did run away and might actually consider making her a prisoner instead of a guest. 

That could also just be her paranoia talking. Her fear. Her anxieties. They've been running at full speed in the past few days. 

But Fay couldn't help thinking how much easier things were when it was just her and Bag and the strays in the attic. When all she had to worry about was not to get caught sneaking at the Gotham Academy or Dana asking too many questions. 

Her heart was so much safer back then. 

Now she had gotten it hurt. Again. 

And it was her fault. Again. 

Bagheera stopped her when she tried to pack a duffel bag as well, but he did watch her fumble with the backpack for several hours with a mix of concern and apprehension. He disagreed with her plan to leave, but he'd follow if she really wanted to. Fay sometimes wished her paladin wasn't so forgiving. That he didn't trust her so unconditionally. She didn't deserve any of it. 

A noise downstairs made her jump, startled. She could hear Pip barking from the kitchen, which was positioned below her bedroom. Then he quieted down. 

Her heart pounded. Was Damian back? She stared at the door undecided, wondering if she should go out at all. He didn't want to talk to her. Or see her. If she went downstairs, she'd just make things worse, right? 

Bagheera growled, fur rising on his back and jaws pulling back in a soundless snarl. Fay frowned at him. 

It wasn't Damian. Her paladin was feeling too alarmed. 

Someone else was in the house. A new person. 

An intruder.  

When she and Bagheera carefully went down to the ground floor, moving as silently as possible, Fay expected to see a masked man. Even an armed one. Or multiple masked armed men. Her phone was in one hand, and the shuriken Damian had given her was in her other. Fay has never been inclined towards using weapons, so her aim was not particularly impressive. As in, it was rather terrible. But they've been working on it. 

Well, they used to. That was over now. 

Fay hadn't been wrong about a masked armed man being in her kitchen. Except she had imagined him trying to make himself invisible so he could attack her when she least expected. Or point-blank attacking her, guns blazing. 

What she didn't expect was to see the Red Hood scrutinizing her fridge as if it was his given right. And complaining about it too, as if it was normal doing so while dressed in armor and with guns strapped to his thighs.

"Why is everything in here green or leafy?" He said out loud. Fay stopped a hundred feet or so away, Bagheera glued to her hip, both staring at the man bewildered. Pip looked just fine, standing by the man's boots and looking inside the fridge with just as much curiosity. 

A bright red helmet was propped on the marble countertop of the kitchen island. Fay glanced at it, then at her paladin – who was equally confused – then back at the man as he helped himself to an apple from inside the fridge.

"Yo, Rapunzel." He greeted before taking a large chunk of the apple. "How's it been going?" 

Fay would have felt terrified on any other day, but she was too emotionally exhausted at that moment. She was equally relieved and disappointed that it was not Damian in front of her. Yet she missed him. She was hopeless. 

"Um, what—what are you doing here?" Fay asked quietly. Damian had begrudgingly admitted that the Red Hood was not an enemy, and that is why he was allowed to walk around knowing so much about Batman and his affiliates. He was a former Robin, as well.

Her paladin stayed still and didn't attack. The Red Hood wasn't there with nefarious intentions, for the time being. 

"Oh. I was hungry." The man said around a mouthful of apple, then shrugged. "Also, I've got a proposal for you." 

"A…a proposal?" She echoed. "What, um, kind of proposal?" Did Damian know about this?

Did it even matter anymore? Fay wondered if he would even respond if she texted him. She was too embarrassed to do so, anyway. 

The man, who didn't look older than Dick himself, smirked.

"How about you and I go on a road trip?" 

Damian knew something was wrong when he arrived at the warehouse, and the paladin didn't greet him at the top of the stairs, as he always did. Bagheera was nowhere to be seen. 

Nor was Fay, for that matter. 

And when he looked in her bedroom, he found clothes scattered about out of her drawers and walk-in closet. A half-made duffel bag was left abandoned in a corner. Her backpack was gone, along with all the souvenirs from her travels in that world that she kept on a shelf above the TV. Including the presents, she received for Christmas. 

His emotions blustered, running hot and cold again. 

Fay has run away. 

She has run away from him. 

Had she stayed, she would have found he made a decision regarding their current predicament. 

Had she stayed, she would have found that he did consider her as a friend. That he was willing to hear her out and that he'll never shut her out again if they did establish their friendship. 

Damn it. 

She left her phone behind, which meant he could not contact her.

Idiot. 

She should have stayed. 

(He should have come earlier.)

Fay fidgeted with soft sleeves of her knitted wool jumper, her down jacket folded in a tight square, and sitting on her lap. The car was warm overall, but it smelt of oil, cigarettes, and a strong masculine scent that belonged to the man driving the car. A cologne, perhaps. Or maybe the byproduct of all the other scents that seemed to permeate his person. 

It wasn't unpleasant—just foreign. 

She wasn't sure what was weirder. 

That the compartment in the dashboard of his car was filled with snacks and….guns. Or that she spotted pieces of glass, random bullets, and knives lying about in an otherwise clean-looking car. 

Fay opened her mouth to ask, then she decided against it. Perhaps it was best if she didn't know everything. The Red Hood – Jason – told her that he had a criminal to track down whom he suspects might be a former member of Angel's squad. A week earlier, he had attacked an old rival, killing him – surprise, surprise – with the use of senwi. The parasite had killed him slowly and painfully before his body was abandoned in an abandoned building. As the spores had nowhere to travel and start a new lifecycle, thankfully, by the time his body was discovered, the parasite had died out. Win. 

Well, not for his last host. 

Fay quickly learned that Jason was just as unpredictable as Damian. And he had a dark sense of humor. Fay agreed to go with him, even if it was perhaps a reckless move (no more than running away) because she did want to get away from Gotham, and she liked the prospect of being useful. She was also somewhat curious about the man sitting beside her, even if he made her feel anxious. Fay glanced over her shoulder at Bagheera, who was brooding on the back seat. According to Jason, the car was a 'classic', but she wouldn't know much, other than it did look different from most cars she saw around. It was nice, with its red leather seats and dark, sleek body. 

Her paladin wasn't happy about the trip, but he didn't stop her either. It wasn't as if he would ever stay behind why she went on trips with strangers, even if it meant that he barely fit on the backseat and kept bumping his head against the ceiling. 

They were heading to a place called the Hamptons. Fay would have searched the location had she not accidentally left her phone at the warehouse. 

"Um, I don't have my phone on me." She frowned after checking her coat and trousers several times and coming up empty. 

Oh. 

Oh no. 

Damian was really going to think she ran away. 

"Worried Baby bat will be made with you?" Jason asked teasingly, eyes on the road ahead of them. The Hamptons was only a little over two hundred miles away, but the weather was going to add an hour or so to their trip. Maybe he should have stolen the Batplane. 

Fay pursued her lips. Well, Damian was already mad with her. It's not like he could do worse than ignoring her existence.

Well, no. He could. Others have proven that. But he wouldn't. Fay didn't think Damian would ever hurt her or Bagheera, not after all that time. Nor would he imprison them, no matter the dark scenarios her anxiety-riddled mind would sometimes supply. "Um, yes." Would he be truly worried or just annoyed that she left without giving his approval? Probably the latter. "Is it okay if you, um, let him know? Or—Dick? Or Mr. Pennyworth?" 

Jason raised a brow at her. "Been getting familiar with the whole family, are you?" He already knew the answer, but the kid was awfully silent. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she looked paler than last time he'd seen her. Not quite as thin, though. Jason didn't mind the silence – preferred it, really – but he was also pretty curious about the type of kid she was. Dick told him bits and pieces. Landed in that world in April last year, survived the Amazon – Darien Gap included – then trekked from Mexico all the way to Gotham with her loyal dog-not-dog. Resourceful brat, given she lived in Gotham on her own for months before she met Damian. The boy had the most information on her, but the little brat hoarded it to himself unless it was relevant to the topic of weapons from her world. 

An orphan, Alfred had pointed out. She had run from her remaining family, who may or may have not been abusing her. Jason had not seen them nor had been particularly interested in finding them, but his interest had been piqued when Dick pointed out that she had killed the chimeras back at Angel's compound. 

Fay did not strike him as a killer. She came across more like someone who would cry if she stepped on a bug.

"Which one is your favorite?" Jason prodded. "Out of those three?" 

Fay pondered that. "Mr. Pennyworth, I think." 

Wise choice. "Not your boyfriend?" Her face went red within seconds, almost matching the color of his seats, and Fay looked up at him, horrified. And slightly annoyed with that assumption. Well, well, well. "Damian is not--is not my boyfriend." She said firmly, then looked down at her lap. "Why do people always say that?" She whispered. He believed her but he did like riling up people. He couldn't help it. 

"What about Dick? Not charming enough?" Wasn't Dick's everyone's first choice? 

Fay shrugged. "Mr. Pennyworth is….very calm. I like that." She said softly. "He is really good at, um, everything. And--he cooks very well." He agreed. 

"Do I make you anxious?" 

She nodded. "But, um, most people do." She said, looking sheepish.  

Jason waved it off. "No need to spare my feelings; I don't care." 

Then his phone rang, vibrating noisily in the pocket of his trousers. His lips twitched when he saw the caller ID, and he answered before sliding the phone to his ear. 

"'Yello. Who's this?" 

"Where are you taking her?" 

"Damian. Is that you? Your voice is finally cracking, huh? I almost didn't recognize it." Jason glanced at the girl from the corner of his eyes, and she quickly lowered her gaze from him back to her lap. Her fidgeting intensified, her shoulders high, filled with tension. 

Interesting. 

"Stop wasting my time, Todd, or I will hunt you down and skin you alive." Pfft, the brat could try. "Put her on the phone. Now." 

"Say pretty please, and I will let you talk to her." Fay sunk lower into her seat, looking even more uncomfortable than before. Not scared. Embarrassed. 

"I will kill you." God, it was so fun riling him up. 

"Calm down, Baby bat. She's asleep." Fay looked up at him in surprise, and Jason winked at her. "Don't worry. I will ask her to send a postcard. Bye~!" 

Then he hung up and threw the phone out of the window. Fay stared at him with wide eyes. 

 "Meh. I've wanted to get a newer model anyway," Jason said. "Plus, I have several others in the trunk." 

Fay didn't ask why he lied about her being asleep, and he didn't ask why she didn't want to talk to Damian, so that was that. 

Jason turned on the music. Highway to Hell was on from the last time he was in the car. Fay's eyes went even wider when she heard the song and turned to look at the dashboard curiously. "Ah!" 

"AC/DC." He mentioned, then raised an eyebrow. "Are you familiar with it?" 

She smiled for the first time that day. Since he's met her, for that matter. It was a sad smile -- too sad for someone her age. 

"My mother, um, liked it." 

Well, he hadn't expected that. 

"Your mother--the mother from another world?" He asked. "Huh. Didn't know the old AC/DC was quite that popular. Who knew?" 

Fay shrugged. "My mother liked many songs from this world. Like, um, jazz. And….rock?" She looked unsure of the name.  

Jason grinned. He preferred silence in the car. 

But who was he to turn down the opportunity to educate a kid in the finest of that world's songs? 

By the time they arrived in the Hamptons; Fay had silently decided she liked Jason. Not as much as she liked Damian or Dana, nor she necessarily trust him, but he had spent over an hour playing different types of rock songs and telling her about all 'the greats'. Bagheera wasn't quite as appreciative, as he wasn't a fan of most songs, but he was happy that his Fay's mood had lifted slightly. 

Then she fell asleep and did not wake up until Jason had nudged her, telling her they were in the Hamptons and about to check-in at a hotel. It was, frankly put, a dump compared to the one she's stayed at in London, but she didn't care. Jason had taken two rooms and told her to say she was his younger sister if anybody asked. Bagheera stayed in the car until it was safe for him to sneak through the parking lot and into her bedroom. 

Alone in her room, Fay stared at her surroundings, unsure of how she felt. Bagheera was just happy that he could stretch, and he had no more music to put up with, so he immediately sprawled over the bed. Knowing he'll inevitably feel the storm of emotions starting to brew in her chest, Fay decided to shower and change.

After she accepted Jason's request, he had told her they would be leaving immediately, and so she had grabbed her backpack as it was. Packed as if she was going to leave permanently. 

Now that she was miles away from the warehouse, Fay realized she didn't want to leave. Even if it meant Damian stopped visiting her. Even if she had to face his silent treatment, the warehouse was the safest and most comfortable place they could be in. And if they left, where would they even go? If Daphne told the truth, then it meant Fay had no Seekers to find. She would still try to search for answers on her own, but that meant starting from scratch to plan a trip to Europe. They had a substantial amount of money, but Fay would not have access to it for long if she did run away. Damian would either track her down or block her funds if he decided to be particularly mean. What was the point of going through all that trouble? Best to wait until she gathered the courage to ask Damian what was next. Or until she found the courage to ask for his forgiveness. 

She'd been so busy thinking about Damian that she hadn't even thought about what it would be like if they didn't find a way back home. Fay tried not to let her mind wander there. Too many implications, too many triggers. 

Focus on the present, she told herself. Even if her present circumstances were strange and unexpected, and she was still hurting. 

Not long after they arrived in the Hamptons, Jason investigated a wealthy man, whom he believed was connected to the one that died after being infected by the senwi. Before he left, Fay instructed him on what to look out for should he come across the senwi. His mask would do an excellent job at sparring him from inhaling the spores, but he had to be careful about any open wounds as well. If he did come across the senwi in a late or fully developed stage, he should avoid touching it with his bare hands as it could break. Exposing the senwi to air, after being removed from its host, will kill it within seconds—three minutes at most. Burning down the senwi is also effective, but it is best done so chemically to avoid the release of spores in the air. 

Fay had stayed at the hotel, admiring the beach's view and the expanse of the Atlantic Ocean in the distance. It had been a mild winter, with little to no snow. Fay found herself tuning in with the new sounds and scents there. Salt and frost assailed her nostrils while the quietness cleared her mind. The wind picked up later in the evening, intensifying the waves which cracked the thin sheets of ice that had formed on the shore. 

Jason returned around two o'clock in the morning, smelling of smoke, metal, and sweat. Not unlike Damian, for that matter. There were splotches of blood staining his jacket and trousers, and his boots muddy, leaving footprints across the floor. Fay didn't comment and instead leaned to look at the picture he showed her on the phone. It looked like a basement room, illuminated by fluorescent neon lights and filled with various….geraniums? When Fay scrolled to the other pictures, as per Jason's instructions, she got a closer look at the glass containers' contents. 

There were various plants and animals inside. All dead. Consumed by the senwi, which had made a host, then sprouted, forming a deadly ecosystem inside the containers. Some of the animals – rats, mostly, and a cat and a dog that made Fay feel both queasy and angry – were hardly recognizable. Carcasses of bones and skin, devoured from inside out by the dark tentacles stemming from fully formed sacs of parasites. 

Fay stared horrified at the pictures, thinking of the damaging applications of senwi and the obscene way it was being tested and bred. Then she thought about how Damian could have ended up like that as well, and the image made her stomach lurch uncomfortably. 

"Pretty grim, huh?" Jason said casually, removing his helmet and popping it beneath one arm. "A room full of them in the basement of the rich asshole. I burned it all---chemically as you said." Then he burned down the house. He may have left one or two of the criminals inside, but she didn't need to know that.  

Fay handed back his phone. 

"It appears this was Angel's main stash of the senwi," Jason explained. "But no signs of the owner. One of his lackeys mentioned he might be hiding up in the Catskills." 

"Cat…skills?" It sounded familiar. It was a forest preserve not far from New York City if she recalled correctly. Fay had marked it as a potential shelter while they were traveling across the country. 

"I will have a look for our clever botanist," Jason said. "I think it's time for you to go back to your tower, Rapunzel." 

Fay frowned. "But what if--- there's more things? From my world? I could help. Um, with information at least." Although, if she ended up having a panic attack, Jason wouldn't understand. Not the way Damian did. But she wanted to be more than the girl that hid in the metaphorical tower. At the very least, she could help stop innocent people from being hurt by things like the senwi or chimeras. 

Jason eyed her. "You'll do as I say." 

Fay nodded. 

"And if I tell you it's time to go, it's time to go." 

She nodded again. 

He sighed. Damian was going to track them by the time they were done anyway, so Jason will just send her back after. 

"Fine. We'll leave tomorrow at nine. Now, if you'll excuse me. I have bad guy guts that I need to remove from myself asap." 

Jason reminded her of one of her aunts. Perhaps that's why she liked him. 

.

.

.

28th   of January 

The abandoned summer resorts they went to, located approximately a hundred miles northeast of New York City, were colloquially known as the 'Borscht Belt'. Fay's research revealed that 'borscht' is also a European soup made out of beetroot. Hm. Who was she to question the peculiar name choice? The resort used to be a significant vacation destination in the first half of the nineteenth century, with numerous leisure and entertainment activities. It was abandoned when other locations became more popular, leaving behind over a dozen buildings to decay. Before and after photo comparisons were rather depressing. 

What a shame, Fay thought, as she continued to scroll down the webpage on the phone Jason gave her. He wasn't lying when he said he had spares in his trunk. 

The Borscht Belt also stretched on over two hundred and fifty miles. Not all of it was abandoned, not anymore. One area of the Belt seemed to have drawn new investors' attention, interested in reviving the resort.

However, between the snow, deadfall of trees, and decaying carcasses of once-famous constructions, it would still take them days to explore them. Except maybe that wasn't needed. It appears that a couple wanting to explore the abandoned area has gone missing two days earlier. That previous week, the manager of one of the hotels being revamped and renovated had been overwhelmed by several complaints from a group of guests that a 'rabid' large animal attacked them while they were camping out near the property. No one was injured, thankfully, but all the victims had agreed that the 'thing' that attacked them was more beast than human, with some of the guests even spreading the rumor that there's a werewolf living in those parts. 

Fay stared at the sketch the police compiled based on the description of one man. The creature looked similar to the chimera she and Damian had fought the night of Halloween, a cross between human and animal. She could understand why the victim had thought it was a werewolf, given the wolf-like characteristics they had told the police artist to include. However, there was always a possibility that they did see just a wolf and have confused it for something far more terrifying in their panic. 

"Relative of yours?" Jason quipped, glancing at her paladin, who leaned between the front seats to look over Fay's shoulder at the drawing. 

Bagheera growled softly in indignation. 

Jason parked the car down the street leading to the new hotel, which was an odd sight amongst the ruins, and got out, leaning to glance inside the vehicle through the window. "Stay here—" The girl was already out of the car, her furry companion following. Jason was willing to bet the beast purposefully jumped on the front seats and jumped out after her, rather than waiting for the door to be opened for him. He spotted the scratches that were left on the leather of the back seat. Hm. Dick did say the animal had quite the personality. 

So did the girl, apparently despite her quietness. He straightened and looked at her over the hood of his Impala. 

"What?" She blinked. 

"You're not going." He gestured back inside the car. "Get in. Toto too." 

Fay looked confused at the name initially. "Is that…the dog from Wizard of OZ?" 

Jason sighed. He wasn't sure whether to be impressed or annoyed with her. "Kid, we had a deal. You do as I say, and I say get back in the car." Lord, did he just sound like Bruce? He did, didn't he? 

Fay reopened the door to the car but stopped short of getting in. "But, um, if this is a creature from my world—" She said tentatively while tugging at her dark beanie. The kid was bargaining. Jason let her finish, slightly amused by it. "—wouldn't it be better if I went? I mean, isn't that why I am here? Plus—Bagheera is really good at tracking." The said creature growled curtly, looking rather proud of himself as his pale eyes regarded Jason attentively. 

"I, um, grew up in a jungle. And so, I am used to—dealing with dangerous animals." Fay tried. She was laying it thick, wasn't she? "And dragons ." She added, after a pause that could have only been purposeful. 

Game of Thrones or Hobbit-style ones? 

No time. A question for later, maybe. Jason walked around the car and opened his boot. Fay shut the door and approached him, looking slightly victorious. "Dragons, huh?" 

Fay nodded. 

Did they have games in which people vied for thrones made of swords, too? Maybe a question for later. 

"Do you know how to fire a gun?" 

"I am, um…not very good at it." 

Of course not. But she had some abilities of some sort, didn't she? Something about the elements. And she wasn't defenseless if the events on Halloween revealed anything. Or dumb, for that matter. The kid discovered the USB key, didn't she? 

He took his red helmet and put it on before checking the guns in the holsters around his thighs. Fay watched, looking more curious than frightened, and that in itself was a testament to her own upbringing. The kid seemed somewhat desensitized to violence. Fay wasn't entirely indifferent when she spotted the blood on his outfit the previous night, but a normal kid would have looked far more frightened. Then again, who knows how batshit crazy her own world is? No pun intended. 

"Do you know how to use any weapon?" 

"I do, but um….I prefer using my flux." Fay said, looking warily at the assembly of sharp and/or deadly objects in the boot of his car. "And, Damian has given me his shuriken. See?" She pulled the steel stars out of the pocket of her coat. The same pocket he saw her keep the Starburst. 

Jason sighed. He should have left the kid at the hotel. Too late for that. 

Then again, he had a tendency to keep sugar mixed with his weapons too. They surprisingly went hand in hand. He closed the boot of the car and regarded the empty space around them. The renovated hotel, which had been open only for a week or so, closed down following the incidents. Not indefinitely, but the manager had gotten scared after he found out about the missing couple. Their social media posts had placed the sighting only a few miles away from the hotel, so that area was as good as any to start looking. 

"Stay close and stay quiet." Fay nodded. 

Jason was getting the sense she had a tendency to agree to obey and then ended up doing it her way, anyway.

It didn't take them long to track the chimera down. A few miles into trekking through the forest, Bagheera had caught a scent leading them to a cave. Fay was glad she had bought the sturdy boots she was wearing even if they had seemed slightly out of place in the urban landscape of Gotham. They were waterproof, too. However, her trousers weren't and her jacket, while capable of keeping her warm, wasn't fit for that particular environment. 

Who would have thought she'd experience her first snow in that world whilst helping one of Gotham's vigilantes track down a chimera? 

Fay didn't have time to admire the tranquillity of that place because while following Bagheera, who had taken the lead in guiding them to the source of the scent he picked up on, she spotted the splotches of blood staining the snow. There were only a few drops at first, but the closer they got to the cave, the bigger they were until they formed a trail of red. 

They found the couple in the cave. The man's right leg was a mangled mess, and he was barely conscious when they arrived, his partner holding him in her lap. She had managed to make a small fire and bandaged her partner's leg as best as she could with her own shirt, but she was also wounded. Three long slashes across her right shoulder had torn through her jacket and her flesh. Wounds that deep were bound to scar, but she was still conscious. Freezing and starving, they've been in that cave for at least a day. It was a shallow rock shelter that offered them just barely enough cover from the elements but wouldn't have been enough to shield them from any predators. 

Fay found it strange that the chimera would leave them alone just like that, especially if it was like the ones on Halloween night. 

The woman started to scream as soon as she saw Bagheera approach, thinking he is a hungry wolf. Jason made a show of scaring him away, and her paladin rushed back to Fay's side as she stood behind a tree nearby and watched the older man approach the victims. Fay couldn't hear what Jason was saying to them, but he seemed to manage to calm the woman down. That was a feat considering he looked intimidating himself. 

Bagheera's apprehension got her attention, and she glanced at him. He was surveying the area tensely. "What's the matter?" She whispered, anxiety fluttering in her ribcage. He growled softly, fur standing up all across his back, making him look feral. Fay could feel his own flux coiling, rare as Bagheera's was always so discreet when he wasn't in his battle form. 

Fay felt a sharp prickle on the side of her neck – should have worn her scarf – and when she touched the skin there, she felt a foreign object sticking out of it. She removed it and stared at it.

It was…a dart? 

"Bagheera—" The world around her swayed, and she found herself unable to stand up. Something – or multiple somethings- moved in the trees above their heads, and when Fay glanced up, she saw---bats? Did that world have such giant bats? No. No. It wasn't precisely bats. The humanoid-like winged creatures were neither bat nor man. Chimeras, in their own right. They reminded her of---of---why was it so hard to think?

Ah yes. Fay had been shot by a dart. A tranquilizer of some sort. 

And she was no longer standing up but on the cold floor. Her body was numb and her eyelids heavy. She heard Bagheera's growls and felt his teeth latch onto her jacket, dragging her away just as the bat-like men descended upon them. Gunshots echoed through the air. Someone screaming---the woman in the cave.

Jason called out to her, but she couldn't make the words. She was far too sedated to experience a panic attack, even if there were perfect triggers for it. 

But strangely enough, she did hallucinate being in the air. Seeing the Catskills and the abandoned Borscht Belt from high above, like through the eyes of a bird. 

Fay succumbed to the darkness again, right after that. 

Chapter 25: Of women with green eyes, silence and breakthroughs

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“The mind is like water. When it’s turbulent, it’s difficult to see.

When it’s calm, everything becomes clear.”

– Prasad Mahes

 

 

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When Fay woke up, her eyelids felt too heavy to open, so she relied on her other senses. She recognized the rustling of foliage, the sound of ice crackling underneath her boots when she instinctively moved them around. She was laying in the snow, the cold wetness having invaded all of her layers. Her jacket was missing – the cold air nipped at her face and the exposed skin of her neck and hands with vicious teeth. 

Her beanie was missing as well, and her hair was plastered around her face uncomfortably. When she tried to move, she found that she could not. Her hands were bound together before her, tightly so. Even after all that time, her wrists still felt tender even if the bracelets were long gone. Her flux was not restrained, but she felt too weak to summon it. Her whole body felt unusually heavy as if it was made of lead. 

Fay swallowed – her mouth was dry- as she forced her eyes open. She was outside, still in the forest. 

Then she suddenly remembered. Someone had shot her with a dart. She could not move shortly before losing consciousness, so it must have been a very powerful sedative. There were chimeras there, indeed and they had looked like bats. She didn't think they had anything to do with any of the Batfamily members but it was ironic, all things considered. 

It was becoming increasingly clear that she had been kidnapped. That it had been a targeted attack--Who was it? Someone who had been loyal to the Angel? Or someone more sinister, that was responsible for providing the Angel with weapons as Damian theorized? 

She couldn't hear Bagheera. Or Jason. Were they not taken? 

“Your body runs at a higher temperature than regular people.’’ A woman’s voice. Fay stared blearily in front of her, the muddled shapes starting to sharpen into actual figures. She shivered when a gust of cold air blew past her, pushing her hair in her face and almost knocking her down to the other side as Fay attempted to pull herself into a sitting position. One side of her face felt numb from having laid onto the ground. 

They were in a small clearing, trees heavy with snow and icicles towering over them. The woman was standing only a few feet in front of Fay but…there were also large shadows moving in the darkness between the trees. The bat-like chimeras. Fay could hear them growling. 

Fay openly stared at the woman. Tall, slim. Long flowing umber-brown hair and dark eyelashes framing a pair of green eyes. She was beautiful. She had also mastered a perfect patronizing look, which was currently directed at Fay. Those green orbs felt familiar. They didn't remind Fay of her mother---not really. Her mother's eyes were bright and full of emotion, not cold and cutting like the stranger standing before her. The shade didn't match either. 

“Who—who are you?’’ 

The woman’s eyebrow arched. There was an indisputable elegance about her as she stepped forward, a kind of confidence Fay had seen in many but had never achieved herself. Despite being in a forest, the woman was dressed sumptuously in a long, dark coat lined with white fur. It did not look practical but if the alarm bells starting to ring loudly at the back of Fay’s head were any indication, her kidnapper should not be underestimated. 

“You are the girl that my son has been distracting himself with. How….’’ The woman regarded Fay head to toe, with an expression of disdain. “…disappointing.’’ 

Her son….?

Fay’s eyes widened. 

The woman in front of her was Damian’s mother?

That is why her eyes had felt familiar. Fay could see the resemblance in the high cheekbones and the thick eyelashes, in the way they expressed their disdain. The woman in front of her was the one who raised Damian to be an assassin, who treated him as if that were the only thing he was meant to be. She was the one who he turned his back on so he could become Robin. A masked hero who does not kill but instead helps the hopeless and innocent. 

“Ah. So, he has told you about me.’’ She remarked. “Therefore, you must know how easily I can hurt you.’’ 

To be fair many people can easily hurt Fay. But Fay believed the woman’s threat, all the same. 

“What—what do you want from me?’’ Fay said, shifting her hands against the tight binds. They did not budge. But she was starting to regain control of her limbs, and her mind was less foggy than a few minutes earlier. If she could summon her flux, Fay could create a diversion to getaway. The binds on her wrists were not impossible to get out of. But she had no idea how many of those creatures were around---Fay counted at least three, judging by the number of shadows that she spotted from the corner of her eyes. 

The woman raised a perfectly manicured hand in view, and she examined it with an air of boredom. “I keep tabs on my son, as well as the people he surrounds himself with. It appears that his father will not stop until he has completely ruined him---’’ Those green eyes flitted back to Fay. “---and now he is seeking friends .’’ She spat out the word as if it was poison. 

It must have been a side effect of the drugs, but Fay found it funny that virtually everyone considered them friends, yet she has never had the courage to ask Damian if they were truly that. 

If they were, she had been a rather poor one. 

The woman still did not answer her question, however. Was she satisfying a curiosity, then, by kidnapping Fay? Odd way of introducing herself. Bagheera had to be safe, though. Fay could not recall what happened after she was shot with the dart, but she could not afford to think about the worst. Having a panic attack at that moment was only going to cripple her and she needed all her strength.

Fay doubted the woman would just let her walk away freely. She had no idea where they were…. but the landscape felt different. They were at a higher altitude than before. Something about the forest felt different too. Had the bat chimeras taken her to a different place? 

“How did you travel between the worlds?’’ 

Her heart sunk to her stomach, and she brought her gaze back to the woman. It should not have been surprised that she knew Fay was not from that world, but seriously, was it even a secret at this point? Fay remembered days when no one even suspected she was anything but an odd, orphan girl. There was no point denying it, but Fay refused to answer. 

“—Tt--.’’ Oh. So that’s where Damian gets that from. “If you value your life, you will answer me.’’ That too. 

Fay’s heart thumped violently in her ribcage, her anxiety mounting. Her silence was a weak display of defiance, but it was the least she could do. Fay did not even hear the figure move behind her until a gloved hand grabbed a fistful of her hair, forcefully tilting her head back. Something cold and very sharp slid under her chin, scratching ever so slightly the surface of her neck. Not enough to draw blood but pressed in a manner that told her it could easily kill her if the wielder wanted to.  

Fay could not see the man, but she spotted several others shifting in the shadows, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. So, it was not just the chimeras she had to worry about. What little confidence she had in being able to create a distraction sufficient to escape waned considerably. It was more likely she would end up embarrassing herself and angering her captors in the process. 

“I don’t like repeating myself,’’ Talia said coldly. 

Fay met her gaze. Months of knowing Damian had made it easier. Their eyes are different, though. Damian could be cold and cutting too, but his eyes weren't ever just that. There was passion and fire and kindness and all kinds of other emotions. 

“I don’t remember.’’ She replied. It was a blessing that she did not, at that moment. Because at least she had no crucial information to give up to someone who was most definitely not an ally. 

“Hmm. You expect me to believe that? Perhaps I should torture you.’’ 

If Damian’s mother was any good at reading people as her son was, then she could tell Fay was being truthful. Or maybe she thought Fay was a good actor, but really, who would think that looking at her? The effects of the drugs had been almost entirely burned away by her body, and she felt her flux stronger than before. The downside, however, was that her emotions were also free to run wildly. The tears prickled at the corner of her eyes, not so much out of fear as it was of her own shame that she was once again defenseless. Vulnerable. Exposed. 

Fay did not like anyone seeing her when she was experiencing a panic attack, but she especially did not want the woman in front of her to see it. 

“You can.’’ She breathed, voice shaking. “But…um, I might end up telling you only what you want to hear. Because---of fear. Or pain.’’ Fay was not strong enough to resist the duress of torture. There was no point even considering it. “…and it wouldn’t help you. I really do not remember anything.’’ 

“Hm.’’ Talia looked down the bridge of her nose at Fay. “A valid point. I should just kill you then. You are useless to me.’’ 

Fay had no doubt the woman would follow through with her threat. She came across as the type of woman who ordered people to be killed daily, as easily as one would order a coffee. 

“Are you not going to beg for your life?’’  

No. Fay will not beg for her life. Because it was a fruitless feat. She had nothing she could offer the woman, except maybe information on her world. And she did not want to do that if she could help it. The woman could kill her either way. 

Dread settled in Fay’s stomach. 

“No,’’ Fay muttered. “You---You’ll kill me anyway. I…I cannot stop you.’’ Did she know about Fay’s abilities, as well? If so, then Fay had little advantage unless she managed to create a large diversion. Even then, she was not sure if she could outrun both the masked assassins and the chimeras. 

Talia smirked. “At least you know your place. I was wrong in my earlier assessment, however. My son is not seeking something as mundane as a friendship—but a pet .’’ 

An invisible knife twisted itself through Fay’s heart, from one end to the other, and her breath hitched. She wished she were better at masking her emotions because the hurt had to have been reflected on her face. 

“Ah. But you do see him as a friend.’’ Talia said. “Given you are not of this world, I can understand the…appeal, I suppose. But according to my intel, you are hardly the most interesting creature that could have crossed between the realms. Prone to emotional outbursts, crippled by anxiety. A poor combatant. You would not even make an effective slave.’’ Bile rose in Fay’s throat, her heart clenching painfully with each word. 

‘Did you really think anyone would want to be friends with you?’ 

“You didn’t actually think you’re worth my son’s attention?’’ Talia continued. The invisible knife she was driving in Fay’s heart was causing her more agony than any real one could. “How long before you are no longer useful? After all, what do you have to offer the boy who was raised to rule an entire world? Damian is the finest weapon that this world has seen. One that I forged. His destiny is to— ’’

The anger bubbled so violently to the surface, that Fay could almost taste it. 

“You’re wrong. ’’ 

Fay was aware she was throwing self-preservation completely out of the window – again – but she could not help herself. It may even be true that Damian did not see her as his friend. It was a painful thought, but it would not have been the first time Fay was wrong about someone caring about her as much as she did about them. 

However, Damian was not what his mother said he was. Hearing her speak about him in that manner made her feel incredibly furious. Fay had not succeeded yet in understanding who she is or who she wants to be beyond other’s expectations. Grief and fear and weakness were still holding her back. But Damian? He was different from her. He was just like her parents. Always moving forward. It was no surprise he had sparked something in her the desire to be more than just a failure or a runaway. He had made her remember how she once used to feel in the presence of her parents.

Like she could go further. 

And now she was different, as well. Perhaps not enough to be Fay of Maysoon, but enough to be something more than just Fay, the orphan. Therefore, the least she could do is defend him. She owed him to summon at least enough courage to speak her mind.

“Damian is his own person.’’ Fay’s continued. “He is not a weapon. He is my friend, even…even if I am not his.’’ 

“How pathetic.’’ 

‘She is so pathetic.’ 

Tears started streaming down her face. No, no, no, no. Do not cry. Stop crying. Why do I have to be so pathetic?

The panic attack struck her like lightning. Perhaps the worst one she has experienced in weeks. Come to think of—when was the last time she had truly felt so crippled by fear? It must have been months. Even the Bad Days had gotten more bearable between her own coping mechanisms and the ones that Damian offered her. Between him and Bagheera, Fay had stopped keeping track of the Bad Days as well. Even when she felt her mood lower, she was not quite as mortified at the prospect of having a Bad Day. 

But now she was facing the strongest attack she'd had in weeks. Was that the price of trying to be brave?  

‘The quicker you accept what happened, the better.’

   ‘You loser—why didn’t you just die along with everyone else?’

‘Fay, no---I am sorry. But right now. I—I can’t be around you.’

‘Don’t let her get away.’

‘Let us see if she begs for her life.’

 

Ah, right. Because those voices still had power over her. Because she still found herself agreeing with them at times, even though from a rational standpoint she knew she should not. However, the voices were not the ones making her weak. That was all her. Fay was the one giving them power. 

Why, after all that time, was she still allowing those memories have so much control over her? Her family did not understand her as well as her parents did. Titoh could not even look at her sometimes. Moma tried and tried but it was not her fault her whispers of comfort had not gotten through Fay. Bagheera was the one who managed to soothe her the most because they were so in sync with one another emotionally---but it had not been enough. 

People in Maysoon are not the only ones to have tried. Dana, Mack, Robby, Helen, Grace, Ben.

They all offered her kind and encouraging words. But it hadn't been enough. They didn't fully see her either. 

“You are perfectly capable of standing up on your own two feet, even with that ridiculous amount of shame you chose to carry.’’

‘‘Why do you insist on letting people push you around if you're perfectly capable of defending yourself?’’

“I told you to banish that ridiculous notion out of your head.’’

“Your life matters.’’

 

Damian saw. He saw. And he stayed. And he persisted. And he kept pushing. Not by shielding her from reality or by trying to comfort her. Not by trying to tell her it will get better. As harsh as he could be at times, he never told her she is a failure either. He just looked at her and told her she could be strong if she wanted to. Just like that. 

It meant so much more when it came from someone like him---because he knew. What it felt like needing to be strong on your own. To disconfirm one's own beliefs after being plunged into an entirely different world, away from the familiar. 

“Hm.’’ Talia stared at the girl kneeling on the floor, bowed in on herself in a pitiful manner, crying. 

What was her father trying to achieve by having the girl in such a panicked state? He wanted her to be under duress emotionally.

For what

“It doesn’t matter.’’ The girl suddenly whispered. Fay shifted her hands against the binds, keeping them buried into the snow before her, her head still bowed. Her face was hidden by a curtain of hair. “You are still wrong.’’ The girl was either brave or stupid for continuing to offend her own captor.

“I really …. dislike people like you,’’ Fay said suddenly, with a viciousness that would not have been expected from her. “You have no right to decide what Damian is or isn’t. He is his own person. And it does not matter if he considers me as a friend or a pet---he is still his own person.’’ Fay tilted her head up, face red and stained by tears. A pathetic face---had it not been for the way her eyes were blazing. They were lighter in color than before—amber instead of chestnut.

 “It is ridiculous to decide another person’s future for them. The strongest people I know were also told that they were failures because---because they did not want to be what others wanted them to be. And I think---’’ The girl spat, her fervor unaffected by the fresh tears running down her face. “---that Damian is exactly like that. He—he is incredible, and it is not because of you. So, it does not matter what he sees me as. It does not matter if I am weak or if I am pathetic----because it does not change that---that he is strong enough to choose what he wants to be. A good person.’’ Fay gritted her teeth, face red and tears continuing to stream down. “ Someone that helps those…who cannot help themselves. Like he did with me…. That is why---it does not matter what you think about me. He is one of the---one of the best people I have met and because of him…. I want to be stronger, too. I want to change. I want to try. 

Talia already knew her son held the incredible potential of influencing others in looking to him. In following him. 

Pity, it was being wasted. 

Talia found the girl’s display pathetic, and her words meaningless but she could see why her son kept her around still. Unyielding loyalty. 

With an inscrutable expression, she gave the signal to one of the men. Talia watched the girl being hoisted up against her will, her struggles feeble as the masked man carried her away. A couple of hundred feet from where they had been standing, there was a lake. The thick sheets of ice that have formed on its surface were strong enough to support grown men walking over it. 

Stopping short of the shore, the Man-Bat Commandos circling above them in the air, Talia watched the girl being carried to the man-made hole near the middle of the lake. Her father’s choice again. He did not give her an explanation as to why he specifically wanted the girl to be tortured in that manner. He was far too calculating to have not considered other ways – simpler, more effective ways – so there had to be a specific reason. 

She was going to die. 

If the cold temperatures did not kill her, then drowning will. 

She was going to die, and she was never going to see Bagheera again. He will be without her in that world. She will never see Damian or Dana or anybody else again. She will never see her family or her homeland.  Her family will eventually find out that she died like that. Defenseless and without having put up a fight.

Fay of Maysoon has run away because she could not deal with her parent’s death and her own humiliating failures. Now she was about to be just a girl that died in a lake, somewhere in that world. She was going to die, right when she finally acknowledged that she wanted to change. That she wanted to be different. That she wanted to try again – to beat the fear, and the Bad Days, and the insidious thoughts. 

Fay was pushed inside the hole. 

Cold, cold, cold. The freezing sensation invaded every single part of her body, penetrated her skin, and reached her insides. It was as if every single cell of her being was made of ice. Fay’s eyes were open, but she could not see, her mind far too busy processing the sudden shock. The world was silent around her as it was frigid, the water gurgling in her ears. She willed herself to move, reminding herself that she knew how to swim. Her flux was there too, for her to channel and keep her warm, but she was far too overwhelmed by the cold to even try. She tried to swim back the way she entered, she could see the hole she had been pushed through, the shadows of the man that had dragged her through the crystalline sheets of ice. 

But he did not allow her. The hole was immediately covered by the block of ice that had been carved out and she had no chance of removing it. Fay tried to swim against the surface, to find any other exit but it was difficult doing so with only her legs free.

It was no use. 

For a moment, all she could feel was terror. And the growing burning sensation in her lungs. She was sinking, the dark depths of the lake pulling her down. Fay tried to summon her flux, to give herself the strength to break through the bindings but her mind was growing foggier, her head prickled. Her lungs were aching and it wasn't long before dark spots formed at the corner of her eyes. 

It was ironic that water, one of the elements she has always been comfortable with, would end up killing her. In the past, she has used icy showers to drown the dark thoughts away and help her gain control of her flux. Now her whole body felt as if it was made of ice and pain. She becomes less and less lucid, the oxygen deprivation taking away the last of coherent thoughts. 

In that strange limbo, between life and death, Fay could see her mother. Her breath-taking, incredible mother who was defiance incarnated, that carried such passion in her heart. It was a memory, yet it felt so vivid that Fay might have as well been reliving it again. She was simultaneously her old self in that memory and a bystander, a strange combination of the two that her mind could not make sense of and did not attempt to. 

Seeing her mother with such clarity was worth more than logic at that moment. Is that how her life would end? With a memory of her mother? 

Not the worst way to go. 

They had gone swimming that day, in a secluded lagoon. Her mother was walking her through the elements. Water was chosen for that day. Fay could not have been older than five or six back then. Happier times that felt several lifetimes away, like a dream within a dream. Had she truly been that happy before?

Yes. Of course. 

Her mother made it look easy, the way she connected her flux with the natural energies around them, making small figurines made of water dance around them. Fay tried to imitate her, but she could not hold the shapes in place for a long time much less animate them in such a manner. 

‘‘Fay, you’re thinking too hard about it. Water---just is.’’ 

The young Fay pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. It only made her mother grin harder because she always thought Fay’s display of anger is ‘adorable’. “I don’t get it.’’ 

“It’s okay.’’ Her mother said. “But remember that it took me years of training to get where I am. Be patient. Do not try to force it---’’ She loosened Fay’s arms and, taking her hands, she lifted them to the girl’s eye level. “---clear your mind. Feel the water. Connect with it. Water is flexible. It is not the earth that you must be commanding with or fire that requires conviction. Just do what you do when you are flying, my fey. You just do it, right? Without thinking of it?’’ 

Fay frowned doubtfully at her.  “Yes, but….’’ 

“Okay. Let us do something else.’’ Fay was pushed deeper into the lagoon until the water reached her chin and she had to tiptoe to keep it from entering her mouth. Her mother smiled reassuringly at her. She did not need to. Fay trusted her completely. “Now, you are going to go under the water. Keep there---and do not think of anything. Just feel the water.’’ 

Fay did as she was told. The first time, she had found it confusing. She was used to diving and holding her breath, so she did not mind the exercise but, other than the silence and the water lapping in her ears, Fay was not sure what she was meant to experience. When her throat started burning and her head prickled with the lack of oxygen, she pushed herself back to the surface. Brushing her wet locks away from her face, she stared at her mother confusedly. 

“Um…it didn’t work.’’ She was not sure what ‘it was, but it did not work. 

Her mother nodded. “No problem. Do it again. And again. Remember---do not think. Just feel.’’ 

Fay did what she was told. She struggled to clear her mind while underwater. Her mother was patient though and they spent several hours at the lagoon. After countless tries, Fay did succeed in clearing her mind, letting the silence of the world beneath the surface take over the thrums of her thoughts. She had always been aware of the silence that the depths offered---but it was not until that moment that she truly listened to it. Her mother had told her to relax, diving under the water with her, holding her hands. 

When she felt nothing but the water when she felt she was one with the water, unencumbered and weightless just like she felt when she was in the air, that is when she will be able to connect with that element. Think of a memory. A strong one, her mother had instructed. She will not need it when she gets better at controlling her flux but, for the time being, a powerful memory could serve her well. 

It is not the memory, however, that is necessarily important. The emotion behind it is the key. 

‘‘Then move with it, Fay.’’

Move with it. 

I need to move. Water. I need to move the water with me.

Fay’s eyes snapped open, her tied hands moving before her awkwardly. They felt as if they were made from lead, her extremities numb. She looked around at the murky depths that surrounded her, then above her head at the thick sheets of ice that now felt so far away. Fay had sunk quite low into the waters, and there was no stopping it until she would reach the bottom. 

She did not want that. She did not want to disappear into the cold darkness. 

Move. Move, she screamed at herself. Her flux was there, for her to grab and channel, to break free through the bindings so she could swim back up. 

A memory. A memory with powerful emotion. 

Not fear. Fear was crippling. Happiness wouldn't suffice. It was still too tainted by grief. 

“You’re angry.’’ 

"Nothing…. good happens when I am angry." 

That was not true anymore. That nothing good happened when she got angry. 

Damian was right. 

Anger pushed her to act on Helen’s behalf and help her. Anger pushed her to want to stand up and fight for Damian and Bagheera’s safety. Just moments earlier – felt like hours – it had been anger that spurred her to defend Damian.

Fay had plenty of anger to draw from. She was angry with her parents died. She was angry because people have pushed and pushed and pushed her. She was angry that people turned their back on her. She was angry some didn't stop there and instead sought to purposefully hurt her. She was angry with herself for not being better. 

Fay thought about all those moments that made her angry, even when she had not realized they did. They felt so much clearer now. All the condescending, cruel voices. All the sneering and taunting expressions. All the judgemental and mocking looks. Sometimes those expressions she found in the mirror. 

Fay was angry. And there were no bracelets to hold her back this time. 

So be it. 

.

.

Talia watched from afar, through the binoculars, as the surface of the lake cracked suddenly. At first, it was just hairline fractures, but they deepened quickly as if split apart by an earthquake. There was none. But there was energy emanating from underneath the thick sheets of ice, glowing green, brighter and brighter as it pushed forcefully through the surface, like a whale pushing through the waters when it resurfaces. The energy seemed to originate from one point, right towards the middle of the lake. 

She glanced at the statuesque man sitting beside her. 

Testing the waters, “I shall ask the men on standby to fetch her.’’ 

“No.’’ Ra’s Al Ghul remarked calmly. “Let her fight for it.’’ 

.

.

The energy coursing through her chased the cold away, replacing the numbness with an almost unbearable prickling. It took her several tries to get herself out of the lake – the blast had shattered the ice within her vicinity and when she tried to grab onto it, Fay found herself falling back down in the water. Gasping for air, she moved and moved and did not stop moving, pushing herself through the icy fragments. 

Fay vomited as soon as she was on the ice, her body reacting viscerally to the trauma it had suffered. She wretched until the water that had infiltrated her lungs was expelled. The humanoid bats circling the sky above her head screeched and growled and flapped their wings. With a vision that was still recovering, Fay saw several shadows exit the forest, and onto the ice, moving quickly. Sharp blades were thrown in her direction, just as the creatures above her head started their descent, clawed limbs ready to latch onto her.  

Her marks glowed, burning with the energy. Her hands were free, wrists still bearing the red welts. 

They were all going to attack her. Try to push her back down. 

It is fine, she told herself. They might succeed. 

But. 

Fay had every intention of fighting back. 

For herself, this time. 

I do not want to be a loser anymore.   

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.

.

“Release me, Grayson.’’ Damian snarled, releasing himself from the hold the older man had on him. Dick stepped back but remained within the boy’s orbit, even if it was like standing near an angry panther at that moment. One that was shaking with fury. Dick watched the boy step back to stand next to Bagheera who was laying on the ground, injured but conscious. One of the Man-Bats had landed a rather deep cut on his side, but the paladin healed faster than most creatures, so there was no danger of blood loss. 

Jason was sitting aside, casually wiping the blood away from his nose. He had purposefully allowed Damian to get the easy hit on him, Dick knew. Both because Jason did not want to fight him and because he preferred to allow the boy to get even. Fay had been kidnapped on his watch, after all.

But they all knew that the real guilty party was Talia. So, the former Robin understood why his younger brother looked ready to burn down the forest. 

Whatever Talia wanted with Fay, it was not bound to be pleasant. 

Bagheera huffed, as he raised to his feet, his emotions projecting wildly. He was concerned and apprehensive and very, very much annoyed that Fay had been taken. The Man-Bats that the paladin took on were dead, torn apart. One was missing its head. Another had succumbed to its injuries shortly after they arrived at the scene. 

“Found her.’’ Damian piped up a few seconds later, looking at his watch. “They’re taking her south to Monongahela forest.’’ Dick glanced at the abandoned backpack that Bagheera picked up and was now carrying in his mouth. It looked as if it were about to burst with the number of items inside. Fay’s phone had been left behind at the warehouse.

Which meant Damian was tracking her in a way she was likely not even aware of. 

He was not at all surprised. 

.

Damian added a pendant to the necklace Wilmot gave Fay. It was a miniature version of the planet. Fay hadn't even noticed the addition, nor was she aware that Damian planted a tracker inside it. He had meant to remove it after their trip to London, but given what happened in London, he had felt justified in leaving it around her neck. The tracker could not be used as a communication device, but upon activation, it could serve as a recorder albeit not in real-time. 

His mother now had her. Talia would have not gotten her hands on Fay had Damian been more cautious. He had driven her away. Fay had likely agreed to help Jason to prove herself or feel useful. Damian knew she would punish herself, that she would feel guilty about what she had done, and he let her. Proved to her that she should by shutting her out.

What did Talia want? How dare she touch Fay? His mother had lost all right to interfere in his life, much less lay a hand on those whom he kept by his side.

Damian sat down on the seat near the back of the Batplane while Dicknavigated it, following the lead the GPS tracker was offering. Todd was sitting up front in the seat next to Dick who was piloting the aircraft. Bagheera kept pacing back and forth the length of the plane, his agitation mounting by the second.

Sherwood Lake. 

That is where they took her. Damian doubted it was for the scenery. 

The recording that Damian managed to get was not in real-time. The latency was something that had yet to be fixed as it was a prototype after all. Damian estimated the latency to be between thirteen to seventeen minutes. It was far too long – anything could happen in that timeframe. Fay could already be dead---

“You---You’ll kill me anyway. I…I cannot stop you.’’  

“At least you know your place. I was wrong in my earlier assessment, however. My son is not seeking something as mundane as a friendship—but a pet.’’ 

“Ah. But you do see him as a friend. Given you are not of this world, I can understand the…appeal, I suppose. But according to my intel, you are hardly the most interesting creature that could have crossed between the realms. Prone to emotional outbursts, crippled by anxiety. A poor combatant. You would not even make an effective slave.’’  

Damian’s fists clenched into tight balls, the material biting into his skin as hot and cold emotions ran wildly inside his veins. Talia was emotionally torturing Fay. She was trying to break the girl. Because of him. Because he had shut her out and ignored her and pushed her to agree to a reckless endeavor that got her kidnapped. 

He had promised she was under his protection. Had been angry when she kept doubting his words, yet....he had proven her fears right.  

“You didn’t actually think you’re worth my son’s attention?’’

No. Not after the way he has been treating her. Fay would not think that. 

“How long before you are no longer useful? After all, what do you have to offer the boy who was raised to rule an entire world? Damian is the finest weapon that this world has seen. One that I forged. His destiny is to— ’’

Talia was cut off abruptly. By a smaller, thinner voice yet just as cutting as hers has been. Except instead of coldness, there was fire. 

You’re wrong. Damian is his own person. He is not a weapon. He is my friend, even…even if I am not his.’’ 

Damian’s eyes widened behind the mask. …. what? 

“How pathetic.’’  

“It doesn’t matter.’’ 

“I really …. dislike people like you.’’

 It is ridiculous to decide another person’s future for them. The strongest people I know were also told that they were failures because---because they did not want to be what others wanted them to be. And I think---that Damian is exactly like that. He—he is incredible, and it is not because of you. So, it does not matter what he sees me as. It does not matter if I am weak or if I am pathetic----because it does not change that he is strong enough to choose what he wants to be. A good person. Someone that helps those…who cannot help themselves. Like he did with me…. That is why---it does not matter what you think about me. He is one of the---one of the best people I have met and because of him…. I want to be stronger, too.''’

Damian replayed the recording. Again, and again. The words did not change. Neither did the conviction they were spoken with, even though Fay was crying. He could hear the sobs accentuating the pauses between her sentences. She did not stutter, though and with each sentence, her voice grew louder and louder. And angrier. 

Talia had tried to break her. 

And she had failed.  

Because Fay believed more in him than she believed in herself. Because she thought him incredible and strong in ways his mother would never appreciate. Because she thought he was a positive force in her life even if she knew what cloth he was made of.

'You made me want to be braver.'

Damian closed his eyes behind the mask, controlling his breath as he listened to the noise that the small recording device captured. Fay was being moved and he heard her struggling, breath labored. 

‘‘Don’t let her get out.’’

Dread settled in his stomach. The lake.

Talia was trying to drown her.

Or already has. Between the latency of the recording and their own travel time, they will arrive at least thirty-four minutes after. Thirty-four minutes too late. 

He could hear Fay’s scream being cut abruptly then the sound of water splashing, gurgling around. White noise filled his ears. The transmitter was ruined.

The GPS had recorded her last location at Sherwood Lake. Because she was there, somewhere in the freezing water, tied up and drowning. 

And he was listening to her last breaths. 

No. Damian opened his eyes. 

Fay will survive. 

She had survived before. Many times, before. 

Fay will survive.

“Grayson!’’ He snarled. “She’s in the lake. Go faster!’’ 

She had to. 

.

.

.

The surface of the lake was no longer a clean sheet of ice. Instead, it looked like a cracked mirror, fragmented pieces floating around knocking into one another as the water had yet to settle. Something powerful had disturbed it. It was not a what though, but a who. The same person who was responsible for the injured man-bats they found as soon as they arrived at the lake – one struggling to stay afloat, the other fallen on the shore – both wailing and snarling in agony. They bore injuries over their wings and legs---their attacker had meant to incapacitate them only. Two men were found not too far away, both unconscious and bleeding profusely. 

One of them had suffered second-degree burns across the entire left-hand side of the body, the dark cloth of his attire melding with his scarred flesh. That entire area around the two men was deprived of snow, a large source of heat had melted it away to reveal the dried ground below. Several pine trees had been toppled to the ground, flames still licking at some of the branches releasing a thin trail of smoke. 

When they started surveying the area on foot, the extent of the damage became even clearer. Shuriken and knives embedded in the bark of trees. Haphazard snow tracks, with footprints interwoven with one another. Icicles – too large to have formed naturally even at that altitude– had clearly been used as weapons. Tree trunks had been carved out by claw marks while others suffered burns, scorch marks marking the bark and offering a footprint of the battle that had taken place. 

Blood. Uneven splotches. 

Damian surveyed the area with a stoic expression, his brain putting together the chronology of the fight as he took in all the signs and tracks. Fay had been attacked by at least six individuals, three of whom were man-bats. They weren't trying to scare her but kill her. Damian found a small set of footprints leading to a tree and the pool of blood at its base. The amount of blood was…worrying. Dick found her tattered, wool jumper not too far from the lake. It was soaked with water. And stained with blood on the area near her left side, where the biggest tear was as well. 

She fought back. Fay got out of that lake and fought. 

But now she was outnumbered, underdressed, and likely relying extensively on her flux. Using reserves that she was not quite prepared to use. 

They chased her deeper into the woods. Three hundred feet. Six. Nine. A mile.

A river. A third man-bat---A sword sticking out of its side as it lays down, fighting blood loss. One of its claws is slick with blood. Bagheera snarls at him, recognizing the scent. Dick stops him from tearing the creature’s jugular but Jason ends up shooting it anyway. 

A trail of blood. Fay’s injuries worsened along the way. Bagheera leads them, his concern so strong now that it was hard to stand next to him. 

A clearing. And an abrupt ravine. The trail of blood stops at the edge. 

Damian ignores the way his stomach twists, and he steps next to the paladin who rushes towards the edge to look down. Looking down – approximately three hundred feet down – there is another man there. He is dead, his leg bent at an unnatural angle, blood pooling under his body, seeping into the snow beneath him. Accidental? It does not matter. Damian would rather Fay be killed if it meant she stayed alive. Father didn't need to know. 

A small stream of water, barely a creek, ran along the path at the bottom of the ravine. They descended the ravine and inspected the fallen assassin. Bagheera sniffed the air with increasing agitation. He could feel her scent, but it appeared to come from all directions. 

If Fay fell off that ravine but wasn't there, it means she could still be alive. 

Bagheera growls at him and blinks once when Damian asks whether he can feel other scents going after Fay’s. 

No. 

…three assassins and the Man-Bats were expected to complete the job. It was rather exaggerated given Talia thought Fay was weak and pathetic. 

Bagheera was suddenly tense as an arrow, ears pointing up and eyes staring unblinkingly towards the west. Approximately four hundred feet away, the path curved around the ravine. 

Wisps of relief projected off the paladin. 

He found her. 

Damian ran after Bagheera as they both took off in that direction, activating his comms to let Dick and Jason know. They had stayed at the top of the ravine inspecting the area there. 

They heard her before they saw her, her breath labored marked by small pained moans. There was a tree fallen not far from where the path curved and she appeared to have been hiding behind it. Fay rose to her feet and stepped around, wobbling and leaning her weight onto the rotten tree trunk. 

Fay looked…wild. Feral. Like a soldier who has just come off the battlefield. It was an odd sight seeing her with a sword in her hand. It was stained with blood. Her other arm was bent at the elbow, pressed against her chest. Likely broken. 

Her clothes were in tatters. She had ripped the sleeves on her long-sleeved undershirt and had tied them around her right calf, which was caked in blood. Her trousers have shortened too, just above her knees, likely for better mobility although it did her no favors with the frigid temperatures outside. Her marks, far more exposed than he’s seen them before, had a green sheen to them, standing out from underneath the grime and blood caking her skin. There were cuts and scrapes and bruises and lacerations across her body of various lengths and depths. Her hands looked torn, bloody.

Her hair was sticking to her face and neck in dark tendrils. There was so much blood on her face that it looked as if she had bathed in it.  

She looked broken. 

But undefeated. 

Bagheera reached her ahead of Damian and allowed her to lean against him, so she could take her weight off. She didn't acknowledge him as usual. Fay struggled to stay awake. Damian wrapped his cape around her as soon as he was within her reach, remaining stoic even as he got a closer look at the damage that’s been inflicted on her.

They were trying to kill her, no holds barred. 

Talia tried to kill Fay. His friend. 

Fay wouldn’t be in that position if it hadn’t been for him. But she was alive. And that was because of her, and only her. He reached for her trembling hand, which was still gripping tightly the handle of the sword. Her skin was unexpectedly feverish, likely due to her flux. 

"Let go, Fay.'' He said slowly when her fingers only tightened further. He gently tugged her fingers away from the handle. "You don't need it anymore.'' 

Fay nodded, then released the weapon. He threw it away. 

“I….I got angry.’’ She whispered. 

"I know.'' He reached to brush the hair away from her face, taking in the details of her features from the bruises blooming on the side of her face to the fingerprints on the small column of her neck. The broken capillaries and the dried blood around her nose. The cut on the side of her forehead. None of them would have caused the amount of blood that stained her face which meant it belonged to someone else. "You did...good.'' 

"... I couldn't co-control the fire.'' 

"It doesn't matter.'' He quickly examined her. She was in just as worse a state as on Halloween night, but she was healing at a different rate. She also wasn't as weak she used to be, physically. Damian straightened and tugged her towards him, quietly pointing out that he will lift her. Fay didn't protest but moaned in pain when the movement jostled her injured limbs regardless of how careful he was. 

“I am alive.’’ She murmured, leaning her head against his shoulder. 

“You’re alive.’’ 

Good.

Because there was no guarantee he would not have broken his father’s rule had they found her dead instead. 

 

Notes:

Beta-Reader: AegyoButPsycho !! (Thank you, as always).

Chapter 26: Of bringing it all out in the open

Notes:

Some pretty big reveals up ahead folks! You may have already figured out some of it but I hope you all enjoy this new chapter.

Chapter Text

“One Day. 

Someone will walk into your life.
And the sublimity of their presence,
Will pour upon you, like an antidote.

Because---’’  

- Clairel Estevez 

 

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30th of January 

A fractured radius. Two fractured ribs. Two broken fingers. A badly bruised cheekbone. Seventeen different bruises across her body, with several of them covering a significant portion of her skin. Three lacerations required a minimum of fifteen stitches. Countless scrapes and minor cuts. A claw mark on her back—enough to tear through the thin layer of her sweatshirt and leave her with bleeding slashes. No stitches are required; no scarring is expected. Her hands were battered. Several cuts, some of which have gotten infected. The tip of her fingers had second-degree burns. She had used fire, even though it wasn't an element she was comfortable with. 

And finally, the shuriken that Alfred had to remove from her calf. The area had grown infected, but that was not the worst part. It seemed her body had attempted to heal itself throughout the fight, even if it meant doing so around the foreign object. Surgery had been required. 

All in all, it could have been worse. 

She could have not survived the lake at all. They could have found her lifeless body at the bottom of it. 

She could have not survived the assassins and Man-Bats. They could have found her broken body somewhere in that forest. 

Damian would not have been on time. He would not have been fast enough. She would have died thinking she is not worth being his friend; that it does not matter if she is pathetic or just a distraction because her opinion of him remains unchanged. She would have died not knowing she was wrong. She would have died, and he would not have had the opportunity to set things right. 

But that had not happened. 

Because there she was.

Damian will make it count. Her words, her struggle, her pain. He will make it all worth it. He will make sure she never has a reason to doubt what she thought of him, that she will never regret the faith she had put in him. Because she is his friend, and he will stand by her just as she stood by him. 

Damian brushed his fingers over one of her hands. Green eyes moved over the bandages around her body – there were barely any areas that hadn't required them. Her face was bruised. It looked gaunt and small and delicate. 

Fay wasn't delicate, though. She wasn't fragile, either. 

Leaning towards her ear, he whispered something lowly.

Bagheera was asleep, finally able to relax knowing she was safe, so he could not hear Damian, and there was no one else in the room, which was fine. Those words were for her alone. 

In light, you'll find splatters of darkness.
In the darkness, there are layers of light.
Some people will do you wrong;
But this one will make it right.

3rd of February 

When Fay first woke up, she was struck by a strong sense of déjà vu when she found Alfred standing beside her. She was not at the Manor this time but in her bedroom at the warehouse. Her body was immobile, heavy. Not unlike back in the lake. Except she was warm. Her lungs weren’t burning because of oxygen deprivation and her body didn’t hurt. She was just mildly uncomfortable. 

And very thirsty, yearning for water instead of being killed by it. A straw was pushed between her chapped lips, and Alfred advised her to take small sips. She does. 

Bagheera is lying next to her, comforting emotions enveloping her like a blanket. 

“You are a resilient creature, Miss Fay.” Alfred remarks. “And we are most grateful for it.” He then tucks the duvet high up to her shoulders and tells her to rest. 

She is asleep even before he finishes speaking. 

She is alive. 

The anger that still bubbled in the depths of her heart was no longer quite as frightening. 

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4th of February 

Fay was next awakened by a stabbing pain in…. well, everywhere. Her back felt stiff, and when she tried to move, her breath was caught in her throat at the electrifying pain that traveled from her neck down to her navel. 

Painkillers must have worn off. 

“Her body is burning through the painkillers, but she is healing quickly.” Alfred's voice. 

“She's in pain.” …Damian? 

Fay made a sound at the back of her throat, a weak attempt at protesting when a pair of gloved hands moved her arm from under the duvet. She tried to open her eyes, but her lids refused to cooperate. She felt the faint sting of a needle, and moments later, the pain diminished to a bearable throbbing.

Fay was like a rag doll, limp and powerless as she was carefully rearranged and the duvet tucked around her again. She did not feel or hear the buds in her ears until the music started playing. Someone was sitting beside her again. This time, Fay knew she was not dreaming. But her brain feigned ignorance and her body moved of its accordance, settling over the person. They were warm, solid. Heartbeat strong, reassuring in its steady ‘thud thud thud’. Bagheera was lying partially over her legs, his head tucking the duvet around her tighter. Always thoughtful, her paladin. 

A warm hand fell on her head, lightly running patterns around her skull.

All was good. 

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6th of February 

When Fay wakes up, it is early afternoon, and it is raining. It must have snowed while she was unconscious because she could see remnants of snow on the branches of trees around the warehouse. Yet that wasn't the surprising sight. Damian was lying supine next to her, whom she had curled up against, her head pressed on his shoulder. Her injured arm which was still in a cast was thrown over his chest. 

Fay froze, eyes widening the size of saucers and face heating up so fast, it might have as well been on fire. She did not move, far too bewildered, and instead stared at the boy's profile. The curtains were halfway drawn, and with the dreary skies outside, the room was dark, but she could still make out his features. His expression looked relaxed, although the pinch between his brows persisted; his breath was steady. 

Damian was asleep. 

Bagheera was pressed against her back, belly up as he sprawled much like a dog, even if he didn't like being told that. Pip was curled up against him. Nada, unsurprisingly, had chosen to sleep by Damian's legs, tail twitching slightly in her sleep. Hector was…oh. Near her head. Fay felt him chitter when she moved to look around the bed. 

Hm. 

Maybe she never got out of that lake, and that was a strange hallucination. Or a vision in the afterlife. 

Fay was thirsty, and parts of her body throbbed, but after some consideration, she lowered her head back onto the pillow, which she seemed to be sharing with Damian. With a slight smile, she pressed her cheek against his shoulder. Damian was all lean muscle, so she would not have said he was the most comfortable out of everyone sleeping around her, but he was warm. And smelt good. And with him to one side and Bagheera to the other, she felt reassured.   

Fay was not sure when it was the last time, she felt that safe. Her bandaged fingers curled ever so slightly around his shoulder, making sure he did not go anywhere. 

A few minutes later, she was sleeping again, so she did not see Damian's lips curling up ever so faintly.  

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8th of February 

That morning had been slightly taxing. Fay had showered and then walked around, performing several light exercises under Alfred's watchful gaze as he took note of her recovery. Her mobility was almost fully restored, and she had no nerve damage despite the time she had spent inside the water. Her body ached in various places when she exercised, and she had lost a couple of pounds while recovering, but overall, she was doing well. 

Alfred then rewarded her with a large breakfast. She left nothing behind but an empty plate. 

Fay was dozing off, comfortable under the duvet when Damian came into her room. Her heart might have skipped a breath or two, or at least it felt that way when she woke up and their eyes met. Her mind had gone blank. She was not sure what to say to him. Since he found her, Fay hadn't spoken to him. Not since their return from London, actually. He hadn’t visited her since she woke up, either, at least not while she was conscious. Fay was still debating whether she dreamt of him sleeping next to her a few days earlier.

Green eyes scrutinized her: same shade. Different eyes. Different people.

Damian must have known she tried to run away. Her bedroom had been tidied up while she recovered, likely by Alfred, but there was no way Damian hadn't figured it out. Then that woman – his mother – kidnapped her by using terrifying bat-like chimeras that later tried to kill her. After they tried to drown her first. 

Damian closed the door behind him and then came to sit on the bed next to her. His expression was blank, betraying no emotions. “How are you feeling?” 

“I am—I am alright.” She said softly, silently wishing she had not pulled her hair back into a ponytail so she had something to shield her face with. I am sorry. I shouldn’t have lied about the Seekers. Your mother tried to kill me. I think I drowned. I saw my mother. I got angry. I fought back. It felt good. Well, except for the constant pain. And falling down and breaking my arm. 

He nodded. Then his expression darkened, brows furrowing. “My mother did this.” He said darkly. “…Because of me.” 

Fay regarded him quietly for a few moments before shaking her head. “No…. She did it--she did it because she is....well, she is a terrible person.” She did not think he would be offended by that. “You—you are not responsible for her actions.” 

Damian's teeth gritted. “No. However,—” Fay lifted from her position and leaned forward, rather ungracefully because the duvet was in the way and the bandages reduced her mobility. He could have stopped her, but he did not as she pressed against him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Fay felt him tense under her embrace, but his hands pressed lightly onto her sides, neither fully returning the hug nor pushing her away. 

“I am sorry.” Fay breathed. “That--that I didn't speak to you about the Seekers. And um…. a lot of other stuff. I---I should have trusted you, and I am really—” 

Shut up.” Fay jumped slightly when he suddenly spoke in her ear and she instinctively tried to pull away. She found she couldn’t. Irritation coloured his voice, but his hands had come around her back, blocking her movements. She was not sure what to make of that but stayed there, unmoving with her arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders.  

Damian sighed. “Stop apologizing. Stop---” He clicked his teeth. “There is nothing you have to apologize for. I---I understand why you have kept it from me. From the beginning.” He paused. “…. I should have not done that.” He said quietly. Fay doubts she would have heard him if his mouth had not been so close to her ear. 

“I have been informed that it is not how friends should treat one another.” 

Fay inhaled sharply. She pulled away slightly just enough so she could look at him but kept her hands on his shoulders. Damian allowed her, but his arms stayed around her waist. He was staring at her intensely. Unyieldingly. Fay was momentarily caught off by the kaleidoscope of greens in his irises. She's never seen his eyes that close before.

“My mother's assumptions are wrong.” Fay frowned. Wait… “And you are wrong to think that you are unworthy still.” 

She stared at him with mounting mortification. Damian knew what she said in the forest?! whatwhatwhatwhatwhat “How---how do-do you know that?” She whispered, removing her hands from his shoulders and instinctively trying to put distance between them. He didn't allow her. 

“The circumstances of how I came in possession of the conversation between you and my mother does not matter. We will discuss that later.” 

Wait. No. He could not just brush that off. Fay opened her mouth to protest, but he beat her to it. 

“…. I heard everything. You should have not said those things.” 

Fay stopped trying to release herself. It was useless, anyway. “W-what?” 

“What you said about yourself. You should have not said that.” He said firmly. “It is ridiculous you are even considering giving my mother’s words any merit.’’

She guiltily bowed her head and looked at their hands. “…I know.” She said quietly. "But...it's, um, hard not to.'' 

“Because of others.” 

Fay nodded. She took a deep breath, then looked up at him. “I…never really had, um, friends. They…were interested in my parents because---” She smiled ruefully. “—because it was hard not to. They were incredible.'' Just like you. ''Nobody really...saw me. I mean--beyond as their, um, daughter.” She licked her lips, pausing. “I, um…there is so much—”So much she hasn't said, so much she didn't know how. "I have a brother. Had a brother.” 

Damian's eyes narrowed. He shifted so he could uncross his legs and subsequently bring her between his knees. 

“… he's not dead,” Fay said. “He-he's just not my brother anymore.” Fay licked her lips nervously. “—He is my foster brother. Adopted when we were nine. We knew each other before---um, my mother could not have any more children. We were…close, I suppose.” Her brows furrowed. “After what happened, we just grew…apart. I know he was--is--as sad as I am. But, um,...I lost control once. Of my flux. And after that...he didn't really want to be around me.” 

He blocked her hands, stopping their nervous movement because she risked undoing her bandages. 

“I…lost control. Because I was angry. There were others---they played a game. I was really…stupid because I did not even realize it was that. A game.” She sighed. “…sometimes I did. I just let them…behave in that manner because I thought—” She shrugged. “—I thought I was meant to. I thought, maybe, if--if I prove myself they will--they will see me differently. I know that was a mistake but at the time…. I really was pathetic. My brother – Titoh – he…. I do not blame him. I know he was having a hard time, as well.” 

“What did he do?” Damian's face hardened. 

Fay shook her head. “…He just preferred...the other children, that's all.” Her lips curled up in a lopsided smile before it faltered. “I don't hate him for it. But….it did make me angry.'' 

"It still does.'' 

She nodded. "...it's not fair.'' 

Damian stared at her, mulling over her words carefully. Fay was finally opening up– entirely so – about the root of her distrust. The one that kept coming up as a barrier between them, ever since they met. Damian could still remember the way she had assumed he was playing games, that he was trying to lull her into a false sense of safety only to toy with her. Because she had already experienced that, so her defense mechanism was to never lower her guard. He had respected that (and it had also frustrated him).

"The game. What was it.'' 

Fay's expression closed off. "...different things.'' She said cryptically. 

"Did they physically hurt you?'' 

She nodded. 

Damian both wanted to know and didn't what was done to her. He recalled the way she reacted when they were playing in the mud and he had pinned her down. It had triggered her. 

"...I know they were wrong,'' Fay admitted quietly. "My uncle, um, always asked me why--why I allowed it. My family did--defend me. But...they were right, too. About some of the things they said about me.'' 

No, they are not. 

"They're not.'' He gritted his teeth. "Do not justify their actions in any manner.'' 

Fay just bowed her head. Her shame was too deeply embedded to disappear entirely. Perhaps it never will. 

“Do you think I will do that?” He asked in a carefully neutral tone. “Treat you in that manner? Discard you?” They were harsh words, but that is exactly what her brother had done with her. And it’s what she must’ve been fearing for so long.

Foolish girl.

Fay flinched at his question then stared contemplatively at him. 

That was all it boiled down, right? All the back and forth of their interactions over the last several months. Whether or not she was still afraid he would hurt her. If he will abandon her. He could, there was no doubt about that. But would Damian ever really want to hurt her the way others have? 

“No.” She said, finally. “No, I don't.” Even if his silence had cut fresh wounds into her heart. 

Excellent.

“You have met my mother. You have heard about my destiny.” Damian had listened to the recording several more times after retrieving her. He had it memorized, etched in his brain. “As such, I have not ever felt the need for friendships. I still do not.” 

Fay observed him nervously. 

“However, that does not mean I would not accept it should you offer it.” He said, finally. “And that...I would not reciprocate.” Damian could almost hear Dick's voice in his head telling him there was a far easier way to say that. Perhaps for the common man, but not for Damian. He wanted to make sure Fay understood that his friendship was not offered lightly, nor it will be renounced so. 

If she wanted it in return, of course. It was not as if he would ever force her. But clearly would not be an issue. 

Fay did not smile or rejoice as she continued to stare at him. “Even…. Fay of Maysoon is, um, disappointing?” She asked meekly.  

He was unsurprised at that label. 

“I will be the judge of that.” She would never disappoint him. “You are your own person, are you not? You are not defined by Fay of Maysoon as I am not defined by who I was before.” They will just have to remind one another of that.

Her eyes shined as her lips curled up and parted, revealing her teeth. It was by far the widest smile he had seen on her face. Even when compared with that night.

And the affection was there too, brighter than before. 

Talia should be disappointed. She had only ended up bringing them back by each other's side. 

Fay's body slammed onto him, arms wrapping around his shoulders again, this time tighter. She was not strong enough to push him, but Damian allowed them to fall on the bed all the same.

“I did not say you could hug me.” 

Fay hummed happily in his ear. 

He did not push her away. 

.

.

10th of February 

That day, they had taken an hour walk through the grove of trees, taking advantage that it was not raining. Damian had forced her to wear far too many layers, and she could barely see between the thick beanie and scarf wrapped tightly around her face. His protectiveness silenced any of her protests. 

He had also spent the last couple of days at the warehouse regardless of his patrolling duties during the night. He would return straight to the property each time. In the morning and afternoon, they would go for a walk. He monitored her diet plan and helped her with light calisthenics as well. Everything felt as if it was back to normal. 

Almost. 

Fay had been contemplating intensively how to start talking to Damian about the many secrets she still held from him. Some, she found herself eager to reveal. Some were necessary now that she was being targeted by what it turns out to be a whole league of assassins. That was in addition to the case of the mysterious Sponsor. Other information….she was not looking forward to sharing it. Not as much because she feared his reaction, but because it meant acknowledging the identity she left behind. The one she has not lived for almost a year. 

Damian found her picking and scratching her face nervously as she paced around the seating area on the ground floor. She jumped, startled when she saw him stand a few feet away from her. The dark expression she had been carrying up until that moment faltered.

Fay wanted to speak to him about something, he could tell, but she was finding it difficult. He had caught her look at him pensively in the past two days, and a few times, she had come close to revealing her thoughts before deciding against it. He pretended he did not see it, patiently waiting for her to muster the courage. 

It had not been easy speaking about his background, either. Fay had quietly and attentively listened when he told her about the Year of Blood and the atrocities he had committed. He wished to remove any informational advantage from Talia's hands. Not that she had succeeded in breaking Fay's trust in him the first time, but Damian wanted Fay to know everything. She had not looked as horrified as she should have been, and that spoke volumes of her own background. He knew it had something to do with her family and who they were, even if Fay herself was not a killer.

She had not needed to tell him she accepted his past. Damian could see it in her eyes and the way she still sought to be close to him even if she knew what he had done. Fay made it look simple. It was…soothing knowing she could still look at him the way she did even knowing his capacity for cruelty.

So, the least he could do in return was to wait until she gathered the courage to speak about who ‘Fay of Maysoon’ was.

“… it's tough,” Fay admitted out loud. 

“I believe I told you there's no need to tell me now.” He said simply. 

“I know.” She nodded. Then she reached to scratch at her nose again. He batted her hand away gently. Her face was already red, the bride of her nose peeling. What a horrendous habit. He’ll have to break her out of it.

Damian then sat down on the sofa, watching her as she floundered slightly, clearly determined to talk that day. He waited, as she finally sat down next to him, looking at him with a mix of determination and apprehension. 

“Do you…. remember when Hannah spoke about what Maysoon was like?” She rubbed the back of her neck. Damian resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the gesture--the girl could not keep her hands still. “About the awful things that the royal family did? And um, their warriors and…that they were death—rippers?" She grimaced at the name. 

Damian was smart enough to deduce where the conversation was going, but he nodded, keeping his expression neutral and feigning ignorance.

Fay looked at him. “That's….my family.” 

Which meant Fay was a royal member of Maysoon. 

Which made her royalty. 

“…I, um…I am—was—the heir.”

My, my. 

Damian was staring at her with a rather unimpressed look. 

Seriously. 

“Maysoon is a monarchy regardless of the decentralized power.” He suddenly remarked, sounding far too casual for the information she had just offered him. “If you are---or were—the heir, that makes you—” Fay tensed, he smirked. “—A princess. Of a territory, at the very least.” Why did he sound as if they were just discussing day-to-day topics? 

Then again. Hadn't she behaved the same when he told her about his upbringing? 

It just felt too easy. Nothing had ever been easy for her when it came to who she had been in Maysoon. Being referred to as a princess made her lunch sit uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach. Her face pinched because being Fay the princess was never an identity she had fully assimilated. She had not been comfortable with many elements of the royal lifestyle, truth be told.

And her parents have been unconventional.

“You don't behave like royalty.” A fair comment. One she has heard many times before. Fay stared at him carefully, gauging his expression. But he did not look at her in any different way. 

It was…incredible. 

And very, very confusing. 

Fay scratched the side of her head. “Um, no….my mother was not royalty. She—” Could she just go ahead and talk about it? Just like that? “—My mother was a member of the Resistance. She was the leader of---of one of the factions. Which means my father---” 

“---married his enemy.” 

Fay shrugged sheepishly. 

And this is who Fay of Maysoon is. In a nutshell. 

Damian looked amused. 

“---I must admit, I had not expected that.” He said calmly. “I suspected you were from a wealthy family. More important than you let on. But the daughter of royalty and a revolutionary?” 

Fay nodded silently, growing uncomfortable again. It was freeing, finally being able to talk about it, but there was a part of her that had wished not to. Once she revealed that side of her, there was no going back. 

“You're overthinking again,” Damian warned before unceremoniously flicking her forehead. Hard. 

Ow.” Fay stared at him, mortified. “Don't—don't do that, please.” 

He smirked. “Or what? You will have me hanged?” 

Well, if he was going to play like that. 

“No….you'd, um, be fed to the wild beasts,” Fay grumbled under her breath, not at all serious and still light-headed by how he was taking everything in stride.  

“Finally showing your true colors, I see, ripper.

His words did not sting. She did not even consider he was actually serious. 

And that was it.

What it felt like having someone she could trust like that again. Has it always felt that good? A bit like flying. Exciting but with a sliver of fright. 

She looked at him cautiously. “….is it---is it really okay?” Fay hated she sounded so needy.

He flicked her forehead again. In the same spot, too, the tyrant.

Ow!” 

“That's for being an idiot.” 

Fay stared at him with a mix of embarrassment and indignation as she rubbed at the red spot forming on her forehead. 

“…okay.” She mumbled unconvincingly. 

Damian sighed, and he reached for her hand. The idiot has been fidgeting so much that she has disturbed her bandages, picking at the healing skin underneath, drawing blood. Did she really think everything they have discussed until then will be undone just because she told him she is the daughter of the so-called rippers? Please. Had she already forgotten who he was and where he came from? 

Fay allowed him to undo her bandages, relaxing her hands in his. She was no longer bothered when he touched her. If anything, she found his presence soothing. 

Damian re-did her bandages as he contemplated her words. 

Fay was born royalty, regardless of her mother having been an outsider. She was born into a warrior clan notorious for the bloodshed they caused in the past. Reformed, now but no doubt still facing the stigma in what must be a very complex political environment. If they had been allowed to stay in power, either the world had not changed as much as Fay believed, or the union between her parents had contributed to the peace treaty. An arranged marriage, perhaps. A political ploy that satisfied both the demands of the Resistance and of the old regime. 

Which makes Fay a creature of both worlds. The old and the new. Damian understands now why she had repeatedly said that expectations of her changed after her parent's death. As the daughter of such high-profile individuals, there would have been pressure for her to carry their legacy, to carry the torch of hope they did. Her family would want her to be a leader, the public would like her to be a hero. Political agendas would pull her in different directions. Powerful men would either try to ingratiate themselves with her or destroy her. 

Everyone would want something for her, but very little of it would have anything to do with who she is beyond the title and her bloodline. 

Damian understands, and it was not just because of his precocious grasp on politics. He understands what it is like to have been born and raised in an environment that predetermined his future. To be told that there are expectations that must be fulfilled, to be rewarded with power, wealth, and influence the moment he drew his first breath.

But they are different, too. Fay had been taught different values than him. To value life, not to take it. To fight for the weak, not crush them. To put others' needs ahead of hers. She has been raised to be a leader of the people, not a conqueror. Even if there have been teachings on the latter, they did not stick clearly. 

Fay is kind and selfless. She is soft and emotional. But there is a fire in her too. Violence is not in her character, but she is capable of it. She will do what is necessary for those who are weak and defenseless. She will risk her life rather than run away, even when given the opportunity. 

Damian does not have a mental picture of what the architecture or fashion of Maysoon comprises of, beyond the vast citadel and the wild jungles Fay has told him about. So, when he imagines her in robes fit for royalty, there is nothing definite. An abstract image almost. But he can picture her, nonetheless, fidgeting and turning red as a tomato, being chaperoned, and catered to, and having to learn about her duties as an heir. 

Fay would not be comfortable with servants. Months after knowing Alfred, she still calls him Mr. Pennyworth and tries to ask him as little of him as possible. She is modest, humble. She would not likely even bother with wearing expensive silks or other precious clothes. She would try to make herself as small as possible in a world of men and women that all want a piece of her. She would not be interested in power games. 

They would eat her alive. She would be like a lamb amongst a pack of wolves. They would try to break her if they cannot mold her to their views. 

And they did attempt from the looks of it. Succeeded to an extent.

Damian remembers clearly how frightened she used to be, how paranoid she was of his words and actions, how she preferred to just put distance and hide even when he was trying to reward her without expecting something in return. Fay saw his wealth and power and intellect, and she must have associated him with the men and women who have tried to rob her of her individuality and dignity. 

But they did not break her all the way. Damian had watched her change throughout the months and had witnessed that fire grow stronger and stronger, proving that she is not quite as fragile as she seems. She can be clever and resourceful. A fierce survivalist. Fay was there before him, alive, after having survived a near-drowning in a freezing lake and battling warriors of the League of Assassin.

Except all those qualities were hidden under layers of fears and terrible self-esteem. Still are. Her flawed perspective of her own self-worth is her biggest enemy, and different worlds or not, there would have been those who saw that weakness and tried to exploit it. Fay would have allowed it. She would have felt responsible. Guilty. Ashamed. That she is alive. That she cannot be better. 

That she is not like her parents. Not in the ways the world is asking her to be. 

Damian looked up at her. She did not notice, too far caught up overthinking, judging by the way she kept switching between pursuing her lips and biting them. He did see her differently now. Not in the way she is afraid he would. When he looks at her, it feels as if the puzzle that had started all those months earlier was finally complete.

He understood why painting number twenty-three made her cry. He understood why she had been so reluctant to accept his offer, why she had recoiled at being called a hero. He could not fully understand why she believed him in the way she did. But he understood why it made her angry—the way Talia had spoken about him – just as he understood why she had been so accepting of his past. 

Because Fay understood as well. 

They were like two sides of the same coin. Both were born in wealthy, powerful environments. One, seen as a weapon. Another raised with values rooted in kindness and selflessness. Him, abandoning his mother in exchange for his father. Fay, leaving her world in exchange for….freedom, he supposes. She considers herself a coward for it, and perhaps she is but it is not her defining characteristic. 

One world for another, and they are both still deciding what they truly want. 

Damian had not anticipated they would be in those circumstances. Or that he would end up thinking that yes, Fay is his friend, and he wants to keep her by his side. Ferociously, so. He was not, by nature, a sentimental or even a warm individual. But when he looked at Fay, he thought he would not need to – Fay cared for him all while knowing who he was, and he had done. And it went both ways. He could show her parts of himself that very few others had seen. In return, she would have his loyalty and...more. 

“Turn around.” 

Fay looked at him, startled. “…w-what?”

“—Tt--Just do it.” She hesitantly did so, turning her back to him. Her hair now reached below her scapulas. It was thicker, shinier. Another sign of her improved health.

Her hair is the color of chestnuts. When the sun catches in it, there's an auburn shade to it. 

“Now, speak.” He will not go anywhere.

“I am sorry I haven't told you about the Seekers.” She said quietly, watching Bagheera play with Pip across the room. “…Not many people know about them. I should not know about them, actually, but um, my parents were---very open.” She looked down at newly bandaged hands. They were neither tight nor loose. Just perfect. “… it's hard to talk about them. In Maysoon...everything reminded me of them.” 

Something warm, solid was pressed against her. They were sitting back-to-back now. It felt reassuring. Like when Bagheera would sit behind her when she is feeling vulnerable. 

Then Fay did speak. Far easier than she expected to do so about her parents and her family’s history. 

Her father’s family – the royal clan of Maysoon – have a long history in Maysoon, and they are credited as the founders of the village. Descendants from Tora. Throughout history, there have been many conflicts between the Maysoon territories as much as with outside territories. The royals have climbed the hierarchy of power due to their incredible bloodlines of warriors and this was primarily due to them having received such power from dragons. First allies, then species they have tamed and used as weapons. 

The royal clan has not always been the tyrannical one of recent history. Still a topic at the center of fervent debate, it has been often said that receiving gifts from dragons has come with a price. Power in exchange for sanity. It is not a topic widely discussed, especially during authoritarian regimes. Many were also conflicted. On the one hand, Maysoon had flourished –it was wealthy, prosperous. Invincible, some would say. Those who lived by the rules the old regime imposed were guaranteed to have a good life. On the other hand, Maysoon was rife with discrimination, racism. Not everyone was treated equally. There were no universal laws protecting the safety and dignity of all. There was slavery. Torture. Public executions. Propaganda. 

Humans belonged to the lower rung of the food chain. Weak. Fragile. Dispensable. The treatment of Duanima varied widely from territory to territory. Fay’s clan was more pragmatic than most clans in that they firmly believed in keeping enemies closer, but they would often do so through ways that benefitted them. There were some species that openly allied themselves with them---but they had been often perceived as traitors. They have turned their back on their origins so they could succeed in a world that deems them inferior. 

Duanima's are born the way they are. But they can also be created, by forge masters. Experimentation. It is forbidden now, Fay explains, but that hadn't always been the case. Forged Duanima is considered an aberration by the actual Duanima, especially since they are more feral. Uncontrollable. They perpetuate the stereotype that Duanima are mindless animals, and they should be treated as such. 

Historically, forged Duanima were used to start conflicts. But they are also very unstable creatures. This is why Fay had assumed the beasts they saw on Halloween were Duanima. She had never seen a 'made' one, however. 

“…They would have likely died in the end,’’ Fay said sadly. 

“Hn. Their creation is not necessarily original.’’ Damian remarked. “You’ve encountered the Man-Bat Commandos my mother has under her control. They, too, were once human that chose to inject themselves with a serum turning them in those creatures.’’ 

Fay blinked. “Man-Bat…Commandos? Are they actually…called that way?’’ She was not sure what she expected. Not that, though. 

Damian sighed. 

“Do you…. think your mother had anything to do with this?’’ Fay asked quietly. “Maybe---they modified the serum?’’  

“No.’’ Damian said. “The serum was originally created by a man named Robert Langstrom with the intention of amplifying the hearing capabilities of a human being. It also, however, led to the mutations you have seen yourself. My father developed an antidote for it. However, the serum had been modified and altered several times, increasing its potency. My mother has assassins injected with the serum and uses them---well, you are aware of what now.’’ Which reminds him…. “You didn't kill them. Not everyone who attacked you.''  

Fay shook her head. “No. I---I couldn’t do it. I just---wanted them to back down.’’ The Man-Bats had been vicious. Fay had not planned on using fire. The element had been generated by her own state of emotions and she had certainly not been able to control it efficiently. But the outburst she did have had been effective in keeping the chimerean bats away. “When I am angry---’’ She started. “---I can’t control fire. I never---liked this element nor have I been good at it. It’s---it’s a very difficult element. But when I am angry…. I use it without wanting to.’’ 

Damian wondered if that had happened when she has lost her temper in the past. During those ‘incidents’ she told him about. Most likely. 

“Man-Bats are highly sensitive to sounds and—’’ 

“---light.’’ Fay finished for him. “Um…I noticed.’’ She said shyly. 

“You used a sword.’’ He added, slightly amused. “Two of them, actually. You left one in the Man-Bat.’’ That one died.

Damian did not care. She was alive. 

Fay bowed her head. “…. Yes. One of the assassins had them and I knocked him down using water—but I was dizzy, and the Man-Bat jumped on me. I did not see him---and I do not know---in that moment, I found it hard to use my flux. I…. just grabbed it.’’ 

Instinct. Good. It was good her first instinct was to do that. 

“I…kept the other one because it started hurting using my flux,’’ Fay explained. “Although, it wouldn’t have been much use.’’ She grumbled. 

“Your father taught you, however.’’ 

“Just the basics. Sometimes we used to train---but I never enjoyed it. It did not feel…. natural. Like using the flux, I suppose.’’ Fay said. “But he taught me how to use different weapons. My tutors as well.’’ She wasn’t particularly good at any of them but using a staff had felt most comfortable to her. Learning how to balance and move it around was a lot like using her flux. Archery wasn't half bad, as long as she wasn't anxious. 

“…. The staff and archery.’’ She said. “I liked those. But---I am not specialized in them.’’ 

Damian wondered if that was her self-esteem talking again. He made a mental note to test that out later when she’s better. 

“Tell me more. About your family. How had the Resistance come to be?’’ 

Feeling at ease and no longer nervous about talking, Fay turned around to look at him. He must have sensed her because he did the same a moment later. Damian had not expected her to smile at him. 

“What?’’ 

“I think…. you are very similar to my father.’’ 

 “The strongest people I know were also told that they were failures because---because they did not want to be what others wanted them to be.”

Her father was the youngest son of six siblings. Three brothers and two sisters. They had all been raised to be as glorious and exceptional as it was expected, each with their own talents. Their parents had been cold, ruthless individuals. When her grandfather died, her grandmother became the matriarch of the family. From the stories she has been told, Fay counts herself fortunate she has not met the woman. She would have probably been executed for not being prodigious. Fay’s father had been born as a result of the union between her grandmother and her great-uncle, who became Emperor. He was hailed as being the most exceptional out of all children. He became the youngest member of the elite run of warriors at only thirteen years old. A warrior that only comes around every few centuries. 

Her father, however, had become different growing up. He did not enjoy killing even if he was an apex assassin. He did not believe in the inferiority of some species to others. He believed in peace. In a different world. Despite his reasoning being beyond his age, her father had not become the man he was by himself as he often reminded her. He had committed, assisted, and witnessed atrocities of his own. But instead of being proud or arrogant, he had wanted the world to change. Her parents, the Resistance, the battles that marked history. There are full stories and legends. Books and songs and oral accounts of what has taken place. Fay has been surrounded by many of those characters that others only learned about.  

But she always believed her parents' stories the most. They never sugar-coated the cruel aspects of the old regime, nor they posed themselves as some sort of heroes in the center of such stories. They had both suffered losses as a result of the war they waged; they had to survive and carry on through some incredibly difficult times to achieve victory. Even then, there had been many of those who had fallen in the process. Those were the ones who deserved the praise, her parents used to say. 

Bloodshed still had to take place to achieve peace. A paradox and a burden. 

It is unclear when the Resistance started because it had been such a small operation, to begin with if it could be called even that. It waned intermittently throughout the years, as the rebels lost numbers or the will to fight. But they had numerous figures that had entered history as having fuelled the spirit of rebellion. Protesters, activists, rogue warriors, civilians. Without them, there would have been no Resistance. Her parents and those they fought side by side would have never had a foundation to build upon what became an organization of persistent men and women. 

At first, the Resistance focused on offering sanctuary to refugees in various parts of the world. Then, a series of battles that took place several decades prior to Fay’s birth and led to several citadels being declared ‘free’, the Resistance finally made a name for itself. It was severely underestimated to begin with, even when they started gaining the attention and admiration of more and more people. The underestimation stopped when the Resistance stopped focusing solely on hiding and relying on low-level operations – primarily with the intent of obtaining supplies – and started targeting territories. 

The underestimation stopped when the wealthy and noble had started being robbed off and conned. When a group of outlaws started openly defying the old regime by instigating uprisings, by creating and spreading messages of support of their own, by strategically attacking politicians and ambassadors and other rich individuals, robbing, and humiliating them. 

“Robin Hood,’’ Damian remarked dryly. “That is the plot of Robin Hood.’’ The outlaws could not have known that if access to that world was truly indeed limited. Except there were people who did know how to travel between the worlds. “Your mother was one of them.’’ He concluded. 

Fay smiled, eyes shining. 

Indeed, she was. Her mother was an orphan, raised by thieves and con-men and other individuals of morally dubious character, one could say. Fay is unclear on how her mother had started traveling between the worlds, or why. It was not public knowledge, so most of what she knew was from her parents or those closest to the family. Her mother had told her that she had learned of the ‘dark paths’ from someone else, but Fay had no idea who that was. She had not wanted Fay to know until she was older. Her mother had spent several years in Damian’s world. It was there that she gained the knowledge she had. Fay did not know much about her ventures there either, other than that it had been an ‘a truly unexpected journey’ as her mother had told her. 

Fay’s mother did not build the entire band of Saints of Thieves---they already existed as small factions. But she and close allies of hers have worked in bringing what were small skirmishes and minor operations to a larger scale. At first, the Saints of Thieves were not openly allied with the Resistance, but in several years, they became a symbol of rebellion. The Resistance grew stronger---establishing several strongholds and gaining an increasing number of allies. That’s when the proponents and supporters of the old regime became worried. Even more so, when her father disappeared for two years and when resurfacing, he started pushing for changes internally. This spurred on people, but it also caused him to become an enemy of the old government. 

He ultimately turned his back on the clan and abandoned the capital---in the process, taking with him plenty of those who supported him. Subsequently, Maysoon territories declared themselves independent and allies of the Resistance. The same took place in the other Empires---some territories had ceded willingly, others have been converted through the defeat of their rulers. 

It was not linear progress. There have been wins and losses on both ends. At times, it felt as if the Resistance had lost. At times, their progress would be undone significantly. There have been several moments in history that marked the turning point, starting with those territories whose ruling clans decided to ally themselves with the Resistance and followed by the Atlabas Empire becoming a fervent supporter. 

Her parents met throughout the course of those events, and they fell in love with one another. When the old regime fell, and the Council was instated, their greatest allies and friends became part of it. Maysoon’s absolute monarchy was dismantled. Even that process was not linear as there were plenty of those who refused to change their ways leading to internal conflicts. Her father became the leader of the clan, or at least that side of it that chose to follow him. Some clan members were imprisoned or died fighting for the old regime. Her grandmother and grand uncle died as well. 

The title of ‘Emperor’ is more of a formality. Even if Fay ever fulfilled the expectations of being the leader of the clan, that did not mean she held more power than the other royal clans. She certainly could not defy the Council as easily, not without breaking international agreements. Being her parent’s daughter did not also guarantee her the leadership position. New laws dictated that the title of heir should no longer be passed down a single line of the family. Her cousins and distant members of the clan had claim to it if they proved themselves capable. 

Fay is not naïve. She is aware that her parents being together and the leaders of one of the royal clans had political implications. That they inevitably became symbols, and even if there were few those who contested it, their love had been sometimes labeled as an arrangement designed to support the Resistance agenda. That was not true. She knows how much her parents have adored each other; she knows that their being together had not been something that happened easily or fast. They had been enemies to begin with. But it is because they have been turned into that symbol, that Fay had faced more expectations than any of her relatives. People would have preferred to see the daughter of the Titans take the reins in the future, because….it only made sense, right? 

Fay had once agreed with it, but she now realizes that is not set in stone. Her parents would have never wanted her to become the leader of the clan just because she felt it was her duty. Duty cannot be fulfilled effectively when one does not have the passion or skill for it. However, she has not been able to escape those constant hungry looks that waited to see if she had inherited any of their spark of brilliance or defiance.

Her parents were not just living legends or whatever romanticized notion people labeled them. They were a man and a woman, both warriors, born in different worlds and united by similar perspectives. They were not the only symbols of change, or the only unconventional couple but people often treat them as such in the capital. 

Fay had been taught better than that. That is why she believed a person should first find who they are and what they want to be before they allow others to tell them. 

“I am nothing like them. I am…disappointing.” Fay said finally. She was not crying, nor was she stuttering. “I do…want to be like them. I also---do not want to be like them. I know it does not make any sense—’’ Yes, it did. To him, it did. “But, in the year after they died, all I did was…. prove people that I was, um, different..” 

Fay smiled lopsidedly. “…I humiliated myself. And my family. Several times. Um, last time was…” She pursued her lips. “…really, really bad.” She had taken public humiliation to a whole new level. “I ran away because—” This time, her eyes did become glassier. “—I was a coward. I did not know how to stand up for myself. I did not ---I did not defend myself. I did not ---get better. So—so, um, it was easier to just run away.” She bit her lip, digging her teeth into it. 

“My parents were--” Something flashed in her eyes. Something angry and sad and broken. “---They were everywhere. Everyone just kept saying…how bad it is that I survived, and they had to be the ones to die. That I did not deserve to be there because…. I was shaming their memory.”

Damian’s fists clenched. Because again, he could not imagine Maysoon as it truly looked like, but he could imagine the taunting and mockery Fay must have undergone. The weight of those expectations. Fay had been raised to be a free creature, and with her parent’s death, she had quickly learned that the world prefers caging her. Perhaps her parents have been far too idealistic. He would never say that to her, however.

Perhaps deep down, she carried resentment and anger towards her parents as well. How could she not? Twas was the meaning of carrying the legacy of the great. 

Fay truly was the bird on the branch separate from others, wasn’t she? 

“I was really selfish,’’ Fay said, voice starting to tremble. “---My family was supportive. They did not…understand me, not like my parents. But they were supportive. I should have done better---more.’’ A sharp air intake. “I am worried that---by running away I only caused more issues. I am worried that the Council will—will find out. I---I am worried that…I will not ever be welcomed back. I don’t---I do not even know if I want to go back---right now—’’ She reached to wipe at one eye. “---but what if I can’t go back anymore? What---what if---’’ She faltered, anxiety mounting making her breathing harder.

What if I will never be enough. 

It was right there. Unspoken but heard all the same. 

Damian tugged her closer, bringing her between his knees and leaning her forehead against his with one hand to the back of her head. It was slightly unsettling how comfortable he had grown to seek close contact with her. How…. he preferred it. 

“It doesn’t matter.’’ He said simple, just like she has only days earlier when he finished her telling about his upbringing. “It does not matter what they think of you just as it does not matter what my mother thinks of me. You are your own person.’’ The Fay he now knew was not Fay of Maysoon. It was not even Fay Kipling. Just Fay, slowly sculpting and forging herself on the foundation of values her parents had left her with.  “Is not that what you believe in?’’ 

Fay nodded. 

“Home is the place where they have to take you in.’’ He said firmly. “You--You will always have a place to go.’’ His fingers tightened slightly at the tape of her neck, tangling further in her locks. “Always.’’ He will never turn her away. Damian found himself struggling to put that in words. Action speaks louder than words. Hers certainly has. 

“I will help you find a way back if that’s what you wish.’’ He vowed. “But---if you wish to wait---or stay here, you will not be turned away.’’ 

Fay stared at him with wet eyes and an expression that was equal parts broken and hopeful. He pulled away but left his hand where it was, as she glanced at Bagheera who watched them intently. As he always did. The paladin understood their words but only he knew just how truthful and intense their emotions truly were. 

Fay did not need him anymore to know Damian was genuine. She had no words, really. The boy with green eyes—the tyrannical, mad boy who turned her life upside down and constantly puzzled her - was offering her something she had sought fervently in the past. 

Could she just have it, finally? What if she lost it again? What if it was taken from her again?

Fay leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his middle before pressing her forehead against his shoulder. 

Damian was her friend. 

“Thank you.’’ She mumbled. 

"Hn.''No. Thank you. 

He did not say anything, loosely returning the embrace and allowing her to work through her thoughts.

Damian would have found it comfortable, had it not been for Bagheera jumping on them a few minutes later, his large form toppling over them. 

“Stupid beast—’’ 

“---don’t call him that---” 

“Rgggg…’’ Bagheera growled, satisfied. 

Damian allowed it – just that once—because Fay’s tears had not fully disappeared from her eyes. 

(It was not the last time.)

Chapter 27: Of reminiscing and Oreos

Notes:

Chapter revised as of 26th of August 2021.

Chapter Text

"Come back. Even as a shadow. Even as a dream.'' 

Euripides 

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12th   of February 

"I am happy to meet you, Goliath." 

Fay smiled widely at the giant red beast as it regarded her with a wide-eyed look. There was an uncanny innocence in those eyes. She bowed her head towards him in reverence as she had always done towards most wild creatures she has come across. Provided it would not get her killed.

"You are beautiful ."  

"Ryyyuuukkk…?" 

Fay nodded. "Yes. You ." 

Then she was pulled into a crushing hug, her face shoved into red fur, muffling her squeals and laughter. Goliath licked her face, which earned him a scandalized look from her paladin as he watched grumpily from a few feet away. 

Damian rolled his eyes. "Don't spoil the fool." 

Goliath stared for a moment before pulling the boy into the hug as well, holding both children like dolls to his chest. Fay grinned as she watched the dragon bat lick the boy's face, earning him a sleuth of insults she knew were not at all genuine. She started laughing when she realized Damian acted precisely like Nada whenever Fay tried to cuddle her by surprise. 

They spent almost the entire day flying on Goliath's back. 

Fay is not sure when was the last time that she laughed so much that she lost her voice and her stomach hurt. 

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14th of February 

Valentine's Day. What an abhorrent celebration. A commercialized nightmare in shades of pink and red that capitalizes on the moronic populations that buy into it. Yes. Damian detested that celebration. Then again, there were few celebrations he could say he was interested in. He was undoubtedly not susceptible as the common masses to the consumerism of it all. 

Thankfully, his friend was not that simple-minded, and despite being at an age where most girls – at least in that world – would start expressing an inordinate amount of interest in celebrating Valentine's Day, Fay didn't seem to care. Curious, yes, to understand the history and origins of the celebration and its popularity. But he was interested, in return as well. The way Fay had described her parents, they appear to have been in love, loyal to one another. Enemies that became allies, then lovers. A story worthy of Shakespeare's, objectively speaking. Fay was not born out of a eugenics experiment, the manipulation of one parent over another. Her parents had been together, so she had grown up to observe a type of relationship he never had. 

It made sense why he was a cynic, why he found his father's ventures with women rather unappealing. Neither one of his parents has exhibited the type of love he believes Fay's parents may have had. 

So why is she not more interested in such celebrations? Damian glanced at her over his shoulder, from where he sitting at his drawing table. Fay was on the floor, cross-legged, back propped against his bed, reading, and eating – her third – cinnamon roll that Alfred baked. Bagheera on one side and Titus on the other. "Does Maysoon not have celebrations of this nature?" He asked, although their conversation on Valentine's Day ended more than an hour earlier when she agreed she did not care for it either. 

Fay stopped reading and lifted her eyes to him. She had healed almost entirely by then, cuts and breaks and fractures mended. Faint bruises remained in some spots, such as her cheekbone and neck. Her hands were fully recovered as well, save for her fingers feeling tender still. She looked well. Healthier than he's ever seen her. It did not stop filling him with pride still when he remembered how she fought. Just as he did not stop feeling anger when he imagined her being in that lake, tied up and struggling to breathe. Another thing to have nightmares about. A few times, she had woken up hyperventilating, not being able to breathe correctly. 

"Yes, we do. There are ---different ones. There is um, Lovers Day—" Her cheeks-tinged pink. "—Then, there is the Celebration of Hearts, which is for everyone. Not, um, just—um, yeah. It's for friends and families as well." 

Hm. "...did your family celebrate it?" 

Fay looked at him curiously. "Yeah. I guess---it is somewhat like here. Sometimes it is celebrated because it is so…popular." She shrugged. "My parents had their own traditions." 

"Traditions." Damian absent-mindedly rolled the pencil between his fingers. Fay smiled, a wistful expression on her face. "It was, um, different things. My mother liked---adventures, so my father always planned one for her. They would travel together." Her smile faltered slightly, eyes growing sadder. "He used to do it for me, as well." 

"Scavenger hunts." 

She nodded. "Or puzzles. Or, um, riddles." Something a mischievous glint in her eyes. Well, that was new. "Or tricks. Cons." 

He raised a brow at her. 

"He'd give me…tasks." She childishly put her tongue between her teeth, pausing briefly. "Like, um, stealing one of the blades from one of my uncle's collections. Or----find something he hid. Sometimes it would take me days." No wonder she had been so naturally inclined towards following the leads that George Sanders left. Fay's critical thinking had been stimulated from an early age---unconventionally, so. In the guise of something, she found it entertaining. 

It was not that much different from the challenges his father would give him sometimes. That was one topic he intended to explore later. Perhaps see it in practice. There was a hidden deviousness to her that he had not expected but would be interested in seeing more of. 

"Is it the norm for clan members to have personal traditions?" 

Fay shrugged. "…Some clans have different ways of celebrating it. It depends on the culture, I guess." The girl closed the book and put it aside on the bed behind her with the half-eaten cinnamon roll on top of it. Titus was already eyeing it even without lifting his head from the floor. "Marriage is---different in our world. I mean, some ceremonies are very similar to the ones in this world. There are older rituals that some clans still practice-- traditional ones--but they differ from territory to territory as well." 

Damian grunted in assent, then smirked slightly. Why not torment his friend a little further? 

"Where's my present?" 

Her face turned such a violent shade of red that he half-expected her nose to start bleeding. 

"What---I---I don't---" Her face did a funny thing, the way it switched between horror—embarrassment—then horror again. "I am sorry---I don't---" She hasn't actually looked at him in that way. Sure, he was good-looking and had very pretty eyes, but Fay didn't really see him that way. He was precious to her but not in a romantic manner. Fay had experienced many brief and sometimes embarrassing crushes back in Maysoon, but she had not ever acted on them, nor was she particularly keen on doing so. There had been one in particular that had persisted but she wasn't alone in being infatuated with that particular individual. After that fateful night, she hadn't even thought about it. 

Fay had been more interested in seeking adventures, and after her parent's death, courting had been more of a formal concept in her head that she would hopefully not need to worry about until she was much older. Even then, the socializing aspect of it terrified her. 

Damian knew she did not. It was alright. He did not either. They were many things to each other, far stronger and with the potential to be more long-lasting than any childish infatuation. He carried on, nonetheless. "Valentine's Day is not just for those entangled in a—" He sneered lightly. "--- romantic relationship." Yes, it was. Traditionally speaking. But Dick told him that it was no longer limited to that – a useless piece of information Damian would have rather not known. Well, perhaps not quite that useless. 

Fay stared at him with a mixture of mortification and guilt, already looking as if she had been kicked. "I don't have, um, a present." She mumbled. 

Damian tutted at her, feigning indignation. "Not a very good friend, are you?" Fay looked as if she would protest to that but then caught on to what he was doing. 

Averting her eyes, she started grumbling under her breath.  

"…tyrant." 

"Excuse me?" 

Fay froze, but instead of apologizing, she threw him a petulant look. "You're a tyrant ." She declared.  

"Is that so?" He asked calmly, placing down the pencil. Unrushed in his movements. 

Far too casual. 

Fay watched him, alerted. 

"Um, y-yes." She said and instinctively glanced towards the door.  

Foolish girl.

As if she would ever make it so far. 

Damian's room was rarely ever noisy. It was often nearly impossible to tell someone even lived there, given how silent the boy could be. Unless he played his violin but was a rare occurrence, which was a shame as he played beautifully. 

There were two other situations when there would be noises from Damian's room: when he experienced nightmares – his bedroom was under Alfred's so the butler could always hear him-, or when he would be recovering from injuries. Even in the latter's case, Damian was rarely ever loud. The boy gritted his teeth through pain like a soldier with decades of experience. 

But, if there were certain sounds Alfred had never expected to hear, were the feminine squeals of Fay. Or Damian's own voice, gruff and demanding as always but lacking any actual heat. Alfred's knocks went ignored, unsurprisingly, what with the amount of ruckus going on inside – the furniture sounded as if it had been caught in the crossfire – so he opened the door, holding the silver tray with lemon and ginger tea. 

Oh, dear. 

Fay and Damian were both on the ground, wrestling. Furniture had suffered in their wake, indeed, judging by the broken lamp and the fallen books off the shelves. Bagheera and Titus—the wiser of four of them, clearly – preferred to watch while sharing the remaining cinnamon buns on the tray Alfred had left on the nightstand. 

Both children stilled, the noise ceasing. Damian had gained the upper hand, straddling her on the floor and locking her arms in a crisscross over her chest.

Fay was not to be underestimated, however, judging by how ruffled one side of Damian's hair looked. 

"Hello, Mr. Pennyworth." The girl said, breathlessly, looking up at him from the ground. 

Oh well. Best not to interrupt. 

He will return later when the precious china is not in danger of being used as a weapon. 

As soon as he closed the door, the noise restarted with a squeal erupting from the girl's throat, then a protest at her forehead being flicked. 

"  said, I give up! Why—why did you have to do that?" 

"Because I can." 

Alfred smiled. 

It has been a while since such carefree sounds have filled the manor.

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17th   of February 

Fay frowned as she watched the curly-blond-haired girl peruse the cereal section at the supermarket. 

Guilt rushed through Fay's veins when she thought about the several text messages she had batted off with poor excuses as to why she could not meet Cora. It was well within her prerogative if she did not want to 'hang out', but Fay also recognized a lonely person when she saw one. Cora had not texted her since mid-January when Fay had -truthfully, for the first time- told her that she was abroad and so she would not be able to meet for hot chocolate.

"Are you done yet?" Damian asked, not for the first time in the last seven minutes.

He had not gotten less obnoxious; she had just learned to ignore it. Fay carefully stepped back around the corner of the aisle, almost knocking over a pack of cereals, then glanced at the boy waiting by the wheeled cart she had been filling up. It was not as if she had asked him to accompany her, but he had been particularly maniacal about her traveling unchaperoned. She understood why – his mother, a leader of a league of assassins – had tried to kill her and failed. There was no way she would not attempt to finish what she started. That meant that for the time being, Fay – even with Bag accompanying her – could not travel anywhere alone. Even visiting Dana had proven difficult because Fay had been wary of jeopardizing her life.

Damian had a theory that his mother had merely tried to send a message. That she had been testing Fay, had wanted to see if she would survive. To test her mettle. That theory was not that much more comforting than the one where his mother wanted her dead just because she disapproved of who Damian was friends with. 

Fay, however, was struck by the crestfallen expression on the girl's face. The red-rimmed eyes and baggy clothes. Cora reminded Fay of herself at that moment. 

"Cora is over there." She whispered, keeping the box of cereals she caught from falling tight to her chest. When she realized what she was doing, she embarrassedly put it back on the shelf. 

Damian's brow lifted. He could not have looked less interested.

"Who cares?" 

Fay gave him a look. She'd grown rather comfortable doing that lately.

"She seems…sad." Damian gave her a look she knew all too well. She had seen it a thousand times. Fay had started to become finely attuned to his expressions and body language, even if there were plenty of times when she found it difficult to read him. 

"I am going to apologize—" 

"---you can't be serious---" 

Yes. Yes, she was. Damian rolled his eyes and made a mental note to put her on the automatic grocery delivery because he would never waste his time again. He sneered at the cart and the inordinate number of items that contained a ridiculous amount of sugar. If he didn't think it beneath him, Damian would have already returned some of the purchases back on the shelves. But then she would give him that wide-eyed look, and then he'd remember the way she looked in the forest...Damian sighed and mentally gave her precisely three minutes to assuage her irrational sense of guilt before he started dragging her out of there. 

Fay slowly approached the girl, who seemed focused on calculating the price of the items she had placed in her basket, judging by the way she kept moving her fingers and muttering under her breath. Cora's curly hair was wrapped up in a messy bun, and she had a pair of glasses on that were slightly too big for her face. Her clothes were modest and looked old, but they were clean and did not have any holes. 

"Um, hello. Hi. Hey Cora." Wow. That was terrible, even for her. Fay would have had a far easier time introducing herself in a formal setting rather than to another child who was – according to Damian's own rigorous background check – inoffensive. The words he actually used were 'dull' and 'insipid', but Fay chose to go with the polite interpretation. 

Cora stopped mid-count, a box of Lucky Charms in one hand. Her basket was filled with day-to-day groceries such as eggs and a carton of milk. Fay could not see anyone else down the aisle except a short elderly lady at the far end with her own cart. Was Cora alone there? No matter. It was the first time Fay saw the blond girl without a smile. Her eyes were indeed red and puffy, and there were bags under her eyes. 

"…Fay?" The girl asked, looking confused. "You shop here?" 

What was wrong with shopping there---oh. Oh right. Fay Kipling is rich.

"Um, yes." Fay scratched at her chin. "I like shopping. I think it's ---relaxing." Her paladin would disagree. Particularly that day, seeing as he was left sulking in the car. That is why the five kilos of prime beef meat was among the first items she put in the cart. With several bags of apples, of course. Bagheera had favorites.

"Oh. Okay." Cora glanced at her clothes, which Fay felt self-conscious about because she has never been one to worry about dressing finely. Her mother had had great taste, and she liked the dressing, but it was never a matter of luxury or riches, as it was style. Something personal to her. Then again, her mother was comfortable expressing herself in many ways Fay was not. She had taken after her father in that respect. 

"I am sorry." Fay blurted. "I---I didn't mean to—be rude." Not quite what she was going for, but she was not sure what to say. They were still strangers, so they owed nothing to each other. "I really was busy." 

Cora smiled slightly, pushing her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose. "That's okay. It must be interesting to travel around so much." There was envy or malice in those words. Perhaps some wistfulness. But Cora did not make alarm bells ring in the back of Fay's head. Then again, did they matter at this point? Damian made all the alarms go off, and there they were. He was the exception, though. The outlier. 

"…I suppose so," Fay said. "I didn't mean…" She glanced at the basket then back at the girl. "…to interrupt you."

The other girl's smile widened. "You're really polite." She blurted, then spotted something over Fay's shoulder, making the dark-haired girl follow her gaze. Damian had stepped from around the corner of the aisle, and he tapped his watch impatiently, signaling to Fay to rush. 

Cora caught Fay's roll of eyes. 

"Is he always like that?" She whispered.

Fay shrugged. "…Are you alright?" She asked looking genuinely concerned. 

How thoughtful. 

"Yeah, yeah. I am cool. Peachy." 

Fay looked unconvinced. Justifiably so. She did not press, which is why perhaps Cora ended up blurting everything in the end. How Gotham Academy is horrible, and how everyone's an elitist there, and how one of the girls – Julia – spread rumors that she liked one of the boys from one year above hers (which wasn't entirely false). It had been a secret confession she had given months earlier when she thought she had been friends with Julia before she turned out to be a back-stabbing harpy. Julia and her clique played pranks on her all Valentine's Day. It was a tradition, apparently. To have a girl and a boy selected to be the suckers of the year. The other boy had gone home after feigning being sick. Cora could not afford to do that – her attendance had to be stellar to maintain her scholarship. 

Then when she was done ranting, Cora was mortified at realizing what she had just done. Fay, too, was slightly taken aback. But there was strangely no judgment on her face. Or pity. Like the school counselor. Cora's father did not know what happened. She did not want to bother him with such things when he already had so much to deal with. The creditors had started chasing them again. 

"…. I am so sorry." Cora whispered. "I didn't mean to freak out on you---" 

"It's alright," Fay said. "…. I know—" Cora looked at her in surprise. "—I know people can be cruel." 

Those words were far more comforting than the counselor telling Cora she is still reacting emotionally because of what happened on Halloween night. Maybe Mrs. Fischer just was not that good at her job, after all.

"Oh. Okay?" She fixed her glasses and then glanced at the cereal box in her hand. If she bought that, she would not have had enough money left for the cough syrup and her father needed that. Cora put the box back on the shelf and then looked at Fay curiously. "You deal with bullies as well?" Come to think of, where did Fay attend school? Or was she home-schooled?

But if she was, then how did she have bullies? Maybe she was talking about Damian. 

"Something like that." The girl replied cryptically. 

Cora glanced over her shoulder. Damian was gone from the view. 

"Are you safe?" She asked seriously in a hushed tone. 

Fay blinked in surprise, then realized what she was asking. "What—no. Of course, I am. That is not---why would you ask that?"

"Well, he seems kind of—" Awful. Demanding. Arrogant. Bullish. "---not very nice." Cora was proud she was able to keep her mouth shut for once. 

"Oh." Fay looked amused but not in disagreement. "He's---" She shrugged one shoulder. "—just Damian. But---I am okay, really. We are…. friends ." It was strange how the girl hesitated in saying that, but Fay offered the widest smile Cora had ever seen on her. A person would not smile that hard if their 'friend' was a bad person, right? She looked like she won the lottery. 

Unless, of course, they suffered from Stockholm syndrome. Damian Wayne did come across a bit like the type who would kidnap people. 

Okay, so maybe she was a bit unfair. But Cora did have a very hard week. 

"I thought I said three minutes."  

Cora jumped. " Holy pretzel !" She squealed, pressing herself against the shelves, heart beating a mile a minute as she stared at the boy who had just materialized from the other end of the aisle. 

Fay looked as if she was accustomed to it, her brows furrowed in confusion. "What? Wait---no, you did not say anything about three minutes---" 

"Let us go." Damian threw Cora a bored, unimpressed look before stepping to the side, clearly waiting for Fay to follow him. Fay did, but not before she politely picked up the items Cora managed to knock off the shelves and put them back on. She smiled again at Cora but not as widely as before. Only the boy seemed to draw that out.

"Don't ---listen to them. To the bullies, I mean." She offered, looking unsure of herself. "Gryffindors are all…about courage and determination. Right?" 

Right, right. Of course. 

Cora nodded, then grinned. "Of course!" Hermione Granger never gave up, so neither would she. 

Fay nodded. "I hope...it gets better." She offered before bidding her a short goodbye and walking away side by side with the boy. They spoke in hushed tones, so Cora could not hear what they said, but Fay looked relaxed. Content. 

Well, that was a strange meeting. 

But Cora did feel better. Just a bit. 

It turned out to be her lucky day because when she went to the checkout to pay, the store manager – was he waiting for her, or was that just her impression? - startled her by saying that as the 1000th customer, she was entitled to a $200 voucher.

Weird how they just seemed to know that even before she had started scanning the items. 

.

"Was that necessary?" 

"… what's wrong with that?" 

"You don't owe her anything. You barely even know her. Are you going to throw money at every single person that sheds a tear and looks sad?" She would be a generous leader. Perhaps too much.  

"…you were kind to me." 

Pause.

"Completely different circumstances." 

"I guess." A smile. "But---I am glad you were." 

"— Tt --" So was he.  

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19th of February 

It was the anniversary. Two years since the people of Maysoon went through a horrific ordeal. Two years since Fay had last seen and heard and talked to her parents.

Her memories remained damaged, unreliable. A year earlier, Fay had sat through the remembrance ceremony, wracked by constant anxiety attacks and people that tried to offer her words of comfort. She received hundreds of condolences and offerings. Civilians, politicians, clan leaders, diplomats, ambassadors, allies, friends, family. Just like on her birthday, she had ignored them all, leaving them to pile up in her chambers after they had been vetted and marked as safe to have. Titoh had done the same.  

Her family did not talk about it. They were the epitome of stoicism and diplomacy, as far as anyone was concerned. Her oldest uncle, her father's successor as clan leader, betrayed nothing, ever. He maintained the emotionless façade that he had decades to work on that is so characteristic of many clan members. Show no emotion. Show no weakness. When tragedy strikes, you move on, unyielding like a river. Aryg could come across as a very stern, strict man. A man of conservative taste, many would say. Not in the sense that he had not embraced the new world's principles and values, but that he believed tough love is what builds character. Arduous training, discipline, control over oneself, integrity. Those are all principles her uncle lives and breathes by. 

He is a good man. One that lives by a rigorous set of moral principles has struggled with breaking free of the indoctrination he had experienced from an early age. They all have---her aunts and uncles. Her father, too. But in his case, it had become apparent from an early age that he was different. Aryg was one of the siblings' first to embrace the changes, to become a supporter of the Resistance. They may have clashed in the past, but Fay knew her father had deeply respected her uncle Aryg, that he considered him best fit to take his place should something happen to him. 

It was not the same, though. Fay had a hard time – still does – accepting her uncle as the one to have taken the reins. Not because she did not think him capable, but because---he just was not the same. The personality, politics, strict adherence to rules. Fay was left reeling by it, even if she knew Aryg loved her, and he would only want to keep her safe. But her father had been special. He had been the man born ahead of his time, the one who committed the greatest act of treachery and heroism simultaneously when he turned his back on the old regime so he could fight side by side with the Resistance. Aryg and the other clan members may have followed down his path, but they were still adapting. Still changing. Still learning. Where her father felt he had all the answers, her uncles and aunts often made her feel as if they were just as lost. 

They probably are, but they are just very good at hiding it. 

Her mother had been the outsider. The intruder. The outlier. The foreign one. A symbol of rebellion and defiance. Passion and untamed emotions. It had not been easy to make herself accepted, Fay knew, nor it was a battle that was ever won completely. But her parents had each other. They were like two forces of nature that had united their strength, and it often felt like that standing in their presence. They were as bright as the large shadows they cast. 

It was not surprising that when they were gone, they were gone together. It was not fair, of course. That both of Fay's suns had been lost. That she was left in a world that felt so much darker and alone than before. Shadows she had not been aware of before were now surrounding her, and Fay felt tricked out. She felt cheated. Nobody told her that would happen if they left. Nobody told her that the world would stop making sense, that nobody would feel enough anymore. 

When Damian walked to her bedroom, he found the door ajar. Pushing it open, he glanced inside and found Fay sitting on the floor, rummaging through a medium-size box. He knew she kept it hidden under the bed. That it contained items she rarely ever looked at because they caused her pain. Items he had not seen himself, but he didn't dare to search for. 

That box was out in plain view now. It was made of dark wood, the same width, and length as a shoebox but slightly taller. It didn't look out of the ordinary so he assumed she procured it after her arrival there. Bagheera was sprawled on the bed. He barely reacted when Damian came in. Fay looked up at him, but when she didn't say anything, Damian took it as a silent approval he could be there. 

He sat down next to her and looked at the box before them. Fay was willing to show him some of the items inside such as the jewels she had kept because they didn't exist in that world. He studied them one by one, intrigued by their color and composition. Inside the box, she had also placed various trinkets or souvenirs she collected during their travels before arriving in Gotham. A notebook with pressed flowers and leaves. Postcards. Various maps that had seen better days. A few magnets. There were a few drawings as well, of the places she'd come across. 

He had seen most of those before, as she used to keep them separately in another box. What was at the bottom of the box, however, was new. There was a thick red journal. Fay didn't want to talk about it, just mentioned it is where she recorded thoughts while in Maysoon. She hadn't looked at it herself in a long time and she didn't want to. Not yet. 

In an envelope made of a leathery material, Fay also had some coins. Currency from her world. He studied the coins, curiously. They were bigger than the American silver dollar and made of dark brown material with inscriptions running around the spherical shape. He could not understand them. There was also a scenery carved on one side depicting a city with tall buildings one of which, posed in the middle, appeared to reach so high it touched the sun. Fay told him the inscription was a common saying in Maysoon. 'In the darkness, we shall find the light', or an approximation of that. The coin's value tantamounted to more or less twenty dollars there at least in terms of what she could buy. 

She gave him one to keep. He safely pocketed away. 

Next, there was a beautiful pin, approximately the size of his palm. A sigil, Fay explained. It was made of strong, dark metal. Inside, a stylized depiction of a dragon and a man facing each other was cut out and carved. The dragon's tail was wrapped around the man's sword which he kept lifted up. On the back, Damian found seals engraved on it. 

"Each sigil is unique and it is handcrafted in the capital. They are very hard to falsify.'' Fay explained. "This one will react when I use my flux. Here.'' She took it out of his hands and sat it on her left palm. Concentrating on her flux, she channeled it towards her hand and fingers. Wisps of green energy materialized as she did and Damian watched, transfixed. He could feel the thrum of energy, closer than he had before. It was warm. He resisted the urge to touch her exposed marks which glowed faintly. The runes on the back of the sigil glowed and the black color started fading away, slowly. It was replaced with a shiny, bright emerald instead. The man's sword was gold, as were the eyes of the dragon. There were far more details visible, once the dark coating had disappeared, such as small lines forming scales on the dragon or the line of clothing on the man. 

When Fay allowed her flux to recede, the runes stopped glowing and the colors faded. The matted black returned. 

"What happens if someone else attempts that?'' 

"It will burn them.'' 

"I am assuming it is made to respond to your flux, like a software responding to a thumbprint.'' She nodded. "Would you not be able to falsify that?'' 

Fay shrugged. "They are very difficult to create because of the materials used. It's also expensive. And, the seals won't work just because they're put there---they highly depend on who the sigil is for so it can take a very long time.'' 

"Does it serve as a way of identifying yourself?'' 

"Generally within the capital, only. Like--like when people ask here for a photo ID.'' Fay placed the sigil down. "It's one of the ways. Usually, we use, um, identifying seals on ourselves. Or clothes. I just ended up keeping this when I ran away.'' 

Damian nodded. 

"How did you manage to do that? You would have been guarded.'' 

"Oh.'' Fay scratched at her nose. "I...I think we got lucky. It wasn't an official trip so my uncle wanted to keep a low profile. Usually, I had...specific guards with me on trips outside of Maysoon. But it wasn't possible then. Moma and two other experienced warriors were assigned.'' 

"Moma. You've mentioned her before.'' 

Fay smiled. "She's one of my caretakers but she's more like a grandmother to me. Even though she's not that old, actually.'' She then told him about how right after the fiasco with the trials, Fay wasn't free to walk around as before. She didn't feel the need, as she was too embarrassed anyway and at that time, her emotional state had been particularly frazzled. Fay overheard her uncle discuss a proposal to have her sent away to the Northern territory of Maysoon, where she'd be relatively isolated from the rumors and gossip. To give her time to recover. Not everyone in her family agreed but...

"...I suppose they didn't know what else to do.'' 

Damian sneered, but Fay didn't notice. Sending her away and figuratively brushing the problem under the carpet was a convenient solution. They left Maysoon two weeks after the anniversary and a week after the trials. They were still ongoing but she was not going to participate, so there was nothing to miss out on. They traveled for a whole day before making a stop in a village near the capital. Fay was rarely let out of sight. She hadn't even planned on running away at the moment she did but she had been thinking about it for weeks. Moma had agreed to take her to a bazaar and a commotion between villagers had caused the woman to lose track of her. It was a very busy period what with many traveling to Maysoon to pay their respects still. Fay had to keep on a veil to disguise her identity all the time, and she was wearing civilian clothes. 

Bagheera added to the chaos that ensued by knocking over some stalls. Then they hid inside a carriage that took them to the outskirts. There, they boarded a form of rail transportation that is very similar to the trains in that world. They rode the train until it left them in the next village over from where they took off in the jungle. They traveled for several days before they arrived at a citadel where she had hoped to find Baiji, one of her mother's closest friends. He remained somewhat of a rebel after the revolution, not swearing open allegiance to any territory but not a criminal either. There was no sight of him and no one was able to offer information. Her asking around, however, had drawn the attention of Len. The rest is history. 

"I did--I did leave a letter,'' Fay murmured. "To my family, I mean. I had put it in Moma's bag.'' 

She must have written them earlier. In the eventuality that she will run away. How desperate she must have felt.

The last items in the leather envelop were photos. Fay hesitated to take them out, looking nervous as she did. Damian was surprised to find that the rectangular glossy prints did not look that much different from printed photos in that world. Then he recalled what Fay told him about the Seekers researching other worlds and bringing back the information to her world. 

"You haven't looked at them, have you?'' 

Fay shook her head. "In, um, Maysoon there are...paintings of them. Statues.'' She smiled ruefully. "They're even in books. They are...everywhere.'' A constant reminder. Of what she once had, of what she lost, of what she'll never be. Fay would have been surrounded by those reminders even in her worst moments. It was no surprise that she had refused to talk about her parents for so long. 

She removed her fingers from the photos blocking both of their view of them and moved closer to him until their shoulders and knees were brushing against one another. The photos were thicker than a regular sheet of paper and he estimated she had brought less than five with herself. The quality was exceptional. 

He slowly grabbed the first photo and lifted it slightly. Fay was young in the photo, six years old at most. Her hair was long, braided ponytails hanging over each shoulder with brightly colored pins tied at the end. Her skin was tanned, as opposed to the milky paleness that characterized her older self. The young version wore a pale sleeveless tunic that reached her knees and was cinched at the waist with a leather belt. The red sandals on her feet contrasted with the rest of the outfit but he doubted she had cared. She looked incredibly happy in that picture, her smile wide revealing the gap where one tooth hadn't grown yet and her eyes barely visible, mere curved slits against her face. In her arms was a dark, furry mass with pale eyes and a tongue lolling out of its mouth. Bagheera. He was only slightly bigger than Pip himself at that age, comfortably fitting in the girl's arms and clearly happy about it. 

Fay's feet were not touching the ground. Instead, she was hovering just above. Because she could fly at that age. She appeared to be standing in a botanic garden of sorts but Damian recognized few of the plants and trees that surrounded her. Standing behind Fay, one hand on the girl's shoulder and the other bent at the elbow, with the fingers poised in a 'V' symbol, was a beautiful woman. Tall and slim, her skin was paler than the girl's but delicate, dark marks decorated her skin similar to the girl. The woman's marks, however, were more pronounced and bigger in number. 

Long, thick waves of brown hair tumbled down her shoulders with smaller separated braids full of trinkets. A crown of flowers sat on her head. The woman, had a heart-shaped face with high cheekbones and full lips. Her smile was dazzling and it held an almost mischievous quality to it, but her eyes were kind and bright. 

The woman was dressed in a silky green top off the shoulder and dark trousers. She was barefoot. Her hands were adorned with numerous rings and several bracelets hung from each wrist. 

"Your mother had green eyes.'' He found himself saying. Is that why Fay looked at him with a distant expression on her face at times? Why did she use to avoid his gaze all the time? Because his eyes reminded her of her mother? "Do I remind you of her?'' 

Fay stared at him. "No. Not really. Your eyes are, um a different shade.''

"Then have you called them Green Days?'' She could have chosen any other nomenclature. 

Fay's turned red and she looked away. "...it's silly.'' 

"Tell me.'' 

"...you, um, reminded of the jungle.'' She whispered shyly. 

The jungle? Dangerous, ancient, breathtakingly beautiful. Those were all words she had used to describe it. Fay had also told him she felt the safest when she was in the jungle, as counterintuitive as that may be for many in her world. The jungle had welcomed her in ways others haven't. 

"Hn.'' He shouldn't have felt that much delight with knowing that. But he did. 

He moved on to the next photo. Fay was slightly older in that photo and she was fully levitating in the air, knees pulled slightly towards her chest. Her hair was pinned back in a ponytail and she was dressed in a dark outfit, neck to toe. There were splotches of dirt all over it and her face was sweaty, cheeks red. She wasn't looking towards Damian, this time, but towards a man to her left whilst holding a bow over one shoulder. 

Her mother hadn't looked like she was any older than Dick, just in her mid-twenties. The man in the photo was perhaps a few years older, yet still relatively young. Damian detected a stronger resemblance between Fay and him than he did between daughter and mother (although they were not entirely dissimilar). 

Tall, lean. His skin darkened by the sun. Dark hair that went past his shoulders was pinned back from his face, revealing his angular jaw and fine, symmetrical face. His eyes were bright molten gold. A smile tugged at his lips, smaller than the woman. His robes were more formal, a blend of blacks and dark greens with symmetric cuts and smaller gold-threaded accents throughout. Damian caught a glimpse into the fashion of that world, at least that of an aristocrat. Where the woman was dressed in a simple manner and she exuded emotions, the man was stoic. Shoulders set straight, the stance proud, not a single hair out of place. 

In his hands, there was a bow and he appeared to have been captured while talking to Fay about it. Bagheera was on the ground, double the size he was in the previous photo and he was patiently watching the interaction between the girl and her father. 

"Archery. You've mentioned you preferred it.'' 

Fay didn't lean over to look at the photo but she merely glanced at it from the corner of her eyes. "It was a training exercise that my father did with me. To--to teach me to balance better in air. Shoot targets while--while I am in the air but, not always stationary. He'd set hidden targets along with, um, traps.'' 

"You were smiling.'' 

"I--yes. I, um, I had managed to hit al-almost all of them. I missed one at the end.'' Fay's lips curled in a small smile. "He---he was my last target but he was...so fast. I couldn't--I couldn't even see him move.'' 

The man did not look disappointed, however. Neither did Fay, for that matter. 

"He was telling me where I had gone right and wrong,'' Fay added as she braved to look at the photo closer. "I've always...been able to fly. With-without thinking too much about it. But--in a fight, I had to be, um, faster. So he told me he--he was going to let me train with a dragon on my next birthday. To learn how to move quickly and um, avoid obstacles.'' 

At that, he looked at her with a raised brow. "A dragon.'' 

Fay nodded. "It's not, that uncommon. My mother--didn't really like the idea. A couple of months earlier, I, um, came across a mariona. They are a small type of w-winged dragons but they...they are not very friendly. I ac-accidentally stepped on it-its territory and it--'' Fay's face pulled into a grimace. "--It chased me for miles. I ended up fall-falling pretty badly and broke my leg.'' She shuddered at the memory. "My mother was--was really scary that day.'' 

"Scarier than an angry dragon?'' 

"Yes, definitely,'' Fay said firmly, eyes wide. Bagheera, who had crawled towards the end of the bed so he could peek at what they were doing, huffed in agreement. 

Fay simultaneously had a most unconventional upbringing. At least by the standards of that world. It wasn't quite that odd compared to his own upbringing. But, he understood better why she remained relatively unfazed by many threats she's faced, regardless of how they may trigger her panic attacks and deep-seated fears. 

Damian moved onto the third picture. 

Fay was decidedly older, around ten years old. She was floating off the ground, but her arms were snaked underneath the elbows of a boy with white shock hair, pulling him up in the air in the process. The boy was around at the same age as Fay, dressed in cotton-like clothes just like the girl holding her. He was smiling just as Fay as, although he also seemed nervous about being in the air. His skin was almost as white as his hair and his eyes held a violet hue. 

That must have been Titoh. The brother-not-brother. The one who turned her back on her. He was one of the people who hurt her, who caused her to be so insecure about her self-worth that she did not pay attention to her own needs or wishes. 

"He does not appear to be native of Maysoon.'' He remarked casually, all the while memorizing that face to his memory. The boy should only hope they'll never get a chance to meet. 

"Titoh...is--was--is an orphan,'' Fay said softly. "It's--it's unclear what happened to his parents, but he was raised by--by an elderly woman who came to work in Maysoon. He used to be...sick, all the time. My mother had hel-helped some of the healers with a plant that--that helped him. Then-then he started attending---well I suppose it counted as an ac-academy.'' 

Damian didn't care to know about where the boy came from. He was also not impressed with the affection that still lingered in Fay's voice. From what Damian knew so far, it appears Fay had cared more about Titoh than he had about her. 

"Were you happy? When your parents had decided to adopt him.'' 

Fay hummed. "...y-yes. I mean, I didn't want siblings but--he had been spending a lot of time with u-us. I thought---'' She ran her tongue over her bottom lip, hand scratching at her nose lightly. "--I thought he was like me. Someone who, um, is different, I suppose. And--and he was. Titoh--he wasn't always...the way he was after.'' 

He sounded like an ungrateful cur, to Damian but he chose not to comment. Fay had not cried once since they've started talking about what was in the box but she was never too far from it.

Unlike Damian, she had far more positive memories of her childhood. She had had parents that loved her unconditionally and even if they tested her abilities, they did so with vastly different intentions than his mother did. Fay had soaked in their affection, patient guidance, and noble values. He had soaked in the blood of others, in desires of world domination and the darkness that permeated the League. If Fay was educated in the arts or other topics, it was to stimulate her and open her horizons. Damian was pushed consistently beyond his limits, not for enjoyment, but because knowing as much as possible meant he will always be one step ahead of everyone else. He would be able to blend in flawlessly regardless of the environment. 

Like Fay, he had trouble reminiscing certain memories. Some, because they filled him with deep regret and repulsion. Others, because they represented small moments in which he came as close as possible to experiencing the type of peaceful happiness Fay had known. His mother humming a song when he was three. His mother preparing his favorite dish. Looking at the stars together while out in the desert. The brief and rare times his mother expressed unaldulterated pride and even rarer, the times when she showed affection without it being dependent on something he achieved or a test he surpassed. 

Better memories had been recorded after his stay in Gotham, especially during those few moments he was Dick's Robin. But he didn't like thinking about that, either, although he always drew comparisons in his mind. Especially when being his father's Robin felt so much more difficult. Like forcing two pieces of a puzzle together. 

"Damian,'' A hand was placed on his forearm. Damian realized he was gripping the photos harder than necessary, and he schooled his expression in hiding any emotions he might have been revealing unwittingly. He trusted Fay with them, but he did not necessarily want her to witness them. 

"Are--are you alright?'' Fay asked. 

He handed her the pictures, then met her gaze. He could see her parents in her. She had darker hair than her mother, straight like her father's. Her father's nose but her mother's rounded features. Her eyes were smaller than her mother's as well but they had the same shape. He also knew now why her eyes turned to gold at times and where she inherited that from. He wondered where the brown came from. Perhaps a grandparent. 

He felt a sudden rush of fondness for her. Its presence was neither new nor surprising, but the intensity with which he experienced it had grown, step by step over the months. 

Fay was an important person in his life now, so it made sense. And he was in hers. 

He could see why Talia considered such bonds a weakness, as something to be eliminated before it infested and corrupted his life irreparably. 

But he could see why Dick would perceive them as a strength, as a positive force to be preserved and protected. 

Damian flicked her forehead. 

"H-hey!'' 

"Let's go.'' 

"I--what?'' 

"You said you wanted to try the oxblood soup.'' 

Fay's nose scrunched. "I--I said I was curious. I am not sure if--if I want to try it.'' 

"I've made reservations.'' He hasn't. The restaurant did not require them, at least not that time of the day. Not when he was a loyal customer who always had a reserved table. Fay nodded, and quickly placed all of the items back in the box which she shoved underneath her bed. Damian watched her clumsily try to lace her shoes before grabbing her coat and beanie. He would have liked to train with her while she was capable of flying. 

No matter. He had some new training ideas either way. 

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21st of February 

"Yo, Rapunzel." 

"….I am nothing like Rapunzel.’’ Fay mumbled, cheeks turning red. “The story doesn’t even make that much sense.’’ Jason had to admit, he was rather impressed with her knowledge of that world so far. He was not sure why he came to see her. The kid was okay now. Yet he had found himself thinking of that small, bloody bundle that baby bat had carried onto the Batplane. Damian had kept her close the entire back to the Batplane. 

It was hard to believe the blushing, stuttering mess in front of him was capable of holding her own against Talia's men and her Man-Bats. But he'd seen the proof himself, so looks like the kid was full of surprises. 

Damian had been particularly over-protective after what had taken place, and Jason had not been that interested in paying her another visit. One, because last time it had been a mistake to ask her to go with him, and two because the only thing brattier than a regular Damian was an aggravated one. It was best that Bruce had not been there while they were looking for Fay in the woods. Jason could almost taste the murderous intent rolling off the boy. He doubts Damian would have practiced self-constraint if the situation called for it. 

"Are you injured?'' The girl asked curiously, eyes zeroing on the bandage peeking from underneath his red t-shirt. Her brows furrowed as concern twisted her childish, round face. "Do--do you need anything?'' The lupine creature beside her stared at him unblinkingly. He wasn't hostile, yet certainly not as welcoming as the girl. 

"'m fine.'' He said. All of her injuries had healed. She looked healthy. So curiosity satisfied, he can take his leave. 

Electric teal eyes moved from the girl to look at the mess in the kitchen. He had noticed the scent of burnt meat the moment he arrived, but now he also saw where it came from. A greasy pan was left to soak in the sink, and there were ingredients spread all over the main island countertop. A cookbook was hanging precariously from one side. 

"Whatch'a cookin'?'' A small, fluffy dog came up to him and started sniffing his boots. 

"Oh, um--'' Was that a ferret climbing up the girl's leg? No wonder Damian liked her. The girl kept a zoo of her own, it seemed. "--well.'' Fay grimaced. "I just found a recipe for, um, chicken...fra-franky--francese?'' she tested the word as if she wasn't sure. "It looked really nice in the picture.'' Not so much when'd attempted to prepare the dish. Fay couldn't tell where she'd gone wrong as she was certain she'd followed the instructions closely. 

Well, he was already there. And there was free food. 

Why not take advantage? 

"What else do you have in that fridge, kid? Better not be just greens again.'' 

An hour later and two large homemade burgers with fries later, Fay learned that yes, comfort food was indeed better than any fancy dish she'd found in the cookbook. It tasted fresher than it did that time when she ate from a 'fast-food' store with Damian and she had struggled to eat the entire portion that was served to her. 

Jason winked at her. 

A few minutes later, after showing her the art of removing the top part of an Oreo biscuit, he then licked the cream before dipping the two bases into a glass of cold milk. "Get it?" Fay nodded, a concentrated expression on her face. She tried to follow his example but ended up ruining a few biscuits before finally managing to remove the top half without damaging the treat. She licked the cream, then put the biscuits together before dunking them in the glass of milk before her. 

After eating the entire biscuit, she smiled. "I like that better."

The bonus of the day was Damian almost having a conniption when he returned to the warehouse and saw Jason sitting in the kitchen teaching his friend how to eat Oreos. 

Chapter 28: Of marking the year and boot camp  

Notes:

Chapter revised as of 27th of August.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“You are the only one who can change your story and
you do this by changing your relationship with yourself.’’

Don Miguel Ruiz

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3rd of March 

Truth be told, Fay was not a hundred percent sure if the day they arrived in that world was the 3rd of March. When she woke up in the villagers' care, Fay had been told she had been out of it for two days after being found ashore. Her last memory of Len fell on the 2nd of March, which meant there was a day gap in her memory. Bagheera had arrived in the same period, except that he found himself directly in the jungle instead. It was unclear how or why they arrived in their locations, but she supposes they were called 'dark paths' for a reason. While they had both looked for any energy signatures to indicate a portal between worlds, they did not find one. More research would have probably helped, but they had been too caught up in the events that took place right after. 

Damian had made her map out their entire journey from the Amazon until Gotham in order not only to ensure their tracks have been covered but to also see if there is anything at all to indicate their passage to that world. So far, nothing. It is truly as if they materialized out of thin air. Damian did promise, however, that they might take a trip to the village where she was found and perhaps explore the area later that month. Daphne Barlow never contacted the number Fay had given her, so it was safe to assume the woman did not change her mind. Damian continued to monitor her, but it seems the woman had just resumed her usual routine except that she left her house on even rarer occasions now. 

A year in that world was certainly a milestone. A part of her wanted to celebrate the anniversary because it had indeed been a year full of challenges and obstacles she had never thought she could overcome. It was also a year of change. She was different now than she'd been a year earlier. However, a part of her was also worried, guilty. It has been a year since she abandoned her family, her duties, her world. What is her family doing now? Are they still searching? Has her absence caused many issues? Probably. Have they assumed she is dead and moved on with the same stoicism they always did everything? Maybe. 

There is something equally frightening and liberating in the idea that Fay of Maysoon is dead. 

In the end, Fay chose to order Baghera several kilos of the finest meat, in gratitude for always being by her side. So, the plan on the day had been to complete a brief trip to Gotham to see Dana and then spoil her paladin for the rest of the day. 

Except, at one minute past five in the morning, her phone alerted her to a new text message. Oh, and the digital alarm she kept on the night started beeping as well. She had not set it to go off at that godforsaken hour. 

The text told her that should she wish to receive her reward, Fay must find all leads and solve the mystery by four in the afternoon. With her mind still foggy, it took her a few minutes to understand the text was not a prank or a scam, seeing as it came from Damian himself. When she texted him back asking for an explanation, he simply responded with a riddle. She was also told she is not allowed to use the Internet to search the answers. 

 

Nineteen goddesses sit in a temple.

of thieves, collectors, creators.

The house takes in money.

From its generous spectators.

Where is this?

Fay contemplated the riddle for several minutes before texting a reply. 

The museum….? 

There is a car waiting at the edge of the property. It will only be there until 5:45 AM. Do not be late or you are disqualified. 

Disqualified from what?

It was already 5:13. Fay exchanged a look with her paladin before jumping out of bed and getting dressed as quickly as possible. The weather was not quite as frigid as it had been at the beginning of the year, but there were few days when it wasn't raining, so Fay pulled on her waterproof jacket on top of a maroon sweatshirt and her dark trousers. Thick-soled, waterproof boots and a red cap completed her outfit. Dana had given her another haircut, so her hair was short again, just brushing against her shoulders, but she had given up on the fringe, seeing as it constantly grew out of control and bothered her. With Bagheera wearing his own waterproof vest and cap, they left the warehouse in a hurry after she leaving food out for the other animals. She had no idea what Damian had in store for them or what exactly the reward was, but she hoped they'd have a chance to eat themselves.

They ran all the way to the edge of the property, where indeed, a black car was waiting for them. Fay did not recognize the driver and he did not bat an eye when they suddenly got in the car. He just informed her that they were heading to the museum. 

It was a scavenger hunt.

The date he chose for it could not have been coincidental. 

Especially seeing as the majority of the riddles and clues were built around events that took place in the last year. The Amazon rainforest, the trip through Mexico and then across various states, Gotham, and its history. They were all clues that had them roaming around the museum hours before it opened for the visitors. 

From there, they traveled to several other places: Gotham Academy Library – in which she had to sneak in -, Soul Bowl – startling Mack when she came barrelling through the kitchen and searching for clues -, Mr. Fitzwilliam's bookshop – Damian had not made it easy to find the clue there-, even Yuri's meat shop – the man hadn't recognized her-  and Paradise Garden, where he first officially introduced himself to her and they ate at, only days earlier. 

She and Bagheera had ended up completing forty thousand steps by the time afternoon rolled around. With a backpack full of the items that had led them to the destination, sore limbs, and a ragged breath, she arrived at the Wayne Tower helicopter pad at precisely one minute past four. She had clumsily got stuck while trying to open the door leading to the roof causing her to nearly miss the deadline. 

Sweaty and tired, but with adrenaline still buzzing in her veins, Fay stared at the helicopter waiting for them. A text message told her to get in, and they did just that. Twenty minutes later, after getting an aerial view of Gotham, they found themselves on a private airfield, a plane sitting on the tarmac. The same plane that took them to London.

Fay was not surprised when she found Damian inside, a laptop in front of him and looking far more put together than she was. Then again, he did just send her on a wild chase around Gotham for the better part of the day. 

“…What?” She started confused, as she fell down in the seat across from him. “Are…. Are we going somewhere?”

Damian shut the lid on his laptop. “Obviously.” 

Obviously. 

Red-cheeked and sweat running uncomfortably down the back of her head, she just stared at him bewildered. “…. the scavenger hunt had nothing to do with it, then?” 

“No.” He said calmly. “Although if you had not made it on time, I would have left you here.” 

Fay stared at him. “You made….us run around Gotham for nothing ?” 

Damian smirked. “Please. As if you did not enjoy it.” She did. So much. 

His eyes flitted over her clothes, his mouth curling in contempt. “You best ought to shower and change before we land. Or you might be mistaken for a beggar—” 

You --!’’ 

The flight attendant professionally ignored the sight of the two children – and a wolf? – wrestling around on the floor. 

Hmph. 

Rich kids. 

Their first stop was Paris, France. Damian intended for them to visit all the destinations she had originally intended on visiting, had she and Bagheera would have managed to travel there. Given that he had a private plane, they will easily cross off several countries off the list. Accommodation, food, and documentation were not a concern. 

Fay didn't think there it was urgent they traveled to Europe, anymore. seeing as they had no information on the Seekers other than the name Daphne gave her. Between Damian's access to technology and expertise, they could have tried to find the Seekers remotely.

She didn't protest, however, far too excited at the prospect of finally visiting all those places that her parents had talked to her about. 

Fay told Damian everything she knew about the Seekers. How they came into existence, their original purpose, and their operational deprecation by the Council. That she had been privileged to such information and it was not knowing she could have dived deeper, not without higher authority approving it. Fay had considered the Seekers a better option for returning home, hoping they would still be in communication with her world in one way or another. However, if the Seekers had still been alive and helped her, they would have also alerted the Council. Which meant they'll find out about her running away to that world. 

“But you must have considered that before,” Damian remarks. “They won't accept your ventures just because of who your parents were.” 

Fay nodded. “Yes, I would not count on it.” She is not sure she would have the courage to use her parent's reputation in such a manner, anyway. It felt far too dishonest. “I, um, was going to tell them that---that I got kidnapped and we ended up here. I do not remember how. That is not exactly…a lie.” She smiled sheepishly when she saw Damian arch a brow at her. “W-what? I…. I do not want Bagheera to be in trouble. Or my family.” 

He clicked his teeth. “We'll need to work on that. A toddler could see through that.” Fay wanted to be offended but he wasn't wrong. Still, it was strange thinking about a scenario when she'll finally have to offer an explanation as to why she and Bagheera were there. It will be even worse if someone from her world discovered the amount of information she'd offered Damian. 

“Damian?” 

“What is it?” 

“If…if something happens and my family---or, um, the Council finds me…” She hesitated. “…you can't interfere.”

Irritation flashed across his face. “ What?

Fay frowned at him. Damian was a pragmatic, logical person. Surely, he could understand why she was worried. 

“I don't know…what they would do. I, mean, I do not think my family would do anything---” They would certainly not be happy, but her family would not expose her friendship with an outsider to anyone else. “---But, if it's someone from the Council…” She dreaded even thinking about it. “…I don't want anything to happen to you. Or, um, the others. I don't --- want a conflict to start between the worlds.” She was not ridiculous for considering that, was she?

Damian regarded her with narrowed eyes, before tutting in annoyance. She did have a point, he knew. If her family found her first, they might agree to keep everything under wraps and her affiliation with people in that world a secret (not that Damian trusted her family the way Fay did). If warriors sent on behalf of the Council found her, instead, they are bound to have a very different perspective. 

Ideally, no one will find her at all. If Fay truly wished to return to her homeworld, he will aid her but otherwise, he had no intention of relinquishing his friend. 

“We will plan accordingly but for the time being, there's no need to be concerned.” He said, finally, if only for her benefit. She looked frightened again, not of him, but what would happen if their families clashed with one another. Damian doubts his father would take his side but he knows Dick would. 

After a two-day stop in Paris, they traveled to Germany, where the alleged Seeker, Lukas Abicht, had lived until his untimely death, eight years earlier. He died at fifty-nine years old, after he was stabbed while tending to his grocery shop, which he had owned for well over a decade before. Lukas was survived by his wife, Anna, who still works as a local school music teacher. Together they had one son, who died in a car accident leaving behind two children of his own and his wife. Damian investigated their house, as well as the shop that Lukas had owned. The man who killed Lukas was caught and incarcerated---a teenager who had been looking to make extra money knowing the Abicht shop was rather old-fashioned in terms of the security system it was equipped with.

Nothing out of ordinary, no hidden information from Lukas' time as a Seeker, if he had indeed, been one. Just a series of misfortune for the Abicht family. 

With no leads beyond that, they moved on to Spain. 

“The Resistance often used to hide coded messages in plain view,’’ Fay said as they sat down at the base of a fountain, paladin to her left and Damian to her right. She perused one of the Spanish newspapers with interest although she could not understand it. “I don’t think the Seekers would be that much different. However, communications technology has changed…a lot, hasn’t it?’’ 

“From thirty years ago when the last official operation concluded? Certainly.’’ Damian said. "Anything else?'' 

Fay brushed her finger over her lip as she contemplated that. "The Resistance had their own code as well. Symbols, usually. They would appear in paintings. Books. Even buildings.’’ She lowered the newspaper and looked at the bands of pigeons before them. Bagheera pounced on them seconds later, scaring the birds into flying away.

Fay returned her attention back to the newspaper. A few seconds later, she yawned. If they were not on the plane moving from one destination to another, they were walking around for miles all day long. There was so much to see that the stops felt merely like glimpses, but she counted herself fortunate all the same. Months earlier, she had been agonizing about how they will cross the border and make ends meet. 

Fay glanced at Damian, who was staring at his phone again. She unknowingly started smiling as she thought that the boy sitting beside her, whose presence she had been enjoying tremendously lately, was the same one who used to frighten and upset her. He was still intimidating at times, and he certainly managed to throw her for a loop, but he never made her feel ugly things on the inside. Not even when he was rude or arrogant. 

Green eyes met hers. 

“Stop smiling like a fool.’’ 

Tyrant. 

She just smiled harder. 

Her friend. 

.

.

.

Unfortunately, by the end of their trip, nothing had come to light in relation to her world or the Seekers. Damian had also analyzed thousands of information outlets wherever they traveled, from traditional ones such as newsletters to contemporary ones such as social media. His computer software came up with nothing. They didn't know what they didn't know. They were looking for a needle in a haystack without actually knowing for sure if it was a needle they needed, Damian explained. 

However, they did visit countless landmarks all around the continent as well as some of the most famous museums, such as the Louvre. Fay had felt overwhelmed by the number of cultures she was immersing herself in, but Damian had been a guiding point in each country. He enjoyed showing off his knowledge and she was happy to listen.  

All in all, the trip was not a failure at all. 

.  

.

.

20th  of March

Fay brushed her hands against her trousers, adding a few more lines of dust as she looked around the large space of her bedroom. Sheets changed, floor vacuumed, shelves wiped clean, all clothes clean and organized in drawers. Her wardrobe had double the number of items it originally contained when she first moved into the warehouse, especially following her trip to Europe.  

That morning, she had woken up feeling rather jittery. The nightmares have not been particularly intense, but she had woken up several times through the night so she had not slept very well. By dawn, Fay was feeling high-strung. She had not seen Damian in three days, seeing as he was busy with a case. He had her ' report her status' every few hours, which she had complied with. Not that she had much choice, seeing as he had set an alarm both on her phone and watch (she tried and failed to remove it). She was going to have a discussion with him about boundaries – Fay appreciated he was only acting out of a sense of protection, but the constant rules made her feel anxious. 

With the night only starting to bleed into a new day, Fay had gotten out of bed and started cleaning and re-organizing her bedroom. Miffed by the sudden activity, Bagheera moved to sleep outside in the hall along with Pip. Nada preferred to take the bed as soon as Fay had changed the sheets, sprawling on it, and ignored the girl as she moved about, unpacking the suitcase she had abandoned in a corner along with all the shopping bags and boxes. Travel guides did recommend that shopping in Europe is a must and despite how demanding or controlling Damian could be sometimes, he had indulged most of her requests, including Disneyland although he complained periodically about being there. 

Several hours later, Fay had to take a moment to admire just how different her bedroom looked. She had acquired more bookshelves over the months which now filled the better part of her walls, and she had also invested more in small potted plants or decorations. Cabinets made from wood and glass contained the presents she had received over the holidays, as well as the many trinkets, souvenirs, or items she acquired during their travels. She had decided to no longer keep them in the box.

Pressed flowers and leaves. Postcards. Posters she had hung up on the wall above her bedpost. An intricately made music box from Switzerland. Delft pottery from the Netherlands. Miniatures of most famous monuments such as La Tour Eiffel and the Coliseum. A hand-made, colorful fan from Spain. Troll figurines from Norway. Books in other languages, even if she could not understand them. Maps, too, because she found them fascinating all the same. 

And that was not even counting the number of edible goods she brought back with her, now filling her kitchen and the fridge to the brim. 

All items felt precious to her, but there were some that had a particular spot in her heart. 

The professional camera that Damian gave her at the beginning of the year was one of her favorite items, and she rarely ever left it behind. She had a collection of thousands of pictures from Gotham and Europe, and she planned on printing out several of them.

Then, there was the sound system and the record player. Fay could not choose between them, although the latter made her feel more nostalgic. She had asked for neither of them, yet she found them in her bedroom, weeks earlier. Subsequently, she had started a collection of records and CDs, becoming a loyal customer of the Keynote Gotham music shop in upper Gotham. It was nowhere the collection her mother had, but Fay would spend hours listening to both new music and those artists that she had been introduced to as a child. Her mother had been a particular fan of blues, rock and roll, and jazz so Fay had quite a few genres to try out. She made a mental note to ask Jason if he had any more suggestions if she saw him again. 

Listening to music had gotten easier, even if she struggled still with certain songs. Some tugged at her heartstrings too painfully. 

New art supplies had a way of finding their way in her room as well, on the drawing table tucked in a corner by the windows, along with sketches and drawings, each more complex than the last for her to use in her training exercises. Fay had started photocopying the drawings, finding them beautiful to waste when training her flux, keeping the originals, instead, tucked away in a folder. 

Sometimes, she would find other items too, already placed on her shelves. Fay's never quite sure how long they have been there because there is never any communication around it. Books. A tribal necklace. An autographed, rare record. A silk scarf that is far too precious to wear but she keeps in view. All kinds of artisanal items are neither common nor cheap. She knows that because she tried to look up several of those items. 

It is all Damian, of course. He is responsible for filling her room with pieces of that world. Turning it into her very own museum. Fay was flattered and heart-warmed by all those discreet gestures but she wished she could return them. She knew Damian did not expect anything in return, but she wanted to do something nice for him. She wanted to do something that let him know she appreciated him. He did not need to give her all those items—they made her happy, yes – but she was also happy with him just being her friend. It was enough if they talked for hours, or if he taught her about that world. It was enough even if they spent their time together in silence. Just knowing she could rely on him, that she could trust him, was enough.  

Fay wondered if there was a way to let him know that. Damian knew she had a good opinion of him but was that truly enough? It felt that for everything she gave him, he gave her back twice as much. No one has ever really done that for her, except for her family. Bagheera also gave her more than she could give him back, but with him, she found it easier to balance their relationship. He was her paladin and an empath and they've been by each other's side since they were both young so neither one of them ever doubted each other's affection. 

Even with the money she now had – which she rarely used seeing as Damian would always have her purchases redirected towards his bank account – Fay was not sure what to get him. Damian was a complex individual. Not easy to buy a present for. She had already had just the one decent idea and she'd used it on Christmas. He was not sentimental. He could be extremely picky - and prickly-, too. And he was used to the fine living.

Perhaps a rare item? 

Maybe she will ask Dick or Alfred. 

.

Later that day, Fay became aware of a staircase built in the garage. It was not there before if the scent of fresh paint was any indicator. Curious, Fay climbed it and went through the trap door – also newly built into the ceiling – to find herself on top of the garage. There was another staircase built against the side of the second floor of the warehouse, where her bathroom's wall was. 

Once at the top of the stairs, Fay stared stupefied at the sight before her. The roof, which should have been a flat, dull expanse of bricks, was…not. It was anything but that.

Newly laid-in concrete dwarf walls lined up the perimeter of the roof save for the small opening that she came through. That side of the roof had also been converted into a partially covered terrace under which laid hidden, plush seats and a fire pit in the middle, offering a clear view of Gotham City beyond the river. Bewildered, Fay stepped past the newly built seating area and found that the other side of the roof had been converted into a workout area, also partially covered. 

Fay stared at the panoramic view for several minutes before she texted Damian, asking him how he did it. Perhaps the question should have been why.

He responded back with a question of his own. Whether she finds the terrace appropriate or not. 

Appropriate? 

It was incredible. 

' It's wonderful. Thank you.' 

He did not respond but Fay knew he was satisfied all the same by the answer. 

That night she fell asleep on the seats while watching the lights of the city with Bagheera keeping her warm. Fay knows she has told Damian about having slept out in the open all the time in Maysoon and how she missed it at times. She couldn't recall when, exactly. But he has. 

He remembered. Of course, he did. 

A wondrous feeling made her heart swell. 

Fay thinks it might be happiness. The kind she used to experience before her parents died. 

.

.

.

22nd of March

Fay pulled the hood higher over her head, to shield her features, as she watched the entrance of Gotham Academy from behind a tree. Cora had told her that she attended Gotham Academy as a result of a scholarship, during that unexpected vent-out she had at the supermarket. She was also being bullied because her father works odd jobs, including one as a cleaner at the Academy.

It was ridiculous, of course, that she was being judged for having a father who was doing everything in his power to provide for her. Fay told herself that she should not be interfering, partly agreeing with Damian that she is not responsible for Cora's troubles. 

But there is something about the blonde that compels Fay to be there. Fay is not particularly interested in increasing her circle of friends – well, just the one, not counting Bagheera of course – nor she is comfortable spending time with Cora, despite her repeated offers to 'hang out', but she can, at least, satisfy her curiosity. 

The weather was warm that day, but incredibly humid. It kept raining intermittently throughout the morning, switching between a light drizzle or brief downpours. The first rainstorm of the year was predicted to hit Gotham later that day so Fay had planned to return to the warehouse after she was done with her trip in town. On her way to the Soul Bowl, Fay caught a sign pointing towards the Academy and before she knew it, she found herself walking in that direction. 

She was aware that what she was doing could be categorized as lurking, and after twenty minutes of looking around the campus, Fay had decided to leave. 

Or she would have, had she not witnessed Cora being bullied. It was three in the afternoon on a Friday, so most students were finishing earlier than the other days, a schedule that Fay had learned in the past to understand when it was best to sneak in. Fay spotted Cora – the curly, pale blonde hair stood out almost as much as Titoh's hair did – being approached by a group of girls just as she stepped past the threshold of the main building. Cora was not alone, she seemed accompanied by a shorter, petite brunette and a blond, stubby boy who looked rather intimidated by the group that approached them. 

Fay was too far to hear them, and even when she crossed the street to walk up to the fence, she could not make out their words. They weren't able to see her through the lush ivy that grew thick around the iron gates. Three girls, looking about the same age as Fay and Cora herself, were roughing the latter around. A redhead snatched Cora's backpack, and when the girl tried to retrieve it, the other two girls pushed her away. Cora's two companions protested but they seemed too scared to intervene. 

A moment later, Cora's companions ran away, back into the building leaving the blonde girl alone with her tormentors. 

Dread filled Fay's stomach when she saw three boys join joined the group and start using Cora's backpack as a ball that they passed between one another. Cora did fight back, kicking the boy who caught her backpack last, right between the legs. His yowl of pain reverberated across the campus, attracting the gaze of other children and the laughter of just as many. 

Fay watched Cora snatch her backpack and take off with the group of bullies immediately chasing her. It was such a familiar scene that it made her stomach churn.

Without even thinking, Fay had started running after them, Bagheera following discreetly. Rather than taking to the streets, Fay and her paladin used the rooftops to catch up with Cora before the other children did. The blonde was heading towards the Soul Bowl, so Fay was incredibly familiar with that area. Dropping down from one of the mid-rise buildings using the staircase, Fay stepped onto a narrow, dark street and peeked around the corner. Bagheera stayed hidden on the roof, unseen but listening attentively, just in case she needed his help.

Mere seconds later, Cora came running down the street towards her, curls bouncing wildly, scarf loose, and backpack in one hand. The bullies were not too far behind, although their numbers seem to have dwindled down to three – two girls and a boy. Cora zig-zagged between other pedestrians, occasionally glancing back at her pursuers and Fay pulled herself in the shadows of the street to avoid being seen. The girl whizzed past the alley, red-faced and breath ragged. 

Fay waited, focusing on listening to the tell-tale rapid footsteps of the running students and when they were within a few feet of the alley, she pushed forward a trash can that belonged to a nearby restaurant. The three students were not able to stop in time, violently slamming into the bin and toppling it over before falling to the ground themselves. An amalgamation of gasps from onlookers and pained groans followed and Fay stepped deeper into the dimly lit street, watching with satisfaction as the bewildered students trying to gather themselves.  

Their uniforms were ruined and stained, and the contents of their bags had spread out onto the floor with papers immediately being swept by the winds outside. 

One of the girls glanced down the dark alley but she quickly backtracked in fright. She could have sworn the shadows had moved. 

It wasn't worth looking deeper and see if Cora had hidden there. 

Gotham was a dangerous city, after all. 

“We haven't done that in a while, have we, Bag?” Fay muttered from the rooftop as she watched the students walk away. Her paladin growled, satisfaction rolling off him.

Bagheera tracked down Cora afterward, a few blocks down, only a street or so away from Soul Bowl. She looked worn out, her uniform creased and beads of sweat running down the sides of her face. Cora had not dressed appropriately for the weather, and Fay could not tell if it were because she could not afford it or because she had not gotten the chance to get her coat before the chase ensued. 

Leaving Bagheera hidden again, Fay tentatively approached the girl, walking at a leisure pace towards her. Cora's glasses were fogged, and the left lens was cracked. She shuddered when a gust of wind passed through the buildings, sweeping dust and litter up in the air. The dark clouds Fay had seen earlier heading from the north were now almost right above their heads. She could feel the electricity in the air, buzzing lightly against her skin. She might watch the storm from the terrace later on, with a cup of hot chocolate and a book to keep her company. 

Damian was not due back for another two days, busy working on a case with his father. It was unusually quiet without him around, which was peculiar seeing as when he did visit, they didn't always talk even if they sat in the same room. That was one aspect of their friendship that she enjoyed tremendously - Fay didn't always feel sociable or talkative, but she never felt pressured to be either around him. Damian was an avid of silence, himself. 

"Cora?" Fay feigned surprise, hoping she could at least pull some basic acting skills. She waited until the girl turned around, jumping slightly, and tensing up visibly. When she realized it was Fay and not one of the bullies, Cora sighed in relief and reached to wipe at her forehead. 

“Are you okay?” Fay asked, genuinely concerned. “Did something happen?” 

It did not take Cora long to open about her ordeal. Fay struggled to follow because the other girl talked fast, and sometimes she would abandon one topic for another. By the time they were seated at a nearby café with hot chocolates and fresh croissants between them, Fay had the whole story laid out. Cora had thought she found a friend in a girl named Julia, who is also one of the most popular and wealthiest students at the Academy. However, Julia turned out to be a 'petty, two-faced bitch', who told the whole school that Cora is poor, and her dad works as a cleaner for the school because he is an alcoholic and unreliable. Cora was incredibly upset and became a laughing stock in the process. However, she couldn't do anything about it because Julia's parents were regular donators to the school so no one really wanted to be on their bad side. 

Fay was secretly relieved Cora did all the talking as she was not sure what she would have said if the other girl started asking questions. “I am sorry. I had not meant to rant out about it.” Cora sighed, finally, after taking a few more sips of her beverage. “What are you doing in these parts? And---” Cora dramatically glanced around them. “— he is not going to pop out of nowhere, is he?”

Fay suppressed a smile. “No. Um, Damian is not with me today.” But she did kind of wish he would have been. Cora was a lovely girl, and she did not make Fay feel guarded, but she was still just a stranger. Still, Fay's heart ached when she heard what the other girl had been going through. She wanted to tell Cora that it didn't matter if she was wealthy or not -- cruelty finds its way one way or another. Fay was still very conflicted about her own negative encounters with other children but she was confident that Cora did not deserve such treatment. 

“You guys seem really close.” …really? Fay sheepishly glanced down at her drink, then brought the cup to her lips hoping it would hide her silly smile. “I know this is not any of my business, but he doesn't seem exactly like a nice boyfriend.”

Fay choked her drink. And it was not a graceful sight. Cora watched with a mix of confusion, guilt, and mortification as Fay reached for the napkins in the holder in the middle of the table to wipe away the hot chocolate on her chin. 

Not graceful at all. 

“Sorry—” Fay cleared her throat. “I was—I didn't expect that.” Well, it was not a surprise either. Dana teased her about it all the time, but with her, Fay at least knew it was done in jest and the veteran wasn't serious. “He-we-it's not like that. Damian's my friend.” Her smile widened again. "We are friends.'' 

“…okay.” Cora nodded, but she didn't look entirely convinced. “That's okay. I did not mean to assume---it just seemed you were always together. Not that I know much about dating or boys or any sort like that.” Fay knew next to nothing. Her parent's charms had not been passed down, and she had skipped out on most of the lessons around courting traditions because she found them, well, boring. And rather disgusting. Why did she have to waste her time with lessons about how to make herself liked by others when there were adventures to be had? Following that night, Fay's general inclination for embarrassing herself in social situations only proved that she was better off in the jungle than dressed in silks and conversing with people at parties. 

Fay shrugged before glancing outside. The sky outside had gone so dark it was hard to believe it was only four in the afternoon. 

“I should go.” Fay said, thinking of Bagheera whom she had left standing on the roof of the building across from the street. 

Cora looked confused. And disappointed. “Already? Is--is something wrong?”

Fay shook her head. “I have some, um, errands to run and I want to get back home before the storm starts.” Cora nodded, then refused to allow Fay to pay for both drinks. Fay got up from the table, and before she left, she glanced at Cora and her creased uniform. “…is your jacket…at the Academy?” 

The blonde glanced down at herself and only then seemed to become aware of her own state because she cursed out loud. “Damn it. I left my jacket in my locker.” She sighed. “I should have time to cook dinner if I make a run for it---” She stopped when she saw Fay move the contents of her jacket's pockets into her backpack and then removed it. Fay handed her the jacket with little preamble, setting it on the table as she slid the straps of her backpack around her shoulders again. She was wearing enough layers to keep the cold away and she didn't mind if she did get rained on.  

“What---you can't be serious--” Cora protested, her eyes bulging. The jacket was of high quality and was worth at least three hundred dollars. Cora knew that because she'd longingly stared at another jacket from the same company and line for twenty minutes while visiting the mall the week before. 

Fay smiled at her. “It’s okay.’’ She nodded encouragingly towards the jacket. “I travel by car so I will not be cold.’’ Thunder erupted outside, easily muffling the sounds of traffic. Fay pulled up the hood of her sweatshirt, hiding her hair in it, and then awkwardly bid goodbye to the girl, before turning around and rushing out of the store.

Fay turned left and jogged lightly until she was a couple of blocks away from the café, and after making sure Cora had not followed her by chance, she crossed the street and slid into a passage between two buildings. Bagheera appeared moments later, swiftly moving down from the rooftop to join her. 

Fay smiled at him and brushed a hand over the dampness gathering on his cap. “Thank you for waiting.’’ 

If they stayed any longer in the city, they'll get caught in the storm. 

“Hey Bag—” Her paladin perked up. “—do you think you can track down the students that chased Cora?’’ 

.

.

.

Fay snickered, and Bagheera chittered in amusement as they watched the group of students trying and failing comically at attempting to stand up on the sheets of ice beneath their feet. She was not sure when was the last time she had done this. Acting out of a pure sense of mischief. It felt good. It was also petty and vindictive, but she felt no guilt.

They had tracked the three students to a park not far from Gotham Academy where they appeared to have met with the rest of the group she had seen on campus earlier. It was raining heavily by then, soaking her to the bone and the students all huddled under their umbrellas, with two of the girls who chased after Cora complaining about their outfits being ruined. The boy who had been with them did not seem bothered by his scuffed outfit, but he was annoyed that one of his notebooks was damaged. 

Fay summoned her flux as she crouched behind a tree, only a couple of hundred feet away. Watching them starting to walk in her direction, she waited until they were almost parallel to her position before she pressed her hands on the ground. Focused on the puddles first, then the wet asphalt before converting the water into ice. Not uniformly so, since it was not an easy feat from that distance but it had the desired effect all the same. 

The tallest of the girls slipped and fell, grabbing one of the boys by their shoulder and dragging him down with her. Another girl swayed back and forth on the ice, body stiffening and movements jerking humorously like a doll that's being moved by strings. The remaining students that carefully avoided the ice and remained standing, laughed raucously at their peers. 

Bagheera nudged her hand with his nose. “Just a few more minutes, Bag and we’ll go,’’ Fay said, keeping her eyes trained on the students. 

“Up to no good, are we, Rapunzel?’’ 

Fay froze, her amusement quickly fading away. She turned around slowly and found Jason sitting a few feet behind her, leaning against a tree, hands in pocket. Bagheera watched him warily from her side, but he did not otherwise react. He did try to warn her, but she had not paid attention. 

“Um,’’ Fay started, not very eloquently. “…hi.’’ 

The students walked away, some still laughing, others cursing out loud, but Fay didn't run around to look at them. 

“Didn’t peg you for a vindictive kid,’’ Jason said, straightening and stepping closer. 

This time she did feel guilty, and Fay bowed her head. “I am--I am not. They were....awful to another student. Just, um, because she's not rich.’’ 

“So? Do you think they'll act any differently tomorrow?’’ 

Well, no. 

“You did it because you wanted them to pay.’’ 

Blood pooled in her cheeks. Her drenched clothes stuck uncomfortably to her skin and her ponytail felt heavy at the back of her head. Fay had never sought revenge on any of the children that tormented her in Mayson and they did far worse to her than what Cora had endured. She didn't think of making them pay, even when their actions had filled her with anger, because her guilt and self-hatred had been stronger. She still wouldn't have the courage to face those children. 

Perhaps the reason she had wanted to help Cora was out of her own selfish reasons. She was a coward when it came to her own bullies, so instead, she acted against the ones she wasn't afraid of. 

“I-I suppose so.’’ Her lower lip jutted out slightly. She expected the man to chastise her, or even mock her for her actions. 

“Man, I am in the mood for a burger,’’ Jason said instead, walking past her and onto the path where the students had been standing moments earlier. “You’re buying, kid.’’ 

Fay looked up at him, then at Bag – who was equally confused – then back at the man. “Wh--what--- why ?’’ 

“Payment, of course. So I will not rat out that you have been up to no good, assaulting unsuspecting children.’’ 

They followed him, Fay feeling ever so slightly panicked at how easily the man was blackmailing her. He wasn't that different from Damian, actually, when it came to being unpredictable. 

“I-I wasn’t assaulting them!’’ Not really. 

“Maybe. I guess it'll depend on how good that burger is.’’ He winked at her. 

Fay sighed. 

.

.

In the end, she told Damian about what happened. It had not crossed her mind not to. Fay admitted that she did feel angry. Not just because those children had treated Cora unfairly but because they reminded her of the other children in Maysoon. She had acted in a vengeful manner, and by the time she got back – after having to treat Jason to a meal– Fay did regret in part her actions. 

In Maysoon, when she realized that other children were far more interested in her parents than herself, Fay preferred staying on the sidelines. Observing rather than interacting with them. There were a few that she did talk to regularly or that were invited over for playtimes. But Titoh had been the only one she had genuinely gotten close to. The one that seemed to be interested in her as a person. That did not last for very long, unfortunately. 

Paradoxically, she finds herself agreeing with those ugly voices in her head as much as she hates them. They are not as powerful as they once used to be but they never really went away, especially when on the Bad Days. 

“I don’t want to hurt people,’’ Fay mumbled. “I don’t—even want revenge. But sometimes, I wish…. I do not know.’’ She shrugged. “That I could prove them otherwise.’’ 

“You have nothing to prove to them,’’ Damian said, who had been quiet until then, allowing her to talk about what happened and how she felt. “You have to believe you're capable of more, regardless of what others believe.’’ 

Fay nodded, fidgeting with the hem of her sweatshirt. 

“When I was in the lake….’’ She said. “I saw my mother.’’ 

“Hallucinations caused by oxygen deprivations are not unusual.’’ 

“I know. But it felt---real. As if I was…reliving a memory. I think… maybe I was. I was young, maybe around six, when my mother taught me that connecting with water can be done by thinking of powerful emotion.’’ She cracked her knuckles. “I thought of all those times that…people said things about me. Or, um, did things.’’ Damian wished to know what it was that had been done to her, but he did not ask. It was a topic she still struggled to speak openly about. “She was right. I was able to use anger to---get out. Just like it helped me on Halloween. It is not just anger, but…a lot of it was.’’ She paused, lifting her head, and glancing at the walls filled with paintings and posters. The corner between the ground bathroom and the sunroom had been converted into her own personal museum and it also doubled as a study area. Many of the items hanging from the walls were purchases she had acquired in Europe, but Damian had also provided her with several, teaching her about the history and culture behind them in the process. Like the Ukiyo-e woodblock painting. 

“If I went back to Maysoon, I am not sure if…I would be any braver in dealing with them.’’ She admitted, then glanced at him. “But…I want to. I want to change. I do not…. want to be afraid anymore.’’ Heat pooled in her cheeks at the confession, both because it felt embarrassing saying it out loud and because she found it surreal. It was not a sudden realization. Those thoughts had been circling her mind for weeks, perhaps even before the lake, but it had been that event that shaped them into something permanent at the back of her mind. She didn't just hope she'll get better one way. She felt capable of working towards that more actively. 

The limbo was gone. 

“I don’t know…. who I want to be,’’ Fay said. “But I want to be better. Stronger. I want—” she inhaled. “—I want to be able to fight for what I believe in. In every way, I can.’’ 

Damian’s lips curled, feeling a sense of pride budding in the corner of his chest at the determination shining in her eyes. 

“That can be arranged.’’ 

.

.

.

Of course, he would be a tyrant about it. Damian tended to treat everything as a challenge, and he aimed for excellence. 

And her personal challenge in being stronger – mentally as much as physically- has somehow become his challenge. Which means he accepts nothing but excellence, discipline, and obedience from her. Damian did not wait for her to deliberate any further on her newfound decision to grow stronger.

The very next day, Fay was forced to wake up at four in the morning. He used a megaphone while standing very close to her bed. Fay could not get rid of the ringing in her ears for the remainder of the day.

The day after it was a bucket of cold water. The third day he pulled the duvet so hard off of her that she ended up on the floor. 

Damian trained her with the strictness of her old masters and treated her as if the safety of the world hinged on her successfully fulfilling his tasks.

His new training program was positively insane. Three hours of intensive cardio and two hours of eight training every day. Timed running exercises around Gotham, which he almost always penalized with more training if she failed them. Sparring matches in hand-to-hand combat that left her with bruises and cuts and, more than once, broken bones as well. Fay can tell he could have inflicted far more damage but chose to go easy on her. That knowledge spurred her further because she did not want to be taken lightly. She did not want to be treated as if she was fragile. 

Not anymore. 

It was not just psychical training that he put her through, however. He had started giving her homework. Books to read. Essays to write. Topics to prepare for debates. He would grade her, the maniac which meant even more work if she scored unsatisfactorily. He made the one-week trial she had gone through months earlier seem like nothing. 

By the third week, the training sessions started taking place on the Wayne estate. More ways to torture her there, apparently. Fay would lie if she said she did not fall prey to old thoughts of inadequacy, that she wasn't always strong to push back against the cruel voices chipping at her morale, making her put in half the effort she should have. There were days when she struggled not to cry and others when she failed immediately, feeling borderline abused, and thinking Damian is being purposefully trying to upset her.

But she would get back up. Even if she is slower on some days than others. Bagheera would drag her up as well, nudging her to stand back to her feet even if her body is screaming against any further movements and the voices in her head are so loud, that she is ready to throw in the towel. 

There were also new thoughts competing with the old ones. Thoughts of wanting to be better. Thoughts telling her that she is not in Maysoon, no one there is watching so if she fails, she won't be indefinitely haunted by it. Damian, as rough as he can be, is there to help her. He is her friend, and he will stand by her. Even if she fails, even if she cries, he will stay by her side just like Bagheera does. 

She does not want to disappoint either one of them. 

She does not want to disappoint herself, either. 

“Are you just going to lie down there and yield?’’ Damian tutted. “I thought you wanted to stop being a loser---”

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.

 “He’s pushing her too hard,’’ Tim remarked, looking mildly concerned as he watched the two children outside, from the window. “Have you seen her bruises? He is not just training her. He is beating her up. She may be from another world, but from what I know, she is not a soldier. He cannot treat her as if this was the League.’’ 

Alfred hummed, as he handed the young man a cup of freshly brewed coffee. “I am aware. I have been bandaging Miss Fay and preparing her ice baths every evening.’’ Damian left her alone if he was on patrol, but Fay rarely ever slept more than four hours a night. If it wasn't the sore muscles that kept her awake, then it was the tasks that she had to complete. “But I think Damian is aware of her limitations. And how far she can go outside of those.’’ Alfred hoped so. 

If it was necessary, he would put a stop to it. 

Moments later, Tim and Alfred were forced to move away as the boy came crashing through the window, landing as gracefully as one could when being blasted away by a ball of energy. To his credit, he straightened up quickly, his dark tunic tattered and first-degree blisters visible through the hole near his abdomen. 

“Something you said, perhaps, Master Damian?’’ Alfred quipped as he assessed the damage around the window. 

“Hn.’’ 

Damian knew that word had set her off. He had hoped it would. 

He would never admit that he did not expect her to be quite that precise when she punched him.

Or so deliberate about the use of her flux to make sure he felt just how deeply he struck her nerves. 

Looks like the fairy has a bite after all. 

.

.

.

“E-e-everything…hu-hurts.’’ Fay cried, uncaring of how pitiful she sounded. 

“Transcending psychical pain is the first step---” 

Sh-shut up .’’ She really couldn't deal with any of his speeches at that moment. 

 “Complaining about it won’t—”

“Master Damian, kindly do shut up.’’ 

“— Tt —”

“My apologies for taking so long’’ Alfred said to the girl, in a much kinder tone as he poured the contents of another ice bag inside the bathtub. “It seems we are running low on ice.’’ Fay attempted a smile, but she found it too painful. Whenever she inhaled, it was if as tiny sharp blades were being pressed into her chest cavity. Nothing was broken but her body certainly felt that way.

Fay had gone through rigorous training before, but she does not recall her being in so much pain. Then again, in Maysoon, she had Moma offering soothing ointments or the healers taking care of any muscle tears and damaged bones. She had been quite pampered; in ways, she had not considered before. 

“Now. How about dinner?’’ 

“I—I can’t…feel my teeth.’’ She ran her tongue over her teeth. “Do---do I still my-my teeth?’’ 

Alfred threw a look to the boy sitting beside the bathtub, who purposefully chose to keep his gaze trained elsewhere. 

“I assure you that your teeth are just fine.’’ The butler reassured. “Let us revisit dinner later, shall we?’’ Then he glanced back at Damian. “I believe a break has been well earned.’’

Fay expected Damian to protest, but instead, the boy just grunted, then nodded curtly. She was simultaneously relieved and disheartened. Did that mean she was still too weak? 

“Here.’’ A glass with dark-red liquid appeared before her eyes followed by a straw being pushed between her chapped lips. She flinched, but sipped out of it, tasting the watermelon and beetroot in the fresh juice. It was refreshing. “Slowly,’’ Damian ordered, briefly snatching the straw away from her mouth when she started sipping with too much fervor. She nodded, then did as she was told, finishing the rest of the juice at a slower pace.

“Where’s---Bag?’’ She asked afterward. 

“Pennyworth is feeding him and Titus.’’ Bagheera has been training as well, usually sparring against Damian, switching back and forth between his regular and battle form. He was sore and drained as well, but the paladin was also happy to be challenged in that manner.

And if Bagheera was happy, then Fay was happy.

“I can’t fe-feel my legs. Or my-my fingers. But they—also hurt.’’ She said dumbly. “…not sure how that works.’’ 

Damian opened his mouth, clearly ready to explain to her the physiological changes she was experiencing but then stopped when she threw him a tired, exasperated look. She did not actually want to know. 

“Your performance was…satisfactory.’’ 

Fay blinked. Did she imagine that? She must have. “W-what?’’ 

“Tch. I do not like repeating myself.’’ 

“Hmph. But you do-do like gi-giving l-l-lectures.’’ She remarked snippily.

“I will let that pass and consider it a side effect of the concussion.’’ 

“You’re a tyrant.’’ 

“Don’t make me drown you—”

“---I-I am re-really h-hard to-to drown.” She smiled goofily. She was not sure if she was doing it right. Her face felt weird. 

“….’’ He stared at her, for a moment, then pressed the back of his hand against her forehead. She groaned because that side of her face was also slightly bruised. “You’re burning up.’’ He frowned as he regarded the ice cubes around her. They were melting quicker than they should have. 

“Can I have a hug?’’ 

“Absolutely not---”

“Pre-pretty please.’’ She had heard Dana use that phrase with Mack. It always seemed to work. 

“You’re acting ridiculous.’’ 

In the end, she still got her hug – sort of – when he hauled her out of the bathtub and inside the shower cabin, where he turned on the cold water on both. Fay could not summon any shame in clutching him like a lifeline. She was exhausted and nauseous and hungry and incredibly sore.

But he was unflinchingly by her side just like her paladin.

All was good. 

Notes:

The riddle at the beginning of the chapter is not of my own creation. Rather, I had seen this in a random post - no author- while googling riddles that have a 'museum' as an answer. I did tweak it a bit, but I cannot claim ownership.

Chapter 29: Of psychosomatic pain, the power of simplicity and figures in the shadows

Notes:

I will uploading all art (self made or any fanart) to this story https://archiveofourown.org/works/30734246. Starting with a general rendering of the warehouse's layout.

Chapter Text

“Sometimes what people need to hear, are simple words which can heal.’’

Unknown

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25th of April

Since he turned five years old, Talia’s idea for a birthday celebration consisted of repeated attempts at killing him. The first year – at the ripe age of six – he got caught off guard. Talia did not wait until the clock struck midnight, or for him to finish his hours of sleep as any child at that age needed. Because he was not any child. Instead, Damian woke up with a sword to his neck and his mother declaring that he has failed even before the challenge had started. His punishment had been to be on his own in the Arabian deserts for several days.

He was never caught off guard again and from thereon, Damian was the one to initiate the attacks on his mother. Every time he failed; it was not just his pride that suffered. Talia would put him through new levels of training he had not been through before. The message was clear: failure had consequences. Failure was unacceptable. Talia had never been a lenient woman, even less so as a parent. And his grandfather believed Damian’s life was a product of his will, and he made sure the boy was always reminded of that. 

There was something deep inside of Damian, ingrained in his every cell, that always resurfaced in that period of the year. Like an internal clock that would start ticking louder than usual. He felt more alert, slept less and he experienced constant rushes of adrenaline. A psychological reaction. Years of training with the League taught him to be on guard constantly, to always choose stealth even in the simplest of movements but on his birthday, particularly, Damian’s instincts were in overdrive. Like a man that has lost a limb, but his mind still sends signals to a piece of the body that no longer exists.

Fay noticed the changes. Of course, she did. She paid attention to those she cared about. She didn't ask though, which was another trait that he respected. In the week leading to his birthday, he hardly interacted with her even when he did go to the warehouse but she did not bother him. But she did leave him food or sweets at his door all the same. Some he ate, others he ignored. Not necessarily because of the quality but because he was not in the mood. 

Three days before his birthday, he stopped going to the warehouse altogether because there’s murder singing in his veins and he has his own process in tuning out his rage. Damian does not tell her why, or what the twenty-fifth of the month means, or why he prefers not to be around anyone. There is a part of him that wants to. She would understand what it means to have unresolved rage, what it is like to overcome parts of herself and move forward. Yet another part of him recoils in disgust at such a display of weakness. That side of him also says that she would not understand. Fay had grown up loved. She had been taught to appreciate and value the life of others, not crush it. She had been raised to be humble and self-aware of her own shortcomings even if she was wealthy and had inherent political power. Fay is not a killer, so she does not understand what bloodlust means even with all that anger and grief of hers.

He patrols for several nights in a row and even seeks out cases to resolve during the day. Years earlier around that time of the year, he would have been on high alert in case Talia decided to take him by surprise. He would also be planning, strategizing. Training rigorously for a new year’s challenge. Three years earlier, his Year of Blood had begun. 

Father senses the shift too, but he does not say anything. Damian acts slightly forceful than usual while on patrol, even slightly more impatient but he holds back. On the day of his birthday, Alfred greets him with a cake. Then father reveals that they will be going hiking that day---spend the day in the forest. As a family, apparently. They have not really celebrated his birthday before so why not change that. The trip is not just between the two of them, although Damian would have preferred it. Dick comes along, which Damian really doesn't mind (deep down, he prefers it that way). Drake, too. Not quite as welcomed, but it is his day, and so everything will be revolved around him. 

He may not be with the League anymore, but there is no such thing as a ‘regular’ birthday. There are no songs or decorations or special entertainment. Damian is relieved, and he thinks that perhaps his father might understand him just a bit more than he used to. Then he finds out that the day out in nature had been Dick’s idea - of course, it has. Damian does not sulk or cry and he is not surprised. He pushes the bitter disappointment deep down and instead focuses on the fact that Dick did always know him better.

Then, he issues a challenge to his companions about who will get to the top quickest because that is all he knows. Proving himself worthy (worthy of his father’s love, worthy of being seen for what he is and wants to be and not what he was). Dick turns it down; Drake is reluctant, but Bruce surprisingly agrees, even going as far as saying Damian can make a – reasonable - request if he wins. It ends up being a competition between father and son, and Damian forgets his initial disappointment that it had not been Bruce’s idea to be there. He gets to the top before his father does, and they both watch the sunset sitting side by side.

“Did you let me win?’’ Damian asks, as his feet dangle over the edge.

“No,’’ Bruce said simply. “You won fair and square.’’

Damian smirks. He already knew the answer but hearing it out loud made it even better. Seeing as he was both the winner and it was his birthday, Damian knew he could have asked for something he generally would not have gotten. But he found himself not wishing for anything at that moment.

(Deep down, it still didn't feel right but it seemed he could never get more than that)

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Damian had Bad Days too. They did not manifest quite like Fay’s, but that was alright. Everyone was different. His birthday appeared to be a Bad Day. Fay could understand his reticence for not wanting to celebrate it. His reasons may be different to hers, but it did not mean Damian’s birthday was any less of a painful reminder than hers. At least, that is what she had gathered from Dick, who was the one to tell her about it when he came by two days earlier to check on her.

He did not offer details, just that Damian’s birthday was not something he enjoyed discussing. Alfred and Dick would still try to get in a few celebratory moments such as a cake or presents, but Damian had a process that he went through each year. Dick did not elaborate on that either and Fay did not pry but she had been spending days leading up to the 25th of April wondering what – and if – she should get Damian a present. She had already been thinking of a way to show him how much she appreciated him but most of her ideas were either too corny or cheap or insufficient. She did not want to come across as needy, or over the top, and she also did not want to offer him something just because it was his birthday.

Dana, seeing how distracted she was while Fay was accompanying her to the supermarket, asked her if she was okay. Fay ended up asking her for advice, without revealing it was about Damian and certainly not discussing his birthday. Dana must have figured out who Fay was referring to anyway, but she did not point it out. Instead, they went over several ideas most of which Fay had already dismissed.

“You know, sometimes just keeping it simple and honest may be the best card,’’ Dana said, finally.

Fay looked at her confused. “What do you mean?’’

“Well, you said you want to show this person how important they are. How grateful you are for them.’’ Heat pooled in Fay’s cheeks, but she nodded. She had merely inferred it, but Dana was a perceptive woman. “Well, why don’t you just say that to them?’’

“Huh?’’

Dana grinned. “Sometimes people overcomplicate themselves when it’s better to just say how you feel.’’

Fay thought about standing before Damian, under that scrutiny of his green eyes, and telling him how content she has been feeling lately that they are friends. She is not even sure how she would express many of the things she felt, because she never thought she would experience them again. Not to that level. Surely, if she said all those things out loud, they would come across as incredibly sentimental. And weird, too. Fay was not appealed to by the idea in the slightest.

“Um, not sure if that’s a good idea.’’ She grimaced. “It would be kind of…weird.’’ Even by her standards.

Dana shrugged. “So, write it down.’’

Hmm, that sounded better.

Fay did end up writing down her thoughts after self-reflecting for a few hours. She did not plan on giving any of those pages to Damian, so she burned them and flushed the remains down the toilet.  

Keep it simple, Dana had said.

Easier said than done. 

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.

“Happy Birthday, my son.’’

“—Tt—Talia.’’ Damian acknowledged icily, having sensed the woman lurking in the shadows even before she made herself known. Dressed in his Robin suit, he stood perched on the edge of one of the tallest buildings in Gotham, gazing down at the city. He knew she’d come. Damian had debated not going on patrol, not because he wanted to avoid her but because he knew she wouldn’t get a chance to hold one of her illustrious speeches about his heritage. He decided, however, that would still be akin to hiding away.

And plus, he had some unfinished business. Like the matter of his mother trying to drown and hurting his friend.

“I thought I told you to never call me Talia.’’

He scoffed. “I am being generous calling you by your name.’’

“Don’t tell me you’re still upset,’’ Talia remarked casually. “Has your father corrupted you so that you are now getting attached to any strays that come your way?’’

Damian smirked.

“That stray made an embarrassment out of your Man-Bat Commandos and assassins.’’ He turned around to face her, shoulders and back set straight. Talia showed no emotion, but Damian knew better. He had been taught the art of wearing a mask that hides away his emotions.

“She survived because your grandfather had allowed it.’’ She suddenly remarked. His expression did not change either, even if dread formed in the pit of his stomach. Talia could have been playing games. Bringing up his grandfather like that to rattle him, because if Talia is dangerous, Ra’s Al Ghul is the demon. However, there was also a chance she was telling the truth. The recording – and Fay confirmed as much – revealed that she was asked about how she travelled between the worlds. It wasn’t a surprise Talia knew, as annoying as it was. But if Ra’s Al Ghul was interested in her because of that, then that meant Fay was in far more danger than they had initially established.

“You were testing her.’’ He concluded out loud, voice carefully neutral even as he felt the dread tighten in his navel. An image popped in his head of Fay squaring off against Ra’s Al Ghul, the man tearing her apart emotionally and physically until there’s nothing left of her. The Demon would know exactly how to break her, irreparably slow. And he'd likely make Damian watch too. 

“You are getting slow, Damian. All that talent wasted for nothing.’’ Talia said, reaching for his hands. Damian felt a sense of disgust fill him, braided together with anger. Fay had developed a habit of reaching to him in a similar manner but her affection and care were always genuine. No agendas. No expectations from her other than he will not prove her wrong for putting her trust in him. “You are a man now. It is time for you to act like one— ‘’

Damian sneered at her and snatched his hands away from her hold. When younger, he used to look forward to those small moments when Talia would show affection. He found himself revolted with that naïve version of himself. But it did not matter anymore. He was in a different place. He was a different person. He was surrounded by different people. Just hours earlier, he had stood on that cliff with his father, listening to him as Bruce reminisced of family outings with his parents.

“Haven’t you heard, Talia?’’ He said. “I am my own person. I am aware that the concept of being able to choose your own path is foreign to you, but I am not blind. Not anymore.’’ His chin lifted in defiance. “I am who I want to be. And one more thing---do not ever touch my friend again.’’

Talia’s mask did break slightly, a sneer of her own forming on her face.

“Always so stubborn, habibi.’’ She stepped back, face hardening again. “You insist on failing me like this, uselessly denying your destiny. Your friends will be the first of your victims, you best do well in remembering that.’’

Damian stared at her, unfalteringly.

“You are the one who has failed, mother.’’

.

He had not planned on going to the warehouse after patrol. Fay had needed to recover from several weeks of intensive training so it had coincided perfectly with his need to be away. Other than her brief trip in Gotham the day before, Fay had hardly left the warehouse, or as far as he knew, even her bedroom. Most of the bruises were healing well but having used her flux extensively in their last sparring match, she had been so drained that she started experiencing migraines again. 

Damian was not generous in offering compliments. The League relied on negative reinforcements to make their assassins effective, not on prep talks and sugar-coated assessments of one’s prowess. He knew Fay, as sensitive as she could be, was hurt several times throughout during the training. He also knew that he brought her to tears, either by what he said to her or how hard he had physically pushed her. But she did not ask him to stop. Even when she struggled to get back up on her feet or when she felt demotivated. He could tell she was allowing old insecurities to tear her confidence apart. He did not help with any of it. He did not tell her it will get better or that she is better than the voices say she is. She knew already that he did think she could be strong but she had to work with herself in believing it as well. 

Fay knew all that, had acknowledged it long before they became friends, but the difference was that she wanted to do something about it. And changing was entirely up to her. He could give her the tools and the resources, but ninety per cent of the effort was hers to own.

In the fourth week, things took a turn. Starting with him finding her already awake and dressed up at four in the morning. She was beaten up and sore, and her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, but she was ready. Damian took her to the jungles of Bolivia. Where Fay lacked in talent, she made up in determination. Something changed, after. Fay had not exaggerated when she mentioned she found the wilderness less taxing than the urban civilisation. That the jungles or woods feel more like home. It was like watching a metamorphosis. Fay was far less shy in her movements—she climbed and jumped and explored the jungle like a wildling and there was something unrestrained about her. Damian was not a particular fan of it, but he understood better than before why her favourite story was Jungle Book.

After that trip, their sparring matches have changed as well. Fay grew increasingly comfortable fighting, muscle memory and old teachings resurfacing, determination making up for talent. She was terrible with a sword. She was uncomfortable when wielding it, not able to get accustomed to the weight and throwing her balance off. She had the basics down, but not enough to hold her own in a serious fight.

Her aim had improved, however. She was far more at ease with using shuriken and blades than before, starting to incorporate the use of her flux in helping her becoming more effective. Fay could be resourceful, ingenious when she was under duress. That was a useful quality to have. Grayson had helped a few times, after seeing the beat-up state she was following several lost matches. Using the escrima sticks had turned out more positive results because Fay found it easier to balance herself when using them. They were also not as lethal, at least not in the immediate way a sword was, which reduced her anxiety and allowed her to focus more effectively on her form and speed.

Of course, Grayson also spoiled her, treating her to doughnuts and showing her how to use the trapeze. Damian may or may have not gone harder on her after that. He chose to believe that it was because he did not wish for her to become complacent and because he did not believe in positive reinforcement (and it had nothing to do with the way she kept smiling and blushing in the presence of the former Robin).

Damian crouched down on the windowsill of her bay window, looking down the length of her bedroom. Bagheera was wide awake, standing back on his hind legs and watching him, as he always did. He did not ever stop disliking the way Damian would come into Fay’s bathroom, particularly when she was not awake. The paladin huffed at him in annoyance, and Damian just threw him a look. It was part of their daily repertoire (sometimes they would end up fighting in various places around the warehouse but if Fay had grown accustomed to the random damage she would find in their wake).

Jumping soundlessly over the seat by the window and onto the floor, Damian turned briefly around to close the window and then removed his jacket, throwing it over the chair at her desk.

Fay had fallen out of the bed but continued to sleep undisturbed on the floor, the weighted blanket tangled around her legs and her hair covering half of her face. What an ungrateful creature. Then he noticed the thick A4 envelope on the nightstand. He lifted it up and looked at the contents inside – a stack of photos, printed out on sturdy glossy paper. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he went through them.

Some pictures were from the Soul Bowl. Most of the individuals did not seem to realize they were being photographed but rather Fay had captured moments of day-to-day moments. Mercher serving food, two men playing chess, the chef by a large pot of food, spatula in hand and winking at the camera. Mercher’s son grinning like an idiot as he washed dishes.  They were photos of Gotham. Some were far more flattering of the city than it deserved. Fay had an adequate eye for photography. A couple dozen of photos that had been printed were from Europe. Some from the museum, including Wilmot who posed for one with Fay herself.

Damian found photos of Bagheera and the other strays as well. And photos of himself. He had been aware of most instances when she had photographed but there was a particular photo that he did not expect to see. Judging by the angle she has taken it from she had been standing on the mezzanine and leaning over the balustrade, turning the camera towards the seating area below where he was resting. She had zoomed in, capturing him as he laid down the length of the sofa, one arm crossed behind his head and a book open and turned upside down on his chest. Nada was on his stomach and Pip had nestled right atop his head. Bagheera was sitting not far from them, on the floor, sprawled with his belly up and looking goofily towards Fay.

Hm.

Damian was not sure how to feel about it, although he was tempted to just erase that photo (if only because it was evidence, he had been photographed without him knowing). Maybe he will just punish her with extra training.

Fay shifted, as she roused to sleep then groaned, no doubt the floor doing her sore muscles no favours. A few moments later, her head – with her hair resembling a bird’s nest – popped up as she leaned against the end of the bed staring at him blearily. “…Damian?’’ Her eyes widened, then darted over to the digital clock on the nightstand. “Am I late?’’ She gasped, trying to pull herself up suddenly. The blanket however stopped her dead in her tracks, and she clumsily fell against the bed, then back on the floor with a loud ‘thud’. Bagheera huffed out loud in amusement.

Damian rolled his eyes. There was a part of him that was tempted to tell her that yes, she was late for training and she will have to make up for it.

“Calm down.’’ He drawled. “There’s no training for today.’’ He paused. “For now, anyway.’’

Fay sighed in relief all the same, and once she had detangled herself from the blanket, she crawled back in bed. She rubbed her eyes, dark shadows lining them. They had not been that pronounced in a while. Fay’s nightmares reoccurred almost nightly, and she had at least two days a week when she experienced night terrors that required him or Bagheera to snap her awake.

“Grayson told you, hasn’t he?’’ She was transparent the way she stared at him shyly, fidgeting. She did not do that very often, which meant she must have been particularly nervous.

“…. yes.’’ Fay reached to scratch her nose. “I won’t say happy birthday if you don’t want me to.’’

“You just did. And the day has already passed so it would be moot.’’ He said dryly as he shuffled through the photos.

“Oh, um, okay.’’

He placed the photos back in the envelope.

“Damian?’’

“Hn.’’

“Are you happy?’’

Well, that he did not expect. Not right then, at that time of the day, unprompted like that. Damian stared at her. “Has your concussion not healed yet?’’ He had hit her harder than he had originally intended but she had been growing more vicious during their sparring. And it was not as if she was holding back if the still-healing bruise on his shoulder was any indication.

Fay sighed, then raised into a sitting position, turning on the fairy lights she kept above the bed with a small remote from the nightstand. There was a yellowish splotch across her left cheek and a small cut above her left brow, but she otherwise looked fine.

Damian cannot recall the last time anyone has ever asked him if he is happy. If someone ever did in such a direct manner. With such concern.

“What has brought this on?’’ He asked, torn between recoiling, and acknowledging the traitorous warmth blooming in his chest. Or was it an infection? It certainly felt contagious.

Fay stared at him solemnly, looking wide awake. “Nothing. It is just something, um, I have been thinking of for a while. It—it has nothing to do with your birthday.’’ She smiled a little. “I guess…I just thought about how things were like a year ago and how much has changed. And I did not know how---how to say it, and Dana told me to keep it simple, and then she said I should write it down and I did but---.’’she rambled on.

His eyebrows went up.

Her face was red as a lobster. “You….um, always give me stuff.’’ She looked around the room pointedly. “And---you teach me about this world. And you keep my identity a secret. And you--- you protect me as well. And now you are training me.’’ She shyly glanced down at her lap. “I just---I do appreciate all of it. But I don’t---I---it is enough that we are friends and…. I cannot give that much in return.’’ So much for having an eloquent and clear speech. That went out the window fast.

Damian flicked her forehead.

Ow!’’

“You know what that’s for.’’

Fay sighed. “I- I am an idiot?’’

He smirked. “I have trained you well.’’

She glared at him. “I am—I am not an idiot. I just---um, I guess I just want you to know that---that— ‘’ She shrugged, pausing momentarily before deciding to rip the figurative band-aid. “---I am really glad that I met you. And…you—well everything that I have now, it just makes me… happy. Not sure if I am happy as—before but I am better. So much better.’’ She smiled because she did not think she would ever say that again. Not to the boy with green eyes.

“But you’re my friend so….so I want you to be happy as well. Not just because of all you’ve done for me…but because I think you deserve it.’ Fay quickly lowered her head because Damian was just staring at her with a strange look, voice lowering a few notes. “I kind of want to make sure you’re also…. happy. If I can. Because um---that’s---you are important to me. You are my friend.’’ Sweet Maysoon, all those lectures on eloquence and formal speech were all in vain were they not? So much for keeping it simple. She could almost see her tutor’s expression had they heard the way she spoke. But her words were true. Fay wanted Damian to be happy. It was not necessarily about owning him something, but as his friend, she wanted to make sure she was doing a good job at it.

Damian was temporarily rendered speechless. A few hours earlier, the woman who was meant to love him unconditionally be had looked at him with a derisive look and told him he had failed her. Because his own mother did not value him for who – what – she wanted him to be.

Yet there was Fay, who knew him less than a year, looking troubled with his state of happiness. Who agonised over whether he was happy or not because she considered that important? She considered him important in a manner that very few have.

Was he happy, though? What was even happiness for someone like him?

Excelling in whatever he put his mind to. Successfully removing the scum off the streets of Gotham. Patrolling with his father. Hearing Bruce say he is proud of him. Grayson agreeing to a mission together, just the two of them. A chess match with Pennyworth. The entourage of animals he kept. All those brought him satisfaction or even contentment. Damian was not sure if he ever genuinely thought of himself as being happy. Not in the way other people would. He was not sure if he ever would.

But he had certainly experienced moments that came close to that. Like sitting side by side with his father – having him all to himself- on that cliff. Or the way Fay’s face always lit up nowadays when she saw him, instead of looking terrified and wary. The way she stood up for him in ways Talia will never appreciate. The way she looks at him, seeing him in a way other will not. In a way very few – perhaps only two people so far – looked at him. In the way he wishes his father looked at him more like. 

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Fay stared at the boy confusedly as he suddenly laid down on the bed, supine, crossing his hands over his stomach. She just stood there, feeling increasingly awkward because she could not tell if he was upset or just ignoring her words altogether. Was she…just supposed to go sleep as if she had not said anything?  

“Every year on my birthday, my mother would attempt to kill me. Several times she almost succeeded.’’ He said suddenly. “Every time I failed; she would send me away to a new part of the world testing my survival skills. For my sixth birthday, I had to survive in the desert for five days with nothing but a knife and the clothes on my back. For my eighth birthday, I climbed a mountain with no assistance or safety harnesses. In winter. With a broken wrist.’’

Fay frowned, blood going cold at those as she imagines a younger Damian having to put up with that kind of training. She struggled. Her birthdays were joyous and full of affection. Her mother has rarely ever said she had disappointed in Fay and even then, it had been a temporary state. Her parents had loved her. Damian’s mother did not even treat him like a child.

“I defeated her on my tenth birthday.’’ Damian continued. “And with that victory, my Year of Blood begun.’’

He had already told her about it before. Fay had struggled to reconcile the Damian in those stories with the one she knew. Ruthless. Cruel. Bloodthirsty even. Treating everyone and everything as if they are beneath him and taking away life as if it was his right. But she had come to terms with it quickly. Because Damian was in many ways like her father. They were not defined by their pasts, even if those sides of themselves cannot be wiped away. Her father never shied particularly from the type of man he had been raised to be just as the rest of her close relatives often spoke about the ‘the old times’. Some more open than others. They had also developed a very dark sense of humour that Fay grew accustomed to although she did not always understand the haunted looks on their face or morbid amusement.

“Children my---our--- age often get asked what they wish to be when they grow up. I never had that luxury. I was never particularly interested in it – I was being offered the world an immeasurable power. The kind that others would not even consider in their entire lifespan. Happiness is not a term that the League of Assassins uses.’’ Damian said in a detached manner. As if he was just talking about the weather. It was slightly unsettling and heartbreaking. “And if it is—I can assure it is not the same type of happiness you are referring to.’’

“…. But do you want to be?’’ Fay murmured after mulling over his words carefully. “Happy?’’

“It is never a priority.’’ It was too early to tell. There were many other things he wished to achieve, some of which hinged on the identity he chose. But---“I do know, however, that who I am now has led to a level…contentment that I would not have experienced before. I ---seek and welcome things I have not before.’’ Having friends. Brothers. An actual family. Justice over vengeance, as much as that remained a challenge at times. “It would be illogical and narrow-minded to exclude certain possibilities.’’ There will be things he will never be. But there are things he wants to be.

Fay nodded, contemplating that before smiling to herself. Then she turned off the fairy lights and laid down next to him, tentatively pulling the blanket over both. He allowed it, and she made herself comfortable on the follow, the drowsiness coming back in full force now that she had managed to get those thoughts off her mind. She watched the line of his profile in the darkness, the moon, and the lights from across the river casting soft rays into her room. She slid one hand under him which enclosed around her taped fingers a few seconds later.

She thought she felt his thumb run soothing circles onto the skin on the back of her hand. Her knuckles were still quite raw after he had her punch a bag filled with grain and sand. Repeatedly, for hours, without using her flux. While wearing weights around her wrists and ankles. The first few days she could not even hold a fork properly because of how damaged her hands were. But she was faster. More agile. She felt physically good and enjoyed feeling that way. In control of her body. Capable of moving in ways she had come close to in Maysoon but never quite fulfilled entirely because she was too psychologically drained. 

There had been several moments when she did think Damian was awful. She forgave him right after. She was going to keep trying. Harder and harder.

Fay shifted closer, pressing her forehead against his shoulder.

She forcibly pushed down any thoughts about what she will do if – when – Fay will find a way back home.

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If his brother would have been still alive, well, Fay would have been found immediately. She would have likely not run away in the first place, but if she did, his brother would have already anticipated her movements. Because that is the man he had been. Always five steps ahead of everyone else.

If his sister-in-law would have been still alive, she would have likely skinned Aryg alive and then turned the entire Empire upside down searching for her daughter. Aryg is quite certain there are plenty of individuals who would have confessed even if they were not guilty if only to avoid her wrath. And he would not have protested it. Because if his sister-in-law would have been there, before him, Aryg would have not been able to defend himself as to why her daughter has yet to be found a year after her disappearance. He would not be able to justify his gross oversight of both children’s deteriorating mental state. He would not be able to explain how they – the royals, the reapers, one of the greatest clan of warriors – failed protecting Fay. They did not even know if she was still alive.

The bracelets have been tampered with. Now they knew. But Fay would not. So, she is not only lost but also defenceless, her health quite possibly falling apart because of the poisonous effect of the seals.

Aryg was a highly intelligent individual. Maybe not in the way his youngest brother had been, but then again few were. He was, however, a very capable man. When it came to politics and diplomacy, he was perhaps the only one who could have rivalled the fallen previous Emperor. He had lived through countless bloodshed. Witnessed some of the greatest political conflicts their territory has ever come across. He was an ambassador of the new world and the values upon which it was built.

Yet.

Yet.

He had not been able to detect the unspoken call for help from his own niece. The pain had been there, raw, and loud and destructive. Aryg has convinced himself that he had seen her as the child she was, as the daughter who lost her parents and he had managed to treat her accordingly. The cruel reality was however that even cold, composed men like Aryg could not sometimes stop grief from colouring their perspective.

Fay had always been the antithesis to Aryg and the better part of the clan. They were the old and she was new. They were the cold-hearted relics with the war in veins and blood permanently embedded in their fingernails whereas Fay is the new generation, the one who will have the freedom of choice. She had not inherited their powerful yet wretched bloodline, she had not inherited their coldness or knack for warfare or silver-tongues. Fay was emotion and passion like her mother, and most importantly, she had been joy and hope. So had been Titoh for that matter, although the boy had always been more collected than Fay was. He had experienced hardships since he was young, so his joy was not quite as unbridled as Fay had been, but he too had been a happy child.

Now both children were lost, in different but equally damaging ways and Aryg could only sit on that throne, useless. Peace treaties, he could soothe over. Trade discussions, he could successfully negotiate. Diplomatic meetings, he could host in such a manner that not many men had the reputation he did when it came to being an excellent speaker. Find his niece before it was too late or help his downtrodden nephew? Aryg would have preferred going into battle against a dozen dragons. That would have been easier. 

Just how much has his niece been suffering for her to be so desperate to get away from them? Just how much more she has been holding in and nobody – especially him – had seen it? But they had. Fay was not the type of creature to compartmentalize like they did. Her pain and grief had always been visible, her heart on her sleeve. They had seen her tears and heard her screams when she experienced night terrors. They had seen the denial and the outbursts of anger and the haunted expressions. The healers had said she was broken. An insolent concept, one which many of them had not wanted to believe in. Aryg had found it revolting. The world had changed, but they were still a long way to come. Unfortunately, not quickly enough.

Fay was not broken. She was a child who had been born in a world vastly different to theirs. She had not grown up surrounded by death and cruelty and darkness. That night had been her first – and very violent – encounter with all those elements. She had lost her parents, and the whole world thought they understood because they lost legends and symbols and warriors they adored, but it was not the same thing.

Aryg had known that, deep down. He had known – had seen – how much she struggled. How the light was extinguished from her eyes, how each new ‘incident’ made her eyes look older and older. Her loss of control was not a sign of her being broken. It was a visceral reaction to the trauma and loss she had suffered. But he too, was guilty of falling prey to the ideas and preconceptions of the old world. Aryg was ashamed---his brother would have never committed his mistake in thinking Fay is hopeless. But he had not realized just how much he had fallen in old patterns until it was too late.

A growl, soft and guttural. Aryg glanced at his scaled paladin stretched not far from where he is sitting. Aryg met his gaze and nodded, appreciative of his paladin’s concern but not willing to lie to him and say everything was fine. His paladin deserved his honesty.

“What are you doing all on your lonesome, my love?’’ The soft, melodious voice of his wife drew him out of his thoughts. He looked up tiredly, her presence generally a balm to the burdens weighing him down. Lately, however, very few things soothed him. And when they did, it was only temporary. Sysa smiled at him, silvery eyes framed by thick eyelashes as she approached the chair, he was seating in their chambers.

“I do not deserve to sit on the throne.’’ Aryg sighed out loud, rubbing a hand over his face. Sysa leaned against the side of the throne and threaded her hand through his hair in a comforting gesture. “Do not say such things.’’ She murmured softly. “We will find her. You must have faith in her.’’

“If she wants to be found, Sy.’’ He said, his calmness bellying the storm he felt inside. “It’s been a year. And there is no saying how much she has been affected by those seals.’’ Sysa hummed as she sat down on the side of the throne, leaning into him, and cradling her head against her chest. “Fay is stronger than we give her credit.’’ She said softly. “What happened to our last lead?’’

Aryg sighed heavily. “It cannot be confirmed with certainty. Even if it was her, it has been months since the witness said they saw a girl and a wolf pass through.’’ He shook his head curtly. “She’s really her father’s daughter, isn’t she? Could not have she chosen to run somewhere closer to home?’’

Sysa smiled ruefully. “We don’t anything halfway in this family, my dear sir.’’

Aryg scoffed. That was true.

But Fay could be anywhere. She could be injured. She could be a captive. What if someone finds out who she is and where she comes from? What if something has happened to Bagheera and she is truly alone? All alone in that world, with the seals slowly killing her and thinking none of them cared.

He inhaled sharply. He was very efficient at compartmentalizing his emotions but he wasn't sure what he'd do if his niece died as a result of his own oversight. 

“If Fay dies, I will be the one who has sentenced her to it.’’ 

And the dark irony of it all was that she was likely safer wherever she was than by being in Maysoon. 

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“Sir, we have received word that the girl is in Gotham, New Jersey.’’

A pair of thin lips curled and parted, revealing a set of slightly crooked teethe. “Excellent.’’ The messenger sitting a few feet behind swallowed, and hesitated in delivering the second piece of information. 

“We are unable to pinpoint her location exactly. Y-yet.’’

The leader’s countenance did not change, as he sat by the windows offering a panoramic view of the metropolitan city below them.

“It does not matter. It's only a matter of time.’’

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Daphne Barlow sighed, as she adjusted the scarf tighter around her neck, then tipped the dark hat lower to cover her features. The driver loaded her items onto the car, then held the door open for her. She politely nodded at him, then moved quickly inside, feeling relatively relieved that she had not spotted any nosy journalists stalking her. It had been several months since her encounter with the two strange children. Except, perhaps not so strange as much as unpredictable. Earth-shaking. Touching that card had been, certainly.

Her abilities have always been particularly powerful, ever since she was a child, so much so that she often resorted to wearing gloves or all kinds of seals to dampen them. Sometimes they were too much. She did not always want to know everything about everyone. For many years, her abilities had been limited to psychical contact with another person. That was still the most powerful way she could get a ‘read’ of someone but naturally, the results differed from person to person. Her psychometric abilities evolved over time, extending to objects as well. Especially if there are strong memories involved.

It has been a while since she has had a psychometric read that left her feeling like that. Daphne had lived through what felt like two lifetimes even before she became Daphne, and many more after that, through experiments and the patients she has taken on. Touching that card has brought forth memories of her own, ones that always lingered at the back of her mind but that she was careful not to give too much power.

Daphne Barlow had not come out of the bed for three weeks. A poor time to be weak seeing as her family had needed her. Her nephew did not recall much of the entire ordeal, seeing as he had been unconscious for most of it. He was still shaken so the family had decided to take him out to France, so he could spend time with his cousins. Daphne had gone with them, but she had found herself deliberating for hours – days – whether she should ignore what she had sensed from that card altogether.

She could not. Even if there was a part of her that was terrified of what she saw. Even if a large part of her recoiled at the idea of being forced in her former world’s affairs. A promise is a promise. He had told her there might be a day when he needs a favour. The cryptic shit he was, he had never told her that is how the favour will manifest. What if the girl had never given her a card? Daphne would not have figured out. She was still not entirely sure about what she saw. The memories that flashed in her brain were broken, brief. Hauntings, really. Horrifying to get such images, as fragmented as they were from a child, but it was not uncommon in Daphne’s line of work.

Daphne had touched the card again, a few weeks later. Same experience, but she had gotten other fragments as well. She tried to ignore them. What business did she have with the child? How could she even help, really? If the girl was in that world, then it means it was perhaps for the best. But there was something else---something different. A type of darkness that was not natural. That did not belong to the girl. A tenebrous barrier. Daphne had her theories about what meant but she needed a better read to be sure.

Yet she had sought Daphne out, specifically. Did that mean he told her to do it? In the same cryptic, not-exactly-directly way of his? It could not be a coincidence. Not when it concerned him. As time went by, the read Daphne got off the card faded, becoming blurrier. Daphne managed to narrow down tentatively where the girl might be, but it was weeks before she followed up on it. It was not just because of her reservations.

Daphne had wanted confirmation that the girl was who she thought she was. So, she had sent out the inquiry. It had been a while since Daphne had gotten in touch with them. Years, really. But that line of communication was still open, some privileges she had retained despite her vehemence to cut all ties.  

The response came back after almost a month.

Two days later, Daphne had packed a suitcase, had her assistant cancel all meetings for an indefinite period and told her family not to worry because she is going away due to business affairs. 

“The Four Seasons, please.’’ She told the driver, removing her hat.

“Of course, ma’am.’’ The man responded.

Daphne watched the urban landscape unfolding beyond the tinted windows of the car. She had only been there a little under twenty minutes, but she already got the sense that she was not going to like Gotham.

Or that she will be able to resume her old life as if nothing happened.  

Chapter 30: Of bare necessities, freckled orphans and price of a bond

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Even a brick wants to be something more.’’ 

Louis Khan 

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The space between the laundry room and the walls of the terrace, once barren, was now her own personal library. And a sort of museum, too. 

Fay often liked to stop and stare at the paintings and posters and artistic souvenirs she hung from the brick walls. That corner full of art was born after she ran out of space on her bedroom walls. Many of the items have been picked up during the two-week travel in Europe. 

Most days she would pass by that corner to admire the walls there. Sometimes, they would make her very happy. Other times, it would be too painful to look at them because she would keep wondering what her parents would think if they saw those objects. From there on, she would start thinking about whether she would have to leave everything behind in the future if she were getting too attached

Fay may have grown stronger in fighting the insidious thoughts, but she was far from being immune to them. 

But that day, she found herself staring at the wall for well over half an hour. First, because her brain had struggled to comprehend the presence of a new painting that had appeared right in the middle of the others. How long had it been there? Had she missed it in the previous days? 

No. Not that painting. She had stared at it for hours many months earlier, there was no way she could have missed it. This time, she did not cry at the sight of it. But it did bring her an irrational sense of nostalgia. Like meeting an old friend. 

She was different from the Fay who had admired that painting before, but the emotions that were instigated in her were just as powerful as the ones many months earlier.

Fay had always known, deep down who the author had been. She had not thought about it in months, but perhaps she has known for far longer than she gives herself credit for. Since that moment she had found the drawing in the pages of Macbeth. 

Painting number twenty-three was the one who started it all. Fay wonders if she would have been there, in that place, being and feeling different, if it had not been for that painting. Maybe. She would have still gone into that building, painting or no painting and Damian would have still tracked her down and made insane proposals. 

When she saw Damian next, she just grinned at him even when he told her to stop because she looks like a mad fool. They did not talk about the painting. How it came to be in the warehouse, whether it was the original. Why then. What it was that represented. 

There was no need for it. 

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His Fay had watched the animation several times in the last several days, and each time, her joy bubbled up with such intensity that it was contagious. Bagheera had not felt that level of joy from her in years. It made sense of course. Fay’s mother used to sing those songs, too. A different version, but they delighted his Fay all the same. 

The bonus was that the boy was starting to get increasingly irate whenever he heard the songs on a loop, but beyond criticizing his Fay – all of which went ignored – he did not stop her. He, too, was rather content with how happy the girl was. 

If the paladin could speak, however, he would have said that he is a lot more fun than Bagheera the panther. Like, for example, the panther would have never started a pillow fight between the two children. 

He was better, indeed. 

Although Bagheera the paladin shared an important quality with Bagheera the panther beyond their dark mane and predatory natures.

Small but stronger arms than they have been months earlier wrapped around his thick, furry neck. Joy fizzled like champagne. “I love you.’’ Fay grinned, pressing her head against his. “I am really glad you’re here with me, Bag.’’ He purred in contentment, and leaned his giant form over her, toppling them over and making her giggle. 

They both loved their man-cub dearly.

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Dana had to bring a hand to her mouth to stop herself from screaming. Or laughing. Or both. Her brain had not quite yet decided on what reaction she should have, but she knew for a certainty she did not want to interrupt the scent unfolding before her. It was late in the evening; Soul Bowl was preparing to close so there were only a few people left in the canteen. All of whom had been startled by the sudden noise coming over from the kitchen, even though the pass-through had been sealed off, muffling the noise. 

When she came in, Dana did not expect to find her son and Fay singing along to the lyrics of ‘ Bare Necessities’ , their tone-deaf voices deafened by the volume of the song. Their exuberance and passion made up for their lack of talent, however. It was a good thing she now owned the building, although Dana was sure people passing by could still hear them. The veteran did not have the heart to feel irritated in the slightest at the bubbles and soapy water that both youngsters had splashed about in what was more of a monkeying about and less of a dancing.

It was not as if Dana had not noticed the changes Fay had gone through until then. How healthy she looked; how much more talkative she was. How much easier she smiled, how she seemed willing to engage in playful behavior. There was something in her movements – more relaxed, free. She was still shy and reserved, quiet in a group setting. But she no longer moved around looking as if she wanted to make herself small and invisible. 

However, Dana had not quite seen her that animated – or loud- before. It was as if she was staring at a completely different child.

The Jungle Book really was the answer. Lord, the kid really adored it. 

Mack came in towards the end of the song and Dana signaled him to be quiet, his confusion quickly replaced by surprise, then by amusement. Bagheera joined in, howling intermittently as he bounced and galloped between Robby and Fay, clearly enjoying the song just as much. Maybe he was more of a Baloo than a Bagheera. 

The children did not notice them standing on the threshold until the song finished and Mack cleared his throat loudly, stepping in and adopting a gruff expression, hands on his hips. “What are you two rascals doing to my kitchen?!’’ He bellowed. Fay turned even redder, some of her usual shyness coming back full force and Robby looked sheepish. Bagheera looked disappointed, and he huffed indignantly at the man. 

“You two brats think you can just ruin my kitchen?’’ Mack continued as he undid his apron and threw it on the table. Then his serious expression melted away into a grin, as he reached for Robby’s phone, tapping at it. A new song came on, and Mack rhythmically tapped his spatula against the table. “Now I am the king of the swingers, oh, the jungle VIP~’’ To his credit, Mack had a surprising talent for singing. Potential for a career as a drummer, at least where kitchen utensils were involved. 

“You! I wanna be like you
I wanna talk like you
Walk like you, too
You'll see it is true
Someone like me!’’

Fay thought it would be gut-wrenching to be singing along like that with people other than her family. Or that it would feel like a betrayal. 

It did not. 

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Fay scratched at her cheek, not sure what was the appropriate icebreaker in that situation. There was nothing normal about that meeting. The red-head boy in front of her looked like he felt just as awkward as she did, especially seeing as moments ago he had shrunk from a seven-foot-tall burly man to a thin, freckled child. Then, of course, there was Damian who had chosen a bad day to wear a white t-shirt, seeing as he was covered in blood. She had something close to a heart attack when she saw him, having already imagined the worst-case scenario on her way there. 

Bagheera tentatively leaned towards the redhead to sniff. The boy blinked, eyes widening in awe. “Whoa. Is that a wolf--?’’ He glanced at Fay then at Damian. “Wait. Does she know---?’’ Damian, for the most part, looked unruffled despite the blood around his eyes forming a morbid makeshift mask and the splotches on his neck and collar. Not his blood. Fay wondered if he had to kill anyone, as she glanced at his stained hands. 

“That I am Robin?’’ Damian said bluntly. “Obviously. Did you bring what I asked?’’ 

Fay nodded and moved the strap of the duffel bag over her head, to hand it over to him. He had only texted ‘ Bring clothes and first aid. Move fast. ’ and the address, which was not even complete. He must have counted on Bagheera to track him down, which he did. Fay had been tethering on the edge of a panic attack the entire way there, but she had managed to rationalize that if Damian were truly in a critical state, he would not have called her first. 

Fay waited aside, turning her back to the two boys as they changed and washed the grime and blood off themselves as much as possible. When they were done, she was finally introduced to the redhead. Colin Wilkes. Orphan. Also goes by Abuse, when in his other form. Fay nodded, and if she had any further questions, she preferred keeping them until later when she could ask Damian in private. She did not think it would be appropriate to inquire about Colin’s abilities at that moment. 

“Which one are you?’’ Colin eyed her. “Wait. Maybe I can guess.’’ 

Fay blinked, in surprise, then she realized what he meant. “Oh. I am not----I am not a vigilante.’’ She said sheepishly, reaching to scratch at her nose nervously. 

“Oh. Okay.’’ He looked as if he wanted to ask more on that, which Fay could not blame him for. However, Colin decided against it and only smiled boyishly at her. “No problem.’’ 

Fay decided she liked Colin. He was polite and nice and rather observant too. 

Maybe Damian did too. She found it hard not to smile when Colin looked confused, three days later, when the other boy presented him with a hideout full of equipment to aid him in his vigilante work. Damian certainly either went big or not at all when he offered things to people. 

He really was kind, in his own way. 

However, that simple inquiry from the redhead made Fay contemplate her current situation. 

She was fine not being anyone, but she did want to be more than that? 

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When Fay agreed to meet with Cora, she did not expect the day would turn out like this. She had planned on only having a brief chat with the girl while they enjoyed the first real sunny day in months. Fay liked that Cora knew so much of that world’s pop culture and whenever the other girl opened her mouth, she would learn of new references that she had not heard before. Cora also did most of the talking, which meant Fay did not have to and the blonde did not expect her to. It was refreshing not being called out on being too quiet because the other girl made up for it. Fay would have been happy to cut it short after, but she could not resist when the other girl told her there’s a pet sanctuary that she sometimes volunteers at and they should go see it. So, twenty minutes later, they found themselves at ‘Paws Planet’, a two-story building that kept anywhere from twenty to seventy abandoned pets at a time. 

The owner, Sophie, tried to offer the cats and dogs and birds in there a comfortable place to be after most of them have been abandoned by their owners. Most were too old to be re-adopted or had trust issues because of their abandonment, so Sophie tried to offer them a home of sorts. One of the few pet sanctuaries that avoided putting pets down unless their health or age demanded it, which is why Cora liked it the best. She sometimes volunteered there, spending time with the animals to acclimate them to people so it is easier for them to be adopted. 

Fay’s heart broke at the sight of all those animals. Even if Sophie kept them in relatively large enclosures with all their needs addressed, they were still homeless. Still caged, having to spend the rest of their lives alone because others were negligent or heartless. 

“Hey, Sophie— ‘’ Fay heard Cora call out from a few feet to her left, as she bent in front of the enclosure containing an old dog. The plaque next to the glass door said his name was Oscar, and he was eleven years old. A dark brown bullmastiff. He was abandoned when he was five, and four families have tried to adopt him only to return him because of his large size. He lifted his head when she approached, regarding her calmly, his eyes gentle. 

“---Someone broke in again.’’ At that, Fay looked up at where the blonde girl and the dark-haired older woman were standing. Sophie was in her mid-fifties but the way she moved and talked made her seem much younger. She looked upset as she continued speaking to Cora who, in return, had gone pale at the news. Fay stood up and approached them, so she could hear better. 

“Again?’’ Cora asked. “How—how is that possible? I thought you put the new security system in.’’ 

Sophie brushed a hand over her face in exasperation. “I don’t know---I can’t keep having dogs going missing. The cretins who are responsible for this are vile.’’ As it turns out, Paws Planet has had another break-in a month earlier. Three dogs and two cats have gone missing. The police blamed it on the poor security system Sophie had, although it had been obvious that she had taken all the precautions to protect her animals. She invested in a newer, more expensive system that had been bypassed a day earlier, again. This time, five dogs went missing. 

With dread pooling in her stomach, Fay walked down the halls, passing by the enclosures and reading the plaques of the dogs that were still there. They were all relatively old. Just one that was under eight years old, but he was missing a leg. The enclosures where the missing dogs had been, did not look as if they had been forced open either. A key was required for each door that only Sophie and three of her staff members have. In case of a fire, all doors would automatically open to allow the dogs to escape but that clearly had not been the case, as the alarm did not go off and the older dogs were still in their enclosures in the morning after the burglary. The three staff members - two veterinary doctors and an assistant- that had access have already been vetted and they offered strong alibis. 

“What about---‘’ Both Sophie and Cora looked up at her as Fay re-approached them after her inspection. “---other employees? Or, um, volunteers?’’ 

Sophie shook her head. “Cora, here is my only volunteer. My nephews sometimes help. As for employees, it’s just those three. I do most of the cleaning around here, but I do have a cleaning company on call that comes around once a month to sanitize. They have not been around in a while, and not since I put in the new system. I only had someone come take a look at the lights— ‘’ The woman tilted her chin towards the ceiling at the neon lights hanging above their heads. “---A nice man, works for his father’s store. He has been coming around for ages and never had issues.’’ 

That did not mean anything. Just because a man did not have priors, it did not mean he could not be guilty. It could also mean he had not been caught before. 

Fay nodded, making a mental note of the business name – Johnson and Sons’ Electrical – before she and Cora left. They bid goodbye shortly after. Fay ended up seeking out the business, after reuniting with Bagheera who had been discreetly following them around. 

Johnson and Son’s Electrical was, indeed, a family-owned store. A very busy one, and the owner – Barney Johnson – seemed to be on good terms with most of the clients that came in. Fay had inconspicuously stepped in and looked around, and watched the man make conversation with almost everyone that came up to his till. He had two other men employed which Fay saw moving about in the store. 

Nothing out of ordinary. 

Bagheera did not like the store. Or rather, he did not like Barney or any of his employees. Even before Fay had gone inside to inspect the place, the paladin had felt something off about it. She waited until the store was closed at five in the afternoon, texting Damian that she’ll stay in the city a little longer. Fay had not seen him almost at all that week, as he had agreed to go to San Francisco to help the Titans with a case. He had been very unhappy doing so, seeing as Red Robin was the one who generally worked with the Titans instead. However, his father left no room for argument. And Red Robin was away with a mission of his own. Fay continued to send him ‘status updates’ throughout the day although he rarely ever replied. She was used to it, so she hardly took offense. 

They watched as the last customers trickled through before the store was sealed shut. 

Bagheera growled as soon as he saw them, his wariness increasing when he saw the two staff members, which Fay suspected were Barney’s sons. Trusting her paladin, they followed them around as the two men left the store, went to a bar where they spent several hours and then they headed to a garage. After twenty minutes or so they came out in a dark van before they headed to a relatively poor area of Gotham. Fay and Bagheera watched them as they broke into at least three different properties to…. steal the dogs

Fay could not very well stop there, so they ended up following the van for several miles, almost losing sight of it several times. Especially when it appeared to be a busy night for criminals, with explosions echoing in the distance and police cars zigzagging down the streets of Gotham. And, what she found was an entire drug operation that seemed to rely on dogs and cats as mules. Dozens of pets kept in far-too-small rusty cages piled on top of another on the second floor of the building. When Fay sneaked through, she saw that most of them were sedated, which explained why it was so quiet. 

There was also what looked like a surgery room on the second floor, and Fay had watched with an increasing sense of horror as two men dressed in surgical robes prepared to operate on a medium-sized dog that was being placed under anesthesia. Next to it on the table, there were packs of drugs compressed in plastic cylinders that were as big as her forearm. Items of that size could never be expelled naturally which meant those pets would never make it alive once they served their purpose as mules.

Fay knocked out the two men before they could operate on the dog, and pushed them to the side, hoping nobody would come to check in on them anytime soon. The dog was unconscious, but he seemed fine altogether. 

On the first floor, there were several men patrolling between crates that were filled with more drugs. Only four of them were armed. Nine in total, counting the Johnsons boy who brought in four more dogs. They were sedated as well, and their crates were taken up to the second floor. As if they were just objects to be added to a pile. 

Fay would realize it only later, but there had not been much in terms of hesitation when she decided to act. The fear was drowned by her frustration at seeing those animals being treated like that and wanting to ensure the ones responsible do not get away with it. It had not been just that, though.

 It was the rush of adrenaline. The strange and foreign sense of pleasure she got from fighting and taking down those men. She only incapacitated them, of course, but it had felt good. She was being useful. She was helping those animals. They would no longer suffer and die. 

The training with Damian had paid off, of course. She was in a great physical condition and summoning the flux felt easier than it'd been in months. 

Bagheera hardly had to interfere, but it was not as if he would just let her fight on her own, as he focused on incapacitating the armed men first. Fay tied them up with the leashes she found abandoned in a box, and covered their heads, just for good measure. The hood and the scarf around her mouth had done their job in shielding her face, but she had also destroyed two of the lights, plunging the floor into semi-darkness. It had certainly made the drug traffickers panic. 

Then someone cleared their throat behind her. Fay watched Bagheera, standing a few feet from her, throw a wide-eyed look beyond her shoulder. He looked alarmed. 

Fay turned around immediately and saw the very intimidating shape of Batman, only slightly delineated in the dark by the remaining lights above their heads.

“Having fun?’’ He asked gruffly, his voice much deeper than before as he stepped forward. Soundlessly, despite the heavy armor he was wearing. 

Shit. 

Fay stared at him sheepishly, pulling down the scarf away from her mouth. “Um….hi.’’ 

“I wasn’t aware you were a vigilante now, as well.’’ 

“I---what—I am not---I just---‘’ Fay sighed. “I am sorry.’’ She bowed her head slightly. “They---there are so many of them upstairs. The dogs and cats. And they are putting---‘’ She glanced at the crates with drugs in disgust. “---they are putting those things inside them. Which means---which means they must be cut out after and so….they die.’’ She looked back at him although she could not see his expression at all under the cowl. “It’s not right.’’ She finished, lamely. 

Bagheera came by her side, gluing himself against her as he regarded the man apprehensively. Batman was dangerous, even more so than the boy was. Not necessarily to them, but his presence still set the paladin on edge. The man was not angry as he appeared to be, however. Just slightly contrite. 

Twenty minutes later, Fay watched from the rooftop as police cars arrived to pick up the unconscious men. With them, animal rescue as well. She wondered if their original owners would get them back. 

“It is an international operation,’’ Batman said from beside her. “The dogs are sent out with false owners across the country and Europe. The drugs are surgically removed after. They are unlikely to make it as you have stated.’’ His head tilted to her, and she watched the thin white film narrow. “How did you know where to come?’’ 

Fay told him that she noticed the pattern in ages while at the pet shelter. Then the only one whose presence there seemed suspect was the electrician that the owner had called. He was not the one who installed the security system, but he would have had knowledge of how it worked. He would have seen it in action as well. Then she went and found the store. A lot of people seem to know the Johnsons so they must have many clients. Houses they have access to. Their security systems. And their dogs. Fay followed the two sons around all night and watched them steal the four dogs from houses in the poorer ends of Gotham. 

“Why poorer?’’ Bruce tested her out. He already knew the answer. Just as he had already known about the operation and had intel it was taking place where it did. Or would have had it not been for the girl. 

“Oh.’’ Fay paused, looking contemplative. “Nobody would care.’’ She said bluntly, then flinched at her own words but she did not take them back. “Just like---just like with the blackouts caused by the Angel. Plus, dogs go missing all the time so…the police would not investigate. I do not think?’’ She looked hesitant. “I guess…they would never suspect someone as well respected as Mr. Johnson and his sons, either.’’  

Clever. 

She had been incredibly reckless as well. But there was a pattern in her behavior. A selfless one. One that always wanted to help others. In Gotham, it could get her killed. Then again…. who was he to talk? 

Fay glanced behind her, at the Bat-signal that suddenly lit up on the sky. The night was young still. She frowned, realizing she had never quite seen it that close. It was not quite the same as the lights in Maysoon but seeing it illuminate the sky like that tugged at her heartstrings painfully. She had done something good, but it was not enough. The world was very much a dark place still. 

“Problem?’’ 

“N-no. It just, um, reminds me of my world.’’ 

“Your world has Bat symbols lit up on the sky?’’ 

Fay shook her head. “Not bats. Just lights, usually. There is one---there is one that is bright—brighter than all the others, I mean. It was put there after the old regime fell.’’ Fay was not sure how much Damian had told him, so she was careful not to reveal too much. “All other---territories do as well. One day of the year, they are all turned on so----you can see them even if you are far away.’’ 

“A symbol of peace.’’ 

“Yes. But--of---of hope, as well.’’ Fay swallowed. “That there’ll always be hope. At least that’s---that is what my parents used to say.’’ Then again, it took Maysoon a year to turn those lights back on. And when they did, they did not feel quite as powerful. As inspiring. 

“Hn.’’ Batman took out his grappling gun, as the Oracle’s voice came up in his earpiece. “Go home. And no more tracking criminals .’’ His tone left no space for compromise. If Damian was intimidating, then his father was quite terrifying. 

“Y-yes, sir!’’ 

Fay watched him jump off the building and grapple onto another, blending in with the dark. A shadow fighting for the light of others. It is rather poetic. Fay called a car soon after, and by the time she was back at the warehouse, she found several unread messages from Damian. He was not happy. 

That night, he did call her, and she found herself staring at the holographic rendering of Damian’s head, as he glared daggers at her. She did not even get the chance to open her mouth and offer an explanation.

What have you done now ?’’ 

.

Paws Planet received a sizable donation two days after the incident. The missing dogs were returned to the shelter or where possible, to their rightful owners.

A man from Gotham Council showed up at Sophie’s door one day later to propose that the shelter be transformed into an actual sanctuary with far better accommodations for the dogs that could not be adopted. The new facilities would not only allow for more dogs to be taken in, but they would also offer better conditions. Yet another initiative is driven by one of Wayne Enterprises’ charity foundations. 

Fay ended up asking if she could volunteer from time to time. Unsurprisingly, she did not have to ask twice for Damian to accompany her.

.

Alfred sighed wearily when the menagerie of animals at the manor increased without any warning. 

Yet he may have sneaked a picture or two of the two children of the house playing with their furry entourage. Pieces of light for the darker times.   

.

.

.

It would have been nice if Damian had told her there was a secret passage built at the end of her walk-in wardrobe before he decided to test it out and scare the wits out of her. Alas, the passage was there to stay. For safety. A contingency plan. Built behind the painting of a bird that hung on the wall and that she could move around with the press of a button secretly built in one of the shelves. His own wardrobe was built back-to-back with hers, so they could both use the hidden passage. 

It would have been nice, as well, if he had told her there was a secret basement built underneath the warehouse. And a tunnel leading out in the middle of the grove. Fay could not say she was entirely surprised by it all. There was another secret passage hidden behind a false wall in the laundry room. 

Of course, there was. 

“It’s for your own safety.’’ 

Fay gave him a dry look. He had already installed steel, bullet-proof shields for each window of the warehouse. It would take under three seconds for the building to be completely isolated from the outside world. There were extra cameras as well around the property. 

She was not sure she wanted to know the extent of his security system. He did promise that he will leave her bedroom and bathroom alone. And that he will not put any more trackers on her than she did not know about beforehand. 

“It’s secure.’’ 

“It’s like a cage.’’ Fay blurted the words before she could stop herself. She was not even sure where that came from. She was not angry with him. Damian was being protective—overly so, perhaps—but she understood that the threat was very much real as well. She had met his mother after all. Fay grimaced, feeling guilty. “Sorry.’’ 

The bracelets had been for her own protection too. The chaperones and guards, too. Always there to keep her safe, to talk for her, to defend her. Because she could not do it all on her own. 

Fay had not thought about it in a while, but she used to spend days in her chambers or library, hidden away from others. It had not always been her choice following the death of her parents.

Out of sight, out of mind, people in that world said. Best to keep the unstable, broken heir hidden, lest she causes any further incidents. Lest the world sees how disappointing she is. 

Fay was never forbidden from roaming free. But she hadn't also been trusted to go to events very often. 

Damian was not like them, though. He did not think of her as broken. Right? 

“You should know by now you are free to do as you please. I have already explained why certain rules are in place---‘’ 

“I know.’’ Fay interrupted him, and she inclined to the left, pressing her side against his, and pulling her knees up to her chest. “It---just reminded me of something, that’s all.’’ She glanced at the tablet on his lap. “I know it’s for my safety.’’ 

“This is about your family.’’ He concluded dryly, as he continued to tap away from the software. Fay did not understand much of it, but she enjoyed watching him. He always worked so fast and confidently, understanding the data on the screen that was otherwise just gibberish to her full of numbers and symbols. “Hm.’’ She shifted her head slightly to look where Pip was chasing a very aggravated Nada around in circles. The TV was on, but she had lost track of the film she was watching when Damian started talking to her about the finalized security system. 

“After the---um, incidents, I didn’t really go to events anymore. My family said it was for the best---less stressful, I guess. I did not mind---I mean, I never liked them. Not even---not even when my parents were there.’’ Sometimes, she did. But without her parents, all the attention was on her. “I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere alone, either. Sometimes---it felt suffocating.’’ 

“How did you escape then?’’ 

“I think it was…luck. I really expected the guards to track me down immediately.’’ She frowned. “I tricked Moma. We were in this---bazaar and um, I told her that I am going to go look at something. Bagheera caused a distraction---and we just ran away. It was not really planned.’’ 

He grunted in response. 

“I will teach you in handling the security system.’’ He said after a moment, brows slightly furrowed. 

Fay tilted her head to look at him. He kept his eyes trained on the tablet. “You---you don’t make me feel suffocated, Damian.’’ She said, for good measure. Maybe at the beginning, during those times when she was just the girl in the attic, and they did not know as much about each other. But that was in the past. “I---I know it’s different than with my family. I just….’’ She propped her head on his shoulder.

 “…. wish I could say I was strong enough that I did not need others to look out for me.’’ 

 “By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail.’’ Damian said. “Lacking forethought is the true sign of weakness.’’

She had become quite familiar with Damian talk. She understood what he was trying to say was that all the new measures were not in place because she was weak but because it was the logical thing to do.

Fay smiled “Okay.’’ It was a painful truth, but Damian believed in her more than her family did. More than she did most times, too. 

“I still want to learn though— ‘’ she said after a moment, pointing at this tablet. “—how it works.’’ 

“Hn.’’ Of course. 

.

.

.

The panic washed over her suddenly. Fay was only just cleaning the terrace when it happened. There were no insidious thoughts or triggers, no more than usual. She had even felt relatively well. Then she came across a spider that was half the size of her palm, crawling quickly away from underneath the pots of flowers. The sense of fear that assailed her was irrational and paralyzing. The spider escaped outside, but Fay found herself unable to think properly, feeling far too terrified. Bagheera found her huddled up in a corner, clutching her head and crying. The sudden change in her emotional state had alarmed him. 

A relatively normal day turned into a Bad Day very quickly. She no longer kept track, but Fay was certain she has not had such a debilitating Bad Day in months. Two days, she struggled to get out of the bed. The nightmares barely gave her any respite and a few times, she had lost control of her flux, destroying several objects around her room. On the second day, Damian had to drag her under the cold shower again because of night terrors. He stayed with her on the third day. They did not talk, and he only periodically checked in on her. She refused to have Alfred look at her but agreed that if she did not improve in twenty-four hours, she would go to the manor. 

The crushing sense that assailed her was only alleviated in the afternoon as soothing violin songs washed over her. They were like balm to her raw, frazzled emotions. The panic keeping her on edge diminished gradually and she found herself able to relax, to divert her mind away from terrible fragments of memories to happier ones. 

Damian played for hours. 

And she was flying again. 

.

Fay had countless memories of her falling asleep while watching her parents’ work. With her mother, often more than not, it was to the absent-minded hums she would make while tending to her plants or completing her paperwork. Her father was much more silent, so it was rather the comforting aura of his flux or the sound of his quill scratching against paper. Her mother was messier – she used a pen instead and she would always write under more pressure. She would make more noise too. 

Fay was used to both. She did not need her sight to differentiate between the two – their movements, their scent, the different pulses of their flux. Silent signatures. Familiar, just like sounds and scents of the jungle.  

 She blamed it on the Bad Day that she suddenly felt so nostalgic her heart felt as if it was being torn in two. Fay found herself peering inside Damian’s room, blanket around her shoulders, doing little to hide how haggard she must have looked. Red-rimmed, puffy eyes. A raw face that she kept picking at anxiously. She had not really eaten in the last couple of days, and she felt light-headed, but she had no appetite. Fay of the attic above the Soul Bowl still existed. She had never really gone away. 

Damian’s bedroom was barren. At least when compared with hers. The space was just as cavernous, and the flooring and wall paint matched her room. However, there were no carpets or decorations. Just one, only partially filled, shelf pressed against the wall across the room. A single bed with dark sheets and just one pillow. To one corner of the room, he had set up a training area with weights and a punching bag. 

Then in the center of the room, in front of the bed, three desks pushed together to form an ‘L’ shape. It was obvious he invested most of his time and energy in that area judging by the amount of equipment he kept around. Several screens. Keyboards. Sound system. Other electronics that Fay was not sure what they were called but had seen in the Batcave before. She understood the function of some of them. From the looks of it, Damian also had a miniature chemical laboratory set in one corner. 

She had never really stepped foot in his bedroom before. She saw no reason for it and unlike Damian, she did not have the courage to just waltz in and make herself comfortable in another person’s personal space. Damian came to her room more often than he did not, so if he ever stayed in his, Fay understood it was either because he wanted the time alone or space free of distractions. He had never explicitly forbidden her from going in. Most times, she saw that he kept his door slightly ajar, and she had seen Bagheera go in plenty of times. Damian often acted very irritated by that. Yet, Bagheera always came out with an apple in his mouth. 

Fay would have generally lacked the courage to go in either way, even if she found his door ajar again, but she was not really herself. She did not have a word for it. She simultaneously felt nothing and everything at the same time. If there was one emotion she could identify clearly, is that she felt alone. From a rational standpoint, she knew she was not. She had Bagheera. Pip and the others. Damian, of course. But Bad Days were not rational. Bagheera pushed the door open, harder than he should have. Damian was sitting in the large leather chair, staring at the screens. The room was dark---he only had a window, shielded at that moment – and the bright flare of the screen sharpened his features. Nada was laying down at his feet. 

Her paladin waltzed in as if the room were his. Fay would have found it amusing he was trying to rile up the boy so, but instead, she just stared. Unsure. Too tired to turn tail and run. Too confused and overwhelmed to open her mouth. She was not sure why she was there, or what she wanted. 

Well, she did know what she wanted. 

But she could not have it (she could not have them back, ever again). 

“You may come in,’’ Damian said, not glancing up. 

Fay hesitated but, in the end, she stepped in, looking around with subdued curiosity. There was not much to look at, so she sat down on his bed, feeling woozy. Bagheera sat down between the bed and the desk. Damian raised to his feet a few moments later, walked out of the room wordlessly then came back several minutes later. He had two bottles in his hand, one which he handed to her. Fay opened her mouth to apologize even before she had finished listing mentally the things she wanted to apologize for (that she was weak, that she was a burden, that she was disturbing him, that she was needy) but he beat her to it. “Drink at least half of that. Small sips. Then go back to sleep.’’ She nodded and did as he was told, taking small sips from the bottle, and watching him as he returned to his desk and started tapping away again. 

Bagheera moved closer to the bed, his calm emotions soothing over her frazzled ones. Pip joined a few moments later, snuggling at the back of her feet. Hector rarely ever left his elaborate playpen. 

Ultimately, Fay ended up laying down in his bed, face against the one pillow he kept, and closed her eyes, listening to him work away. The keyboard’s clickety-clack. The wheels of the chair as they moved against the wooden floorboards. The soft whirring of some of his equipment. Different noises, just as soothing.

His pillow and sheets were all him in scent. 

It was reassuring. Not in the same way her parents have been but close. 

It was enough. 

.

.

.

Bruce sipped at his coffee and watched the girl come round the manor again for her fifth lap. Damian was out on a case with Dick and as far as he knew, the boy had left Fay with instructions to continue her training in his absence. She was already awake when he returned to the cave, running laps around the perimeter of the manor despite the cold spring rain and her bruised body. Damian has been training her intensively again. Putting her through the simulation room did not yield the same level of destruction when the boy trained there, but she had improved enough in the last several weeks to climb through the third level. Far behind any of them, but the progress was there. Impressive when one considered how weak and frail she had been, at least according to his butler. 

But he had watched the recordings. Fay’s hand-to-hand combat was decent, but that was not the interesting part. It was the way she naturally connected with the elements and improvised. Whereas technique and experience were lacking, she made up in resourcefulness and thinking quickly. Those have been enough to keep her alive up until then, even when the bracelets were hindering her. But long-term, they might not be. 

The girl had the heart of a vigilante. Protecting, not killing others. Altruism, instead of a sense of superiority over others. Kindness instead of ruthlessness. Fay is not like Damian. She is his son’s opposite in many ways.

Damian still hoards much of the information he has to himself, but Bruce had gotten enough out of him to know Fay was raised in a demanding environment. Her parents’ reputation was particularly noteworthy, and they were hailed as legendary warriors in her homeland. A heavy legacy to carry, then. But Fay ran away from it, rejected it all. She came to that world, unprepared and defenseless and survived ordeals that men and women of that world would not have. Despite her emotional handicaps. 

Yet her principles are unflinching. The work for the museum. Helen Wilmot. George Sanders. The criminals use the pets as drug mules. 

Defending Damian before Talia. His son did not talk about it, but it did not make the world’s greatest detective to figure out the impact it must have had on him. It was inevitable Damian would want to keep her closer, that he would gradually bring her into their fold until neither of them were any longer surprised to see her around. Fay had gained his son’s trust and by default, his loyalty and protection---Bruce was content to see his own growth reflect in the way he treated her. He still stumbled at times, but it had become quite clear that Fay was just loyal. 

From a logical standpoint, Fay was a risk. She was not just an orphan taken in from the streets but an otherworldly creature with powerful ties that are bound to be sought out by her family. When that time comes – be it months or years -, Bruce does not think Damian will act as Robin. He sees Fay as his friend. He would not be objective---if her world wished to retrieve her and she refused to go, an inter-realm conflict could arise. Damian does not seem as worried about it, but Bruce knows how secretive his son is. How sometimes he behaves still as if Bruce will take away that bond like Talia would have. The risks are indubitable. 

Yet. Damian has been training her. He has been teaching her about that world. He has given her an identity. He was transforming what was initially shelter into a home. One that he spent a considerable amount of his time at. 

It is not just Damian, though. Alfred’s been keeping the chambers in the same manor wing as Damian prepared for her. He even knows her favorite dishes by now. Dick switches between training and spoiling her, too. 

Damian has been turning Fay into a permanent fixture in his inner circle. In the family. Unintentionally? Unlikely. His son was too smart to not have considered the advantage of having Alfred and Dick grow close to her. They would be the first to defend her presence there. 

Bruce knew what the right path as Batman was. He knew what he had to do if the family or Gotham was in danger. He would make the hard decisions if he needed. 

But as a father, as the patriarch, the situation wasn’t as clear-cut. Because family does not equal rational decisions always. When Damian died, he had not chosen the rational path in grieving and moving forward. He had traveled to the world’s end and beyond to retrieve him. 

So, he could not judge Damian harshly. Bruce was proud of him, to see the ten-year-old assassin shape into something more than the tool Talia wanted him to be. To see him pour his interest in the care of another being, even if it meant connecting with someone outside their family. Because Fay was an outsider in many ways. 

And that’s how Damian still felt like.

He didn’t know how to put it in words. He didn’t know how to talk to Damian about it without turning the conversation into an argument. 

Maybe it was not needed for the time being. 

.

Fay coughed and shivered as she dragged her feet towards the entrance of the manor. Her body was incredibly sore and her feet felt blistered. She was dressed lightly in a pair of jogger trousers and a hoodie but they were drenched. As if the weights around her ankles and wrists were not a challenge enough, she had had to contend with the wet, heavy clothes as well. 

She threw a dirty look to the paladin who tactically chose to stay back and watch her from under a tree. He simply nudged her playfully and followed her inside the Manor. She half expected to see Alfred with a blanket and hot tea like last time but instead, she found Bruce there. 

He looked tired. There were also fresh bandages around his arms and hands. 

“Um….hi.’’ She said awkwardly, very much aware of the water she was dripping over his floorboards. Did it have to be so loud? It was as if the drops were calling her out on it. 

He handed her a blanket. “Follow me.’’ 

“Oh, um, okay.’’ Was he still angry for that night when she came across those drug traffickers? She hoped not. Fay wasn’t sure if there was a rule or law she broke by taking action in his city. Because isn’t that what Gotham was? Batman’s city. That’s what Robby often said. Even Damian made similar references at times. 

She glanced at Bagheera who did not seem worried, before wrapping the blanket around herself and following the man into the...kitchen? Okay, that was a relatively good sign. Right? 

Her shoes were squeaking. Very loudly. 

Fay sat down at the kitchen island, shivering. She was tempted to squeeze the water that had certainly gathered in her short ponytail, but she refrained. Her hands felt cold. 

But she was pleased to see she wasn’t as out of breath as she once would have been. In fact, she felt good despite the soreness and exhaustion. 

She watched quietly as the man poured her tea. Alfred must have prepared it and left it there for her because the kettle and teacups were already waiting on the marble counter. He was amazing like that. 

Fay self-consciously put four cubes of sugar ignoring the look she was being given before stirring gently and taking a few sips. The liquid scorched her tongue slightly but thankfully she did not pull any embarrassing moments in front of the man. 

“Damian told me your parents were warriors.’’ 

Fay glanced at him nervously. Armour or no armor, he was still rather intimidating. Even when he looked as if he hadn’t slept in years. 

He looked weary. Like her parents did at times. They had Bad Days too. 

She nodded. “Yes, they were.’’ She wondered what else the man knew. Damian told her that most of the information she shared with him stayed between them. Fay was apprehensive about him keeping secrets from his own family but she appreciated the confidentiality he maintained. She’d never tell Damian but she enjoyed having secrets that only they knew about. Bagheera was, of course, still her greatest confidant but she’d never thought she’d have another one (not after Titoh). 

Fay also knew there were certain things he could not keep a secret. He was still Robin. And his father was still Batman. 

“And you’re not.’’ 

Fay shook her head, unsure where this was going. 

“Then what do you call hunting down drug traffickers?’’ He lifted a brow, looking vaguely amused. 

Her cheeks and ears felt hot. She blamed it on the tea. 

“Um…’’ She shrugged. “Not sure.’’ She just did what she thought was right, so she said exactly that to him. 

“You do that quite often.’’ He remarked, sitting down across from her. Unlike her, he had poured himself coffee. Alfred, too, had left that all prepared and waiting. At that point, Fay wasn’t entirely sure if the butler was human. He’d give Moma a run for her money and that was not a conclusion she made lightly. 

“What’s that?’’ 

“Take action and put yourself in dangerous situations.’’ 

Fay wasn’t sure what he was getting at. It felt as if she was being tested. But for what? And why? 

“I---’’ She glanced down at the liquid in her teacup. Linden tea. It was her favorite, at least in that world. Now Alfred always gave her that one. Sugar or honey and lime. Tea has never been a favored drink of hers, but that one made her feel….nostalgic, for some reason. “I guess so. But---that doesn’t mean...it’s not the right thing.’’

“Those criminals had weapons. They could have had bombs as well. If you had been captured, you and your---companion--’’ Bagheera huffed at him. “They would have killed you. Or worse.’’ 

Fay looked up at him. 

“But those dogs and cats would have died. Some of them. They---they were trying to operate on some already when I got there.’’ She felt simultaneously embarrassed and irritated. One emotion she understood, the other she wasn’t entirely sure where it was coming from.

“How do you know there wasn’t any help on the way already? You could have been jeopardizing a police operation or another vigilante’s work.’’ 

Fay mulled over that, guilt rising. She opened her mouth to apologize, but then she thought against it. Months earlier she would have been in tears, feeling ashamed. 

Not anymore. 

She met his gaze. “I don’t know...about any of that. All I know….is that someone was in danger. Even---even if it was just dogs.’’ She shook her head. “I can’t---ignore that.’’ 

“Why not?’’ He prodded calmly. “You’re not a warrior. You are not even of this world.’’ 

She found the last part offensive. 

“I think that if a person can stop another person’s suffering….they should. It doesn’t matter if this is not my world. My parents always said that someone who stands by and does nothing….they are the worst kind of people.’’ 

“Hn.’’ He sipped at his coffee cup. “I agree.’’ 

Fay blinked a few times, then she exhaled. So it was a test, then? 

“Oh.’’ That was all she said and took a few other sips of her tea. 

“But that doesn’t always change the world.’’ He added, after a moment. 

Fay nodded. “I know.’’ She brushed a finger over the intricate gold patterns of the cup. “...Sometimes it doesn’t make a difference at all.’’ She mumbled. After all, all of her parents and the Resistance had done….their actions hadn’t eliminated all conflicts or bloodshed. 

“But---’’ she added after a moment. “There’s good, too.’’ She remembered a similar conversation she had with Damian at the penthouse. When they were still so new to one another. It felt like a lifetime. 

“It’s hard at times to...believe in that.’’ She still struggled sometimes. Especially when she allowed the anger to surface. “But, um, I think it’s worth it.’’ She wouldn’t have had the childhood she did if her parents hadn’t fought for it. Fay owed it to her parents to believe in something more than just the darkness of the world. 

She’s not sure when she started believing again, but she did. 

“Your parents had very strong principles.’’ He paused. “Good principles.’’ 

Fay nodded, lips curling upwards. She wondered where her parents found the strength to maintain those principles after the lives they’ve led and if they ever faltered. If they sometimes felt as if those principles were meaningless against the darkness of the world. She couldn’t imagine her parents experiencing homelessness. 

No more questions came after that and silence fell between them. 

Fay kept sipping on her tea and Bruce kept sipping on his coffee. It wasn’t an entirely uncomfortable atmosphere. 

If it was truly a test, Fay wondered if she passed it. If Damian’s father - Batman out of all people - approved of her. If he thought she was worthy to be his son’s friend and to have a place in that world. She couldn’t ask Damian about it and she lacked the courage to ask Bruce, either. 

Time will tell. 

Fay was mulling over whether she should thank the man for his hospitality - it was his house after all, regardless of Damian being the heir or not - when she heard a familiar voice come down the hall. Two, actually. 

Damian and Dick. A few moments later they stepped into the kitchen, partially suited-up and looking rather wet themselves. 

.

Bruce watched the girl’s eyes light up when she saw Damian step into the kitchen. Fay smiled brightly, positively beaming as she twisted around in her chair to look at the two males. 

The smile may have been for the former Robin as well, but it was particularly directed at Damian.

An odd sight as it was, Bruce could tell Damian took a certain satisfaction in it. The changes in his posture and expression were barely perceptible but undeniable. Green eyes scanned her head to toe quickly, but no less thoroughly and despite him chastising her for stopping after the tenth lap, Bruce caught the way the corner of his mouth twitched when Fay sneezed several times. 

“You’re injured.’’ Fay’s smile faltered instantly, like a candle being snuffed out when she caught sight of the bruise on the side of his forehead. 

“I am fine.’’ His face was unreadable but his eyes darkened when a few drops of blood trickled out of Fay’s nose. The girl reached to her nose, in surprise. 

“Oh. It has been a while since that happened, hasn’t it?’’ Dick asked, looking mildly concerned. 

“It’s okay.’’ Fay said, clutching her nose. “I’ve been training my flux quite a lot in the last weeks so that’s why.’’ Although truth be told, she wasn’t sure if her nose bleeds were entirely normal. Not that she had anyone to ask. 

Alfred appeared a few moments later, who ended up checking Damian’s minor gash if only to assuage the girl’s concern. Bruce was quite certain the boy put up with it - not that he didn’t complain about it several times - only because she looked worried. 

“You should get out of those clothes before you catch a cold, Miss Fay,’’ Alfred said when the girl sneezed a few more times. 

“Okay--- ack !’’ 

Damian dragged her away as soon as Alfred finished his check-up. 

Bruce and Dick exchanged looks. They weren’t aligned on Fay’s presence there. Dick will never be quite as paranoid and suspicious of others as Bruce is. 

But while they had differing opinions, there was an irrefutable fact. 

Damian is gradually ensuring the girl is there to stay. 

.

.

.

Damian was unwell. Remnants of a toxin that behaved like a bacterial infection. Alfred explained how it worked but she was too distraught by the sight of Damian’s glassy eyes and his flushed face. She has never seen him so out of it before---not since Halloween night. 

Being forbidden from going out on patrol did no favors to his temper, and Fay watched him quietly as he paced back and forth the length of her room, vibrating with anger. He would have been more intimidating had it not been for the way he swayed slightly and how gradually worse he looked with each hour pass. 

She didn’t say anything nor try to comfort him because she knew him well enough to know that would be a moot point.

However, when his fever broke and he ended up bedridden, Fay found herself feeling frustrated. Damian always found ways to comfort her when she was unwell, either mentally or physically but she had none. She did not have the musical talent to soothe him as he did. She didn’t know what to say because everything seemed to be the wrong thing to say. 

Fay helped Alfred with the chicken soup and tried to give Damian as much space as possible. He had snapped at her rather harshly only a few minutes earlier. She had been hurt by it initially but then she remembered that Damian was likely not used to being well, vulnerable. 

“I apologize on his behalf, Miss Fay,’’ Alfred said. 

“It’s okay,’’ Fay said as she finished chopping the carrots. “I know he doesn’t really mean it.’’ It still stung though. “Damian….always makes me feel better when I am not well.’’ She added quietly. “I am not sure what I can do to make him feel better, though.’’ 

Alfred smiled at her. “Sometimes the best comfort we can receive from another is knowing their presence by our side is unfaltering. Even when we are not behaving in a deserving manner.’’ 

Fay nodded. 

So she did just that. When she visited him later, he was already asleep. Bruce was already there, silently watching over the boy and she apologized for intruding, but he told her she could stay. 

“He’s--going to be fine, right?’’ She asked meekly, eyes stinging. It was nothing serious, Dick had said. He’ll recover. Damian has an excellent immunity system, far stronger than most other children. 

He’ll be fine. 

However. 

Damian was her friend. A precious person in her life. Just like Bagheera. Which meant that if something happened to him, she’ll….she’ll feel that way again. She’ll have to deal with the loss again. Because she really did care a lot about him, which meant it will hurt at least a hundred times that. 

How hadn’t she thought of it before? She could lose Damian just as suddenly as she did her parents. 

He wasn’t invincible even though he came across like that. 

Nobody was. 

“He’ll be just fine,’’ Bruce remarked, taking note of her watery eyes. 

Fay nodded. 

“He has plenty of eyes looking out for him,’’ Bruce remarked. Titus was curled up on the bed at the boy’s legs and Fay was on one side of the bed, with Bagheera next to her. 

Then he walked out, leaving her alone with the unconscious boys and their furry companions. Fay was glad Damian was asleep or else he would have seen her struggle to contain her tears. 

When she did nudge him awake forty-five minutes later to give him his medication - painkillers, something about the toxins causing migraines -, even in the state he was, he was still more observant than most. 

“You’re crying.’’ 

“I am not.’’ 

“I was poisoned, I am not blind.’’ 

Good to know the toxins take little away from his character. 

“I was, um, just worried.’’ She answered meekly, placing the glass back on the nightstand. “Would you like the music device?’’ She tried to deflect, knowing it was a weak strategy but also her only one. Running out of the room was an option but that would mean leaving him out of her sight and she was irrationally afraid he might disappear. 

Like they did. 

There was a reason why Bagheera rarely ever left her side and it wasn’t just because they were close. Fay struggled with the idea of parting with him, as dependent as that was. Now she also struggled with the idea of parting with Damian. 

He stared at her through half-lidded eyes. They did not have the usual sharpness. The one that she grew familiar with and sometimes made her nervous still. Fay hated it.

 “Your concern is unwarranted. This is nothing.’’ 

“I know.’’ Fay nodded, although she didn’t really believe him. Nobody is safe. Anyone can die. They did, as strong and brilliant as they were. “But...I will always worry.’’ Because that’s the price of a bond with another person. Concern. And constant fear they will leave and never come back. 

“Remind me to give you an additional essay for being an idiot.’’ 

Fay stared at him. Still, a tyrant, even when poisoned, eh?

“I---I will not do such a thing.’’ She mumbled. 

He didn’t say anything, and she watched his eyelids grow heavier. Fay wondered if the pills were truly just painkillers. 

Fay turned off the lamp and sat back down by the bed, leaning her crossed arms over the edge easily seeing how low it was. It was dark and she wasn’t entirely comfortable, but she had no intention of moving away. 

Just in case. 

A few minutes later, she lowered her head over one folded arm and shifted the other, bringing her hand over his. She didn’t want to hold his hand, just to feel his pulse. It assuaged her nerves. 

It was faint but steady. Reassuring. 

Bagheera sat down propped back to back, giving her some support in that position and she felt Titus sniff tentatively at her head as he stretched over the boy’s legs.

She ended up falling asleep, drained by the constant dark thoughts and the crying spell earlier. Fay briefly woke up an indeterminate amount of time later and found her hand over his still. 

She threaded her fingers lightly through his, just in case. It was perhaps selfish but it made her feel better. As if it would be harder for him to disappear like her parents did if she held onto him better. Bagheera was still pressed against her back, reassuring her that he too was not going anywhere. 

The boy’s pulse was stronger but she was too drowsy to make note of it. Instead, she went back to sleep, relieved that both boy and paladin were within her reach. 

 

Notes:

Next chapter will bring back some action and the plot will take a turn once again. Update will be made next week.

Chapter 31: A/N

Summary:

Hi everyone! My apologies for the lack of posting this week but I have been super busy with work and eugh, moving house.

I will be posting a new chapter on 4th of May but in the meantime, I hope you enjoy the creations I've done through Artbreeder (it is absolutely awesome). I am in love with how they came out as I feel they're exactly how I imagine them in my head.

I also have a couple of things in store, so please scroll down to the bottom where you'll find more details :)

Thank you for your patience!

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Damian Wayne 

Damian Wayne

 

Fay :) 

 

Fay

 

Dana Mercher (without the scar)

 

Dana Mercher

 

Daphne Barlow - Cold beauty, eh? 

 

Daphne Barlow

 

Cora Montgomery 

 

Cora Montgomery

Colin Wilkes

Colin Wilkes

 

 

Notes:

Random facts about this fanfiction:

*When I first wrote the story, the way Damian and Fay met was completely different. Fay was still running errands and doing odd jobs but there was no Dana or attic. Instead she made a shelter out of a warehouse in Burnside and Damian first noticed her when she was cleaning at a restaurant he frequents because of the Middle Eastern dishes served there. So no museum, no burning building or even the 'Angel'. Bagheera also wore a collar that made him look more like a dog and he had horns! I ended up scrapping thousands of words because the museum/painting idea came in my mind.

**The story will be in two parts. One following Fay and Damian's friendship through several years as they both grow up, and the second them as adults. Can't reveal much more without spoiling things but there'll be lots of adventure and action and growth.

***I already have the story outlined in broad strokes including what'll happen in the second part. That's because this fanfic was born with a one-shot idea of my original character Fay meeting Damian as an adult. She's very different in my original work than she'll be in this fanfiction but I already have some ideas I want to incorporate.

Chapter 32: Of unexpected tourists and secrets

Notes:

Here it is -- shorter than usual, but relatively satisfied with how it came out. Unfortunately, it is not as proof-read as well as usual as I have not had a chance to have lovely AegyoButPsycho take a look at it. So, my apologies for any grammatical mistakes. I will have the chapter edited throughout the week as I get a bit more free time.

Chapter Text

“Secrets have a way of making themselves felt, even before you know there’s a secret.’’

Jean Ferris

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May 20th

Daphne felt like an idiot. That did not happen often. But to her credit, most people would feel the same in that situation. The visions had only given her glimpses of where the girl had stepped foot in. Some of them were decidedly not of that world. Daphne recognized the jungles of Maysoon immediately despite how fragmented the memories were. There were other places too. From both worlds. The girl had travelled extensively, then.

There was a wolf too. Perhaps not a wolf. Not really. If the girl was who Daphne thought she was, then the creature was a paladin. Imagine that – a girl wandering about with her paladin on the streets of one of the most dangerous cities in the States.

The boy was in the memories too. Not particularly clear. Green eyes. He had green eyes. Daphne could not confirm his identity, but he was indeed just a child.

A kitchen. Industrial by the size of it. A museum. Gotham Museum, most likely. Of course, there were the stronger memories as well. Brief yet powerful. Bodies. Burning buildings. Smoke. Death, death, death. Screams.

So much for a new era of peace, huh?

Daphne spent several days being driven around Gotham. She went to the museum, visited it several times in hopes she might get a read or even spot the girl. She did not know how the girl looked, but Daphne is fairly confident she’d be able to recognize her. If the girl had a paladin, it was likely he will be with her too, drawing attention.

Then again, he was not at the warehouse in London. That must have been on purpose, though.

A week after her arrival there, Daphne braved the city on foot. She dreaded walking around the city but staying in the car meant she could have missed things. By her third week there, Daphne had crossed of over seventy different establishments. By the beginning of the fourth week, Daphne was feeling slightly murderous. If only he had been there---she would have liked to slap him. But then again, he would have been so polite about it he would have allowed her and asked for a second, just to be fair.

It was a moot point visiting different places and trying to get a read. It was like finding a needle in a haystack.

The kitchen could not have belonged to a restaurant, even if it matched the description. The girl was too young to work in one and the boy – unless there was a third person involved which Daphne doubted – had to be wealthy to have access to such tech and resources to track Daphne down in that manner.

The children were allies or friends of sorts, so why would the girl need to sustain herself in that manner? Although the circumstances of how they met intrigued Daphne. History repeating itself, is it? There were strong emotions associated with the Museum of Gotham, so Daphne visited it every day throughout her fifth week there. Under different circumstances, she would have appreciated the exhibits more. For all its problems, Gotham had certainly done a good job investing in that place.

By the end of the sixth week, she was feeling calmer. There was no need to seek out the children. Judging by the way they tracked her down in London and intercepted her, it was very likely she was still being monitored even then.

They will come to her.

It was only a matter of time.

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.

.

Barlow has been in Gotham for several weeks now. Fay was oblivious to that particular information, even though Damian has been monitoring the renowned psychologist for just as long as she’s been in Gotham. Barlow was clearly looking for them, or specifically Fay, seeing as she searching through Gotham like a hound dog. Her stops had seemed random to begin with, until she went to the museum. Repeatedly.

Barlow knew Fay had ties to that place.

It should not have been possible. Not only Barlow had not seen their faces, but to precisely choose that location, in that city, half-way across the world was alarming. Damian’s first theory was that Barlow was, after all, either working for or with the Sponsor. He has never dismissed that theory entirely, not after the clear distaste and grudge she had exhibited for her former world. A good motive to help criminals transport goods and weapons from one realm to another.

However, after their encounter in London, Barlow’s behaviour and actions had not raised any flags. She became an even more fervent recluse, barely leaving her property for weeks. Damian had monitored her house and her electronic devices. Nothing out of ordinary. The only communication she had was with her family or assistant.

Well, that was a sign in itself, actually. One possibility was that she had been rattled by the encounter and thought she would be safer if she completely isolated herself from the outside world. Another possibility was that she knew she was being watched and wanted them to think she was doing the first. Those two scenarios were not mutually exclusive.

Then, suddenly, she decided to take a vacation away from her family even though her nephew is still recovering from the kidnapping ordeal in Paris. Barlow is not the type of person to take up and leave on trips unless necessary. She had lied to both her assistant and family about why she is taking the time off.

Barlow knew Fay was in Gotham, and that she had ties to the museum. She potentially knew about the soup kitchen as well but seeing as she did not visit Soul Bowl yet, she had no specific location in mind. If the Sponsor was helping Barlow, then they had enough information to know Fay was in Gotham.

How could they know she frequented the museum but not know who she was?

How does one have information on a person’s character and location but not their identity?

Fay has no social media footprint; she is not officially registered anywhere. Even if – although very unlikely – her identity as Fay Kipling would have been unearthed, there would be hardly any information on her. At worst, if a truly astounding hacker were behind it, they would find – after going through many virtual obstacles in form of codes and firewalls – that Fay Kipling doesn’t exist. Even then, Damian would be alerted to anyone searching her up. The probability of someone bypassing the virtual barriers he has put in place, in an undetected manner is very, very small.

Not impossible, however, which means however improbable, a hacker of that talent and endowed with resources on par with the Bat-computer could not be eliminated from equation. It was not a scenario his pride enjoyed entertaining, but it would have been irresponsible not to consider it.

Barlow was intelligent enough to expect them to monitor her still which meant she would not exclude the possibility of her presence in Gotham being detected. Rather odd that the Sponsor would have her do the fieldwork in such an obvious manner. She wanted to be found, then. But why? Between Damian and Bagheera, they would have detected any sign of deceit back in London. That she had secrets and had not been forthcoming with them that night was hardly news. Barlow clearly knew more than she let on, but her bitterness and anger towards her former realm had been genuine.

What changed?

Damian will find out sooner or later, but ensuring Fay was undetected in the meantime was crucial. She had not visited Gotham Museum in weeks, not unless he accompanied her and when they did go, it was after hours. He had prohibited those trips after he observed Barlow attending the museum on a regular basis, giving her at least a month since she’s been there. Three since she’s gone to Soul Bowl. He had also reminded Rochester of the importance of keeping Fay’s ties to him and the museum confidential.

He knew Fay was disappointed she hadn’t gone to either of those locations, but Damian made sure to keep her busy with training and assignments. He also increased her time at the Manor if he was busy with a case or away for longer than twenty-four hours. The warehouse was a perfectly safe location but at the Manor, she would be under constant supervision. Plus, all the animals were there and she had a whole garden for herself, so that was bound to assuage her.

Barlow did not ask questions about Fay; she did not try to actively find out if the girl had indeed frequented any of those places she went at. Instead, she would sit back and observe. At the museum, she would roam around, from exhibit to exhibit. In bookshops and libraries, she would peruse through books as any other customer. In restaurants, she would just reserve a table and order and eat. Just like any other guest.

At first glance, Barlow was a tourist. In Gotham of all places, but nonetheless a visitor who wished to keep her presence there discreet but not secret enough that she will not be found by them.

Barlow always wore gloves. She did at the symposium, and she did the evening they spoke to her. Could have been chalked up to the winter weather and general humidity of the country. However, it was now late May and even for a town as foggy and cloudy city like Gotham, the weather was warm enough to warrant thin layers and short sleeves.

Barlow never gave up on the gloves. Or the scarf, which she would often keep wrapped around her head as well, no doubt because of her hair attracting attention.

Except the gloves did start coming off. In those same libraries and bookshops and restaurants she visited. At the museum, too. Not because she was uncomfortable wearing them or because it was too hot.

But to touch things. In such a deliberate manner yet with such random objects that Damian could not pass it off as an idiosyncrasy.  

Barlow would touch doorframes, and tables and benches. Just briefly. Gloves off, tap or brief brush of her bare hand (between three to five seconds, never both hands at the same time), then gloves back on. Those were the type of objects that people instinctively or inadvertently touch in any public spaces. But she didn’t remove her gloves when she ate or when she perused through books which would have been the normal thing to do.

In London, neither one of them had skin to skin contact with her. Damian had been on the backseat the entire time, his sword the only thing connecting them. Fay had kept her distance the entire time they talked.  

Except.

Except when she gave Barlow the card. There was no contact between the two directly. Barlow was still wearing gloves.

Which meant---

Interesting.

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21st of May

Daphne is not surprised it was the boy who showed up. Or that she found him lurking in the shadows in her hotel room, dressed in all-black, hood and mask shielding his features. She sensed him this time, and she was willing to bet it was because he wanted so.

Child or not, he was a dangerous one.

She was more annoyed than frightened, however, and she expressed that while casually removing her shoes and placing her handbag on the table in the middle across from her bed.

“Shouldn’t you find a better hobby than stalking an old woman?’’

“Funny you should say that.’’ The boy remarked coldly, nothing in his tone suggesting he found the situation funny in any way. “You’ve been doing some stalking of your own.’’ Daphne’s lips curled at that, as she sat down on the chair at the table after removing her coat. The boy was dangerous, but she did not think he would harm her. Not right then anyway.

“I knew you would eventually come find me.’’ The boy said nothing, and Daphne did not look at him, but she caught the glint of metal even in the dimly lit room. She did not bother turning the lights on except for a couple of lamps. “Where’s your friend?’’ She asked calmly.

“What is your purpose here?’’ He asked, instead completely ignoring her.

Daphne pulled out a cigarette out of her handbag along with her lighter, before lighting it up and taking a puff. “I would like to speak to your friend.’’

“That’s not going to happen.’’ The boy tutted. “What changed?’’

Daphne exhaled, releasing a cloud of smoke before rearranging the scarf around her neck with her free hand. “You’re from this world, are you not, boy? So, I doubt anything I would say would make sense to you.’’ She tilted her head to look at him. “I will speak her only.’’ Her silvery eyes fell on the sword which he kept in his left hand. A warning. Many others would have been intimidated. But not her.

 “And don’t even think about threatening me with that sword of yours. It will not work.’’ She took another puff and then released it. It was best if she changed tactics. “You wish for her safety do you not, boy?’’

He did not answer.

He did not need to. Daphne had caught the way he hovered over her at the warehouse. Arrogant and aggressive as he may be, the girl was not scared of him. She had seemed ashamed not terrified when the boy learned about the Seekers. And as fragmented as the memories she read off the card were, the emotions did not lie.

“I have a message for her. Pass that for me, and how about you let her decide whether she wants to see me?’’ Daphne continued.

“Go ahead.’’

“Tell her that I knew her father.’’ She paused as she exhaled again. “And I will tell her everything I know.’’

.

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23rd of May

People often assumed that because she is a quiet, shy character, Fay is also incapable of being independent. Which was in a way, rather ridiculous, seeing as since she was very young, she would spend days and nights in an ancient jungle known for being as deadly as it is beautiful. If anything, Fay finds it easier to function when she is not around people. People make her anxious, they judge her, they make her feel all wrong and even if they do not, she will just worry about the moment when they will finally do so because, well. It generally happens. Of course, in that world she seemed to have found more exceptions than she expected. But that did not mean she was not wary still of most people. Her self-esteem may have improved – somewhat- but if she had to choose between being on her own or around people, she would choose the first.

Bagheera was by default included in that scenario.

And so was Damian, for that matter. More and more with each day pass. Even if he was still overly demanding and obnoxious plenty of times. Even if at times, he seemed to be under the impression that just because she was submissive and tended to go along with his orders, that meant he could decide everything she did. It did not happen often and when she did, Fay had a tendency to let it go. She knew that made her weak and soft-hearted but it was also the practical thing to do – roaming around Gotham the way she used to do in the beginning was not safe. It was not needed anymore either given her accommodations and resources and the activities she had every day.

She had adapted to the curfew and the constant monitoring and the constant check-ins. They are necessary, they are not there to stifle her independence. They are for her safety. She understands that, rationally.

But it sounds all too familiar. After her parents’ death, after the void was gone and she had left the healers wing to join the living (even if she did not feel alive), her family had been just as protective. Chaperones everywhere she went. Time in the jungle limited and even when she was there, it was never just her and the jungle, even if Bagheera was by her side. There would always be eyes watching her. She would often wonder what those guards thought of her---the frail, cry-baby child of the warriors they looked up to and aspired to be. The one who kept humiliating herself, who could not find her strength to move on and become stronger. Fay wondered what Thelion would think of her if he saw her then. He was always kind to her. Or maybe he had to be because that was his job.

Fay was not sure, after that night, who were the people who genuinely cared about her. Sometimes, she had wondered if her family truly cared as well. Then again, no one’s love felt the same as her parents did.

But her safety was important, they would say. Why though? Why was it important? What difference did it make if Fay of Maysoon died or lived? What did she have to offer? Why was she more deserving of safety than all those other children who also lost their parents and felt the same pain she did?

But it matters if Fay, the friend of Damian, died. To him, it did. Fay is not sure whether he would miss her as much as she would miss him, or if he would be as hurt by it but she knows he values her friendship. Why on earth he would, that is still largely a mystery to her.

So that’s why Fay did not protest much even when sometimes her anxiety levels would go up with all the rules that were imposed on her lately. Like when he told her that it was best if she did not go into Gotham without being accompanied. When the visits to the museum have reduced then eliminated completely in the past month. When he told her its best if she stays at the Manor if he cannot come to the warehouse, even though she enjoys the solitude she has at the warehouse. From a rational point of view, there is nothing wrong. Those decisions are practical, they are meant to keep her safe because he is not just her friend but also Robin, so he has other responsibilities to worry about. Fay would not want him to be distracted from his work – helping other people and putting away monsters – because she might be in danger.

But she can tell something is off even without needing to check in with Bagheera.

She asks him, because as paranoid and insecure as she could still be at times, her instincts were generally correct. Especially when there were no constant panic attacks to muddle their message. Fay gathers the courage to finally ask him, after two weeks of new rules piling on top of one another. She can tell something is wrong, that he knows something she doesn’t and not just in terms of general knowledge of that world. Something happened and he’s not telling her about it, but it’s bad enough to warrant him to be extra cautious about her day to day whereabouts.

And when he brushes her off, in that brisk and harsh manner of his, she’s suddenly reminded of her uncle. Fay feels as if she’s back home, in that chair before the desk, head bowed and trying to contain her tears as she listens to her uncle’s stern reprimand on why it was reckless for her to engage with the other children, instead of taking the highroad. Or another time, why she can’t just go roaming the jungle on her own anymore. He’d never say out loud Maysoon is no longer the same after they died, but it’s implicit and she has never quite realized it back then, but it had made her furious, too, not just sad.

So that anger of hers, that never truly leaves even if it now has to contend with more positive emotions as well, bubbles up to the surface just as a sharp pang hits her heart. Fay’s felt irritated with Damian before, but she’s not sure she has ever felt quite that angry – and disappointed – with him until that moment. Not even that day when they first met.

He can’t see it either, can he? That even if she is weak – although she’s trying to address that – she does not wish to be treated as if she’s easily broken. That she is really sick of it, and that sort of treatment was one of the reasons why she ran away from home.

“I am not leaving the warehouse.’’ She says quietly, and she looks at the ground. Damian stops talking, and she knows he can very easily see how teary her eyes but also how her hands are bunching into fists. She simultaneously wants to cry and scream and punch something. She’s been working on her anxieties and fears, but her emotions are never any less than powerful and confusing. “And—if I want to go somewhere, I will.’’

“You’re acting foolish—‘’

That dark, ugly voice at the back of her head whispers He’s just like everyone else.

Don’t say to me.’’ Later, she’ll feel both proud and embarrassed of how borderline homicidal she sounded. “You’re---you’re hiding something from me.’’ There. That’s perhaps what hurts most. “And that’s not what friends do. And---‘’ she gritted her teeth. “---I really don’t like it when you treat me as if—I don’t get to have a choice. You’re not---tell-telling me anything and you’re not---you don’t even want to know whether I agree or not. I don’t----I don’t like being controlled like that.’’ There. There, there, there.

And with that, she whirled on her feet, walked up the stairs and stormed to her bedroom, the tears already free falling down her cheeks. She wiped at them furiously feeling annoyed that she ended up crying again instead of just being more eloquent and firm about how she felt. Her mother was short-tempered but she never faltered or stuttered the way Fay did. And her father was an incredibly speaker, so Fay didn’t even bother to compare herself with him (she always did).

Damian didn’t follow her, and even Bagheera chose to wisely keep his distance until she cooled off. After hiding forty-five minutes under the cover, her emotions a rollercoaster, Fay decided to clean her room. There was no need for it, but staying still in bed only made her overthink things so moving around gave her something to do. She did not have the courage to leave her room and face Damian again.

She didn’t need to.

Damian wasn’t even at the warehouse anymore.

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.

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Dick loves Damian. Dearly so. 

Even when he is a irritable mood, giving Dick the impression of a very angry cat. One that is excellent at wielding a sword and breaking grown men’s bones. One that seems hell bent on starting an argument, all the while inflicting more pain than necessary on the amateur gang of robbers they busted that evening.

Ah.

So this was about Fay, then. Dick tries not to look as amused as he feels, lest the boy might try to stab him in the face.

Ultimately, Damian tells him about Daphne Barlow. And he justifies keeping it a secret from his friend for her own good because he has not yet established whether Barlow is lying, and she is trying to bait Fay out. He also points out, rather self-assuredly that Fay is foolishly choosing to be reckless and irresponsible, rather than heed to his rules.

Dick wonders if it’s too late to ring Bruce and let him have that one. He doesn’t, because he knows it’d likely just go worse from there. Plus, he knows Damian’s perspective on protecting his friend – as twisted and convoluted as it may be – is a positive sign (sort of), as much as it makes the former Robin want to slap his forehead. The kid is brilliant, but his interpersonal skills were still very much lacking.

So was his understanding as to why his friend might not be entirely happy with being placed under a strict curfew and borderline lockdown without being told why or for how long.

Damian must contend with the idea that Fay might choose to hear out Barlow, that the woman might be telling the truth and therefore, offer the girl a way back home. For any other child, losing a friend would be upsetting. They might cry, and they might try to rebel against those circumstances that are impacting their friendship. But they would move on ultimately. New friends might come along and alleviate the sting of loss. It’s just the way of life.

But it is not the same impact it would have on someone who has only just become accustomed to the notion of forming bonds with others, of considering friendships a positive and not something to be scorned at. So at the end of the evening, Dick sits with him on that roof they always do towards the end of patrol.

Damian would rather die than admit it’s a favourite spot, and Dick wisely doesn’t bring it up, as they both watch the city below.

Giving Damian a lecture won’t work. He’s learned that the hard way.

No, working through the issue logically and offering him insight in how his actions affected others was better. Usually, anyways. Damian could be infinitely stubborn.

Dick points out that the other perspective must be assessed as well. Fay trusts Damian the most in that world, making him as important to her as her paladin. She cared, enough to defy Talia and risk incurring her wrath and she often goes along with all the plans Damian has, even if she doesn’t always agree. Because she trusts him. Because she wholeheartedly sees him as her friend. A good friend.

Now, Dick may not know her full background, but he’s gotten enough bits and pieces from Damian to understand Fay had to deal with a lot of pressure being put on her shoulders after her parent’s death. She was wealthy and there were expectations, which means her freedom was curbed as well. But she’s clearly resourceful and a survivalist and not defenceless at all. So, as emotional as she may have been, her reaction to him withholding information and limiting—even with good, logical intentions – her freedom, is justified.

And when Damian tries to protest – although far less vocal than before – Dick goes for the final strike. When Fay had kept information from him, Damian had felt annoyed as well (understatement of the year). She has learned from that and since then has had complete faith in him, which means she’ll expect the same. It may be harder for Damian to put such trust in her – or anyone, for that matter – but they can’t be friends if they don’t trust each other.

Unsurprisingly, Damian felt the need to have last word by pointing out that by that logic, Fay should trust his. A valid point, if only misplaced in that situation.

Dick leaves it at that, because he knows his words have gotten through even if the boy behaves otherwise.

(He really hopes so.)

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.

Fay went to sleep later than usual, her mind whirring constantly with thoughts and the crying sensation returning intermittently through the evening. Even when she did fall asleep, she ended up turning and tossing all night which earns her a scratch on the leg from a very annoyed Nada.

She feels irritated still with Damian. But she also feels guilty about her outburst, always feeling that perhaps she’s overreacted. She also feels anxious, which feeds into old voices that tell her Damian might just come back and tell her she’s too difficult to deal with, so they can no longer be friends. Fay ends up dreaming about it, too, so at four o’clock in the morning, she finds herself scrubbing the kitchen.

Her mind feels as if there’s different people arguing inside it. One that says she was justified in reacting the way she did. One that says she’s being ungrateful and a terrible friend, because she should trust Damian more after everything they’ve been through. Another that says that if she hadn’t been so weak still, then perhaps people wouldn’t feel the need to protect her all the time. There’s also the voice that says that she is stronger, and that she’s gotten better so regardless of what happens, she’ll be fine just like before. That voice has never really been there months earlier so it’s progress. Right?

Fay is scrubbing so hard at the floor, at the invisible stains there, that she ends up drawing blood from her cuticles. She sighs loudly when she sees the state of her hands and tries to stand up so she can go and tend to them. Of course, she ends up knocking the bucket of soapy water and falls over onto the hard floor, liquid sloshing everywhere, drenching her clothes. She also hits her head against the kitchen island---not hard enough to knock her out but her head immediately starts pounding.

And that is how Damian finds her, clumsily pulling herself in a kneeling position, fingers bleeding slightly and an ugly red bump forming on the side of her forehead.

He’s still in his Robin suit so she can’t make out his expression clearly but when she does look up at him, Fay suddenly feels like crying. For different reasons, some more irrational than others. Embarrassment, primarily because in that state, she’s not really making the case for someone who is capable of taking care of themselves.

“What are you doing, you idiot?’’

“I…don’t know.’’

He tutted and then pulled her up quickly yet not unkindly, his hold on her surprisingly gentle. He smelt of oil and Kevlar and sweat, which was understandable given he must have spent the entire night chasing and fighting criminals. There was dust and small splotches of blood littering his outfit as well.

…he came straight here after patrol?

She didn’t ask and he didn’t tell her, as he instead nudged her towards the sink where he turned on the faucet and instructed her gruffly to wash her hands. She did exactly that, avoiding his gaze as she felt him prod at her temple gently, most likely assessing the bump there.

“Any dizziness, nausea and or headache?’’ He asks.

She shook her head. “My head hurts a bit but none of the other.’’

“Go get changed.’’ He ordered, then added, in a perceptibly softer tone. “We need to talk.’’

Fay nodded and watched him walk away and up the stairs, before she heard the soft click of his bedroom door. Bagheera, who had drowsily followed her into the kitchen, just stared at her. She sighed, then headed upstairs herself, after mopping as much as she could of the water on the floor. Fay would lie if she said she didn’t feel nervous about whatever talk Damian wanted to have with her.

She changed into a pair of loose cotton trousers and a baggy t-shirt, before washing her hands and face. Her fingers were not that bad once she cleaned them, and they’ll likely be healed by morning. The bump on her forehead looked awful and it was tender, but she ignored it, as she pulled her hair back into a low ponytail. She had wanted to ask Dana to cut it again but she hasn’t exactly made it to the Soul Bowl lately.

Turning off the lights, she headed back into her bedroom, stopping short when she saw Damian sitting cross-legged on her bed, a towel around his shoulders. She hadn’t even heard him come in.

Hesitantly, she climbed into bed, instinctively keeping her distance as she pulled the blanket up to her waist. It was warmer outside, but the weighted blanket helped her sleep better. Another one of those things that just appeared in her room although she’s never asked for it. That thought made her feel even guiltier about her earlier outburst.

Damian had a neutral look on his face, and she stared down at her lap, feeling awkward as silence enveloped them. Bagheera had immediately gone back to sleep on his pillow, Pip and Hector curled up against him. Nada was rubbing her head against Damian’s knee.

“Daphne Barlow is in Gotham and she is after you’’

Fay looked up at him bewildered. She opened her mouth, then closed it as her mind tried to process what he’s just said. Did he have to just throw that information at her like that?

“What---‘’ She tried, then stopped again. “How---long?’’ How long has she been looking? How long has he known? What does she want? Did she change her mind? Is she a threat? Why hasn’t he told her?

Damian sighed as he removed the towel from his shoulders and chucked it over the blanket box at the end of her bed. “She does not know your real identity. Or mine for that matter. But she knows we live in Gotham, and she also knows that you like to frequent the museum and places that sell books. I believe she may also be suspecting the soup kitchen.’’

Fay was silent for a moment as she took that in. “That—doesn’t make sense. How does she know all that but she doesn’t know who I am?’’ There are very few people who knew that much about her.

Damian tells her about his initial theories that Daphne may be working with the Sponsor and that she may have access to far more resources than they anticipated. Rather far-fetched but not impossible. However, the observations he’s made from the footage he’s gotten of her tells him that there’s another scenario to be considered—as improbable as it may be, it does make sense.

“Psycho---psychometry?’’ She repeated. She wasn’t confident she fully understood the meaning of the word, but it didn’t matter. He also explained what he saw on that footage and why he thought Daphne had psychometric powers. “The ability to obtain historical memories or sensations from objects and sentient creatures.’’ He elaborated. “I do not know of many capable of that ability but it is hardly a surprising revelation. Do you know of any clans that are characterised by such abilities?’’

Fay absent-mindedly scratched at her chin as she thought about that. She has heard about such abilities before—and it’s variations. It was not uncommon, especially among the more gifted and powerful clans. There was one such person amongst the team of healers that have supervised her in the weeks following the death of her parents.

“She said she was a healer.’’ She muttered. “So---not a healer of the body.’’ Fay looked up at Damian. “I only ever met one other person who can do that—he was one of the healers my—my family asked to—‘’ She swallowed. “—to monitor me.’’

“Did his abilities rely on the tactile sense as well?’’

She couldn’t remember much. That particular healer was around mostly in those first weeks when she was completely out of it. She’d seen him a few times afterwards, for occasional check ups but he’s never actually used his abilities. He just acted as a general healer and asked her questions on what she remembered and what she didn’t, on her panic attacks and migraines.

“I---I don’t remember much.’’ She admitted. “…I wasn’t really myself back—back then. Right after….it happened. I did see him again but he didn’t---use his abilities. I don’t think.’’ She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “There are different types though---of abilities like that. And not all of them require to—touch something or someone, I don’t think. But those are not very common.’’ Her father could very well fall into such a category but she’d rather not open that line of discussion.

“It was the card.’’ He said after a moment. “I believe she may have absorbed some information from the card.’’

Dread settled in her stomach.

Oh.

“It’s my fault—‘’

“It was not a scenario I considered.’’ He cut her off, sneering. It wasn’t directed at her, she knew, but Fay still felt guilty.

Silence enveloped them again and Fay eyed his profile in the dimly lit room. There was just one string of fairy lights left on, by the TV but their brightness only went so far. “Do---do you think she’s telling the truth? About having known my father?’’

His jaw tightened, his brows narrowing further. “I detected no sense of deceit but she refused to disclose further information unless she spoke to you directly.’’

Fay nodded. “I see.’’ She really didn’t. She would lie if she said her heart didn’t soar upon hearing Daphne had known her father personally. But then she realized it didn’t mean anything, rather quickly. Daphne had expressed a genuine distaste for the other world, and particularly the royals---which meant her family. The woman hadn’t really confirmed whether she knew who Fay really was, so by default it didn’t really mean she knew Fay’s father in a positive way. Not considering what had been done to her and her family.

And plus, even if she did know Fay’s father and she wasn’t a threat, what changed from London? And what difference did it make? Fay was curious to know how Daphne knew her father, but it could be very well that the woman only knew him in the same way many others did in Maysoon. As the warrior, the heir. Not the man that he truly was. After all, Daphne seemed to hate Maysoon enough to not believe it could be changed so it doesn’t feel like she would have gotten along with Fay’s father.

But when considering all that, the fact that Damian kept it a secret stung Fay even more.

“…you could have told me.’’ She mumbled, sliding down under the blanket and putting her head against the pillow. “I…I would have not done anything.’’ She would have trusted him if he said it wasn’t safe to approach her. It would have also made more sense why he was being so strict about what where she went and when and with whom.

Silence again.

Damian laid down beside her, on top of the blanket. He smelt of peppermint, most likely as a result of the shower he’s just taken.

“Do not raise your hopes until we have more data.’’ He said. “Even if she is not lying, she may not have valid information. And it is inconclusive still, whether she is working for the Sponsor.’’

“I know.’’ She said, expression still downcast. “Does---Does she know about you?’’ A sliver of panic worked it’s way up as she thought about Damian’s – and his family's’- identity being exposed because he helped her. Because of her.

“The likelihood is minimal.’’ He responded. “Her behaviour make no indicate she’s aware of it—or she would have found better ways to contact me, rather than wait for me to go to her.’’  

“Hn.’’ He didn’t reach to her, but she suddenly wished he did. “Please don’t…keep things from me.’’ She asked softly. It hurts when you do that. She wanted him to trust her the way she trusted him, but she wasn’t sure he did. Fay didn’t know how to ask if he did and was afraid of the answer he might give her.

“I cannot promise there won’t be times when I must withhold information,’’ Her heart sunk. “But I vow to you that I will never lie unless absolutely necessary.’’

“This wasn’t absolute—‘’

“—Tt—I know.’’

It would really kill him if he said sorry, wouldn’t it?

“You have my word.’’ He added a moment later.

It will have to do. He didn’t give his word easily, that was for certain.

Damian didn’t really tell her why he lied, because it seemed illogical that he did in that situation, but Fay didn’t prod. Sometimes, she was lost by how his mind worked.

Instead, she inched closer and pressed her head against his shoulder.

“Is---is it okay if you do that thing with the pressure points?’’ she asked shyly. “My head really hurts.’’ And maybe, just maybe, it’ll take away the agitation she was trying to suppress from turning into a full-blown panic attack.

He tutted again. “No. I have clearly spoiled you.’’

He really, really has not. Point in case, she has a three-thousand word essay due in two days on some obscure war that took place in Europe.

“But…it’s your fault my head hurts.’’ She pouted.

“That’s ridiculous. I shall not be held responsible for your atrocious coordination and lack of balance---‘’

“---you lied to me so I was upset and I couldn’t sleep---‘’

“---you have become quite conniving---‘’

“---you were being deceiving---‘’

“---it’s deceitful. I ought to give you additional work around the proper grammatical conjugation---‘’

“So---so you admit to it?’’

“—Tt— Just go to sleep already or I will knock you out.’’

Fay smiled softly but it was half-hearted, the anxiety still lingering.

Why couldn’t things just stay the way they were?

Why did something or someone always have to try and take away what she had?

.

.

.

Damian would never admit he was wrong. Because he didn’t think he had been. Not really. He had detected a potential threat, one that was clearly far more resourceful than they anticipated. Barlow was too close. She was too close to reaching Fay and that wouldn’t do. All the new rules he’s put in place were perfectly logical when one considered Barlow’s psychometric abilities. Damian wouldn’t dismiss other theories so easily but that one in particular held most weight currently.

Prepare for the worst, was his father’s philosophy. In that case, the worst case scenario was that Barlow would find Fay who would not only in physical danger, but could have crucial information extracted from her. The fact that the woman claimed she knew Fay’s parents did not make her any less threat. The positive was that Barlow did not know about the warehouse. Or his identity. If she had, she would have already used it to her advantage. If Barlow is working with the Sponsor, it would have been highly advantageous for them to know about Fay’s ties to Robin.

Fay’s heartbeat finally slowed down, her breathing steadier than before. She shifted slightly, moving her head away from his shoulder onto the pillow, blanket pulled up to her shoulders. He tilted his head towards her, making out her features easily even in the darkness. Fay has been unhappy for a while, judging by her outburst the previous day. She has never quite shown him that level of anger before, but it wasn’t directed just as him. It was that anger of hers, the one she held for her family and the world and the loss of her parents.

But he had brought that forth. She felt that he was controlling her, that he was robbing off of her voice. Just like her family did. Did she really think that of him? That he was not giving her a choice? It had not been his intention to upset her. To make her cry. Couldn’t she trust that he was doing all this for her own good?

No, that was not problem, Grayson had said and Fay confirmed as much. She would always trust his decisions because she believes in him. It’s transparency that she is after because bonds between people require an equivalent exchange. Turning on his side, he reached for her head, skilfully pressing into the pressure points he knew would alleviate some of the tension she felt. She shifted slightly, but otherwise didn’t wake up, only relaxing further and her sleep deepening.

Friendships are a liability and a nuisance. But he has already made an exception and he will not back down from it. Fay has proven herself worthy of that exception, so she’ll have his protection and loyalty in return.

He will not hesitate to strike down anyone who dared to harm her.

He could not – will not – stop her when – if – the time comes for her to make a decision on returning to her home world. Grayson underestimated the respect he had for her in that regard. Understandable, seeing as there were not many the individuals that Damian offered such a honour to. But the way he sees it, as her friend, he has the prerogative – no, the duty– to show her why staying is the better choice.

She’s obviously much happier there, anyway (with him, because of him).

He smirked when he caught sight of the pale blue eyes glaring at him from across the room.

Chapter 33: Of contingency plans and favours

Notes:

Shorter chapter than usual again. I am afraid the next chapter won't come out until end of this month due to work and my house move. However, as I do have a couple of chapters and some drabbles already written out--just need to review and proof-read them, so I will make the wait worthwhile by posting multiple stuff next time. The drabbles both AU and Canon will be posted in a different collection, so if you want to be notified to them, you'll need to subscribe to those or my profile.

I am very excited about what's coming next as to me the story is entering a new phase--so there'll be new characters, more plot and more growth for our main characters.

Also, bear with me if there's any errors -- I have tried to get this chapter as quick as possible out, as I will have intermittent connection over next couple of weeks and it would be much harder to post from my phone.

I hope you enjoy, as always!

Chapter Text

“To accept a favour from a friend is to confer one.’’ 

John Churton Collins

 

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.

.

“Calm down.’’ 

“I am---I am trying .’’

She was, he knew she was. The panic attack she had earlier was already subsiding and it required less intervention from him than months earlier, even if that meant she had to eat several ice cubes to keep herself calm. Bagheera stayed pressed by her side, as she sat down on the floor in the living room, back pressed against the sofa and a bowl of half-melted ice cubes in her lap. Her hands were full of red hives, some of which had started popping up towards her elbows and neck---and the idiot kept scratching them, just as she kept picking at her face, resulting in a red nose. He had slept only a few hours – he rarely slept longer than that – but Fay was not awake until early lunchtime. It had been just fine by him, seeing as he wanted to work out the details of their next steps. 

But ever since she woke up, Fay has been in a constant state of agitation, which culminated in a panic attack when she finally realized the dangerous implications of Daphne knowing their identities. His, specifically. 

Typical. Fay would think herself into a state of panic over others rather than her own safety. And naturally, once she considered the consequences of anyone finding out Robin’s identity, the guilt followed. He could see it form on her face even before she voiced it. 

Fay was blaming herself, which was really not necessary. Damian didn’t. She had not known what Barlow was capable of. Also, it was a waste of energy worrying about what has been when what mattered is how they could use Barlow’s knowledge gaps to their advantage. She may have tracked them down to Gotham, but that also meant she was on his territory. A single wrong move, and he’ll make her understand just who she is truly dealing with. 

Fay inhaled loudly then exhaled, blowing air over the rashes on her hands, before reaching to tie her hair back. She didn’t like her hair long, Damian noted—had something to do with her mother, most likely—but she had been too shy to ask Alfred to cut it for her, seeing as Dana wasn’t an option for the time being. 

“Okay.’’ She mumbled. “Okay.’’ She repeated, mostly to herself before doing that breathing exercise he’d shown her all those months earlier at the penthouse. 

She sighed again. “So---you’re sure she doesn’t know?’’ 

“Yes.’’ 

“And---and she hasn’t done or—or said anything else?’’ 

“No.’’ 

Fay nodded, then glanced at her lap. Her hands were shaking slightly as she moved the bowl from her lap to the coffee table, then pulled herself on the couch to sit next to him. “What is the plan?’’ she asked softly, brushing her damp hands over the hubs of her kneecaps. Damian glanced at the dark patterns of the marks exposed on her legs. The shorts were for males, so baggier than her than needed but the skin below her knee until her ankle was exposed. He wasn’t surprised to see the marks on them, but he did find it rather intriguing. Fay told him her marks could get rather tender, if not painful at times, particularly when she overexerts herself---he wondered if she could feel the marks individually. They couldn’t be that sensitive if she could walk around with them exposed – but she probably felt more than she let on. The natural energies, that is. 

Like when she stood under the rain on the roof that day. 

“We have several options.’’ He said calmly, averting his eyes from her face. “One is to wait out and see what Barlow does next. She appears determined enough to find you so I doubt she will give up so easily. Of course, Gotham has a population of ten million people. Even if her abilities work the way we are theorizing they are, it will still take her an inordinate amount of time. And they are clearly not foolproof ---she may be able to absorb historical information from objects but given she is not aware where you are located specifically or who I am, it means her psychometric abilities are still limited. That’s why she requires to go around town and touch objects in places she suspects you may have frequented.’’ 

Fay nodded again, as she took that in. Then she let out a small noise as she thought about Barlow’s abilities, the anxiety diminishing and her mind clearing. “—it’s strange, though.’’ she said. “I mean---I haven’t been to the museum in---in---‘’ 

“Four weeks.’’ He watched her eyes shift left to right almost imperceptibly as her mind worked through the deduction she was about to make. He had already made it, but he let her have it either way—if only because it seemed to make all of her anxiety vanish completely. Intellectual stimulation—he would never admit it, but he liked seeing how she thought when she wasn’t weighed down by the fear. Or her inclination to feel guilty for things that are not of her doing. That was still a work in progress.  

“---yeah. So if she went there every day and---tried to get information, but she still doesn’t know where I am then….’’ 

His lips curled. “Time matters as well.’’  He pointed at his screen where he kept his virtual notes on Barlow’s movements. “She went to the museum seventeen times, but then waited for one of us to approach her. She’s getting desperate—which means her psychometric abilities are only effective when an object is A, in continuous close contact with a person, like the card you gave her, or B, when there are no other interferences to her obtaining the information.’’ 

“Other…people touching the object?’’ She inquired. 

Damian nodded. “We do not know what are the criteria for her to obtain information from an object, but I believe it is cautious we consider she is capable of doing so with a person as well. Through direct skin to skin contact.’’ 

“Makes sense.’’

“You are going---‘’ He stopped. ‘I don’t like to be controlled like that!’ Damian sighed. “I would like you to have a meeting with her.’’ 

Fay blinked in surprise and looked up at him. “---but what if it’s a trap? What if she---finds out more?’’ 

“She won’t,’’ Damian said confidently. “Not only will we dictate the details of the meeting, but we’ll control it. She may be in Gotham, but she is on Batman and Robin’s territory—if we play this right, she will be the one to tell us everything instead.’’ Fay looked unsure. He knew it wasn’t because she doubted him but because she worried. She always did—about everything and everyone but herself. 

 “Are you afraid of meeting with her?’’ He asked. He would not force her, but he’d persuade her if she was. 

Fay shook her head. “No—it’s not that.’’ She shrugged. It feels a bit like that night. That things are going to change again. So, yes. In a way she was afraid. Of what the meeting could mean for her – them – not necessarily of Daphne Barlow. 

“You are going to be there, as well, right?’’ 

As if he’d ever leave her alone. “Naturally.’’ Damian had already anticipated several escape routes if things were to go south. In a worst-case scenario, Fay would have to leave Gotham to stay at a safe house. It went against her request for transparency but there were things she was better off not knowing, especially seeing as they were dealing with psychometric abilities. 

And it only makes her anxiety worse, potentially triggering further panic attacks. They drained her emotionally and physically---not only increasing the odds of her getting caught off guard but also debilitating her ability to fight. Although he would have liked to see how much she has improved following weeks of training, he would rather test that out in a simulation. 

In war, sometimes it is best to allow an adversary to make their first move. Gives them the chance to suss out their weaknesses and mode of fighting. But this isn’t war—not yet. No, Daphne Barlow is intelligent and cunning. She is not an emotional creature, but one that relies on psychological warfare and wit to get ahead. It is not a war they are going at, but rather a chess game. 

And in chess, there is a general agreement that he who makes the first move has an inherent advantage. 

The meeting was scheduled to take place in twenty-four hours. 

Barlow will not know until the last moment. 

He glanced at Fay as she kept fidgeting while exchanging looks with her paladin. They often did that – communicate wordlessly.

“Your equipment will be ready by tonight.’’ 

“My---my equipment ?’’ 

“We don’t want Barlow to underestimate you. And you must be prepared.’’ 

“…. O-okay?’’ 

.

The Kevlar was surprisingly flexible and light if slightly uncomfortable against her marks. She was feeling rather claustrophobic as well. Then again, that was likely her anxiety talking. Fay grimaced slightly as she stared at her reflection. The two-piece outfit fit her well, but it was strange seeing herself wearing something like that. It reminded her of the trainee outfit she used to wear in Maysoon –she could not say she had positive experiences linked to it. 

She liked the boots though. Chunky heel, sturdy material, and laces that allowed her to tighten them comfortably around her foot—they looked and felt as if they were made for combat. Her mother always preferred being barefoot or wearing light footwear, but Fay had generally leaned towards the opposite. Fay glanced down at the domino mask on the marble counter of the bathroom. Fully equipped with the same tech that Robin’s mask was, according to Damian. He had also given her a utility belt which was simpler and slimmer than his, filled with several smoke bombs – which she found ironic -, trackers if she needed them and shuriken. 

Fay placed the belt around her waist before she carefully glued the mask on her face just like Damian showed her before. She took a few moments to adjust to the thin film but her surroundings were pretty clear before she watched her hands. She had been so anxious in the last twenty-four hours she had managed to scratch herself raw in some spots. The hives were gone, thankfully so she applied a light layer of calamine lotion to her hands before putting on the gloves that went with the rest out of the outfit. She liked those as well. 

With that, she exited the bathroom where Bagheera was already waiting for her; vest on. Tracker inside. He huffed as he regarded her curiously and she smiled a little, before leaning to kiss him on the head. Damian stepped inside the bedroom a moment later, back in his dark outfit. Daphne hadn’t figured out yet he was Robin so why give her more information than needed, he had said. 

Fay straightened and shuffled slightly when she saw him appraise her with an unreadable expression. 

“Ready?’’ 

No, not really. “Yeah.’’ She nodded as she brushed a hand over her hair. Alfred had shortened it earlier when he came by to drop off the uniform but she hadn’t asked, which meant Damian told him about it. It was now just up to her shoulders but she had pinned it back to ensure it kept her face clear. Effective if she needed to fight (a borderline hysterical thought) but she wasn’t entirely comfortable with her face exposed like that – it made her feel vulnerable. 

Before leaving the warehouse, she grabbed one of her newer hoodies – Damian mentioned the less history an object has, the less likely it for Daphne to find information if, in the worst-case scenario, she ends up touching her—and pulls it on, using the hood to shield her head. 

Fay glanced at the bedroom for a moment, wondering if the encounter with Daphne will be fruitless as last time or if everything will change. 

What if she doesn’t get to come back? 

What if ---she loses everything again and has to start over? 

She doubts she’ll be able to do so. 

Bagheera whined softly and nudged her hand. She met his pale concerned gaze. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you—‘’ she said softly. “—just make sure you stay safe tonight, Bag. Okay?’’ 

He growled softly. 

As if it's himself he worries about. 

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.

Daphne had to admit the kid was ingenious. She’d already assessed that in London, but he was full of surprises, wasn’t he? Was he really from that world? 

She can’t say she was surprised he chose to drug her. Or that she woke up in the unfamiliar territory. 

A building that’s still in construction judging by the exposed steel skeletons, plastic sheets, and tools left about. The scent of dust and paint was borderline intoxicating but it is also what nudged her quicker into wakefulness. 

There was just the one portable floor lamp to her right, casting most of its light onto her, making Daphne blink several times so she could adjust to it. 

They were at least fifty floors above ground, judging by the view she had of Gotham over to her left. She had been placed on a chair, but much to her surprise only her hands were tied together. The knot spoke of someone who knew what they were doing, but they weren’t as tight as they could have been. It took a few moments for the drowsiness to falter and her mind to clear, bringing away with it the eye blurriness as well. In front of her, several feet away, the two children were watching her. The girl was seated down on a chair, hands-on lap and the boy was on her left-hand side, arms crossed over his chest. Out of the two, it was rather obvious who was the one more willing to choose violence but Daphne chose not to underestimate either one of them. 

“Is this how Gothamites greet their tourists or am I just getting special treatment?’’ she asked sarcastically. 

“You have very little time to tell us what you know so I would suggest you use it wisely.’’ The boy said acerbically. Daphne opened her mouth to retort – the boy was talented at getting on her nerves – but then she decided against it. She wasn’t there to argue with him, but to speak to the girl. With a sigh, she shifted into her chair, her limbs still feeling rather numb, heavy. She is willing to bet the brat drugged her more than necessary just because he could. 

“I take it the brat has told you.’’ She cocked her head slightly. “That I know who you are---or rather, I knew your father.’’ 

The girl was quiet momentarily, her features indistinguishable in the dark. “Many people knew my father. That---that doesn’t prove anything.’’ 

Fair enough. 

“When we spoke back in London, I told you I was from the Altas clan. You told me you have heard of it, and that it has been classified as extinct.’’ 

“Yes—yes, I did.’’ 

“That part is correct as was my story on my father’s---defiance and how it got him killed. The clan, you see, had been unhappy for a very long period of time. Not because they thought people deserved better than what the Royals gave them—‘’ Daphne glanced outside. It felt alien talking about her clan after a lifetime. Yet it did not hurt any less, an invisible scar throbbing on the surface of her heart. “---but because they wanted to move up. The royals---‘’ She eyed the girl. Her family. “---for all their despotic ventures, were---disturbingly fair when they wanted to be. The Altas clan had nothing, in particular, to offer like other clans---nothing but their healing abilities. However, as the years went by, truly exceptional healers were rare. None that would justify the wealth and position the clan was being offered on the borders of Maysoon.’’ 

Daphne paused, waiting and she continued after she watched the girl nodded in understanding. 

Her grandmother had been an exceptional healer. Served at the court, where she gained the respect and trust of many. When she passed away, the Altas’ clan influence started faltering and Daphne’s father had managed to worsen the relationship with a series of actions that exposed him as being potentially disloyal. Finally, in a bid to regain power and fix their reputation, her father promised the union between her, being the eldest child, and another clan head, that had stronger connections with the capital and main families. Her father also planned on using Daphne as a spy in the process. 

The royals found out—of course, they did – and her father had been sentenced to execution. Along with a great part of the clan.  

“I was made an offer.’’ Daphne paused, inhaling and exhaling. She would have liked a cigarette. Or five. “Mine and my sister’s safety would be guaranteed if we declare ourselves as traitors.’’ 

“That’s why you have the mark.’’ 

Daphne nodded and shifted her gloved hands against the ropes, the tops of her fingers prickling slightly due to the poor blood circulation. “I agreed.’’ 

“You opted to sell out your clan in exchange for your lives.’’ 

Oh. How she’d like to punch the brat. As if he’d ever understood what sacrifice and true pain means. 

“I opted—‘’ Daphne said icily. “—to choose to the least bad way out of an impossible situation.’’ 

“I---I understand.’’ The girl said suddenly. “I mean---I don’t understand how hard that must have been. Or---how awful.’’ She bowed her head slightly. “But you had no choice. Nobody really had any choice---back then.’’ 

She was polite and soft-spoken like he was, but she was also shy and seemed to stutter.

A nervous disposition. How ironic. 

“Who made you the offer?’’ 

Daphne smiled ruefully. “Who do you think?’’ 

The girl didn’t respond. 

“Your father did not spare just my sister and me.’’ The girl’s head jerked up. “He also secretly smuggled the children and some of the women. Not exactly a hero---but when I met him, as brilliant as he may have been, he was still more child than man. For those times, that was an astounding act of defiance.’’ He was more than brilliant. He had been years ahead of his generation in mind and skill----a game-changer, as people would say in that world. Daphne has never been the one to believe in destiny – abhorred the idea, still, after those years – but him? He had been of those people who regardless of the path he would have chosen, had been bound to make history. 

Thankfully for them and generations later, he had chosen the better path compared to his ancestors. 

Daphne found it hard to believe he was dead. Even more, so that he’d leave his own child to be lost or alone in that world. 

“You bargained your abilities.’’ The boy piped up. “Didn’t you, Barlow.’’ His smugness indicated it wasn’t really a question. 

This time, she rolled her eyes, childish action be damned. 

“Aren’t you a perceptive little shit?’’ He was. She’d almost forgotten. “Yes, that’s correct. I started exhibiting my abilities when I was very young. My father, the opportunist that he was, kept them a secret. He’d hoped that once I was closer to certain persons of interest, I would be able to gather intel.’’ 

“Then, how did they…found out?’’ 

“I was sent to the capital for my wedding—‘’ Daphne sneered slightly. The memory of her would-be husband still managed to disgust her, decades later. He had been a foul man. “—I had no choice. If I had died, my sister would have taken my place even if she did not have my abilities. If I had tried to run away, my clan would pay for it. All of them. Your father figured out that I had the abilities I did---but rather than expose me or execute me, he had offered to help. The wedding was called off in favor of me becoming an official royal guard.’’ 

However, her father still went ahead with the rebellion. If he hadn't, the clan might have been spared but it was that act of desperation that condemned the entire clan. Daphne and her sister chose to take the mark in order to avoid execution and while other clan members escaped, many shared in her father’s greed. They hardly stood a chance, even if they were seasoned warriors themselves.

Daphne continued to serve at the court for a few years. It was during that time that she came across members of the Resistance and heard there may be a way to travel through the Veil---not long after that, she had ended up in that world. 

The information she’d given them back in London on how she arrived in that world had been all true. She had been sedated and blindfolded, and she had no idea of how she got there. Barely legal, by human standards, but very much having lived through enough to last several lifetimes. She knew very little of that world, including the language and she had no identity, no money. 

Henry Reid found her and took her in. He was a kind man. Smart enough to figure out that her looks weren’t the only peculiar thing about her. He taught her about that world, ultimately. He kept her abilities a secret, even if it took him a while to come down to terms with what she could do.

“Tell us about Hannah Walker.’’ The boy said suddenly. 

Dead. Dead, dead, dead. Just like Arel. “What about her?’’ Daphne asked coolly. 

“Was she aware of what you were capable of? Of who you really were or what you could do?’’ 

Daphne looked down at her hands. “She had some knowledge of my abilities. They thought it was some sort of—gift from God. But no—she did not know much of my previous life.’’ 

“So, she died for nothing.’’ The boy sounded calm. Perhaps far too calm for such a statement. He underestimated her if he thought she could not sense the rage bubbling underneath that controlled facade of his.

The girl got up and approached her, stepping into the light. Even with the hood and mask, Daphne could tell she’s changed physically. Not quite as thin. Perhaps taller, too. 

The kid really had gone ahead and found a way to survive on her own? The boy was obnoxious, but perhaps the girl had found someone to support her the way Daphne had when she had been young. 

Her flux feels different too. Where Daphne hadn’t felt it before in London, it was now a low thrum of energy. A promise of something dangerous if wielded properly. 

So, the girl hadn’t learned how to mask it properly. But it also meant she took after her mother, then. 

The girl pulled something out of her jacket. It was a photo. Of Daphne and Hannah, when they were college students. There were only two copies. One for each of them. Daphne was still at her house in London in the safe, which meant…

“I-I went to her house. After I found you on the, um, internet.’’ 

Daphne stared at her puzzled. “Wait. Did you find me on the internet? How?’’ That didn’t make sense. “Didn’t your father tell you to find me?’’ 

The girl shook her head. “I didn’t even know that you knew him. I was---‘’ She glanced at the boy who hovered very close to her. Like a predator waiting to strike. “—trying to go to Europe. My parents…talked to me about it when I was younger. I wanted to find the Seekers.’’ 

Daphne stared at her. How could the girl have just found her – out of all people – just like that on the great, vast wide world web? 

“I was looking at different countries when I came across an article about—about Bruno Von—Von Richter.’’ Daphne’s stomach sunk, but she didn’t allow the sense of dread to translate into her facial expressions. 

The girl shrugged. “I was reading about him and your work---and I saw your—‘’ The girl gestured towards her own neck. “—your mark. I watched the video from---from a long time ago.’’ 

Oh. That video. Daphne had very nearly killed that thing that had passed off as a journalist. Then again, different times, as unacceptable as the norms may have been back then. In the end, she surpassed all of them, despite the odds. 

“I wanted---I wanted to contact you but I didn’t know how.’’ The girl continued softly. “I came across an article that said Hannah died. So I went to her house.’’ 

Hm. So how did she know about the Angel then? Hannah had gotten herself in trouble because of that George Sanders’ boy but how would the girl make the connection? 

Daphne eyed the boy. He had something to do with it. Given his abilities and resources, he wasn’t just a boy dressing up and stalking people. 

Maybe one of those vigilantes? Or perhaps a criminal himself. Regardless of which one was it, how did the girl even manage to get involved with him? Daphne was quite certain her father had not planned for that. Did he? 

“The Angel used senwi.’’ The girl said suddenly. “And---bombs. From--our---my, erm, the other world.’’ 

Daphne’s eyes narrowed. “That’s impossible.’’ She said curtly. “The senwi, as destructive as it can be, is also very hard to cultivate and grow. It requires extensive knowledge and very strict conditions.’’ 

“There was a whole factory.’’ The boy said. “It has been destroyed. The Angel was also assassinated.’’ 

Daphne frowned, some of her expressionless mask cracking slightly. Then realization dawned upon her. 

“I see.’’ Her face schooled back into a poker face. “That’s why you are hiding your identities and you have been stalking me the way you do. You believe I worked with the Angel.’’ 

“No.’’ The boy said. “I believe you may be working with someone else. Higher pay grade than the Angel. A sponsor of sorts, perhaps?’’ 

The woman’s expression did not change. “A sponsor?’’ White brows lifted high. “I have no idea what that means. I had and still don’t have anything to do with the Angel or anyone affiliated.’’ 

Silence settled. A gust of wind coming through the exposed parts of the building made the plastic sheets flutter and swish. Dust raised in the air. 

“Why did you change your mind?’’ The girl asked. “You could have called.’’ How ironic that the card led Daphne there, but she hadn't actually used it. Not in the way any other normal person would have. She could have. But Daphne did not trust technology very much. Point in case, no matter how secluded her life was, the two brats in front of her still found and tracked her down. 

“I didn’t. Not at the beginning. When I touched your card, I caught….glimpses or fragments, if you will.’’ She glanced at the girl with a softer expression. “I saw---Maysoon. That night. But there’s something---wrong with your memories, isn’t it?’’ 

The girl stiffened visibly. “I…I suffer from amnesia.’’ 

Maybe. Or maybe it was something else.. 

“I am sorry,’’ Daphne said, truthfully. “I am familiar with what witnessing war at such a young age can do to a person. Both personally and professionally.’’ She paused, deciding at that moment if she really wanted to know. “Who was responsible?’’ 

“…it’s unclear. There’s, um, different theories.’’ 

“But they are dead. Both of them.’’ What a surreal thought. But, hey, death comes after all of them, sooner or later. 

The girl was silent. 

Daphne’s eyes narrowed again. “You don’t know for certain?’’ 

“I can’t---remember.’’ At her puzzled look, the girl continued. “But, um, their bodies were--‘’ She swallowed. “---recovered.’’ 

Were they, though? 

“You have yet to say why you are here.’’ The boy piped up again, as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

Daphne threw him a withering look. It had zero effect on him. 

“Sometime after I settled in this world, your father found me.’’ She returned her gaze back on the girl. 

“He visited several times afterward and he kept me posted on what was happening in Maysoon. I never went back to Maysoon, but I learned about his defection and the Resistance’s influence growing stronger, followed by the insurgencies and wars. It has been over fifteen years since I last had any communication with him. He told me there’d be a day when he’ll need a favor. He didn’t give me any details---just that I will know when it comes up. And when that happens, I should offer my help.’’ 

“And you didn’t think to question it?’’ Damian asked, mentally noting how Fay swayed slightly on her feet. The interview was becoming rather overwhelming for her. 

Daphne merely shrugged, once again preferring to omit information. Or perhaps she just enjoyed being aggravating. 

“So---‘’ Fay started, feeling dizzy. “---That means my father—‘’ The favor could have meant anything. It had to be a coincidence. “---he knew I would be—I would be in this world?’’ 

But it was her father they were talking about. He was a brilliant strategist. 

“Maybe,’’ Daphne said. “I was not aware he had a daughter. You are what? Twelve, thirteen? You were likely not even born when I last saw him.’’ 

So he didn’t just predict she’d be there, but he did so before she was even born? 

“That’s---that’s not possible.’’ Right? 

“Knowing your father, I would be more surprised if he hadn’t planned ahead.’’ 

The room was suddenly spinning around her. It was a good thing she hadn’t had dinner because she would have been bound to throw up everything. 

“But-but---why?’’ Fay asked after a moment, reaching to scratch at her face again. There was no way her parents could have possibly anticipated she’d be there. What if Daphne had died? What if Fay had never found out about her? What if she had never met Damian or found out about Hannah Walker and had that fight and never gotten the bracelets off? What if they had killed her like she thought they would and she would have died in that world, leaving Bag behind alone? 

“I am assuming it was a contingency plan. If something happened to them. Which seems to be the case.’’ 

Fay shook her head to herself. “But—he would not have known when or how---or even where I would have been. Or that—that I would have for—for certain traveled here.’’ 

“A man has more than just the one contingency plan.’’ Well, that sounded exactly like her father. Maybe Daphne knew him better than she let on. “Plus, you said it yourself. They taught you about this world---quite thoroughly. You speak this language fluently.’’ Daphne glanced at the boy. “Although, I don’t know who or what part you’re meant to play.’’ 

The boy sneered at her. “Then you could say I am the element of surprise.’’ Then his attention was diverted to the girl, who looked as if she was starting to hyperventilate. He grabbed her by the arm to pull her away, but the girl refused, instead of reassuring him she’s fine in hushed tones. She took a few deep breaths. 

Does she suffer from anxiety attacks? 

Rather sick of the interrogation and how rapidly she was losing feeling in her hands, Daphne decided to cut to the point. 

 “My abilities allow me to get pieces of information, not full stories. Emotions, rather than memories. And they will be of that first who owned and handled the object the most, rather than other parties. The card did offer me information, like where to find you but I don't even know your name. You have a paladin with you, as well, don’t you? It looks like an Atlabas .’’ 

As if on cue, the shadows to her right shifted. A low growl resonated through the air, and Daphne caught sight of a pair of pale blue eyes fixating her from the darkness. 

“What’s your point?’’ The boy asked curtly. 

“My point is that I am not here to use any of that information against you. But I made a promise---to fulfill that favour when the time came.’’ 

“…why?’’ The girl asked, voice sounding strained. Was she holding back from tears? “You have….no ties to our world. You---you seem to hate it, actually.’’ 

She did. Some parts of it. Some day, she hated it all. But the other world had stopped being her home a long time ago, so most days Daphne simply didn’t care. In fact, she had been perfectly content cutting ties. 

It seems like that was no longer a luxury. 

“Let’s just say that I owed your father and I am the type of woman who always pays her debts,’’ Daphne said calmly. 

She sighed again. “Look, kid. I am sorry for what happened. I have no idea how or why your father anticipated you being here, or if he truly did. But you came to me for help, didn’t you? If you do not trust me, that is fine. I have a plane booked in two days back to England. Once I am on it, we can both pretend we never met. Clearly, you are doing fine on your own.’’ 

The two children exchanged a brief look. 

“Was it true---what you said about the Seekers, in London?’’ The girl asked, after a moment of deliberation. She seemed to have calmed down, but her breathing was slightly labored. 

“Yes.’’ Daphne nodded. “To my knowledge, there are no active Seekers. Lukas was the last one I had contact with.’’ 

“Did—did my father leave you with anything else? A message or um, something?’’ Anything. 

“Not that I can recall.’’ 

The girl nodded, shoulders slumping slightly. 

That is when the boy put a stop to the whole interrogation and pointed out that they would return if they had further questions. 

Daphne was knocked out before she even had a chance to react, and when she woke up, she was back at the hotel. Her hands had been freed. 

Her wrists had been lightly bandaged where the rope had bitten into her skin. She doubted it had been the boy who was responsible for such kindness - as odd as it may have been given they had drugged, kidnapped, and interrogated her. 

Daphne stared at nothing in particular.

“Bloody hell.’’ 

She just had to touch that fucking card, didn’t she? 



Chapter 34: Of psychological safety and frightening theories

Notes:

Hey, everyone!

I am sorry for having gone MIA. I have just been super caught up with things outside of AO3, including trying to work on an original work from which I've actually used elements, names and characters for this fanfiction (and hopefully get a manuscript ready by the end of this year!) Except the Fay in my OW is different (personality and backstory not so much, but certainly the adventures she comes across!), and the story is different which means I have to juggle two different world buildings/plotlines.

I have also struggled with motivation, after being disappointed by the Robin comics. Updates won't be as regular as they used to be as I won't always have time to write but I do wish to see this story to completion.

Please note that I do not have a beta reader anymore, which means I may miss a few more errors than before but will try my best!

Chapter Text

“Giving connects two people, the giver and the receiver and

this connection gives birth to a new sense of belonging.’’

- Deepak Chopra

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Fay was quiet. Too quiet.

Damian had expected her to be agitated throughout the evening, for panic attacks to be triggered. He had expected her to start crying as soon as they left Barlow. But, instead, she had been silent the entire way back to the warehouse, a look of contemplation on her face as she fidgeted with her sleeves. After feeding all the pets, she had quietly showered and changed while he inputted the recording they had gained of Barlow into the computer and monitored the psychologist at the hotel.

Damian asked Bagheera close-ended questions as they both listened to the recording again, to gauge the various emotions paladin had sensed from the woman. Barlow had not exhibited any signs of deceit, although she had clearly been reluctant to give them a full story without some probing. There was an underlying sense of anxiety that the paladin detected but alas, he could not speak so other than blinking once when Damian asked him to identify the emotions, there was not much to go on. Barlow had not also exhibited signs of maliciousness or intent to harm any of them.

Or she was a very good actress, indeed.

Fay wordlessly went to sleep by the time he was fully suited and ready to join his father on patrol, so he left her alone. She had her ways of processing, which often involved crying or being silent while she mulled things over. He understood the latter better than the last.

By the time patrol was over and he’d returned to the warehouse, Fay was nowhere close to being asleep. In fact, he found her in the living room, the furniture moved around to give her space on the floor. The TV was turned on running in the background, but she was clearly not paying any attention to it.  

There were papers and notebooks everywhere, some of which he had only caught a glimpse of before. Fay kept a box under her bed with items she had carried over from her world, including the remaining jewels they could not use and the memory devices. She had never shown him all the items she kept in there and although he had been tempted, Damian had chosen not to cross the boundary of looking through it. He could have, many times, but ultimately preferred to allow her to come to him. She had already shared the memory boxes with him, so if she chose to keep something secret, it was not because she did not trust him. It was more likely she did not trust herself with it.

Until that moment, anyway. The said box was left on the couch, wide open, the contents inside on display.  

Fay glanced at him briefly but otherwise returned her attention back to the papers. A set of colored pencils was clutched tightly in her left hand. Bagheera stood a few feet aside, looking like he would prefer to be asleep but nonetheless watching her. Damian positioned himself near the beast and watched the girl as she moved papers about, underlined, scratched out, and highlighted words.

In her right hand, there was a red pen which she used to make corrections from the looks of it. There were other colored marks over her face and hands, where she must have recklessly brushed the pens against her skin. A journal with dark leather covers was in her lap. It was thick and from the looks of it, overfilled with all kinds of other added notes and items.

Ah. So that was one of the items she kept in the box.

Damian glanced at the rows of notes. She had not written in English from the looks of it, the letters, and symbols unfamiliar but intriguing all the same. There were attempts at a timeline, represented by a long horizontal line and then various points placed across it, on one of the bigger pieces of paper which she had placed in the middle.

A look of irritation crossed her face, and she straightened, her expression turning morose then pensive. Her hair had been pulled back by a headband but constantly scratching at her head had released several locks. 

She looked up at him.   

“I couldn’t sleep.’’

Obviously, but he didn’t comment. His curiosity won over the temptation to mock her.

Fay placed down all the pencils, freeing her hands so she could take off her headband and place it again on her head, smoothing all the unruly locks away.

“Is it okay---‘’ she hesitated, as she lowered her hands back onto her lap. “—if I asked you something personal?’’

It always was. Even when she asked questions he did not wish to answer, as Fay knew not to push. More than often, Fay intuitively knew which questions he preferred not to answer. Like how he had nightmares too, and how he was better at anticipating his exhaustion catching up on him and triggering them, and how she was never allowed in his room when that happened. Or why he sometimes stayed away for days on row when he was wrapped up in a case (or in his own head).

He lifted a brow, wordlessly signaling her to continue. Nada sauntered over to him and plopped herself between his knee and Bagheera, while Pip preferred to snuggle up to the other three dogs that stayed there rather than at the manor (mostly for the sake of Alfred’s sanity). Hector chittered as he clambered over the notes on the floor, disturbing some of them and forcing Fay to lean forward and grab him before he could ruin whatever she was trying to document.

“Your father is the kind of man who is always prepared, isn’t he? I mean, both of your parents are powerful and have a lot of enemies, so they must deal with all kinds of situations.’’

“Of course. By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail is one of my father’s favorite sayings. He wouldn’t be the world’s greatest detective if he wasn’t adept at being able to anticipate failure and preparing for it.’’ He paused, but then realized what he said next didn’t come out as difficult as he thought it would. “My mother believes in the same principle albeit for rather different reasons, as you would imagine.’’ His father protects, his mother corrupts and kills.

Fay nodded, then hummed to herself as she glanced at the papers, while absentmindedly stroking the ferret’s back.

“My father was like that.’’ She said after a few seconds. “I think they both were, just in different ways. My father was a very calm person and he always thought things strategically. Like chess. He always used to say that there are different ways a battle can take place, not just through brute force. ‘’

“Manipulation, psychological warfare, and deceit.’’ He spoke. “We spoke about this before—all warfare is based on one form of deception or another.’’  

She nodded again. “My father was very good at that.’’ She smiled although it did not meet her eyes. “He was a lot more cynical and colder before he defected and met my mother, so he told me about many stories from that time.’’

Her father sounded like the type of man that Damian would have liked to challenge.

“What about her?’’ Damian’s head tilted to the side.

Fay’s smile widened. “My mother was…the opposite, I guess. She didn’t hide her emotions, and she was blunt, and she didn’t really like pretending to be someone else. She was a good leader, though, which is how she became one of the Resistance leaders. Both of my parents thought about what drives people, and what their next actions will be, but they had different…views on it, I guess. My mother always used to say that one perspective wasn’t better than the other, but rather they---‘’ She paused, thinking about the word her parents used and trying to translate that in English. “---complement one another. Sometimes one view is better than the other and sometimes…’’ She shrugged. “It’s a matter of risk. Or faith, as my mother would put it.’’

Damian mulled that over, himself thinking where the discussion was going and what was motivating Fay to suddenly speak about it. Talking about her parents was still a challenge, he knew—some days she’d be open about it, other days, she would stiffen and grow immediately quiet if he’d even mention them.

Hector skittered away from her arms and over onto the couch, where he snuggled up next to Pip and the other dogs.

“My parents were powerful people, too. They had many allies, but I think they had even more enemies.’’ Fay added quietly, eyes falling on the journal in her lap. “I didn’t think my parents could ever be caught off guard. I know that’s…. naive, but it felt that way back then. I also didn’t think it was possible for them to be defeated.’’ She inhaled sharply, but to her credit, she did not start crying. “Definitely not the way---the way it happened. It just didn’t make sense. None of it---‘’ She grimaced suddenly, cutting off that sentence. “I know war doesn’t make sense. I probably don’t know many things that my parents were having to deal with before—before it happened, but— ‘’ Her voice faltered.  

He caught the unspoken words all the same. “It does not make sense they left you without answers.’’

Fay started playing with one corner of the notebook. “I told you there were many theories about who caused it and what happened. There are few people in my world that could have had the resources—or the army to attack Maysoon. Many assume it was the ruler of Vontagor who planned it given he was one of the people who resisted all the changes. I heard that many clan leaders wanted the Council to retaliate against Vontagor and have them punished or---- penalized in some sort of way.’’

“Based on what evidence?’’

Fay shrugged. “I wasn’t given many details and when I did ask, my family would always say that I shouldn’t worry. My uncle, the one who took over the clan after my father, was against another war. Violence only invites violence, he used to say, and another war would just lead to more innocent people dying. I don’t think there was any hard evidence but during one of the council meetings, some of the Maysoon clan leaders said that there might be other parties who would benefit from these conflicts.’’

“They didn’t give you any details, but they allowed you in these meetings?’’

Her cheeks colored and Fay smiled sheepishly, looking back at him. “No. I was, um, well – I was eavesdropping.’’

Damian was amused.

“There are many---guilds or factions that disagreed with the new regime. Many of them are sympathizers of the old regime. We aren’t taught much about them until we pass the Trials, but my parents told me about them. One time, when we’re traveling to Atlabas, we were attacked by a group of warriors that believed that the Resistance, my parents, and anyone who supported them, are traitors of the original regime. They weren’t a challenge for my parents, but they were so---hateful.’’ Fay glanced at Bagheera. “You remember them, too, don’t you Bag? They tried to poison our food when we stopped in that pretty village with all the lanterns.’’

Bagheera snorted, irritation wafting off him. He was just a pup at the time, but as an empath, he remembered clearly just how much anger and hatred those men and women carried.

“Given your status, did you not have guards?’’

Fay shook her head. “My mother was generally against them, and my father didn’t care, so we generally didn’t unless it was an official trip. That time, we were traveling for a private party. My parents were very close with the daughter of the ruler of Atlabas, but they didn’t want anyone to know about these unofficial travels, so many times we traveled as civilians.’’ She smiled again, something of a mischief nature glinting in her eyes. “It always stressed out the Elders and my uncle Aryg.’’

“Based on what you’ve told me so far, Maysoon is incredibly difficult to penetrate, much less damage in that manner. The enemy also attacked knowing full well that your parents, warriors of a high caliber, were in the capital. That would come across as suicidal, but clearly, the risk paid off.’’ Somewhere, deep at the back of his mind, he could hear Dick’s voice telling him he was being too callous with his words.

Fay did not look affected, however. Good. She was starting to develop thicker skin.

They never really talked about that night, or how it still managed to send her into such crippling night terrors that he sometimes considered tying her up. He wouldn’t, of course, but cold showers didn’t always suffice. Fay did tell him that her memories were not linear, and often muddled or contradicting, which made sense given her amnesia. If it was truly just amnesia that was affecting her.

And he knew that deep down she’d considered that too.  

“After the empty, the healers told me that due to the injuries and trauma, it was likely I might never remember.’’

“The empty?’’

Fay looked alarmed, looking exactly like a person who has been caught saying something she hadn’t wanted anyone else to know.  

“I, um---‘’ Her cheeks were even redder now. “—it’s just something—it’s silly---well---‘’

Fay.’’

“It’s just something I called the period after---after it happened. Because---I don’t really remember and um, I didn’t feel like myself. The healers said it was normal, that it was shocking.’’ Fay labeling things or events in her life was rarely silly, regardless of the simple nomenclature she used or how sometimes she allowed those moments to define her. Good Days, Bad Days, Green Days, That Night, and now the Empty.

Damian didn’t comment on that, but he mentally stored away from the information for later inquiry.

“What about Bagheera?’’ He asked, glancing at the lupine paladin. “You two are inseparable, are you not?’’

Fay glanced at Bagheera. “We got separated that night. The only memory that I am sure of---that we both have in common, is that we were in the jungle when—when it started. We started running back towards the city, but that’s when we got separated by fire. After that, everything is confusing.’’

“Anything about the enemy? That may have linked them to either Vontagor or other factions?’’

Fay shook her head. “There were---chimeras. Strong, fast but when I try to picture them in my head…they’re unclear. Like the shadows.’’

“Shadows?’’

“There are always shadows. They’re…. alive. And there are voices, too. Sometimes, they sound like my parents and Titoh and other people I knew but many of them, I don’t recognize. Maybe I heard them in the city or during travels, or that night. I thought maybe they were techniques used by warriors that night. Shadow masters exist, although they are very rare. When I told my uncle about them, he said they are manifestations of the terrifying things I saw—that my mind is trying to process them in the best way it can.’’

Her uncle could be right. The mind, when pushed to its limits, will find ways to process the incredibly traumatic experiences by deconstructing memories in ways that it can process them safely. Giving logic to chaos, even if it means putting a veil over the actual experience.

He could also be lying.

“What about other accounts from other survivors? Your paladin, your— ‘’ He sneered lightly. It was not a secret that even without having met Titoh, Damian already mentally wrote him off to be as insignificant as an ant. And maybe a potential dummy practice for his sword should their paths ever cross. “—foster sibling. Civilians.’’

Fay sighed. “Titoh does—did---does not like talking about.’’ She wasn’t sure what Titoh did or did not like anymore. Maybe he changed too as she did. “Everyone just avoided talking about it…especially when I was around. I heard people talk---different theories, about whether it was Vontagor or someone else. That night was documented, of course, and I know there were dragons and chimeras involved. Warriors as well----faceless ones.’’

“Faceless?’’

“They wore masks. Symbols, too, on their clothing but no one could place them. Many of them died and were captured as well, but I have no idea what happened with them or what was found out. I read that some of these warriors had tattoos or marks identifying them as Vontagor warriors and that some clan leaders in Vontagor had claimed they knew the warriors. Others denied it, including the ruler. My family often discussed it too----but it always felt like no one really knew what happened and they didn’t want to admit it.’’

“So, the enemy had not only managed to strike one of the most powerful territories, but they were also successful in creating long-lasting chaos and rising tensions between all territories. Even if this was majorly seen as a conflict between Maysoon and Vontagor, other territories would have weighed in. The Council would be forced to take sides, angering some parties and pacifying others. There would be no clean way out of it.’’

Fay nodded.

“So, all this— ‘’ Damian gestured to the notes, as he got up to move around them, before settling in beside her. “---you’re trying to figure out who it might have been? You think your father requesting that favor from Barlow – assuming she was telling the truth – has something to do with what happened?’’

“I don’t know.’’ Fay sighed. “I---I didn’t believe that my parents were dead. Not at the beginning. I thought maybe my family knew something and they were trying to protect me. I---I still think that, but I am not sure if it’s because my parents are alive.’’ It was simultaneously excruciating and liberating to speak that out loud. “I tried to investigate it; you know. I tried to understand it. That’s why I eavesdropped on the council, and why I went around asking people about what happened. Civilians, and people at the court, and allies. My mother had a family---a family she made during the uprising. Allies.’’ She ruled the notebook around in her lap and then plopped it before, on the ground. “They told me which people I could go to if I ever needed help or a safe place. If I got lost during travels, or if someone tried to kidnap me---secret messages that I could send out for help. Books and papers that I could search for messages from others, telling their whereabouts. Many Resistance members preferred to keep a low profile after the wars, even if they kept supporting. Others preferred retiring. Some became high profile ambassadors or politicians and even members of the Council.’’

“You tried them all. And none of them answered.’’ He deduced.

Fay looked pained. And a bit lost. “It’s as if…. they were gone too. Some of them did answer. They had visited me and brought me gifts, or they would send me things from their travels. To make me feel better. But none of them really wanted to talk about what happened. Moma used to say that it was because painful for them too and---I get that.’’ But it wasn’t fair. She was a child, and they were seasoned warriors, living legends that her parents told her she could count on if she needed help. “My aunt Lyra, she doesn’t spend much time in Maysoon because---well it’s complicated. She is the only one who was honest with me and said that maybe everyone is scared when she visited me once. If the enemy was able to…cause all that chaos and defeat my parents, then everyone is doubting everything. Uncle Aryg was upset when he found out that she told me all that, and he didn’t allow me to go visit her. She did tell me that many of the people that my parents told me to reach out to, could have just changed their way of communication given what happened. Or perhaps that it’s not safe to answer.’’

“Because the enemy might be very well alive and taking action.’’ Damian stapled his fingers in front of his chin, as he leaned his elbows on his crossed knees. “That night, was there ever a victory declared? The enemy may have not been fully apprehended and identified, but who does your world consider having won?’’

“Maysoon.’’ Fay paused. “Officially. The enemy did not conquer the lands, and Maysoon’s warriors overwhelmed them in the end.’’ It hardly felt like a victory.  

“So, an unknown, powerful enemy attacks Maysoon. People die. Intel on the enemy is not wholly disclosed and officials make it a taboo. Influential former members of the Resistance are MIA, and your aunt is shunned for being blunt, albeit it does not seem she has offered you any information. Her deductions could have simply been borne out of common sense. Any person with a modicum of critical thinking would deduce that much chaos post-war is a sign of uncertainty.’’

“It’s…. sinister.’’ Fay breathed.

But she had deduced that on her own, Damian thinks. The emotional, broken, anxious heir with poor self-control that stutters and trips over her own feet.

“Is this why you wanted to travel to this world?’’ He asked. “For answers.’’

Fay shook her head. “No, not really. By the time I had the idea to come here, I had—given up, I guess. I didn’t really…know what to think anymore.’’

“Did your parents never offer this place as a safe location before?’’

“No. They told me that they’d one day bring me here and teach me more. Or maybe I could travel on my own as a rite of passage when I am older.’’

“Has it occurred to you that perhaps that’s why they taught you so much about this world? That this is the last place you’d go to which is why it's perfect.’’

Fay nodded. “I used to hope. When I arrived here, though, I thought maybe it was just wishful thinking. Even when I found out about Daphne, I didn’t think she would have known my parents but I was hoping she was one of the Seekers, or maybe that she knew where to find them.’’ She sighed. “I know how it sounds. It was really stupid of me to think that.’’  

“No, it wasn’t.’’

She glanced up at him in surprise.

“Planning ahead a decade in time is not farfetched, considering your parents’ history and high profile. They didn’t have to know about that specific night or a specific enemy but could have simply prepared in case of any event leading to you being in a vulnerable position. It is only logical.’’

It wasn’t as if others hadn’t considered that, or that her hopes had always been shut down in Maysoon. People, however, always looked down on her with sympathy or preferred for her to be more pragmatic. So, Fay stopped talking about her hopes and theories, except only to Bagheera, before she stopped thinking about it altogether. The humiliation and constant failures she experienced subsequently had certainly drawn her attention away.

Damian sounded so certain, and he was one of the most intelligent and logical people she knew. He wouldn’t be agreeing with her just to make her feel better, because Damian did not believe in sympathies or pity.

It wasn’t until later that Fay would be able to name the feeling that was swelling in her heart.

She felt safe. Not just physically, but safe to just say what’s on her mind and receive an honest response, even if blunt or unpolished at times.  

“But---my family doesn’t know.’’ She added quietly, after a minute. “Do they?’’

“That wouldn’t be pragmatic. Your parents would have had to plan for the worst possible scenario, and that includes your family or closest allies being killed, corrupted or in any other way compromised by the enemy.’’ Fay frowned, her stomach knotting uncomfortably. She opened her mouth ready to defend her family but stopped short.

Damian was right. Her parents dying had also seemed like a ridiculous, improbable scenario. Just because she didn’t want to consider her family or her parent's allies to have been compromised by the enemy, it doesn’t mean that couldn’t have happened. She still found it hard to believe any of them would have betrayed her parents—it was a far too heart-breaking consideration to make. However, maybe Maysoon wasn’t safe, after all, in more ways than she’d given thought up until then.

There were just too many theories, too many variables. Her head was starting to hurt.

“I don’t think it was all of them, though.’’

“You don’t think, or you hope they aren’t?’’

She inhaled, then exhaled. “I think that there are people my parents would have trusted with their life. I don’t know who they all are, or where they are, or what they are after now.’’

“Hn. It is possible that it was safer not to establish contact. Of course, that theory holds as much weight as any other given the absence of data.’’

Fay felt nauseous. Deep down, she’s already considered such theories, but she’s never fully acknowledged them, dismissing them as too improbable and hurtful. After all, how much more pain and heartbreak could she have endured at the time? The more she thought about it, the more she was getting the impression she had been blind all along.

“I…. was not safe.’’ She whispered, her horror growing. She glanced at her hands, at the fading marks around her wrists. “I wasn’t, was I?’’ she repeated herself. “The bracelets would have killed me if I hadn’t managed to break them.’’

“They did almost kill you.’’ He said sharply. Perhaps the memory wasn’t fresh for her, but Damian had a very clear picture in his head of how much damage she had suffered that Halloween night. Much of it was self-inflicted when she consciously chose to defy the limitations of the bracelets for him. He also knew how many cuts the League assassins left on her – seventeen - and how many of her bones were broken– seven – and how many scars she now carried because of his mother, because of him – four -.

Fay looked as pale as a white sheet. He nudged her up and guided her to the kitchen as she was suddenly very unstable on her feet. Once there, Fay reached for one of the bottles of water in the fridge and reluctantly, for an apple as well when he glared at her and pointed out she hadn’t eaten anything since the morning the day before, and he refused to clean up if she started feeling sick. Fay had been too nervous to have dinner before their meeting with Barlow, and after, she had gone straight to bed.

Once the apple was eaten and the bottle down to a quarter of its content, Fay looked slightly less like a ghost and more like a person. She was exhausted.  

“Why me?’’ She murmured. “I don’t have any power. I didn’t even pass my trials. I---I haven’t done anything of…importance.’’

She was important. For more reasons than one. “Your parents’ legacy. Expectations have inevitably been shifted to you once they were gone. It is not unreasonable to assume that some of those factions that you spoke to me about, would have wanted to use you to further their own agenda and ideologies.’’

Fay drank the last of the water. Her stomach settled, but her blood felt cold in her veins. Her flux was unsettled.

“The more I fail, the more I prove them right.’’ It was shameful and disgusting and infuriating. She wasn’t sure which emotion was better placed in her heart. “They could also use me to create a conflict. To make people think someone else is guilty of it.’’ Fay was clever when she didn’t allow her own insecurities to rule her head. Damian had figured that out a long time ago, but she still didn’t see it as clearly. Grayson told him that perhaps she required more verbal encouragement which Damian wasn’t a fan of. The boy believed it was best to let her figure it out on her own, rather than having her rely on compliments but he did make allowances where he saw it fit.

“You said you chose to wear the bracelets.’’ He said, sitting down next to her. “Did you really?’’

Fay played with the label on the bottle of water as she contemplated that.

“I knew there are ways a flux can be restricted. There are even training techniques around it.’’ She explained. “My mother was against them because she felt they were barbaric even in most training settings as they can physically affect the user.’’ She peeled off the label and then started folding it and unfolding it repeatedly.

“There weren’t that many incidents when I was younger. Or maybe I didn’t realize how much people were bothered by it because my parents defended me. I didn’t always get bullied, either, you know. I used to get along with other children…I think? I am not sure which ones were actual friends---probably none of them. But even if I was emotional, I never hurt anyone. I used to get teased about it, and sometimes it seemed fun to lose control. ‘’ Fay embarrassedly rubbed at her cheeks. “I get it now that I was trying…um, to please others. The first incident was when I was seven. I ended up ruining the festivity of another girl---I think she had only invited me because her parents wanted to. After that, it got worse, and I started spending more time in the jungle. I mean, I already did but no one really went that far, so I never had to worry about anyone. Plus, the jungle never hurt me.’’

Her hands were back on the water bottle, pressing into the plastic and making it crinkle slightly.  

“Titoh was the only actual friend---erm, non-animal friend? —I made. My cousins were older so although they were generally nice to me, I didn’t have that much in common. They are not human, like me.’’ She brought her lower lip under her upper teeth, then released it a few seconds later. “After the war, there were more incidents. A lot worse one. Especially at the trial.’’ She swallowed, her mouth feeling dry again. “I did have training every day and I had several tutors as well. My mother wasn’t the only flux master in Maysoon but they all seemed different to her. They all practiced it differently to her, so it didn’t really work. I heard my family speaking about sending me away and that— ‘’ She stopped abruptly, frowning. Her eyes narrowed slightly, as she seemed to remember something. “---and that someone proposed I wear the seals as a way of training.’’

“Someone? You don’t know who it is?’’

Fay shook her head. “My family was discussing it amongst themselves, but I didn’t hear who it was. Then another incident took place. I hurt Titoh. Then I heard my uncle and Moma arguing about the seal, so I asked them about it. Moma was against it, but my uncle gave me a choice. He said that if I wear them, I could try a different training technique. Just because my mother hated it, she did not dismiss its effectiveness, especially for those who have a volatile flux like mine. So, I agreed.’’ She had been desperate, not able to endure yet another failure.

She scratched at her nose as she remembered those first few days after the bracelets were placed on her hands. “It was…really painful in the first days. Especially if I was upset or angry, which was…always, heh. It was bad if I had panic attacks,’’ They had burned her and made her vomit and she had been so weak she couldn’t even get out of bed. “My aunt Sysa demanded that they should be removed if they made me unwell. I refused because----‘’ She shrugged, struggling for a moment. But it was okay, she told herself. “---I didn’t want to be bad at another thing. I thought maybe it will take time. Once I grew used to it, the bracelets did help with keeping my flux under control. I didn’t worry as much when I had panic attacks and they didn’t affect me anymore. In fact, training was going better. If only a little.’’

“But it was also damaging your flux.’’

“Not at the beginning.’’ She shook her head. “The bracelets got worse after I came here, and I tried to use a large quantity of flux in the Amazon. I was able to defend myself before that when Bag and I traveled to find Baije.’’

Damian hummed as he mulled that over. “There is a possibility that man, Len, had also tampered with your bracelets. It is rather suspicious he would help a child, even more so if he had recognized you, to cross over onto another world. Not to mention the coincidence of you crossing paths with him. If he was a sympathizer of the old regime or anyone that wanted you dead, really, sending you to this world with those bracelets was the perfect way to do it. You wouldn’t have realized until it was too late, and you wouldn’t have been able to obtain help.’’

Fay flushed, thinking about how reckless she had truly been talking to that stranger and following him around. It would have been the perfect murder, and all he needed from her was her naivete.

This time she was a certain shame was the emotion that deserved first place in her heart.

Damian must have read it on her face.

“He failed.’’

“What?’’

“—Tt—He failed, obviously. What’s done is done. You were stupid and reckless to do what you did, but you survived. No point ruminating on the past. Learn from your mistakes.’’

That made her smile slightly, and she nodded.

“We do not have data or evidence to establish a culprit, but we do know this.’’ He continued, green eyes flitting over to her wrists. “The bracelets were intended to harm you, be it temporarily or permanently. If it was Len, then it’s the latter. Either way, they failed. Not just on that account, but also on you adapting to this world.’’

Her smile widened.

“Obviously the enemy has underestimated your ability to be a beggar and end up having to eat other’s food.’’  

A few months earlier, she would have wilted and blushed and stammered.

Now, Fay looked positively scandalized although her cheeks turned beet red all the same. “Y—your food? I have money! My money. You’re the one who insists on paying for everything! And Mr. Pennyworth is nice, so he—he doesn’t mind. Neither does Dana!’’

He ignored her outburst.

“Not to mention how many times you’ve injured yourself because of your own poor judgment or being kidnapped several times.’’  

The redness had spread to her neck and ears. He was finding it wholly entertaining but did not let it show on his face.

“You---I---you, that’s not fair!’’ She squeaked. “I was trying to help the first time---‘’

“I specifically told you to not stay out on Halloween night---‘’

“---I found the USB key before you did---‘’

“—Tt—a fool’s luck---‘’

It was not! You’re awful.’’

“---the second time, you recklessly followed yet another stranger which clearly shows you haven’t learned from your mistake---‘’

“---He is not a stranger! He is your brother----‘’

“Don’t be ridiculous. Todd is not my family.’’

“What? ---That’s---never mind.’’ It was best not to get into it. Damian’s family was even more complicated than hers. “He is not a stranger, and he did not kidnap me— ‘’

“Once again, you failed to listen to me and just handed yourself on a silver platter---’’

“There were bat people!’’ There was also a beautiful yet evil lady who saw her as an insignificant pet to be drowned and happened to be his mother, but she wisely left that out.  

Man-bats, you idiot.’’

Fay huffed, looking no more threatening than Pip does when he gets irritated. Damian smirked when her eye twitched.

“You’re a tyrant.’’ She grumbled under her breath as she got up from the kitchen island and started walking back to the living room.  

“Tsk, tsk, I’d show more respect if I were you.’’ He was suddenly far closer than she expected why does he have to be fast! and she almost walked into one of the brick pillars. Embarrassed and startled, she carefully stepped around it, avoiding looking at the boy behind her. She could practically feel his smugness. “Should I remind you that your status as a legal alien in this world is dependent on me?’’

A very clear thought materialized itself in her head.

She really wanted to punch him.  

“No, it’s not.’’ She said defiantly, turning around to look at him. Not even a second later, a hard flick was applied to her forehead, making her stumble back. She rubbed at the sore spot on her forehead and stared at him with a look of indignation. Damian just ignored her and walked past her, towards the notes on the floor.

She considered starting a fight, then was startled by that line of thinking. Ultimately, she went to sit down next to him. The TV was still on in the background. The sun had already risen and a quick glance at her phone told her it was almost eight in the morning. Damian studied the notes quietly and he had grabbed the journal but didn’t open it. Fay didn’t protest, mainly because she knew he wouldn’t understand most of its content. She studied him quietly, wondering if he had changed topics earlier on purpose to distract her from the weight of the conversations.

Damian could be thoughtful, but maybe that was a stretch. That wishful thinking again.  

He looked tired as well, though. Damian was as well put together as usual, down to the crisp shirt he was wearing and faint cologne, but his hair wasn’t as styled back as carefully as usual. The dark locks had grown rather unruly, some of them falling in his face.

“Damian.’’ She reached over to stop his hand from opening the journal. Green eyes met hers, and she was suddenly thinking of the jungle again. He never stopped having that effect on her. “When was the last time you slept?’’

Irritation crossed his features, and he scoffed but didn’t push her away. “You sound exactly like Grayson. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself and as I’ve told you before, I don’t require sleep like the average person.’’ Yes, yes, he has told her that many, many times. Along with many other facts about his genetic perfection and conditioning at the hands of the League of Assassins.

“I know.’’ Fay nodded. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t worry.’’

“It’s pointless for you to---‘’

“It’s not. You’re my friend.’’

“---So, you should take my word when I am telling you I am fine.’’

“Why? You never take mine.’’

She had really been growing more defiant, hasn’t she?

“—Tt—that is a poor comparison. I am in a far better condition---‘’

“Please.’’ That stopped him. “You look exhausted, and I know you don’t feel that way, but just because you can go further, it doesn’t mean you have to. Not now. There’s no danger, at least not right now, and there are no big cases and your father doesn’t need you out on patrol. Mr. Pennyworth has told me that you haven’t had a day off in over two weeks.’’ Damn that butler. “And I know you have been monitoring Daphne for longer, even though you don’t want to tell me.’’ Perceptive.

“Tch.’’ He looked away. “I will not grow indulgent or complacent simply because there is no immediate crisis.’’

“I don’t think that’s possible.’’ Fay smiled, looking patient and affectionate, which invoked all kinds of emotions he was not accustomed to and wasn’t particularly welcoming of. They were dangerously addictive. “Even the best of warriors require time off, don’t they?’’  

He briefly wondered if Pennyworth inspired her to use that tactic or if she came up with it all her own.

He was tired, however, even if his body was built to handle exhaustion differently from the average population. Short periods of sleep and naps always helped him carry on for days because it was how he’d always functioned. If an assassin slept too long or too deeply, they might never wake up again. Talia had certainly made sure to drive that point home.

“I do not require long periods of sleep.’’ He said, not-at-all-petulantly.

Fay nodded. “As long as you feel it’s best.’’

Damian looked at the journal. “You will walk me through this and the notes today.’’ He demanded.

She nodded.

“And then we will decide what to do with Barlow.’’ Pennyworth could keep an eye on her in the meantime. Damian did not plan on sleeping more than twenty minutes, but he knew Fay would. She was exhausted as well, so she was bound to sleep through the entire morning. He could get work done once she was asleep, and she’d be none the wiser.

She nodded, again.

Fay turned off the TV, gathered all the notes in a stack, placed them and the journal in the box, along with the pens before taking it upstairs with her. She didn’t slide it back under the bed but instead left it on her desk. She went to the bathroom to splash some water on her face and brush her teeth, after realizing she had inadvertently missed out on it given, she had stayed up all night. When she stepped back into the bedroom, she was surprised to find Damian in his usual spot, on the left-hand side of the bed, leaning back against one of the pillows, arms crossed behind his head.

“Um---you’re sleeping here?’’ Even though he often stayed with her until she went to sleep, or he’d be there whenever she experienced nightmares and Bad Days, Fay knew he rarely ever slept. He might take one of his unusually short naps, but it was incredibly rare that she ever caught him sleeping. In fact, she couldn’t recall more than two instances and in one of those, he was sick, so she isn’t sure if it counted.

He didn’t open his eyes. “Is there a problem with that? You never complained before.’’

She resisted rolling her eyes at his biting tone. He had conceded to sleep but he had no intention of being nice about it.

Bagheera huffed at the sight of the boy on the bed as he followed them in the room and took his place on his red pillow. Fay smiled at him, before she climbed onto the bed and under the covers, turning on her side facing away from the boy. If she did, she’d be tempted to look at him in his moments of relaxation seeing how that rare was and how different it made him look, and then he’d notice, and he’d be even more irritated. She also put distance between them, which wasn’t difficult given the size of the bed.

Damian could be prickly about being touched, not unlike a cat. He rarely ever pushed her away and he had invaded her personal space plenty of times, but there were days when something in his energy told her it was best to keep away. It was okay for her because she had those days as well. Bagheera did too, at times. Everyone needs space sometimes, her mother used to say. Moma did too when Titoh had stopped talking to her. Sometimes people need permanent space from others.

Maybe Damian will, too, one day. The old vicious thoughts whispered. Maybe, one day, Damian will suddenly look at her the way Titoh did in those months leading to her running away. Except it will be worse because Damian is far more direct than Titoh. Fay finds it frightening she can imagine that look on his face, directed at her with such ease. Does that mean it’s bound to happen?

Fay inhaled deeply, trying to banish those thoughts away and focusing on the facts. She and Damian have been through a lot more than she did with Titoh, and he still wanted to be her friend. He was still there.

“I can hear you thinking.’’ He said gruffly. “Go to sleep, already.’’

She jumped slightly and startled, glanced over her shoulder. Damian had settled in under the covers himself, facing away from her and if he hadn’t spoken, she wouldn’t have even realized he was still awake. He was as silent as usual. “Sorry.’’ She mumbled, and she brushed a hand against her eyes when she realized tears had gathered there. She almost said ‘good night’ but then she realized that was silly, so instead she just pulled the cover-up to her shoulders and closed her eyes.

Fay hoped she didn’t have nightmares, or she’ll end up waking Damian again.

He’ll never go to sleep near her again, afterward.

And she’d be disappointed by that.

.

.

.

He slept five hours.

Five hours.

His first thought when he woke up and realized that, was that she has drugged him. Logic prevailed a few seconds later, informing him that was not a plausible conclusion.  

Fay was wrapped around him like a snake. And he’d allowed it. Damian remembered waking up, briefly, no later than an hour after he’d fallen asleep to Fay whimpering in her sleep. She was curled up in a ball, facing him, hands clutching the covers and face pinched in pain, tears rolling down her face. He shouldn’t have stayed; he had gotten his sleep as he had conceded, and he did have plenty of work that was more valuable than wasting another minute in bed.

He reasoned that if he didn’t calm her down, she’d just end up escalating and he’d have to come back after anyway. So, he rolled around, loosened the death grip she had on the blankets, and quietly roused her out of the bad dream, just enough that she relaxed but didn’t wake up.

“Damian.’’ She murmured.  

“Hn. Obviously.’’ He pushed the hair out of her face. “It’s just a dream---‘’

It hurts.’’

His breath was momentarily cut off.

“Excuse me?’’

She mumbled something intelligible.

She’s dreaming I am hurting her.

That was simply not acceptable. And quite preposterous.

“Fay.’’ He said through gritted teeth, his hands wrapping around her wrists. “I am not going to hurt you.’’

She didn’t say anything, but her face was still pinched as if in great pain. What was he even doing to her in the dream? Was he hurting her physically? Speaking cruel things? Drowning her in a frozen lake, as his mother would have?

Perhaps she did not believe in him as much as she claimed.

Fay’s eyes fluttered open ever so slightly, caught between dream and reality.

“You’re not going to leave, too, are you?’’ She whispered

That was it?

She thought he was going to abandon her?

“Don’t be stupid.’’ He tugged on her wrists, pulling her towards him before he could think through why he suddenly felt the need to have her closer. She wrapped her arms around his midriff and pressed her head under his chin, sighing happily. He was growing soft, his mother’s voice chastised in his head. Soft, soft, soft. Weak. Falling prey to emotion.

He didn’t move.

“They were taking you away.’’ She whimpered, hands tightening against his back, bunching in his shirt.

“Who?’’

“The shadows.’’ She whispered. “They took Bag, too. I was alone again.’’ At that, the paladin’s ears perked up, but he didn’t move from his position.

He wrapped his arms around her, shutting down his mother’s voice. It didn’t matter what she thought anymore (it still did, sometimes, against his will).  

“As if it would be so easy for one to defeat me.’’ He said. “Stop entertaining such ideas. It is insulting to a fighter my caliber.’’

She hummed in response, mumbling something that made him tense up again, but the girl remained oblivious to the effect of her words.

And with that, she was back to sleep.

It felt wrong to leave. She'll end up waking up, and be agitated and he did not have time for it. 

That's why he stayed, he told himself. 

(And because it was warm, and it was comfortable and there was physical proof, right there in his arms, that he too could be--)

I love you, Damian.

And then he slept for another four hours.

Chapter 35: Of psychological safety and frightening theories II

Chapter Text

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.

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June 6th, same day, 20:17

 

“My parents were several decades older than they looked, my mother younger than my father.’’ Her father was well over a century old, whereas her mother was just under five decades despite not having aged a day after reaching her twenties.  

“Immortality?’’

“No. Dragonborns---that’s what clans who have tamed and gained secrets of the dragons are referred to – age differently. They are not indestructible and there are diseases that can affect them, the same way cancer affects regular humans. Different illnesses from this world, although some are like cancer, for example.’’ She’d taken to reading on medicine of that world after she’d caught sight of a book in Damian’s room. It was an advanced textbook on interactions between the human organism and toxins, and while she had hardly understood any of it, it did spur her to buy others more suitable for her level of understanding. Fay had found it interesting comparing some of the diseases and illnesses she read about to the ones present in her world. Damian also taught her about various drugs that existed in that world, and how they factored in many crimes plaguing Gotham.

“Would it affect you?’’

Fay frowned. “I…illnesses from this world? I am not sure. I am half-human, so I suppose so.’’ In that moment, she regretted reading those books, her mind ready to pull up some dreadful scenarios of sickness.  

“You will also age differently, presumably when you reach adulthood.’’ Which meant that there was a possibility Fay will outlive him.

Fay shrugged again, not liking to ponder that now that her only friend was a human of that world. “Usually, yes. My father aged slower when he was around sixteen, then stopped again when he was around twenty-five. He didn’t look that much older than Dick, actually.’’ She tapped her spoon against the bowl absent-mindedly. Fay didn’t feel as drained as she felt earlier that day, having slept well into the afternoon. When she woke up, Bagheera and the whole menagerie of pets were keeping her company. Damian was in the basement, as one text message confirmed minutes later and when she asked him if he got any sleep, he just brushed her off by saying he had been right about not needing more than a short rest. Fay didn’t insist, relieved that he looked, indeed, far better than he did that morning.   

She, on the other hand, hadn’t expected to sleep so deeply. She’s not sure, but she thinks she may have had a nightmare at one point. Fay couldn’t recall much of it, but other than that brief dream, she had slept without interruptions.

“Your mother was human, however. So how is it that her lifespan is longer? Is that normal for humans in your world?’’ Fay pushed another forkful of shredded chicken and coleslaw in her mouth. She didn’t like it very much, having slightly burned it and in some places added too much salt but she had no intention of telling Damian. She had vehemently refused to have Alfred come over and cook, insisting she could cook for herself. It wasn’t a lie, there were days when she did enjoy the freedom of cooking for herself. She just wasn’t particularly good at it. Or patient.

She was secretly happy he did not ask to taste it, knowing he would mercilessly tease her.

Once her mouth was free, she spoke again. “Humans do have a natural lifespan longer than here, although in the past it on where they lived or what they did for a living.’’ There had been regions or tribes where humans thrived or were generally left alone due to the labour they offered, however. Humans that managed to climb the ranks of warriors, or other professions were also able to live comfortably. “It still varies slightly now but average human lifespan is between a hundred and a hundred twenty years, sometimes more. For those who master the flux, that lifespan is much longer.’’

Barlow is a human, based on what we know so far regardless of her abilities. She could be potentially much older than she pretends to be as well.

“An evolutionary step forward, then. The human race in your world is more advanced, at least in some aspects.’’ Damian concluded, as he finished re-rearranging the papers. They were in the basement which, while nowhere as large or as impressive as the Batcave, it had a similar layout. The secret staircase led to a large space that stretched for half of the warehouse’s length with a relatively low ceiling. There was a main computer station in the middle of the room, with several different screens planted on it and a chair. Lockers and cabinets to one side, and workers tables to the other with all kinds of tools and smaller machineries such as melding tools, a microscope and tech devices that Damian seemed to have pulled apart to study and modify.

He had cleared one of the tables to lay the papers down, and she sat down on high stool, watching him as she tried to finish her somewhat-edible food. It was going slow.

The matter of her parents age came up when he suddenly asked her how old her parents were when they conceived her, considering fifteen years earlier, Daphne hadn’t even known they had decided on having a child. To his credit, he took the information she gave him in stride. Other humans in that world probably wouldn’t have.

Then again, his mother is the leader of a criminal organization who has been using a mysterious pit to rejuvenate and keep herself alive for decades. Not to mention that as the child of an assassin and Batman, he had come across far more stranger things than someone living well past what was the average human lifespan.

“Flux masters are also generally stronger physically and they heal faster, although not as fast as my father or other Dragonborns do. My mother explained that because channeling and controlling natural energies is difficult, our bodies have to adapt to it. The better a person is at mastering the flux, the stronger they will be in other areas well. Dragonborn can also master elements, but their biology is much stronger than a human because---um, well they are far less human even if they do look more like one than a dragon.’’ Usually. And it isn’t necessarily their only form. “They have the Evnei in them.’’

“The Evnei?’’

“I think—hm. I think it would translate to as the ‘beast’ in English although that’s a…bit simple. Different territories have different names, so it varies. It refers to the—um, the feral side of Dragonborn's, the price they had to pay in exchange for the power of dragons.’’ He looked up at her, brow lifting. “It is a philosophical concept but it’s also…real. The legend---and many scriptures- say that the dragons granted their secrets and powers but did so at the expense of humanity. Dragonborn clans have had a long history of poor self-control, of the Evnei threatening to come out and take over the more powerful they became. There are many stories about warriors losing control, giving in to the Evnei, and losing well…their humanity.’’

“Bloodlust, then. The more power they seek, the bigger their downfall will be.’’ He scoffed lightly. “What a poetic punishment.’’

Fay nodded. It was a subject of great debate in her world, more so now that people no longer feared being persecuted for speaking openly about it. At least not in Maysoon. The Evnei was often used as a scary story for misbehaving children, as well as a way to incite debate into students in order to make them reflect on power, greed, and humanity, amongst other topics. Fay herself, could only speak about it from a theoretical perspective seeing as she took after her mother more and will likely never have to experience that feral side that her paternal relatives had to deal with. She recalls other children either teasing her about it or being irritatingly curious and asking questions about her family she did not want or know how to answer.

She also recalls one time using that curiosity to try to make friends, only to end up feeling used the moment it was satisfied. Fay cringed at the memory, despising how pathetic she’d been about it.

“Yeah.’’ She looked down at her empty bowl. “My clan has many stories too, and not all of them are false. One of my ancestors was known for enslaving and feeding on humans, and there were societies that practiced it for many years, long before there was an idea of a Resistance. My father witnessed a---he called it a feeding--- as a child. His mother – my grandmother – did not publicly approve of this but she participated in it. In some clans, it was a rite of passage.’’ She felt the food threaten to come back up the way it went down, all of a sudden so she placed the bowl away. “Before the revolutions, people were not allowed to talk about it openly and the Dragonborn approach to it varied from time to time. Some embraced it, others denied it and practiced self-restraint.’’

“That explains why culturally and historically, control over one’s emotions is a deeply rooted philosophy in warrior clans. It begets self-control and therefore a victory over what is seen as the wild, feral counterpart. A conquering of their own self, if you will.’’ But they wouldn’t have encouraged complete suppression. Bloodthirst, after all, would have pushed their warriors to be particularly brutal and feared on the battlefield.

Fay nodded. “My father’s clan and---others as well – they also valued topics such as art, literature, and philosophy. They were considered as refined activities that one can use to rise above the….feral self, I guess. Self-control is not impossible, though. My uncle Aryg is very famous for that, and my father has never lost control, as far as I know. He was…always different, though.’’

“He fell in love with a human,’’ Damian smirked lightly, amused by that irony.  

“With his own food.’’ She blurted out, out of reflex. Just how many times she’s heard that jibe in the past? Hundreds of times, surely. Fay smiled nervously at her friend when he gave her a look. “Sorry. I just---I heard that many times.’’ She found the concept preposterous, but she could see how people found that funny or scandalous or ironic. Her parents sometimes joked about it during private moments but they did not tolerate those words from most others. It was offensive to her mother and other humans, and it also undermined their love and partnership.

‘Say, Fay, if your father is the hunter and your mother is the prey, what does that make you?’

Fay shook her head to herself.

“My mother was a powerful flux master, so she wasn’t a regular human. I am also different from average humans, I suppose. In my world, at least. I heal faster, and if I learn to control my flux—‘’ Months earlier she wouldn’t have considered that to be a possibility anymore. Now, she had more faith, even if it came in crumbs. “---then I will be stronger, psychically. But I can get sick and injured, and— ‘’ She pouted slightly. “—I, well I am not really sure about the rest. Aside from being able to fly really early, I have always been…um…’’ Her words rushed out, quickly and lowly. “…alatebloomer.’’ It was embarrassing, really because now it seemed she was a late bloomer by human standards in that world as well. Wonderful.

It did not help, either, that Damian had grown taller. Only for a total of two inches, but it still made him taller than her. Fay wisely chose not to bring up the height matter often because he could get so obnoxious about it, clearly forgetting that when they first met, she had been taller than him. Or that he was still shorter than human boys his age, genetically perfect or not, as she’d heard Tim tease him once (the day ended with Fay going for donuts with Dick while the two boys were left to deal with a lecture from Alfred about damaging the cave).

Fay absolutely refused to broach another topic that she had completely forgotten about until Dana highlighted it a couple of weeks earlier. Menstruation. Other girls her age had already started bleeding when she was in Maysoon so it wasn’t just her height and um, other stuff, that she felt concerned about. All normal, the healers had said at the time, her growth stagnated likely due to the trauma (they always blamed everything on the trauma after that night).  

But if she didn’t develop fast enough, how will she grow stronger? How will she get better at controlling her flux? The one activity she had proved to be precocious at was flying, and that was gone now too.

To his credit, Damian didn’t take the chance at that moment to boast his – minimal - height increase (although she had a feeling he was storing it for later). Instead, he beckoned her over to his side so she could start translating her notes. She moved her chair next to his, placing the leather journal before them.

Behind them, the screens reflected various statistics and reports that she wasn’t interested in. There was one screen, however, focusing on Daphne Barlow. Damian had placed hidden cameras in her hotel room, and a tracker in her phone so they were able to track down her every move. Despite having been drugged, tied up, and essentially kidnapped, Daphne wasn’t as shaken as any other person would have been. The morning after their meeting, she washed, changed, and had breakfast, before making calls to her assistant to tell her she’ll be staying in Gotham longer than she expected. 

The ball was in their court, and they had all the advantages, Damian said.

I don’t even know what else to say to her.

Fay gestured at the notes. “It’s a historical timeline. Some events I know from my parents’ stories, others I learned them from my tutors or books.’’ She reached over the table to the first note she wrote, positioned in the upper left corner. The papers were arranged clockwise. “Fifteen years ago, there were a few important events that were recorded in books or spoken about but none that I think would be relevant.’’ Several clan leaders change. The annexation of a territory from Aedyr to Atlabas after years of conflict. Several other events she heard briefly of but hadn’t either been interested in or she had considered boring, such as who was courting who, politicians changing over and minor skirmishes. Nothing to cause her parents to suddenly decide they should have the most insane of contingency plans in place.

Then again, who knows at this point?

They must have kept so many secrets.

“Maybe something did happen, but my parents kept it a secret.’’ Fay shrugged one shoulder. “Or maybe that’s just when they decided to have a child and that’s it.’’

“Hm. Maybe.’’ Damian said as he sat down next to her on another stool. “Carry on. There’s a note for each year, so translate each one. Everything you remember, even if it may not be of importance.’’ With a few quick taps on his tablet, a holographic board appeared before them. “I will input everything as it will be easier to assess and look for patterns.’’

In the next three hours, Fay talked about all the notes she’s written, all the theories she’s had, feeling more liberated with each moment as she realized she'd never had the opportunity to lay out all of her thoughts about her parents’ death in that manner before. She felt comfortable and safe. Bagheera, naturally, often listened to her but despite being her greatest supporter, he, unfortunately, could not contribute given his lack of speech. Growing up, Fay had different people that stimulated her into conversations or arguments, but there was only a handful of those who made her feel as comfortable as her parents did. After that night, wanting to talk to people had quickly fallen down the list of her priorities. She had never been particularly sociable to begin with, and so, it hadn’t been much of a surprise she was very quiet. Bringing up her parents was too incredibly painful and the few times, she did, it ended up with her being pitied or being given talks about how one must move forward in life.

Coming to that world changed all that, of course. Damian had played a significant part in her opening up more, but so have Dana and Mack and Robby and other people she has met.

And now, she was spending hours talking about her world and her parents. The sting was ever-present in her heart, but she felt…confident. Free. Understood. Damian, despite his arrogance and sharp tongue, was also capable of being a very attentive listener. She’s not sure she’s had someone her age listen to her the way Damian did before---not even Titoh, whom she used to think was as a friend as good as they come. Family. He was family.

It showed. Damian quietly noted the changes in her stance and voice, the way she stood up straighter and started gesturing, becoming more animated throughout the conversation. It was one of the reasons he had engaged her to begin with, back at the museum and why he still did it, although he also did not mind listening to how her mind worked. Fay could be analytical and opinionated and unrelenting when she forgot to be afraid.

The fact that side resurfaced primarily around him was no small point of pride and satisfaction, either.

Her flux would always react accordingly, and he could feel the thrum of energy if he stood too close. It was warm and alive and coursing through her body, deceivingly inoffensive because he’d seen just how much of a threatening force it could be when channeled properly. He’d grown so accustomed to it, that he could detect the changes in the level of energy and how closely tied they are with her emotions. When she is sad, the energy would be muted but on Bad Days, when her grief is particularly palpable, the flux would fluctuate just like her emotions would. Highs, lows, high lows. In the throes of a night terror, he could feel it clearly, a buzzing sensation underneath the marks. Sometimes, her flux would interact with other external energies – nearby bulbs short-circuiting, the water in the bathroom pipes rumbling through, threatening to violently escape the faucets.

Whenever he pushed her too hard, and she’d get frustrated or angry, the flux felt hot, almost searing and the warmth of her skin skyrockets. It didn’t hurt her if she channeled the flux correctly but there had been times when she needed ice baths to help her cool down or risk severe dehydration and internal burns. Damian never told her, but he found it fascinating, the way she just converted and controlled the elements, the balance it required between theoretical knowledge, practice, and emotional control. Fay was disadvantaged in the latter, which played a significant part in why she had struggled for so long (and still did) but he could see the potential.

Damian did not have the knowledge or resources of her world to understand how her flux worked and how it could be mastered efficiently, but he was the son of the world’s greatest detective. He had been studying and making notes of Fay’s development for months, so he had several ideas about how to adjust training to fit her needs and address her weaknesses. Fay’s insight was also useful as she guided him into what worked and what didn’t.

It will take years than months, though and that was just a realistic view on it, not an underestimation.

The thought appealed to him.

“Damian?’’ Fay had stopped talking about the autumn festival in Aedyr and was now staring at him, face flushed and unsure. “Is…something wrong?’’ He had gone eerily quiet.

He grunted. “I am still listening so carry on. When exactly did your parents start speaking about this world?’’

Fay stared at him curiously before she shrugged.

“They had books and music since I was an infant, so I grew up with them. They’ve always talked about it.’’

“English lessons started early, as well, I presume.’’

“Yes. Although there were not many people at the court that could speak it. Very few other children as well. It varies widely amongst warriors and other officials but it is not generally the type of language they choose to use.’’

“Why English?’’

“The Resistance members spoke it, but I am not sure how that came to be. I knew there were other languages---my parents spoke several from both worlds, but we didn’t practice as much the other ones. My mother sang lullabies in other languages though.’’ That made her smile. “I know very few words in those languages, but I am better at Latin which I know is the basis for several modern languages.’’ She chewed on her bottom lip, her mood dampening almost immediately. “I think they were going to teach me the other languages as well but….’’

She could still learn them. He’ll teach her.

“By your parent's account, they had explored this world extensively, not just Europe or Anglo-Saxon countries. They’ve taught you Latin as well, so they were not trying to limit you. Had you correctly arrived in Europe, however, you would have faced more difficulties there than on this side of the world, regardless of English is a popular second language.’’

Fay understood what he was trying to get at that. “Daphne speaks English and lives in the United Kingdom. Do you think that’s why they taught me English first?’’

“Teaching you about this world did not have to be strictly correlated to your survival here but it is certainly an advantage that not many would have. Have they ever asked you to keep your knowledge a secret?’’

“Not really. But not many children were interested, so I didn’t really speak about it. Sometimes they’d make fun of me. Titoh was interested and my parents taught him English as well, but I always liked it more. The rest of the family was…. fine with it, I suppose. There were people I used to speak to about—friends of my mothers, former Resistance members, and such. My parents liked speaking to me in English when we were alone to practice and then there were all the books and music.’’

Damian made a noise at the back of his head but didn’t ask any further questions as he finished inputting the data on the tablet.

“I wish I had access to the library in Maysoon. Or my parent's journals.’’ Fay muttered, crossing her arms on top of the table so she could place her head on top. Her expression grew sadder. “The old palace was destroyed so a new one was built in a different location, but there are many items that can still be found in the ruins. Books and paintings that were damaged. Some went missing. I bet people are scavenging them and selling them out on the black market or using them as some sort of souvenirs.’’

It was hardly the coldest thing anyone could say, and not at all inaccurate to assume looting in the aftermath of a conflict, but Fay rarely expressed such thoughts. He knew she had them, pushed deep down, along with all that anger she still tried to stifle but she rarely ever expressed. If only she was more honest with herself—like with admitting that her family had neglected her and that she hadn’t deserved being tormented by others.

“I wonder if they’re even looking for me,’’ Fay added quietly. She must have wondered that a thousand times in her head to be so calm when finally saying it out loud.

Damian was not one to sugarcoat reality or offer ridiculous ‘pep’ talks like Grayson. He didn’t think it mattered if her family was looking for her, to be honest. They already failed her, ergo they didn’t deserve her back, especially not to serve as some sort of glorified symbol of hope. A tool for their agenda to mold and remold to their liking. Fay was obviously better off, thriving there in ways she didn’t before.

Grayson would also say that it didn’t matter how Damian felt about it, but how she did. It would have to be her choice ultimately if she wanted to stay or not. Damian saw no issue with playing a part in influencing that decision. How will she know which choice is best if she is not presented with the advantages and disadvantages of each one? 

Alas. 

“Do you want them to?’’

Fay tilted her head slightly to look at him without raising her head.

Do I? If her family did come searching for her, she’d have to explain how she got there. She’d have to pay for the consequences of her actions. She’d have to explain why Damian knows so much about their world, and even if by some miracle that did not cause a whole heap of problems, she’d still have to deal with going back to Maysoon.

How that would be, she wonders? Being back to being alone, just her and Bag. No more tasting new foods and listening to new music or learning new things and seeing new places.

No more Dana and Mack and Robby.

No more living at the warehouse and eating Alfred’s food and admiring the fighters of that world.

No more Damian.

That was a scenario that brought her the same sense of dread whenever she remembered that she’ll never see her parents.

So maybe she’s known the answer for quite some time then.

“No.’’ Fay said finally. “I think I have caused trouble by running away and I don’t want people to get hurt because of me. But…. I don’t want to go back home.’’ Not yet. She wasn’t strong enough. It made her a coward, but if she went back, she’d be both a coward and a failure. “I---just am not sure if it’s fair on Bagheera.’’

“What are you talking about?’’

Fay glanced to the side, at one of the screens but didn’t pay attention to its contents.

“He doesn’t belong here. He isn’t half-human like I am---he won’t have other creatures like him around and he won’t ever get to train to be the best paladin ever. That’s…my fault because I never passed my trials either so it affects him, too, as my paladin.’’ She was glad Bagheera wasn’t there at that moment, as he had chosen to stay upstairs. “I feel…. like I am dragging him down.’’

“Then, don’t.’’

She moved her gaze back on the boy.

“If you want to be worthy of your paladin, do something about it. It doesn’t matter where you are.’’ Damian’s brows furrowed. “Bagheera belongs by your side as Goliath does by mine.’’

Fay wasn’t fully convinced by that. She did not want to ask Bagheera to stay just because it made her happy; he would do it for that reason. It would mean taking advantage of his loyalty and not considering what’s best for him. What if her paladin did want to go back though? Fay isn’t sure if she could say no because it wouldn’t seem right to do so.

“You’re overthinking.’’

Fay lifted her head and looked at the table, rather than at him.

I like who I am here.

I really like…. being wanted here and I don’t want that to change.

But if being worthy of Bagheera means leaving, then….

“You don’t have to go back if your family requests it. Only if you choose to do so.’’

She looked up, startled. “W—what?’’

He scowled. “I don’t like repeating myself.’’  

“…I am not sure I have a choice.’’ Even if Bagheera was happy to stay, she can’t imagine her uncle readily agreeing to extend her stay there. Many of her current freedoms will be curtailed even if he did. It hadn’t happened yet but she already felt claustrophobic.  

Damian rolled his eyes.

“You just made a choice, and I am sure your paladin will agree to it. If you want to stay, you’ll just have to stand your ground.’’

He made defiance look easy. Like her parents did.

“I---what---it’s not that easy---‘’

“Neither is surviving the Amazon. Or Gotham, for that matter. Your choices brought you from one world to another, and your choices led to your survival which indicates that while you’re stupidly reckless, you also have some reasonable instincts.’’ He just couldn’t do a full-fledged compliment, could he?

Fay was silent for a few seconds, mulling that over. “But what if it causes issues? With---with your father and with—with this world?’’

“Even if they do find you and they refuse to listen to your request, then there is always a plan B. By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail, or have you forgotten?’’ Then he got up and walked over to sit on the chair at the computer.  

“Wait---what.’’ She followed him, standing by his chair. “What exactly do you mean by that?’’

“No need to concern yourself with it, for now, I have it handled.’’

She was definitely concerned now.

“You---you don’t actually mean fighting them?’’ She asked only half-seriously, feeling a bit pretentious to assume that’s what he meant.  

He didn’t look at her, fingers moving swiftly over the keyboard as he pulled close-up visuals of Daphne Barlow. It was late evening by then, and the screens showed the various feeds of the hotels’ cameras. The psychologist has left the ground floor restaurant and was now heading up to her room, immediately taking out a cigarette as soon as she was alone. Her going through a whole pack was one of the signs that perhaps she wasn’t as unaffected as she pretended to be.

Question was, what was rattling her? Was it just their presence or something else?

“Obviously, if it means sending the message across. They ought not to underestimate the warriors of this world, much less ones my caliber.’’

“What.’’

“I’ve never fought a Dragonborn before. It should prove an interesting challenge.’’

What.’’

“We’ll have more discussions around martial arts and fighting techniques from your world going forward. It is only wise to gather as much intel as possible on the enemy in the eventuality of a battle.’’ He smirked. “They would be fighting on foreign territory, so we have the element of surprise.’’ Fay didn’t want him as her enemy, ever. But that was also the case with her family.

“Are---I---you---what?!’’

He swirled around in the chair, nearly knocking her over. She stared at him flabbergasted, wondering if he was mocking her.

He wasn’t.

He looked as serious as ever – which was still too serious for someone his age – and she recognized that particular brand of determination that had Damian Wayne written all over it.  

“Did you not stand up against my mother?’’

“I---I guess?’’ Fay didn’t see it that way considering she was tied up, freezing, and crying. When she did fight back, Talia was already gone.

Damian sighed, looking impatient as if his plans to start a conflict with her family and potentially her world was something she should take in stride.

“If my mother were to decide that she wishes I return to the League, with or without my approval, would you stand by and allow it?’’

That was an improbable scenario, they both knew. Not his mother forcing him to return to her, given there have been attempts of that already in the past, but the idea that Damian would just so easily hand himself over. Or that anyone can force him to do something he doesn’t want to.

He was trying to make a point.  

He was also testing her. 

“I—of course not.’’ Fay shook her head. “I’d come after you.’’ She said firmly. She would even if his mother scared her, and she didn’t stand a chance. Highly unlikely that’d ever be needed, but the satisfaction at hearing that stopped Damian from pointing out the absurdity of such a scenario taking place.

Fay was unfailingly loyal.

So was he.

Damian made a noise at the back of his throat, which Fay took as a sign her answer was what he wanted to hear. It did not address her question at all.

Or it did?

Does that mean…. he would come for me too? In my world?  

Really?

“Barlow is back in her room.’’ He remarked, his face and tone unreadable again as he turned his attention back to the screens. Fay watched him from the corner of her eyes, trying not to smile too hard. It was …frightening, that someone like Damian, would go to such lengths. It also made her warm inside, the same way she felt when she looked at Bagheera and knew she’d always have him by her side, no matter what.

Knowing it was a moot point asking further questions about his insane secret plans for the time being, she switched to watching Daphne putter about her hotel room. She felt inexplicably light.  

Damian glanced at her briefly from the corner of his eyes.

She was still smiling, several minutes later.

If she asked later, then he’d use that moment as her approval for his contingency plans.

.

.

.

Daphne’s watch told her she completed approximately ten thousand steps that day, just between pacing around her room and making multiple trips to the hotel’s restaurant and gift shops to get souvenirs for her family. She finished a whole pack of cigarettes as well, abstinence is damned. Her husband, had he still been alive, would have given that equally insufferable and loving look he always did when she would fall off the wagon.

God, how she missed him. Out of all the men that had come and gone through her life, he had been the one to make her feel most centered. They did never quite have the passion that she and Bruno had, but then again that passion turned out to be their undoing as well.  

Daphne mentally cursed Damar for leaving her with absolutely no instructions on how to deal with his daughter and for touching that bloody card in the first place. Her life had been just fine until then, thank you very much. The most peaceful it has been, in a very, very long time. Her children had successful careers and happy families. Her work as a psychologist will leave behind a legacy for future generations, and her company was achieving far more than she ever expected when she first decided to open it. She had helped hundreds of people in ways that did not require staining her hands red or constantly fearing for her life.

But she cannot catch a break, can she?

Damar better be dead, or she just might wring his neck out if she finds out the entire situation is an elaborate ploy of his.

Regardless.

Daphne exhaled loudly as she sat down and extinguished the stub of her latest cigarette in the overfilled ashtray.

She had no idea why his daughter was there in the first place. What was she doing with that boy and who was he? Was he truly an ally? How much did he know? Daphne knew a thing or two about how people can change, how they can go from loyal confidantes to greedy bastards. What if the girl was being led on? Was it fear that kept her loyal to the boy or was it some sort of infantile affection?

Did Damar plan for his daughter to reach that boy? Was he some sort of ally he had also planned for ahead in time?

The girl had mentioned she found Daphne by pure chance, which seemed impossible.

And how exactly did she get there? Using a portal transmitter was out of the question. It would have required high-level clearance, to begin with. Unless they’ve become particularly lax over the years. Could have the kid stolen it? Considering who her parents were, it wasn’t such an absurd idea but Daphne had run over that theory many times in her head. It wasn’t plausible. Someone would have figured it out or detected the use of the portals.

The dark paths, then. Could have Damar really passed such secrets onto his daughter, as a contingency plan? If Damar wanted Daphne to be his daughter’s contact in that world, why not teach her how to travel more effectively seeing as she’s landed in America? Daphne wouldn’t be able to answer that, because she no longer had the knowledge, having volunteered to rid herself of that burden many years earlier. Either way, the dark paths were a dangerous method of travel, a suicide mission in most cases and there were few who knew how to mitigate those risks. Even if the kid knew everything about that means of dimensional travel, she couldn’t have made it there on her own. Someone must have helped her, perhaps a former member of the Resistance? Daphne can’t imagine the clan and those Elder fucks approving of her being alone and on the loose.

Daphne sighed again as she reached for her handbag with shaky fingers, and opened a new pack of cigarettes. With some trepidation, she quickly lit the cancer stick and took a long drag.

Bruno’s death, first. Daphne had vowed she’d detach herself from the details and circumstances of his death, but even in the afterlife, that man seemed to have a hold on her. His death had been shocking, how he chose to die suspiciously. Now, she doubted his death was an entirely separate, unrelated event to everything else.

Then the Angel. An international criminal who is weaponizing resources from the other world.

Then Hannah. Her sweet, brave, and selfless foster sister. Another sibling was dead, another piece of her heart crumbling. Was there even any of it left?

Now Damar’s girl, her paladin and whoever that brat attached to her hip are.

There’s a bigger picture. But what?

Either way, it’s not good.  

Daphne had tentative ways to contact her former world if she truly wished to, just as she had ways to gather intel. However, she found herself questioning just how many of those contacts were safe.

For the time being, it was safer to keep things to herself.

She could resent Damar for dragging her into a life she desperately wanted to leave behind, but she could not ignore the promise she made.

.

.

.

They were going to make Daphne wait for a while. See if she ends up exposing all her cards if she was indeed alone and not working with anyone else. Until Damian decided the waiting game was over, Fay was stuck at the warehouse. With that, he left saying he ‘had some things to take care of’ with no indication of how long they were going to wait before engaging the psychologist again. Fay’s protests about being stuck at the warehouse fell on deaf ears.

Having slept through most of the day, she ended up going to sleep well past midnight. Fay fed Bagheera and the other furry occupants, cleaned and reorganized her bedroom, completed an hour of strength training and several laps around the property and showered again. In-between, she let Dana know she won’t be going into the city for a few days due to a cold. It was a terrible lie as it would only cause the veteran to worry over her, but there was no going back on it. Then Cora texted her, asking where she was still available to accompany her to the museum for an exhibit that weekend.

Fay grimaced, having completely forgotten about it. Cora was a nice person, and rather entertaining to be around but Fay couldn’t understand why the other girl was so eager to hang out with her. She wasn’t very talkative and when she did talk, Fay was certain she’s managed to come across as very outlandish. Ironically, interacting with Damian had been easier in some ways because he was weird in his own ways compared to other boys his age

In the end, she told the other girl that she’s feeling unwell and she might not make it. Cora’s cheerful response and get-well-soon wishes did not seem to indicate she was upset, but Fay mentally noted to do something in return for the other girl. Then, she wondered if that was necessary. They weren’t exactly friends, were they?

Fay did not have the mental bandwidth to think about that.

Damian had texted her shortly before midnight to let her know that the ‘mark still in position, no changes’ and that he’s out on patrol, ‘obviously’ when she asked him where he did go. He still abhorred texting beyond curt replies or instructions. Fay was hardly bothered by it anymore, but she had to stop herself several times from texting him again, feeling genuinely worried about what he was up to.

You’re being needy, the ugly voice, albeit smaller and quieter than before, whispered.

Thinking about the conversation she had with Damian earlier about wanting to stay, she looked at her paladin where he was sprawled lazily over his pillow. While she trained, he had gone running across the property, likely to hunt as well although he did not have a need for it. Fay did not like to curb his natural instincts, and often worried that perhaps he wasn’t as stimulated as he should be. Damian had taken to spar with him, getting the paladin to chase him and simulate hunting but she wasn’t sure that was enough.

“Hey, Bag.’’ He growled but didn’t raise. She smiled and nudged one of his legs. “I need to ask you something.’’

The paladin yawned and stretched and took his time to put himself into a sitting position. Fay sat down before him, crossing her legs and reaching to scratch one of his ears.

“Damian asked me if I wanted to stay.’’ She said. “You know---if someone from Maysoon ever came to look for us. Or if we found a way back.’’ The paladin watched her attentively, his own emotions subdued so she couldn’t make out what he was feeling. She wanted to be honest with her paladin and she could be in ways that she couldn’t with anyone else. “I….I am afraid to go back. I don’t think I am strong enough yet, and I don’t know I would know how to deal with…everyone. I miss Maysoon and I miss the jungle—‘’ she smiled. “—and I miss doing all the things we used to do like swimming or climbing or traveling. I miss the food and I miss Moma and I know you do as well.’’

Bagheera whined softly and leaned against her hand.

“But…it is better here. I mean, I feel better. I think I would like to stay---not forever. Just for a while. There are many things I want to learn in this world.’’ Her friend was there. She did not want to leave him behind. Fay plastered her hands on each side of Bag’s large head and looked him in the eyes. “However, if you aren’t happy here, I won’t be happy either. So, if---you want to go back, then we will. If we can.’’ She would find a way if that’s what he wanted. “No matter what.’’

Her paladin pulled back, watched her for a few seconds then huffed. He blinked once, deliberately.

“No?’’ Fay asked. “As in, you don’t want to go back?’’

He blinked twice.

Fay wanted to feel relieved. “You’re not saying that just because I want to stay?’’

The paladin blinked once.

“Really?’’

Yes.

“Really, really?’’

Yes.

“Do you swear?’’

Her paladin growled, then tackled her to the ground, playfully tugging on her hair and breathing in her ear, tickling her and making her giggle loudly. 

“Okay, okay. I believe you.’’

.

.

.

13th  of June, 20:45

They kept her waiting for a week. No one was in touch with her, and she didn’t deviate from pacing around the room, having all three meals at the hotel’s restaurant, and doing remote work on her laptop. That, and going through an unhealthy amount of cigarettes. Fay felt bad for it. They had clearly thrown a wrench into the woman’s otherwise organized, private life and now here she was, sitting in a hotel room in Gotham.

Damian did not experience the same level of sympathy. He even considered just letting her wait indefinitely until she either left the city or did something reckless.

On the eighth day, in the evening, they traveled to the hotel, both suited up and masks on their face. Fay had made a list of questions she wanted to ask Daphne but hoped the whole meeting could go without having to tie the woman up. Perhaps she was being naïve, but she did not feel Daphne had done anything wrong. She may have lied and omitted information in London, but who wouldn’t have given the circumstances?

Or maybe that’s exactly what Daphne wanted them to think. That she was an unwitting player in the whole situation.

They never had the chance to speak to Daphne again.

Minutes after they landed on the roof of a building adjacent to the hotel, chaos unleashed. The cameras in the hotel were shut down, and the fire alarm activated. Smoke billowed from the windows on the fourth floor on one side of the building. Damian gestured her to stop, as he listened in to his comms and tried to get a visual through his binoculars.

The cameras he planted in her room still worked, as they operated on a different system to the one of the hotels. And they showed several dark figures in Daphne Barlow’s room, knocking her out and taking her away. Damian swirled on his feet towards Fay, telling her to run and get away. She never had a chance to do that either. A dark figure armed with a sword appeared on the roof they were on and attacked Damian who immediately rose to the challenge and unsheathed his own weapon.

Bagheera growled and pushed her to the side seconds later and she quickly found out why. A large beast, built like a bear and the scaled skin of a snake landed behind them. Two horns sprouted and curved backward from each side of its head, and four red, luminescent eyes stared at them hungrily.

It was a Grymla. A species native to the forests of Aedyr. Highly aggressive, but incredibly solitary. Difficult to tame and very territorial.

And one was currently in that world.

The Grymla was bigger than her paladin, at least in his regular form and she watched, frozen to the spot, as the two beasts launched at each other. They moved quickly, a flurry of fur, claws and growls, their combined weight making the ground underneath her feet tremble whenever they knocked each other down.

Move.

You need to move.

Fight back, remember?

Damian’s fight took him to the other building, and she watched just how quickly and agile he moved around. Bagheera on the other hand had his own challenge with the determined Grymla. Her fight came in the shape of a shorter figure. They did not wear a cloak like the other attackers, but they had a similar dark, blank mask covering their faces. Judging by their built, it appeared to be a male.

“So, is this how Maysoon flux masters look like, hm?’’ It was a male. Young, too or at least he sounded that way. Maybe not that much older than herself.

Fay straightened to her feet and braced herself, the flux channeling to her hands instinctively. She was going to fight. She had to. She promised herself she will.

The man-boy, really – scoffed at her. “Pathetic.’’

Then energy sparked in his hands, red like the color of blood.

Red, like fire.

Fay gasped when she saw the flames gathering in his upturned palms.

No way.

He….he has the flux?!

And it just had to be fire, didn’t it?

.

His opponent was a decent swordsman. Not excellent, but his inhuman speed made up for where he lacked in technique.

This is why the fight was dragging along more than Damian would have liked. He barely flinched when the other sword brushed against his side, cutting through the Kevlar and his skin. No matter, it was a superficial cut. And it gave him an opening, just like he wanted, to place an explosive on his enemy’s cloak. He jumped away and smirked when his opponent realized too late, not getting the chance to remove his cloak before Damian activated the explosive.

The man groaned in pain, and fell on the ground, his sword clattering a few feet away. The blank mask also came undone, exposing his face.

An average-looking man, in his thirties. Nothing remarkable there. Except for the triangular, razor-sharp teeth and the feral sounds erupting from his chest.

A chimera, then. One that was in control of itself, unlike the ones the Angel used.

A blast of fire caught the corner of his eyes. Bagheera was wrestling another beast on the roof next to his, and Fay---

---Fay was trying to dodge several fireballs thrown in her direction, by her own opponent.

A flux master?

One of the fireballs caught her side, and she screamed, falling on the ground roughly before rolling a few times. Bagheera himself, struggled as the beast had him pinned down, its strong jaws locked onto his shoulder. If only he managed to morph himself, then the other intruders would not stand a chance.

Damian sneered, as his shark-like opponent picked up his sword and then charged at him again.

.

.

.

Fay reached for her fallen backpack and the gallon water bottle she kept inside. The air was dry, and hot so she struggled to use water in those conditions. The flames had hit her in the legs, but they didn’t penetrate the Kevlar—rather it had been the bolt of energy clashing against hers that took her by surprise. Spilling the water, she immediately channeled her flux and moved her hands firmly, the small puddle growing bigger and bigger as it absorbed the water in the air before she sent it towards the enemy.

The ball of fire he was preparing to launch in her direction wasn’t extinguished completely, but it did manage to make him stumble back.

And then he made a noise, like a snarl, and a bigger ball of fire formed between his palms.

Fay would have moved, had she not caught sight of Bagheera struggling under the Grymla or the blood matting his fur. She froze, horrified.

No.

No, no, no.

The flames moved in her direction, scorching and hungry.

A hand grabbed her by the back of her attire and pulled her away from the path of the devouring element, and for a split second, she thought—hoped—that was Damian. Except, Damian was now two roofs away, engaged with not one but three of the masked figures.

“That’s enough.’’ The voice was deep, gruff, and unfamiliar. She struggled against the grip holding her, but it was akin to trying to release herself from a vice. 

A gloved hand moved near the side of her face, and she heard a small hissing sound before wisps of red smoke hit her face, making her eyes water. She inadvertently inhaled some of it before she could stop herself, and it was all it took it. Her body locked as if her insides were made of machines that suddenly stopped working and she crumpled down to the ground.

Her vision became blurry, just shadows dancing amongst the red smoke which seemed to permeate everywhere.

Then it all went dark.

Her last thought was that she was starting to get rather sick of being kidnapped

Chapter 36: A/N: Recap, highlights and changes

Chapter Text

Damian’s timeline:

  • Between his ninth and tenth birthday, Damian had his Year of Blood (in the comics I believe they say it took place when he turned then, but it didn’t make sense he spent a year doing all those tests and was still ten when he met his father).
  • Damian and Dick were the Dynamic Duo for at least eight to nine months before his father returned. The ‘Nobody’ storyline took place not long after Damian started working with his father.
  • Damian died approximately four months after working with his father, at age 11. He was still killed by the Heretic but this was not done on Talia's orders. Talia will not be depicted as a black-and-white villain nor was Damian born as a result of her raping Bruce. 
  • Damian was resurrected approximately a year after his death. Seeing as he was dead, I see him as still being physically eleven but chronologically twelve years old. So, chronologically he is fourteen as of Chapter 29 which will be acknowledged but he will not actually be considered as being older than Fay. Not in the traditional sense, anyway.
  • After coming back to life, Damian had also worked on undoing the crimes he’s committed during his Year of Blood, albeit it did not take him as long as in the actual comic. I also love Maya’s character, so I do see her as appearing in this story. I haven’t decided whether they’ve already met or not.
  • Several months before returning to Gotham and subsequently meeting, Damian had worked with the Teen Titans. Not the Titans that appear in the animated DC (mainly because I really hate the characterization). I grew up with Dick-Starfire-Raven-Cyborg-BB as the original Teen Titans so they will be portrayed as such, but these characters will make an appearance.
  • Damian is twelve years old psychically/biologically when meeting Fay and she is slightly older, as she turns thirteen before he does.
  • Damian has not gone to Hell. The idea of him going to Hell will be explored in a metaphorical manner only. 

Fay’s timeline:

  • Fay’s birthday falls on December 7th
  • Fay has been able to fly since she was young even before she could walk properly. She is no longer capable of doing so after the attack on her home. The reason is unknown, but healers have told her it is not psychically related.
  • As of the latest Chapter, Fay is psychically stunted. She has not experienced her period or other changes with her body as she should have and does feel insecure about it. This adds to her perception that she's 'broken' or 'wrong'. 
  • Maysoon was attacked on February 19th when Fay was only ten years old
  • A year goes by before she runs away. During this period, Fay refers to a period of emptiness in which she struggled with feeling nothing. This can be interpreted as the state of shock she was in, but it will also be further explored. Fay subsequently followed with her grief and denial about what happened. She was bullied, verbally and psychically which has contributed significantly to her feeling anxiety.
  • She is eleven years old when she travels to Damian’s world.
  • When she was nine years old, Titoh was formally adopted as her foster sibling. They had known each other before then.
  • Fay and Bagheera have been by each other’s side since Fay was four years old, and the latter was a very young pup.
  • Prior to her parent’s death, Fay has been a regular child tending towards being an introvert. She was more comfortable around animals and the wilderness, but she was not necessarily lonely. Rather, her sense of being an outsider/reject comes from not being as an individual instead of her parent's daughter or an heir, not because she necessarily craves regular friendships. After her parent’s death, Fay struggled with her self-worth, self-image, and mental health as well as not being able of improving as well as others in training/studies. 
  • She is very curious and dreamt of being an adventurer when she was younger. She is also reckless, acting often on emotion and instinct. 
  • Fay can be overly paranoid about people's intentions, generally when they are kind/thoughtful of her. This wariness had already existed before the trauma she's suffered as she recognizes people often felt a duty to be nice to her. After the attack in Maysoon and the subsequent bullying, Fay has seen herself as undeserving of better treatment. That is one of the reasons why Damian's constant interference in her life confuses her so much. 
  • Her stutter is something she primarily developed after the trauma she’s faced and the subsequent pressures. It is pronounced when she’s around people who make her feel nervous or intimidated as Damian himself at the beginning.
  • Fay is fluent in English as well as a few other languages from her world. She has limited knowledge of other languages in Damian’s world, rather knowing more about the ancient languages like Latin or Greek. She has no fluency in either of them.
  • Fay also tends to pause or break her sentences, primarily due to her nervous disposition but also because sometimes she struggles with English. When she is comfortable, however, she speaks fast and as easily as a native speaker.
  • Fay struggles internally with wanting to believe and embody her parent’s values and principles but she finds it hard due to several reasons: she is not like her parents (i.e., natural talent), she carries a lot of unresolved anger that her parents had never taught her how to deal with (because there was not a reason to do so) and her own shame. As a result of her bond with Damian and breaking away from her world, Fay has started acknowledging that the anger she carries is normal and that perhaps, she should not fault herself for the way others have treated her. However, this is not linear progress—so Fay will go back and forth the more she develops and has further epiphanies about herself.
  • Fay does not like the idea of killing or resorting to it as a first choice, but she is also not a ‘black and white person. She regrets killing the mindless beasts that attacked them on Halloween, but she also doesn’t perceive that necessarily as an act of murder. Needless to say, she’ll have plenty of curveballs to deal with in terms of this topic and so will Damian.
  • Fay has taken more after her father in terms of looks but in terms of ability, she takes after her mother. She is of a quieter nature like her father but emotional/passionate like her mother. Her mother is implied as having been an orphan and having friends/allies that she considers family which Fay has tried to search for but hasn't been successful.
  • Fay loves her family very much, but she does admit they had failed to understand her fully because of her human/emotional nature and difficulty in detaching/compartmentalizing. 
  • Fay is human, but she is not Homo Sapiens. As Damian mentions in recent chapters, she is a more advanced type of human at least from a genetic perspective. I have to research this matter in more depth as I am not a scientist, and I will delve into it deeper.
  • Very likely, Fay will start aging at a slower pace once she reaches the adulthood stage. As you may well guess, this will potentially pose an obstacle she and Damian must face.

Bagheera:

  • Is a Paladin that has been often referenced as looking very similar to a wolf. When I first created him in my mind, I had pictured a dire wolf.
  • When he is standing normally, he has a height of forty-six inches including his head. Thus, he is slightly taller than Titus. He is also more muscled and has a heavier coat. His claws are bigger and retractable compared to an actual dog or wolf.
  • He does not bark, but rather can emit a wider array of sounds that are not necessarily lupine in nature. He can howl.
  • He can move very discreetly like a feline and given his very dark fur, he blends in easily in shadows and the night.
  • He is an empath. He can detect people’s emotions within a hundred feet radius but if a person is particularly emotional, he can feel them from further away. He is also capable of projecting his own emotions.
  • He is very adept at interpreting human body language and intelligent enough to understand Fay speaking in two different languages (native and English).
  • I do not like to set an exact age for his mental/emotional capacity, but I think he is pre-adolescent in some ways and more advanced in others.
  • When I think of Bagheera, I also think of Kirara from Inuyasha. I think that’s where I may have gotten my inspiration of a warrior having an animal partner. Like Kirara, Bagheera has a second form which is referenced as ‘the battle form’.
  • He has a hate/love relationship with Damian, but they do respect one another. Bagheera knows Damian makes Fay happy, but he can be jealous of it. Damian doesn’t like that his emotions can’t be hidden entirely from Bagheera, and he also butts his head with the paladin because they’re both dominant.
  • Bagheera cannot communicate necessarily with all other animals, but they are drawn to him, especially if they are not of a predatory nature or more dominant than him. Other animals can sense he is on a different level in the animal kingdom.

 

Dana Mercher: 

  • Owner of Soul Bowl, in her early to mid-thirties
  • Has a son named Robert 'Robby' Mercher named after her husband who died when Robby was a year old. The cause of death has not been explored yet. 
  • Dana was abused by her father and tried to run away from home. A kind woman in the apartment block she lived in took her under her wing, helping her turn her life around. As a result, Dana had wanted to pay it forward. 
  • She can be cynical, especially about the wealthier class and she can be temperamental. She swears, as well. As a result, she reminds Fay of her mother. 
  • She is thick-skinned and a good leader/businesswoman, willing to pay out of her own pocket to keep the soup kitchen going
  • Fay is not the only child she has helped, but she is the one whom Dana had felt drawn to and as such, asked her to live in the attic
  • Damian is not particularly approving of Damian but she recognizes the positive influence he's had on Fay
  • She has grown to be very fond of Fay, and very protective. She has even considered adopting Fay to ensure the girl has a chance at a normal life. 
  • She is intimidated by Bagheera, but she is also happy that Fay has someone to protect her in Gotham. 
  • Dana has figured it out that Fay has run away from home and her parents are dead. She also suspects, much like Damian, that Fay may have abused. 

 

Daphne Barlow: 

  • Her real name is unknown, but she is originally from a now-extinct clan in Maysoon named Altas.
  • She is a tough woman, capable of detaching from her emotions as a result of her upbringing and abilities. She is very analytical and can come across as cold. 
  • She was first-born and therefore heir to the clan. She had a younger sister. 
  • Her father was greedy and tried to double-cross the royals who were at the height of their power at the time. To save herself and her sister, Daphne swore loyalty to the clan. If she hadn't, they would have all been killed anyway. 
  • Daphne started working at the court and it is implied she did so very closely with Fay's father. She did not inherit her clan's healing abilities but hers were deemed even more useful. 
  • Her sister is dead (implied). The cause of death has not been explored yet. 
  • Daphne was blindfolded/drugged and she does not recall how she arrived in the other world. At some point after, she was taken in by Henry Reid when she was in her late teens (psychically, at least). Daphne attended university along with Hannah Walker but it is unclear how close they were. They grew apart in later years. 
  • Daphne was in love and engaged to Bruno Von Richter. It is implied he has betrayed her trust when she has revealed her true identity. She has mixed feelings about his disappearance but she doesn't appear to know what happened as they've not spoken in years. 
  • Daphne fell in love with another man that she credits as having been her most peaceful relationship. He died of a heart attack. 
  • She has two adopted children that are grown up and have families of their own. 
  • Daphne admired and considered Fay's father a friend or at least an ally. She has promised him to fulfill an unknown favor years before she met Fay. 

 

 

Highlight**

1. Fay does not currently view Damian in a romantic way, and vice versa. Their growing affection for one another can be perceived as atypical because they are atypical children. In different ways and to different extents, they are starved for acknowledgment. But they have been raised with different values and by different parents, so they have adapted differently.

Their love will not be platonic forever, but this change will happen gradually and not without some bumps in the way. I would like to see Fay and Damian discover who they are, on their own and as individuals, before they end up together. Of course, they will influence each other greatly in such growth as well. Lines will start getting blurred the more they develop, and they start facing other aspects of adulthood.

The reason why I do not wish to portray romance too soon is that I genuinely enjoy themes of friendships, especially between two people of the opposite gender. I want them to grow naturally in love with one another and not just because they’re a boy and a girl who are friends first. I also would like to explore their sexualities, themes of intimacy, and how they’ll deal with all of it.

2. There have been several changes made to the story throughout the 30-odd chapters posted. Most of these changes do not affect the plot. I would also like to apologize for any errors that will persist after my revision as my brain tends to block them when re-reading the chapters and Grammarly is not that great at helping me proofread. Furthermore, I have a tendency to switch between British and American English without realizing it. 

If you do not wish to go back and re-read the story, here are the changes that I have made to the story.

Medium changes:

  • Damian first learned of the so-called Sponsor by intercepting coded messages between high-profile criminals in San Francisco as opposed to hearing it just through the rumor mill. Again, not affecting the overall plot but is amended for logic’s purpose. A small-time crook wouldn’t have as much insight into a super secretive, new criminal.
  • The Sponsor’s reputation is largely the same as in the original chapter. He is presumably a man who allegedly sponsors ‘game-changing’ weaponry to criminals. However, I have offered a better take on how this is happening than before by emphasizing that the Sponsor chooses his criminals carefully. He doesn’t just go around weaponizing people. This leads to criminals being tempted to gain his attention. Damian has little information beyond that, but he believes one such criminal will be acting in Gotham (unsurprising, given the city is the perfect ‘recruitment’ ground).
  • Fay has a wealth of problems she is dealing with, in addition to navigating a foreign world. She has obvious emotional issues, as she’s still grieving and struggling with thinking about her parents without triggering panic attacks. Part of this is due to a series of ‘incidents’ that took place which has in return, made her even more volatile. It is a vicious circle, in other words. She has psychical health issues which are closely tied to the bracelets affecting her as well as her emotional state.
  • Fay has faced both verbal and psychical harassment/abuse. For a long time, particularly before meeting Damian, she has believed she is deserving of that treatment, although deep down she realizes that how others treated her was cruel and unfair. So, if there are seemingly contradictory thoughts on her behalf regarding this, it is The back and forth diminishes thanks to her friendship with Damian, especially as she starts acknowledging the deep-seated anger she feels with those who have hurt or dismissed her. Fay fears this anger, however, because of how volatile it causes her flux to be.
  • Previously, the story had made references to Fay hating to be touched and suffering from flashbacks that pointed to her being mocked/abused by others. However, this has now been emphasized in a stronger manner especially when she interacts with Damian. As of the latest chapters, Fay is completely comfortable with Damian and trusts him. The extent of the bullying she’s experienced will be explored later.

Minor changes:

  • Gloria was originally a retired kindergarten teacher with forty years of experience, putting her in her late fifties to sixties. The rewritten Gloria is still an active teacher, but her age is not specified. Not crucial to the plot, just a personal preference.
  • In the old version, allusions to Bagheera being an empath appear in later chapters, as are the negative effects the bracelets have on Fay’s health and use of flux. This has been corrected with both being referenced from the first chapter. Does not affect the plot overall, but instead creates a better continuity.
  • Damian spent six months with the Titans, rather than eight. Not crucial to the plot, but between the time Talia dropped him with Bruce and his meeting with Fay, a lot has transpired so I needed a bit more flexibility in terms of the timeline (it’s already stretched thin, but let’s just go with comic logic).
  • Damian first learned of the so-called Sponsor by intercepting coded messages between high-profile criminals in San Francisco as opposed to hearing it just through the rumor mill. Again, not affect the overall plot but is amended for logic’s purpose. A small-time crook wouldn’t have as much insight into a super secretive, new criminal.
  • My life does not matter more than yours’ has been replaced with ‘My life doesn’t mean anything.’. I think the latter sentence reflects more accurately the survivor guilt and lack of direction Fay feels in the beginning.
  • Originally, Fay had a code that she hoped to use in tracking the Seekers. Upon re-reading the story, I realized that didn’t make much sense given she also acknowledged the code was likely outdated and therefore, useless. The code will, however, appear later in the story so it is not completely gone.
  • In the chapter ‘Of Reminiscing and Oreos’, Fay had originally used technology from her world to show Damian some recordings of her childhood. I have eliminated that in favor of Fay having photos which is what she had hinted at throughout the story. There’ll def be more reminiscing/flashbacks later.
  • In the chapter ‘Intermezzo’, I have worked on the dialogue between Damian and Dick, to reflect better the conflict that Damian is experiencing in regards to Fay.

 

Chapter 37: Of the forgotten and holy books

Notes:

Hey everyone :)

Before you read the next chapter, I'd like to invite you to go back to Chapter 36. I have updated it with a summary of the main characters and I also highlighted any changes I made to the plot.

Also, if anyone would be interested in being a Beta-reader, please let me know!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

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“The plot thickens.’’


- Arthur Conan Doyle

 

Damian had told Fay he will not track her anymore without her knowledge or consent. He had kept that promise. He never said he won’t track down her paladin, however. It wasn’t without the beasts’ consent, though, considering Damian had to inject the microchip in his neck before they left that evening. Bagheera would do anything to protect Fay, so it wasn’t hard to convince him.  

Their attackers used bombs to get away, and while he had seen both the girl and beast being taken away, Damian had to make a choice between saving the civilians who would have inadvertently been caught in the crossfire and going after them immediately. It would be a lie if he said he hadn’t considered Fay's life to be more important. That he would have preferred prioritizing her welfare over the civilians. 

Alas, he went into the building first to evacuate the civilians trapped in there. No dead, just four individuals with mild injuries.

Damian was relieved that his father was not in Gotham in that period. However, Dick’s expression told Damian that he was going to be very finely interrogated on what happened. Damian did not give him a chance to ask questions as he quickly followed the multiple signals coming from both the tracker in Fay’s suit and Bagheera’s. They were taken away in a military-grade aircraft, modified and equipped with high-tech grade giving it cloaking capabilities and speed that rivaled Batman’s own resources.

His first thought was that his mother was involved in the attack. He wouldn’t put it past her at all. However, the attackers did not bear any obvious affiliation to the League, nor they have the finesse of the assassins trained in the organization. They were only slightly more disciplined than the mindless beasts they encountered months earlier.

Except for the one using fire. He was different. And he had gone straight for Fay which meant she had been a target as much as Daphne was.

They should have just let the woman rot in that hotel room.

“I am listening. What happened, Robin?’’ Dick said as the Batplane moved swiftly through the air, following the paladin’s signal. Twenty minutes after the kidnapping, both signals had momentarily disappeared only to resurface half an hour later. And Bagheera’s only. Fay’s tracker had either malfunctioned, deactivated, or been removed. Something unpleasant churned in Damian's stomach. 

Mind over matter, logic over emotion.

Damian gritted his teeth, not feeling particularly patient or eager to talk to the older man. He much would have rather gone alone, but Dick made it clear that was not a choice. There was no time to be wasted, so Damian did not protest as much as he would have wanted. He offered a curt summary. Daphne Barlow, having defected her world decades earlier, was someone who might have information on who the Angel received her resources, and they had been monitoring her for months. Her psychometric abilities brought her to Gotham, and they have been careful in not being detected. Or so Damian thought. It seems someone else has been watching from the shadows as well, waiting for the right opportunity to attack.

There is a possibility that Daphne has been used as bait to get to Fay.

“Which worked.’’

Damian's scowl intensified. It was the truth, but he did not have to like hearing it.

“I had everything under control,’’ He said, if only slightly petulantly. He did, but he hadn’t expected the fire user.

Failing to prepare is preparing to fail.

(His father would have done a better job; his mother would have punished him)

Dick was simultaneously relieved and annoyed that Bruce was away, working on a case that required him to travel to South America. If Bruce had been there, the ire between son and father would have been monumental and Dick doubts that Damian would take lightly to Bruce expressing concerns over the way his son has been gatekeeping his friend. He would have also pointed out how that behavior led them in that situation.

Dick wouldn’t have necessarily disagreed, but he does believe Damian had been as cautious as possible. They don’t know what they don’t know sometimes. Dick refrained from voicing any of that, at least not for the time being. Mainly because Tim had said something very similar, a couple of weeks earlier which resulted in the youngest Robin and the former one fighting. Tim was being pragmatic and analytical, but he did not dislike Fay, nor he necessarily think Fay was a threat. It was a matter of having more data, which Damian did, or otherwise, he would not be so quick in defending his decision to keep most of what he learned on Fay a secret.

Damian could be an obnoxious brat; he could also be a dangerous adversary and he is certainly a very complicated child full of contradictions. A difficult creature, that was also fiercely loyal as proven by the way he treated Fay. 

“Fay is good at taking care of herself and we all want her to be safe,’’ Dick said.

"-TT--tell that to Drake or father--'' 

"Damian, neither one of them would like to see her injured or worse. She is a child.'' Although Tim was likely more open to the idea of Fay being around and knowing their secrets than Bruce was. "But she is privy to our secret identities just as she appears to be targeted by someone else. That means it involves all of us, regardless if you are the one who is friends with her.'' 

Damian clicked his teeth. "She has done nothing to prove she's unworthy of trust. Then again, when has that ever been enough? Father would rather trust Drake's assessment.'' 

Dick sighed. They were not going to have a productive conversation, not at that moment. Not when there was an element of truth in his words. 

“We are catching up on our mark. It seems we are heading to Europe.’’ 

The boy grunted but didn’t comment.

He had failed. 

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A smooth, feminine voice roused her up from the murky depths of sleep.

Darlin’…’

Was that her mother’s voice? No, no it did not sound like her. Wrong accent. Not as warm.

Wait.

I was kidnapped!

Fay’s eyes opened suddenly, jolting upright with a pounding heart and a gasp catching in her throat. She immediately regretted the sudden movement, as she felt her stomach lurch and the room spin around her. Someone---someone kidnapped me---the red smoke---there was another flux master, and Bagheera---She shook her head, hoping to chase away vertigo and convoluted thoughts.

“Calm down, love.’’ She knew that voice. The accent was unmistakable.

Daphne Barlow was sitting next to her, the faint scent of floral perfume tickling Fay’s nostrils. The hand on her shoulder fell away, as Fay reached to touch her face. The mask was gone. In fact, she had been stripped of her whole Kevlar attire and changed into a pair of dark cotton shorts and a white tunic. The short sleeves left the marks on her arms exposed and she instinctively pulled away from the woman, remembering her psychometric skills. Her back hit something solid. A wall.

“I won’t hurt you,’’ Daphne said, leaning back. “I, myself, woke up only a few moments ago.’’

Fay glanced at her, realizing that was the first they met with no disguises standing between them, and then quickly averted her eyes around the room. She did not have time to consider who her kidnapper was, much less what was their intentions, but Fay hadn’t expected to wake up in such a richly decorated room. In fact, if it weren’t for the aggressive manner in which they were taken, Fay would have assumed they were guests there. 

It took her a few moments to place the name of the decorative style, but she remembers admiring pieces of furniture from that era at the Gotham Museum of Art. She had also come across such architecture and décor during her visit to Europe with Damian. The decorations were heavy and elaborate, with the white plaster ceiling relieved by cornices and the furniture draped in dark-colored plush.

On the side of the room where she was, there two single beds – silk sheets, is that gold thread? - separated by a mahogany vanity table. Moving towards the middle of the room, to her left was a fireplace mounted with elaborate objects and fitted with mirror panels. There were untouched logs inside, but the air was warm enough in the room. There was a rose scent wafting in the air whose origin she detected as coming from a bouquet of white roses set on the large round table in the middle of the room. To her right, she spotted a pair of tall white doors with intricate oriental patterns on them and gold doorknobs.

Across the room, on the end, shelves were built inside the paneled walls and filled with books. There were no windows or other doors.

Her mind struggled to reconcile their cell-not-cell with the way they were taken. 

“What—‘’ The hell. “---where are we?’’

Daphne raised to her feet and then went to sit on her own bed. Her clothes hadn’t been changed but the scarf and gloves were missing, and her hair was not in its usually neat style, just pulled back in a low ponytail. The scar was visible on her throat, and Fay forced her eyes away when the woman caught her staring. Their shoes have also been removed and Fay didn’t even bother to look for her backpack, knowing it was a moot point.

She had so many questions she wasn’t even sure where to start. But she knew she had to find where Bag and Damian were.

Her eyes went back towards the doors and Daphne must’ve noticed it. “They’re locked. And there are guards outside, I heard them talking.’’

Fay looked around the room again. What kind of kidnapper offered such accommodations? Why not throw them in a cell or at the very least, tie them up? She could still use her flux, too. Then again, the boy who attacked her had no issues overpowering her.  She swallowed nervously, her mouth feeling as if it’s made of cotton, and willed her anxiety at bay. It was not the time to have a panic attack.

The insidious thoughts were threatening to take over. What if Bagheera was dead? What if Damian was? What if they were in danger and she couldn’t help? What if---

“You look like your father.’’

Fay jumped slightly and looked over at Daphne. The woman looked exhausted, the cool, unreadable demeanor cracking slightly to reveal a very wary woman underneath. Fay didn’t comment, just stared at her cautiously. The woman smiled slightly, not unkindly. “Except you are human.’’

That was also something she’d heard often in the past.

“I can feel your flux. You haven’t learned how to conceal it properly, have you?’’ The words were blunt, but the tone wasn’t harsh. Just curious. ‘None of your business was suddenly a very tempting response but Fay simply looked away and refused to respond. The woman had a penetrating gaze that made her uncomfortable, not unlike Damian used to in the beginning. He still did at times, but she trusted him, he was an ally and a friend as opposed to the woman beside her.

Fay left the bed, bare feet sinking into the soft carpet, as she walked over to the double doors. Slowly, because her legs felt unsteady, and the beginning of migraine was forming at the back of her head.

Just for once, it would be nice if she didn’t get knocked out.

She pressed her ear against the door, to listen for any noises. She didn’t hear anything initially, except something…shifting. Perhaps it was the guards Daphne talking about, but Fay heard no voices. She had half a mind to knock at the door and see if she’d get a response. Fay stepped back and walked around the room, looking around. There were no obvious cameras that she could see, but she still got the sense they were being watched. Fay had seen the tech that Damian used for Daphne’s room---cameras could be very well hidden in any of the knickknacks and decorative pieces around the room, and they wouldn’t be easily detectable.

“Judging from your confused face, you do not know who is responsible for this or why we are here,’’ Daphne remarked dryly, running a hand over her hair while the other tapped against her knee, impatiently. She could have used a cigarette. Or maybe a cigar, at that point.

Fay stopped scrutinizing the doors anxiously and looked at the woman. With each second pass, Bagheera and Damian’s life could be in danger. And she was just standing there, doing nothing. “Do you know who they are?’’ She asked finally, although she did not expect an honest response. Daphne may have been drugged, kidnapped, and then placed in that room with her, but Fay wasn’t sure if that made her innocent.

Daphne sighed and shook her head. “I may not be universally liked as a psychologist, but I am not sure if I’ve pissed off anyone that it would warrant such a kidnapping.’’ Silvery eyes glanced at the girl from the corner of her eyes. “And before you ask, no, I have no idea of anyone with links to our world who would do this. They took you, as well, so I doubt this is the work of a scorned fan.’’

Who could it be then? To have such resources as well.

Even if she did think Bruno could have anything to do with it, he was dead. She had seen his body with her own eyes, she made sure. Daphne had some theories, weak ones, but she couldn’t imagine any of the individuals she imagined using such forceful methods of recovery. It had to be someone from that world acting against them, someone who was interested in both Daphne and the girl.

Which meant they knew who the kid was.

I was careful. Unless I was already being watched by someone else.

The girl alternated between wringing her hands and scratching at her face, her body stiff as she seemed to contemplate the next steps. She did not inherit her father’s stoic and calculated nature then, but rather, was an open book like her mother.

“What is your name?’’ Daphne asked. That was the thing with her abilities—they could help her gain useful information or end up being ignorant on the most basic. It was different with people, of course, but even then, it varied. Daphne wondered what else she’d see if she touched the girl's hand. No, that’d take a toll on her and she required to be completely lucid for when their captor will inadvertently reveal themselves. It has been a while since she’s had to fight, but she was not one to bear her neck and wait for the sword to come swinging on it.

“Don’t you…already know that?’’ The girl asked, keeping her distance.

“No. I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.’’ Daphne said patiently, although she did not feel that way. It wasn’t the kid’s fault. She just didn’t appreciate being kidnapped. “I already know who you are and who your parents were, so there’s no harm in telling me your name.’’ She pointed out. The girl seemed to mull that over, then seemed to have decided that Daphne had a point. Her mouth opened to offer an answer, but she was cut off short by sounds outside the white doors. Daphne jumped to her feet but stayed where she was while Fay stepped back from the doors, tensing up.

There were multiple footsteps. A gruff voice ordered the guards to unlock the door. There were no locks, but something metallic swished and clanked softly, indicating the doors were sealed electronically.

The room was deceptively old-fashioned but far from it, it seemed.

Both doors burst open, revealing the two guards flanking the entrance but who stayed behind as a third man stepped inside. He was incredibly tall, a hulking mass of a man whose footsteps thudded against the floor as he approached Fay. His hair was cut short, and he was dressed in dark attire, with a gun resting in a holster on his right thigh. His face was wide, his dark eyes too small and deep-set and there was a pronounced scar running across his right cheek. As he lifted a meaty hand and pointed at Fay, she noticed that the sharp, dark claws. “Little girl,’’ he said gruffly. His whole presence felt predatory and judging by the jagged, sharp teeth in his mouth, he was exactly that. “Follow me.’’

A Duanima? An actual Duanima, not an experiment like the ones on Halloween. 

Fay had pressed her back against the fireplace by then, her instincts telling her she should keep as much space as possible between her and the man who looked like he could crush her head easily.

“Where?’’ She did not stutter, but her voice sounded pitiful. She couldn’t tell what type of chimera he was, but he was undeniably dangerous.

“Shouldn’t elders get priority?’’ Daphne asked, almost mockingly. The man’s head tilted ever so slightly towards her, and Fay glanced behind him. Even if she did somehow pass him by, the guards standing outside were armed. They could be chimeras as well, which meant they would be faster and more agile.

“Be quiet or die.’’ His accent was thick, the English words heavy and mispronounced. She’d heard that accent before, but she couldn’t place it at that moment. It had to have been during the travels to Europe.

Is that where they were? Europe?  

The irony.

The man turned his gaze on her. “Move.’’ He snarled, fangs baring. “Or I make you.’’

Fay glanced at Daphne, who looked apprehensive but not intimidated. Then, reluctantly, with increasing trepidation, she moved towards the bulky man who stepped aside to let her exit, but not before he gruffly gave her a curt warning that he’ll kill her if she misbehaved. Logic, diminished by her rising anxiety, told her that it wouldn’t make sense to kill her after going through the trouble to kidnap her only to treat her like a guest. At least in terms of accommodation.

Maybe criminals in that world had different ways of treating their prisoners. How would she know?

If I keep getting kidnapped any more times, though…

The chimerean man walked before her, and she glanced over her shoulder to see the guards shut the doors behind her. She did not want to see Daphne hurt even if she didn’t know whether the woman was an ally or not, but there was not much she could do at that moment. One of the guards followed them, his hands laid across a rifle positioned against his chest. He was smaller in stature and with no obvious chimerean features that she could see. He sneered at her when he caught her staring.

Fay swallowed, nervously and turned her gaze to the long hall they were traversing. The tall ceilings, the marbled floor, the red carpet, and the equally eclectic décor indicated she was in an incredibly lush environment. A mansion…or perhaps even a palace? One that had cameras at every corner, and all doors sealed by electronic systems requiring a fob key or a card. However, what must have been the original decorations of the palace had been left intact from the oil paintings with gilded frames to tapestry art and small-scale bronze sculptures. The furniture was lavish with displays of ceramic pieces of art.

No windows so far to indicate as that awaited outside of those seemingly old walls.

Fay was mentally repeating the number of turns they made when they finally stopped before two tall dark doors with shiny gold handles. That place was confusing to navigate, and she’d seen several other guards walk down those corridors, just as armed as the ones accompanying her. The doors before her opened, and initially, she couldn’t see anything in front of her, her view blocked by the burly Duanima in front of her. She followed hesitantly, eyes darting about the large room which seemed to serve as a study of sorts. At first glance, it appeared to be as lush as the rest of the building but instead of works of art she wasn’t familiar with or couldn’t pinpoint to which art movement they belonged, Fay found herself staring at items that were familiar.

Because they were from her world. To her left, covering most of the wall was a large map, damaged at corners and wrinkled but undoubtedly depicting her world’s territories. She froze, deaf to the guard behind warning her gruffly to keep on walking. The map wasn’t the only thing that she recognized. There were bookshelves with books and tomes, and she recognized many of those titles, either because they’d been part of her educational requirements or because she’d seen them many times in her family’s library. Display cases pushed against the walls contained art pieces or weapons --- she could not she’d seen all of them before, but they were plenty of those she did. She recognized a short blade made of exard, a painting hanging on the wall towards her left that depicted a scenery she was all too familiar because she’d seen different versions of it before, pottery that belonged to an art movement that’d existed decades before she was born before and was characterized by its macabre depictions and representative of the suffering the artists felt in that period.

The other side of the room was just as full of—what was it? Some sort of collection? It seemed like it. Fay gasped when she saw the geraniums and pots of plants across the far end of the room. Blissiaris, an orchid native to Maysoon, kept under what appeared to be a glass display with a warm light above it, likely responsible for maintaining the warm temperature it strived in. Casma, a tall plant generally found in the colder territories and characterized by mesmerizing burgundy feather-shaped fronds. It blooms twice a year, and its flowers, small and white, release a pungent scent. Often cultivated to be used in the creation of perfumes due to its popular scent. Ramnris, native to Vontagor, is a cluster of small crateriform flowers bright red. Deceptively inoffensive but highly poisonous. Its pollen can cause a person to suffer sudden and severe internal bleeding, which is morbidly fitting given its crimson color. As far as Fay knew, however, that particular flower belonged in an arid environment. There were many other plants in there that she recognized vaguely or not at all but none belonged to be in that room. Most importantly, she couldn’t understand how they could survive given each required vastly different weather and nutrients.

Fay had been so stunned at seeing so much of her world in that room that she hadn’t noticed the Duanima guard step aside, or the man sitting behind a desk before her.

“I see you've taken with my collection.’’ She jumped, then inwardly cursed at being distracted so easily. Her wide-eyed gaze fell instantly on the man who spoke, carefully taking a measure of his grizzled hair and beard, the wide forehead, and deep-set dark eyes. He smiled at her which caused the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes to be pronounced further. He was dressed in a white shirt with a dark grey vest, the press and style reminding Fay of the way Alfred dressed.

Her eyes fell on his desk which was filled with more tomes and her heart skipped a breath when she recognized one. The letters on the cover were even written the original language. ‘Warfare and failures in the history of Atlabas’. Other papers were scattered about along with small trinkets or objects that seemed to be part of his otherworldly collection as well. In his large, calloused hands there was a tablet which he set down. The screen was locked, she couldn’t see any content on it.

Fay moved her gaze back on him, feeling bewildered. Damian had spoken to her about the Sponsor and the theories he had on the mysterious criminal. One of the reasons they’d been so overly cautious with Daphne was because there was a chance she was working with or on behalf of this Sponsor whose existence wasn’t even fully proven. But it was only a matter of time, Damian said. Fay’s presence there may not be tied with everything else that had been going on, but she had positively identified the senwi as being native to her world. It couldn’t also be a coincidence that Hannah Walker was the foster sister of a woman who was also from her world.

Did that mean the man before her was….?

“My apologies, where are my manners,’’ He raised to his feet, slowly and unrushed. There was nothing aggressive in his movements, no hostility on his face. With a wave of his hand, he signaled his guards to leave them alone. Fay swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry as fear pumped through her veins, ice-cold and nauseating. “My name is Bernard. It is so nice to finally meet you. I hear you have been looking for me.’’

“I—what?’’ How was that possible? Damian had reassured her they were being as cautious as possible. Did Bernard know who she really was? Who Damian was? Where were Damian and Bagheera? Did Bernard know Damian was Robin?

Bernard stepped from around the desk, but he didn’t approach her. “You are looking for a Seeker, are you not?’’

Fay blinked, confused.

“You’re—you’re a Seeker?’’

He smiled again. It was a warm one. She didn’t like it. There was something about him that made her instincts tell her he was far more dangerous than he posed himself as. Oh, the wonders of no longer being malnourished and constantly being in pain. He gestured towards one of the two velvety chairs situated in front of his desk. “If you’ll take a seat, I shall explain everything.’’

Fay refused to move.

“You—you kidnapped me.’’ She blurted. “Where—are they—my partners. Where are they?’’

Bernard did not look bothered by her abruptness.

“Your paladin,’’ The blood drained from her skin. She had a feeling his knowledge wasn’t limited just to the collection he had in that room. “Is safe. He has not been harmed, and neither has your friend. They are not here, however. I only wished to speak to you and I was hoping we could so in peace.’’ He sat down in one of the armchairs and crossed one leg over the other. “I do apologize for the circumstances in which we meet. You are a very hard person to find---my men were not meant to bring you in the way they did, but instead extend you an invitation.’’

So, she wasn’t a prisoner? Hard to believe, considering she’d been led there by armed guards.

The man posed himself as a Seeker. He couldn’t be Lukas Abicht. Fay had seen pictures of him and the man had looked vastly different. Shorter, stockier. Blonde in his younger years. But why would Daphne say all Seekers are dead when it wasn’t the truth? She behaved as if she had no idea why she was there, but it was possible she lied. Or maybe she didn’t know about Bernard herself. The presence of Duanima and items from her world, however, supported his allegation. How else could he be in possession of such resources?

Fay ultimately sat down, because her legs had started feeling unsteady and she knew it would be a moot point to try and escape. But she absolutely did not believe the man that Damian and Bagheera were safe and unharmed. They’ve been attacked, with no hesitation and aggressively so. Bernard didn’t strike her as the type of man not to have a handle on his own men.

“I…thought all Seekers are dead.’’

“Yes, well, officially we all are,’’ Bernard said off-handedly. “Let me start from the beginning, shall I?’’

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Germany, thirty miles southwest of Frankfurt. A small town with cobblestone roads and a small population.

That’s where Bagheera’s signaled them to.

Except it wasn’t the town that was of interest, but rather what lay beneath it. A honeycomb of tunnels that stretched for over a hundred miles and remained largely uncharted. The parts that had been explored had revealed that most tunnels lead to cellars across the village but that only accounted for a quarter of the underground cavities. A town used to be in place of the tunnels before it was destroyed in the seventeenth century and subsequently buried under new constructions.

While the discovery of the tunnels had led to many artifacts being unearthed and waves of tourists coming through in hopes of visiting the underground, further exploration was paused several years earlier. Too many accidents. Too many people getting lost or never coming out. Some of the residents believed it was a curse, others didn’t care so much.

Damian and Dick followed the signal in those tunnels, which ran deeper than any official records showed. The records also did not say anything about the arena that had been built at the intersection of several tunnels, several hundred feet under the surface of the town’s outskirts. Nor did they say anything about the dozens of the men and women they found inside, clearly having gathered to witness the violent entertainment taking place in the round ring. It was at least double the size of an average boxing ring and the fence not only enclosed above the arena like a dome but was also electrically charged.

Around the ring, there were at least two hundred individuals and all of them were criminals. As the scanner in his domino mask quickly revealed, at least a quarter of them were wanted internationally for crimes varying from drug and human trafficking to paid assassinations and high-level heists. Degenerates from across the world had gathered there and regardless of their origins, clothing choice, or the reason they were there, they all seemed to bear a stamp on their hand.

A spider.

They were invited here?

Disguised, Dick and Damian watched several individuals dressed in all dark clothing and wearing black, bank masks walked about stamping all the guests. At least seven different tunnels fed into that large space which appeared to have been specifically carved for entertainment. No one was allowed to go in without being stamped and if anyone objected, there were plenty of other masked individuals standing by armed and ready to take action. Damian and Dick blended in after stealing the clothes of two unsuspecting idiots which they dumped in a low, close-ended tunnel. There were no lights for miles in those tunnels, not until one got closer to the arena but they did find fluorescent paint marking the walls. They managed to avoid being asked for identification and getting a stamp when a large man in the tunnel next to theirs threw a tantrum about being asked to give up on his guns, causing the guards to turn their attention to them.

Metallic stairs across the room led to a walkabout that went all around the room, where more criminals had crowded in. The brightest part of the room was the arena itself, while the rest of the room was just barely lit and clogged with cigarette smoke and the scent of alcohol. An eighth opening near the stairs was covered by a metallic door, which was heavily guarded.

The signal however told them that Bagheera was very close by.

The room was plunged in darkness moments after their arrival, with the exception of a pale yellow one shining on the man that had just stepped in the middle of the ring. He was dressed flamboyantly in an orange suit with white accents and crocodile-skin shoes, and he was holding a microphone in his hand. He greeted the crowd and announced the next fight was about to start, clearly serving his role as a ring announcer with great enthusiasm. The crowd required little to be riled up in a chorus of impatient yells and whistling, the majority of guests looking forward to seeing new opponents engage what was likely in a fight to the death.

The metallic door opened, the ground shaking with each footstep of the hulking mass of a man that exited a few seconds later. The crowd erupted at the sight of a thing that resembled a man yet clearly was not. Eight feet tall and with a built that could have put Bane to shame, the creature stepped forward towards the ring and came to stand near the announcer, who started singing him praises.

“Ladies and gentlemen, here we have him! Our champion!’’ The lights moved away from the announcer and shined on the so-called champion.

Damian’s eyes widened when the very clearly animalistic features were highlighted. The champion had a largely humanoid face but his head was massive, accumulating a pair of thick goat horns that curled backward. Each of his hands, which could have easily crushed a human head like a watermelon, finished in dark, angular claws resembling that of an eagle. Similar claws were on his toes and coarse hair covered his burly, muscled figure. Its eyes were yellow with dark rectangular slits and when he opened his mouth to roar, egged on by the crowd, the shark-like teeth were on full view. They looked disproportionally large to the rest of his jaw but that only made the chimera all the more dangerous.

It did not appear to be as mindless as the ones the Angel had kept.

The announcer then announced the other opponent's arrival and the lights moved towards the right of the room. Three of the masked guards had moved in that area, rifles poised as a fourth one opened a large hatch that easily measured six feet in length and another ten in width. A small cage elevated itself from the dark depths and the crowd grew louder as they screamed obscenities and threw trash towards the creature trapped inside the cage.

It roared and growled and angrily gnawed at the electrified poles being prodded at it through the steel bars holding it back. An electronic collar was around its neck which sent a visibly painful jolt making the lupine beast yowl in pain.

Bagheera.

Damian’s tracker beeped loudly.

Bagheera was next to fight the chimera.

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Bernard was once Lukas Abicht’s partner. He wasn’t a native of Maysoon but Atlabas, where he had been born as Inun. As a child he was sold into slavery and thanks to his physique and quick wit, he entered the warrior ranks. He and Lukas were selected to be Seekers but they had to endure a series of grueling tests meant to evaluate their loyalty and ability to remain confidential. They were also selected because they had something to lose should they decide to turn their backs on Maysoon. Lukas had his mother and siblings to look after, and Bernard had a pregnant lover that he planned on settling with but could not do so due to his poor status.

Their first mission to that world took place in the forties. Others had explored before they did but they were rarely told anything despite rigorous training in how to behave or blend in. The mission only lasted a week, and it was meant to be a taster. They were shocked and marveled and terrified, especially since the world at the time was facing great turmoil because of World War II. They left one battlefield for another. They were rewarded handsomely, enough to have them live quite lavishly and spoil their families. Seals were placed on them preventing them from speaking about their mission. As far as anyone was concerned, the Seekers did not exist, and they would be executed if they jeopardized that.

The second mission was a year long. The third was two years. They barely saw their families even in the time that they spent back home. The fourth mission was meant to be eight months long, but they were left stranded in that world for years and years. At first, they thought it was accidental. No one came for them, however. Lukas remained optimistic and preferred making the best of his time in that world. Bernard, on the other hand, had never quite managed to warm up to living there. 

By the time they were re-contacted by their homeworld, they were told that their stay there had been due to necessity given growing uprisings as a result of the Resistance. The Empire did not want to risk exposing the Seeker initiative. When they finally returned, Lukas found his sisters and brothers have grown up to have families of their own, and his mother died. Bernard had missed out on his daughter's birth and formative years, and his lover falling in love with someone else. His own child did not even know who he was. There was nothing left for him. After ten years, he was something of a ghost. Finding lucrative work that wasn’t in the warrior ranks was bound to be difficult, even if he was allowed to leave his Seeker role. 

It wasn't long before rumors spread of the Resistance members traveling through the Veil but in different ways to the portals devised in secret by the Empire. Lukas and Bernard were asked to investigate. The first was keen, but Bernard did not wish to waste any more of his life on the other side. It was not a choice they could make, however, so they traveled again to that world. 

After a while, Lukas more and more accustomed to that world. He met Ana and fell in love with her while they were stationed in Germany. They had traveled all across the world, but Lukas had found himself enamored with what Bernard deemed a simple, local girl so ultimately he decided to settle down. He wasn't irrational. They had no idea who they were chasing anymore, and their world was offering only crumbs in return whenever they asked what their purpose was there.

Lukas decided to fake his death and assume a new identity. Initially, Bernard had been against it, but one could not return without the other. They were bound to be executed either way, as it was unlikely Seekers would ever actually be allowed free from their service so ultimately, he agreed to remain as well. Unlike Lukas, however, he did not settle down nor he build a family because he already had one that he lost. Instead, he chose to disappear completely and isolate himself from the world. He built businesses through various proxies, accumulating enough wealth to offer him a lifestyle in which he was rarely ever missing anything, but he always remained apprehensive that one day, he’d be hunted down for his insubordination.

He and Lukas did not communicate with each other once they parted ways. It was part of their pact. Cut off all ties with one another as to not jeopardize the other if someone did come after them. That is why Bernard only heard of his old friend and partner’s death two years after the robbery. Subsequently, he ensured the Abicht family was doing well but he did not interfere beyond that. 

“Everything that you see in here is items that I have brought with me as a Seeker. I did not have a home or family, but I had my books and weapons. I found some of these items throughout the year as well which I suppose only further proved the theory that there are alternative ways of traveling through the Veil.’’

Something didn’t sit well with that statement to Fay. His story had been plausible, so far. However, it didn’t make sense a Seeker would be allowed to travel with items from their world to that. Her father had told her that the Seekers were individuals selected on their ability to blend in and if their identity was ever compromised, there’d be nothing to trace them back to their world. The seals preventing them from speaking about their Seeker role made sense, but surely whoever designed those missions had expected they might want to run away?

The collection he had in his office was tremendous. And there was the matter of the Duanima.

“That man…who brought me here,’’ Fay said softly. “He—he was a Du-Duanima.’’

Bernard looked impressed. “Exactly right. You see---works of art and books weren’t the only items I came across throughout my years here. There have been other people as well. Johan, the Duanima that was brought here, has been by my side since the nineties. The poor man has been used as a laboratory rat in Russia before he escaped and we crossed paths.’’

“A…lab-laboratory?’’ Perhaps the kind that aimed to create artificial Duanima? That was if he was telling the truth.

The man hummed, a grim expression twisting his features. There was something about it that didn’t come across as entirely genuine to Fay. A feeling rather than something she can pinpoint visually.  

“But…you have no idea how he arrived here.’’

“I am afraid not. You see after I started coming across items from our world popping in art auctions or the black market, I decided to look again for something called the ‘dark paths’.’’ Her heart sunk to her stomach. She desperately hoped the recognition she felt at that name didn’t show on her face. “It appears that’s what the secret path between the worlds used by the Resistance members is called. I searched and searched for decades, but I haven’t learned anything new.’’

What about the Grymla? What about the boy who could use the flux as well?

Bernard was either a mind-reader or far more attentive than he appeared to be. “My protégé whom you’ve met already, Klaus, is one of the many children I came across as being trafficked. Unlike the other children, however, he was special. He used the flux.’’ Dark eyes met hers. “Just like you.’’ Fay gripped her kneecaps in an effort not to fidget. She doubted she did a good job at hiding how anxious she felt.

“There was…there was a Grymla as well.’’ Fay licked her lips. Bernard nodded. “And, um, your pr-protégé…he doesn’t remember either?’’

“No.’’ Bernard leaned his elbows on the sides of the armchairs and stapled his fingers in front of his face, contemplatively. “It appears that far more people have been traveling from one side to the other of the Veil, but it remains unclear to me how is that possible. Klaus himself was born here which gives me a reason to believe that his mother may have traveled here to seek shelter. Perhaps this…. Resistance had helped people.’’

Why would the Resistance use that world, though? Even with her English fluency and knowledge, Fay had found it hard to adapt in the beginning. It had been a frightening, confusing, and difficult journey, and ironically, despite Gotham’s reputation, it was in that city that she found a semblance of normality. But she had been fortunate to come across the likes of Dana, and later, Damian. Fay couldn't imagine refugees seeking sanctuary in that world. 

Unless maybe that's what happened. Could it be that's why her parents traveled there so many times? Maybe the two worlds intersected one another far more than Fay knew. 

“I traveled across the entire world looking for people like Johan and Klaus, and to track down any other items that may belong to our former world. However, for the last fifteen years, I have just barely come across an object or two.’’ Bernard smiled, again. Fay realized at that moment why she couldn’t trust his smile. His eyes were cold like the Angel’s have been. His hospitality may have been genuine but everything else he expressed felt…fabricated.

Fay was not as adept at reading others as Damian or at understanding the emotions they experienced like Bagheera, but she knew fake. Bernard smiled and looked at her the same way some people did at the court in Maysoon even if she knew with certainty, they did not like her.

“How—how did you find me? And, um, why did you bring me here?’’ In that manner, no less.

“I am aware that Daphne Barlow is a defector,’’ Bernard said as he lowered his hands in his lap. “Lukas and I met her a very long time ago when we were still active Seekers but we did not report her presence in this world. I believe she and Lukas may have kept in touch, as she served as let’s say, a role model, I suppose. Daphne wouldn’t have been aware that I was alive as well.’’ That would support Daphne’s claim that she had no idea who it was behind their capture.

He had not answered any of my questions.

Bernard unfolded his legs and raised from the chair, making Fay stiffen in her seat. He didn’t pay her any mind and instead walked across the room, stopping in front of a low brown desk with a slanted top. With a key he pulled out of the pocket of his vest, he unlocked a drawer there and pulled something out. Fay couldn’t tell what it was from the distance but taking advantage that the man’s back was turned to her, she quickly glanced over to his desk. She didn’t have time to read any of the documents, but she spotted a silver letter opener poking from underneath a tome. Leaning forward, she quickly slid it in her grasp just as Bernard closed the drawer and locked it again. She quickly sat back down on the chair and hid the sharp tool behind her back, hiding in the hem of her pants.

With her heart being a mile per minute and trembling hands that she tried to hide by hiding them between her knees, Fay watched the man approach her again. Her eyes fell on the book he was carrying. It was smaller than average, thick with dark covers and yellowing pages. When he turned the front cover towards herself Fay saw a faded gold in the middle. Upon closer look, she could also see that the book was particularly old judging by the wear along the hardback spine, bowed covers, and damp stains.  

Bernard handed it to her. Fay accepted it with reluctance, and she carefully opened it. The foxed pages felt incredibly fragile, and she could see that many of them threatened to come apart from the binding. She gently rifled through the book. She knew what it was and the significance it had in that world, but she’s never studied it herself. Fay remembers seeing copies of it in a church she and Bagheera had sought refuge once, and later heard a holy man – priest? - recite from it to a mass of men and women. The practice was not that different from the religious sects of her world and fascinated, Fay had watched the entire service.

The Bible in her hands was old, not printed in recent decades as far as she could tell. It was also full of notes and scribbles, circled words, and small messages written on the side of the original text. Small drawings, questions marks, and sentences being crossed out. They all appeared in different colors and even different writing, written either in pencil or with ink. The notes didn’t appear to have all been written in English, either.  Fay couldn’t understand everything just as she wasn’t sure of their relevance to the original text, but she’d seen similar books being filled in that manner in the past. Her parents had given her a book themselves once, as a test and she’d ended up filling it up with scribbles, trying desperately to decode it.

Was that it was? Someone was trying to decode a secret message in the book.

“I take it you know what it is.’’

Fay drew in a breath. “It—it is a collection of sixty-six re-religious books and-and letters written by-by do-dozens of people hundreds of years ago. There’s, um, hymns and…prayers and proverbs---a-among other things.’’ She internally cursed herself for stuttering again. Her palms felt sweaty. “It is—It is used by different religious groups. In this world.’’ A very summarized description but at that moment she couldn’t recall what else she knew about Bibles or religions. Her anxiety was through the roof, and she really hoped she wouldn’t experience a panic attack there and then. She hadn’t one in days, but she hadn’t also been that stressed in a while.

“Clever girl.’’ Bernard extended his hand, and she handed him the book. She wanted to read more of the notes inside, but she didn’t have the courage to express that. The man sat back down in his chair, holding the book in one hand. “I have been trying to decode this book for years, and as you must have noticed, I wasn’t the only person to add his contributions to it.’’

“Why?’’ Fay swallowed. “What—what are you trying to decode?’’

He smiled again. This time it did reach his eyes, but there was no warmth there.

Just something greedy.

“The secret behind the ‘dark paths’, of course.’’

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Bagheera was injured. The collar on his neck also seemed to impede him from assuming his battle form. Or perhaps it was due to his wounds, Damian couldn’t tell. Dick stopped him from taking action immediately, as he felt they needed a plan. They watched as Bagheera was dragged and forced to step into the ring. There was no way the paladin would be able to win in the state he was, or without being able to access his battle form. Certainly not without suffering potentially life-threatening injuries which Damian doubted will be treated with much care.

A betting pool was opened with the masked figures going around to collect the bets from each participant while the announcer informed everyone that the champion will be fighting the ‘wolf beast’ to the death. The winner will be crowned the new champion but very few in that space appeared to hold faith that the paladin would survive.

Damian imagined Fay’s expression at hearing that her paladin was dead. Then he imagined her looking at him unforgivingly because he stood by and did nothing to prevent the tragedy. That was simply not acceptable. 

Not that she was the only reason he wanted to get Bagheera out of there. He did respect the beast. The paladin was an ally.

“We need a distraction,’’ Dick said lowly.

The announcer stepped off the ring. A gong rung seconds later.

The match started.

Bagheera and the champion for one another.

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What?

No way.

He can’t be serious.

The information on the ‘dark paths’ was hidden in a Bible? Fay glanced at the book, stunned.

“Many years ago, I came across this book on an island in Southeast Asia from a man who claimed to know of ways to travel between worlds and that God had shown him the path,’’ Bernard said. He had originally assumed the man was insane, but he had turned out to be in possession of many items that belonged to the other world. Bernard asked him where he found all those objects and the man, Chongan, told him that he had looted them from another man in his village that died a year earlier. Amongst the art pieces, maps, and other tools, Chongan also found the Bible which was a peculiar item to keep amongst the others. The Bible was already full of notes and inscriptions and inside its pages, folded, was a map of a world he’d never seen before.

Fay’s world.

Ultimately, Bernard retrieved the items and the Bible, making quite a startling discovery in the process. At the bottom of the last page of the book – which he showed her by lifting the book up – was a name written in a language different than all the others. Fay recognized the language herself and could easily read the familiar letters. It was her native language, after all.

‘Aranar Carwel’

That name was familiar. Fay’s brows furrowed, her eyes instinctively darting away as her brain worked furiously in working out where she’d heard it before. It was in a history book, in one of her tutored lessons. They were learning about the Resistance and the most prominent figures of the movement, such as elite soldiers, top-tier faction leaders, and civilians who became famous for supporting the cause.

“Ah, I see you recognize the name,’’ Bernard smirked. “Good, because I had been hoping you would. I always wondered who Aranar was, and my theory was that he was either a Seeker that defected as we did or a member of the Resistance.’’ Fay wished she wasn’t so transparent. That she could maintain a stoic expression like Damian and Daphne and her uncle. It was becoming clear why Bernard wanted her there and where his ambitions laid, but Fay didn’t understand why he thought she might be useful.

She shifted in her chair.

“It—is this why I am here?’’ She exhaled.

Bernard snapped the book shut. “You are here because after fifteen years, I have yet not managed to decode his book and I do not believe your presence in this world is a coincidence.’’ It really was. Wasn’t it? “I have supervised Daphne for years in hopes she might still have a connection left to our world, but it became clear she was adamant to pretend she belonged here, just like Lukas.’’ Fay could detect an undertone of bitterness in his words. “Then several months ago, I hear that a girl has shown up with a beast in tow that could use the flux just like Klaus.’’

Heard about it? What does that even mean? 

“I must say, I am quite impressed with the way you’ve handled the Angel. That woman was fare more dangerous than I’d considered initially.’’

Fay stared at him tersely. “You…know her?’’ If he was the Sponsor, wouldn’t have he been the one to hire her? Give her the resources?

Bernard sighed heavily. His expression was suddenly grim. “I knew of her. In my travels across this world, I found that I was not the only one who had become interested in traveling through the Veil. Some were chasing information of a sense of adventure and fascination; others had already come across material from our world and were convinced they would be able to benefit from it one way or another. The Angel was a Russian criminal, you see.’’ The man leaned forward, pressing his elbows on top of his kneecaps. “I did not know that until after Halloween, but it does make sense why I kept coming across her name in illegal auctions. I have reason to believe she was involved with the same group of people that had held Johan captive.’’

No, she wasn’t. At least not according to Damian’s research. Angela had been a criminal yes, but there was no evidence of her being involved in operations that focused on human and Duanima experimentation.

Unless, of course, they’d missed that part, instead. 

“I make a habit of keeping an eye on people like her. I didn’t know what she planned for Gotham, but I do know she was obsessed with tracking down items, particularly weapons, from our world. Fortunately, her plans were thwarted by yourself and Gotham’s vigilantes. I couldn't believe my ears when I heard of a girl being able to use the flux, but then months later, you got in touch with Daphne Barlow.'' 

Even if Bernard wasn’t truly involved in the Angel’s attack and he wasn’t the Sponsor, he was still clearly spying on others. He couldn’t track Fay down after Halloween night, which was a positive, but he had enough resources to spy on them when they approached Daphne in London. Without Damian realizing it or Bagheera sensing it.

The man before her was dangerous, regardless of his affiliations or intentions. 

“I had also meant it when I said that it was not my intention to bring you here in this manner. However, that masked partner of yours would have never allowed a private discussion and I also prefer not to have many know my identity.’’ Just as the last words left his mouth, someone knocked at the door. Bernard raised to his feet, but he did not allow the new guest to enter.

Fay felt compelled to get up as well, sensing her time with him was about to end. That was alarming because she had even more questions than she did before. “You are here because I would like you to help me decode this book,’’ Bernard said, calmly. Much to her surprise, he handed her the Bible again. “I would like to return to my actual home, and I am sure you do too, so I was hoping we could be of help to each other.’’

Stunned again, Fay took the book. He didn’t say she was a prisoner, and he didn’t treat her as one, but she also got the sense he was not going to allow her to leave just like that. “Johan will be leading you back to your room. I am sure you have plenty to think of.’’ He stated, ever hospitable. “But I hope you can join me for dinner where we shall talk further about our common interests.’’

Fay didn’t get a chance to say yes or no, because the man gave a quick shout towards the entrance ‘Enter!’ before he walked around his desk and took his seat. The doors opened and the muscled Duanima reappeared. Fay couldn’t see anyone else with him, so she wondered if Bernard was awaiting someone else.

“Please escort our guest back to her chambers. She will be joining me for dinner.’’ I didn’t say yes.

Johan merely nodded and signaled her to follow him with a grunt. When Fay glanced over her shoulder as she slowly exited the study, she noticed Bernard still watching her with the same smile he had offered throughout the conversation. A cold shiver crawled up her spine and she was grateful when the doors closed behind them.

Johan walked before her – left, left, right, left – while she nervously tried to assess as much as possible of her environment.

She was not led to the same room as before, albeit it was furnished just as opulently. There was only a bed in that room, and an additional door which Johan gruffly informed her led to the bathroom.

No sight of Daphne.

Fay opened her mouth to ask where the woman was or at least, why she couldn’t go to her original room, but Johan was gone before she even managed to formulate her sentence. She heard the door lock a few seconds later and she stared at it quietly for a few minutes. That was not a lock she could pick given the electronic system and if she did manage to leave her room, the cameras on the halls were bound to record her escape. Feeling lost and unable to shake the feeling she was still being watched, Fay turned to look across the room. Her new chambers had windows, as well. 

The sense of hope she felt at the possibility of using the window to escape was quickly crushed when she drew the curtains apart.

Fay gaped at the sight before her. Before her, a vast body of water stretched as far as her eyes could see, turbulent blues meeting the grey of the skies. Stepping close to the window until her toes touched the wall, Fay glanced down at the abyss that awaited her if she decided to escape. An abyss of grey chiseled cliffs with sharp deadly rocks at the bottom against which waves crashed violently, causing foam to bubble near the surface.

There was no way she could climb down such a hostile and steep cliff, not without proper equipment. She must have been hundreds of feet above the ground and the environment looked barren wherever she looked. Just cliffs and strong winds that made the glass rattle. If she fell down that abyss and somehow avoided the rocks on her way down, she was bound to be killed by the jagged rocks at the bottom. Or drown violently.

Once upon a time, she could have flown away.

Now, all she could do is sit down on the floor, go through several coping mechanisms and try to figure out her next steps. She had no idea where she was exactly. Daphne had been taken away for reasons unknown. Bernard was a walking mystery with frightening resources at his fingers and he wanted her to decode a book that seemed to contain a code far beyond her knowledge and experience. What will happen if she can't succeed? 

Fay sighed. 

She really hoped Damian and Bagheera were in a better situation than she was. 

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Bernard

 

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

My Word proofreader tells me one thing, Grammarly tells me another, my brain a third. I am afraid I cannot guarantee 100% any grammar errors but I will keep proofreading regularly.

Chapter 38: Of the perverse and misdirection

Chapter Text

''Misdirection is the key element. We can create a space where we give them something to look at to take their mind away from what they really should be seeing.''

- Chris Conti

 

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After pacing around the room for over an hour, searching every nook and cranny for anything useful, Fay settled on the edge of the bed and stared at the Bible in her lap. She was not going to get out of there unless she decoded it and even if she did, there was no guarantee Bernard will let her free or keep her alive. But she had no clue where to start with the Bible.  

She rifled through the book extensively, trying to find a logic to the notes in there. To decode it, she first needed to understand what kind of cipher had been used. Upon closer look she could see that edition of the Bible was from 1887, edited by a man named James Arnold Wilcott. Logic dictated that any other Bible from the same edition could be used unless of course, there was something special about the one in her hands. Fay checked the book cover to cover for any hidden modifications, but she didn’t find any.

There were just too many variables. It could be that the cipher was hidden in a particular verse or page, or in a particular story. She wouldn’t be able to tell if any of the original words had been replaced with others without another copy to use for comparison. She had no way of verifying the accuracy of the content inside. 

Individual letters could have been replaced instead of words, creating a homophonic substitution. Fay recalls her mother showing her an old scroll that contained information on agricultural properties but the ciphertext hidden within the otherwise boring and mundane information revealed the location of an old Resistance safe house. Each ciphertext was represented by a number, which in turn was determined by taking a plaintext character and then using it to find the hidden message. A more advanced cipher would require converting alphanumeric plaintext into numbers only to have another code appear in its place. Some ciphers would require calculations that Fay had not learned, nor she was particularly inclined towards ability-wise. If Aranar did code any information on the ‘dark paths’ in that Bible, it was also possible he used a cipher from that world and Fay had even less knowledge on those.

As far as she could tell, many of the notes were considerations on the potential ciphers used. Varied attempts at trying to find a pattern or something out of ordinary, some more far-fetched than others. Fay was not the appropriate person for the meticulous task of deciphering such rich literary texts. She also did not want Bernard to find his way back to their world or for anyone else to find out about the ‘dark paths’. Both worlds would be in danger. 

A knock at the door made her jump, and she looked up startled. Fay immediately jumped to her feet and stiffened when she heard the door unlocking. She expected to see Johan push the door open and gruffly order her to get a move on, but instead, there was a petite woman with short curly hair and pale skin. She was dressed in what appeared to be a service uniform, dark in color with a white apron tied around her waist.

Her dark eyes fell on Fay, and she smiled politely.

“My apologies for the intrusion.’’ She said widely, eyes crinkling. “The master has requested me to accompany you to dinner.’’

Fay hesitated, not expecting the woman’s arrival. Is she a servant? She hadn’t seen other servants around. It was an odd sight considering the presence of the armed men as well.

Just as odd was the woman’s rather warm disposition given where and who she worked for.

“Um,’’

The woman stepped in and held the door open, before gesturing Fay to walk ahead of her. The girl did so, clutching the Bible in her arms and with the letter opener still hidden at the back of her shorts and underneath the shirt. The brunette walked by her side, at a slower pace than Johan did as she led Fay towards what she presumed to be the dining room. It appeared to be in the opposite direction of Bernard’s studio and Fay mentally mapped all the turns they made before going through a large ballroom.

The floor-to-ceiling windows offered her a spectacular view of the coastline and the rising moon’s reflection in the water below. She could just barely make the line between the sea – or ocean? – and the sky. The opulent room with tall ceilings instigated a strong sense of deja vu and Fay stopped in her tracks when a cold dread crawled up her spine. That place reminded her of another location, or at least she thinks it was a location. Visually, she couldn’t picture it but it was rather the storm of emotions that bubbled in her chest. It was as if her mind remembered how she felt in a particular moment, but not where and when it happened.

And the emotion that trumped all others was terror.

Have…Have I been here before?

No. No, that wasn’t possible. But the large room they were passing through did remind her of the one in Maysoon, in the old palace, albeit nowhere as grandiose. That no longer existed now, as was the case with the better part of the royal residence, but Fay was unsure why thinking about it only made her beat faster. She hadn’t been in the palace that night when Maysoon was attacked and her last memory of it was a relatively positive one.

Perhaps it was yet another memory that her brain refused to recall?

“Miss, are you alright?’’ The woman had stopped as well and was looking at her. She appeared concerned but she did not rush Fay.  

Fay’s heart was pounding, and her hands were shaking. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to remember whatever it was causing her to feel that level of bone-deep fear.

“Where---where are we?’’ she breathed.

The woman’s lips pressed in a tight line. “I am afraid I cannot disclose that.’’

Fay nodded, then took a few deep breaths. “O-okay, sorry.’’ She started walking again, her legs unsteady and her feet heavy. The woman watched her with a scrutinizing but not unkind look that made Fay feel even more nervous.

“Can-can you tell me if Daphne is alright, at least?’’ Fay asked softly. “The, um, the other woman that was brought in with me. I just—I just want to know if she’s…alive.’’

The blonde didn’t respond immediately.

“Yes.’’ She said after a moment.

Fay nodded and murmured a thank you.

After they crossed through that cavernous room, they made several turns before they arrived in a dining room just as extravagant as the rest of the building. Fay slowed down when she saw the long table covered in white and red silk, easily capable of accommodating over twenty people. Bernard was seated at the far end. When Fay turned to look at the woman that led her there, she realized the brunette hadn’t followed her. She was gone as if she hadn’t been there in the first place.

Attempting to swallow back her nerves, Fay approached the man and hesitantly took a seat on his left which had been set up with additional plates and cutlery.

“Thank you for joining me,’’ Bernard said smoothly.

Not that I had much of a choice. Fay didn’t comment, just eyed him warily.

Several more servants appeared shortly after, with piping hot food on their plates that they immediately served. Fay looked at the large cut of the medium-rare steak and the roasted potatoes. The scent was enticing, and her stomach grumbled lowly, reminding her that she had not eaten in a while. Fay glanced at Bernard’s plate – he had been served the same – and then back at hers. She really didn’t trust putting a single bite in her mouth.

“If I wanted to kill you, child, I would have already done so,’’ Bernard remarked, with the same tone one would make an everyday mundane statement. Unlike her, he did not hesitate to cut into his steak and start eating. After some deliberation, Fay used the fork and knife to cut into the roasted potatoes and vegetables, before filling her stomach with a glass of water. She couldn’t stomach the steak at that moment regardless of how good it looked.

“So, what do you think?’’ Bernard didn’t look up, but she knew he was talking about the Bible, which was now lying in her lap. After lowering the cutlery down, Fay lifted the book and placed it on the table.

“I—I am sorry.’’ She started with as much remorse as she could summon. “I really have no-no idea how to decode it. I…I haven’t been taught that much about ciphers.’’ She’d been taught far more than she and other students learned from their official lessons, but even that knowledge was still scraps compared to what her parents knew.

“I see.’’ Bernard waited patiently, his face unreadable, as a servant poured him red wine. He swirled the liquid around before taking a long sniff. Then he took a few sips and placed the glass back down. For the first time since she arrived, he met her gaze and none of his hospitable façades were there anymore. The coldness she’d seen in his eyes earlier had traveled across his entire face. “Do you expect me to believe that?’’

“I---‘’ He slammed his fist down on the table, causing the silverware to clink noisily. Fay’s glass of water fell and rolled past the edge of the table, breaking into pieces as soon as it hit the ground. The clean-crack sound echoed in the deafening silence that followed. She had instinctively pushed her seat back and tried to get up, instincts telling her that facing the peril of cliffs was better than the man’s wrath.

Sit down!’’ He roared and she froze on her seat, hands clutching the plush edges. Fay hated herself for being so easily intimidated when the flux was right there, at her fingertips, ready to cause damage. All the growing confidence she felt when training with Damian was gone, just like that.

Bernard turned his head away from her and inhaled deeply, seemingly want to compose himself. He took a few more sips of his wine.

“I do so hate to lose my temper with you Fay,’’ He did not sound apologetic at all. “I do not like being deceived.’’

Why is he so sure I know anything?

He’s crazy!

“I—I am not,’’ Fay breathed. “I really don’t know what to—to look for.’’

“How are you here?’’ He said icily.

“I, um…I don’t recall.’’ Fay stammered. “I don’t—I don’t know if it was the dark paths.’’

“Well, then, you are useless to me, are you not?’’ He asked rhetorically, as calmly as he was before. He had gone back to eating his steak as if he did not have an outburst highlighting just how violent he really was. A warrior, Fay thought. Bernard had mentioned having served as a soldier before becoming a Seeker. He appeared entirely human to her, and she couldn’t detect the flux but that didn’t mean he was not a master. Not everyone was as poor at concealing it as she was. Additionally, she hadn’t yet learned how to detect other’s flux properly, either.

Sweet Maysoon, she was so behind in her warrior and flux mastery training that the last months barely made a difference. How much more ahead are the others back home, she wonders? What would Damian think if he knew?

Bernard lifted a bell from the table and shook it, the sound echoing in the empty dining hall. Moments later, Johan reappeared and without a single glance at her, Bernard told him to escort her back to her room. With the knife still in one hand, he gestured towards the book. “I’d recommend you have another ready through if you want me to have a reason to keep you alive.’’

Trembling, Fay walked away from the dinner table.

All the way back to the chambers, the Duanima guard pushed her forward roughly whenever she slowed down.  

She wishes she’d eaten that steak. Easier to think about survival on a full stomach.

.

.

.

The waterworks were at full power even before she was back in her designated chambers. Fay stumbled, her feet catching in the rich carpet before she landed clumsily on her knees, the Bible dropping out of her hands. The door immediately was shut behind her and locked. She pulled her knees up against her chest and started going through the breathing exercises that Damian always encouraged. She had to stay clear-headed. She couldn’t have a panic attack. She couldn’t lose control. Because she promised herself she’ll be better, that she’ll do better. What was the point of training with Damian if she remained helpless and waiting for him to save her? She can’t be strong only when she’s about to die or someone else is. She must do it for herself as well.

Focus on facts.

Fact number one. Bernard was definitely not a good man, and he had no good intentions. He had to be Sponsor, who else?  

Fact number two. She only had until morning to decipher the book or she’ll be killed. She could not count on Damian or Bagheera to save her, so she had to find a way out of there.

Fact number three. She had no idea where she was, and she had no equipment to support her escape. There were cameras and armed guards everywhere.

Fact number four. She had no idea where Daphne was and what her role in all that was---

Let me go, you filthy bastard!’’

Nevermind.

The woman’s voice was very close to Fay’s door and she could hear the woman struggling, judging by the sounds of clothes rustling and heavy breaths.

The doors unlocked again, and Fay watched as the woman was shoved unceremoniously in the room by two guards. Unlike Fay, Daphne did not fall down and instead, gracefully recovered her balance before turning around to lunge at the two guards. The door was shut before Daphne could retaliate, and she slammed her palms against the woods in frustration. 

Fay gaped. Well, the woman wasn’t anything if not spry. Decades of living in that world had not tamed away whatever fire she had that allowed her to survive the difficult life she led before running away. At that moment, watching the woman roll her sleeves up with a focused look on her face and confident stance, Fay could clearly picture her as a warrior of Maysoon.

Daphne sighed, composed herself, and turned around to look at Fay. There was an ugly cut on her left cheek and a bruise blooming around it. Someone – likely Bernard – has hit her. Yet there was no trace of fear or wariness in her expression. Fay was suddenly incredibly ashamed because if Daphne did know her father the way she said she did, then she would have likely been able to tell just how little Fay resembled him, past the looks. Just like everyone else in Maysoon could see it as well. 

“Are you okay, love?’’ Daphne asked concerned, stepping towards her.

Fay nodded, from her place on the floor. She wasn’t crying anymore, but it must have been obvious judging by how puffy her eyes felt.

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?’’ The woman asked.

“No,’’ Fay shook her head. She glanced at the woman’s cheek. “Do—do you know him?’’

Daphne picked up the Bible from the ground, a scowl forming on her face at the sight of it. She chucked it on the table in the middle of the room, before pulling out one of the chairs so she could sit on it. Fay’s eyes were drawn to the scar on her neck and exposed collarbone. There were scars, dozens of them, peeking from underneath her white top. Her bare hands were also an odd sight.

Fay moved her eyes to the book on the table. Bernard must have asked Daphne to use her abilities to collect information from the book. Judging by the way the woman had been roughed up, she must have either refused to help him or hadn’t given him the news he wanted to hear.

“Not exactly. I have never met him until now, but I have heard of him.’’ Daphne said as she drummed her fingers against the surface of the table. “It’s a long story but many years ago, I had ended up tracking Lukas as a favor for the other – your – world. I knew Lukas was lying when he said his partner was dead, but he had no ill intention. The man just wanted to leave a peaceful life, so I did not report him. However, his partner wasn’t interested in being quiet and invisible as Lukas assumed – I heard that Bernard was hunted down and ultimately killed.’’ She clicked her teeth. “He obviously survived.’’

“How did they find him, though?’’

Daphne shrugged. “I don’t have the details, but I know that he had committed a series of crimes which ultimately drew attention onto him.’’

Fay mulled that over. “He---told me a different story.’’ She raised to her feet and walked over to the table to sit on the other chair across from Daphne.

“He was trying to ingratiate himself to you,’’ Daphne said sternly. “He showed you the Bible, did he not? Told you he found it in Asia or something?’’

Fay nodded. “An old man got it from, um, another man who died.’’ She leaned forward, grabbed the book, and slid it towards herself so she could look inside the back cover. “This name, here. He was a-a Resistance member. I, um, learned about him from my tutors.’’ She tilted the book towards Daphne and tapped her finger against the signature.

Daphne showed no indication she recognized the name. “The name doesn’t ring a bell to me, so he must have made a name for himself after I left.’’ Then she scrutinized Fay again, just as she did that morning when they woke up in that place. “Can you use your flux?’’

Fay met her gaze. “Yes but…’’ It wouldn’t be enough.

To Daphne’s credit, her expression remained neutral. “You have problems channeling it?’’

“…yes. But also…controlling it.’’ Fay said softly, then mentally slapped herself. That was not a vulnerability she should be sharing with anyone but those she fully trusted. What if Daphne was pretending? The entire situation was all so strange, so it was within the realms of possibility that Daphne was tricking her into offering information. Clearing her throat, and hoping to amend the slip-up, Fay added, “In this environment, I mean. I would, um, need a big distraction.’’

“Hm.’’ Daphne’s eyes fell on the book. “Do you know how to decipher it? Or why he thinks you can?’’

“I don’t know…and I-I have no idea what I am looking for,’’ Fay said. Time for her to ask a question or two, so she glanced at the woman’s hands before meeting her steely gaze. “Yo-your abilities. Wouldn’t you be able to---‘’?

The woman shook her head. “I am afraid not. I got a read of it, but it was muddled, and I saw Bernard primarily.’’ She waved one hand in the air in a dismissive manner. “My abilities are not foolproof and if an item has gone through many hands, it’ll be hard to obtain its history. If enough time passes, I will get no reading from it at all. Bernard wanted to see if I could see this…Aranar guy, to get an idea of the cipher he used. I got nothing. Just…muddled emotions that are not much use.’’

Fay could only imagine the wide array of emotions Daphne must have ‘read’ from the card Fay gave her.  

“I believe we are being monitored,’’ Daphne said suddenly, her voice lowering as she crossed her legs and leaned against the chair. “I am willing to bet that’s why he put us in the same room, as well.’’ She remained as calm as ever, borderline nonchalant.

Fay had suspected as much, although, in her search around the room, she wasn’t able to find any cameras. After a while, she sat back down on the floor, near the window because the raging weather outside soothed her. Daphne remained seated at the table and although Fay felt the woman’s eyes on her several times, they didn’t engage in further conversations. Perhaps Daphne wasn’t there to trick her after all. Logic dictated she would have been more persuasive in getting Fay to speak. Also, it appeared Bernard didn’t know what was Fay’s actual identity which meant Daphne didn’t offer that information either.

She wanted to keep it that way.  

I must find a way out, no matter what.

Fay had the entire night to come up with a plan, so she did not want to waste a single more minute wallowing in her own self-pity.

.

Damian had fought the so-called champion. Not the most dangerous enemy he’s faced, not even close but the beast was particularly resilient and healed fast, so it had turned out to be far more invulnerable than expected. Damian ended up putting his katana through the chimera’s chest. It was either that or the champion would have crushed his spine.  

Damian had stuck his blade deep enough to incapacitate the chimera, as it became distracted with the foreign object halting the healing process. The boy wouldn’t have cared if the creature died at his hand. Except there had not been a need to deal the final blow.

The thing’s head exploded, seconds later. A bomb in the cerebellum, then.

Hm. Interesting choices.

Damian watched the announcer, and two masked individuals take off down the tunnel that was previously sealed, so he followed them. Bagheera, in his battle form and quite irate with having been used for entertainment, had easily rounded up the criminals that tried to escape whereas the Red Hood preferred those he went after, much to Nightwing’s chagrin.

Robin! State your location!’

Damian ignored the voice in his ear as he easily blended in with the shadows whilst following the three individuals through the tunnels. After what he estimated to be approximately eight hundred feet of several turns to left and right, he arrived at an exit. The end of the tunnel had a vertical staircase that led to the surface. The stairs led to an open field in the middle of the wilderness and several hundred feet away, there was a plane.

The same type of plane that took Fay and Bagheera away. Stealthily, Damian snuck aboard. In addition to the announcer and the two staff members, there were four other individuals. Two pilots, and two armed men with identical blank masks. When one removed the mask, Damian recognized him as the one who attacked him in Gotham.

He also learned several other things from listening to their conversation.

One, they were heading to Scotland.

Two, he had confirmation that the Sponsor was indeed behind both Fay’s capture and the Arena.

Three, the Sponsor appeared to have chimeras serving as his soldiers. Duanima’s, Fay had called them.

One hour and thirty-seven later, the plane landed on a territory devoid of civilization for at least ten miles in any direction. Perched on top of the plane, hood up, Damian inspected the area. The weather was more humid there and the cold winds cutting, carrying the scent of the sea.

The Sponsor’s residence was a mansion built on top of a clifftop, which had in the past served as a formidable fortress according to his watch. They were at a higher altitude than the mainland, the clifftop connected only by a narrow strip of land and surrounded by jagged rocks. There was no way of escaping other than going through the main campus and down that strip of land unless one had proficient climbing equipment. Even so, the descent was over half a mile, and what awaited at the bottom were treacherous waves and rocks. If Fay was there, she would not be equipped to climb out, so her escape routes were limited.

Through his binoculars, he could see all the armed guards patrolling the grounds. There were ten patrolling outside, and at least twice as many inside the mansion. Cameras had been installed strategically all around the property and potential blind spots were addressed through the several drones that circled the residence. If the Sponsor had Duanima’s fighting for him, then they wouldn’t be as easy to take down. Not with their inhuman senses and strength.

Damian quickly sent the coordinates out to Nightwing.

Time for a distraction.

.

.

.

Her eyes stung in a punishing manner. Her mouth was dry no matter how many times she drank water, and she was so tense that her joints were starting to ache. The night had felt simultaneously endless and brief, and Fay had to retreat in the bathroom several times, to calm herself down whenever her anxiety skyrocketed, and the thoughts became too dark. She did not experience a panic attack, but she was hungry and her head was hurting.

She couldn’t have slept even if she wanted to, feeling far too jittery. Pacing around the room, stretching, summoning, and releasing small quantities of flux in her hands – testing, preparing – had helped to keep the anxiety at bay. Even with her reading ability, Fay could not have gone finished the entire book in one sitting, especially if she wanted to be thorough. When she glanced over at Daphne, who had decided to make herself comfortable on the bed after inspecting the room several times, Fay asked her if she believed in the Bible as other people in that world did. 

“Not much of a believer, love,’’ Daphne replied smoothly. Fay felt a rush of guilt at that. If she hadn’t contacted Daphne, the woman wouldn’t be in that position. Bernard wouldn’t have known about either one of them. By putting Daphne in danger, her family was in danger as well.

Daphne offered her general information on the Bible’s contents, adding that Henry Reid was a believer and as a result, she had attended Sunday mass when he was still alive. Fay was surprised the woman chose to speak so openly about her past but listened quietly all the same. She learned that the Bible contained sacred scriptures of Judaism and Christianity and served as one of the most familiar sources of intellectual, moral, and spiritual ideals in the Western world. It is divided into the Old Testament and the New Testament, but the canons differ depending on the religious arrangements. After offering some insight into what each type of Testament consisted of, Daphne rifled through the Bible herself but was not able to spot anything out of ordinary. Of course, the 19th-century version looked different than the one Henry Reid had, but she was not a scholar in that field, so she could only look for any obvious signs that it may have been tampered with or modified.  

With that, Fay understood the content slightly more.

Before she knew it, the light from the lamp she had pulled next to herself was no longer needed. The night bled into a new day, which looked as morose as the last and had her wonder if the territory they were on was perhaps characterized by such weather. They weren’t in Gotham and Daphne believed they weren’t even in the United States anymore. The architecture and décor was an amalgamation of eighteenth and nineteenth-century movements and Bernard also seemed to have a preference for German names, given he had named both his Duanima lackey and his protégé using German names.

The sun wasn’t visible at all and it had not stopped raining throughout the night. Fay wished she could open the windows to breathe in the salty scent and feel the drops of air hit her skin but they were sealed.  

An entire night had passed by and she had no real plan. Fay’s tentative plan A was to create a distraction, allowing them to escape. She had only a partial idea of the layout of the residence, but there had to be an exit or a side of the building that would be facing a less hostile environment than the cliffs. Unless they were on in the middle of nowhere. Plan B was to lie to Bernard about the Bible and tell him that she found a clue in the Bible but she’ll require more help to explore it which in turn would give her more time to come up with better plans. Her advantage was that Bernard hadn’t been to her world in a very long time which meant she could virtually say anything about it and he’d have to give her the benefit of doubt. Or at least she hoped so. Plan C, the worst out of the three, was to disclose her identity and hope to use that as a bargaining chip. But her title was useless in that world. Bernard might also consider her to be more of a liability than an advantage. That plan also hinged on her being tracked down and saved by Damian and her paladin.

With the letter opener tucked safely at her back, which she’d tried to keep as hidden as possible in case they were being monitored visually, Fay decided that the best plan was B. She could succeed in creating a distraction but she wouldn’t be able to keep Daphne safe as well, and she had no idea of just how many guards Bernard had. Johan might not be the only Duanima he kept around and there was the matter of his protégé. He used fire.

With sweaty palms, she waited with increasing trepidation for Johan to come to collect them. Daphne hadn’t slept either and the exhaustion was starting to seep through her otherwise cool façade. When Fay looked at her in the light of the new day she saw that the injury on her face had faded to merely a scratch. She wondered if that had to do with the natural healing abilities that ran in her clan.

“I think it’s best if you let me speak,’’ Daphne said. “He’s not the only madman I’ve dealt with and I may be able to barter us more time.’’

Fay nodded, but mentally recited over what she’ll tell Bernard as part of plan B. While the elder woman went in the bathroom to refresh herself, Fay took a few deep breaths as she rifled absent-mindedly through the Bible. Then she opened the back cover to look at the signature there for what must have been the hundredth time. She brushed her finger against the ink, trying to recall what else she had learned about Aranar.  

Her mother had been, naturally, featured in history books as well, and whilst the tutors often neutrally discussed her, it was hard to ignore at times that her daughter was part of the audience. Some tutors preferred to never offer any criticism either out of idolization or apprehension that Fay might tell her mother. Others were blunter and more critical. Fay remembers feeling indignation by those particular tutors, but now she realizes that it was naïve of her to assume that her mother hadn’t committed mistakes or failed in her operations as part of the Resistance. Her mother hadn’t denied it when Fay had asked her about it and often told her stories that she was meant to keep to herself – her tutors and the other students didn’t appreciate that she essentially had a living encyclopedia to help her.

Fay could not recall stories about Aranar, at least not from her parents. She found it strange the man would have wanted to code the secrets of the ‘dark paths’ or that he did so in a book that ended up in that world. Why? If he was the hero he was acclaimed to be and a trusted member of the Resistance, why would he jeopardize everything by potentially exposing the knowledge her parents had vowed to keep secret?

Furthermore, when her parents spoke to her about the ‘dark paths’, they said that the number of people who had true knowledge was less than ten individuals. Several had died during the revolutions leaving four or five at most with carrying the knowledge of the dark paths. Her parents were gone, so the number was now even smaller. The only other person Fay could think of that he might know of the dark paths was Baije, although her parents never disclosed the names of other people besides themselves. However, she knew Baije had traveled to that world because he used to express the same fascination her parents did.

Nothing was ever simple when her parents were involved, was it?

Just like there was nothing simple about ciphers. The Resistance members had a long, complex, and intriguing history on the way they’ve had to adapt to a world that prohibited free speech. They created their own languages and systems of communication that they constantly adapted and modified, to escape detection and persecution. But they had also employed deceit and illusions and con acts, rather than relying on traditional warfare. They did not have the manpower or resources to gain any victories on the battlefield so they had to find new ways to fight for what they believed in. The Resistance defied the expectation that fear will always keep people obedient and submissive. They proved that power can take different shapes even if the men and women behind those rebellions were anything but powerful.

Mind drifting away as she thought about the numerous tactics the Resistance used to infiltrate, deceive and defeat the Empire forces, Fay recalled a discussion with her father about a particular strategy that her mother and other faction leaders used to protect their identities. Setting up false identities. Proxies, in a way, that would mislead the authorities into thinking they were chasing one person when in fact, that person didn’t actually exist.

But that tactic wasn’t limited just to false documents and disguises. Sometimes, the Resistance would build complex and fictional stories they’d use to instigate long and draining investigations in operations that served as a distraction. It was hard, especially for civilians, to distinguish between who was real and who wasn’t which was also a way of keeping them safe should they be targeted to offer information on the Resistance. Some of those false identities had grown legacies of their own. Men and women who didn’t actually exist but were rather a symbol of the effort of multiple individuals.

That wasn’t in their history books. Not really. Some tutors spoke about it freely, others shied away from it. There were plenty of those who believed such tactics did not exist and making people think they did was a deceitful tactic in itself.

Fay tried to recall how the Resistance members were able to identify whether a certain individual was real or a work of fiction.

Building an effective illusion lies in credibility, and when credibility is not possible, then you have to make your mark believe. Great illusions are rooted in truth. For example, the Resistance would create these…personas of people – civilians, warriors, or politicians – that did not actually exist yet they were just as disruptive as an actual person. The focus of everyone else was on them---but they were a distraction from what was really happening.’’

“So-so it is a—mis---?’’

“Misdirection, darling. I make you look at one of my hands does so you can’t tell what the other is doing.’’

“I think…I get it. It’s like when Bag creates a distraction in training! So I can get the flag!’’

“That is a misdirection tactic yes. But now—imagine! Imagine all those Empire warriors searching for a man that doesn’t exist. A man that is famous for being powerful and a member of the Resistance—so he is important.’’

“But…he’s not real?’’

“No, he is not.’’

“How—how would you know that, though? Wouldn’t other people find out as well?’’

“Because the illusion is also the answer. You see—the Resistance was formed of all kinds of people and grew bigger and bigger, but there was always a risk of someone being…forced to reveal information. So, generally, only faction leaders such as myself knew who were the true members or not. Sometimes, we couldn’t talk to one another so we had to figure it out. These men and women – who didn’t actually exist – were also a…how should I put it? A lead.’’

“I am…confused.’’

She had been confused at the time.

But looking at the name inked on the pages of that Bible, Fay felt as if the path to answers had been in front of her all along. The more she thought about it, the more she was certain that Aranar’s name hadn’t come up that often in the past. She had initially thought it was because he was a Resistance member from Atlabas and as such, their tutor had prioritized the ones from Maysoon at the time. Aside from that lesson, however, Fay doesn’t recall coming across his name at all despite his biography indicating he had been active since the early days of revolutions.

Fay had read extensively about the Resistance. They were the adventurers, the heroes, the swashbuckling rebels, criminals with a noble cause. Fay had assumed she will be a warrior one day, given her heritage but she had always envisioned herself living a thrilling life full of dangerous feats just like her mother and Baije had. There was no need for the Resistance, not anymore but the world will always need rebels to make a difference. It was the dream of a child who thirsted for adventures.

Fay stared at the name for several minutes. If her suspicion was right, then Aranar never existed. He never actually left any leads because he wasn’t real. But someone else did misdirect others in believing it contained the secret to the ‘dark paths’.

It was a crazy theory with no evidence to back it up.

But it was plausible. Far more plausible than Bernard’s story, even.

Then….what was the key? Was the book just a trick, then?

What if….what if the answer is in those items that Bernard found? Some, if not all of them had to be in his study.

Fay brushed her sweaty palms against her shorts and tried to mask the adrenaline rush she suddenly felt. Her tired mind might have been coming up with wild explanations, that she was giving more meaning than necessary to the name signed on the cover.

What if she was right though?

That meant the Bible was a decoy. There was no useful information in it.

Bernard would have no idea he’s been chasing an illusion.

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They were dragged out of the room shortly after Fay’s epiphany. Daphne had noticed her pale face and shaky hands and assumed it was a fearful reaction. Fay was indeed afraid, but she also felt she had a lead, one that she had to explore by searching Bernard’s collection. She didn’t plan on revealing her theory to either Daphne or Bernard if she could avoid it but she needed to find a way to look through those items he had found.

Johan and two guards led them into the study. Bernard was sitting behind his desk, calmly eating his poached eggs and vegetables. Fay listened to Daphne fearlessly bargain with the man, by proposing she will lend her abilities in exchange for Fay’s release. That made her gape at the woman in shock. It didn’t appear to be an act. Daphne really was willing to be in the service of what was clearly a madman, risking her life and potentially never see her family again. Perhaps she counted on buying themselves time if she thought Damian would come after them.

Or perhaps she really was doing it out of a sense of duty for her father.

Bernard listened to her with little interest, barely raising his eyes from his plate. His nonchalance was infuriating.

“No.’’ He said smoothly. “Although I think your abilities would be useful, I see no reason why I can’t just hold you both here.’’ After posing his fork down, he leaned back in his chair as he reached to wipe his mouth with a cloth napkin. “You don’t have any leverage on me, Daphne, you know that.’’ Bernard didn’t even seem worried that Fay’s ‘partners’ might come after him. He probably didn’t know Damian was Robin, but even so…Fay’s stomach knotted. The man was either overconfident or he knew with certainty that Damian and Bagheera couldn’t hurt him. Because they’ve already been…taken care of?

No. No, no, no. Don’t go there. They’re fine.

They have to be.

“I—‘’ Her words caught in her throat, but the pitiful sound that came out of her mouth had Bernard’s eyes zero on her like a hawk. “…I couldn’t de-decipher it.’’ She glanced at Daphne then back at the man. “B-but…I have an idea. Of a cipher that—that could have been used. I, um, don’t know if it’s the right one…or if I—I can decipher it, but I can try.’’

“Is that so?’’ Bernard drawled, unconvinced. “And you just had this epiphany over the night?’’

As a matter of fact, yes.

“…you---you said there were other items.’’ Fay took a tentative step forward. “I think, maybe…the code may be in—in some of those objects. The books, maybe.’’

Bernard fixed her with those dead eyes of his for what seemed like an eternity. Assessing her. She so much preferred Damian’s scrutiny. He was all fire and passion compared to Bernard.  

“There’s nothing useful. Do you think I haven’t thought of that?’’ He glanced over Fay’s shoulder towards Johan who was standing by the entrance. “Johan, dear, I think our guests’ time is up.’’ 

Fay felt the Daenima shift, stepping towards her. She quickly stepped forward, stopping just short of Bernard’s desk.

“What—what do you have to lose?’’ She breathed. “You, um, haven’t been to our world in—in years, right? Maybe—maybe there’s something in those items you’re not aware of. If I can’t find it—then---then you can…. kill me.’’ She swallowed.

Bernard scratched at his chin with one hand while the other curtly signaled his guard to stop.

“Go ahead. You have one hour.’’

One hour?!

The study was akin to a personal museum. She would need days.  

“What—that’s not enough---‘’

Bernard suddenly looked at his guard, nodded his head curtly. Before Fay could even process what was happening, the Duanima had moved towards them with a blade in his hand.

The movement had been silent yet damaging all the same. The woman beside her gasped.

Fay stared horrified at the blade that the Duanima had embedded in the woman’s side and the blood dripping on the floor. Johan stepped back, swiftly pulling his blade out with a sickening swish and Daphne fell on her knees, one hand clutching the wound on her side, fingers doing little to stop the flow of blood. Both her top and cardigan were stained with blood.

Fay crouched beside her. “Mrs. Ba—Daphne!’’ When she glanced at Bernard, he looked unfazed.

“If I were you, I’d get to work. Find me something useful and I might just consider saving her life.’’

Fay’s body was locked in place.

Daphne looked up at her, face clammy and teeth gritted. “Do as he says. Don’t worry about me—I’ve had worse.’’

“But I— ‘’ Just stood there and did nothing. Just stood there and watched the woman being stabbed.

Go.’’ The woman hissed.

With tears she could not control from falling down her face, Fay stood up and rushed to one end of the room, immediately starting to rifle through the collection there.

Chapter 39: Of rediscoveries

Notes:

Guys, guys, guys! I have finished my manuscript, finally. It'll go through a hundred changes as I edit it, but I am so happy. Fay in my OW is not that much different from Fay of this fanfiction, but it is such a different challenge having her grow and change without Damian there (since, naturally, he doesn't exist in my story).

I am really tempted to use the whole 'ran away from home to another world' quite heavily. What do you guys think? Would you read such a book?

Chapter Text

stop the words now.
open the window in the center of your chest
and let the spirits fly in and out.

- Rumi

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Her heart was thudding so hard in her chest that it felt intent on escaping her ribcage while dread and panic jumbled her thoughts. Her hands trembled, cold and sweaty and a few times she’d almost dropped the books she’s been perusing through. Time was suddenly a speed demon, pushing the minute hand further and further towards the end of the hour. It wasn’t enough time.

It wasn’t enough time to find a clue or make up a plausible story. It wasn’t enough time for Daphne who had plopped herself in one of the armchairs and looked pale as a ghost, the blood stark against her fingers. Every time Fay glanced at her, the woman looked a little less alert. Johan did not move from his position by the door, his large frame nearly covering both doors. His knife had been pocketed and his right hand was slick with blood. Bernard simply sat back in his chair behind the desk and watched Fay with a mixture of intrigue and amusement.

Fay did not deal well with pressure. Especially not the kind where she was being closely watched by others.

Old insidious thoughts easily found their way back in her head, berating and belittling her and chipping away at her confidence. She felt like crying because a few times she’d lost track of what she was looking for and struggled to think clearly.

There were no other moments in which she hated herself more than in moments like those. Damian may have been right when he said she should no longer be giving power to those who hurt her, but she had to hold herself accountable as well. She is responsible for how she reacts.

“Tick-tock, Fay,’’ Bernard called out calmly. “I am starting to get impatient with this little game that you’re playing.’’

“Don’t listen to this, shithead,’’ Daphne interjected, voice fainter than usual yet nonetheless biting. Fierce woman. She was on death’s door, and yet she still had more composure than Fay did. The woman scoffed. “Imagine searching for decades and then counting on a kid to find it for you.’’

“Brave words from a woman that is at death’s door.’’

Please, please stop baiting him.

Fay took a step back from the shelves and drew a few deep breaths. She had gone through both sides of the room in such a rush that it was impossible to tell if she’s missed something. She ignored the geraniums and plants, as well as the various weapons and decorative pieces to prioritize literary works. However, there were at least three hundred books in Bernard’s collection. She felt a very faint sense of nostalgia as her eyes quickly scanned pictures and languages, she didn’t think she’d see again.

Think, think, think. If the Bible is an illusion, a dead-end…then where would be actual lead be?

What if there isn’t one and it was just misdirection and that’s it?

What if I am wrong, and the book does contain the information Bernard thinks it does?

No. Her gut told her that she wasn’t wrong. Aranar was a red herring, as people in that world would say.

But what do I tell Bernard?

And would he even bother to help Daphne? Probably not. He had ordered her stabbing with no second thoughts. He’ll kill Fay, too, if she doesn’t come up with a plausible explanation.

Fay inhaled. Work backward, she reminded herself, map out what I know. Aranar was a member of the Resistance, his name known since the early days of revolutions if they could be called that. In the beginning, the number of rebels was small and their operations were limited to small territories. Aranar was also from Atlabas, having led one of the first factions on that territory. Fay couldn’t recall all the details their tutor had offered them, but she knew Aranar was not a nobleman. He did not have a hold over a territory.

Was he in love with someone? Children? No, I can’t remember. I don’t think so.

Why? Why did they learn about him? There were hundreds of Resistance members commemorated by history books and songs and statues and paintings. What did he do that made him stand out?

Think, think, think.

It had to have been at least four years since that class. But she remembered that day because it was particularly hot outside. It was a late session, and everyone wanted to go to the lagoon because of the summer market and festivities. Fay was also looking forward to it and had been distracted the entire time throughout the class. Titoh wasn’t looking forward to it as much because he didn’t deal with heat well.

But that day wasn’t just special because of the weather or the market. Most days were like that, particularly in summer when it rarely ever rained. No, that day was special because her parents were meant to be returning from a two-week trip abroad. Fay had been upset when they refused to let her tag along and she had left things on rather shaky terms with her mother. Fay had told her it’s unfair she always has to share them with the whole world and her mother had gotten impatient, resulting in them arguing and Fay being grounded.

Looking back, it felt like a silly argument. Shame filled her veins at reminiscing just how spoiled and ungrateful she must have come across. She would give anything to have them back even if it meant sharing them with the world half of the time. Her father had sent her a letter telling her that when upon their return, they’ll go visit one of the ruling clans near the lagoon. Close friends. Fay enjoyed it whenever they visited because of the many breeds of paladins that the ruler of the territory looked after. Titoh got along with the nobleman’s sons and they were generally friendly to Fay, as well.

Her tutor had caught her daydreaming. Fay floundered for words. Nearly fell off the chair when the man slammed the tome in front of her. Other children laughed. On the long list of embarrassing moments, that scored low, so Fay rarely ever reminisced over it. In fact, she hadn’t even thought about it until that moment. Caught red-handed she had not been paying attention, Fay had ended being reprimanded. The tutor had then gone over Aranar’s accomplishments again.  

A battle. There had been a really important battle.

Fay swallowed and glanced over at the grandfather clock that Bernard kept near his desk. She only had ten minutes left.

There was something about a mountain. That’s why the battle had been important. Her tutor had grilled her into explaining why that territory was crucial in Aranar winning the battle.

Why indeed?

Fay brushed her hand over her face. She’d scratched her nose and face so much that they felt tender.

Seven minutes.

Work backward. She tried to imagine that day again, the chronology of what took place but there were too many gaps. She did remember the sting of disappointment when her parents were ultimately unable to return on the day. They arrived two days later and took both Fay and Titoh away on a week-long trip that healed any wounds their absence might have inflicted. Every day was a Good Day back then. 

Six minutes.

Aranar was a member of the Resistance who won an important battle and that’s why he became well-known. He was one of the early members, so his faction wasn’t as big as the ones that my mother had. But he wasn’t in other books. Fay bit the inside of her cheek. She was missing something. What was she missing? Stupid anxiety and stupid tears and stupid emotional girl—

Aranar was from Atlabas.

Fay’s breath hitched, her head turning so suddenly that her neck cracked so she could look at Bernard’s desk. The tome she had seen the day before was still there, under three other books.

‘Warfare and failures in the history of Atlabas’

That was---was that the book they were learning from? It had to be.

Fay ignored Bernard’s cold gaze as she walked over the desk and gently moved the books around. She had no plausible story to offer him as to why she was suddenly interested in that book all of a sudden but she had to follow her instincts.

Four minutes.

The book was larger than an A4 size paper with fading dark covers and thin pages. The more she looked at it the more familiar it looked to her. It couldn’t have been the edition her tutor used, and it was in a poorer condition, but the book was undoubtedly from her world. Fay scrolled through it, flipping through the pages almost violently as she searched for the section that contained information on Aranar.

“Time’s up,’’ Bernard announced.

Fay felt Johan shift behind her, and she instinctively stepped away from the desk, the six-hundred-page tome still in her arms. “Wa-wait, please!’’ She said, glancing at Bernard, then at Johan. “I have something!’’

“You had one hour. I believe I have been generous enough---‘’

“He was from Atlabas,’’ Fay said quickly, cutting him off as she kept stepping back trying to maintain the distance between herself and the Duanima. “I think---I think his name means something.’’ Her back hit a glass display that contained the short blade made of exart.

Bernard signaled Johan to stop, and she could tell by his expression that she had piqued his interest.

“Carry on.’’

Now or never. “I—I will tell you if—if you get Daphne a hea---doctor.’’ Negotiation never sounded less persuasive when a negotiator stuttered out of fear.

“Don’t worry about me---‘’ Daphne started, Bernard’s chuckle interrupted her.

It was mocking.

“Child, do not test my patience. I hold the power here. If I just kill her now, you won’t have anything to bargain with.’’ He raised from behind his desk.

“I won’t---I won’t tell you anything.’’ Fay tried, as firmly as possible. With the book tucked in the crook of one elbow, her hand kept it open on the section of Aranar. There was no illustration of the man himself, but on the left page, a mountain had been depicted. It was Mount Barbarik. Atlabas was dominated by mountain ranges crossing with each other, nestling villages and cities within their dense, beautiful forests. Mount Barbarik was not necessarily impressive compared to other territories but for that battle, it had been served as a crucial location.

She just needed to read it through and piece it all together.

Bernard fixed her with his cold eyes, a cruel smirk curling his lips. “Is that so? It shouldn’t take me long to torture the information out of you.’’ No, it probably wouldn’t. How long did it take those children in Maysoon to get her to beg and cry? Mere minutes. And what Bernard had in store for her was certainly far, far worse.

Fay instinctively gathered the flux in her hands as she glanced past Bernard and Johan where Daphne laid in the chair. She was no longer conscious.

She had to try.

She had to do something.

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The quick succession of explosions – six, in total – that tore up the entire western side of the Sponsor’s headquarters did a fantastic job at drawing the attention.

Damian smirked, as he watched the guards rush in that direction and drones being directed to assess the damage and source of the intrusion. An alarm blared in the distance, drowned by the heavy rain. The waves at the bottom of the cliff rolled in, each of the larger and stronger than the last, before crashing against sharp rocks. The wind howled, a warning of the storm traveling towards the mainland from the turbulent sea.

Hood pulled up and with Nightwing only eleven minutes away, Damian infiltrated the untouched part of the residence after scaling a wall facing the waters and breaking through one of the windows. Dick had told him to stay put but Damian thought that was illogical. The Batplane might end up being detected given the Sponsor’s obvious access to technological resources, and he might be alerted that his position was compromised. That could cause him to be on the defensive or escape.

Damian disposed of several guards as he navigated through the maze of halls, eyebrow quirking at the Roccoco-era furniture and Renaissance paintings hanging from the walls. Many were originals. His domino mask had picked up the heat signature of several bodies on that side of the residence. The western side had not been empty but there had been only six guards that he could detect, judging from the repetitive walking patterns and the fact that the heat signatures always came in pairs.

The side he’s infiltrated in, however, had a larger number of heat signatures. Guards, again but staff members as well. There was no time to hack into the security system and he did not have the tools to do so effectively. Damian took care of the cameras manually, as he went deeper into the building, trying to keep his presence as hidden as possible. His comms were affected as soon as he was inside the building. That wasn’t just because of the storm—the disruption was deliberate, coming from within the residence.

Tch . The Sponsor must have thought he was safe in that isolated territory surrounded by his riches while he encouraged chaos all over the world.

Not anymore.

Damian swiftly slid behind a pillar as his ears picked up on a man’s voice coming from inside a room down the hall. Between the weather and the lights being affected by the explosions, the residence was darker than it should have been. The chandeliers flickered above his head as he watched the doors open. A man dressed in a finely pressed suit exited, looking cross.

The database brought up nothing on him, even if Damian did manage to get a clear scan of his face. 

That’s him!

Several guards rushed towards him from the opposite end of the hall, armed to the teeth. Amongst them, there was also a young male who looked no older than fifteen years old. He was tall and gangly, with Scandinavian facial features, and dressed in a similar uniform to the guards. When his gaze fell on the older man, the respect and devotion were poorly masked.

Damian sneered. The flux user. He was the one who attacked Fay.

Next to the boy, there was a tall man dressed in a dark long coat, also unarmed. His dark hair was thin and slicked back. Face angular with an aquiline nose and flat dark eyes. That was the man who had drugged both Bagheera and Fay. The one who physically dragged her away. He may have been wearing a mask that night, but his height made him stand out, as he towered even over the Sponsor.

“It’s her fault that they’re attacking us.’’ The boy said loudly. “We should just kill her---‘’

“Silence!’’ The man roared. The boy visibly flinched and fell silent immediately.

The tall man remained impassive and stepped forward, one hand pushing the boy aside. Damian couldn’t see inside the office, not from that distance, and when he tried to switch back to infrared, he found that the software in his domino mask was also being affected just like his comms. It was useless.

Fay was inside that office, however. Damian had seen the way the boy had glanced behind the Sponsor, repulsion twisting his expression. It had been directed at her.

Why is she not fighting back?

Was it a panic attack?

Was she injured?

“Sir, we do not have a profile yet.’’ The tall man said quietly. “But we believe the attacker is already inside the building. Our sources from Germany have also informed us---‘’

Damian didn’t hear the rest.

Two other guards had appeared from the direction he came from and judging by their quick footsteps, they had found their unconscious peers. Damian stepped out from behind the pillar and easily knocked them out. Then he calmly straightened and faced the group on the other end whose attention was immediately drawn to them. Arms were already poised to shoot him.

“The Sponsor.’’ He greeted, with a smirk as one hand gripped one of his last smoke bombs while the other was on his grappling gun. There was a window three feet behind him, to his left. “I’d expect you to be taller.’’ With the smoke bomb, he’ll distract them and draw their attention outside. The guards would be easy to take down.

The boy using fire was a problem, and Damian wanted to get him as far as possible from that office.

Preferably out in the rain.

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The explosions felt like an earthquake and while it did not destabilize the part of the building where Fay was, a large shelf was knocked down. That created a domino effect, with several items following right after. She watched as one of the geraniums fell to the ground, the glass cracking and exposing the fragile yet complex ecosystem inside.

Fay took advantage of that distraction to rush to Daphne’s side, the book still clutched in her arms. Johan grabbed her roughly, bruising her shoulder with his firm hold, and yanked her away, making her drop the book in the process. Fay’s fists clenched, wisps of green gathering at her fingertips, and she punched the Duanima above his navel. He was sent stumbling backward but unlike the chimeras on Halloween night, he did not fall, nor he was affected by the hit. Horrified, Fay realized she had not channeled enough energy to land an effective blow. She tried to escape Johan as he lunged for her, but he was too fast.

Without hesitating, he slammed her against the desk causing her head to connect painfully against the wood. All thoughts were knocked out of her head and her vision went dark, as she crumpled to the ground. The world around suddenly sounded as if she was submerged underwater and the pain that flared in her skull made her wish she had blacked out instead.

“Jo—an---do---not-----------alive.’’

She dipped in and out of consciousness, and she was suddenly reminded of the state Damian was in when she first met him as Robin. How much more determined he was to stand back up than she was.

She could almost hear his voice, strangely enough.

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Two more explosions followed just as the Sponsor ordered the guards to shoot at Damian unreservedly. The bombs were not Damian’s. And as he’d later find out, they did not belong to Nightwing or Red Hood either.

The first explosion caused the ceiling on one end of the corridor to crumble down. The second one, mere seconds later, took out the floor underneath his feet.

Dick was bound to give him an infuriatingly long lecture about patience.

Not that he would ever admit it would have been better to wait.

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Someone was touching her. The hands inspecting her were persistent. Inspecting but clinical. Firm but not forceful or malicious. Fay wasn’t welcoming of them, all the same. They reminded her of the way the healers used to probe at her. She struggled to open her eyes and when she finally did, she could barely see anything. Smoke filled her lungs, making it hard to breathe and the pain on the side of her head had not lessened.

It flared when the foreign hands suddenly tilted her head away and touched the tender spot. Fay groaned and tried to move, to bat the hands away. A voice she did not recognize shushed her.

Something cold washed over her body, soothing away the pain.

It was temporary. Her flux coiled and flared in her body, resisting and her muscles locked in response.

Resisting against what? She felt strange. As if her whole body was being dipped in ice. Then the pain followed. It was everywhere, escalating in a matter of seconds to heights she wasn’t sure she’d ever experienced before, not even when those boys and girls tried to carve her, not when she got her bones broken at the trials, not when she fought the Angel or Talia’s assassins.

The pain she felt was in every single cell that made up her body. It felt as if she was being wrung out from inside out. Her flux was being twisted unnaturally making her marks feel like hot brands, and no longer able to contain herself, Fay opened her mouth to scream. It wasn’t enough. She wanted to crawl out of her own skin, still. A hand was placed against her mouth, silencing her when she couldn’t stop screaming. She continued to scream against the hand gagging her, and when her throat no longer made that possible, she gnashed her teeth so hard that she could have broken them.

The voice came back again, but Fay couldn’t hear it. There was too much pain. She no longer had any awareness of her own body, where she began, and where she ended. Her bones and veins and muscles were filled with acid and she thinks she may have been writhing but she couldn’t feel her limbs.

The hand was removed from her mouth.

“Ple—please---‘’ Fay cried. “Make—make it stop.’’ Tears blurred her eyes. The figure standing next to her was slim. Black and white. A woman?

The voice shushed her gently. Fay wanted to scream again but she had no strength. The voice had no right shushing her when the owner was causing her so much pain.

Was that torture? It felt like it.

Did Bernard start his torture already? Was Daphne dead?

She has failed again. 

The pain faltered only briefly before her flux pulsed again, bringing a new wave of excruciating pain. 

Fay blacked out.

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Bagheera was in battle form the moment the clifftop mansion came into view. The rage with which he charged at the armed men the moment they came in his view gave Dick a clear idea of how Angel’s compound ended up in tatters. No wonder Fay often referred to the paladin as her greatest protector. Bagheera was truly incredible.

Yet, despite his feral nature, he restrained himself from killing his targets, which could not be said the same about Jason. Is that Fay’s influence? Dick wondered as he watched the paladin clear their path ahead easily, throwing men left and right as if they were pinballs. He could have easily torn through their bodies, but he didn’t.

Unsurprisingly, Damian had not waited for them. The main residence, shaped like a U, had suffered significant damage in the middle and the western side. Clearly Damian’s work.

Their path was blocked by at least twenty masked individuals that came pouring from the smaller adjacent buildings.  

And they weren’t alone.

They appeared to have champions of their own, just as large, and dangerous as the ones in the Arena. Dick counted at least four of them. A large four-legged beast joined them, facing Bagheera with a snarl and foam dripping from the corner of its mouth.

Looks like Bagheera was no longer the only paladin in that world.

Wonderful.

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The location of the Sponsor and his protégé-apparent were unknown. Two of the guards were dead, buried underneath the rubble that once used to be part of the corridor. Damian, not as easy as he would have liked, disposed of the other five. He was low on supplies, having used most of them in the tunnels and to create the distraction outside. He had lost his katana in the last explosion as well, and his leg was bleeding profusely. He had removed a piece of metal that had embedded itself right above his right knee before using one of the guards’ belts to mitigate the rapid loss of blood.

Various cuts and bruises littered his body, but they did not represent a particular impediment.

The large shark-toothed man that jumped through the hole above his head onto the floor that Damian was now on, represented a nuisance of the highest level.

Grabbing a metal rod that was only slightly longer than his sword, Damian braced himself. In the distance, even with the sirens, the sound of gunshots, and the thundering outside, he could hear the scream that reverberated through the hall.

It made his blood go cold.

Another scream. Then another, each more gut-wrenching than the previous.

Then…. silence.

Johan huffed, amusedly. “Little girl is fragile. Breaks easily.’’

Damian snarled. “I will break you.’’

Then he charged at the beast.

Fay was not allowed to die. Not after all the training or the progress, she’s made.

(Not if it will make him feel that way)

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Fay woke up suddenly, body jolting upright as if she’d been electrocuted. As if she was waking up from one of her night terrors, her body reacting even before her brain had had a chance to react. Then, as soon as she was up, her stomach lurched and she leaned to the side, retching. She did not have much in terms of stomach contents, so she heaved for a few seconds, nausea persisting for several minutes.  

“Fay---‘’

She recoiled instinctively when someone placed their hands on her and nearly dragged herself in the disgusting mess she left on the floor. Clumsily, she stumbled backward on the floor until her back hit the desk.

“It’s me, Fay.’’ Daphne was crouched on the floor, staring at her concerned. She looked deathly pale, with white hair in disarray and her hands stained with blood. Fay glanced at her side, where the stab wound was. There was a dark deep stain that had stained both her top and cardigan, but Daphne didn’t appear to be bleeding still.

“How---?’’ With the amount of blood she lost, the woman should be dead. At the very least, she should not be walking around. Fay then looked down at herself, her horror growing exponentially when she realized she was covered in blood. Her marks had…bled out, extensively and when she brushed her fingers against them, Fay flinched. It was akin to touching a newly burnt area. Her clothes stuck uncomfortably to her skin, slick with blood.

There---there was a person in the room. Someone did that to her. Or had she hallucinated that?

“Where are they?’’ Fay gasped.

Daphne blinked. “Bernard? I am not sure---‘’

“No, no!’’ Fay was aware she was screaming, but she felt it was justified all things considered. She hadn’t imagined the pain she felt. She hadn’t imagined the person inflicting it on her, either. What did they do to her? “There—there was someone else! They—they did something to me!’’ Fay cried, feeling very much like a lost child.

She was exactly that.

Gathering herself up to her feet, almost erratically as she inspected herself and grew more mortified by the second at the sight of her bloodied body, Fay’s breathing grew labored. Her flux felt…. different. She couldn’t tell how or why because she couldn’t make sense of anything at that moment. Her panic escalated, throwing her into a panic attack that had been lurking in her consciousness for the past forty-eight hours. She was in pain, albeit it did not compare to what she felt earlier. Her skin felt incredibly tender and hot to the touch, her mouth so dry she felt she hadn’t drunk water in years. Dehydration. The room kept spinning.

Something felt different. As if she was missing something. She brushed her palms all over her body, sobbing loudly, as she quickly made note of her intact limbs and digits.

Perhaps something had been removed from inside of her.

It had certainly felt as if she was being turned inside out.

Fay!’’

Fay gasped, and she looked up to meet silver. Daphne had grabbed her by the shoulders but instantly released her when the girl flinched.

“Hey, hey---‘’ The woman said. “Calm down. Deep breaths, love, deep breaths.’’

Fay nodded, mouth trembling as she hugged herself. She didn’t feel like herself. She never really did, not since that night but at that moment, she felt even more bothered. As if someone had reached inside of her, touched her flux in ways no one should ever have access to another’s flux, and did something to it. No. Not as if. Someone did. Someone had been there.

“I…you didn’t see her?’’ Fay whispered, looking at the woman.

Was it Daphne?

No, no. The person sounded different. Not the same accent.

But would she have truly made the distinction at that moment? The pain had blurred her perception of what was real and what wasn’t.  

“Who is that?’’ Daphne’s eyes narrowed. “I woke up only seconds before you did.’’

“How---‘’ Fay’s eyes lowered to Daphne’s side. “How is that possible?’’

Daphne smiled ruefully and lifted the corner of her shirt. Fay’s eyes widened when she saw that the stab wound was already half-healed.

“A healer, love, remember?’’ The woman reminded, slightly cocky as she lowered her shirt. “All children in my clan were taught basic healing techniques. I cannot use the flux as you do, but I can tap into my life energy. Once upon a time, I could have healed myself without even having to lose all that blood but different life, different times.’’

Fay did not have the bandwidth to process even half of that. All she knew was that Daphne was alive and she did not seem to be in danger of dying anytime soon. Her head pounded whenever she moved it. Remembering the hard-knock her skull took, she lifted a hand to her head. Her hair was caked dirt and blood, and she could feel the cut on her scalp. It shouldn’t have been just a cut, though. Not with the way Johan slammed her head against the desk.

She had healed, perhaps? Or did it have anything to do with the mysterious figure? Fay could barely remember and the more she thought about it, the less she could make sense of it.

“I am not sure if the explosions are your friend’s doing or someone else, but let’s not wait to find out, shall we?’’ Fay watched the woman move over to one of the fallen displays, kicked the broken glass away, and picked up the short blade. Daphne looked extraordinarily at ease holding the weapon in her hand.

“Wait---‘’ Fay said, as her eyes darted all over the floor. The doors of the office had stayed close, but she could hear the commotion outside. It was only a matter of time before a guard, Johan, or even Bernard decided to check on them. She had to get the book.

“The Bible is not here,’’ Daphne said, as she caught on what Fay was looking for and went around the desk to check the drawers.

“Not the Bible,’’ Fay said as she moved around fallen items, eyes searching the floor. She found the history tome fallen underneath one of the armchairs. She looked up at the woman who stared inquisitively at her then at the book. Daphne did not ask any questions though and instead removed the long-sleeved cardigan she was wearing, leaving herself with only the stained shirt on. “Use this to carry the book.’’ Fay nodded and secured the book against her back with the cardigan. The letter opener she had kept tucked in her shorts had fallen underneath the desk, but Fay didn’t pick it up. It would be useless against Duanima’s or guns.

She didn’t trust herself to use her flux, however.

Its intensity had not changed. It flowed through her as…normal. Except it wasn’t. The flux felt different. As it did in the first days after her bracelets had fallen off.

But that didn’t make any sense.

Thunders echoed outside and a bolt of lightning in the distance illuminated the room. The electricity in the air made the hair on the back of her neck stand up but it was no different than usual. Or was it? Was it the weather particularly strong there or could she feel the winds different than she did before? No, not the winds.

It was---

“Let’s go.’’

“I---okay.’’

Fay allowed the woman to inspect the corridor outside before they both stepped out of the office. To their left, most of the hall had caved in, bringing with it the floor-to-ceiling windows and offering them a direct view of the abrupt heights that the mansion had been perched on. The strong winds brought the rain inside, splashing the floors and the exposed floor below theirs. Fay shuddered again, her marks aching as a gust of wind swept over them. She remained rooted to the spot, as she tried to make sense of the sudden sensation that percolated her body. It wasn’t painful but it made her feel as if she was on the precipice of…something. A figurative one, not just the literal one she was on.

Daphne remained unaware of the inner turmoil Fay felt, as she looked to their right. On that side, their floor had remained untouched, but the ceiling above had partially crumbled down, blocking their path. Their only exit was the corridor ahead of them, which seemed to break into at least two more on each side before finishing with another set of windows on the other end.

And soon, that was no longer an option either.

Not when the boy with flames eating at his palms appeared from one of the halls to the left.

A flux master.

“I take it this isn’t your friend, is he?’’

Fay snapped out of her reverie, and she turned around. Following Daphne’s gaze, she gasped when she saw the boy. “No—I don’t know him.’’

The boy’s face darkened when he caught sight of Fay, and the flames that licked at his fingers grew bigger until they were swirling spheres.

“Wa—wait---‘’ Fay called, raising her hands up. “Why---why are you doing this? I---I don’t even know you.’’

The boy – Klaus was it? – sneered at her. His angry gaze had nothing on Damian, but unlike her friend, Klaus genuinely seemed to hate her.

“It is because of your people that my mother died!’’

Fay opened her mouth to protest, bewildered by the accusation. Klaus gave her no chance to respond to it as he sent two large balls of fire in their direction, forcing them to jump away.

 “We need to jump down there,’’ Daphne said, as she hid behind the corner of the hall and pulled Fay next to her. She pointed at the gaping hole left in the building. “Better down one floor than risking falling to my death. Unless of course, you feel differently.’’

They wouldn’t make it, not both. Daphne may have acted tough but the hand she had used to point was shaking visibly. Healer or not, she had lost a significant amount of blood. And she’d used her lifeforce to heal herself. Fay did not have much knowledge of healing techniques, but she figured that was a dangerous and taxing technique. If they made it out alive, she’d be fascinated to learn more.

Another ball of fire came flying from down the hall, hitting the corner of the wall they were hiding behind. Fay felt the scorching heat brush against her skin, singing the hair on her exposed arms.

Klaus stepped in their line of view.

Out of instinct, Fay raised her arms and summoned her flux up as he sent the devouring flames towards them. As expected, she could not tie her flux to that element but merely redirect it, just barely. Her hands felt raw and blistered right after, but she didn’t have time to inspect them. Using the pouring rain that fell freely only a few feet behind her, she moved the liquid towards the boy as fast as she could before he could launch another attack. 

A much larger wave than she’d expected formed, enough to send the boy flying backward and the floor to flood.

Fay stared flabbergasted at her raised hands, ignoring the way the water seeped into her sandals. The flux had flown through her so…. easily. It wasn’t just the quantity of liquid she’d managed to bend to her will but also the…speed. The force. It was as if the very winds outside had aided the blast of water. She looked over her shoulder at the sky.

It can’t be.

Klaus, drenched from head to toe, recovered quickly. Fay nudged Daphne down the debris onto the floor below and then she handed her the book.

“What are you doing?’’ Daphne asked confused at the girl who remained crouched on the edge of the crumbled floor. She hesitantly took the book still wrapped in the cardigan.

“Take it, please,’’ Fay said. “I will---I will deal with him.’’

A shadow moved behind Daphne, and the woman whirled around her feet, one arm clutching the book and the other the short sword.

It wasn’t needed. The figure wasn’t interested in attacking her.

Fay’s breath caught in her throat when she recognized the familiar figure, even with his limp and tattered clothes.

He came.

“Da---‘’

The boy’s head lifted, but he wasn’t looking at her. Rather past her shoulder.

Watch out!’’

Fay raised to her feet, turning around in the process. The blast of fire that came her way was stronger than the last. She barely managed to jump out of its way before another one was generated. This time, she did not recover quickly enough, and her arms instinctively raised to protect her face from the blistering heat. Her feet left the floor, the foreign flux pushing her backward just like a wrecking ball.

The floor-to-ceiling window behind did nothing to stop her, already in a damaged state and Fay barely registered the impact of her body against the glass. The sky was suddenly above her head, the cold rain pelting against her skin. Her stomach somersaulted and the world tilted as gravity pulled her down towards the dark, angry waters below.

She vaguely heard Damian call her name in the distance.

But he couldn’t stop her freefall.

No one could.

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She fell.

She just fell.

Damian didn’t see her crash against the jagged rocks at the bottom or being swallowed by the waves. She didn’t scream. She didn’t ask for help.

Fay just fell.

She was just…gone. 

And he did nothing to stop it.

No.

She was a survivalist. She had survived the Amazon and the long trek in that world and Gotham. But logic dictated that she did not have the right equipment. Even if she did heal fast, the waves would pull her under in that weather.

Was that the price of having bonds? Feeling as if a blade had cut into him?

Was it worth it?

Damian instinctively shut down all the emotions roiling inside of him, except for one. Tilting his head to the left, he stared at the boy who now stood where Fay had been only seconds earlier. He was smirking. Damian ignored the bleeding leg and the fractured ribs and the broken fingers in his left hand, as he lunged towards Daphne, snatched the blade out of her hands, and then climbed up.

Klaus gasped. He barely had time to step back away from the exart blade swayed towards his chest. Not fast enough, though. The boy’s smugness vanished completely and was replaced with fear when he realized the blade had not only managed to cut through his clothing but had also left a deep enough cut to cause him to bleed. Enough to warrant stitches.

Not deep enough, as far as Damian was concerned.

(Not as deep as the cut he felt inside)

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Klaus had no idea where the other boy showed up from. He looked just as young as the girl. He was also extensively injured. So how was it possible he kept fighting? Klaus was growing exhausted. The other boy kept ducking and dodging his attacks and had managed to advance on him several times. Several more cuts across his arms and legs joined the one on his chest.

Was he a Duanima? Was he human at all?  

The boy was fast, too fast for someone his age. And the way he just kept going on…. something was unsettling about his determination. Klaus lost his grip on his own flux and that small gap was what his opponent needed to land a harsh kick to his stomach. Then punch to his face. Klaus rolled backward and struggled to find his footing on the wet floor. There was no escape. He had been backed up against the debris that blocked the corridor right of his master’s office.

Frozen on the spot, Klaus stared as the boy approached with a calmness that made him seem even more predatory. The finishing blow never came as the Master appeared with his guards, forcing the masked boy to back up until he was standing right on the precipice leading into the abyss below. Jumping on the floor below was not an option either, as several other guards appeared. Daphne was captured as well.

Bernard told his men to hold fire and calmly stepped out from the shield they had formed around him. He threw a disgusted look towards Klaus which immediately squashed any relief he felt upon seeing the man.

“I am disappointed in you, Klaus. That boy has proven to be a far more formidable warrior.’’

“Master, I am sorry---‘’

“We will discuss later.’’ Klaus gathered himself up to his feet, head bowed in shame.

Bernard turned towards the boy who had been cornered on the end of the crumbling floor, the exart still in his hand.

“My dear boy, I must say I am impressed. Clearly, I had underestimated you.’’

“And clearly I have overestimated you.’’ The boy replied coldly. “You’re the Sponsor?’’ He asked mockingly. “Rather disappointing.’’

Bernard was not affected by his words. But the boy had proven to be a menace.

“You have no way of escaping.’’ He remarked as he watched the boy glance over his shoulder at the abrupt fall that awaited him. The only exit that wasn’t full of armed guards was the one that led to the turbulent waters below. He had no choice but surrender.

Yet, the boy suddenly smirked, looking smug.

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.

Her body felt light and unfettered, and even as she rapidly fell to what was guaranteed a violent death, Fay felt no fear. No anxiety. The strong currents of air pushed at her, the cold air biting at her face and eyes and making her hair flutter into her mouth. Fay closed her eyes, embracing the sudden sense of calmness that washed over her. Her marks throbbed but they were no longer painful. Instead, she could easily feel her flux connect to the air around her, feeling every minute change in the gusts of air, every change that was bound to happen. The energy flowed to her, connecting to the elements surrounding her, slowing her descent more and more until she was no longer falling at all.

Fay inhaled and simply followed the flow of air, wondering if perhaps she was already dead and that was the afterlife, as her body stopped plummeting and instead floated away. She twirled and rolled and tumbled in the air, the wind pushing her left and right. It had been so long since she had done that, yet it felt no less natural than it used to.

Iamflying Iamflying Iamflying No matter how many times she repeated those words in her head, she still felt as if she was in a dream. Opening her eyes, Fay stared at the expanse of water before her as she hovered several feet above it. The waves rolled underneath her, splashing her ever so slightly and the wind howled in her ears.

She was flying. And it was not a dream.

The rain pelted down on her ferociously, masking the tears that inadvertently left her eyes and Fay turned around in the air, disbelieving. Fear mingled with the joy soaring in her chest. What if it was temporary? What if it was a hallucination? But there she was, floating as easily as a bird and with only the effort of a simple thought.

Fay glanced up at the dark clouds and willed herself up in the air, higher and higher and higher. She ascended through the tempest of swirling mist and roaring clouds until the mansion below was but a mere block of cement and bricks. The electricity felt stronger up there, sending shivers down her spine as lightning bolts flashed all around her like temperamental light bulbs. She didn’t stop until she was above the thunderstorm.

Fay exhaled as she stared at the lineup of clouds, looking as soft as cotton and tinged with a rosy glow by the weak sun. It was a sight she didn’t think she’d ever see again, not all on her own. The freedom of being able to manipulate her body using the currents of air was as precious as a man gasping for breath after being submerged underwater, as soothing as an oasis to a thirsty mouth. Sobbing, she extended her arms before her and she inspected the blisters on her fingers, the glow of her marks and the blood that had managed to dry on her skin so badly that not even the rain washed it off.

Her marks did not look any different, even when she experimentally channeled the flux in her hands causing them to shift like inky illustrations animated against her skin. 

Was the pain she felt the price she had to pay to be as free as a bird again? And why would the mysterious person do that?

Fay glanced down. She could only see the clouds, but she could hear the storm that roiled below her. It was a beautiful dichotomy, feeling the power of nature beneath her feet and the sun rays above her. A sight worth painting, although perhaps not even art could capture what she felt being up there.

Beneath that beauty, however, there was Damian, who was injured, and Daphne who had lost too much blood. And there was also the man who was responsible for all that chaos. Who instigated the Angel to attack Gotham and in turn, steal George Sander’s opportunity to have a great life. Who knows how many other criminals he drew in with his false charm and in turn, caused other innocent people to be hurt?

It was shameful such a terrible creature prided himself in being of her world.

Fay had no idea what happened to her or what that mysterious person did to her.

But it was time to put a stop to everything.

Her heart climbed up her throat and her adrenaline rushed in her veins, as she let herself descend back into the clouds. If her flight ability failed at that moment she was bound to die even if she fell in the water but she didn’t care. In the air like that, the insidious thoughts felt weak and her body stronger, confidence replacing her insecurities. A part of the old Fay had been returned to her and it was a good one. It was the Fay that had once dreamt of being adventurer, of one that instigated wild chases around the jungle for the thrill of it, the one that each day looked over Maysoon from high up and felt there was nothing standing in her way.

She was aware that may have been her joy and the adrenaline speaking, and it was only temporary but she was going to make the best of her rediscovered ability. Once she was safely above the sea that the waves could not swallow her as she flew towards the clifftop residence, arms stretched ahead and guiding her, Fay fixed the mansion. There was a gaping hole in the middle and once she was at the bottom of the cliffs, she could make out the small form standing at the edge.

She would recognize him even from that distance.

Landing carefully on one of the jagged rocks, Fay let her flux loose causing her marks to glow brightly and green energy to waft around her wildly.

Air and water.

Her strongest elements.

She may have been behind her training Maysoon, but she was Damian’s friend. 

She was going to bring hell to anyone trying to hurt him. 

And the weather was just perfect.

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Damian did not have time to reflect on why his insides were suddenly light upon seeing the small figure floating at the bottom of the cliffside.

Fay was alive.

And it appeared she had regained her ability to fly. Moments later, she lifted herself up with the ease of a bird, ascending quickly towards his position. Behind her, he could see her green energy pulling into the waters below her, pulling the liquid after her. Damian glanced at the said man, his lips curling up out of their own accord. He could hear the rush of water traveling upwards, so he immediately shot his grapple into the wall to his right.

“I hope you know how to swim!’’ He announced smugly, before pushing the button on his gun to retract the cable and pull him away from the edge.

The hallway went dark for the briefest of moments, before a violent flood of water invaded the corridor through the gap, knocking down decorative statues and paintings. Several other windows were further damaged, and Damian stayed glued to the wall as he watched the water sweep the Sponsor’s men as if they were ants. It only reached their waist but the water had come through with such unexpected violence that it discombobulated them. Damian didn’t hesitate to go for the ones that did manage to stay standing up, kicking the firearms out of their hands and knocking them out, but not before he broke several of their bones. Just for good measure.

The guards on the floor below were swept off the edge, falling to their deaths while Daphne, true to her warrior roots, knocked down the other two. She was drenched head to toe and looking as if she struggled to stand straight, but she refused to give in to her exhaustion.

Fay appeared a few seconds later, floating before the gap and watching the waterfall that had formed there, carrying debris down to the sea below. She was panting, visibly out of breath and the green energy fizzled, as she lowered her hands to her sides. Her hair was plastered to her face and neck, much like her dark clothes and she had lost her footwear, leaving her barefoot. Streaks of grime and blood stained her skin, particularly around her marks.

She faltered in the air, so she glided over onto the side of the corridor that Damian was, feet landing on the wet floor. The water level had gone down significantly.

The Sponsor and his protégé had run away.

Damian straightened and stared at her. There was no time for sentimentalism but seeing her alive before him made him….want to do something else than just tell her they needed to go after the Sponsor. Fay had a way of surviving even if she didn’t always do so with grace but he hadn’t thought she did that day. She had been adamant about having lost her ability to fly so Damian had not even considered it.

He had not considered what her death would mean, period. Not the moment he experienced the cutting feeling in his chest. He had sealed it away and focused on finishing the mission. Justice, not vengeance, his father said. But what would have been the justice in Fay dying and that groveling pyromaniac survive? He did understand, however, at that moment, what her death would mean for him because of the level of relief he experienced upon seeing before him.

He didn’t need to say anything.

Fay glided over to him to wrap her arms around him, slamming into him with more force than necessary. Damian hissed when his injured leg gave out under him, and they both ended up on the floor.

“I am sorry,’’ Fay said, as she kneeled beside him. “I—I am just really happy to see you.’’

Yes. So was he.

He would not express it – he couldn’t, he didn’t know how – but he could not deny it in his head.

“You can fly.’’ He remarked as he took in all the injuries she was carrying. There was an ugly cut on the side of her head but she looked largely untouched. Except for the blood on her.

He had heard her scream. There was no doubt that had been her. What exactly had they done to her? He couldn’t see it.

Fay stared at the boy confused when he suddenly turned her around, moving her limbs around and tilting her head to each side. Then she realized, he was inspecting her for injuries. “I---I am okay.’’ She reassured him, grabbing his hands away from her shoulders. Her marks felt tender, still, so she didn’t quite feel comfortable with anyone touching them. Not even someone she trusted.

“You were screaming,’’ Damian said in a low, controlled voice.

Oh.

“I….I don’t know.’’ She admitted. “I—I don’t know what happened. Or---or why I can fly again but….but there’s no time.’’

“Fay!’’ Daphne’s voice made both of their heads turn towards the direction her sound came from. “Fay, they took the book! Bernard has the book!’’

Fay immediately straightened, blood draining from her face. “Oh no.’’ She helped Damian up, despite his muttered protest that he could stand up on his own.

“What book?’’

“I---it’s a long story. I need to get it back.’’ Fay glanced towards the corridor that stretched before the office. “He went that way, didn’t he?’’

Damian’s eyes narrowed at her. “Don’t even think about it---‘’

“I have to get it. He---If I am right about this,’’ Fay looked agitated. “Then he might find out where the dark paths are. He—he can’t find out.’’

Damian frowned. A long story, indeed but if Fay told him there was reason to concern, he didn’t doubt her.

“Nightwing and Red Hood are out front---‘’

“Where’s Bagheera? Is he okay? Is he injured?’’ Fay blurted.

Damian tutted at her, annoyed with the interruption. “Your paladin is fine. We have a long story ourselves, actually. As I was saying, they are out front, taking care of the Sponsor’s men.’’

Relief colored her expression and Fay exhaled loudly, eyes closing briefly. “I was so worried.’’ She murmured. Damian watched as her feet lifted off the floor with minimal effort on her end before she started gliding down the corridor where the Sponsor had taken off to.

“What do you think you’re doing?’’ Damian demanded as he lunged after her, hand grabbing onto her tunic so he could tug her back.

“You’re injured. So is, um, Daphne.’’

“And you’re what?’’ He snapped. “Going after the Sponsor on your own?’’

The look on her face said that was exactly what she planned on doing. She had clearly hit her head harder than the cut indicated.

Fay placed her hand over his and stared back at him, brows furrowed and her lips pressed in a thin line. “Let go, please.’’

“Stop this foolishness---‘’

“I am going to stop him.’’ She said firmly. “I—promised that I will fight.’’

Now was not the time for her to follow through on that, he pointed out. But Damian was forced to let go of her when she used her flux to pry his hold onto her and he stared at her in surprise. Fay could be defiant, but her sudden stubbornness was ridiculous.

“Please---please help Daphne, instead.’’ Fay pleaded as she floated out of his reach, before taking off down the corridor.

Damian growled under his breath. He couldn’t follow her quickly enough, not in the state he was.

“—TT--stupid girl.’’

But he did train her. He had witnessed her progress from the thin, frail girl she used to be to the one who was now ready to face the enemy head-on. 

She better not fail. 

Or there was no say what’ll he do.

Chapter 40: Of collateral damage and unanswered questions

Notes:

Man, I am on a roll with these chapters but I am so relieved to wrap up this arc. The next part in the story will be a series of different light themes being explored while a time skip of several months takes place. So the whole Bernard/Sponsor arc takes place approximately at the end of May. The time skip will take us almost a year later.

Chapter Text

“Unanswered questions are not threats; they’re challenges and catalysts.’’

- Colin Wright

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As Fay glided through the halls, backtracking several times when she was unsure which way to take, several more explosions followed. She didn’t know if that was Damian’s doing or the other vigilante’s outside, but she found herself experiencing a strong sense of déjà vu as smoke filled the halls and flames started spreading at a frightening pace.

She had no idea whether Bernard would find something useful in that history book, but she could not risk it. Someone like him should not even know about the dark paths, let alone discover them. A few minutes later, after narrowly dodging a statue that nearly fell on her as a result of the tremors shaking the building, Fay heard Bernard’s voice. It was coming from the end of a long hall to her left, where the mansion connected to an older part of the residence. There was a tower there, with old spiraled stairs.

Fay glanced up through the eye of the stairs, and she caught sight of Klaus’ unmistakable blond hair as he and several other individuals ascended the stairs at a quick pace. Bernard’s voice echoed. She only caught pieces of what he was saying, but she heard the word ‘helicopter’ and ‘evacuation’. He is going to abandon this place and escape. She inhaled deeply, exhaled then willed herself up up the stairs. If she flew through the eye, the guards might see her and start shooting at her, so she instead followed the spiraled path.

She was just a floor below beneath them when a ball of fire was thrown in her direction, forcing her to move away.

Klaus had noticed her. And behind him, Bernard had too, his expression thunderous as he caught sight of her floating figure. “Kill her!’’ Fay gasped when she saw two guards lean over the stone railing, their rifles poised at her and she quickly flew away to hide in a window alcove. Bullets whizzed past her, some hitting the stone sending clouds of dust in the air. Fay caught sight of the chaos outside the small window, immediately recognizing the figure in the distance wearing a red helmet.  

They were all there because of her.  

Teeth gritting, Fay decided it was time to test her rediscovered connection to the element of air and summoned the flux, as she moved her hands before her. The draft of air was stronger in the tower and she sends a gust of it as forcefully as she could towards the level above her head, knocking the guards away. It wasn’t much of an attack and it left her feeling winded. In fact, when she tried to pull herself from the alcove to float towards Bernard’s location, Fay ended up plummeting to the ground. It took a few tries to get herself up in the air again, not unlike a plane that struggled with its fuel reserves.

Her ability to fly was linked to her flux reserves, and while it required minimal usage, the previous attack had taken a toll on her already weakened body.  

Body, mind, soul. They all had to be in balance.

Fay moved up the stairs and came face to face with Bernard and his protégé, who immediately positioned himself in front of the older man, ready to defend him. Fay could read the boy’s exhaustion on his face and quickly made note of the deep cuts that littered his body. Had Damian done that to him? Lowering her feet on the ground, Fay raised her hand in a placating manner to the boy.

“Please stop,’’ Fay begged. “I don’t know what---what he told you but I don’t know who your mother was.’’

Klaus scowled at her. Bernard laid a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t listen to her, son. Just end her.’’ Fay spotted a leather handbag hanging from the man’s shoulder. That’s where the Bible and history tome must have been placed.

“Yes, master.’’

“Stop it---‘’ Fay protested when she saw the boy visibly flinch as he raised his palms as if he was about to clap them together. His flux was red in color compared to hers, and it gathered towards the space between his palms. Tiny sparks caught onto the oxygen in the air, giving birth to small flames that he compressed in a ball with his flux. She had shown Damian the same technique with water. Klaus was particularly talented, however. Fire was a very difficult element to control.  

And his tiredness was showing. A few flames escaped his control, singing his clothes and burning his wrists and forearms. Klaus flinched but he didn’t let go of the ball of fire. “You--you are going to hurt yourself,’’ Fay remarked softly. It was useless. Klaus was loyal to Bernard, clearly saw him as his mentor and possibly even a paternal figure. Fay doubted Bernard was father material, though.

Something shifted at the bottom of the stairs, catching her attention in the peripheral. Fay glanced down – four floors in total – her brows furrowing when she thought she saw a shadow move away to exit the tower.

What….?

Another explosion. This time it came from above their heads, damaging the tower. Fay flew backward, down to the level she was on before, and hid back in the alcove again. If needed, she could break the window and escape through there, but she stayed put when she realized that part of the tower had remained untouched by the explosion, despite how it trembled. Covering her nose and mouth with a hand, she turned her face away from the stairs, or else she threatened to choke on the dust that filled the air. Debris brushed past her, scratching the side of her body that faced the stairs.

When the noise lessened and the tower stopped shaking, Fay finally opened her eyes. She coughed loudly as she slid out from the alcove, careful of where she placed her feet. Her eyes widened in shock when she looked at what lied before her. A large chunk of the stairs had fallen off, and at the top, the tower had crumbled away exposing them to the weather outside.

Klaus had been caught under the debris, not far from where he had been standing previously. He didn’t move in time, from the looks of it which resulted in his legs being caught in debris, as he laid on his stomach. Bernard had escaped largely unscathed, save for a cut on his head and his clothes which were covered in dust. He had fallen on his back, a few steps from Klaus.

Did…Did Klaus save his life?

It seemed that way. Klaus called for help, fear palpable in his voice. “Master Bernard---I can’t move.’’

Bernard raised to his feet, checked his messenger back, and re-adjusted the strap around his shoulder. He looked at Klaus, then at Fay before he placed one foot on the next stair. Fay’s heart sunk as she realized the man had no intention of helping his loyal protégé. He did not even look concerned about the boy being injured.

“Sir---what—what are you doing? You have to help me.’’

“I am sorry, my boy,’’ Bernard said. “You have served me well and I will be always grateful for it.’’ Then he took another step. And another. “But, I am afraid that collateral damage is sometimes inevitable.’’ Then he took off, ignoring Klaus’ cry of disbelief altogether.

It was a gut-wrenching scene to witness.  

Fay willed herself in the air, to make it from one end to the other and she watched the man disappear through a door at the top of the stairs. In the distance, she could hear the tell-tale ‘chuff chuff chuff’ sound of a helicopter.

Bastard.

Another explosion followed, not in the tower, but close enough to add additional cracks in the remaining stairs.

Fay couldn’t follow after Bernard. The tower was going to crumble, sooner or later, and Klaus was bound to be buried alive underneath it. She crouched near his legs and started moving aside the debris as fast as she could. “Why….’’ Klaus’ face was wet with tears. He suddenly looked much younger than he was. “Why are you helping me?’’ He hissed, trying and failing to hold onto whatever misplaced anger he held for her.

Fay could not hate him, even if he had tried to kill her. He almost succeeded, too. Because he was from her world, yet unlike her, he had not come across people who were willing to care for him, genuinely so. It seemed Bernard only kept him around because of his abilities.

She pitied him.

“…I don’t think you deserve to die.’’ She murmured. “Not…not like this.’’

“I would kill you.’’ He lacked conviction.

Fay smiled ruefully, to herself. She hoped she would not end up regretting her choice. But she couldn’t live with herself if she abandoned him.

Rggghhh!’’

Her heart skipped a breath when she recognized the sound echoing from the bottom of the stairs. Clearer than ever, she could also feel the thrum of a familiar flux. Glancing over her shoulder, her smile widened so much it threatened to split her face.

“Bag!’’

Her paladin looked just as terrible as she did but he determinedly trudged up the stairs, before making the jump over to where she was. He nudged her face with his nose, his relief and affection subtly projected onto her.

“I am glad to see you too,’’ Fay said. “Please…help me move this around.’’ She gestured towards the cinderblock that kept Klaus’ leg trapped. It didn’t seem to be pressing directly onto his leg, but there were sharp smaller pieces that had cut through his trousers. Her paladin’s distaste for the boy was clear, but he did as she instructed him, helping her push the weight off the boy’s leg. The trouser had been ripped open revealing the injured flesh. Judging by the difficulty Klaus had in moving and the way he cried in pain when he tried to turn on his side, the leg was also broken.

The tower started shaking again.

“Get him out of here,’’ Fay said. Just like that night in the burning building.

Except she wasn’t the same girl anymore.

Bagheera’s surprise took over all his other emotions when he saw her raise herself in the air. Fay grinned at him, feeling quite proud of herself. “I have to catch the man responsible for this, Bag.’’

Klaus didn’t protest much when the lupine paladin sat down next to him, to allow him to grab onto his fur and climb on his back.

“This…this doesn’t change anything.’’ The boy grunted, but he didn’t look at her.

Fay didn’t say anything. She met her paladin’s gaze, nodded at him, then ascended towards the hole in the ceiling of the tower. The storm was receding, and she could see the sun rays protruding through the fading greys and blues in the distance. That explained the presence of the helicopter on the roof adjacent to the tower, which Bernard had accessed using a narrow stone bridge. Fay bypassed that and headed straight over, sending a violent wave of water at the guard that tried to stop her. A tall man was already inside the helicopter, in the pilot’s seat and Bernard was just about to climb in when she incapacitated his guards.

Anger bubbled in her veins at the man’s cowardly exit and how quick he was to abandon everything behind. Moving as quickly as she could, Fay landed a kick to his side, sending him rolling on the ground just as the helicopter lifted itself off the roof. The messenger bag slid away from his grasp, its contents scattering onto the wet cement. The Bible landed a couple of feet away and Fay could see the history tome peeking from inside the bag as well, along with other papers. His research, perhaps.

Was that place the only place he kept his collection, she wondered? He was quick in abandoning everything, which couldn’t have been easy.

Then again, he was left with no choice.

Fay rushed over to the Bible and lifted it up, just as Bernard gathered to his feet. The helicopter circled above their heads, the pilot loyal enough to wait. “I see I may have underestimated you,’’ Bernard said calmly, but his locked jaw and deep-set frown betrayed just how angry he felt. “You may be full of surprises, child, but you cannot take on a man who has lived several lifetimes before you were even born.’’ He spat.

Feeling vicious, Fay opened the Bible and ripped out the pages, before letting them scatter in the wind. Bernard’s eyes widened. “No!’’ He roared. “What are you doing?’’

“Making sure you never find your way back.’’ Fay spat before she chucked what was left of the holy book over the roof. The sea below would swallow it, drag it to the bottom where no one would ever find it again.

His eyes darted to the bag. “Not with the Bible. But you did find something useful in that book, didn’t you?’’

Fay’s flitted between him and the bag, torn between proving him right and lunging for it. When she saw him reach behind his back and pull out the gun there, she went for the latter. She threw herself on the ground, rolled forward, and grabbed the bag before floating on the edge of the roof. The messenger bag hung from one extended arm, dangling above the abyss below.

Bernard kept his gun trained on her, but he didn’t shoot. If he did, then the bag was likely to fall down and never to be recovered. 

“Its….it’s over,’’ Fay said. He had to pay for his crimes. If not in her world, then in that world. No more Sponsors or Angels or resources from her world being weaponized.

She underestimated his madness, though.

Bang!

A curt scream left her throat when the bullet pierced her arm, knocking her down. The messenger bag fell off the edge of the roof, precariously balanced while Fay laid on her side, clutching her bleeding arm. The bullet had grazed her, only, thankfully.

 Bernard gathered the messenger bag, checked the contents then stood over her, his form towering over hers. Drained, Fay found it difficult to move away from the gun pointing towards her head.

“I have had just about enough of you.’’ He snarled.

Fay’s heart caught in her throat. Her fists clenched, mentally praying she could gather enough flux to push him aside before he shot her. Before she could do that, however, something sharp whizzed past Bernard’s face, cutting into his ear and drops of blood splattering, a few even onto Fay herself. The man howled in pain, gun lowering while his free hand reached to his profusely bleeding ear.

Fay looked at the object where it impaled itself on the ground. A shuriken. Turning her eyes towards the direction it came from, she saw Damian stand on the other end of the stone bridge. Bernard snarled at the sight of him, before he whirled towards Fay again, his gun rising. Fay ground kicked it out of his hand, before she landed another harsh blow to his left knee, bringing the man down on all four She was about to land another punch in his face, both to be on the safe side and because she wanted to when a loud whirring noise caught her attention. Glancing to her left, she saw the helicopter spin out of control as a result of one of the rotor blades catching fire.  

She moved away, just as Damian yelled at her to do so.

The helicopter crashed into their building. The upper levels of the construction came apart like a house of cards. Fay lifted herself in the air, with slightly more difficulty than before given how drained she was. She the pieces of metal that came apart from the flying machine and narrowly avoided being buried by the debris as she flew high up in the air away from the danger.

Fay watched as the helicopter fell over the edge of the cliffside, before ending down at the bottom where it exploded again. She could no longer see Bernard in the dust and smoke that filled the air so she had to wait until the building stabilized and the wind

The clouds above their heads were starting to clear, allowing the sun to shine through which was an odd sight considering what had just transpired. Fay surveyed the building from above, searching for Bernard. Most of it had gone over the cliffside, like a mudslide. The lower levels remained relatively intact, at least for the time being, but Fay could see the flames spreading fast across the entire compound. With the rain gone, the entire place was bound to burn until there was nothing left.

A scratching sound caught her attention, followed by a loud grunt and small gasps.

Lowering herself onto the rubble, Fay leaned over the edge and looked down. Bernard wasn’t dead. He was hanging for his life from a jagged, flat edge of a cliff, the bag still draped over his body. Fay kneeled down, bending carefully over the rubble, and extended her arm towards him. “Take my hand.’’ He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve her help.

But she couldn’t let him fall to his death either. He had to pay for his crimes. And they had so much more information they could extract from him. They could stop other criminals if there was indeed an ‘inner circle’ as the rumors spoke of.

Bernard glanced down at the very long fall that awaited him, then back at her. If he extended his arm, she could reach out and help him up. She couldn’t hold his weight if she was in the air, though, so she didn’t attempt that. But she could use what was left of her energy to channel the air and give him a small push, to make up for the difference in the weight. Bernard looked at the extended hand, then at her face. His fingers and knuckles were turning white from holding up his weight, and he took one away. Fay tensed up in preparation to grab it.  Except he didn’t move his free hand towards her.

Bernard smiled, coldly.

“You have no idea who you are dealing with.’’ He warned gruffly. “If I can’t have the secret to the dark paths,--‘’ Fay’s eyes widened. “---then no one will.’’

And with that, he let go.

“No!’’ Fay screamed, instinctively leaning over to go after him. Maybe she could---!

A pair of hands grabbed her however and pulled her back harshly, trapping her from moving even if she kept struggling and protesting.

“Stop it. He’s gone!’’ Damian snapped in her ear. “You are no in a position to go after him.’’ He breathed.

She could have tried. She should have tried.

Fay’s eyes shut close when she heard the telltale sound of a body slamming down on the cliffs below echoing up to their position. Damian released her shortly after, and shakily she leaned over the edge to look down. Bernard’s limp body was amongst the rocks, not far from where the helicopter had ended up. If she looked hard enough, she could see the blood pooling underneath him, contrasting against the natural colors of the environment.

Feeling nauseous, Fay pulled herself back to sit on the rubble. She felt guilty and she felt horrified, but she had no tears to shed for the man. She had destroyed the Bible, and now the history book was also gone. She did not get a chance to read the chapter on Aranar and see if there were clues in there. Bernard’s collection was bound to be lost as well given the extensive property damage.  

But Damian was right. If she had gone after Bernard, she might have been able to catch him but she wouldn’t have been able to fly both of themselves out of danger.

They stayed like that for several minutes. Then she glanced at the boy. His mask was peeling off in a corner, which tempted her to pull it away altogether, wishing to see his eyes. But they weren’t safe, not yet.

“I….I am getting tired of being kidnapped.’’ She muttered. It was all she could say at that point. Her brain needed time to process everything, and her body was just as tired.

Damian scoffed, amusedly. “If only you listened, then you wouldn’t be.’’

“How…is it my fault? You didn’t know they w-would attack the hotel.’’

“—TT—perhaps if you did not insist on removing every single tracker on yourself---‘’ He was deflecting, which meant she had made a good point.

Fay glared at him. “I—I am not wearing an implant!’’

“Tch. Suit yourself.’’

Fay merely shook her head at him, but couldn’t help smile.

Damian lifted her arm to inspect the wound where the bullet grazed. “You’ll hardly require any stitches.’’ He determined.

With that, they both got up to their feet, Damian’s good arm swung over her shoulders. She managed to float them over to the ground, albeit in an unstable manner that had Damian berate her coordination. There was no heat in his words, though, and even when they were on the ground, he did not lower the arm from her shoulders. They found the other two vigilantes and her paladin standing on the edge of the property, close to the narrow strip of land that led to the mainland.

Fay made little note of the disaster they had left in their wake, but she did spot many of the guards tied up in a corner. Others were simply laying dead on the ground. In the background, the mansion continued to crumble away, piece by piece, flushing over the cliffside into the sea below.

“Will….everything be gone?’’ She asked as Dick helped Damian.

“Pretty much.’’

“Good.’’ Everyone stared at her in surprise. Fay told them about Bernard’s collection, and how it worried her that others may get their hands on it. She wished she had time to peruse through all those items, but losing that opportunity was a small price. Jason told her he’ll make sure to plant additional bombs until there was nothing left, as they headed over to the plane.

“Where’s….where’s Klaus?’’ Fay asked confusedly when she realized her paladin was alone.

The bear-like beast had helped him escape, Dick told her. “The Grymla?’’

“If that is what it’s called.’’ It appears the boy had some control over it after all, as it allowed him to climb onto its back from when Bagheera left him. They might be able to track him given that both the boy and his apparent paladin were injured. “I see.’’ Fay wasn’t sure whether she was worried or not over the boy, but her heart twinged thinking about how alone he must feel. Injured, with his mentor having betrayed him and no place to go. Or maybe he did, she had no idea.  

Something told her that he won’t follow through with his threats. Not for a while, anyway.

When they arrived at the plane, they found Daphne in there as well, tied to one of the benches to hold her safely down while she was unconscious. She looked pale still and her pulse was weak, but she was stable. Fay pulled the blanket higher up on her shoulders before she walked over onto the other side of the plan to sink down on the seat next to Damian. Bagheera tiredly dragged his feet after them before he laid down on the floor. He was asleep almost instantaneously which made Fay smile.

In the distance, she could hear the boom of new explosions reverberating through the air and stone crumbling away as every trace of the Sponsor’s residence was wiped away.

Dick told them that they will leave as soon as possible as he quickly scanned Damian’s injury. The boy grunted when the older man undid the belt on his leg and disinfected the wound there. After Dick was done with the leg, he splinted the boy’s fingers. The other injuries would have to wait until they returned at the Batcave. He also checked Fay’s injuries, disinfected the cut on her head and her arm, before bandaging them.

Alfred was not going to be happy.

Jason joined them shortly after, his expression a mystery behind the red mask. He looked them over before he went to sit up front next to Dick. They were in the air and heading towards Gotham in minutes.

They were all safe, even if she was left with more questions than answers.

Damian’s weight was a comfortable, warm weight against her side. His head was tilted backward and his hands limp over his thighs. Fay tentatively reached towards his face to brush the dark locks that had fallen over his forehead. “Can I remove your mask?’’ She whispered, brushing her thumb against the edge that had started peeling off. Daphne had been sedated so she was not bound to wake up before they landed.

He grunted but didn’t comment. A testament to how exhausted he must have been. Fay gently peeled it away and he didn’t flinch when his skin caught slightly, leaving him with a red mark. Placing the mask in her lap, she gently rubbed the area, encouraged that he hadn’t protested yet. He never really did, but it was easier to be this close to him when he was so relaxed.  

His eyelids parted, and his head tilted ever so slightly towards her, her hand still on his cheek. She smiled tiredly, as she lowered her hand away. “I can fly again.’’ She said in a conspiratorial voice, if only because there was a part of her that still couldn’t believe it. He didn’t roll his eyes or told her that it was a possible concussion making her spout idiotic things.

Instead, he just stared at her with an unreadable expression and her smile faltered slightly.

“What?’’

“Hn.’’ He turned his gaze away. “Go to sleep. It’ll be several hours before we land in Gotham.’’

“Al...alright.’’ She didn’t know what to make of that reaction.

A gloved hand tugged on her wrist when she kept shifting in her seat trying to find a comfortable position. Fay glanced at him, but he had closed his eyes again. Tentatively, she leaned her head against his shoulder which was warm and comfortable and she pulled her knees underneath herself. He didn’t release her hand but she didn’t mind, finding it reassuring despite the awkward hold.

Fay was asleep in seconds.

If she ended up sleeping in his lap halfway through their journey, she remained oblivious and Damian pretended he didn’t notice.

.

.

.

Fay did not have any major injuries, unlike Damian or Daphne. When she woke up in the Batcave, she found Alfred working on Damian who was laying unconscious not far from where she’d been placed. Jason and Dick were not there, and her paladin was sleeping soundly at the foot of the surgical bed she was on. Alfred told her that Daphne had been taken to the hospital and it appeared she’ll make a full recovery.

Fay nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth.’’ She lowered her eyes to her body. She was incredibly dirty and she smelled on par with that, but she paid no attention to that. Instead, she stared at the marks that were exposed. Her flux reserves were very low but when she jumped off the table and willed herself to stay in the air, her feet didn’t touch the floor.

Alfred raised a brow, looking mildly surprised. She smiled at him and glided over to where he was, to look at Damian.

“I see quite a lot has transpired.’’

She nodded again. Damian looked peaceful, but she didn’t like the sight of the bandages that covered his body. 

“Mr. Pennyworth?’’ Fay asked softly. “Did—did the scans show anything….weird? My scans, I mean.’’

Alfred finished bandaging the boy’s left hand and removed his surgical gloves.

“You had an incredibly high fever, which as we know by now, appears to be normal for you whenever you are in an injured state or using your abilities extensively. As a result, you were severely dehydrated so I have administered you intravenous fluids while you were unconscious.’’ He beckoned her over to the screens placed on a mobile table. Fay came to stand before him, as he showed her the virtual scans of her body. Having been treated so many times by Alfred, she had learned to read those scans to understand better what was he seeing on them. They weren’t that dissimilar to the ones the healers in Maysoon used but they were also not designed to analyze her particular physiology. For example, the machines there could not clearly detect the flow of her flux in her body as the ones in her world did. That would have been useful to understand whether her flux was damaged or suffering any blocks in certain parts of her body.

A virtual silhouette of her body was projected on one of the screens with data flashing all around it. Her temperature always ran higher in the areas coincidental to her marks, but on that particular scan, her whole body was made of reds and oranges. She couldn’t understand the warnings that flashed on the screen or the various statistics and medical terms.

“I don’t understand,’’ Fay said. “Is that because of my fever? It’s happened before, though?’’

Alfred told her that her body had been incredibly inflamed when she arrived at the Batcave. Once he had administered her fluids and she had several hours to recover, her fever diminished and so did the inflammation. However, the damage that the scans picked up when analyzing her body had been contradicting.

“Contradicting?’’

“In the past, when you’ve experienced a high temperature, you suffered from dehydration but your organs and vascular were not affected. Not by the fever, directly. As you’ve explained it yourself, your physiology is different, capable of withstanding the elements differently to humans in this world.’’ He gestured at the screen. “On this occasion, however, it appears that you did suffer burns. Extensively so, Miss Fay.’’

Fay’s confusion only grew. Then she remembered the excruciating pain she had experienced.

“But….I am fine? I mean, on the outside.’’

“Yes and that is where we find ourselves with a paradox. Your organs remain unaffected and largely so does your vascular system, as you did not suffer any internal hemorrhaging. The burns had taken place closer to the surface of your skin, primarily in the soft layer of tissue that lines the majority of your body although, in some locations, which appear to coincide with the spots where your marks are, the burns have reached deeper near to the muscles.’’

Fay’s mouth went dry and she had to lower herself down on the ground, feeling too dizzy to be flying. Alfred continued. “Such injuries should have been reflected on the outside, as well, but it appears your physiology is far more complex than that.’’

“My…my marks,’’ Fay remarked. “They had started bleeding. I---that’s never happened before. And---they felt very sensitive.’’

Alfred regarded her pensively. “Your ability to fly. I hope it’s not wrong to assume that you’ve rediscovered after whatever has caused your bleeding.’’

“Ye-yes.’’ She didn’t tell him about the woman. She needed time to think, and while she trusted Alfred, she preferred talking to Damian about it. “I…I didn’t feel the burns.’’ The pain had felt far more visceral than that, or perhaps that’s exactly what she had experienced. Burning inside out. It wasn’t as if she had a previous experience to go by and compare. And she hoped she never will.

“How are you feeling now, Miss Fay?’’

“T-tired. My flux, um, is weak but…that’s normal.’’ Her lips curled in a small smile. “I can still fly, so…I am very happy about that.’’

Alfred nodded. “Master Damian will be out for several hours.’’

“Alright. I think—I think I am going to take a bath.’’ Her nose wrinkled. She must have smelt terrible. Then she glanced at her paladin. “Bag needs one as well.’’

Alfred told her to take the room she always did whenever she visited the Manor. It was right across from Damian’s. Her paladin groaned in protest when she nudged him awake and pushed him up the stairs. His injuries were healing well as well, but he was exhausted and his flux was weak. Fay wondered just how many times he used his battle form to be so weakened.

.

Fay combed patiently through her wet hair, careful not to pull too hard in the tender area that was still healing. There was a bump there still but the cut had largely healed. Alfred told her that she’d been asleep for almost seven hours, so her body had had time to heal. The wound on her shoulder had not required any stitches as Damian predicted and it had receded into a superficial cut. It would take days before she regained her full strength, but the lightness in her body persisted. Fay couldn’t help but fly everywhere, even if she had small distances to cross. How could she ever go back to walking when she’d missed flying so much? It was not an ability she’d ever taken for granted but she was going to delight herself in it every single minute of it. Just in case.

Bagheera snored loudly in the bedroom, as he laid sprawled over her bed. He kept falling asleep while Fay washed him in the shower cabin which made it difficult to get all the gunk out of his fur. After almost an hour, her paladin glared at her, his emotions clearly communicating just how grumpy he felt but Fay ignored them as she toweled him off. He was back asleep the moment she let him go. She knew that deep down he was relieved they were back together, and he didn’t mind being clean.

After cleaning the bathroom, she spent an hour herself in the shower, until the water swirling in the drain was clear. Her skin felt sensitive so she couldn’t keep the water as hot as she would have preferred for her sore muscles. Once she felt clean, Fay exited the shower and inspected herself in the bathroom mirror. She looked different from when she first met Damian. Fat and muscle had returned to her bones so her ribs and collarbones were no longer visible. There wasn’t much growth otherwise, but her skin looked healthier. Paler still, than it’d been in Maysoon given Gotham’s weather. Her hair grew faster now and was thicker, but she still kept it just above her shoulders.

The marks were everywhere. On her arms, her legs. A few littered over her stomach and a couple spread over her chest, just below her collarbones. Turning her back to the mirror, she found herself staring at the scars between her shoulder blades. She hated the sight of them, as they were a painful reminder of how pitiful she’d been, how cruel the world could be but she no longer avoided looking at them. The healers told her that the scars will fade and become smaller once she grew up to be an adult, but they will never be entirely gone. Just like the small scars on her wrists.

Her marks looked no different than usual, and they hadn’t manifested differently when she used her flux either. Alfred was right – it was a paradox.

Perhaps she did hallucinate the woman and the pain she felt was her own flux changing. But if she didn’t, why would anyone do that to her? Were they working for Bernard? Did they know that her ability to fly would be regained or that was but an unexpected side-effect?

What if the effects of whatever was done to her would be felt later?

Fay shook her head to herself when she realized she was working herself up. Overthinking it. She wished she could talk to Damian about it. With a sigh, she dressed in a pair of soft trousers and a baggy shirt, making a mental note to ask Alfred for the soothing oil he’d given her last when her skin had been tender after training with Damian. It had a cooling effect.

After drying her hair, she pinned her bangs away from her face with a few clips and exited the bathroom. She smiled at her paladin’s belly-up and limbs spread out position, his tongue lolling slightly out of his mouth. His body took up most of the space on the bed, especially at the angle he was sprawled so Fay didn’t even bother to join him. He deserved sleep. Instead, she pulled a blanket and a pillow on the ground, and made herself comfortable before turning on the TV. She did not have the bandwidth to think about anything that transpired, preferring instead to distract herself.

She dozed off several times.

It was early afternoon – the timezones just made everything more confusing – when she heard Titus’ soft whines coming from down the hall. Alfred was moving Damian in his bedroom, from the sounds of it. Fay waited until the butler was gone before she opened the door and stared at the one across the hall. She hesitated in gliding herself over there, not wanting to disturb Damian but also suddenly feeling the need to see him.

The last forty-eight hours had left her reeling. Bagheera and Damian were the ones capable of making her feel most centered and they were both recovering. It didn’t feel fair that she had come away unscathed, that she needed their presence and reassurances to feel better when they were in that state because she’d gotten kidnapped again.

Her selfishness made her turn the doorknob and push the door open just enough so she could slip through. The curtains were drawn, leaving the room in the dark but she could detect Titus’ form laying by the boy’s bed. The dog’s head lifted up when he saw her come in and Fay pushed the door closed, worried the light from the corridor might wake up Damian. Alfred had left the lamp on the drawing desk, a soft light that helped her navigate the room but wasn’t strong enough to rouse the boy.

Fay floated over to his bed and patted Titus on his head when his tail started tapping rhythmically against the ground. She signaled him to be quiet.

Damian looked asleep, and she wasn’t surprised to find him in that supine position he generally slept in. She had asked him once about it, after he kept pointing out how haphazardly she slept, ready to tease him about it. Then he told her that he was trained to sleep lightly, and he hadn’t always done so on a bed. Or something comfortable for that matter, as part of his training. He didn’t elaborate further but Fay could figure out for herself what he left out. She felt guilty for asking because unlike him, she’d never had to worry about sleeping. At least not before that fateful night. Fay could sleep in a bed just as well as she did outside in the wilderness, but she never felt unsafe aside from those times when she and other children were sent on expeditions. Even now, when she didn’t experience night terrors, Fay generally slept deeply. It’d certainly improved from a year earlier.

Fay stayed by his side for a while, watching him before she looked around the room curiously. She’d been in there countless times so she was more familiar with it than the chambers that she used at the Wayne Manor. The sketchbook he left on his drawing table by the lamp caught her attention, but she held back from looking through it. Damian was selective about which art he showed others, and she’d rather not betray his trust.

The room smelt like him. The kevlar, the faint cologne, the traces of hair gel, and that particular scent that was all him and was unique to each person just like a thumbprint.

It relaxed her.

When her eyes fell back on him, she was startled to find him awake. He hadn’t even shifted, his breathing remained steady.

“Hello,’’ Fay said and she couldn’t help the silly grin on her face. Blood rushed in her cheeks, as she felt rather embarrassed at being caught staring around. He didn’t berate her for being there without his explicit approval. He never did although she’d seen him snap at his father for coming in without knocking. Then again, he snapped at his father many times. Fay did not witness many of their interactions but she could tell they did not have an easy relationship. Not the same Damian had with Dick or Alfred. He was always tenser when Bruce was around, angrier too. When he did spend time with his father outside their vigilante duties, he was always happy---as happy as Damian can be, but he was never as relaxed as he was around her.

She often thought about the impression she’d gotten of him when she first met him. A rich, precocious boy acting like an adult. She understood better why he acted the way he did. She wished she could do something about the rage that sometimes colored his actions. It was not different from hers, she didn’t think so.

And many times, she felt angry for him as well. She felt angry with his mother, and she felt angry with his father for not making him happier, and she felt angry for the way he seemed unable to have fun or scoffed at the idea of it. How even something as simple as rolling around in mud had to be a competition or a battle for him. She felt angry with herself for not being able to understand fully the difficult childhood he must have had, and sometimes failing to get through to him or not knowing what to say to make it better.

Maybe one day, when they’ll be old friends. Grown-ups although that felt like such a childish notion.

Titus whined, and nudged the boy’s hand with his nose, his tail starting to wag again. Damian scratched his ear with the fingers that weren’t bandaged and splinted. Fay wished she could give him some of her healing ability. He deserved it more than she did.

“How…are you feeling?’’ Fay asked as she planted her feet on the ground.

“I am fine.’’ He said gruffly. He was staring at her again, the way he did on the plane and once again, she had no idea what to make of it. His eyes looked dark, but Fay compelled to break the gaze a few moments after, feeling self-conscious. “You haven’t recovered fully.’’ He remarked in what she mentally labeled his lecturing tone. It wasn’t as harsh as during training but she could tell he thought she should be resting instead.

“Oh.’’ She shrugged. “Bag took over my bed.’’ It was a poor excuse but she couldn’t bring herself to say that she just needed to be close to him. That she felt safer that way, just like she did when her parents were still alive.

To her surprise, he didn’t call her out on her attempts to mask the real reason she was there. Instead, he shifted away to the side. Fay stared at him confusedly but he didn’t look at her nor said anything. Hoping she didn’t misinterpret his actions, Fay slowly moved to lay down beside him. His bed was narrower than the one at the warehouse, so it was impossible to put any distance between themselves. In fact, she had to turn on her side so she could fit properly, pressing lightly against him. Perhaps it was a bold move, but she placed her head against his shoulder again. When he didn’t move away or commented on it, she relaxed.

Much better.

“Why were you screaming?’’

“Hm.’’

“You said it was a long story.’’

She didn’t want to talk about it. She just wanted to bask in the fact that they were safe.

“…..something happened,’’ Fay mumbled, brushing her nose against his shirt and subtly breathed in his scent. He wasn’t as clean as she was even with Alfred’s care but she didn’t care. “I think…someone did something to me.’’

“That makes no sense.’’

“I know.’’ Fay’s arms were bent up, between them. “…I don’t remember. I am not sure if I ha-hallucinated someone but….it was very painful.’’ She brushed her tongue over her bottom lip. “I’ve never felt that way before.’’

Damian didn’t question it any further. Sleep tugged away at his consciousness but he didn’t give in, listening to Fay’s heartbeat slow down as she fell asleep. Tilting his head slightly, her hair brushed against his chin as her head stayed cradled between his shoulder and neck. He couldn’t feel the thrum of energy as he usually did, which only pointed to how weak it must have been. He'd seen her injured numerous times. She had no pulse on the night of Halloween. She almost drowned and was then killed, at the behest of his mother. Each time she had come back stronger. Yet, the more time passed, the more difficulty he had whenever something happened to her.

He understood why. It was because his perception of her had continued to change proportional to how he felt about her. Fay had become a permanent fixture in his life and he wanted to keep it that way. She was important to him. Precious, even. He gatekept information on her not only because he promised to keep the information confidential but because he didn’t want to share it. He didn’t want to share her. It was a selfish friendship that he offered, but he was who he was. The stories that she told him, the secrets that she imparted with him---they were all his and no one else’s. He was her confidante now just as Bagheera was and no one else deserved to take that place. Fay may make other friends, such as the tentative bond she seemed to have struck with Cora Montgomery, but Damian didn’t care as long as he was her first choice. As long as he was the only one privy to the deepest parts of her mind and heart.

Fay was not Talia and the assassins but she wasn’t his father and the family either. She stood outside of them, yet she brought him a source of comfort that he didn’t find in either. Not as steady or reliable as hers was. Despite what Talia thought, the source of comfort he found in Fay’s friendship or her affection did not make him weaker. She made it look easy caring for him, seeing him for what he was, and still smiling like an idiot whenever he was around. Why should he give up on it? In his line of work and what was bound to be a very dangerous life ahead, having someone know him past the mask he carried was a vulnerability. But it was also power if tended to carefully. He hadn’t fully explored the extent of that but he was convinced of it.

Yet there was always someone who kept trying to take her away.

(from him)

He had to be better. He had to be excellent at being by her side the same way she poured herself into being his friend. 

His nose brushed against her hair. It was soft and smelt strongly of coconut and coffee. Fay shifted slightly, her cheek pressing harder against his shoulder as one of her arms curled around his. She felt warm, as she always did. The memory of her attacking the Sponsor after they'd all assumed she had fallen to her death made his lips curl up in a faint smile. He liked seeing that fire in her. 

Damian finally gave in to his exhaustion and closed his eyes.

Fay was his chosen family. 

Chapter 41: Of aftermaths and frustrations

Notes:

Okay so I lied. The timeskip starts after this chapter -- I realized I do have to address what happened after the last arc, and that ended up turning into a chapter. But with good reason!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“Expectation is the mother of all frustration.’’

- Antonio Banderas

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Something changed again. It wasn’t just her ability to fly or how much easier she found it to connect with the elements. She had initially compared the sensation to when the bracelets had been removed but it was different. Yet she couldn’t put it in words. Her marks have not changed, so she was not going through ‘phasing’ as it would be called. Her flux still felt volatile yet…not the same.

It felt as if the pain had purged her. Of what, it was unclear. The pain had been unlike anything she’s ever felt, at least physically but she felt lighter. Figuratively and literally. Her body felt different although there were no obvious changes. As Alfred had explained, she should have been in a far worse state given the internal burns she’d suffered.

The person that she’d seen that day remained a mystery. Fay couldn’t even be sure if it was a woman, her recollection of that moment being very unreliable.

“…what about the staff members?’’

“That’s the whole list.’’ Damian pointed towards the main screen of the Batcomputer where he’d pulled up the pictures of everyone that had been employed at the mansion. Two hundred and thirty-two criminals had also been identified as having attended the fighting event in the tunnels. Fifty-seven escaped. There were no other Duanimas other than Johan who Damian had defeated but whose body hadn’t been recovered following the destruction of the property. There were at least thirteen men and women who had been experimented on and presented chimerean traits. Six were dead, and the rest had been incarcerated in a special prison.

Fay carefully stared at each picture.

“No.’’ Fay shook her head. “Someone is missing.’’

“Can you describe them?’’ Following their return from Scotland, Fay had temporarily relocated at the Manor along with all the pets, until Damian deemed it safe for her to move back to the warehouse. Dana was told that Fay had started being home-schooled and as such she no longer had as much time to roam around. They did keep in touch almost every day and the veteran was being closely monitored, just in case.

Daphne was out of the hospital, a week after she was brought in. The injury had baffled the doctors as it ultimately required no surgery, but she had lost a significant amount of blood which could not be accounted for. Upon her release, the woman had moved into a luxurious apartment in one of Gotham’s upper-class neighborhoods where she was currently working remotely from. Her family was safe and unaware that she has been kidnapped and wounded.

A visit was due that week.

“Yes, it was a woman. She--she was dressed just like everyone else. Pale skin and short, um, curly hair.’’ Fay paused as she tried to recall the woman. “She was short, as well, and…actually I thought she was strange.’’

“Why is that?’’

“It’s just the way she smiled and talked. She seemed…nice. I mean too nice gi-given who she was working for. She was the one who took me to the dining room but come to think of,’’ Something cold settled in her veins. The staff member’s uniforms were dark with white aprons. Weren’t those the colors she saw while she was in pain? Or perhaps that was a reach. “She disappeared right after. I didn’t see her anymore, but I didn’t see other staff members either so,’’ She shrugged.

“That may be a lead. All staff members evacuated the building the moment the alarms went off, and they were all located in a small building next to the main one. Connected by an underground passage.’’ Damian pulled up a virtual blueprint of the residence and showed her the location. “None of the staff members were allowed to go into the main residence without guards chaperoning them.’’

Fay scratched at her nose, feeling anxious. She stopped when Damian glared at her.

“Give me as much detail as possible,’’ Damian said as he pulled a pencil and a sheet of paper. “I shall recreate a portrait that may help us identify her.’’

 So, Fay did. Damian’s drawing skills were impressive, but the portrait was only an approximation. Unfortunately, there were no matches on the database.

“She did something to me,’’ Fay said lowly as she stared at the drawing.  

“We’ve established that.’’

“To my flux.’’ She added. “To my…body.’’ She felt Damian’s gaze on her face, but she kept her eyes trained on the sheet of paper in his hands. “I feel different….and it’s not only because I can fly. It---‘’ She sighed, feeling frustrated with not being able to put it in words. “—I can’t explain it but…something feels different. Inside of me. It feels as if…. there was something there and now it’s not and I know it sounds…silly but that’s the only way I can describe it.’’

They’ve already run all the tests they could on her. Nothing had looked out of the ordinary, but they also did not have the same specialized equipment her world did. Damian had told her that he may be able to customize the software to detect any specific changes with her physiology which is why he had her go through a series of tests, including having blood samples taken. Fay didn’t doubt his abilities, but she knew he was lacking in data to compare hers against, so there was only so much he could do to help her. The frightening truth was that if something did go wrong with her flux, she’d require the type of healer that that world could not provide.  

“I—feel fine. I felt…fine after I woke up. I am very happy I can fly again but…. what if she did something else to me?’’ She whispered. “What if it’s something that…won’t show up now? Like the bracelets.’’ Something that’ll kill her in time, slowly and painfully.

Damian’s jaw tightened. “Yes, that is a possibility we must consider.’’ Even if they didn’t want to. “It would be foolish not to consider worst-case scenarios which is why we will closely monitor any changes. With your bracelets, you would have figured it out earlier had there not been other factors playing into the symptoms you were experiencing. That’s no longer the case.’’

Fay nodded, then smiled tentatively.

They still lacked many answers. Who was that woman? Did she know that Fay would regain her ability to fly? Was she working alone or not? Was she from Fay’s world?

Was she truly an enemy?

.

.

.

“I am relieved to see you are safe and well, Fay.’’ Daphne smiled. It was a genuine one that reached her eyes and showed her pearly white teeth. A rather dazzling one, as well. Fay felt compelled to smile back, albeit not as widely.

There was no point wearing a mask anymore, but she was back to wearing a Kevlar suit. Damian was being ever so slightly maniacal about precautions again, and she was torn between appreciating the protection he was trying to offer and feeling exasperated. There were several trackers on her now and she couldn’t say with certainty there hadn’t been one in her food too. It had felt rather suspicious when he prepared her a milkshake earlier – Damian could be generous, but preparing food for others like that? Something was going on.

She drank it anyway.  

Damian didn’t accompany her inside the apartment, preferring to stay on the roof and survey the area. He could hear the conversation all the same, however. Fay had floated her way up to the woman’s balcony shortly after the sky went dark. Daphne was still awake, working on her laptop at a table near the window. She didn’t look startled when Fay knocked on the glass and let her in with no hesitation. Located only on the second floor, Bagheera found it easy to climb up and follow Fay inside.

Daphne watched him with amusement.

“He is not a pure-bred Atlabas.’’ She noted as Bagheera walked around the apartment, inspecting every nook and corner. “But he is a very beautiful specimen. You are blessed to have formed a strong bond with him at such a young age. I take it the clans still maintained some traditions regardless of the changes.’’ She sat back down at her desk. Fay quietly noted that Daphne looked paler than usual and there were dark circles underneath her eyes.  

Must have been that technique she used to heal herself.

“Not all of the clans,’’ Fay said simply but didn’t elaborate.

Daphne nodded. “Is your friend not going to grace us with his presence?’’

Fay was certain Damian was scowling even if she couldn’t see him. She also thought she heard him sucking his teeth in annoyance through the earpiece in her right ear. He disliked Daphne as much as he distrusted her. Fay couldn’t say she trusted the woman but after everything they’ve been through, she was more willing to give the woman the benefit of the doubt.

“Not today.’’ Fay lowered herself to the ground. “Would it be okay to talk?’’

“I am surprised you didn’t come sooner actually.’’

Fay didn’t reply to that as she pulled the only other chair available and sat down in front of the woman. Bagheera reappeared by her side a few seconds later, staring at the woman intensely. Almost daringly, so. If Daphne showed any sign of malice or dishonesty, he was going to make sure he detected it. “Go ahead.’’ Daphne encouraged as she shut the lid of her laptop and leaned back in her chair.

“Can you please tell me everything you know about Bernard?’’ Fay asked politely. “I know you said you haven’t met him before, but you—you said you were asked to track down Lukas. I…. don’t understand. You s-said you had no more contact with our world.’’

Daphne sighed. “I was not entirely honest about that but not because I was trying to deceive you. I have had no contact with our world in a very long time. Let me just go from the beginning, okay?’’

Fay nodded.  

“It is an understatement to say that I grew up in very hard times. I was around seventeen when I finally consolidated my position in the capital and even then, people were still looked down upon because of my father’s actions. There was a lot of intrigue at the court – your father was talented, but he didn’t have the power, or the influence others had. Although he wasn’t bloodthirsty or as cruel as others, he was still ruthless, and he had been raised to be a leader of equally ruthless men. I’ll admit that I didn’t like him for a very long time. He tended to be too obedient at times, too caught up in the machinations and he refused to ask for anyone’s help. He seemed to think that he could do everything on his own and it cost him more than once.’’

It wasn’t often that Fay heard stories of what her father had been like when he was young. If she did, the stories always revolved around his prodigious skills or accomplishments. She knew that he hadn’t been close with all his siblings growing up especially her uncle Aryg. It was both because of his values, unique at the time, and because he was shown heavy favoritism by virtually everyone, including Fay’s grandmother. But Fay had never heard tales of her father’s failures except for his own mouth – she thought he was being humble when he told her that he hadn’t always been good or honorable. Even if he hadn’t, Fay had not cared because as far as she was concerned her father had made up for his past actions. She also understood that the world was not black and white, especially when it came to warriors.

“Because of such an error in judgment, my sister died.’’

Fay’s heart skipped a breath. “…What?’’

Daphne had a neutral expression on. “My sister was charming and beautiful. She received a fair few courting requests, but she had turned them all down. The Elders believed that since they were offering her sanctuary, they might as well make her useful. Are those old fossils still in charge these days, by the way?’’

Fay’s nose wrinkled. “Not—not all of them and um, they are only advisors. They have no powers.’’ Not all the remaining Elders are cold-hearted or power-hungry, but there are plenty of those who struggle with adapting to the new era and are still stuck in their old ways. There were a few exceptions and thankfully, the Elders held little to no power, even in their advisory position. The ‘Elder’ status was but a formality at that point. They are no longer allowed to be privy to how a clan conducts itself unless the clan head wishes to seek their input. Most clans in Maysoon were happy to push back on the Elder’s influence especially since many have been great supporters of the old regime or have used their influence on decision making in a manner that had discouraged progressiveness.

Daphne looked satisfied upon hearing that. “Good.’’ She took the pack of cigarettes on the table and took out one of the sticks. She lit it up. “The Elders that were targeting my sister are no longer alive. Not of my own doing, although I’d have liked that. Anyway---‘’ She took a long drag of her cigarette, before exhaling the smoke to the side towards the opened window. Bagheera made a retching noise then decided to put some distance between himself and the woman. “—remember I have told you that my father wanted to hand me over to the head of a prestigious clan? Close relatives of one of the twelve royal clans. His name was As’Rah Mazen.’’

The Mazen clan. Small but prestigious just like Daphne said. Very closely related to the Terogan clan, one of the twelve. The Mazen clan was young, having formed only a little over two centuries earlier when the Terogan clan leader at the time had twins. A boy and a girl. It was his daughter that broke off from the rest of the clan by being with a well-known warrior of that time. Fay could not recall his first name, but she remembers that the warrior had no clan or guild. The Terogan heiress bore several children that went on becoming accomplished warriors of their own, thus starting a new lineage.

“You know your history,’’ Daphne remarked.

Fay fidgeted with her hands. “…I was taught about all the clans.’’ Mandatory knowledge. Just as others learned about the history of her clan. Fay wondered how the tutors would interpret her absence now. Would they tell other students she’s dead or would they not even remember her at all? Surprisingly, she found she didn’t care as much as she used to.  

“I doubt As’Rah has been left out of history books but not exactly noteworthy. He was a beastly warrior, the type that enjoyed ripping his enemies apart and often sought to do it. Not an honorable one by any means, just greedy and bloodthirsty. He treated women in the same manner.’’ Fay shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She had some understanding of what that meant but her young mind refused to imagine it. “The only thing more terrifying than me having to marry him – I suppose marriage is what you’d call our ceremonies as well – is my gentle, sweet sister having to do it.’’

Daphne had tried to delay the arrangement as best as she could seeing as her sister was quite young. She offered herself instead of her sister but by then she had made herself too useful given her abilities. She made a very good interrogator. 

“That is when I decided I wanted to escape and takes my sister as well. A few months earlier, I had interrogated a rebel and found out about one of their secret headquarters. A location that I did not reveal to anyone else. I decided that I would take my sister there, but your father found out. He stopped us from running away. He didn’t agree with the arranged marriage, but he also thought I was being reckless. That my loyalty was being tested to see if I’d choose the Empire over my own family and if I proved them wrong, we would be hunted down and executed.’’

Fay’s stomach churned. Yet that was not the most horrifying tale she heard of those times.  

“I stayed. Your father had a moral code that few possessed and while he could be ruthless, he was never so just because he could. We wouldn’t have been able to run for very long, most likely. Damar told me that the Terogan planned on assassinating As’Rah as his behavior was impacting the main clan’s reputation. He had already dishonored several other noblewomen and in his latest series of disappointing acts, he had killed a diplomat from Aeryg following a petty argument. According to your father, the Terogan would have had no issue with my sister being a Mazen widow. She would have had a title and protection. She could have chosen a new partner later if she wished to do so.’’ Daphne started a second cigarette as soon as she finished the first one. “My sister did not agree to it. She wanted to run away but we did not have much choice. She ended up being wed to Terogan and he was assassinated towards the end of the ceremony.’’

Daphne paused, expression growing sadder as she reminisced that night. When she spoke again, her voice sounded distant. “When rumors started spreading like wildfire that my sister has assassinated him, the Terogan clan was not quite as willing to protect her. Suddenly there was evidence that incriminated her as having tampered with his drink. A witness,’’ Daphne smiled but it was cold. Cutting. “Apparently. I was not allowed to check the validity of that claim, of course. I was told that someone else did and that the evidence was irrefutable. So my sister was sentenced to death.’’

Fay drew in a sharp breath of air.

“I tried to run away. I tried to…take her away. They caught us. My sister was injured and killed.’’ Daphne’s emotions had disappeared once again underneath a blank mask. “I would have been brought back and executed. I could not have children so they couldn’t even use me in hopes my children might inherit my abilities.’’

Damar allowed her to escape and misdirected the warriors giving her a chance at gaining a day or so of travel. Daphne managed to travel to an isolated village thousands of miles away, in Aeryg. It is there that she came across a group of rebels. At the time, their actions were comparatively minor to what the much larger factions of the full-fledged Resistance managed but it all started with those rebels. They didn’t cause much damage but having evaded authorities several times, the Empires were becoming impatient as they felt they were being undermined.  

Fay nodded along to that story. She had been taught about those humble beginnings of the Resistance and the many obstacles they faced before they gained influence and numbers.  

“They were little more than a group of armed civilians. Some rogue warriors had joined them, but not enough to protect everyone.’’ Daphne said. “I stayed for several years. It took me a long time to gain their trust, because of the nature of my reputation.’’ Her lips curled. “I met your mother as well in my early days in that camp.’’

Fay instinctively straightened on her chair. “Re—really?’’

“She was not much older than you, actually when I first met her. And incredibly obnoxious.’’

“Huh?’’

Despite her words, Daphne’s smile was warm. “She talked too much and so fast that sometimes I feared she forgot to breathe. And she liked to steal things. I had met masters of the flux before but never one like her. Not one who carried so many marks so young. And she swore too much. Hated footwear and acted very much like the delinquents she was raised by. Liked to start fights too.’’

An invisible hand clenched around Fay’s throat. “That…sounds like her, I suppose.’’

“Your mother was traveling with her own group at the time. A bunch of outlaws, but they worked by an honor code of their own in that they didn’t target the poor and unfortunate. Some of them had offered to provide protection or support with obtaining supplies but back then it was primarily due to monetary gain not because they believed in the rebels' cause.’’ Daphne finished her second cigarette. She looked as if she wanted to start on third judging by the way she looked at the pack but decided against it. “Your mother and her group left us after about six months and I hadn’t seen her after. Not until decades later. I did, however, meet the men who had first founded these rebel guilds.’’

Fay’s mouth opened slightly in awe. That was incredible. 

“One day, one of our biggest camps was attacked. I think I was in my…sixth year with them. The numbers fluctuated constantly and in the last three years or so, most of these groups were focusing primarily on staying hidden rather than taking any action.’’ Her expression was grim again. “The camp that was attacked was peaceful. They had maybe a couple of retired warriors. I was the youngest one, actually and my abilities weren’t always useful in that setting. Most of those people just wanted to live their lives on their own terms so they were hardly a threat.’’

Fay knew how that story ended. “…Maysoon and Aeryg warriors attacked that camp. It was destroyed.’’

Daphne sighed. “Yes. We were tipped off, however to their arrival so the damage we suffered was smaller than it could have been. Can you guess where it came from?’’

The girl looked momentarily confused as she could not remember that information in any books or lessons or tales of the early days of the rebel factions. Daphne’s smile was telling.

“W-wait. It….was my father?’’

“Yes.’’ Daphne's smile was small but genuine. “After the attack, we decided to travel up north before the weather turned with the winter months. I had stayed behind to create a distraction after we were tracked down because of scared citizens reporting our presence when we made a stop near a village for supplies. Sometimes people had a misguided sense of loyalty and they’d cause us more problems than the actual authorities. Your father was sent after us officially---in the eyes of the Empire, someone like him could have wiped us out easily and permanently. And they weren’t wrong. But, by then, your father had become particularly disillusioned with the regime.’’ The woman pushed the pack of cigarettes out of sight, probably to reduce temptation.

“He made a show of injuring me and then let me go. He also told me that we should stay away of certain areas because there’d be warriors posing as civilians ready to strike.’’

“That….’’ Fay blinked. “That would have been confidential information.’’

“It was. Only a few people would have known about it, and he did risk his own status by doing that. Because of him, however, we had survived enough to make a long trek to the mountains where we set up a shelter for the winter.’’

“Oh.’’ Fay pursued her lips. “….you didn’t---you didn’t hate him? For asking you to stay, and let your sister go ahead wi-with the, um, arrangement?’’

“I did. In the beginning, right after her death. But if I had tried to run away when I originally intended, we would have been killed on the spot either way. He didn’t kill my sister, Fay. I wish I could say that someone like him could have stopped it but sometimes…being skilled or honorable or kind doesn’t matter. Not when there are twice as many people willing to hurt others.’’

Fay nodded, brows knitting together and her lips curling downwards. “…I get that.’’

“He did promise me, you know. That he’ll find the person responsible for framing my sister.’’

“And, um, did he?’’

“Your grandmother ordered it,’’ Daphne said with a frank tone. “She was not a fan of the Terogans---they were loyal but they weren’t as rigid in their ways. They allowed their heirs to marry outside of the clan and they weren’t as keen on having slaves. That caused citizens on their territory to feel fortunate but there was concern that such a…mellow attitude if you will, might only encourage rebellions or come across as disrespectful towards the monarchy. She had wanted to expose them for their assassination but instead, the Terogan chose to use my sister as a scapegoat.’’

Fay licked her bottom lip, a cold shiver running down her spine even though the room temperature was pleasant.

“My father ….killed her.’’ He killed his own mother.

“I know. But, to his credit, she did try to kill him first. And almost succeeded.’’ Yes, because that was exactly the type of darkness that her family carried. No wonder they were nicknamed ‘rippers’.

That will always stain their history. Damian had not made a sound the entire time she and Daphne have been talking, but Fay wondered what he thought about that. Then again, he was no stranger to having a complicated family.

“After that winter, we traveled for weeks in search of a sanctuary that one of the leaders spoke about. Other rebel groups were also meant to travel there although their numbers had dwindled by the time they reached the sanctuary. The sanctuary was set up in an old temple and had become a community of its own. By then, the rebels were focused primarily on survival.’’ It was during that period that Daphne learned about the dark paths. She has, in fact, studied them and agreed to test out the knowledge they had on them.   

 “Wait, what?!’’

Daphne wasn’t fazed by her outburst. But she did pull out a third cigarette and lit it up. “I think they had been looking for that information for years.’’

“I---what?...you think? You said you didn’t remember.’’

“It’s confusing, I know.’’ Daphne conceded. “I have no memory of it. Of how to find the dark paths or how they even work. That was my choice. When I found out there’s a chance to travel to this world, even if it may have cost my life, I decided to take it. I did not want to be a warrior anymore, and I had made a vow to my sister that I would choose a different life. It’s what she wanted. I agreed to be sent here---as a test. I think maybe the others wanted to know if there was a chance for them to find a home in this world. To my knowledge, I was the only one who traveled here at the time.’’

“I….’’ Fay wanted to tell her it wasn’t true but what did she know? Just because it wasn’t in the history books, it didn’t mean it had not happened. She wondered if her parents knew all that. They must have.  

“The last thing I remember was discussing my travel here, perhaps a day or two before it happened. When I woke up, I was in a hospital in London and authorities were questioning me about my identity. I could not recall anything about the dark paths other than that it was something that I had, at one point, been interested in. I don’t even know how they managed to wipe my memory in such a precise manner. Not many people who could do that and no one that I knew of.’’

“But---but what about the other people? How—how would they know it was successful?’’ Fay fidgeted in her seat.  

Daphne sighed. “I do not know because no one else contacted me for years. I do know that both of your parents have traveled to this world, and they were amongst the people who gained knowledge on the dark paths. I spent twenty years in this world, under a new name and identity before your father found me. I am not like other humans here---just like you are not as well. I have lived a whole life yet I still looked as if I was twenty. I ended up going to college, getting a job. Contrary to what you may think, I did love Hannah as well as I did Henry and the rest of his family. Whilst I adapted to this world in many ways, I did wish to build a life of my own. That is why I changed my name.’’

Fay understood. Daphne struggled to be part of Henry’s family just as Fay would have had she agreed to stay with Dana, be adopted by her. She could never reveal the truth about herself, she’d be continuously worried about revealing something that might scare or hurt Dana.

“I met Bruno at the University,’’ Daphne said suddenly, before taking another long drag of her cigarette. “That’s how you found me, haven’t you?’’ The woman rolled her eyes. “Damn journalists. I was against making that public statement, but Bruno had left a strange stipulation in his will. That should he not return from an expedition within two years, he should be declared dead. I would have been left alone but someone spread rumors that I was left with part of his fortune. That was not true actually and while he has made donations over to the charities my company has supported over the years, we were only on good terms for the cameras.’’

Fay hesitated. “But…but you were, um,…engaged?’’ She felt embarrassed saying ‘in love’. Childish, she knew.

“Yes,’’ Daphne replied curtly. “He used to tutor me while at University. I made the mistake of telling him about my abilities. I made many mistakes actually, another being that I told him I was not of that world. I misinterpreted his fascination for understanding and had failed to see how obsessed he was with making history. With discovering something no one else did.’’

Oh.

That’s why she had warned Fay she’ll regret her decision to trust Damian all those months earlier.

“My abilities became a tool and my existence in this world was a living proof that there was big, grand adventure out there waiting for him. Bruno ended up getting involved with collectors on the black market and to gain their favor, he had convinced me to use my abilities to gain information on art objects or such. I left several months after our engagement had been announced. Given I did not age as others did and I also did not enjoy the constant lack of privacy, I became very strict with my public appearances.’’

Fay grimaced. “I…saw the interview. The, um, one from several decades ago.’’

Daphne sneered. “Not the first idiot that I came across or even the worst.’’ She crossed one arm over her chest, underneath the elbow of the other which held the cigarette. “Bruno had tried to contact me several times, but I turned him down. The years went by. He became a famous explorer and I opened my company. Then your father found me. He told me that he had defected Maysoon and that he was thinking of joining the Resistance. He kept my presence here a secret. A few years later I met my husband. We got married, we adopted our son and daughter. My company was taking off as well.’’

“Your husband…he never knew? The truth.’’

Daphne smiled ruefully. “No. I never told him. He knew of my abilities to an extent, but he never asked many questions. He just saw them as a gift of God rather than as an ability of a warrior from another world. He knew I was not…normal, to put it that way, considering I never quite aged as quickly as he did. That I never got sick. That I knew things I shouldn’t know.’’

Fay wasn’t sure if she could imagine herself living like that. What would it be like to fall in love with someone there and never tell them who she was? Then again, she had no idea what it was like to fall in love. Maybe that made all the difference.

“When your father returned about two years later, he told me he was trying to work the system from the inside. Your mother was a full-fledged Resistance member by then, second-in-command if I am not mistaken. The revolutions were at their peak. He told me stories. A few months later, he asked me to find Lukas and Bernard. He didn’t give me details just that Bernard was suspected of having used the portal technology he had been privy to as a Seeker to access resources in our world.’’

The girl’s brows furrowed. “…so he did not find all those items in his office as he said? And if he had that technology why was he after the dark paths?’’

“He was hunted down and your father had presumed him dead. That’s what I thought as well until recently. Given his desperation to find the dark paths, I assume he had lost access to the alternative.’’ Daphne tapped the butt of the cigarette to make the ash crumble in the overfilled tray on the table. “He may have had far more resources than what we’ve seen back there but he must’ve lost it as well years ago when he was hunted down. That could have in return fuelled his obsession to find the dark paths.’’

Fay wondered how Bernard did manage to get his hand on that Bible. Did he already have it from his old collection or did he truly find it in Asia as he said? She wishes she could have read the history tome, to see if there had been indeed any leads in there.

“I do find it odd,’’ Daphne added after a moment. “That he had managed to replicate the technology the Seekers used. I doubt they would have been allowed to have that confidential information. Besides the science, the resources alone would have been difficult to procure. I am not even sure if he could have done so in our world. I have never seen such technology myself and I don’t know how many other territories were in possession other than Maysoon.’’

Fay mulled that over. “The Council, um, owns it now.’’ Any trips through the Veil have to be authorized by the Council. Even so, it still wasn’t public knowledge and the matter of travel from one world to world remained largely an obscure topic of discussion.

Daphne pursed her lips. “Well, the Council is a relatively new institution. At the time that your father asked me to look for Lukas, I don’t think it was much more than an idea. I might be wrong. Your father was the secretive type.’’

“Why didn’t my father track down Lukas, though?’’ Fay asked. “…wouldn’t have that been easier?’’

“Your father did not think trips through the Veil were safe, and his visits were always brief. I never asked for details as I wanted to stay as far away as possible from anything to do with the other world. I agreed to help him because…history, I suppose. So, I did and found the information I told you about previously.’’ Fay nodded along to that. “I did not see your father for years after. But I do believe your mother had visited this world in the meantime as well. My daughter had fallen very ill at the time and her immunity had been severely compromised, making it impossible for her to have the surgery she needed. Your mother—‘’ Daphne smiled. “---provided me with a rare plant from Aeryg that she cultivated using her flux that jumpstarted her immunity. I only know it was her because I had gotten a read off the plant – I found it in my bedroom.’’

Fay smiled widely at that, warmth blooming in her chest. Her mother had an affinity towards the earth element and her precision allowed her to manipulate flora. In comparison, Fay’s flux had always had a blunter quality. A hammer to a scalpel.

“When--when did my father ask you the favour, then?’’

Daphne brushed a hand against her face as she pondered that. “Decades have passed since I arrived in this world. Decades more that I lived on the other side, so you’ll have to excuse my memory.’’ Fay absolutely did. Daphne was likely over a hundred years, or close to that. The healer's bloodline must have contributed to her lifespan but it wasn’t that uncommon for humans in her world to live as long as that. “My daughter was ill twenty years ago when she was just a teenager. I last saw your father give or take three years after she had been released from the hospital. It was the last time. I didn’t think much of it when he asked me. I still have no idea whether he actually meant for us to meet and if so, for what purpose.’’

Fay believed her.

“I am sorry.’’ She felt compelled to say. “I---I didn’t mean to complicate your life. I…had no idea.’’

Daphne scoffed. “I don’t blame you, love, it’s fine.’’ Then she rolled her eyes. “But your father wouldn’t have asked me for the kicks of it. So…I would watch my back if I were you.’’

“The Sponsor is…gone.’’

“There’s always another weed waiting to sprout.’’ Daphne sighed, sound weary. “I don’t know what I am supposed to help you with, but I will be remaining in Gotham for the time being. I could use a break from my high-strung assistant and it is safer for my family as well.’’ Daphne’s family was being monitored, as well, just in case. Fay didn’t bring it up, as it might have sounded alarming.

Before she decided it was time to leave – they had talked for so long that it was well past midnight – Fay showed her Damian’s drawing of the woman she saw. Daphne had stared at it carefully then told her that she’s never seen the woman before. Bagheera later confirmed that she’d been telling the truth.

‘’Mrs. Barlow---‘’ Fay stopped short of stepping through the balcony doors. Bagheera already exited, eager to get away from the scent of nicotine that permeated in the air.

“Daphne. I think we’re past formalities.’’

They certainly were, so Fay nodded in agreement.

“Is it okay…if you tell me what your name is? I mean, was. The name that you were born with. On-only if you want to, though.’’ She had been curious for a long time.

Daphne leaned in her chair to eye her with a quirked brow. “Dalinne.’’

Fay’s widened in surprise, then she grinned which made the woman cast her a confused look.

“There is a statue of a female warrior named Dalinne,’’ Fay informed her enthusiastically. “She is one of the warriors that are celebrated for taking a stand against the old regime and helping people in secret. Our tutors taught us about them! They are called shadow warriors.’’

Daphne’s mouth parted in shock. It was the first time Fay had seen her look so taken back. Fay muttered a quick thank you, bowed her head curtly, then left, flying away as soon she stepped outside leaving the speechless woman to stare at the spot she’d been in seconds later.

When her eyes started to sting, she decided she had earned the fourth cigarette.

.

.

.

He did not have many memories left of his mother, but he did remember she had a kind smile. He remembered that her perfume smelt sweet, flowery, that her hands were always warm. He remembered being happy. He had no memories of his father. Bernard told him his father was dead, for the same reason Klaus’ mother was killed. Because the others wanted it so. The ones from the other side of the Veil. From the other world.

His father had been the one to pass down the special abilities, Bernard said. It is due to him, that Klaus’s inherited the fire. He was only nine and being passed from foster home to foster home after his mother’s death when his abilities manifested. The fire that lit up around him burned everything but him. His foster family accused him of being a pyromaniac but it’s not as if he had wanted to burn the house down. It just happened, after becoming upset that one of his foster siblings had destroyed his textbook.

Then Bernard showed up, finding him in that miserable orphanage he’d been left to rot in because no one wanted a child that liked starting fires. He told Klaus of his legacy – how he’s special and not the devil incarnate, how he is of two worlds and how he could learn to control his abilities. He was a natural, Bernard said.

And just like that, Klaus had a home again. He had fine clothes and fine food and a man who mentored him. Who told him stories of a terrible yet simultaneously beautiful world. Who told him of how the same people that killed Klaus’ parents had also taken his family away.

Bernard had also made many promises. He promised Klaus that he’ll find the ones responsible for his mother’s death. He promised that he’ll find a way back to that other world where he’ll take his rightful place back in society and Klaus can join him. He promised that Klaus was special compared to the other men and women that served him, including Johan. Bernard promised that the people he had Klaus hurt deserved it.

And Klaus believed him. He believed every single promise because how could he not? The man gave him everything. Not just food and shelter, but a purpose. A meaning in life. He wasn’t just the orphan that started out fires, the traumatized child that had been found standing by his mother’s dead body.

He had felt special.

After escaping on the Grymla, Klaus had spent several days hiding on a farm due to his injuries. It was a week before he felt strong enough to summon any flames. The entire time he had cursed the girl. It was all her fault. He had been right to detest her from the moment Bernard told him that she was a person of interest. She was not like Klaus---she was from that other side. She was a pureblood, not an outcast. And if she was there, the others must have been too.

When he looked at her, all he could see was his mother’s lifeless body. The girl may not have been the one to kill his mother, but as far as Klaus was concerned, she was just as guilty. He had defied Bernard by going after her at the residence, but he had been so angry. The moment she showed up, everything fell apart. The mansion was destroyed, and Bernard’s men were taken out and then those vigilantes showed up.

He had not wanted to throw her off the cliff, just incapacitate her but he hadn’t regretted watching her fall over either. He had felt vindicated.

Except the girl came back. Just like that masked boy. They all kept sprouting back, undefeated.

It was the girl’s fault that Bernard left him behind, Klaus had told himself for days. All her fault. It was her fault that Bernard no longer saw him as the special one, it was her fault that Klaus was injured and almost died. It was her fault that Bernard abandoned him.

He spent weeks holding onto that anger. The Grymla recovered quicker and stayed by his side, loyal because it remembered how Klaus used to feed it extra meat. Bernard used to punish him for that---and then he’d the whip the beast, pointing out that was the proper way to tame it. The girl had a beast of her own too. Weaker, Klaus had determined initially except then he watched the lupine creature destroy its way through the campus. It wasn’t enough that the girl had to be more special, her beast had to be better too.

No one else escaped the attack. Klaus had watched from the distance as the mansion crumbled and fell away into the sea. How Bernard’s helicopter ended up crashing. He had hated the girl even more. Bernard was likely captured or dead because of her. He’d never get an explanation for why he had been left behind.

The anger faded after the fourth week. Rationalizing everything was draining and he already had so much to deal with. He was once again back to being an orphan with no way of sustaining himself. No place was safe. All of Bernard’s contacts have either been exposed or gone into hiding. His safe houses were compromised. All his research and collection on the other world were lost.

The girl was responsible for him losing everything again.

But she chose to stay when Bernard didn’t. She had shown empathy when Bernard barely even looked at him. She chose to release him from underneath the rubble and ask her beast to take him to safety. Klaus had told himself it was so they could interrogate him later. So, they could pry out information on Bernard before killing him.

No one came for him. Not the girl, not her beast, or her masked allies.

Other criminals did, however. The ones that were made promises too and had found out that the Sponsor had been defeated. All show and no substance, one of them had pointed out. Klaus had barely escaped their clutches and found himself heading back to Germany. Back to where his home had once been. The apartment that he had lived in with his mother was now inhabited by another family. It had been renovated and repainted and looked nothing like he remembered it.

Next, he found his mother’s grave. It was still there, unkept and ignored. Klaus cleaned it and burned the weeds and stole a bouquet of flowers to place next to the modest stone.  

His anger receded into confusion. Then confusion turned into grief and horror. He had no idea who he was. He had no idea who was right or wrong.

But he’d always been motivated by revenge so he clutched on that emotion instead. It was a more familiar emotion.

He broke into the local police station to obtain the files on his mother’s death. It wasn’t easy but he did find them ultimately.

Klaus had found his mother shot dead on the floor of the kitchen when he was eight years old. He had just returned from the neighbor across the street where he had been playing with their son. It was late in the evening, later than the time he’d been allowed to stay over so he thought he was going to get in trouble. Then he found out why his mother hadn’t called the neighbor to ask for him, why she didn’t come over to give him an earful.

The neighbors heard him screaming, that’s how the authorities ended up being called over. The official report said someone had tried to break into the house, likely not expecting his mother there and that she was an unfortunate casualty. It had been a shocking crime for the otherwise peaceful area.

Bernard told him the attack had been intentional. That the man the authorities caught had been hired by the others.

Bernard had said many things. Klaus wondered how much of it was the truth if any at all.

The man who killed Klaus’ mother had never actually been caught according to the stolen files. A witness gave a strange statement as well, which had been ultimately dismissed by the police. They said they saw a man jump over the fence of Klaus’ house to enter through the back door. The intruder was was tall and burly, dressed in black.

And he had not looked human. He had fangs and claws.  

It could have been someone from the other side.

But by then, Klaus knew better.

.

She’d barely left the Wayne Estate in four weeks. She’d ended up arguing rather vehemently that she’ll be just fine if she makes a trip to Burnside, and much to Damian’s irritation, both Alfred and Dick agreed with her. Bruce had no real opinion as she didn’t see him as often, partly because she avoided him and partly because he rarely ever was around when he wasn’t in the cave. Fay couldn’t tell whether he was bothered with her presence there, but Damian had told her not to worry about it.

Which likely meant she should be worrying, just a little bit.

An hour into her visit there, Bagheera had been alerted by a scent he tracked several miles out on the outskirts of Gotham. Fay’s first thought was that Damian will never let her hear the end of it if she ended up getting in trouble. However, she followed her paladin. She didn’t alert Damian immediately, out of a reckless sense of pride which she later acknowledged to herself.

In a small clearing in the woods that stretched all around that side of Gotham’s borders, Fay found Klaus waiting for her. The Grymla was with him as well – it was its scent that Bagheera had tracked down and the two beasts measured one another fiercely, snarling at each other. Fay instinctively channeled energy in her hands as she allowed herself to float mid-air, ready to dodge any balls of fire being sent her way.

No such thing happened.

The blond male just stared at her with a bored expression and he didn’t make any movements. He looked gaunt, compared to the last time she saw him and his clothes were dirty. Fay could still detect some hostility in his gaze, but there was none of the scorching anger or hatred.

“What…what do you want?’’ The girl asked, watching him warily.

“I want to know the truth.’’ He said firmly.

Fay’s head cocked to the side. “The truth?’’

“Why are your people hunting people like me down?’’ He asked.

Fay frowned as she lowered herself to the ground. “I don’t---don’t know about anyone hunting anyone down. Do you mean because of your flux?’’

“What’s a flux?’’

She gaped momentarily at him, then quickly recovered. “Um, alright.’’ She scratched at the back of her head. “It’s…. it’s what you do with fire. What I do with water and air, as well. It’s natural energy---that people can be born with. Or they can…they can master it. In my---the other world, there are different types of masters of the flux. Some have marks like mine. Don’t---don’t you?’’ She added hesitantly.

No. He did not. “Mast---he said that the other world hunt down those who have special abilities. Who are…born here and are not pure-blood.’’ His brows furrowed. “Like you are.’’

Fay had to contemplate that for a while, unsure what she was meant to say. Klaus’ perception of who she was was even more twisted than she’d anticipated.

“I…that’s not true. I don’t—I don’t think it is.’’ She said, finally. “I am not…pureblood. I didn’t even know there were others with the flux in this world---or that you were born here.’’

For a moment they just stared at one another. Klaus looked as if he was trying to figure if she was lying, brows knitting together and lips pressed in a tight line.

“Do you know the way to the other world?’’

Fay shook her head. “…I-I don’t, I am sorry. I didn’t know how to, um, decipher the Bible. And it’s gone now so…’’ She felt bad for him because Klaus seemed to have realized how much Bernard had used him, but she didn’t trust him. There was no say what he would do next.

“Are there others, like---like us?’’

“…I don’t know.’’

“Then why are you here?’’

“I---‘’ She hesitated, which made the boy’s eyes narrow at her. “I don’t remember. I woke up in this world.’’

He looked unhappy and Fay imagined her answers weren’t very satisfactory. Or helpful. It didn’t matter why she was there though when she couldn’t remember how she got there or how to go back which she assumed was of more interest to him. When he didn’t ask any further questions, Fay took the opportunity to speak instead.

“I am sorry,’’ Fay said hoping he’d see that she was genuine. “I don’t….I don’t know what Bernard has told you or why---why he made you think those---those things. About, um, your mother. He has kidnapped me because he, um, thought I could decipher the Bible but…I had no idea how.’’ The boy looked conflicted between believing her and wanting to protest. Fay wanted to tell him that Bernard was a bastard for having abandoned him, but she didn’t dare to do that. It might have only made things worse.

“What is…your paladin’s name?’’ She asked instead, as she glanced at the beast standing by his side.

Klaus looked surprised by that question as Fay awkwardly gestured towards the horned, scaled creature. It appeared to be a female. She continued to growl intermittently towards Bagheera but Fay noticed her tail was tucked between her legs. In the light of the day, Fay could see the scars that marred its body in various places. Was it because the Grymlad had been forced to fight in an arena like the one Bagheera was taken to? Or had someone else inflicted those wounds?  

“I, um…I didn’t mean to assume that.’’ She said when the boy glanced confusedly at the beast then glared at her. “I—Grymla’s are very…territorial and they---they are solitary creatures. So I thought maybe…maybe that’s why.’’ 

Klaus cast her a dubious look, before glancing inquisitively at the Grymla. He doesn’t know what a paladin is? It seems like it. The creature appeared docile around the boy, but judging by the scars that she carried, Fay suspected that she had been beaten and tortured into behaving in such a manner. Did that mean she followed Klaus around because she was afraid he’ll punish her?

“…who did that to her?’’ Fay asked quietly.

“What’s it to you?’’

Anger bubbled in her veins. “You shouldn’t treat other creatures that way.’’ She said, mouth curling in a semblance of a sneer.  

Klaus scowled at her. “That is none of your---‘’ He started spatting, then he seemed to change his mind. “I didn’t do that to it.’’ He added hotly. “She would not listen to commands. That’s not my fault.’’ Fay glared at him and was about to point out that was a poor excuse but decided against it. Klaus seemed to lack much knowledge on what the other world was like that Bernard would have easily convinced him torturing the Grymla was okay. Still, how could have just stood by and watch a creature suffer?

The same way he threw her off the cliff with little hesitation, probably.

Much to her paladin’s chagrin, she decided to step forwards towards Klaus The Grymla immediately blocked her path but it didn’t attack her. Fay stopped a couple of feet away, the beast easily towering over her as it sneered at her. Fay signaled her paladin to stand back, before craning her neck and bowing her head deeply. She wasn’t sure if the creature would recognize that gesture of submissiveness if it had been raised into captivity.

Bagheera whined in protest but she didn’t move. She could hear the Gryma’s growls as it assessed her. The creature leaned forward, bringing her large and wide snout near the girl’s head. Fay could have easily lost her head between those powerful, sharp-toothed jaws had the creature decided to attack.

The Grymla sniffed her, making the hair on the back of Fay’s head stand up. Then it let out a large roar causing the girl to tense up and her paladin to growl back warningly.

Fay didn’t move, however. She knew was being tested. She witnessed that behavior many times before in the jungle with other creatures.

The towering presence of the creature shifted away, and Fay tentatively lifted her head. She found herself staring at a distorted reflection of herself in those ruby-like eyes. “Hello.’’ She said, as she curiously inspected its shiny dark scales, the rough texture of its horns. It was a beautiful specimen, albeit not fully developed yet. Grymlas could easily reach twice the size the one in front of her currently was once.

Klaus watched her from the side with a mixture of irritation and confusion. “What are you doing?’’ He snapped.

“I am showing her that I am not a threat,’’ Fay explained, standing very still as the creature leaned forward again and started sniffing her, top to bottom. “Does she have a name?’’

The boy looked momentarily lost, before regaining his frown. “Why would it? It’s just a beast.’’

Fay tilted her head towards him. “She is not just a beast. She protected you, didn’t she?’’ She asked. “She helped you get out.’’

Klaus opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. He snorted.

Fay met the Grymla’s gaze again. “I am sorry if my paladin has hurt you, but he was also trying to protect me.’’ She said, unsure of how much the creature could understand. Grymlas were supposedly intelligent beasts but nowhere on the level of an Atlabas. Those red eyes just stared back at her unblinkingly. Fay’s eyes moved over to the long-tapered tail and she noticed that there was a bandage wrapped around it near the tip. It was dirty and stained with blood. “Is….she not healing?’’

Klaus’ jaw clenched, unsure if he should deign her with a response. He came there to find answers not for the girl to play with the Grymla.

“…how would I know?’’ he answered, finally feeling suddenly very tired. All he had done for the past several weeks is run and think. Run and think. His exhaustion ran deeper than just something physical.

He watched as the girl patiently waited until the Grymla allowed her to reach for its tail. It must have taken twenty minutes before the creature allowed her to crouch down beside the tail to inspect the damage beneath the bandage. It growled and snarled and showed its teeth as Fay unwrapped the gauze to reveal the patch of bleeding flesh. A few of the scales were missing in that area, having been ripped off during the battle. Klaus had tried to disinfect it, but the Grymla kept trying to bite his head off and he had no idea if the scales were meant to grow back or not.

It was her paladin who caused that damage and clearly, the Grymla remembered that because it – she – growled in the direction of the other beast.

Fay grimaced when she saw the damage. “It…doesn’t look infected and she should heal. Maybe it’s because she’s young still.’’ Klaus wasn’t sure if the girl was talking to herself or to him. He watched her as she removed her backpack and pulled out the bottle of water she kept inside. She gently poured it onto the beasts’ tail, not even flinching when the creature clicked its teeth at her threateningly. Fay simply waited until the Grymla calmed down before she approached again, talking to her constantly as if she was a person. Klaus was starting to think the girl was not entirely sane.  

“I need to clean it and re-bandage it.’’

It was surreal. And illogical. The way the girl behaved made no sense.

Klaus’ head was starting to hurt. It was a mistake coming there.

After cleaning the wound and applying almost the entire tube of antiseptic cream in her backpack, Fay wrapped fresh gauze around the injury as gently as possible because the Grymla was watching her, ready to strike. Once she was done, she slowly raised to her feet, and she stepped aside to let the creature inspect its tail.  

Fay turned towards Klaus, watching him warily for a few moments before she handed him the first aid bag. He stared at her as if she’d suddenly grown another head.  

“You should keep cleaning that wound. She will heal on her own but…just in case.’’

It made no sense. Fay was the enemy. She shouldn’t have been the one to save him, the one to be so patient and kind with a beast like that, to just hand him a first-aid kit as if they were acquaintances and it was the normal thing to do.

Klaus felt compelled to grab the first aid kit. Seconds after his hands touched it, a shadow moved quickly out of the woods towards him. A shadow brandishing a very sharp blade.

A trap?! It was all a trap! Klaus dodged the insane boy with the sword, trying not to think about the fear that bubbled in the pit of his stomach. He still remembered the way that boy had charged at him relentlessly. He hadn’t wanted to kill Klaus or not only, but to maim him.

The girl yelled at the boy to stop and ended up placing herself between them. Klaus didn’t waste any more time there. The girl didn’t seem capable of offering the answers he was looking for. So, he jumped on the back of the Grymla, immediately taking off in the woods leaving the other two teenagers arguing behind him.

.

Fay and Damian glared at each other.

“What did you do that for?’’

“Why do insist on being so stupidly reckless?’’

“---he wasn’t a threat---‘’

“---you don’t know that, stop being so naïve---‘’

“---Bernard used him. I think he came here for answers---‘’

“---so you are just going to hand them over just like that---‘’

“—you—you could have trusted me---‘’

“—trust you? You followed him in the woods with no back-up and without alerting me---‘’

“---I was going to let you know if I thought---wait. How—‘’ Fay’s eyes narrowed. “---How did you know where I was?’’

Damian’s angry expression smoothed away in a poker face. Which was an answer in itself.

You were spying on me?!’’ She nothing short of screamed in frustration. Her flux instinctively bubbled underneath her skin, unconsciously summoned. “You—you promised! You promised you won’t do that.’’ She understood the rationale behind him being extra cautious, just as she understood why he would have to feel worried Klaus approached her. But Fay was growing increasingly annoyed by how limited her freedoms were, how overprotective he was. It made her feel suffocated again and that frustration has only been building up in the last several weeks. It was if as he could not trust her to take care of herself although he was the one who told her that she was progressing. It was hard not to doubt herself when her friend seemed to do the same.

Damian scowled at her. “There’s no time for this. He is getting away.’’ With that, he took off.

Fay gaped. Bagheera himself looked unsure on whether he should stay by her side or help the boy.

“Oh.’’ She grunted. “Just go. As if you don’t agree with him.’’

With that, she floated towards the sky, as fast and as high as she could do until she felt in control again.

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After flying around for over an hour, Fay returned to the Manor, completely ignoring Damian especially when he was adamant about not apologizing to her, and only berated her for letting Klaus escape. Fay had never quite ignored him before and it had not been easy. The alternative, however, was to start crying and that wouldn’t have made her argument very compelling. The only other time she’d ever blanked someone like that had been Titoh when they were younger, and he had accidentally destroyed one of her books. But, Titoh had apologized to her. Damian on the other hand was behaving even more obstinately than before and told her she was being childish before he stormed off.

She refused to cry about it, although she came close to it several times. For the remainder of the day, she stayed locked in the bedroom, alone. She didn’t want to shut out Bagheera as well, who lingered outside by her door, but she needed time to work out through how she felt.

Fay alternated between feeling guilty about how she reacted and feeling scandalized. She knew Damian had a dominating personality, that he always liked to be in control, and in his desire to always be prepared for the worst, tended to be rather…extreme in his measures. She also knew that he wouldn’t be so protective if he didn’t care, but it was hard to believe he had any faith in her when he behaved like that. In the past, whenever she’s told him that she felt he was stepping a boundary or that she felt suffocated, he always took a step back, respecting her wishes.

After their encounter with the Sponsor, however, he’s been behaving borderline insane. Even by his standards. He had been training extensively, so much so that they barely even talked in the weeks she’s been at the Manor and if he wasn’t training, then he was out on patrol. Or researching the Sponsor’s connections, making sure there were no loose ends. Fay couldn’t leave the Wayne Estate unchaperoned and seeing as Damian was busy, she rarely ever did. She understood and accepted that, just as she believed he was right that she should be keeping her distance from Dana for a while. But she wanted to see Daphne again and hear more about her parents. She wanted to be able to enjoy her newfound ability to fly outside the Wayne premises. She wanted to be able to roam around Gotham again, even if it meant wearing a disguise while doing so.

Of course, it had been reckless to meet Klaus. She had been too proud to alert Damian about it and she could have gotten injured. But that was exactly the problem – why is it the only scenario that could have taken place was of her getting injured? Why couldn’t it be that she could have obtained information from Klaus if she’d managed to gain his trust? Judging by how dirty and exhausted the boy looked, Fay didn’t think he had tracked her down with a small army to accompany him. He had looked weary rather than just angry.

Fay realized that perhaps she was angrier with herself as well for not having been more capable in the past. Damian was starting to treat her as if she was made of glass just like her family used to. She thought she was doing better, that he would have trusted her more after he’d seen how resolute she’d been back when they fought the Sponsor. But even there he had to intervene and save her.

Grabbing a pillow, Fay screamed into it.

In the past several weeks, she’d interacted more with Alfred and other members of the family that came and went than she did with Damian, and she didn’t mind that, but Fay had also felt…alone. She had several panic attacks, relatively minor, that she hadn’t told Damian about. Unlike at the warehouse, he rarely ever came to her room, and she had started feeling self-conscious about visiting his. Was that how her life was going to be there, in that world? It was starting to feel a lot like the one in Maysoon.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am overreacting.

But did he have to be so condescending about it?

Maybe. Maybe she was being ungrateful. Fay wasn’t sure how she was supposed to feel anymore.

With that in mind, she fell asleep.

Notes:

So, what do you guys think? Who was right or wrong? Damian or Fay? I feel like they both had different valid points, and they were both wrong as well. Growth is needed for both.

Chapter 42: Of moments, snippets, and memories I

Chapter Text

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The weather was becoming warmer as they reached the peak of summer, so she spent most of her time in the garden. A year before she would have worn extra layers to hide her bracelets and how thin she was. That was no longer needed.

She and Damian did not speak to each other for two days. Which was both bad and good. Good, because she ended up changing her mind several times about apologizing to him when she realized that he wouldn’t do it. Bad, because well…she did miss him. Stupid boy and his stupid interference in her life and his stupid arrogance.

On the third day, Damian found her in the back of the garden, sitting on a stone bench cross-legged as she read a romance book that Cora had suggested. Fay didn’t really like it as she struggled to identify with any of the characters and she had barely gotten past twenty pages in two hours. Some of the dialogue made her feel either very embarrassed or very awkward. She really, really hoped she’ll never act like that if she ever liked someone in that way.

Bagheera was not with her, playing a game of chase somewhere with Titus and the other dogs.

Damian had wanted her to know he was there because he didn’t sneak up on her nor was he was as quiet as he usually was when he walked. Fay refused to lift her eyes from the book, feeling stubborn. She also lacked the courage, truth to be told. She didn’t want to start crying because even though she was still annoyed with him, she also felt hurt. He probably didn’t feel her absence as she felt his, not in those two days or the last several weeks.

The boy stopped in front of her. Silence stretched for a few seconds before he finally spoke. “…I do not agree that that the measures I have taken are disproportional to the threat we’re facing.’’ The skin under her eye twitched. She closed the book and tilted her head up but didn’t meet his gaze. “You can’t possibly tell me that you think it wasn’t reckless to meet the enemy alone.’’

No, she couldn’t. “Alright.’’ She said tightly. His first words to her after he’d called her childish were still in his defense.

“Excellent. I am glad that you have decided to see reason— ‘’

Fay was rather proud of the small amount of courage she summoned in getting up, as calmly as possible so she could walk past him. Just because he was right, it didn’t mean she wasn’t too. She didn’t want him to make any major changes if it meant jeopardizing their safety or identities, but she also wished he could be more transparent with her.

“What are you---TT—‘’ A hand shot and grabbed her by the wrist. Uncharacteristically gently, just enough to stop her. The hold was light, easy to break if she wanted to. Heart pounding, she looked down at his hand then at his face, for the first time. He looked mildly annoyed but there was no real heat in his eyes. Not like when he berated her before. 

“Why are you being so difficult?’’ She never behaved like that. Fay could be stubborn, had grown more comfortable standing her ground and being more defiant but she'd been exponentially obstinate in recent days. He wanted to believe that he was only annoyed by it because she was clearly being immature but there’d been a consistent pressure in his chest in the past three days that had not gone away with no amount of training or criminals that he arrested. Even if he felt she was exaggerating in being so upset, Fay was not faking it. She was genuinely hurt.

Because of him.

How is it possible she could not see that he was only looking out for her? In the space of one year, Fay had almost died three times. Regardless of how many measures he put in place, someone always found a gap or a loophole. He had no choice but to mitigate that or---or.

“I…I am not being difficult.’’ Hurt flashed across her eyes. She was incredibly tense, but he didn’t let go of her wrist. She tended to be rather flighty, especially now that she could easily defy gravity. “You…you just don’t listen. At all.’’ Yes, he did. He always did when it came to her. Even when she thought he was distracted or that he didn’t hear her. Damian understood that she felt claustrophobic, that she was used to being independent and free to roam around as she chose. But sometimes what one wants is not what one needs.

He grunted, feeling frustrated. She made him feel all kinds of things that he would have otherwise ignored. Or didn’t experience it in the first place. Not on that level.

“In less than a year, you were kidnapped three times.’’ She opened her mouth.

“Let me finish.’’ He snapped, then experienced a trickling regret at how harsh he sounded and the way she flinched. “Your existence in this world is no longer limited to you running errands for Mercher and living in an attic. Others know you are here and what you are.’’ He had played a part in her losing that anonymity, as well. “You say you wish to fight any threats that come your way but that doesn’t come without a price. There are individuals out there—‘’ Like his mother. “—who have resources and the drive to hunt you down if they wish to do so. So do I. However, the Sponsor’s actions have exposed your identity and location. It remains unclear if he had any partners or allies. Klaus was his protégé---he may have seemed inoffensive but there is no guarantee that he won’t use your---your kindness against you.’’

Fay lowered her eyes to the ground, head bowing. Damian didn’t want to shame her, he just wanted her to understand that….she couldn’t risk her life without considering what that meant for others. What it meant for him.

“Klaus was indoctrinated by the Sponsor. Yet that does not mean he should be trusted.’’ Damian understood what indoctrination was, better than most. However, it did bother him that Fay seemed to give Klaus the benefit of doubt rather easily.

“…I didn’t.’’ Fay’s brows knitted together. “I—I didn’t say anything to him…that was important. He didn’t even know what is the flux. He….just seemed confused.’’ She lifted her eyes to his. “But I know I shouldn’t trust him. I didn’t say anything else…I just noticed the Grymla was injured. I think they---tortured it. So I just offered to have a look. Not---not because of him. I just---‘’ She was just kind. Of course, she was.

“I was raised to trust anyone but myself.’’ Her eyes widened ever so slightly. “I---I do…trust you.’’ He said tightly, eyes darting to a bed of peonies a few feet away from them. “That does not mean however that I will not be taking every precaution possible. It’s who I am. It---it is not a reflection of my perception of you.’’ It was in a way. Not of her ability but of the place she had in his life. That was not something he wanted to discuss openly, however. 

Fay nodded. They stayed like that in silence, for a while.

“…..does that mean that—‘’ Fay looked away again, cheeks reddening. He raised a brow. “---that it will be like this from now on?’’

“The security measures? It depends—‘’

“No, um, no. I meant….’’ She hesitated. “…it kind of feels like---it’s not just that I can’t go anywhere. It—‘’

“Spit it out.’’ He sighed.

“…it feels different. Our friendship, I mean. We, um, never talk and---‘’ She started shuffling her feet. “---I know you are busy and it’s because of me---but, it---‘’ She shrugged.

That was the source of her frustrations? That their time together had been reduced?

She missed him.

The emotions that roiled in his chest needed to be dissected and analyzed. Later, when he was alone.

“You could have simply said that.’’

No, she couldn’t have. Because Fay would have felt ashamed expressing her loneliness. She would have avoided wanting to come across as selfish. He didn’t see her longing either, although he had felt her absence. Training and research and the patrol had kept his mind distracted and he had thought she was being patient. Now he understood Fay was just suffering silently, thinking he was pulling away from her.

Telling her she was an idiot was right on the tip of his tongue, but he bit those words back. He should have noticed that when she asked about having more freedom, she was also requesting his presence. And it did please him that she wanted that. Immensely so.

Work always came before everything else, but that particular interpersonal relationship was important to him and he’d already decided he’ll give it the appropriate attention. It was a balance he had only tentatively had to worry about before. Work and emotional entanglements. 

But he’s already made up his mind.

“I have failed my promise.’’

“Wh-what?’’

“That you will be safe. I should have anticipated the attack at the hotel. I will not repeat that mistake even if it requires having a different set of measures in place.’’

“….I don’t think you can predict everything.’’ She muttered. “Wait. It---is this why you are being so strict?’’

He tactically avoided her gaze.

“I---‘’ Fay sighed. “I do…appreciate that you protect me. I don’t want…you not to. But---I want to be able to protect myself. I want to protect Bagheera and….I want to protect you as well. Not---not because you need it. Because I want to.’’ She shyly slid her hand into his and stepped closer. The invisible vice around his ribcage loosened.

They were on the same page. The last two days had been a waste then. Wretched emotions. They devoured logic far quicker than fear. That is what made them so distasteful.

(Not all of them)

“I don’t...know what I want to do in the future. I don’t know if I can ever be a warrior or um, well a vigilante is the same as a warrior I suppose.’’ When the sun fell directly on her like that, he could see the slight auburn shade in her dark brown locks. Only if one looked at the right angle. Her eyes were also lighter in color likely due to the exposure to light causing an increase in melanin. Despite having grown up in a tropical environment, Fay’s skin was fairer than it had been in those photos she’d shown him – her cheeks weren’t red just because she was embarrassed. She seemed to have developed a light sunburn.

"I want…to help people. Maybe. But---but until I decide, I want to make sure I can protect everyone…everyone I care about. When Bernard took me, all-all I kept thinking was that I’d have to wait for you and Bag to-to save me again and….I know you would.’’ She smiled. “But I want to be able to feel…powerful, I guess. To think or, um, know I can get myself out.’’

He wasn’t surprised by that given the values and principles she’d been raised with. She was also asking him to start treating her as an equal. Damian didn’t actually see her as inferior even if in many things, he was better than her. Just…different. But for them to be on equal grounds, in battle at least, they both had different challenges. For one, he still wasn’t inclined towards working with others. He could, however, see himself working side by side with her in the future. Fay would not be submissive, nor she would necessarily follow his lead always but she had the qualities to make up for it.

On her own end, she also had to continue the progress she’s started. She had to keep tapping into that determination that she’d been fostering.

“Very well.’’ His lips curled. Her desire to seek power to be able to be an independent, capable fighter made him respect her even more. 

He really hated admitting it – and he would only ever do so in a small voice at the back of his head – but he had grown so accustomed to her presence, that three days had felt oddly….lacking. Not enough to distract him from patrol or his work – although his father had pointed out he’d been far more impatient than usual – but enough to find himself wanting to speak to her.

“That’s why you went after Bernard,’’ Damian said, as she let go of his hand and they started walking back towards the manor. “You wanted to prove a point.’’

Fay shrugged. “…I suppose so. I—I still felt afraid but---‘’ She lifted one of her hands, studying it. “---I felt I could do it. I never…really feel like that. Not with a lot of things. Usually with, um, reading or studying and…flying, of course.’’ Her smile was sheepish. “I---I wanted to fight. I….am not sure if I can say I enjoyed it but….it felt good. And I really, really wanted to catch him. To make sure he doesn’t escape.’’

“Revenge? My, my, I didn’t think you capable of it.’’

“No…not revenge. I wanted him to pay for what he did but I didn’t want him to…die.’’

“But you did want to hurt him.’’ He had seen just how firm she’d been about taking him down. About punching him even when the man was already incapacitated. She would have if it hadn’t been for the helicopter crashing in the building.

Fay nodded silently.

“I understand.’’

She grinned.

“I know.’’

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Fay finally gets her period on a random Tuesday morning. There are little to no warning signs and if it weren’t for Bagheera agitatedly waking her up, Fay would have been none the wiser until later in the day. Her paladin had naturally assumed she was injured.

Stunned, Fay stared at the stained pajamas for a while before she jumped out of the bed and twirled in the air happily. Maybe a growth spurt would be next. Bagheera stared at her confusedly, even after Fay reassured him everything was fine, and watched her rush into the bathroom. She was relieved that Damian wasn’t around that day because it wasn’t a topic she felt keen on discussing with him. Fay doubted he’d act immaturely about it, but she’d rather keep that to herself. 

Once she had taken a shower and changed the sheets, Fay finds herself at a loss for the next steps realizing she’s wholly unprepared for such an event. Did she even need to do anything? Fay had had different discussions about the cycles a woman goes through with both her mother and other women in her family, so she understood the biological reasons behind it and what it meant for her body. When other girls went through those changes, Fay had inadvertently heard about the changes they experienced when they’d sometimes whisper one to another with enthusiasm or wariness whilst in class. Fay hadn’t paid much attention given she had nothing to share but she had started feeling insecure about it following her parent’s death. To her, it was just another thing she was behind at compared to others even if she understood that each person developed at a different pace. Moma always used to point out she wouldn’t have to worry about it for at least another couple of years.

Fay wished she could talk to Moma in that instance. Or her aunt Sysa. They’d be great at offering advice. Alas, that wasn’t possible. Her internet search wasn’t entirely fruitless, however. Some topics were more interesting than others while others downright frightened her, so she tried to avoid going down the rabbit hole of information and forums. There were parts she was already familiar with, others that she didn’t and some she would have preferred not knowing about just yet. Periods seem to have similar importance to girls in that world as they did in her world, so she shouldn’t have any issues finding the right products, right?

Two hours later, she walked out of a supermarket feeling frustrated and overwhelmed with the number of feminine products on sale. One of the sales assistants also kept trying to help her which only made her feel embarrassed and self-conscious although the woman was nice. Moma’s lecture on hygiene had seemed far more straightforward, so to avoid buying half the shelves, Fay ended up heading up to the soup kitchen. Bagheera followed her, still rather confused by the entire situation. Walking there had felt odd after she’d spent the last weeks flying virtually everywhere whenever she was not in public.

Stopping in front of the back door of the soup kitchen, Fay hesitated. Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. It wasn’t a busy day, but she didn’t like bothering Dana generally. Fay didn’t feel embarrassed talking about it, per se, but she also didn’t like not knowing what to expect. It would have been so much easier if she’d been back home. Moma had told her which herbs were good for her. Fay didn’t see any such herbs or similar at the store.

She was just about to walk away, deciding she’d figured out far more difficult things than that when the door opened. Dana was holding a bin bag in one hand and as soon as she spotted Fay, she grinned. Even if she now had several paid staff members, Dana still insisted on completing the same chores as she did before. Her work ethic was admirable, as usual.

“Fay, what are you doing just standing there?’’

Fay smiled sheepishly. Bagheera nudged her. She nudged him back.

They glared at each other.

Dana just stared at them curiously, albeit not surprised by their interaction.

“Stop that.’’ Fay hissed to her paladin, when he swished his tail, slapping her backpack on purpose. “I am fine.’’

“Why wouldn’t you be fine?’’ Dana asked as she exited to throw the bin inside the can. The door to the kitchen closed noisily behind her. With all the changes that have been happening at Soul Bowl, something was comforting to see some things didn’t.  

Fay shuffled her feet. “…erm, I don’t want to disturb you. Or take your time.’’

The woman raised a brow, looking lightly scandalized. “You know you never would. What’s up?’’ She stepped closer, wiping her hands on her jeans.

Fay shrugged. “I got my…period.’’ Dana’s eyes widened slightly, brows lifting. “And---It’s fine---I mean, my mother told me about it.’’ Fay rushed to add. “But I went to the store, and it was…. confusing.’’

Dana smiled widely. “Well, you’re taking this better than I did at your age.’’ She said calmly. Too calm. Fay could tell she was rather excited she went for advice to her. “How are you feeling?’’

“…al-alright?’’ Fay rubbed at her cheeks, feeling self-conscious again. “I, um, I was hoping, if it’s not too much to ask if you, um, could help me? If you’re busy or you don’t want to that’s-that’s okay---‘’

A hand was placed on her shoulder. “Kid, it’s okay. I am happy you want to talk to me about it.’’ Dana chuckled. “Sorry, I just remembered when I had to have the talk with Robby. It was…. very awkward.’’

“The talk?’’ Fay was confused by that phrase.

Daphne sighed. Oh boy. She removed the apron from her waist and bunched it up under one arm.

“How about you and I make a day out of it? We’ll go to the pharmacy then we’ll grab some milkshakes, hm?’’

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Oh.

Oh.

Fay was not a stranger to discussions on anatomy or reproduction. Moma, her mother, and aunts all had broached the topic more than once, and female healers had had sessions with Fay and other girls several times. They were generally met with a mixture of awe, confusion, or giggles. Or all of them, simultaneously. Given her status in society, she’d also received lessons on what becoming a ‘woman’ would signify for her and it wasn’t just about that she could have babies or…. erm, sex, later. It meant that she would become eligible to be courted. Her uncle Aryg had met the love of his life, Sysa, in that manner although their relationship started because of an arrangement between two clans. They had been fortunate that the political machinations that pushed them in one another’s path also resulted in them falling in love.

Arrangements of that nature were no longer supported by law and newer generations frowned at such traditions. However, contracts between families, especially elite clans were still practiced albeit with not as much coercion as they used to be. Individuals felt more encouraged to pursue their love interests in the era post-war, regardless of the social status the person they courted had. As a result, a civilian marrying a nobleman was no longer a novelty. There were still many clans that refused to allow such relationships, even if they did not forbid it publicly, out of fear of their bloodline being ‘tainted’.

Fay’s parents did not believe in such notions, naturally, considering their own unconventional relationship. Her mother was particularly adamant against having Fay ‘debut’ before other clans when she came of age, as she felt it would create unnecessary pressure. Fay wholeheartedly agreed, mainly because she couldn’t see herself being of any interest to anyone, not beyond her title or her parent’s reputation. At the time, she also found the idea of courting rather icky. She still kind of did, but she was admittedly more curious now.

Dana had patiently helped her in choosing several sanitary products and walked her through each one, before listing off ways of coping with pain or other symptoms if Fay were to experience at a more intense level. They went for milkshakes, a time during which Fay learned what the woman meant about ‘the talk’ and realized it was just a colloquialism of sorts. Dana looked relieved when Fay told her that she had, thankfully, had ‘the talk’ with her own parents as well.

After the sweet treat, Dana invited Fay over to her apartment. She was packing up, preparing to move to a new place she had recently bought in a safer neighborhood of Gotham. It wasn’t as close to the soup kitchen as the old place, but she didn’t mind. Fay was shocked to learn that the veteran’s new apartment had three bedrooms. One for herself, one for Robby whenever he was back from college, and one…for Fay. If she ever needed it. Otherwise, it will just serve as a guest room.

Fay spent several hours helping Dana as they went over different topics. The woman was very open to questions which relaxed Fay and encouraged her to ask more and more. There was not much in terms of shockingly new information, but Fay liked that Dana was so thorough and straightforward. Being from another world and raised in a vastly different environment than other children in that world did, Fay also experienced a sort of culture shock. Of course, she wasn’t a stranger to the notion of sexual harassment, sexism, or sex, itself. But she had never had to think about either of those topics within the social media context or just how much they seemed to pervade the digital world. Dana was unafraid to broach some of those frightening topics Fay had come across only briefly while doing her own research earlier. She could tell the veteran simply wanted her to be aware and cautious. Stereotypes, over-sexualization, body confidence, and even pornography.

Fay was equal parts embarrassed and intrigued as she sat through all those discussions. Truth be told, she hadn’t had the time to consider her place as a girl-about-to-be-woman in that world. In Maysoon, it came up inevitably, but she’d never gotten the chance to go into such depth with her parents. They have brushed on several of those topics and Fay had always known that as she grew older, more and more people would pay attention to how she behaved, how she dressed, how she spoke. But she never quite realized the extent of it until that moment which made her suddenly relieved, she was not at home.

Her self-confidence fluctuated even on the best of days. Having to worry about behaving appropriately as a noblewoman or a future warrior was not an added concern she wanted to deal with.

But that didn’t stop her from feeling self-conscious about her body, even in that world.

Fay pushed those thoughts away, as hard as she could. It wasn’t important whether she was pretty or not, or if she managed to fit the beauty standards of that – any – world. What mattered is that the Bad Days happened more rarely, that she found it easier to deal with her panic attacks, that she could fly again. That she had a friend like Damian. For the time being, that was enough. Right?

“Too much for one day?’’ Dana asked when she noticed Fay grew silent and appeared to be spacing out.

Snapping out of her musings, Fay shook her head. “No—no, it’s alright. I…not everything is new but, um, I suppose I haven’t thought about it much before.’’ Why would have she cared about debuts and courting when there had been adventures waiting for her? Why care for any of it when her parents were declared dead, and the world was upside down? But things were different now. So maybe there was no harm in reflecting on those topics with more attention, even if some felt too embarrassing to think about still.

“Well, whenever you want to talk, feel free to ask, okay?’’

Fay nodded, then thanked her. Between the two of them, they managed to pack up over half of the apartment which was now filled with towers of boxes lined up against the wall.

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Damian never knocked before entering her bedroom although he was always annoyed if people did the same with his own space. Fay hadn’t attempted to get him in that habit and instead had developed one of hers: always change in the bathroom. That day, she hadn’t considered that he might be arriving unexpectedly at the warehouse, although he always did. She had forgotten that she had asked him if they could go to the museum that day after hours, and in all fairness, she hadn’t fully expected him to follow up on it given how intensively he’d been training lately. She was too engrossed in the many glossy leaflets including a very colorful and detailed one on the female body to notice Bagheera being alerted by his presence

Whatever the boy was about to ask her died on his lips when his eyes zeroed on the poster she was holding in front of her. Then his green eyes flitted over the products she had splayed all around her. The surprise on his face was hidden away quickly but she caught it anyway. She was also certain that the flush on his cheeks was not a result of training.

For the first time ever, he didn’t seem ready with a retort. She would have enjoyed having finally caught him off guard if it wasn’t for how mortified she felt. Rather violently she tried to fold the poster and when she didn’t succeed at that, she just chucked it to the side, nearly hitting Bagheera in the face. Then she realized that was rather silly given Damian had already seen everything. Were the products on her bed always so bright?

“I, um---‘’ Fay started, her words dying in her throat. If the warehouse had been attacked there and then, she wouldn’t have minded it so much.

Damian cleared his throat, then straightened his shoulders, hands crossing behind his back. Then he proceeded to tell her that there was no need to feel embarrassed. Had he stopped there, she would have felt at ease. Embarrassed still, but they could have pretended it never happened.

But he was Damian Wayne. He rarely ever stopped at just being simple, be it words or a gesture or how he behaved. Fay’s horror grew exponentially when medical terms suddenly sprouted out of his mouth along with an offer about recommending top-tier research before he pointed out that considering her different physiology---

She didn’t hear the rest because she was too focused on chucking items at his head. He dodged them, easily but she didn’t stop until there was nothing left to throw. Bagheera watched with a mixture of apprehension and confusion as sanitary products were being used as projectiles. His Fay’s irritation only grew with each moment by. The water in the jug she kept on the desk bubbled.

Get out!’’

Damian was wise enough not to fight that request. Or comment any further.  

A new rule was implemented that day.

If Fay left her door ajar, it meant Damian was free to come in without knocking. If it was closed, he had to knock. If she didn’t respond after three series of three knocks each, then he was allowed to go in under the assumption she was in danger.

.

Damian thought it best not to tell Fay that he added a new section to his file on her health. Or that he did read up on that top-tier research he told her about---it was only pragmatic. His friend was of the opposite gender and being informed was the logical choice. 

He would rather suffer through torture than admit that the chocolate gateau he ordered for her the next day was as a result of advice from Dick.

Or that he ordered it in the first place and it wasn’t Alfred who brought it.

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By the end of summer, Fay was back to being taller than him.

He was not impressed.

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.

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Feral was not a word that came to his mind when thinking about Fay. Independent, reckless, brave, selfless, uncoordinated, affectionate, loyal, clever but also an idiot. But not feral. There was something wild about her, but it wasn’t an obvious trait or something that she demonstrated daily. He’d seen that side of her come out when they’d visited the Amazon or whenever she roughhoused with her paladin. When she was particularly focused during training, she’d stop feeling self-conscious and that was reflected in the way she moved. But he had never thought of her as something untamable even if she had fiercely survived several life-threatening situations since she’s arrived in that world.

Ever since she’d regained her ability to fly, the way Fay moved had been visibly impacted. She wasn’t necessarily more confident, and she still tried to make herself small in public settings, but her body language was more open. Just like whenever they’d discuss something at length. Whereas before she was only ever jittery or on edge, Fay now alternated between feeling relaxed or restless.

She moved. Constantly. She jumped and twirled and crouched and rolled, on the ground or in air. She tended to do more so when she didn’t realize she was being watched. In Gotham, she enjoyed scaling the buildings even more often than before, although she refrained from flying or doing any major stunts in daylight. It was in those moments that Damian caught a glimpse of the ‘Fay of the jungle’, the child that had spent her formative years accustomed to the exotic yet dangerous environment of her homeland.

Bagheera was particularly enthusiastic about it as well, and they seemed to engage in play fights more often. The paladin liked stalking her and attacking her without warning, just to test her and if she escaped, he liked giving chase. “Catch the fairy,’’ Fay said with a bright smile as she floated around him in circles. That’s the game she and Bagheera were playing, how her parents titled their private training exercises as well.

So, Damian decided to play it as well, both as part of new training exercises and because he was curious about this side of her. They traveled for a two-day exercise up in the mountains, where he tasked her to make sure she didn’t allow him to get the red bow tied around her arm before the weekend was over. 

He wasn’t disappointed, even if he did ultimately win. Narrowly, so. He didn’t tell her that, but Fay had grown confident enough to point it out herself. He also learned that Fay could be vicious, if she wanted to, like when she toppled him to the ground after the challenge was completed. He knew she only did so because she was comfortable enough with him to act in that manner, but he indulged her. He enjoyed it too, even if he kept that to himself.

Fay was also dangerous and a thrill-seeker and adventurous and he was the only one privy to that. Not counting her paladin.  

Damian was not one to waste his time imagining what-ifs or entertain fantasies, but he didn’t think it was illogical to wonder about what Fay will be like in several more years. If she were to tap more into those hidden parts of herself, both the ones she forgot about or was afraid of, what that would look like?

Perhaps, there was a warrior to be made from her yet. 

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Bad Days still came and went, but they did so in a decreasing manner. Fay did not become impervious to them, but she found it easier to cope with the crushing grief. Bagheera would be there to remind her she was never alone; Damian was there to remind her that she was wanted and everyone else she’s met since coming to that world reminded her that life was not purposeless even when it didn’t make sense.

Flying made her feel powerful even if she found it harder to stay in the air on Bad Days. The balance between body, mind, and soul was affected.

But she no longer went through countless coping mechanisms trying to stay afloat. Instead, she found she was able to do that all on her own. Her appetite would still dwindle, and the nightmares would still torment her but fear no longer dominated her life. Neither did guilt or shame, although those were all emotions that came and went in different intensities. She doesn’t want to go back to Maysoon, but she wishes she could show her family how far she’s come.

Damian secretly keeps track of her Bad Days still. He recognizes the signs such as when she grows quieter in the days leading up to a Bad Day. He always keeps close to her in those moments, but he is not worried.

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Everyone seemed determined to make him want to kill them. Of course, Drake didn’t need to challenge him too much on that as Damian always felt a baseline of anger towards him, so maiming him was never a thought too far from his brain. Yet Drake was the only one who didn’t try to educate Damian on what it meant to be a teenager.

His father had given a very brief talk shortly after he’d turned thirteen. His father didn’t want to have that discussion any more than Damian did. Alfred was displeased with that as it was hardly a discussion. More of a cautionary tale about what will happen to his body and how he’ll come across challenges of a certain nature that he hadn’t dealt with before. Damian had point-blank told his father it was ridiculous that he’d think someone like him would ever fall prey to his hormones. They exchanged a look before the Wayne patriarch grunted and walked away.

Of course, Dick wouldn’t let it go. Damian knew he was aiming to open the discussion the moment he had been asked for a sparring session. Using physical exercise as an excuse. Unlike his father, Dick was also relentless and didn’t stop talking about hormones and sex and protection and all other topics the boy had specifically pointed out he already knew about or had researched himself. Just because he didn’t see himself become a slave to his hormones doesn’t mean he couldn’t be informed. Or that he wasn’t curious.

Then Dick made it worse. He looked reluctant himself to bring that up and Damian scowled at him as the words left his mouth.

“I am aware that you and Fay are friends only and that is fine, but that may change---‘’

“Let me stop you there before you make a fool of yourself.’’ Damian cut him off. “I do not care to hear about how you think my rapport might change with her.’’ It wasn’t as if he won’t give it some thought, he just didn’t see the likelihood of it happening. “This nonsense stops here or I will stab you, Grayson.’’

Dick sighed, shook his head to himself. “Very well. But you know you can always ask---‘’ He didn’t get a chance to finish that sentence because the boy attacked him with his sword. Fully intent on stabbing him as he had promised.

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Brown had teased him about his height. Then she teased him about whether he’ll be able to grow any facial hair. Then she teased him about Fay being taller than him. Damian responded in kind, albeit with far more barbed words until the smug expression on her face became as annoyed as he felt. None of her idiotic highlights bothered him, even the matter of the height. Damian was perfectly within the norm for his age still, and his father had also told him he wasn’t much taller at that age.

No, not at all. What did incense him, however, was the conversation he had overheard between Stephanie and Fay. It was a mistake, introduce his friend to Batgirl because the woman was bound to be a terrible influence.

It was a private conversation.

One that apparently wasn’t focused just on Fay growing taller but…other changes as well. He had fully expected Fay to stammer or try to shut the discussion down, but instead, the girl had shyly gone along with the conversation. Damian experienced a sense of indignation that she was discussing something with Stephanie she never did with him than he immediately abandoned that thought. It was best if there were certain matters they did not broach and not because he felt embarrassed. Not at all. Of course not.

Damian didn’t listen to the entire conversation, but he did have a sort of sobering experience. Fay was obviously moving into the adolescent phase just as he was, but she was bound to deal with it differently.

Just because he wasn’t interested in romantic relationships, it didn’t mean she won’t be. What if she did show interest in another individual? Differently, than she did with him and everyone else she knew.

What if Fay did start pursuing all those emotional entanglements that girls of her age were completely distracted by? Damian thought that to be unlikely. Fay did not have a regular background; she was from another world. She’s already been exposed to experiences far more trying than most adults will ever come across in that world and as a result, she was more mature. And he could not see her giving in infatuations or becoming interested in frivolous aesthetic-based activities.

Still, there was something about that potential scenario that didn’t sit well with him.

Hm. There were new precautions and measures he’d have to put in place. As if he’d ever allowed just anyone to approach her.

If Fay became interested in courting, fine.

But they’ll have to pass Damian’s scrutiny.

(They never will)

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Fay liked Stephanie. The other woman was cheerful and bubbly but also a very capable vigilante. She always engaged Fay in conversation whenever they were in the same room. It was also rather funny watching Stephanie and Damian bicker constantly. Stephanie enjoyed pointing out how much Fay had grown over the summer. It was only several inches but the height difference between her and Damian was obvious which endlessly annoyed the boy. The blonde did not hesitate to tease him about it that day as well.

Fay had had plenty of female role models to look up to growing up, but she’s never really had a female friend. Well, she did but that had fizzled out quickly generally, so Fay never had a chance to have certain discussions like crushes with someone of the same gender. She’d never really put much thought into it either. She had Bagheera who always knew all her secrets, then she had her parents and Titoh. Now she had Damian.

But she could see how certain types of friendships had their own advantages. 

Fay didn’t open to Stephanie as she did with Dana, but she did feel comfortable admitting that she wasn’t sure where to go shopping. Well, she did, just not for those items that she thought she’ll ever need. She had lost all hope about having a growth spurt, after all. Damian hadn’t really let her go out on her own in Gotham and so Fay had not had a chance to peruse certain clothing sections she was now rather curious about. She absolutely did not even want him to know she was looking.

She didn’t want anyone to know, preferring to remain private about such matters but Stephanie had figured it out when Fay hesitated to respond as to whether she tried out a particular store that appeared to cater to teenage girls. Fay knew of it, but she hadn’t dared to step foot into it. She even felt embarrassed searching the website after she’d seen some rather…. interesting choices. Why couldn’t she just wear the sports bra she always did? It was comfortable and she didn’t have to worry so much about the type of cup and size and color. Female warriors worry about being practical. Noblewomen worry about aesthetics and etiquette. She is neither in that world but Fay had always tended to favor her mothers casual and comfortable looks. But her mother did have incredible style.

Fay reluctantly agreed to travel the next day with Stephanie into town, under the justification that they’d go visit the arcade.

Strangely enough, Damian didn’t even protest. 

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The first time he’s seen the scars on her back was by accident. He was studying her, or specifically the marks littered across her skin. Fay rarely exposed herself beyond short-sleeves and knee-length outfits. It wasn’t just because she had grown used to it or because she was in a different world. She’d simply never liked people staring at her marks. She didn’t elaborate further on that when she first told him, clearly feeling self-conscious which he found to be irrational.

The marks were fascinating, especially when she used her flux when they’d shift and change over her skin. She could feel those changes, but they did not bother her and most times, she didn’t even pay attention. Damian had mentally mapped them out and sometimes he felt inspired to put them on paper.

That day Gotham experienced its hottest day of the year. Damian had been replicating her father’s exercise using archery to train her speed and coordination while in the air, using Goliath to keep up with her. After deciding the red fur was easy to track down, defeating the purpose of the exercise, Damian had switched to drawing her to him in the thick forest they traveled to. The area was owned by a subsidiary of Wayne Enterprises so they did not have to worry about hikers or tourists. He added booby traps everywhere, just to add a bit more of a challenge. She was caught off guard initially, but Fay quickly understood that it wasn’t just him she had to be wary of.

After approximately six hours, he called it a day. There was a small lake that they used as a neutral zone where they could both retreat and pause the challenge if needed. Fay arrived shortly after he did, landing a few feet away from him, short of breath and her hair tied in a bun atop her head. She had removed her shirt, leaving her in a dark vest top and navy shorts. The top curved into a T shape on her back and as she crouched down to pull her bottle of water from her backpack, his eyes flitted from the exposed marks to the scars between her shoulder blades.

It was a cluster. He knew enough about Fay’s natal language to recognize that the scars were crude attempts at letters or words. They’d been inflicted clumsily, some deeper than the others judging by how the scars varied in size and length. A few lines appeared randomly outside of the cluster with one extending towards her left shoulder blade. There were flux marks on her back as well, but they belonged there as opposed to the scars. One, which faintly reminded him of a letter in Arabic, was sitting across one of her scars. Fay told him that in most cases, her marks would just manifest over scars and skin defects unless the injuries were particularly deep, or she lost a limb. If she didn’t adapt, physically, it could mean her connection with the flux has been compromised.

His insides roiled. Hot, cold, hot, cold.

Someone had purposefully inflicted those scars on her. He could not understand what the crude symbols meant but he doubted they had a positive meaning. Damian recalled the day when he’d pinned her down, face down, during their mud fight. The way she’d reacted even though he wasn’t holding her down tightly and she could have escaped if she really wanted to. The position of those scars on her back indicated that’s how she must have been held down when they were carved into her skin.

Oblivious to his scrutiny or inner turmoil, Fay raised to her feet and turned around, an empty bottle in one hand. She smiled widely at him.

Whowasit whowasit whowasit Iwillruinthem

She was happy that day.

Another time.

“Let’s go.’’

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“What is your full name?’’

Fay blinked. She was no stranger to Damian asking sudden and unexpected questions, but she thought he was resting. Fay was sprawled on the soft rug before the TV, watching a movie whereas Damian had laid down on the sofa. He had been working on his laptop but a few minutes earlier when she glanced at him, his eyes were closed, and Nada had substituted the laptop on his stomach.

“Why?’’

It was strange, but they’ve never talked about it. In Maysoon, she rarely ever had to offer her full name because people either knew about it or they accepted the shorter version. Her first name was uncommon, given her mother had taken it from that world and Fay generally avoided explaining to people what it meant. She used to take pride in it when she was younger, as it was unique but later, she felt it didn’t inspire strength. As per the tradition of her clan, she had several other names and titles as well, but she used those even more rarely.

“Why not?’’

Annoying boy.

Fay paused the movie and turned around to lay down on her back. She hesitated.

“Lafayette Estaris.’’

He made a sound at the back of his throat. She tilted her head to look at his face, but she couldn’t make out his expression from that angle.

“Lafayette is a surname. It is also a toponym, that designates a beech forest. It is of Old French origin, however. It means---‘’

“---little fairy.’’ She muttered sourly. “My mother chose it. She called me that way all the time.’’

“Because of your innate ability to fly.’’

Fay hummed in affirmation.

“What does your surname mean?’’

“Estaris was a race of dragons. They are extinct now, but they are believed to be amongst the originals or…. ancient, anyway. ‘They who could not be tamed’, but, um, that’s debatable. It’s from the old languages and there are not many resources left from those times.’’

The fairy that could not be tamed.

And she befriended the demon who was raised to tame the world.

Somehow, it was rather fitting.

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Damian had nightmares, too. She never caught him in the throes of one before. He also hid the effect they had on him better than she did. Fay had suspected he did for months – how could he not? – but it wasn’t until Alfred made a comment about how chamomile tea didn’t help Damian as much it helped her that she had her confirmation. She didn’t ask him about them, knowing he will just deny or become defensive. She understood why he would as she still struggled herself to talk about the night terrors she experienced.

She is not sure what triggered his nightmares that night. Fay hadn’t even realized he’d returned to the warehouse or that he went to sleep in his own bedroom, but Bagheera alerted her to his presence. His agitation made her think something was off, so she went to his bedroom. She was just about to knock when she heard him cry out. That was so uncharacteristic of him that she’d immediately assumed the worse.

She barged into the room expecting to see an intruder but instead, she found him writhing on the bed. He was still partially dressed in his Robin outfit, his gloves and boots chucked to the side. He didn’t look injured despite the way his expression was pinched tightly as if he was in pain. Fay approached his bed, unsure how to proceed. Damian wouldn’t react the way she did if she tried to drag him out of the bed or if she suddenly threw a bucket of cold water on him.

But she couldn’t bear to see him like that either. Seeing the few tears that escaped his tightly shut eyes, mixing in with the beads of sweat that trailed down his face was heart-wrenching. Damian did not cry, he was not emotional, at least not in that manner. Whatever was haunting his dreams had to be particularly upsetting to elicit such a reaction out of him. He muttered something she couldn’t understand. It was in Arabic. His voice sounded strained and when he spoke again, it sounded as if he was pleading.

Bagheera stood by her side, trying to project calming emotions onto him but it was ineffective. “Damian, wake up.’’ Fay tried softly. Once, twice, three times. When her words seemed to go unnoticed, she raised her voice and called out his name again. It did not work. A few moments later, he cried out again and she found herself grabbing him by the shoulders.

“Damian, wake up!’’

The reaction was instantaneous. For the first time, she was also confronted with how volatile a person could be when awoken from a night terror from a different perspective other than hers. Unlike her, Damian did not try to escape the invisible enemies that crossed over from the realm of dreams. His first instinct was to attack them and fight back, so Fay found herself pinned to the ground roughly. He had moved on top of her, straddling her waist and blocking her movements. The hands that had previously been gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles had turned white were wrapped suddenly around her throat. And he was squeezing hard, with a deliberate intention of choking her out.

“N-no--!’’ She managed to choke at her paladin, stopping him from throwing the boy off her.

The air was blocked from reaching her lungs and she felt the tension built up in her head, the skin on her neck bruise. Even though he was hurting her, Fay did not see in him the children who used to hurt her. She couldn’t. Not when she had hurt him on numerous occasions while he was attempting to help her. Fay's hands fell atop his and she tried to get him to release her, but he wouldn’t respond. The light from the fallen lamp cast a sharp light onto his thunderous expression and she could hear his teeth gnashing.

“Da—Dami…an.’’ She rasped. A few tears slid down her cheek. They weren’t just hers. “St---stop.’’

Gathering the flux in her hands, she managed to pry his fingers from her throat, and she instinctively raised herself up in the air, pulling him along and then rolling to the side. They both fell to the ground. Fay wheezed and coughed, as she tried to greedily inhale as much oxygen as she could. “Da—Damian---‘’ She managed in a voice that sounded as if she was centuries old. When she looked up at the boy beside her, she found him staring at his hands with a horrified expression on his face.

“…. I am sorry.’’ He breathed. It was the first time she’d heard him utter a fully formed apology and he sounded so…. lost. “I did not mean it.’’

She knew. Of course, she knew that. That must have been what she sounded like when she lost control, too.

Fay pulled herself to her knees and tried to reach out to him. “Damian---‘’

“Get out.’’

Her heart sunk.

“It’s---it’s alright…’’

Get out.’’ He snarled.

Fay didn’t move, both because of the cold sensation that filled her veins at being pushed away and because she could not bring herself to leave him even if it made him angrier. Perhaps she should have. Damian did not like being vulnerable. She felt as if she’s suddenly violated a boundary, he hadn’t allowed her to cross yet. He didn’t ask her again or push her out of the room. Instead, he raised to his feet, grabbed his utility belt and mask, and jumped out of the window.

Tears prickled at the corner of her eyes, as she wondered whether she’d managed to put a dent in her friendship with Damian by offering the wrong kind of support. She got up to her feet, picked up the lamp and then the fallen sheets and pillows. After glancing one final time at the window, Fay left his bedroom and closed the door behind her.

She understood how helpless her family must’ve felt, at that moment. Want to comfort someone but only manage to make matters worse. 

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He found her in the kitchen, sitting on one of the stools and leaning against the marble counter, stubbornly fighting her drowsiness. She hadn’t gone back to sleep. At all. He could tell from the circles under her puffy eyes. There were two mugs in front of her, one that she was using, and one pushed aside, near the electric kettle.

Her neck bore the imprint of his hands in sickening shades of violet and blue. He had scratched her too, judging by the crescent moon-shaped marks on her throat.

He felt sick.

An apology was useless. Cheap. Irrelevant. He had hurt her, deliberately. He would have done far worse if she hadn’t stopped him.

Fay noticed him walk in and she straightened, nearly falling off her seat in the process. He didn’t want to look at her face. He didn’t want to see the disappointment and hurt there, not when she was transparent with those emotions. She wouldn’t be able to hide them even if she tried to mask them with her concern. But not looking in her eyes when he spoke would be dishonorable. Disrespectful after the way he hurt her.

“I would like to extend an ap---‘’ The swishing sound of her body moving rapidly through the air was the only warning he had before she suddenly slammed against him. Part of him wondered if she was trying to retaliate, to hit him to make them even. That was ridiculous, of course, because Fay was not that vindictive. He would have allowed it as well.

Yet, she didn’t. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist, clutching onto him as if he was her lifeline.

“I am sorry,’’ Fay whispered. “I am sorry for going into your bedroom and waking—waking you up like that. I know that you don’t like it and I didn’t mean to make it worse.’’

She…. was apologizing to him?

He was at a loss for words.

“I just wanted to make you feel better.’’ She whimpered. “I know---I know I can’t take them away, but I don’t want you to be alone. Even---even if you’re better at dealing with them.’’

Of course.

Because Fay always worried about his happiness. She wasn’t the Fay in his nightmares that told him he is a failure, that he doesn’t deserve any love. That Fay was a twisted representation just like the one of his father and Dick and Alfred. Even his mother, who had only ever loved him in the only manner she was capable of, was twice as monstrous in his dreams.

He didn’t want her to pull away, but they couldn’t talk properly in that manner. He wanted to see her face, where there was undoubtedly affection and concern and sadness, not hatred and disgust. He patted her back, to signal her to let go and with an embarrassed apology, she quickly placed her feet down and loosened the arms around his shoulders. Up-close like that he could see the small red dots and fine lines that accompanied the bruises on her neck. Burst capillaries. He had done that to her because he’d mistaken her for a shadow trying to attack him.

When he met her gaze, he found exactly the emotions he wished he would. When he inhaled, it felt easier than it did outside where he’d stayed for well over an hour, recollecting himself. He hadn’t wanted to come back, then decided he did not wish to be a coward, even if it mean facing what he’s done. Fay reached to brush back the dark locks falling on his forehead. She rather liked it when he didn’t gel his hair back, not that Damian ever looked anything but put together. Perfect, really.

He wasn’t, though. He wasn’t perfect. And that was okay. His cheeks were neither cold nor warm under her hands and she ignored the dampness that lingered on his skin. His eyes were neither red nor puffy as hers, but they shined more than they usually did even in the dim lights above their heads. Her heart felt like it would burst with the amount of affection she felt for him. With Bagheera she never had to express verbally how she felt, it was more of a choice. And with Damian, she wasn’t quite sure what to say that won’t sound silly or corny.

“I see you.’’ Came out of her mouth before she could help herself.

“Obviously.’’

“No, I mean, I see you.’’ When he didn’t react, she wondered if it had been a mistake saying those words. It was an expression that she’d heard her parents use a few times. The first time was when her mother was particularly angry about a topic that Fay didn’t have the full details on but it seemed to do with politics. Fay had watched her father pull her close, and quietly say those words. It sounded not that different from when they said they loved each other and it seemed to have a calming effect. When she’d asked her mother why her father said that, Fay was told that they were words they shared whenever they felt frustrated, uncertain, or afraid. I see you, meaning that the other person still saw the other for what they were, beyond the worries and anger. That they will always be seen for who they truly are when others fail to do so.

So Fay thought it was only fitting to use it at that moment. Fay did love her friend, but those words felt too powerful, like a curse. She hadn’t really said them to anyone else after her parent’s death aside from Bagheera. I see you sounded so much better. Because she did see him – the person he was underneath his obstination and arrogance and infuriating desire to be in command – just as he saw her.

She couldn’t tell if Damian understood what she was trying to tell him because his face betrayed nothing. He quietly brushed his fingers over the bruises on her neck, inspecting them before he told her that she should go back to rest.

Fay wasn’t surprised when he followed. They ended up sleeping back to back with Bagheera sprawled over their legs and the pets taking every inch of the bed.

Chapter 43: Of moments, snippets, and memories II

Notes:

Fun fact: did you guys know there's a word for that feeling we experience when we miss somebody? It's 'saudade'.

Also, 'Of moments, snippets, and memories' is focusing on the time skip that takes place between May/June (when the Sponsor made himself known) and February of the next year. I suppose they are a filler in their own right and there will be five chapters in total. All of them are ready, and I will be posting them gradually throughout the weekend. The next arc of the story will start right after and it will be a wild ride, I believe, so my updates might not be as regular while I work the next part of the story.

Please also read endnotes**

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

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Damian stared at the pieces of vinyl that had been swept to the side and the record player which now looked as if someone had taken a hammer to it. Or a flux-infused fist. 

There was a hole in one of the walls. The damage and the depth indicated she had indeed used her flux, which was impressive considering that during training she always struggled with being precise about the amount of energy she summoned. 

Bagheera stood in the middle of the room, looking visibly concerned. Fay was curled up in a small ball on the bed. He could hear her sniffling, even if she was completely buried under the duvet. She got angry, clearly. The question was why? Fay had been collecting vinyl for months which resulted in new shelves being installed in her bedroom so she could store them. Damian knew she listened to them all the time, particularly the ones that her mother also enjoyed. 

Ah. 

It was about her mother. 

It couldn’t be just grief or saudade. They would not warrant such a violent reaction, causing her to destroy items she considers precious. Easily replaceable, yes but they held sentimental value to her. He told himself he did not understand that type of attachment to an object, even though the exart shuriken was always displayed on his fireplace mantle. There were picture frames too, now, as a courtesy of Alfred and although Damian was annoyed by their presence, he didn’t move them. Fay, on the other hand, had filled a significant portion of the wall above her head with photos.  

(He’d stare at them sometimes, noting how the photos of him were always in the middle, centerpiece just like the ones of herself and Bagheera)

Damian didn’t ask what happened. He didn’t need to do. 

“I can’t hear her voice anymore.’’ Her voice was small and broken, and although he’d hear her speak in such an emotional state many times before, he still found himself disliking it. He could not tolerate hearing her sound so tortured. There was nothing he could do to fix the matter of her forgetting her mother’s voice. He could give her a very in-depth explanation of the cognitive psychology behind sensory memories and he could explain the theory that sounds are registered in the subcortical region of the brain. Offer facts and data to put logic to what was causing her pain. 

It will not work. 

He could not summon words of comfort, either. Her mother was dead and the pain was permanent. Fay had no access to her mother’s songs in that world. She could only listen to those artists that her mother held a preference for, and reminisce. Fay liked it when Damian played the violin for her. He knew her father also used to play the piano or an instrument similar to that. It wouldn’t be an issue for him to adapt to that, to replay the classical songs she talked to him about. 

But it would be a farce, a momentary distraction. His musical skills, even if superb, could not make up for the loss she felt. Damian didn’t say anything, in the end. He didn’t take any action either. Instead, he just sat down at her desk and worked on the case he already intended on reviewing that day. If she needed something from him, he will provide it. In the meantime, he could offer her an immutable presence in her life and the reassurance that she won’t find judgment with him for being angry with the world. If she wanted to put through a few more holes in the wall, then so be it. 

He did wonder what her mother sounded like. She must have had an exquisite voice for her to have the reputation Fay told him about.  

Then he thought about his mother. He never really forgot Talia’s voice even when months passed by without contact. He could also clearly remember memories of when he was very young, just an infant, and she’d hum lullabies to him, in Farsi or Mandarin. Those memories were buried deep along with the ones of her preparing him oxblood soup and taking him outside at night to show him the stars in the sky. He blamed his excellent memory on being able to reminisce them so clearly still. 

He tended not to think about the emotions that came attached with those memories, preferring to bury them away in a box in the corner of his mind. 

“What’s up, Tinkerbell?’’ 

By that point, Fay was no longer surprised whenever Jason decided to drop by and raid the fridge. There was no pattern to his visits. Sometimes he’d come by every few days, other times there’d be weeks between his visits. He didn’t always stay for very long. There were times when he didn’t make any sort of conversation and Fay didn’t try to engage him in one either. Bagheera was wary of him but he didn’t dislike the man’s presence, especially since Jason always slipped him food. The Red Hood also seemed to have a soft spot for dogs and he had ended up becoming Pip’s favorite. 

That day had been different. Fay found Jason in the kitchen bleeding all over the marble counter as he tried to take out a bullet that was stuck in his shoulder. Maybe he was mad as Damian said because he was poking around in his shoulder with little visible discomfort. When he saw her come down the stairs, he just saluted her with the same nonchalance he always did. 

Fay pulled out one of the many first aid kids kept in the warehouse and placed it on the kitchen island. She watched the older man for a while, before asking if she could help. Jason stared at her with a raised brow and faint amusement but didn’t automatically say no. Fay explained that she could use water to flush out the bullet, although she may have oversold the certainty she felt in conducting such a precise procedure. 

“Do your worst.’’ She really hoped not. 

Fay turned on the faucet and channeling her flux, she moved a thin trail of water away from the sink towards Jason who watched her with the same intensity of a hawk. Everyone in the Wayne family seemed to share that characteristic, although most of them weren’t even related. Fay inhaled and exhaled, in the hope to steady her nerves as she slowed down the journey of the liquid once it had arrived at the bleeding gaping wound in his shoulder. It was incredible how such a small wound could cause so much trouble. Jason pointed out that the bullet was special. It broke apart once it hit flesh and muscle, so it wasn’t just the one piece she had to pull out. 

Fay squashed down the insecurity that followed that comment and instead focused on the flow of energy as she pushed the water inside his shoulder.

“Huh. That’s warm.’’ Jason blinked. It did hurt, but it was a peculiar feeling. He could feel the water moving around in his shoulder like digits and the energy reverberated down his spine. It wasn’t unpleasant like a current of electricity but more like a warm buzz. Blood diluted by water started dripping down his shoulder, drenching his shirt. Jason’s hand clenched when she pushed deeper, which also seemed to require more intense use of her otherwordly energy because his shoulder suddenly felt as if it was being poked with a hot rod. 

Two pieces came out, falling first in his lap and then rolling down to the ground. 

“S-sorry.’’ She muttered nervously when she caught the way his jaw clenched. 

“No biggie.’’ He said. 

She kept digging in his shoulder for a few minutes before she seemed to lose focus. The energy dissipated and the water flushed out of his shoulder, leaving him feeling lighter. And in a lot of pain. It had felt better when her flux was present, actually. 

“I’m---I am sorry.’’ She said quietly, looking both frustrated and ashamed. “I think, um, there’s another piece but I---I can’t get it out. My control is…not that good, still.’’ 

Dick had said something about Fay training extensively with Damian, and how she worried about her control over the flux which they had very little information on. Just what she was able to tell them about. it. 

“Let’s do this the old-fashioned way.’’ Fay stared at him with a horrified look. “If you can see it—pull it out. No hesitation. And don’t worry about hurting me.’’ 

With some hesitation, Fay did as she was told. She did have smaller hands than he did so while he kept a small torch pointed towards his wound with his free hand, Fay inspected his wound after pulling on a pair of surgical gloves. She looked nervous but not terrified or disgusted. War survivor. Dick didn’t have all of the details because Damian was still very selective about the information he offered and Fay didn’t open up very easily. It was the girl who told Dick, actually. Her parents died in the war. 

Not without difficulty and not without causing him pain that had him grip on the edge of the marble counter, Fay was able to pull the final and largest piece of the bullet. She smiled a little, looking victorious before she disinfected the injured area and upon his instruction, applied the blood-clotting agent that came out as foam from a thick pen-like device in the first aid kit. He didn’t need help bandaging himself but the kid so looked so damn proud of herself that he found himself allowing her to do it. 

She exchanged a look with a paladin the same way a child looks at an adult for validation. The paladin huffed, his head nodding curtly. Approvingly. 

“Why Tinkerbell?’’ She asked after, not at all bothered that he decided to make himself comfortable on the couch. Damn, the kid had the best of furniture. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing that his safe house had been too far that night. 

“You don’t know the Peter Pan story?’’ 

Fay sat down on the armchair watching him. “I-I do. But---But why not Peter Pan?’’ 

“You want to be called Peter Pan?’’ Weird kid. She didn’t have a problem with nicknames, just that she didn’t feel it was the right one. 

Kind of funny, too. Or maybe that was just the blood loss and exhaustion talking. He entertained her a bit longer if only so he could finally get some sleep. Baby bat was bound to throw a tantrum when he found Jason had been there but he was unlikely to come by the warehouse that night. Damian was away on a mission with Bruce on the other side of the city. 

If he wasn’t so tired, he might have even broken into the boy’s bedroom to sleep there. Just to mess with him. 

Fay shrugged. “No—I am not sure. Maybe.’’ If he insisted on calling her names. 

It was three am and he was discussing fairytales and nicknames with an alien thirteen-year-old. Meh. Not the weirdest thing he’s ever lived through. 

Jason opened his eyes and found her staring at him curiously.

Really. 

“It’s just…Tinkerbell dies. Peter doesn’t even remember her. At the end of the novel.’’ 

So? 

Kid was taking it too seriously. 

“Baby bat won’t forget you.’’ If Fay died, Damian was not likely to let anyone forget. Especially whoever would be responsible for her death. The brat may act tough and unapologetic, but Jason had been there when they retrieved her from the forest and then from the Sponsor's clutches. Ironically, it seemed the girl had not really needed anyone to save her but Damian's fury was palpable all the same. 

“I—wh-what? I don’t---‘’ 

Of course, she did. 

“Plus,’’ he said tiredly as he closed his eyes again. “I feel he’s more of a Wendy than a Peter Pan.’’ 

That seemed to give the girl food for thought because she fell silent. A few moments later she brought him a pillow and a blanket before she decided to head back to her room.  

“Good…night.’’ 

He just saluted her with his good hand. 

.

“Damian, you’re my Wendy darling!’’ 

Who ?’’ 

Jason just grinned like a cat who has just gotten the canary as he listened to the girl proceed to tell Damian about who Wendy was. The boy's expression was priceless. 

Look at that. 

Breakfast and entertainment. 

.

.

“I have a guild.’’ 

“Is that so.’’ 

“Yes! It’s Bagheera’s and my guild.’’ 

Mine and Bagheera’s . And two people cannot form a guild.’’ 

“…says who?’’ 

“You did, idiot.’’ 

“You—you don’t even have guilds in this world.’’ 

“Don’t be absurd. The fact that you have an equivalent for what a guild is in your world means there are. I believe we also spoke of associations of artisans and merchants who have historically supervised the practice of their craft or trade in a particular area. Some of which still exist in this day and age.’’ 

A pout. 

He wasn’t impressed.   

“Are there are guilds in your world formed solely of one girl and a paladin?’’ 

“N-no but---but…. that doesn’t mean there can’t be.’’ 

“You said that traditionally a minimum of five individuals is required for a guild to be considered as such, either formally or otherwise.’’ 

Expression crestfallen, eyes darkening, Fay crossed her arms over her chest and turned her head away. “You sound just like the others.’’ Damian can easily see how she’d be teased for that especially if guilds represented an important element in the civilizations of her world. 

“I was not dismissing your statement, so don’t make illogical assumptions. I was merely pointing how your guild would not fit the criteria you have spoken to me about. Are there exceptions?’’ 

“…um, no. Not really.’’ Even the guilds that rebelled and joined the Resistance were full-fledged ones or had at least several members. Rogue warriors were just that, and although some tended to form groups of their own, they were never officially considered a guild. 

A sigh. 

“You are lacking in numbers but that can be addressed. Of course, that is not the only criteria you’d need to fulfill. So, tell me – what is the purpose of this guild? Its mission and values?’’  

The girl and the paladin exchanged looks, then Fay looked at him wide-eyed. Hopeful. 

“Do….do you really want to know?’’ 

“I would not ask otherwise. It would be a waste of my time.’’ It wasn’t that much different from forming a new team. 

Fay smiled widely at him, and she leaned over to him. She was in his personal bubble but he didn’t push her away. A fruity fragrance with top notes of gardenia and vanilla washed over him. She had started wearing the perfume he’d left on her nightstand. Fay had told him that her mother used to have a vast collection as she enjoyed wearing perfume more than she did jewelry or make-up. As a result, Fay also enjoyed perfumes which is why she’d started buying them. If he was contributing to her collection it was only because he wanted to make sure she developed a fine taste. 

“Does that mean you’ll be part of my guild?’’ She asked, in a conspiratorial tone, enthusiasm barely contained. 

He inhaled. 

“Perhaps.’’ His lips twitched. "Make me an offer.'' 

.

.

.

There’s a new vigilante in town. There’s no mistake about it. Cora kept track of all vigilantes that operated in Gotham. She wouldn’t say she was fixated, necessarily but hey, watching shadows of the protectors of Gotham flit through the skyscrapers is as close as she’ll come to adventure. Cora liked being in the know, as well. For example, she could tell the Robin that now partnered with Batman is quite young and seems to have a preference for swords. She also knows there’s a lot of people that seem to wear the Batsymbol. She’s never met any of them, but then again she also hasn’t come across any criminals that would warrant a vigilante intervening. She’s almost disappointed by that. 

New vigilantes popping up in the city are a bit like Pokemon, Cora supposes. So she’s curious. What are they called? What colors do they wear? What are their abilities? The new one is rather strange, though. No symbol, no distinguishing colors, just a dark outfit. And they can fly. At first, Cora thought she’d mistaken them for another old vigilante – they did move very fast, and even from the roof of her building she never caught more than faraway glimpses. But the new one? She’s only seen them a couple of times. They did seem to be out at the same time other allies of Batman were, but Cora couldn’t tell if the new vigilante was working with them or not. Maybe they were helping from another city? 

Hm. She’ll have to keep an eye out. 

Two weeks later, the new academic year started. The world moved on. Bullies bullied, conscientious students studied. The weather changed quickly for the worse, a terrible combination of warm temperatures and high humidity that made her clothes stick to her skin and her textbooks feel constantly damp. Her father started attending his mysterious job more often and with it, more money came in. Concern for his wellbeing replaced all thoughts of vigilantes. 

A school trip was arranged to the Gotham Museum. It had grown incredibly popular in the past year due to the restructurations and renovations that had taken place. New management, as well, apparently which some rumored to be tied in with the involvement of the Wayne family. One of the managers there, Helen Wilmot was particularly nice. She introduced herself just as the guide was taking them through the Art and Antiquities building and announced that they’ll all receive swag bags halfway through the tour. Most of Cora’s peers weren’t particularly enthusiastic mainly because they were already in possession of tablets and phones and laptops that they might find in the swag bags. 

Cora hoped she’d get one such bag, but she tried not to let her enthusiasm get ahead of herself.

And it was for the best. The bag she received contained pens and pencils and notebooks and a glossy black-cover book that contained interesting stories from the people of Gotham. Cora tried to remain positive even as she felt a pang of jealousy at watching already-rich kids find electronics inside the bags only for them to complain about them. She was too proud to ask them to exchange bags, seeing as they didn’t actually need those items. It wasn’t as if they would have done it anyway, so best to save herself the humiliation. Maybe if Mara had been there. She was rich too, but she was one of the nice ones. 

Cora rolled her eyes when Reuben, who was more of an acquaintance and fellow nerd than a friend, expressed his distaste rather loudly that the phone he found inside was not the latest generation which only came out two weeks earlier. Reuben sometimes sat with Cora at lunch whenever his peers bullied him over his size or the fact that his mother was an eccentric fashion designer who apparently had a penchant for getting drunk at parties and making a scene. Cora wouldn’t know, she had never attended such a party. 

Their teacher then told them they’d be watching a movie in the theater built in the Science Museum before they continued with their tour. As they were waiting in the circular hall waiting to be let in, Cora watched a familiar figure come from the transition gallery through the archway. She smiled when she saw the girl’s horrified at the sight of students loitering about as she gave them a wide berth. 

“Fay!’’ Cora blinked in surprise as Helen Wilmot called the girl over, turning away from the tour guide she’d been talking to in low tones, likely deciding how to best accommodate the student's visit. Fay smiled in return and approached the woman. Cora couldn’t hear what they were talking about but Helen behaved with familiarity around the girl, reaching to pinch her cheek and arrange the hood of her waterproof jacket. 

They started walking towards the suspended passage where Cora had been standing on a bench. Helen asked Fay when she’ll next visit for a ‘dinner’ to which the girl expressed uncertainty but promised she will visit more often as lately, she hasn’t had the time to attend the museum. Helen didn’t seem put off by that and ruffled the girl’s hair before being pulled away by one of the staff members. 

As Fay was just about to step through the tunnel, she noticed Cora. 

“Oh, hello.’’ 

“Hey!’’ Cora greeted cheerfully immediately raising up to her feet. Perhaps a bit too loud, because from the corner of her eye she caught Julia and her friends stare from where they were standing a few feet away. “I haven’t seen you in ages.’’ Months, actually. Cora had gotten accustomed to Fay evading most invites to hang out because the girl genuinely seemed like she didn’t like going out too often. Fay had also told her that she traveled abroad often and was heavily home-schooled which left her with little spare time. 

“Oh.’’ Cora assessed the girl closely. “You’ve grown taller. And you, look a bit different.’’ Fay’s hair now reached her collarbones and she seemed to have favored a fringe, that made her look slightly older. She was only an inch or taller than Cora herself who had been doing some growing of her own over the summer. There was also something else different about Fay, but Cora couldn’t place her finger on it. However, “It suits you.’’ She said genuinely. 

“Oh, um, thank you,’’ Fay said sheepishly. Then her eyes fell on Cora’s plastic bag. “Did you like it? Mrs. Wilmot said they are very popular.’’ 

Who doesn’t like swag bags? 

Oh, wait. Rich kids. But Fay wasn’t arrogant or spoiled, not based on what Cora has observed so far. She didn’t worry about money clearly as once again she was dressed in simple but brand clothes. Which reminded Cora that the waterproof cloak she’s been wearing actually belonged to Fay. Cora had meant to give it back but she’d forgotten and then she ended up wearing it when the weather left her with no choice. 

Fay didn’t seem to notice or perhaps she didn’t care. 

“Yeah, can’t complain.’’ Cora smiled as she opened the bag and showed Fay what was inside. “One can never have too many notebooks.’’ 

Fay’s brows furrowed. “I thought….swag bags,’’ She said those words as if they were from a foreign language. “Contained other items as well. Like laptops and, um, vouchers?’’ 

“Oh, well, I guess not mine.’’ Cora shrugged. “It’s okay, though. I did actually get a voucher. Fifty dollars at the mall, which is awesome.’’ And it was. There were worse things than not receiving a lucky swag bag. Like the fact that her father had started drinking even if he promised he hadn't. “Oh and look! We were also given a whole year VIP membership for exhibits. I mean, I can’t go alone but that is pretty cool. I think I can get my dad to take me to exhibits and stuff.’’ That was actually a pretty cool find. 

The other girl nodded, but her frown hadn’t dissipated. “Alright.’’ She said. 

“Oh my god, is that who I think it is---?’’ 

“It is him.’’ 

“He’s even more handsome in person.’’ 

“What’s he doing here? Isn’t he like a ghost or something? Never shows up in public.’’ 

And just like that, all thirty-five students had their attention stolen by the boy that exited through the transition gallery. He scowled at them all. If looks could kill, Gotham Academy would have had to restart recruitment , Cora thought with dark amusement . The boy was accompanied by a tall man in a dark suit that presented himself as the museum director. Hardly anyone paid attention to him, however. Girls were swooning over the boy standing next to him and boys stared at him with a mixture of apprehension and envy. 

“Boy, they act as if he is a prince,’’ Cora muttered under her breath. 

Fay looked concerned for her friend. Cora looked from her to the boy and then back at Fay. She had exited the transition gallery before Damian did but they would have been together in the Science Museum, right? Fay behaved in a very unassuming manner. Maybe she didn’t want anyone else to know she knew Damian. Come to think of, Cora had no idea whether Fay herself was famous or not because she still had very little information on who her parents were. When she searched Fay Kipling on a computer at the academy, Cora hadn’t found anything noteworthy. Fay had told her that her parents work abroad in Europe and that she’s staying in Gotham with her uncle, who is also a close friend of the Waynes. 

Cora felt rather smug when she spotted one of the teachers stop a couple of girls from approaching the boy, telling them it was time to head inside the theater. It was probably for the best – the boy looked as if he wanted to stab them. Some protests were voiced but ultimately the students were being ushered inside one by one by the tour guide and teachers. Cora was amongst the last to go in, as she wanted to bid Fay a quick goodbye who smiled at her in return. Before she stepped past the threshold, Cora looked at Damian who was standing aside looking very disinterested in being there. Fay didn’t move from her spot, either, staring out the window. If Cora hadn’t known they were friends, she wouldn’t have thought they knew each other at all. 

So they didn’t want anyone to know they knew each other, after all. But why? 

There was something about those two that set off alarm bells in Cora’s head. Alas, she went inside the theater where she ended up having to sit upfront because all the good ones were taken. Half an hour into the documentary, Cora asked if she could go use the bathroom and she was quietly led outside by a teacher. When she was done with the bathroom, she lingered in the hall which had gone completely quiet save for the rhythmic pitter-patter of rain. The documentary was very interesting but someone kept kicking her seat from behind so she wasn't eager to go back. She glanced through the glass passage at the empty museum campus below. 

Almost empty. There was a shadow that flitted very quickly from underneath the suspended passage and moved towards the fence encircling the campus. It moved so fast that had Cora blinked, she would have missed it. Past the fence, she could see an expensive car parked on what appeared to be an enclosed private road also belonging to the museum property. Cora couldn’t clearly make out the people getting in the car.  

But the red coat of one of the individuals made her think of Fay’s red coat that she was wearing earlier. Cora could have sworn the shadow had disappeared in that direction as well. 

“Hello there.’’ Cora jumped, startled, and whirled around to find Helen Wilmot standing behind her. 

“Sorry! I just got distracted—‘’ 

A shadow. A girl and a boy. 

What was it all pointing towards? 

“It’s okay, it’s okay. No worries at all.’’ Helen reassured with a wave of her hand. Cora’s eyes fell on the large bag hanging from the woman’s other hand. It was dark and had the Gotham Museum insignia on it just like every other swag bag but it was easily twice as big as the one Cora had received earlier. And much to her surprise, Helen handed it to her. “Your teacher said you went to the bathroom. I wanted to apologize. It appears there’s been a bit of a mix-up with our swag bags – all children were supposed to receive the same items. Here is yours.’’

Baffled, Cora took it. It was heavy. Even without looking inside, she could see the tell-tale lines of boxes inside. Seriously?! Helen winked at her. “All students have their name printed out and glued on the items inside, so you can safely leave it behind in the theater while you finish the tour.’’ 

“….are you sure this is mine?’’ Cora asked as she peered inside. There was a laptop. And a tablet. And a phone. Brand new. At the bottom of the bag, she’d also spotted several gift cards. And was that….a bus pass? An annual one. 

Whoa. 

“Absolutely. Now, quickly, go back inside before you miss too much of the documentary.’’ Cora allowed the woman to lead her back into the theater but ended up paying zero attention to the screen, her mind whirling. She didn't even react to her seat being kicked again. 

Whenever she came across Fay, lucky things happened to Cora. Like the voucher, she won at the supermarket months earlier. 

Except it wasn’t luck, was it? 

A shadow. A girl. A boy. 

Why did that feel like a riddle?

Or a clue?  

Oh. 

On Halloween night. It all went back to that night. 

A wolf. Fay. Robin. 

Oh. 

No way! That’s impossible. 

It couldn’t be. 

Could it? 

.

.

.

“Hello, Mr. Wayne.’’ 

He grunted. “Bruce is fine.’’ He’d told her that several times before. He didn’t expect her to actually do it. She seemed far too respectful. A shame didn’t rub off on his son. Then again, Damian did take after Bruce as well as Alfred liked to point out.

Fay had become something between a regular visitor and a resident at the Wayne Manor. Although he did not interact often with her, Bruce had ultimately accepted her presence there. She was not a threat, although she did attract trouble. Though, the same could be said for any other resident there. 

And her rapport with Damian was more beneficial than it was damaging. Fay did not go on patrol nor did she assume a vigilante role, but she was training as if she was. Damian was primarily responsible for that which Bruce felt proud of because the boy had eagerly taken the task of guiding another individual. His son was starting to learn what it meant to be an effective mentor. He had a long way to go but Fay was resilient. And determined. 

Damian had brought her into the family. He had no intention of removing her. Bruce did not perceive that as negatively as he did before. He had seen what Fay could do and the progress she’s made. A sense of justice and moral code was deeply instilled in her. It was no wonder that she seemed to have grown more comfortable around men and women who led double lives than she did with regular Gothamites. 

Dick had proposed that perhaps it was time to acknowledge Fay’s presence officially. Bruce didn’t disagree, necessarily. He wanted to know what her purpose was, however. He had heard about what happened with the Sponsor, how Fay made the choice to destroy a chance of returning to her world. 

That morning, running on four hours of sleep and not at all in the mood for talking, Bruce found her sitting at the kitchen island, hands wrapped around a hot chocolate. She wasn’t as intimidated by him as before, he noted, because she no longer tensed up around him. He poured himself a cup of coffee and watched her from the corner of his eyes. The girl had merely nodded at his curt greeting and kept her eyes glued on the mug before her. There were circles underneath her glassy, red-rimmed eyes. Her face was paler than usual and there was an air of defeat about her. 

A child should not have such a haunted expression. He knew plenty who did, however, including the one who used to stare at him in the mirror decades earlier. 

It was barely dawn but she was wide awake in the kitchen. Nightmares, then. Damian had gone to the showers, last he’d checked. His son seemed to have a way of comforting the girl even if he lacked social skills, so there was no need for Bruce to interfere. He could have waited for the boy to return. Bruce find himself doing so anyway, for the same reason he had always felt compelled towards children that knew pain far too early. 

“Damian has informed me that there have been no further developments regarding the Sponsor’s acolytes.’’ He remarked as he sat down across from her. 

Fay glanced at him surprised that he was engaging her in conversation. “Oh. N-no. I suppose not.’’ She pursued her lips. “I hope the rumors were wrong and there are no others. Helping him, I mean.’’ 

“You destroyed the Bible and any other potential leads.’’ He said, calmly. It wasn’t an accusation. “There may be no way for you to return to your world.’’ Not untrue. He had been looking into the existence of the Veil and it had become a topic of interest within the League. If portals were being opened between that world and another, they had to be prepared for worst-case scenarios. Bruce had also investigated the territory in the Amazon where Fay had said she woke up but he had found nothing. Her story did check out, however -- the villagers there still remembered her. 

Fay was no longer an anomaly. In addition to the weapons and resources that had been transported from one world to another, several other individuals had made the passage. Daphne Barlow. The Sponsor. The chimerean creatures in his service. Fay’s own parents had traveled through the Veil, which is how she’d ended up being so educated on that world. Damian may have not offered any details but Bruce was investigating on his own, in the background. No longer because he felt Fay was a threat herself but because she may be able to help them out figure future threats instead. 

Fay nodded. “I know.’’ She smiled sadly. “But…that’s alright. The Sponsor hurt many people trying to find a way through the Veil.’’ She shook her head to herself. “If it’s safer that I don’t either then….’’ She did look sad by that consideration but she was also genuine. 

Bruce sipped his coffee. He was satisfied with her answer. It highlighted her principles. 

“Nightmares?’’ He asked when she reached to rub at her tired face, before stifling a yawn. 

“...Yes.’’ She paused, looking at her empty mug. “…sometimes I think I remember what happened. Then…I am not sure if I want to.’’ Perhaps it was the exhaustion that made her open up suddenly, but Bruce didn’t comment immediately on it. 

“Your amnesia may be a result of your brain suppressing a traumatic event.’’ 

Fay nodded again. “That’s what, um, the healers used to say.’’ Her expression grew distant. 

Or she didn’t want to. On a subconscious level. 

A blessing, perhaps. Fay seemed to be driven enough in helping others as it is. 

“Would it change who you are?’’ 

“What?’’ 

“If you were to remember. Do you believe it would change your values and principles?’’ Helping Robin out of a burning building. Figuring out Angel’s operation and making them aware even if it meant exposing herself. Destroying the chance of seeing her world again for the greater good. Believing in his son. 

The girl looked momentarily confused but she didn’t hesitate to answer once the question sunk it. 

“Of course not.’’ She responded automatically, then seemed to the mule that in more depth. “…pain is pain. I can’t remember what caused it but, um, I…feel it. And I still don’t deal with it…as well as I should be. But I do believe in what my parents taught me.’’ Their teachings are what have kept her going, even if it had been a limbo of sorts. Meeting Damian had only reminded her how to believe again. In herself, primarily. “I don’t want to let what happened to change that.’’ Not anymore. She just hoped she’ll keep finding the strength to prevent that. 

The corner of Bruce’s lips lifted, imperceptibly so. 

“Damian.’’ Fay blinked and turned to look over her shoulder. The boy was standing by the entrance in the kitchen, changed in fresh clothes and a towel hanging around his neck. “You should get some rest. Both of you.’’ With that Bruce got up, poured himself a second cup, and then exited the kitchen, passing by his son wordlessly. 

He did hear his son berating her for drinking sugared drinks on an empty stomach and the girl apologizing half-heartedly, only to ask him if he can stay in her room until she fell asleep again. 

His son didn’t say yes. 

But he also didn’t say no. 

.

.

.

Fay tensed up when she felt fingers brush over the scars on her back. The touch was incredibly light like a butterfly’s wings but it still made her back straighten and her shoulders stiffen. Her heart sunk when she realized that she hadn’t considered he’d see her back if she swore a tank top, far too caught up in the exercises. Fay had asked Damian to provide her with a dummy so she could practice her palm hits – it was a type of precision exercise that her trainers used to make her go through back at home as well. How much power she put in the hits didn’t matter as much as the technique did. In Maysoon, there’d be special dummies that would only break if she applied a certain amount of flux, thus teaching her damage control. 

Surprisingly, it had been Bruce who had pointed out that they should be able to modify the dummies to react to the energy she outputs, allowing her to train more effectively. Damian looked particularly pleased by that. Controlling and expelling energy was not the only challenge. She had to ensure she did not damage her own body, which she was struggling with as well. That day alone she had managed to break two of her fingers and the rest of them were still bruised, resulting in most of them being swollen. Her wrists were sprained and the energy had rebounded against her hands causing her hands to get injured. They were nothing short of raw. 

Despite the pain, Fay had wanted to keep going. More out of frustration than anything else but Damian put a stop to it and ordered her to take a break. As if he knew when to stop himself. Fay agreed, trying to ignore the sting of disappointment and the vicious thoughts as she disinfected her hands. She was sitting in the medical bay area, straddling one of the benches by the lockers when Damian appeared behind her. 

Her scars were only partially exposed but of course, it wouldn’t have escaped his notice. Damian even seemed to keep track of the way the marks changed across her skin when she trained because earlier he had pointed out that observed how they don’t all move at the same speed neither do they always react to her will as quickly as they do when she’s in actual danger. It was disconcerting at times how much attention he paid. 

“Was this part of the games they played as well?’’ 

Or how much he remembered of everything she’s told him. She didn’t want to feel special because Damian was a naturally observant person, unhealthily at times, so it wasn’t just her that he paid attention to. There had been cases when he had also made her feel very vulnerable, wishing she could just put up a shield to hide behind. Fay trusted him but there were moments when old scars and old fears made her wonder just how much she’d break if he ever decided to stop looking  - like Titoh – or if he disappeared from her life – like her parents -. 

“No.’’ She said. He will push and prod but if she really wanted to keep it to herself, Damian wouldn’t force her to reveal anything. Except there was a part of her that wanted to talk about it. 

Fay had no idea how Bagheera did it, feeling everyone’s emotions. Hers were enough to discombobulate her. “…I think it was revenge.’’ They were alone in the Batcave. Actually, they might have been the only two people at the manor at that moment. Bruce had disappeared earlier after having decided to watch them train – which had been nerve-wracking and made her clumsy – and Alfred was visiting a friend for the day. 

“Revenge,’’ Damian repeated. He didn’t touch her again but she could feel him staring. 

Fay sighed. A year earlier she would have said it was not revenge but punishment that she’d fully earned and deserved. Part of her still believed that, just as she still felt ashamed for not having defended herself. But now there was a bigger part of her that acknowledged, in a figuratively stronger voice that the way she’s been treated was not just her burden to carry. That she too had experienced great losses and suffered, and therefore she should have not treated as if she hadn’t. 

“Before…before my parents died, it wasn’t that bad. I did talk and play with other children, although many were the heirs of the other clans. Not all of them were…fake or two-faced or mean. I did have fun.’’ Fay started, as she moved the pack of ice around her swollen, battered hands. “My parents were unconventional and not quite as formal, especially my mother. I knew they gave me freedoms and spoiled me in ways the others weren’t…but I guess I didn’t realize how that made them feel.’’ In retrospect, having a blissful shielded life had given her little insight into what it felt like to be raised in a stricter household. “I, um, was allowed to miss the…classes of some of the tutors in exchange of traveling with my parents. Or simply because I wanted to. I got to meet other former Resistance members. I learned about…this world.’’ She shrugged, then regretted it because her shoulders were sore. 

“I knew other children as well. Civilians, I mean. Titoh was not from a noble clan so he spent more time with them than I did and after he was adopted, I did too. I thought they were accepting…and some of them were. But, I think they also found it….advantageous.’’ Because they did. And she’d been a pushover, trying to do favors for them because she liked being in their good graces. She thought that if she’s patient and kind and fun, they’ll just like her for her. She thought she’d been successful and maybe to an extent, she was right. Fay wasn’t sure what to think of it anymore. 

After that night, there was a period during which Fay was hospitalized for weeks. She was in a coma for a week as a result of an injury to her head and when she came out of it, it took her another two weeks to overcome the shock. At least that’s what the healers and her family told her. She doesn’t recall very well that period including the ceremony that was held for her parents and other victims. She used to have night terrors several times worse than the ones Damian witnessed which forced the healers to sedate her constantly. 

Once she was discharged, Fay was tutored privately. She received condolences and gifts and all kinds of heartfelt messages. She didn’t talk much and the loss of her ability to fly depressed her further. Titoh was particularly withdrawn, so they grew apart. He had been successfully evacuated that night, earlier than she had and he had not been as injured, but he was just shaken by what happened. 

Three months in, Fay had been allowed to go out in the jungle again. The training was restarted. There were rumors and uncertainties and wild theories floating everywhere. People were also still dealing with what happened in different ways. Many simply moved on. Others turned to conspiracy theories and spoke of wanting revenge. Some lost their faith and grew embittered with what was meant to be a new era of peace. 

The first time she’s lost control, Fay had witnessed a few such civilians hound Titoh and roughing him up. There was such intense anger on their faces as if somehow she or Titoh were responsible for the pain they felt. 

One of the men grabbed Titoh by the arm and when he tried to release himself, the man pushed him to the ground causing the boy to hit his head. Fay ended up sending the man flying across the courtyard they were in. He suffered four broken ribs, a concussion, and a dislocated shoulder. She’d always had a volatile flux but that had never happened before. She hadn’t even meant to do it. While she was trying to help Titoh, she thought the man was going to grab her instead and she simply reacted. 

The incident was largely kept under wraps but when she returned to what could be considered the academic institution of her world, Fay had been shunned by the civilian children. Titoh spent time with them, however. 

Not everyone was a bully, she knows that. Some genuinely felt concerned for her, but no one really could make sense of what happened so what she needed most – answers, a logical explanation – was impossible to get. Fay had started to feel the pressure of the various expectations that everyone placed on her. All manner of advice and suggestions and criticism came her way, some more helpful than others. Some more cruel than kind. Her flux wasn’t right. There was an imbalance inside of her. She was broken. She lacked her mother’s precision and all of her father’s affinity towards the battle. Fay’s heard it all. 

The games she had told Damian previously had just been a group of children who decided to test how far she’d go to get their trust and attention. They weren’t just civilians but also from the higher ranks of warrior families. Fay knows she made it easy for them, as well, especially when she’d figured out something was off but had turned a blind eye. It started out by making her feel guilty for the incident with the man she’d injured. In the beginning, small favors were requested such as getting the tutors to cancel examinations or covering for them if they cheated. Fay had allowed them to humiliate another child, only to realize they were completely innocent. Even if they hadn’t been, she shouldn’t have stood by. Fay ultimately told her aunt Sysa about it who in turn had furiously reported the situation to their families. 

They were punished. Titoh was shunned out of their group. And he grew angry with her. When Fay tried to get through to him, they ended up fighting and she lost control again. He was injured and since then, they stopped talking altogether. Titoh didn’t want to be anywhere around her. At one point, he joined the same group of bullies as before and stopped acknowledging her altogether. 

Smaller incidents followed. Once, during the first major festive event after that night when they had to interrupt it suddenly because she kept having panic attacks. Another, during a mock mission in which she was put as part of a three-man team, meant to retrieve a protect a fake mark. Fay’s team ended up losing, disastrously so, because she had been so paralyzed by fear that instead of incapacitating her tutor, she ruined her team’s strategy. Similar other situations followed. The first time she got hurt was when the same group of children as before had thrown rocks at her. Titoh hadn’t been among them, but he also didn’t stop being friends with them afterwards. Fay didn’t lose control on that occasion but her uncle issued an order that she was not allowed to go unchaperoned anywhere. She had guards constantly monitoring her, which in turn, only made some individuals feel more spurred to hate her. She had the privilege of having elite warriors protecting her, after all. 

Fay reduced her trips in public and stayed largely on the palace grounds. 

The Trials were meant to go ahead shortly before the one-year anniversary. Not everyone agreed they should take place, including some of her family members. Fay was told she didn’t have to go through with them if she didn’t want to, as she would not be the only one to be exempted. The Trials were bound to be more of an attempt at normality, than anything. 

She insisted to be signed up for them. It was foolish and she wishes she hadn’t done it but her uncle ultimately agreed. 

Fay received the scars on her back before the Trials. She was passed a note that had Titoh’s handwriting on it, asking her to meet him so they could make up. At that point, they barely even saw each other. They were strangers, really. Fay had convinced her uncle to let her go unchaperoned considering she was only meeting with Titoh. Bagheera was with her, as always. 

Titoh did meet with her. And with him so was his group of friends. They trapped Bagheera, leaving her with no defense. Titoh had lured her into a trap and although he looked horrified once he realized what the others were planning, he had clearly played a crucial part in what happened that day. 

Fay was severely beaten. She did manage to escape and she would have had an advantage in the jungle, but she ended up having a panic attack. Several boys and girls pinned her down, easily overpowering her in number and strength, and then started hurting her. Her back wasn’t the only place they cut her, but they were the deepest wounds hence the scars. It was not exactly the mark of a ‘sullied’ because they didn’t seem to understand what that actually meant but the word they tried to carve was derisive all the same. She isn’t sure of the equivalent in English but a rough translation would be ‘ intruder ’. 

It is a rather archaic word, generally used by older generations towards those types of warriors that are fallen, or that are not wanted. In hindsight, it hadn’t been creative as much as it was meant to be cruel. A physical representation of how they felt about her. 

Bagheera saved her, as he always did. Fay’s family was infuriated with the incident but she had not reported the ones who were responsible, including Titoh. She insisted to go to the Trials, three months later. Fay now realizes that she may have guilt-tripped her own uncle in allowing it as well because she knew he was willing to please her with almost any request. She was advised repeatedly against doing it by other family members or tutors but she was ultimately signed off on it. 

“The Trials are several days long,’’ Fay explained. Her eyes felt wet but she didn’t cry once. “There are all kinds of tests and examinations, both theoretical and physical and by the end, there will only be a few of those who originally participated. They will be assigned a guild and deemed ready to start training. If they are particularly good, they will receive offers from different guilds. I passed the theoretical ones. My uncle had promised that if I score high, I would be allowed to go forward in the others.’’ 

The first part of the Trials consisted of a survival mission in the jungle. Fay had chosen to complete it individually, with no team. There was likely no one who wanted to be in her team and she didn’t deal well with other people, not in the state of mind she was in. In those three days in the jungle, they were meant to survive the wilderness, booby traps, and tenured warriors disguised as mock attackers. Fay’s knowledge of the jungle had helped her qualify for the next stage, but she had spent most of her time being on the defensive. 

There was an unspoken rule that whilst survival was the primary goal, defeating the mock attackers was also a way of highlighting those students who were most prepared and who had the most potential. In the olden times, the students were expected to assassinate their attackers as well who were generally criminals rather than trainers. 

In that sense, she did fail. 

The next stage consisted of arena fights. How they were conducted and what they entailed depended on a random draw. Hers had consisted of being placed on customized training grounds with several other students. The aim was for them to collect at least three red flags. There were ten of them hidden across the grounds and only enough flags for five individuals to pass the test. 

Several hours into the challenge, Fay had two of them in her possession when she came across a fellow participant. He was younger than her, the heir of one of the twelve clans. They had met in the past, briefly so. 

He challenged her to a fight. He had two flags as well. He was not a master of the flux but was very talented with weapons. He managed to overpower her because he was faster and had managed to dodge her attacks. Fay ended up being beaten, embarrassingly so under the gaze of hundreds of people including her clan. He exposed the scars on her back and mocked her which caused her such a strong panic attack that Fay’s flux had simply---burst free. 

She’d felt angry, too, now she realizes. It hadn’t been just fear. 

“Um,’’ Fay swallowed. “I---I didn’t even think of fire but it just….just spread everywhere.’’ Her opponent suffered third-degree burns and the arena was compromised. The trainers were forced to interrupt the examination and both Fay and the boy were disqualified. 

Fay wasn’t allowed to leave the palace after that. Not that she wanted to. Soon after, the clan council and the Elders, proposed that she started wearing the seals. Her uncle Aryg was vehemently against it. Fay understood that measure wasn’t just for her sake but also for damage control of the clan’s reputation.

She had heard her uncle angrily express his dissatisfaction with that proposal. He believed it might be best to send her far away from the capital. As Fay had struggled to get in touch with any of her parent’s potential allies or old friends, she decided to search them out. The more she thought about it, the more tempted she grew by the idea of traveling through the Veil. 

She agreed to the bracelets. If she did manage to run away, she reasoned, she’d still need a way to control her flux. 

She had no idea what she’d signed up for, however. 

“…and you know the rest already.’’ She said quietly. 

Damian hadn’t made a single sound while she talked, a constant warm presence at her back. When she finished speaking, the silence stretched between them for what felt like an eternity. 

“Turn around. It is time to bandage your hands.’’ 

Fay hesitated. That was it? He was not even going to comment on it? She didn’t expect words of comfort, but anything would have been better than nothing. She cleared her throat and blinked rapidly to clear her eyes before she turned around to face him. He was closer than she’d expected and she knocked her knees against his. 

Fay avoided his gaze as she placed her hands between them. He was holding a fresh roll of gauze.

“Look at me.’’ He asked firmly. Fay’s lips pressed in a thin line and her throat clenched, but she did as she was asked. Tears formed in her eyes almost immediately the moment their gaze met. 

So unfair. She’d thought she could get away without crying, at least once. 

Damian’s free hand snaked behind her head, bringing it forward just as he leaned towards her. Their foreheads touched and she stared at him, waiting. A few tears rolled down her cheeks and he wiped them away with his other hand. 

Damian frowned. 

“I see you.’’ He said, finally. 

Her breath hitched in her throat. Weeks earlier, she’d said the same thing to him. 

“I…what?’’ Did it mean the same thing that it meant when she said it? 

“They took advantage because you wanted them to see you for who you are.’’ He said calmly. “I see you.’’ 

Talking about the troubles she’s faced after her parent’s death and the aches others have caused her, had made her heart feel way. But those words were like a balm. They felt as calming and cooling as the salve she’d apply to her marks. 

Damian removed his head from hers, but his hand stayed at the back of her neck. 

“The hurt you inflicted on others may be your burden to bear but it does not define you. Regardless if it was intentional or not.’’ He said. “What matters is how you use that burden in your quest to change. Although, I would not hold you responsible for how you’ve reacted in those situations.’’ They had it coming. 

His burdens didn’t define him either. She had said that to him many months earlier when he’d told her about his past. 

“I understand now.’’ He released her neck and brushed her fringe out of her eyes. “Why do you believe so strongly that I was playing games when we first met. Why you did not think yourself worthy.’’ He understood before as well, but now he had the entire picture. 

Fay smiled weakly. 

Her heart skipped a breath when he offered a smile in return. Not a smirk but an actual smile. Not particularly wide or cheerful but a real smile all the same. She’s not sure if she’s ever seen that smile on his face before but she found herself staring greedily, committing it to her memory. It melted away the frown his face was generally set in and made him look young. Or just his age, really. The smile was almost boyish, too. 

It was short-lived, but she made up for it by grinning ear to ear in return. He set to bandage her hands, a comfortable silence falling between them until he was done. After, Damian watched her as she got up to her feet and decided to go search for Bagheera who’d been spending time outside, freely patrolling across the Wayne estate. 

His fists clenched tightly by his side. 

He didn’t show her how angry he felt. He didn’t tell her how he would have liked to hurt Titoh and the other children, not for justice but for revenge. Vindication of all the pain they caused her. How he was more determined than ever to make sure she stayed in that world. 

They were all selfish, dark thoughts that he will keep to himself. Fay had opened up to him about a very, if not the most, vulnerable moment of her life aside from that night when she’d lost her parents. He did not wish to taint that moment. She already knew the lengths he’d go to keep her safe so that was sufficient. 

Heading over to the Batcomputer, with a few quick strokes on the virtual keyboard, Damian pulled up the prototype plans of a new Kevlar suit he’d started working on. 

It wasn’t ready. Not yet. 

Neither was the user who was meant to do it. 

It didn’t matter to him what choice she made. Whether she accepted it or not, she was still going to be there in that world. 

(In his world) 

 

Notes:

I am not sure if this is something any of the readers will wonder about but just want to make a few highlights:

1. As the characters grow older, how I describe them may also change. For example, right now, I am only making allusions or brushing on topics that are otherwise very common when talking about teenagers: body changes, hormones, and how they navigate all that. It's a delicate balance because I do not wish to be gratuitous but simultaneously, I do like approaching these topics. They are very real curiosities/issues/topics and if I feel they are relevant or impact the character's interaction/growth, they will be mentioned.

2. Age of consent is generally sixteen years old and above. However, anything below 18 is considered underage. I don't expect that any particular sexual situations will be explored until the characters are older, especially since I have a specific plan for the direction in which the plot will go. But I will approach themes of either a main or side character being curious about such things or even potentially figuratively dipping their toe.

3. I really like exploring how the characters may deal with their own sexuality. I don't, personally, see Damian as a hormone rampant teenager who won't be able to resist Fay or other girls. I also abhor the idea of forcing romantic interests on characters as soon as they become teenagers - SPOILER! - (which, to my heartbreak, appears to be the direction that DC is moving to with their Robin storyline). - SPOILER - If anything I see him dealing with things in a more atypical manner, although he'll face challenges just like any other teenager. Likewise, I think Fay would also have a set of challenges that fall in line with how she's portrayed. But the general direction is that yes, they will ultimately fall in love with one another and that includes they'll also explore their attraction in addition to their feelings - no secret there. How they get there is, however, a journey.

4. Many Batfamily moments have centered around Fay and Damian, but I will also explore more of the core members. There are some characters I am not always sure how to write because I don't have as much info on such as Tim Drake. I do not want to portray him as being only in opposition to Damian because I don't think that's the case. I also apologize if I haven't introduced Duke -- I am only getting in those comics in which he makes his debut and he really is a cool character. But there are many plot themes/elements so I will see how I can bring him into the fold later on.

I will include all warnings as appropriate when - and if - the time comes.

Chapter 44: Of moments, snippets, and memories III

Chapter Text

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Fay loved the autumn weather. The grass is carpeted by golds and reds and yellows, the trees are naked and the strengthening wind brings a cold bite that she finds oddly comforting. 

A year earlier, she was working for Damian at the museum and trying to figure out what was happening to her body. A year earlier, she had admired the way the seasons changed in that particular side of the world but she hadn’t fully enjoyed herself.

That year was different, however.

“Ready?’’

“Rggg.’’

Fay and Bag ran towards the large pile of leaves they’d gathered and thrown themselves in it. The scent of soil and petrichor invaded her nostrils, and she laughed out loud at the simple yet very entertaining activity. Bagheera guffawed beside her, as they rolled around in the leaves, his amusement matching hers. Fay laid there on the wet ground, staring at the sky for a few minutes, feeling unrushed. She’d already spent several hours flying in the morning, going high through the clouds which looked as if they’d been painted with every possible shade of gray an artist could think of. 

There was something nostalgic about autumn. It was during that time, a year earlier, that she had gotten to know Damian better. That she’d grown to care for him. When she’d started feeling differently. When the limbo started disintegrating. 

Fay allowed her eyes to rest for a moment, listening to the sounds around her. The flutter of leaves dancing in the air puppeteered by the wind, the loud traffic in the distance worsened by the terrible weather which had recently flooded one of Gotham’s main subway lines. Bagheera’s loud breathing and her own heartbeat. 

The air tousled her hair and pinked her cheeks.

Bagheera nudged her shoulder, and she grinned, opening her eyes knowing why he was suddenly feeling impatient. She lifted herself, brushing the twigs and leaves that stuck to her coat and trousers, before walking over to where she’d dropped her backpack at the base of a tree. They’ve been in the park for a while now, and she promised Bagheera she’d get him new kinds of apple to try out before they stopped by Dana’s. As the colder months of the year rolled in, Soul Bowl tended to get busier as well. Fay had promised to accompany her on completing chores around town before visiting her new residence for dinner.

“Let’s go.’’

Now, if only she could keep herself from accidentally floating in the air.

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Halloween. It caused the number of crimes to spike up considerably, particularly in Gotham. A year earlier, she was fighting the Angel and her monsters. She had been willing to risk her life to keep Damian and Bagheera safe. It was after that moment that she fully acknowledged her deep-seated anger, the desire she felt to combat the darkness of the world. It had also been a turning point in her health once she’d managed to release herself from the bracelets.

Looking back on it, she did come far. Further, then she thought herself capable of which meant she might be able to go even further. 

Unfortunately, she was not allowed out on the streets at night, contributing to the battle against crimes. It wasn’t as if she’d expected Damian to take her on patrol with him, or Bruce to approve that. But being stuck back at the cave made her feel useless. Weak.

Gotham was not her city to protect, but she found herself wanting to, either way. It was her home, now. That thought still took her by surprise although she’d made that conclusion months earlier.

 “Here you go, Miss Fay,’’ Alfred said, drawing her attention from the screens she was monitoring with trepidation. There were at least seven active crime scenes, and it was barely past midnight.

Fay took the mug of hot chocolate he handed her. “Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth.’’

Damian was out there along with everyone else, fighting. He faced danger and the potential for death every time he went out on patrol and Fay always worried. That night was particularly worrisome. She’d never quite seen so many crises resurface in one single night. Or perhaps she felt that way because she now had full visibility of what was happening rather than just waiting at the warehouse. 

“I find that in times of uncertainty,’’ Alfred said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “The only thing we can truly control is how we deal with it. They shall return safely, Miss Fay, and should they be injured, we will take care of them.’’

Fay nodded at him, smiling as she watched him walk away.

There was a part of her that wanted to fly out there, both because she wanted to help and to fight. However, Fay knew she’d only end up being a distraction. She was not ready yet and she still had so much left to learn about the dangers of that world. Bruce had been surprisingly open recently about letting her learn, even apparently adding several topics to the list of studies that Damian had compiled for her.

Could she really do it? Be a warrior? If not of her world, then of that one? She hasn’t decided yet, but she’ll learn. She’ll study and she’ll train, and she’ll see how far she can go.

Fay glanced at Bagheera who standing beside her. “Hey, Bag, would you want to be out there? Helping people?’’

He just stared at her, curiously. She shrugged. “I don’t know. If we are staying here for—for a while and it looks like we will have to anyway – I’ve been thinking about what I want to do. I want to study and get better at channeling my flux but I think….I would like to help others too.’’ She smiled at him. “Would you like that as well?’’

He blinked twice.

Yes.

Fay nodded. “Alright.’’

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Comms were lost several times throughout the night. Fay had listened to the transmissions of the Oracle as she guided and directed the various vigilantes around the city, including Robin. Halfway through the night, Fay felt the tell-tale signs of a panic attack forming and decided to take Alfred’s advice to have a walk around. If something happened that warranted her attention, he’ll let her know immediately. Fay promised she’ll help him in the medical bay area if needed, even if it was just as an assistant.

She didn’t like waiting, though. 

It made her feel hopeless. The panic attack came and went. Bagheera’s presence soothed her nerves, but she felt drained by the time she felt calm enough to return to the cave. She nodded off a few times, but her paladin nudged her awake each time as she had asked him to keep her from falling asleep.

Batman and Robin did not return until four in the morning.

The Wayne patriarch had several bruises and cuts all over his body, and one major injury on his left-hand side. A blade had cut through the Kevlar and subsequently his flesh, which had required Alfred to stitch him up. Damian’s suit was damaged in at least four places and he had several cuts of his own, along with a sprained wrist. No major injuries, thankfully. 

Fay nearly had a heart attack when she saw the decidedly human remains stuck in his hair. It appears one criminal had accidentally blown himself apart.

All in all, a successful night. No casualties, just a dozen or so frightened Gothamites with minor injuries. 

Both father and son were quiet and exhausted. Fay didn’t engage either one in conversation although Damian did, without much heat in his voice, pointed out there was no need for her to stay up and ‘worry needlessly’. Once she was convinced he was fine, Fay decided to retreat to her room as did the rest of the household members not long after. 

Fay yawned as she floated herself way up the stairs into the manor and then to her bedroom. She went into the bathroom to get changed in her pajamas and brush her teeth, and when she came out, she was unsurprised to find Damian standing by the bed. He had changed in a pair of shorts and a dark t-shirt, his damp hair slicked back albeit with not as much care as usual. His wrist was bandaged and there were several Band-Aids across his body. 

She smiled, as she floated over to him. “Are you alright?’’ A strong smell of sandalwood and cedar scent washed over her.

He scoffed. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?’’ As if he was infallible.

No one is.

Fay nodded. She didn’t ask him if he was going to stay as that question tended to get him to say no and leave sometimes. She was just about to turn and glide over to the bed when he grabbed her by the wrist. Fay stared at him confusedly but she couldn’t see his expression clearly in the dimly lit room neither did he explain why he stopped her. She almost asked again if everything was alright then realized it was a moot point.

Planting her feet on the ground, she remained standing before him, unsure what to say or do. The tug she felt on her hand was nearly imperceptible, more of a light squeeze she misunderstood to be just a reflexive gesture. The second time around, she realized that he was encouraging her to step forward but as they were already as close as possible without touching, that meant she’d have to invade his personal space. 

So, she did. Fay wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed the side of her head against his. Underneath the scent of what must have been his shower gel, she also got hints of antiseptic.

He didn’t return it immediately but she persisted with the embrace. The hug was slightly awkward given the height difference, but she didn’t care.

Ultimately, an arm slid slowly around her back and before she knew it, he was falling back pulling her with him. An undignified sound left her throat when they fell on the bed and she nearly knocked her head against his. She ended up having to move her arms around his waist to be more comfortable when she figured he wasn’t going to let her go and she was going to be stuck in that position for a while.

 It wasn’t uncomfortable. Just unexpected and ever so slightly embarrassing, making her feel self-conscious about her weight. She hasn’t stopped fluctuating since the beginning of summer. Another ‘great’ thing about puberty just like with the pestering pimples and hair growing in inconvenient places. It was starting to feel as if her body was trying to make up for all growth it skipped in the past couple of years.

She shifted slightly to the side, careful not to knee his crotch like that time when she’d accidentally hit him while they were wrestling on the ground causing him to swear colorfully. Or so she assumed he did, as the words that came out of his mouth were in Arabic. He had pretended he wasn’t in pain after but she had seen just how he clenched his jaw. He was also not able to stand in his usual straight-like-a-soldier manner for a while, but they both pretended he did.

Bagheera had found the entire situation hilarious. Damian carried a murderous aura the rest of the day.

Fay pressed her ear against the spot where his heart was. It was certainly not pounding the same way hers was. A reassuring sound all the same. She remembers doing the same with her parents and thinking the sound of their heartbeats was just as calming as a lullaby.

One arm stayed over her back and the other slid over to the tape of her neck, threading through her hair. She had no idea what suddenly pushed Damian to be so affectionate, but she didn’t comment on it. When she had in the past, simply mentioning that he liked hugging as much as she did, he pulled away as if she’d accused him of doing something wrong. 

It made sense. There was no place for hugs or physical affection for an assassin. 

Fay fell asleep within minutes. The next day, he was gone as if he hadn’t been there in the first place.

Later, Fay heard Alfred and Bruce talk about one of the criminals they apprehended the night before and how two of the children he had kidnapped and kept trapped had died at the hospital due to their injuries and malnutrition. Damian had been the one to find them and take them to the hospital, where their parents ultimately had to watch them die. In comparison, the robberies and drug crimes they prevented were lightwork.

Fay understood, then. She didn’t tell Damian she knew, and he didn’t bring it up.

Not everything had to be put in words.

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“Hey, I am Maya.’’

Fay blinked at the outstretched hand, then hesitantly shook it. The girl’s grip was cool and firm. “He-hello. I am Fay.’’ She glanced between the girl and Damian who was watching them.

“This is my---‘’

“---big sister.’’ Maya grinned.

Damian scowled. “She’s not my sister. She---‘’

“I tried to kill him after he killed my father. We cleared the air, however, so we’re all good now.’’

Fay stared at them wide-eyed; brows so high they nearly reached her hairline. Considering both hers and Damian’s background, she really shouldn’t have been that surprised by what the girl said.

“…alright.’’ She said finally. 

Maya had nearly given her a heart attack when she suddenly materialized besides Fay, who instinctively sent a wave of water at her. The girl dodged then loudly complimented her reflexes. Fay had watched bewildered as Maya greeted Damian with familiarity, ruffling his hair. The boy batted her hand away, but he did not seem particularly bothered by that gesture.

Oh. Damian did have other friends, then? An ugly feeling sprouted in her heart and Fay immediately tried to squash it down. It was ridiculous to feel disappointed she wasn’t Damian’s first friend when she should feel happy about it. And she was, of course. It became easier to ignore those terrible emotions the more she talked to Maya and realized how nice the other girl was. A dangerous fighter in her own right trained by her father, Nobody, who had been a talented assassin.

Fay later reasoned that she felt the way she did because she was reminded of Titoh being more open to others instead of her. It wasn’t the case with Damian. He and Maya met under vastly different circumstances in which one was seeking redemption and the other revenge. 

Fay hated herself for the tightness in her chest which eventually loosened and disappeared altogether. She was being selfish. If Damian had read any of the emotions she desperately tried to keep hidden, he hadn’t brought it up. 

Bagheera sensed them all the same and he leaned to lick her hand. Fay smiled at him, reminded that Damian wasn’t the only important bond in her life either. She would not be able to choose between the boy and the paladin, but the latter also occupied a special place in her heart. Before Damian did.

So the same could be for Damian as well. 

Yes, that was it. Just her heart jumping to conclusions before her mind could make sense of the situation. She shouldn’t have allowed those old voices to seep through in her head again. 

Maya didn’t stay for long. Before she left, however, while Damian was standing away fixing Goliath’s harness, Maya shook Fay’s hand again and leaned towards her.

“Take care of him, will you?’’

Fay stared at her surprised, then she smiled. “Of course.’’

Maya grinned. “I heard you had some pretty cool abilities.’’

“You…you did?’’

“Yeah. Damian told me so.’’ She winked. “Maybe next time, you show me what you can do and I will show you what I can do?’’

“I think…I would like that.’’

Later, Fay would look back on it and feel silly about how she initially felt about Maya. The brunette ended up being Fay’s friend just as much as she was Damian’s.

Later, she’d also understand better why that wasn’t the last time she felt that way. 

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Cora was almost certain that Fay was not a regular person just as she was almost certain that Damian Wayne is Robin. Which means that Fay is the new vigilante. It made sense, right? She wasn’t just grasping at straws. Here was a girl that just showed up out of nowhere that no one seemed to know of her even though she was running in the same circles as the Wayne boy. Then again, the Wayne family was rather famous for the number of adopted kids and the perennial bachelor patriarch. 

Cora didn’t tell anyone, of course. No, that was her secret. Something only she knew about, even if she had yet to obtain confirmation of her suspicions. That, and she didn’t really have anybody she could trust with such information. 

But where was the wolf, then? Fay had told Cora that she loved animals and her uncle was unbothered if she ended adopting half of the Paws Planet shelter, which she did. Cora has never seen her with the wolf though, except on that Halloween night.

In hindsight, Fay had been the only one who hadn’t been afraid of the wolf. The one who had not been forced back in the bunker with everyone else, the one who disappeared when they were lost in the forest. Fay hadn’t shown up at the Academy afterward nor anyone know of her, including his teachers. Surely, Fay Kipling, wealthy-enough-to-be-around-the-Wayne’s had to be known by someone. Julia and her lackeys were basically a walking encyclopedia of everyone famous on that side of the world and yet Cora has never heard them talk about Fay.

And they would have. After all, Fay was close with Damian Wayne when none of them even had the chance to approach him. Or see him beside the occasional party dinners at the Wayne Manor where he apparently spent his entire time talking to adults about business and stocks and politics in several different languages. No wonder Fay and Damian had pretended not to know each other at the museum. Maybe it was also so people wouldn’t figure out they weren’t just rich children.

But Fay didn’t look like a fighter. She seemed like any other average thirteen-year-old girl. She had a bit of an accent that Cora couldn’t place but her surname and citizenship were American (or so she assumed). When they met next, at the beginning of November, Cora had tried to find out more information about where she was born and where she grew up, and what her parents did for a living. Fay told her she was born there and raised by American parents, and simply shrugged when Cora pointed out she had an accent.

Cora stopped asking when she saw the way the girl’s face darkened when she was asked about what her parents were like, realizing she may have crossed a boundary. She also didn’t bring up the swag bag even though she was confident it had been Fay who asked the museum to change it over. She wasn’t sure if that proved Fay was a vigilante as well, but she was kind either way.

So maybe it didn’t matter who she really was.

Except it did, two weeks later when Cora found herself locked in her bedroom, pushing her rickety desk against the door to stop the two intruders from coming inside.

Gotham Academy offered a reading week during which there were no classes, but all students could still go to the library to study in preparation for the exam period right before Christmas. Cora herself had been going to the library religiously spending several hours there each visit but that day she had stayed out later than usual. She missed her bus and then the second arrived an hour after it was meant to so by the time she arrived in her neighborhood, it was dark outside.

Cora had found the door of the apartment ajar. The lights were turned off. 

A cold dread crawled up her spine.

Something wasn’t right, yet she felt compelled to step forward and peek inside. She heard something crash to her left, from the modest living room. It sounded like books being thrown off their shelves. Trembling she stepped past the short hallway. To her right, there was the small kitchen and even in the dark she could detect the unnatural angle of the table, turned to its side, and that all the cupboards have been opened and rifled through.

Turning her head to her left, she glanced in the living room. There were two men with flashlights, searching, turning over the furniture and the carpet. A pained moan drew her gaze to the side of the room where a third figure was laying down on the floor. When one of the men moved their flashlight in their direction, Cora gasped.

“Dad!’’

Then she slapped a hand over her mouth. 

It was too late. The two men stilled, heads turning in her direction followed by the glare of their flashlight.

Run, Cora !’’

Terrified, Cora tried to run back towards the exit to scream for help as soon as she could, but one of the intruders was faster than she was. He stopped her before she could reach the door and grabbing her by the backpack, roughly yanked her towards him.
Cora fell on the floor, the backpack was thrown to the side and with a scream, she crawled on the floor out of the second man’s reach. She managed to land her foot against his collarbones, forcing him backward and she quickly moved up to her feet, rushing to her bedroom where she slammed the door shut. The doorknob rattled violently as one of the men roared at her to come out or he’ll shoot his way through. Cora pushed her desk against the door, then she realized that would be useless if the intruders did have guns.

She grabbed the phone out of her coat and dialed 911. Every second felt like an hour especially when the intruders made good on their promise to use their gun. 

Cora shakily confirmed her address to the operator, as best as she could considering she was frightened out of her wits and crying. She didn’t have time to wait for a response because the doorknob was blown to pieces and the attackers easily pushed against the weight of the desk. 

Cora escaped through the window, which thankfully was connected to her father’s window by a small balcony. She slid inside his bedroom, which was as messy as the rest of the house, and then exited into the hall, without hesitation making her way to the living room. Her father had managed to gather himself up to his feet, but he was clutching his head which appeared to be bleeding.

“Dad! Come on, we need to get out of here---‘’ She gasped when she heard the two men tear apart her bedroom and one of them remark that she had escaped via the window.

Clive pushed her towards the window. “Run---Cora, you need to run and get help. I am so sorry.’’

“What, no, I can’t leave you---‘’

There she is! ’’

“Go, go, now!’’ Despite her protests, her father pushed her out of the door and shut it behind her. She heard him struggle with the assailants. 

A gunshot followed that made her jump away from the door. Horrified, she ran down the hall and started banging at all the doors but no one opened. The other residents must have been too terrified to do so. One of the assailants came out of her apartment with a gun in his hand, forcing her to run down the stairs as quickly as she could.

Once in the street, she looked around, lost as to where she could go. There was no sight or sound of a police siren coming to help. She didn’t have time to call 911 again because the man came rushing down the stairs so she ended up running down the street, hoping to find a public space with more people. Her neighborhood was rather poor as it was the only area they could afford an apartment and the landlord didn’t care about conducting credit checks. There were not that many shops close by thanks to the high number of anti-social crimes. She ultimately hid underneath a car several hundred feet from her apartment and watched with bated breath as the man came running down the street.

Trying to remain as quiet as possible, she pulled out her phone – the screen had cracked when it slipped out of her hands earlier – and dialed the only other number she could think of that might help.

Fay’s number.

She never called Fay before as the girl was reticent enough as it was with texting, let alone talk over the phone. A part of Cora told her it was a bad idea. If she was wrong, Fay will think she’s gone mad and never talk to her again. If she was right, Cora and her father might be saved but she might also get in trouble. Vigilantes didn’t like when people knew their identities, did they? She did not have the time or mental state to weigh her choices, though. 

Fay didn’t answer on the first attempt. A sob escaped Cora’s throat and she bit the inside of her cheek to prevent another one to escape right after. She tried again.

…hello?’’

“F-Fay—‘’ Cora whispered, her voice breaking. “Help---help me. I need help.’’

What happened?!’’

“Some---some men attacked my—my apartment. They—they hurt my dad and I ran away but---‘’ She fell silent abruptly when she spotted the dark boots that had stopped on her left, right by the car.

Oh no. No, no, no.

“Cora? Are you still there? Where are you?’’

Cora was only able to scream as a hand came under the car and grabbed her by the leg, dragging her out. The phone fell out of her hands, abandoned on the cement.

.

She was tied up and blindfolded before being thrown in the trunk of a car. The zip ties were biting into her wrists. Cora heard her kidnappers talk amongst themselves, argue over whether or not they should keep her alive. She had no idea where her father was or if he was even still alive, which was an idea she couldn’t fully process. The car started moving, and she pushed and kicked everywhere she could when she heard the telltale sound of sirens approach.

Nobody stopped them. Nobody came to help or even realized she was being kidnapped. Cora wasn’t sure for how long they drove, trying to focus on breathing as she found herself hyperventilating in the tight space. The scent of oil was intoxicating and she was unsuccessful in removing the tape from her mouth so she could scream properly in hopes someone on the street might hear her.

They stopped. She heard the car doors open and shut, and footsteps as the men stepped towards the trunk. Cora whimpered, wondering if that was the end of her. If her body will end up being fished from the river or she won’t be found at all.

“Hey, did you hear that?’’

“Don’t be stupid. There’s no one here.’’

“No—man, look, look! Something just moved, over there. Something big, man!’’

“Argh. You fucking moron, are you actually scared by a shadow?’’

“Look there it is again! It has eyes.’’

A shadow? Her kidnappers have fallen silent all of a sudden.

Bang! Bang! Bang! 

Cora jumped. 

“Stop shooting you cretin---it’s just a dog---‘’

“Rggghhhh….’’ Cora would have gasped if it hadn’t been for the tape when she heard the feral sound reverberate through the air. She’d heard it before. A year earlier. 

“That’s not a fucking dog—look at the size of that thing!’’

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Instinctively, she pulled herself deeper inside the tight space when one of the men was suddenly knocked against the car, causing it to jolt on the spot. She heard him groan in pain, while the other screamed as his rapid footsteps indicated he was trying to run away. The growls that followed were suddenly closer and Cora could only listen as the man struggled and begged for his life. Was---was he being dragged away? It sounded like it.

Then…silence.

What---what is happening?

Cora tensed up as the trunk was opened suddenly. The blindfold was removed, revealing the dark cloudy sky above her head.

And a figure dressed in black, not that much bigger or taller than Cora herself and with their face hidden by a domino mask, was leaning over the trunk of the car. 

F-Fay?

Cora’s eyes moved over to the lupine creature standing a few feet behind, its pale blue eyes watching them intently. There was no sight of the assailants. 

The masked girl cut the ties on Cora’s wrists allowing her to remove the tape blocking her mouth. Her masked hero stepped back to give her space as she got out of the trunk and tentatively tried to stand up. Her legs felt as if they were made of jelly so she had to lean against the car.

“I---‘’ She looked around. It appears she had been taken near the docks and the car was parked between two warehouses. There were barely any lights in that area and not a single another soul beside them. “Thank—thank you.’’

After her brain had a chance to process what was happening, Cora immediately asked what happened to her father.

“He is fine.’’ Cora recognized her voice even if the outfit she was wearing did a good job of masking her identity. “He was shot but…he is at the hospital now.’’

Cora exhaled loudly, feeling relieved. “Who were those men and---and what happened to them?’’ She eyed the wolf warily. He had an intimidating appearance but nothing was threatening about his stance. When he slowly stepped towards her and sniffed her hands, Cora was suddenly assailed by a sense of calmness. Her anxiety dropped and she could feel her heartbeat return to its normal pace, as she felt uncharacteristically at peace.

She stared wide-eyed at the creature. It’s him, or her? Him, I think. He’s…calming me down? But how?

Definitely not a normal wolf. 

“They were criminals. Your father…. owned them money.’’ Fay said reluctantly.

Cora frowned. It meant that all her doubts regarding her father’s new job were proven right. “He told me he had a new job.’’ She mumbled.

“It’s not your fault.’’ The other girl remarked. It kind of was, though. Cora’s attendance at the Gotham Academy really was putting a strain on them financially on top of the old debts they still had to repay. Then again, she hadn’t asked him to go back to drinking either which she knew he has because she’s found the bottles, he kept hidden underneath his mattress.

 “Are you done chit-chatting?’’

Robin landed gracefully on the ground to Cora’s right-hand side. Dressed in that multi-colored suit, with his domino mask and hood on, Cora could see why it was hard for people to recognize him as Damian Wayne. She wasn’t as familiar with him as she was with Fay, but she did not doubt who he was underneath that disguise.

“I—I would like to go see my father.’’ At that moment seeing that her father was her number one priority. She’ll have time later to think about the fact that she was right about Fay being a vigilante. And that Damian fricking Wayne wore colorful spandex. 

As if summoned by her words, Cora could hear the police sirens echo in the distance.

“The police will take your statement and then take you to the hospital.’’

Cora’s attention was drawn to the red and blue flashing lights as two vehicles pulled up the narrow road leading to where she was standing by her abductor’s car. 

Officers exited the car and asked her if she was alright. She nodded, still trembling like a leaf.

“Ye-yeah, they---‘’ Cora turned to look at her saviors, only to find them gone. She hadn’t even sensed it. “—saved me.’’ She finished quietly.

She did see their figures in the distance, escaping on the rooftops but didn’t bother to let the officers know. When they asked her what happened, she just told them she didn’t get a look at who saved her. They made their own assumptions. 

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panic attacks that last between five minutes and a half an hour
loss of control over the flux
catastrophic thinking


Daphne tapped the end of her pencil against her journal, staring at the notes she’s taken before she glanced back at the girl curled up in the armchair a few feet before her. Fay had been visiting more often, albeit never on the same day and time, likely to avoid establishing a pattern. She was still cautious, which was understandable. The boy had not shown up again but Daphne knew he was never too far away, just as the paladin was always by the girl’s side. 

An empath. Although Bagheera looked very similar to other members of the Atlabas species, he was sturdier and had a longer snout. More canine in appearance than feline as a full Atlabas would be which was ironic considering he had been named after a panther. Daphne had briefly witnessed his battle form that day at the Sponsor’s residence when the boy led her outside and she was handed out to one of his partners. It was a formidable sight - her paladin was bound to grow stronger as he got older, but Daphne wondered how much of his other genes affected his development. To her knowledge, the Atlabas are known for being capable of establishing a telepathic link with their pack and ultimately, their chosen warrior partner. Between that and their intelligence, speed, and agility, they’ve always been classified as elite paladins. It appears that Bagheera had not inherited that telepathic ability but had instantly discovered a new one: being an empath. Daphne knew of no other paladins capable of that but that didn’t mean they didn’t exist. Either way, it was a powerful ability especially since he was intelligent enough to be able to communicate with Fay about what he felt. It was fascinating, really to watch the two interact. 

As was his partner. Fay was close to turning fourteen years old. Physical, over the summer, she appeared to finally have entered that stage where everything started changing most likely causing all kinds of mixed emotions. She’d already come across as rather self-conscious from the beginning but Fay had taken to wearing even baggier clothes lately. When she curiously looked at Daphne’s bookshelves, she caught her reflection in a small mirror there and had grimaced at it. There was nothing wrong with her face. Spending time in Gotham had taken away any natural tan she may have had. She had inherited her mother’s paler skin. There were a few red spots scattered across her nose and cheeks, but that was completely normal. 

When she sat down, Daphne examined her closely. Fay looked stronger and felt the same. Her flux was almost palpable at times. Daphne also quietly admired the way the girl flew so easily everywhere. An innate ability. None of her parents had had it, to Daphne’s knowledge. 

Fay seemed more comfortable in her skin but she suffered from relatively poor self-esteem. She was humble, but she was also very harsh on herself judging by the way she constantly put herself down. 

“Do you really think that?’’ 

“What?’’ Fay looked at her in surprise. A hand brushed over her nose. A nervous habit. Just like playing with her sleeves or constantly moving around. Anxiety. 

Damar had always been calm and collected, rarely projecting that he was anything but in control. He was the very definition of a poker face on most days. Daphne had noted he’d grown more comfortable with expressing his emotions after he joined the Resistance, however. Her influence, no doubt. She was an open book. 

So is her daughter. 

Daphne doubts Fay had always been of such anxious disposition. They would have noticed, surely. But after their death, Fay wouldn’t have had their protection. Daphne remembers the pressure, the ugly looks, the whispers that she faced at the court. From a mental health perspective, Fay was clearly still affected by the trauma of losing her parents. Not remembering that night was likely causing her frustration as well. It does make the psychologist wonder how did the clan deal with it. 

Daphne doesn’t remember Aryg favorably - he had always been too conservative and neutral in his ways, preferring to go along with the flow. He must have changed significantly for Damar to allow him to look after his daughter. Or did he? 

Daphne closed her notebook. She felt the automatic need to ask questions, to delve deeper into the girl’s psyche and try to understand her. She wanted to help Fay, if she could, regardless of her father’s cryptic favor request.

But it wasn’t time, not yet. Fay had only just started to open up more, aside from asking Daphne questions about her parents or the Resistance. She looked happier than before, more animated but there was also a persistent inner turmoil. 

Fay had briefly mentioned she didn’t pass the Trials when Daphne asked her. She didn’t elaborate but Fay had looked uncomfortable. Her paladin had stepped closer to her. Silently comforting. Then Fay mentioned that no one really liked talking about the night Maysoon was attacked - a taboo. The Estaris clan may have changed in many ways, but their tendency to detach from emotions persisted it seems. It would have been hard for Fay in that environment. Felt pressured to be like them then grow insecure when she couldn’t. Daphne kept most of her observations to herself, and rarely put them on paper. 

That day, however, Fay had looked frazzled. She looked like she hadn’t slept and she kept spacing out even though Daphne indulged her request to talk about what Maysoon was like decades earlier. 

“Nightmares?’’ Daphne asked, finally. 

Fay looked at her but didn’t respond. She didn’t need to.

 “Do you have trouble recalling them?’’ 

“Not--not all of them. They just...don’t make sense always.’’ 

“Nightmares can be caused by a wide array of factors such as anxiety, lack of sleep, and traumatic experiences. They evoke strong emotions which is why they can be so disruptive. Considering everything you’ve been through, their presence is not unexpected.’’ 

Fay didn’t look surprised by that. She must have heard it before. Her mouth opened, looking like she wanted to ask Daphne something but then decided against it. 

In time, perhaps. 

“Thank you, Mrs--erm, Daphne.’’ 

With that, the girl and her paladin left. 

Daphne could not tell if she was being watched by the boy anymore but to be on the safe side, she was subtle when she looked through her notepad. Nestled between the pages, there was a folded piece of paper with a symbol drawn on it. A stylized version of a small bird inside a circle with two lines crossing over each other in an askew cross towards the left. One line connected one edge of the circle to another, whereas the second stopped at the bird at one end and continued past the circle line at the other. The bird was not particularly special - very common in the forests of Aeryg where the symbol was firstborn along with many. In fact, the bird used to be a popular symbol used on clothing and products, which is why no one would have likely batted an eye as to why it had been placed in a circle with seemingly random lines. It looked clumsy, a drawing gone wrong. 

Many, many years earlier in another lifetime, Dalinne Altas used to create that symbol out of twigs and leaves or carved it in tree trunks. She had no idea if it had been used still after she left. But someone had sent her that drawing via post. It had been inserted in the envelope that contained her internet bill. 

The symbol meant ‘ be aware ’. 

It was how the first groups of rebels used to inform each other that they weren’t safe. 

That the enemy is lurking in the shadows. 

Daphne sighed as she closed her notebook, placed it aside, and reached for her pack of cigarettes. At that point, she had resigned to her smoking addiction. Clearly, she wasn’t going to catch a break anytime soon. 

Chapter 45: Of moments, snippets, and memories IV

Chapter Text

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Thanksgiving. Fay agreed to spend it with Dana who had finished moving into her new residence. Ironically, her neighborhood was located only twenty minutes away from Daphne Barlow’s gated community. 

Damian had not been happy about Fay’s decision. He had assumed that she will be staying at the Wayne Manor, even going as far as to make arrangements apparently. Fay had not wanted to backtrack on her promise to Dana so she stood her ground even when he tried to persuade her otherwise. She was also not entirely comfortable with having dinner with the rest of his family - at that point, she had met most of them and they all welcomed her with varying degrees of acceptance. Dick, she was most familiar with, and recently she has gotten to know Stephanie well as well. They also seemed to be closest to Damian along with Alfred.

She hasn’t met Cassandra, although she was curious about her. Damian always spoke highly of her. Jason, with whom she’s grown rather familiar as well, was not going to be attending Thanksgiving. She didn’t ask why - she understood there were topics that were of a particularly sensitive nature. His place in that family often reminded her of her aunt Lira who albeit was an Estaris herself, she rarely ever spent time in the capital. Too much history, her mother would say sometimes as a way of explaining so Fay assumed it was the same case with Jason. He did come by the Manor sometimes though. 

The Oracle, Fay met her a few days earlier. The red-head knew of her better than Fay did of her because apparently, Barbara has watched over her many times without the girl realizing. She was quite literally the eyes and ears of Gotham. 

The extended family didn’t end there, of course, but the ones that she did meet appeared to form the core part of it. 

Tim Drake, she had met him before several times, albeit more in passing. Damian has always been with her in those situations and she’d ended up witnessing the constant tension that seemed to build between the two. Damian told her that Tim doesn’t trust her and she should stay away from him. But two days earlier, when she came across the young male in the kitchen, he had not shown any signs of hostility or malice. He was also studying Bagheera with a mixture of curiosity, awe, and scientific fascination.

“His emotional intelligence is incredible,’’ Tim remarked. Apparently, the paladin had been staring at him insistently while he drank his way through the third cup of coffee. Tim could feel the creature’s temptation towards the apples in the bowl on the kitchen island. 

“Oh.’’ Fay glared at her paladin. “Didn’t you already have several earlier?’’ 

Bagheera tactically ignored her. 

“Apples,’’ Tim said amusedly. He looked exhausted. “Why apples?’’ 

Fay shrugged. “I am not really sure. We have--we have them in our world as well but they’re, um, different. He really likes the ones here.’’ She still remembered his reaction when he first ate an apple in that world. It was as if he’d fallen in love. 

“Hm.’’ Tim’s eyes fell on her bandaged hands. “Are you alright?’’ 

Fay followed his gaze, then nodded. “It’s okay. Thank you.’’ 

Tim asked her how she’s been adapting and that he’s heard of her encounter with the Sponsor. He did ask some questions about her world, but he wasn’t demanding or intrusive. Fay couldn’t blame any of them for asking questions, even if at times they could be probing because she would have done the same had she been in their place. They were all warriors in that world, so asking questions and being cautious was their bread and butter. 

She didn’t tell Damian about the meeting. Or that she thought Tim wasn’t the insufferable individual Damian painted him to be. Clearly, there was just more ‘history’ at play between them along with a strong sibling rivalry. She trusted her friend and respected that he did not get along with his foster sibling but she didn’t want to be rude or hostile unnecessarily. 

“Hey,’’ Dana knocked at the door then poked her head inside the room. “All good, kid?’’ 

Fay nodded with a smile, as she removed the clothes out of her duffel bag and put them in a drawer. The guest room was decorated simply but she didn’t mind. She intended on staying until Saturday morning only when a car was due to pick her up. 

Bagheera had stayed at the manor, a decision met with mixed feelings from her paladin. Initially, he had protested and even went as far as throwing a tantrum by refusing to get up from the middle of the floor and whining loudly. The whines degenerated into screams shortly after. It was very embarrassing when Bruce walked in only to find her trying to tug on her paladin as if he was a sack of potatoes, while he kept making those noises. 

Then her paladin had a staring contest with the Wayne patriarch. She was surprised when Bruce pointed out Alfred may be willing to bake an extra pie. A five-apple one. Her paladin was on his feet in seconds and the picture-perfect of angelic behavior for the rest of the day. 

Bagheera was still grouchy when she felt, alternating between feeling mad with her and being concerned. It was the first time in a very long time that she was away from him for so long on a voluntary basis. But it was for the best - Dana was meant to have several guests and so Bagheera’s presence might attract attention.

“The level of co-dependence you have with him is disturbing.’’ Damian snarked. He, too, was in a similar mood to her paladin although he pretended to be more mature about it. 

“You wear your Robin suit everywhere.’’ Fay retorted. “Do--do you ever even take it off?’’ 

“She’s not wrong,’’ Dick said, amused with the girl’s brazen comment. He couldn’t tell if Damian was rubbing off on her or she had always been like that and just needed to grow comfortable. 

“-- TT -- Try not to get kidnapped,’’ Damian replied, then smirked when the girl turned red. “What number would be that? Fifth ?’’ 

Dick shook his head. “Don’t be a brat.’’

Fay gave her paladin one last hug and then threw the dirtiest look she could summon - it wasn’t much - to the boy before she smiled at Dick. 

Alfred drove her near Dana’s neighborhood. As far as the veteran was concerned, Fay still lived with the Wayne family. She was being tutored privately, at home and she was on the right track to be emancipated as soon as she turned fourteen in December. Of course, that led the woman to find out her birthday was then and although Fay asked her not to worry about it, she could tell Dana was already planning something for it. 

When asked about whether her family had been tracked and contacted about her desire to emancipate, Fay told Dana that they haven’t been particularly responsive. They were unlikely to cause her issues and Bruce had made sure she had all the support needed. 

It was a funny thing to say considering Bruce hadn’t known from the beginning that he was apparently involved in her emancipation status. Which actually already happened. Based on a false identity. He wasn’t surprised by Damian not consulting him on it, just mildly annoyed. He did agree that it was a good cover story ultimately. 

Fay wondered how Bruce would react if he knew the amount of information that Damian was actually withholding from him. It was one of the reasons why she felt uncomfortable being at that dinner table - it was hard not to feel like an imposter. When it was just her and Damian, it was different. 

After unpacking, Fay helped Dana set up the living room to accommodate the guests who started arriving in the late afternoon. 

Robby arrived first, with no other than Emily Sanders herself. And with them, there was George’s father, Olas, as well. He was a quiet, humble man who thanked Dana several times for the invite and brought several dishes he cooked himself. He carried his sadness more visibly than his daughter did. Fay found herself unable to look them in the eye.

Emily had returned to school in the last months of her final year, and Robby had grown closer to her after he offered to support her. Fay could tell he did so both because he was interested in her and because he was a naturally kind person. Emily was an amazing person, so Fay could see why the teenager was so taken with her. She was pretty and clever and there was a fire in her eyes when she spoke about how she wanted to study law at the university and become a judge in later life, determined to make changes within the justice system. She didn’t say it out loud, but they all knew that decision was tied in with her brother’s death. 

Fay found it ironic she was having dinner with Emily and her father considering she’d been the one to discover George Sander’s USB. There was something painful about it as well because she knew the truth whereas they never will. Although the GCPD acknowledged George’s contribution in exposing the illicit activities at the auction house, not everyone had been willing to see him as an unfortunate casualty. Some were eager to tie in his past to what happened. The Sanders family did receive support from the community but they’ve also faced harassment and even crimes of hate. It was sad, but some of the perpetrators had been great admirers of Hannah. Fay doubts the woman would have wanted them to behave in that manner. 

Shortly after, Gloria and Ben arrived. Fay learned that Olas has been attending the same grief therapy group that the couple has. Ben had also offered Olas a job at his company. Emily was also going to support Soul Bowl over the summer, in a full-time capacity much to Robby’s enthusiasm. 

Mack had been invited as well and as soon as he arrived, Fay was pulled in a bear hug which made her giggle loudly. A year earlier she could barely stand having people in her proximity. 

“Look at you!’’ Mack remarked. “If you keep growing at this rate, old Mack is gonna need a ladder to reach you.’’ 

Maybe. If Damian doesn’t kill her for it, first, she thought amusedly. He had been growing too, just at a slower pace. 

Fay stayed in the kitchen, helping Dana and Mack with cooking, just like in the old times. She preferred listening and observing everyone, as the atmosphere reminded her of those times she used to spend in the kitchens in Maysoon. She’d listen to the staff chat and gossip and tease one another, and sometimes they’d teach her slang words or they’d tell her about their lives. It was even more entertaining when her mother joined in because she was infamously terrible at cooking save for a few dishes, mainly desserts. She could be childish and extraordinarily informal, which was perhaps why everyone was so comfortable with her as well. They probably found it easier to connect with someone who started from humble, poorer beginnings. 

“Whatcha smiling at?’’ Dana asked. 

Fay shrugged, as she whisked away at the ingredients in her bowl. “My mother was terrible at cooking.’’ She found herself confessing. “Everyone was---was always terrified when she decided to try it. She could bake some desserts -- which were really really good - but other than that---’’ Her nose wrinkled. “---my father always made fun of her. In--in a good way. So one time she put erm,--’’ The ingredient didn’t exist in that world as far as she knew.”---spices he hated. They started a food fight.’’ Good times. She’ll never have those again. 

But she had others now. 

Dana smiled. Fay rarely ever opened about her parents, even if she was more talkative so she was always all ears when the girl did speak about them. “They sound like fun parents. And that they had a good relationship.’’ 

Fay nodded. “They did.’’ 

“What desserts?’’ Mack asked as he turned away from the oven. 

“Oh, um. Like wafer cakes.’’ When they were visiting Europe, Fay had come across the desert in the display of a shop. It looked very similar to what her mother used to make, but the chocolate texture and taste had been different. But that’s how she found out that her mother must have learned that recipe from that world. She kept finding pieces of her parents even in a world that had been ignorant of their existence. “I tried others but….I liked my mother’s more.’’ 

“Mom’s usually are.’’ Mack nodded sagely. “I replicate my mother’s chicken soup to the letter and it still doesn’t taste the same.’’ 

Because it wasn’t about replication only. It was about the memory as well. 

“I like your soup, Mack.’’ She loved it. It was one of the first homemade dishes she’d eaten in that world and whenever she had it, she felt nostalgic. It also felt like home. 

Mack ruffled her hair and winked at her. “Let’s see what the rest of Gotham will think about it.’’ One of the reasons he hadn’t gone to visit his family that year was because, in a week’s time, Mack was going to launch his food truck. Along with it, Soul Bowl was also due to launch a large-scale initiative with the help of other soup kitchens and charities in the city with the aim of delivering hundreds of care packages to homeless people and poorer neighborhoods. 

Fay had promised she was going to help when it all launched and she was quite excited about it. 

Dinner was a feast. Fay could barely move when she was done, having tried out everything on the table and even had second portions of turkey and pumpkin pie. After dinner, Dana had said there was no need to talk about what they were grateful for out of respect for Olas and Emily, but the Sanders duo insisted. They expressed their gratitude for the support everyone at the table showed them. Fay herself told everyone she was grateful to have met so many kind people. Mack teased Dana about getting teary-eyed at that and after they all took a turn, Fay helped with clearing the table. 

Robby and Emily had retreated to his room at one point, and as Fay learned by accident, it was not actually because they had a college package to look at. On her way to the bathroom, she accidentally caught them kissing in the middle of the room. Distracted, Fay had walked straight into the bathroom door which startled the two teenagers. A flustered Robby asked her to not to say anything to the others and she nodded vehemently, apologizing several times. Emily just smiled at her. 

Fay ended up thinking about what she saw though as she washed the dishes. She’d witnessed plenty of others kissing, including her parents so it wasn’t such a shock factor. But she’d been more curious lately. She didn’t feel interested in kissing anyone nor she was keen on the idea of it because it implied letting another person close. In a different way than Bagheera or Damian or others. It also implied she liked someone enough to kiss them and that they knew about it. 

It just seemed all so complicated. She wasn’t new to having a crush, considering she’d experienced her own fair of infatuations in the past. She also used to imagine that one day she’ll have adventures with someone else just like her parents did. Now such thoughts are enough to send her anxiety through the roof. 

She’d been curious about more than just kissing, too. And when she was curious about something, she researched. She studied. It had turned out to be a rollercoaster as her findings evoked all kinds of emotions from intrigue to horror and even such a deep embarrassment that she ended up with a nosebleed. She had started hiding all that, preferring to take the laptop with her in the bathroom or hide the books she bought on certain topics. Bagheera was constantly confused by her and Damian---actually, she didn’t even want to imagine how he’d react. He might end try to take ownership of her education which might just send her to an early grave. What did he know anyway? Just because he was a genius, it didn’t mean he knew much more than she did. 

Fay bid goodbye to all of the guests before she sat down in the living room and watched a film with Dana and Robby. It was about a boy who’s been forgotten at home for the Christmas holidays. Another classic of that world it seems. Dana and Robby generally watched it on Christmas Eve but when they heard Fay had no clue of it, they decided to put it on that night. 

It had been very entertaining. 

Once she was showered and in her pajamas, Fay retreated to her bedroom. Dana checked in on her, then told her the next day they’ll go check on the status of the care packages which were being kept in a storage room. With that, the veteran closed the door behind her and went to sleep herself. 

Fay turned around in her bed several times and even flew back and forth across the room, feeling restless. She was in a foreign environment without both her paladin and Damian, so it was very strange. 

It was slightly past midnight and she was almost the end of Dune novel when a knock drew her out from underneath the covers. 

The sound didn’t come from the door but from the window. 

Fay’s mouth opened in surprise when she spotted the scowling boy hanging in front of her window. It had started raining heavily and he was clearly getting drenched. 

She quickly floated over to let him in. He retracted the cable back in his gun before he landed gracefully on the floor. She closed the window behind him then stared. 

“Is--is everything alright? Is Bagheera--is anyone in danger?’’ 

He scoffed, as he assessed his wet clothes with a cross look. “Calm down. Everything is fine.’’ 

“Oh. Then---why are you here?’’ 

“Is there a problem with that?’’ 

“No--no--but---’’ 

“Pack your things. I don’t want to waste my entire evening here.’’ 

Fay sighed. They were still working on the so-protective-he-was-acting-insane and other boundaries. It was still new territory. He was used to getting his way and Fay was not used to being assertive. 

Damian could also be very selective about the information he remembered even though he always liked to point out he had an eidetic memory. 

“I am coming back on Saturday.’’ She had definitely told him that. More than once. 

Yet he looked at her as if she’d just kicked Titus. 

“Why? You fulfilled your promise, you engaged in frivolous conversation--’’ She glared. It had no effect. “---so what is the point of staying?’’ 

“Because I want to.’’ She responded simply. “I am--I am helping her with the care packages tomorrow.’’ 

“--TT--’’ 

He didn’t look like he was going to leave anytime soon so Fay walked over to the drawers. There was a sweatshirt in there that had been his before she claimed it. She still favored baggy clothes and he was leaner than her at that point, so she handed him a pair of her joggers as well. 

She turned around while he changed. When he was done, he just walked past her towards the door and locked it. Fay wanted to protest then she realized it was better to have to explain herself to Dana about a locked door rather than the woman finding out Damian was in her house. 

She looked at Damian as he rubbed the excess water out of his hair with a towel. Suddenly, she found herself thinking about how he was dealing with his own erm , changes. Boys had a hard time just as girls, right? Unlike her though, he didn’t seem to have to worry about pimples or weight changes. Or mood swings. Certainly not cramps. 

But surely, he had a crush on other girls? If he liked girls. She couldn’t imagine him being infatuated with anyone though. She couldn’t even think of him as a man even if he often referred to himself as such. Then again she also didn’t think of herself as a woman either. 

Will---will he be interested in kissing others like Robby was? Probably. 

He might want to court someone. What would that even be like? What did courting look like in that world? Would he be worried about it like she was? Probably not. Damian was confident. He was good-looking too and although his social skills weren’t that much better than hers, people would still notice him. Be interested. 

Like all those girls at the museum. 

Hm. Sometimes Fay felt like things were changing a bit too fast. If Damian did end up courting someone, then that would also change their friendship right? 

She was overthinking things again. Damian will always be her friend, and he’ll always care for her. And she would in return. Just like with Maya, she was getting ahead of herself. 

Damian will always see her. 

But what if he saw someone else too---

“You’re agitated.’’ The boy was suddenly in front of her. “What is the matter?’’ 

Fay shook her head. “N-nothing. It’s just been a...long day. I’ve been thinking about my parents. More--more than usual I mean.’’ It wasn’t a lie. She pushed away all the other thoughts, feeling silly she was spending so much time considering them. 

“Will you, erm, stay?’’ She asked quietly as she averted her eyes, feeling shy suddenly. 

He grunted, watching her intently for a moment before turning away. “I will wait until the rain has stopped.’’ 

With that, they both sat on the bed, side by side. She finished her book then decided to watch the sequel to the movie she’d watched earlier while Damian’s attention was captured by his own phone. 

“Was dinner alright?’’ She muttered sleepily, leaning her head back on the pillow. “Did Bagheera enjoy it?’’ 

“Hn. It was not an unpleasant affair.’’ His lips twitched. “Your paladin stole Drake’s piece of pie then tricked Brown into giving him another one.’’ 

Fay smiled lazily, humming in affirmation. With him there, she fell asleep ten minutes into the movie. 

.

He had not wanted to come in the first place. Dinner had been enjoyable enough. He had trained for two hours, went over a few active cases. Then found himself feeling bored. 

It was ridiculous. It wasn’t as if he always conversed with Fay when she was around or that their discussions were always of an intellectual nature. Lately, she’s been talking back more often, inadvertently dragging him in arguments that he would have never wasted his time with in the past. 

So did he allow them now? It wasn’t just that Fay was chosen family. She had completely insinuated herself in almost every part of his life. Even his clothes, regardless of how many washes, seemed to bear her scent constantly. Allowing himself to sleep next to her for more than thirty minutes was no longer a rare concession. He found the thrum of her energy relaxing, her heartbeat comforting. 

Those considerations didn’t change how he perceived her place in his life but it still caused parts of him to recoil at how wretchedly invested he’s become. That side of himself had no power but it made him self-reflect constantly, to analyze himself. 

Damian glanced at Fay from the corner of his eyes. She’d fallen asleep in an awkward position. It will be her fault if she wakes up with pain, for always sleeping in the most ridiculous of ways. 

Alas. He closed the laptop, set it aside then nudged her to change her position. Fay turned on her side, hiding her face in the pillow. 

Damian considered leaving if only to prove himself he could. 

He didn’t. Instead, he pulled the blanket up to her shoulders and he sat above it, watching her. She was wearing a penguin onesie. It was a ridiculous choice of clothing but she reasoned it was the best way to keep her marks hidden. And she also liked the damn thing. 

(She bought him one that poorly imitated the Batman suit. She didn’t need to know that he wore it and had not actually destroyed it as he said he will. Just once or twice). 

 A few minutes after, he leaned forward and pressed his nose against her neck. She tended to do that with him all the time, in her sleep. Underneath the smell of shower gel and laundry detergent, he could sense her scent as well. 

He inhaled. Her flux was quiet, he could only feel if he drew himself closer or focused on detecting it. He did neither. Instead, he pulled away and sat down on his side, facing her. 

The rain outside stopped, but he didn’t leave until dawn. Just in case she experienced nightmares and the idiot ended up floating in the air as she sometimes did. Mercher might end up thinking she’s possessed. 

Fay squirmed and whimpered a few times in her sleep, but pulling her close or brushing his hand over her head stopped her from escalating. 

He sighed irritably when she ended up hogging him as if he was a pillow. 

The things he did for the family. 

.

.

.

Her father was still in the hospital, recovering from the gunshot wound to the stomach, a concussion, and a broken knee. The loan shark he had taken the money from was a low-level criminal who had been put away in prison. Courtesy, of course, of Gotham’s vigilantes. 

The Department of Social Services was contacted. Cora found herself staying in a foster home for over a week which had been incredibly lonely. She was allowed to go visit her father, and she gave a statement about what happened but had not mentioned either Fay or her lupine companion. The police already knew Robin had saved her father so they just assumed he was the one to help her as well. 

The men that kidnapped her were found tied up and gagged inside one of the warehouses near where they drove her. Cora heard the officers discuss how terrorized they had seemed to be when they were taken in, spouting nonsense about a werewolf attacking them. They clearly never read any books or saw any movies on werewolves , she thought sourly. 

On the eighth day, Cora found out she had an aunt. Her father’s estranged, younger sister Emma Montgomery. Divorced with no children and a job in management. Emma wore expensive suits and had a car and an apartment that was much nicer than any home Cora has ever been to. It appears that her father had fallen out of touch following the death of Cora’s mother and his subsequent alcohol addiction. 

Yet Emma had been put down as an emergency contact and potential guardian. The woman looked as taken back by everything as Cora felt but she was welcoming. Cora ended up spending a lot of time with her. When her father was finally awake and speaking, Cora had been tremendously relieved. Then he broke her heart by pointing out that perhaps it was best if she was in Emma’s care for a while. 

Cora had refused but it hadn’t been up to her ultimately. Especially when her father confessed that he had relapsed which resulted in court-mandated AA attendance. 

Emma had initially wanted to have her moved to New York much to Cora’s horror but she changed her mind when she was offered a promotion in Gotham. So by the end of November, Cora was awaiting the paperwork that was going to declare Emma as her primary guardian while she lived in her new house in Gotham. 

Her absence at the Academy was excused and they had even offered for her to conduct the exams at a later stage. Cora refused and despite the way her life had turned upside down, she ended up sitting for all five exams and handed in all three essays. Perhaps her grades won’t be as high as they usually were but it no longer mattered. 

Her tuition fees had been paid in full. A grant was also offered which was bound to cover all school materials, uniforms, and other additional expenses, including trips and extracurriculars. Cora knew it wasn’t out of the Academy’s generosity or sympathy. 

Fay had something to do with it. 

Cora had thought about her. And the wolf. But her curiosity and fascination were buried by the hurt she felt with her father’s actions, the confusion, and the effort she had to put in adjusting to her new life. 

It wasn’t as if it was bad. Emma worked most days all day but Cora never had to worry about bills or creditors or budgeting. She still remained independent -- cooking and washing for herself. Emma was always impressed but also a bit concerned that Cora had to learn to do all that. 

Cora was happy that she had until January before returning to the Academy. What happened with her father had been kept under wraps but someone was bound to find out. She can already imagine the rumors that’ll plague her but maybe if enough time passed, the students will consider it old news. 

She wonders if she can punch Julia in the face and pass it off as stress. The thought was certainly tempting. 

But Cora is nothing if not resilient. She is a strong, independent girl-future-woman, and she’s never been one to just keep wallowing in self-pity, preferring to focus on the positives. She was an optimistic being. 

Her father was alive and recovering. He had gone back to AA and he hasn’t lost his cleaner’s job, as he hasn’t actually been charged. He has made stupid decisions but he hasn’t gotten involved in anything criminal. The late-night jobs he had been fulfilling for the loan shark were largely errands. Or frequent trips to the bar where the men who attacked them also worked. 

Once he was back on his feet and had worked in repaying his debts, they could go back to being together. In the meantime, Cora saw him on a weekly basis and her new life with Emma was rather decent. 

All in all, there were more positives than negatives. 

“Cora!’’ 

“Yes, Aunt Emma?’’ 

“A friend is here to see you.’’ 

Cora blinked. She didn’t have any friends. Reuben had been nice enough to send her his notes which were pretty terrible but he was away with his family for the whole month of December. Somewhere in Switzerland. Mara was the closest person she had to a friend at the Academy, but she was generally very busy with extracurriculars so they never actually hung out. She was also rather popular compared to Cora and while she didn’t seem to care much about it, she also never turned down invites to birthday parties or spending time with Julia and her clique. 

But Mara had already wished her happy holidays, two days earlier. She, too, was out of town with her family. Paris, because her mother was originally from there. 

Which left….

“Hello.’’ Fay Kipling offered a nervous smile as she stood in the hallway in her thick-soled red boots and dark waterproof coat. Her fringe had grown out and been pushed to the side, and her hair was cut short again just to her shoulder level. 

Really, no one would look at her and think she was a vigilante. Damian at least the whole bad boy mystery/ tortured genius about him. 

“Hi.’’ Cora faltered, just staring at the girl as Emma asked her several questions. How did they meet? How long they knew each other? Did she attend Gotham Academy as well? 

Fay calmly offered an answer for each. They met a year before during Halloween - leaving out that they were kidnapped by a crazy woman dressed in white - and that she was homeschooled. 

Satisfied, Emma offered her some of the cookies of the fresh batch she made and a mug of hot chocolate. Cora pulled Fay into her room immediately after. She locked the door for good measure.

Leaning back against the door only slightly dramatically, she eyed the girl. Fay had already eaten the cookies - boy, she really liked sugar - and was holding the mug with both hands, looking sheepish. 

“Dude,’’ Cora blurted. “What the hell? You---I---all this time---- what?! ’’ 

Fay opened her mouth, presumably to offer an explanation but Cora couldn’t stop.

“I knew it! I knew there was something weird about you---you just appeared out of nowhere at Halloween and you looked so confused and out of place--and then---then at the bunker. You stayed behind, didn’t you? Oh my god, did you---did you fight that crazy lady? You did, didn’t you?’’ 

“Erm, Cora---’’ 

Cora was full-on gesturing and pacing about the room. Fay had sat down on the edge of the bed looking slightly lost. And maybe a tiny bit scared as well. 

“You had blood on your hands. And we heard all these noises and I thought it was just Robin---which now makes so much sense---I mean why would Robin have a wolf? He never did before. Then you didn’t seem scared of the wolf---because he’s yours, isn’t he? Is he even a wolf? He did something with--with my emotions? Like that vampire from Twilight? I can’t remember what it was called but that’s what it was, wasn’t it?’’ 

“I---wh-what?’’ 

“Then you went back! You didn’t get lost. No wonder I didn’t see you---and ugh, all those times you avoided hanging out. That was classic, textbook behavior of a superhero juggling two lives-- bwah !’’ Cora tugged at her own hair in frustration. “I mean, Peter Parker does it all the time in the comics, whenever he just runs off on others, how could I have been so blind?’’ 

“Who is Peter--- never mind. Cora--’’ 

“You can fly, can’t you? Please tell me you can. That is so awesome.’’ The blond whirled towards Fay suddenly. “And Robin---he is---you know---that’s why you two are always together---’’ 

Cora !’’ 

The blond instantly fell silent. Fay had never raised her voice before. She didn’t look mad, just apprehensive. 

“Sorry.’’ Cora exhaled, feeling slightly out of breath. “It’s just---you know. The first time this has happened to me. It’s kind of cool---but also kind of scary and confusing. But mostly really cool.’’ 

That was not the reaction Fay was expecting. Thankfully, Cora calmed down and decided to sit down next to Fay on the bed. 

“You weren’t at the academy that night because you were a transfer student, were you?’’ She asked quietly. 

Fay shook her head. “No. I was there because I thought the academy will be attacked and it, um, did. I ended up being kidnapped with everyone else.’’ 

“But you can fight, right? And do, uh, things?’’ 

“I am not a vigilante. Or a--superhero.’’ Fay said with a smile. “But I do have...abilities. And I can fly. It’s a long story but at the time I wasn’t….well.’’ 

“And the wolf---?’’ 

“He is my partner. His name is Bagheera.’’ Partner, not pet. 

Cora glanced at her with furrowed brows. “As in the panther from Jungle Book?’’ 

Fay shrugged in response. 

“I am sorry,’’ Fay said. She stood up and placed the mug on Cora’s desk before sitting down on the chair there. “I didn’t want anyone to find out as that might---’’ 

“Put me in danger.’’ Cora nodded. “Another classic situation.’’ She added under her breath. “But--I promise I won’t tell anyone. I mean, no one would believe anyway.’’ 

Fay smiled again. “ I--I can’t tell you much either just to be safe. Maybe--maybe later.’’ 

“I get that. What can you tell me then?’’ 

“My name really is Fay. I am not really from Gotham but from...far away.’’ She looked slightly amused at that. “I don’t really live such an abnormal life, actually. It’s---complicated to explain to be honest.’’ 

“What about your parents---’’ 

“I don’t have any. I mean---not anymore.’’ 

Oh. That’s why she used to look so sad all the time. Not so much in recent months but Cora finally understood why Fay was so reticent to talk about them. 

“I am sorry.’’ 

“It’s---it’s alright.’’ 

She wondered how they died but she didn’t ask. “Thank you. For coming for me. And---and saving me.’’ 

“You---you are welcome.’’ Fay paused. “How did you know?’’ 

Cora shrugged. “I wasn’t entirely sure. But you and Damian were always together and then I kept seeing this shadow--which I assume is Bagheera---so I kind of just started wondering.’’ 

Fay grimaced slightly. Damian was bound to get maniacal about making sure she and Bagheera kept an even lower profile. Or at least that her paladin did. 

“I see.’’ 

“I won’t tell. About---about him, either.’’ Cora promised.

“Thank you.’’ 

Damian intended on monitoring her either way but Fay had been right. Cora was inoffensive and unlikely to reveal to anyone what she learned. 

Fay didn’t stay long after that. Cora asked her if they can still hang out as they did before to which the brunette replied that maybe they can but didn’t guarantee it. 

“Fay means fairy, doesn’t it?’’ Cora asked lowly as she walked the girl to the door. Emma was in her office, in a meeting. 

“Yes. Why?’’ 

Cora grinned.

 “I guess that makes you my guardian fairy!’’ 

.

.

.

Toiletries. Non-perishable food. First aid kits. Donated clothes. Food vouchers. Cases of water bottles. Leaflets with guidance for soup kitchens or support charities. Kitchen utensils. Vouchers for children’s store. Office supplies. Over-the-counter medicine. Toys. 

A combination of all those and more had been packaged in thick carton boxes. Dana was one of the leaders of the initiative. A total of seventeen charities were involved and when word got out that the Wayne family may have donated a large sum to support, several other donations followed, some particularly generous. Dana had initially projected that over six hundred individuals would receive a care package but with the sudden influx of money, that number grew to be in the thousands. 

“That...used to happen in Maysoon as well. My mother always said that if people don’t do it out of kindness they will do it for appearances.’’ 

“Human nature is human nature, regardless of the world, it seems,’’ Alfred remarked as he handed them their tea. 

“I am sorry, Mr. Pennyworth--’’ Fay said as she raised from the table. “--I can’t stay. I have to go help Dana.’’ 

Alfred glanced at her hands. She had several bandaids on. Not because she wasn’t healing but because she was. She’d cut her hands several times while packaging and it was bound to draw attention if her hands were untouched the day after. 

With a waffle still in her mouth, Fay almost flew into Bruce who was coming into the kitchen. He was dressed in a suit. So was Damian, for that matter.  

Bruce had agreed to go to the Gotham Museums and see the changes that have taken place. Much later than he should have but it had certainly put his son in a good mood. 

The Wayne patriarch looked at her, her backpack which looked far too big and full for her to be carrying it, and the sweatshirt she was wearing. ‘Soul Bowl’ was written in one corner. 

Damian raised from his kitchen island, fixing his tie before regarding his father. 

“Ready, father?’’ 

“Hn.’’ Alfred was already pouring a cup of coffee which Bruce immediately accepted. “We can drop you off.’’ He said, without looking at the girl. 

Fay nodded as she finished her waffle. Bagheera waited with barely suppressed enthusiasm. He was more than happy to wear the vest and cap again if it meant he wasn’t being forced to be parted from his Fay. He couldn’t be with her when she was with the other volunteers, but he could watch from the roof or hide in other places. Most times, people hardly paid attention if they saw he had a ‘service dog’ vest on, despite his size. 

.

“You promised you will help.’’ 

“-- TT- - no. I said I will contribute to ensuring the initiative is successful. Which I have.’’ He had been the one to feed the leak to the media about the Wayne family contributing to the charity initiative, after all. 

“No--you said you were going to help me with packing.’’ The girl waved the hand with most bandaids in his face, ignoring the boy’s threat he will cut it off. 

“I said no such thing. You have Colin helping you. And that Montgomery girl, seeing as you insist on being in contact with her.’’ 

Fay gave him a petulant look. The boy ignored her. 

Alfred drove them to the museum, where Fay chose to drop off as well and walk back to the Soul Bowl, preferring the exercise. Damian walked ahead, and Bruce came out after the girl and the paladin. 

“Mr. Wayne?’’ 

“What is it?’’ 

Fay glanced at the boy who was already near the entrance. He looked impatient. Or rather that was just the way his enthusiasm manifested. 

“I---he is really proud of this.’’ Fay glanced at the man, craning her neck so she could look him in the eyes. “He really did an amazing job.’’ She told Damian that all the time but she knew it would mean so much more if it came from his father. Especially since Bruce hadn’t even expressed interest in the past in Damian’s projects, or simply had not had the bandwidth to do so. 

Bruce just stared at her with a raised brow. 

“Erm, that’s all.’’ Fay smiled nervously, wondering if she should have kept her mouth shut as she might have overstepped. “Damian really is incredible.’’ 

“I agree.’’ She blinked, in surprise. “Aren’t you going to be late?’’ 

She glanced at her wristwatch. “Oh! Y-yes! Come on Bag--bye, Mr. Wayne, Mr. Pennyworth---’’ She turned on her feet, nearly forgetting she was meant to run and not fly so it looked as if she’d taken a big jump. She waved at Damian who unsurprisingly didn’t wave back although he watched her run away. 

Alfred gave him a knowing look. 

“I know, Alfred. I know.’’ 

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Klaus exhaled, watching his breath condense in the cold air. He had found shelter fifty miles or so outside of Gotham. There were several miles of greenhouses manned by a dozen or so farm owners, whose families also likely worked at the factories and mills he had been hiding amongst. 

The Grymla, an omnivore it turns out, was happy to live on plant matter if hunting down the farm animals was not possible. With winter approaching quickly, however, food was bound to be scarce for both the Grymla and himself. He hadn’t named her yet. More out of spite for that stupid girl than anything. 

He had more questions but didn’t return to Gotham. Not yet. It was the girl’s territory and she clearly had many dangerous allies. Loyal ones, too. 

He glanced at the tumultuous sky. A storm was coming. There was a farm a mile or so from where he was standing that he’d been hiding at. The main house was more sumptuous than the others and more modern as well. The owners didn’t appear to live there but there were staff members that tended to the animals and the property. There were only a couple that lived there on a full-time basis, though. The security cameras did not extend to an old barn that was no longer being used so he and his horned companion had been hiding in there. 

They were never wet at least. Or cold for that matter. Klaus had some money left but it was bound to run out at one point so he’ll have to think of ways of procuring more. 

A branch cracked. Crows perched on a fallen tree trunk near him flew away scared. The Grymla who was ahead of him, scavenging up until that moment straightened all of a sudden and turned around, body tensing up. She snarled at something behind Klaus. 

The boy turned away, energy sizzling at the tips of his fingers. The flux, as she’d called it. Bracing himself, he glared at the figure that had appeared amongst the trees, their features hidden by their hooded cloak. For a moment, he thought it might have been the girl or the boy, having managed to track him down. Then he realized the individual was taller. An adult. Perhaps another one of those masked vigilantes? 

They stepped forward. Gloved hands reached to pull down the hood. There was no mask. 

It was a woman he did recognize, however. Vaguely so. The last time Klaus had seen her, she had been wearing the same uniform as the staff members the Sponsor had in his service. 

“Hello, Klaus.’’ 

Clearly, she wasn’t just one of the cooks. 

Chapter 46: Of moments, snippets, and memories V

Chapter Text

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Fay had suspected Dana had planned something for her birthday despite her protests and vehemence that she wanted to treat the day like any other day. She was even tempted to find an excuse to not go into town that day but she felt that may come across as too cold on her end. After accompanying Dana on several errands which Fay was certain were not needed, the veteran drove her and Bagheera to the Soul Bowl. 

And once there, Fay was pushed through the back door kitchen to find a surprise party had been organized for her. The kitchen was twice as large as it used to be, to accommodate the new canteen which now could accommodate up to four hundred people at a time. At that moment, however, the two regular full-time cooks and three part-time assistants were helping out front, leaving only Mack. Standing beside him, Fay found Robby, Gloria, and Ben as well. There were several presents colorfully wrapped and placed to the side. On the table before them, a large chocolate cake. 

A wafer cake. With whipped cream on top spelling ‘Happy Birthday, Fay’ and fourteen lit candles lined around the edge of the cake. 

They had kept it simple. No over-the-top decorations and when they sang her happy birthday, they didn’t drag it for too long nor did they do so too loudly. Fay smiled so hard that her cheeks started hurting. Bagheera felt rather satisfied himself, as he stayed glued to her side. When it was over, Fay bowed her head and thanked them profusely, feeling incredibly humbled. 

Dana hugged her first, kissing the top of her head before wishing her all kinds of things that made Fay’s eyes sting. Mack gave her a brief hug then told her to get close to the cake and blow the candles out, before making a secret wish. That was a very popular tradition in that world. Fay thought about it for a second before mentally making her wish.

Gloria then nearly cut off her air supply with a hug of her own. Ben wasn’t as affectionate, pinching her cheek instead before giving her their present. Inside Fay found a wooden music box he had carved out himself. When she opened the mirrored lid, the figure of a girl and a wolf by her side emerged from inside. A sprint motor located at the bottom of the music box was responsible for the soft melody that followed. Fay didn’t recognize it but Gloria told her it was a lullaby. The couple also gifted her board games. 

Mack gave her an instant camera. She knew of them, but she hadn’t gotten around to trying one given she had the professional one that Damian bought her. Robby gave her tickets to something called a ‘Comic Con’ which she had a vague understanding of but now she intended on researching in more depth. It sounded like she might enjoy going. Dana gave her books and a set of red wool accessories including a scarf and gloves. The highlight of her present had been however in the large framed photo that the veteran had taken months earlier in the kitchen. Fay and Bagheera were in the middle with Dana to one side, an arm slung around Robby’s shoulders and Mack on the other side. They were all smiling at the camera. 

In one corner, written in silver was a message. ‘ Thank you for being part of the Soul Bowl family, Fay and Bagheera ’. 

That did make her eyes tear up. Fay thanked them all several times. After a couple of slices of the wafer cake - which albeit still not the same as her mother’s, had tasted better than the one she’d had in Europe and was delicious all the same - she bid them goodbye. 

She ended up calling a car to take her back to the warehouse. Fay had made Damian promise he won’t go over the top as he was known to do so. She couldn’t stop Dana and she did enjoy her surprise, but she didn’t need to celebrate her birthday. She was happy with only knowing that a year earlier, she’d been in a much different place, and now that was no longer the case. 

She did wish she could tell her family that everything was alright. That look, look at her now - getting better and feeling she could go further than she did when she last saw them. That she could fly again, that she was thinking of being a warrior of that world, that she had been fortunate to find people who were kind and had been patient and reminded her it hadn’t been too late to try again. There were days when she wished there was a way to let them know of her friend and the allies she’s made and almost every day, she wondered what her parents would think. 

They would approve. 

Fay hadn’t forgotten there was a possibility that someone had wished her dead. That the person may have been closer to her than she liked admitting but until there was evidence of that, Fay was going to give her family the benefit of doubt. 

Once at the warehouse, Fay found it empty. She hadn’t talked to Damian in a couple of days as he’d been busy. They hadn’t trained together in a while so she hoped they would soon. She unpacked her gifts, set them on various shelves in her bedroom, and tested out the Polaroid by taking the first picture of Bagheera. She giggled when her paladin’s eyes came up as red, making him look rather demonic. Fay then put the framed photo on one of the shelves above the TV, where she also kept one of herself and Bagheera and another of herself and Damian.

Perfect fit. 

Fay trained for a couple of hours then checked in with Cora who had asked her if they could meet the week after to which she agreed. Cora was an admirably positive person and adapted rather quickly given everything she’s learned. Damian wasn’t happy she knew, but they also couldn’t do anything about it except be cautious. The night Cora encountered trouble, Damian had been across Gotham so Fay had no choice but to interfere. The blond, however, did not appear to have any interest in exposing them. She didn’t ask many questions despite being curious nor she seemed interested in hanging out with Fay just because she wanted information. 

By midnight, Fay had managed to exhaust herself enough to go to bed. She was tethering on the line between being awake and sleeping when Damian arrived. Bagheera sensed him before she did, and it wasn’t until the lights had been turned on that she opened her eyes, feeling rather grumpy with the sudden interference. The boy appeared by the side of the bed, nudging her shoulder. 

“Hm?’’ 

“Get up.’’ He was dressed in civilian clothes so patrol must have been off for that night. Weird. Was the case already over? He already had a day off - not his choice - four days earlier. He didn't look injured, either.  

Reluctantly, Fay got out of bed to float over to the window where he walked to and was waiting for her. There was a large rectangular object wrapped in dark paper with a red bow, placed against the window seat. Simple and….undoubtedly a present. Feeling very much awake now, she glanced at him torn between feeling excited and wanting to tell him there had been no need. 

“Open it.’’ He instructed. 

Fay did as she was told, ripping the paper apart when he told her it would just be more efficient that way. It took a moment for her brain to process what she was looking at once the item inside was exposed.

A painting with a gilded frame. And the subjects….Fay forgot how to breathe momentarily. Her parents.

Damian had painted her parents with such realism that it was as if they had posed for him. Both of her parents were dressed in the attire they were wearing in the photos and they were both staring at her. Her mother was smiling - same dazzling smile, same bright green eyes. Her father’s smile was more subtle but the likeness was incredible. 

And right there, between them in the middle of the painting was Fay herself. Not young Fay from the pictures, but Fay of that moment. Fourteen years old. Taller. Shorter hair. Wearing a dark tunic just like young Fay. Her mother’s hand was placed on one of Fay’s shoulders. One of Fay's hands was on Bagheera's head, who had squeezed himself between Fay and her father. The same Bagheera of the now, as well. 

Whoa….

Fay inhaled and exhaled. Damian must have studied the photos she had of her parents, without her knowledge to recreate them in that painting. The painting was in oils as well, so it must have taken him weeks to complete it. 

“You don’t like it.’’ 

Stunned, Fay turned to look at Damian who was frowning. “W-what?’’ 

The boy looked conflicted, and his eyes averted from her face to the painting. “You seem...disgruntled by it.’’ 

She was, just not in the way he thought she was. The painting was a memory that will never come to be. A moment in time she’ll never experience because her parents were never coming back regardless of the specks of hope she still held in her heart that perhaps, just perhaps

It should have been an ugly reminder of what she lost. Instead, it wasn’t. Not at all. Because he had captured them so well, Fay found it easy to imagine an actual scenario of her parents posing with her in that manner. The photos were also no longer the only reminder she had of her family.

The painting told her that while they may be gone, she will keep changing. She will keep growing, and so will Bagheera. Which is exactly what they would have wanted. 

“I---’’ Fay wasn’t sure how to express it. It didn’t help that she suddenly felt like crying. 

So she did the next best thing she could think of. Jump towards Damian to hug him so hard that he ended up having to spin on his feet, or they would have ended up toppling to the ground. 

“Thank you. Thank you.’’ Fay whispered, burying her face in his shoulder. “It’s--amazing. It’s one of the best gifts ever.'' 

The hands that had initially fallen on her waist slid over to her back. 

“You’re welcome.’’ He muttered. Then tugging her down to set her feet on the floor, Damian turned his head towards hers. “Happy birthday.’’ The kiss was brief and light, just on her cheekbone. She wasn’t even sure if it could be called a kiss, because his mouth barely brushed against her skin before he gently knocked his forehead against hers. 

Cheeks slightly wet, she smiled at him as widely as she could. “Thank you.’’ 

“You’ve already said that.’’ 

“I know.’’ 

She hugged him one more time, just to get it out of her system. If it lasted several minutes, he pretended he didn’t notice. Neither did he care much. 

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Alfred cleared his throat. The two teenager’s heads snapped towards him. There was not an inch of Damian from the waist up that wasn’t covered in flour. When he tilted his head, white powder floated in the air. 

The girl wasn’t in a much better state considering her entire hair had been matted with whipped cream and her grey sweatshirt was covered in cocoa powder.  Damian had smashed two eggs against the girl’s face which in turn spurred the girl to smush a tomato on the side of his head. When Alfred had walked in the kitchen, he found both teenagers wrestling on the ground with all the fierceness of two wild cats.

Damian had Fay in a key lock submission position, using the downward pressure of his arms against hers but from the looks of it, Fay was not keen on yielding so easily, as she was pushing back with her knees against his ribs. Neither one of them changed their position when the butler came in, just looked at him with wide-eyed expressions. 

The whole kitchen looked like a pigsty. Was that mustard on the ceiling? Yes, yes it was. Rather impressive actually. 

There was no need for Alfred to lecture them. Instead, he just gave them a look that made the blood run cold in their veins. Two minutes later, both teenagers were fervently cleaning and scrubbing the kitchen while the butler supervised them as he sipped calmly from his Earl Grey tea. 

“Once the kitchen is spotless, do please ensure that your companions are also clean.’’ 

Both Titus and Bagheera looked as if they had gone grey overnight. While the teenagers were fighting one another, their furry partners had wisely picked the foods that kept flying about for themselves. It must have been a feast. 

“Yes, sir.’’ 

“Hn.’’ 

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Damian watched Fay watch the stage below with fascination, occasionally using the binoculars to get a closer look at the dancers. He had wanted them to attend the ballet play as any other visitor. With the best seats on the house, of course. 

But Fay had expressed concern at being seen in public. He would have had the whole play reserved just for them, nothing a generous donation couldn’t address. However, Fay believed the media - which had been in a frenzy over the Wayne family members following the charity initiatives and continued success of the museums - will end up getting wind of their presence there. Then they would start speculating on who she was, why she was with him, and so on. 

She had a valid point, which is how they found themselves in that high, secret spot of the playhouse where the darkness shrouded their presence. He almost lost his patience being there in the first few minutes except Fay had looked happy. Enraptured really by the rendition of the ‘Nutcracker’ fairy tale that they were attending. So no without some vocalization of what he thought of that place, he sat down next to her and watched the play. 

Then she commented with a nonchalance that she preferred it that way even if they didn’t have the best view because it was just the two of them. He didn’t comment any further. 

Damian found the ballet dance adequate although he’s seen better versions in Russia during travels with his mother. A week earlier, Fay had told him her father used to play the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy on the piano and she knew it was by someone named Tchaikovsky, but she’s never actually seen the play nor she knew the whole story. 

Now she did. 

Throughout the play, a thought had insinuated itself in his head and from it, others sprouted. Maintaining a low profile was still a priority albeit with the Sponsor dying, so did the rumors of his criminal goals. They dismantled what was left of his criminal network which had been surprisingly smaller than expected. Most of the criminals that attended the arena fights had been invited there and they’d agreed on the basis they might meet the Sponsor, but they’ve never actually worked for or with him. They were however impressed by the chimerean beasts that the Sponsor used in those fights -- they represented a taster for what he was capable of. 

The last several months have passed by uneventfully. Fay trained intensively and had been tentatively allowed to go on very low-level missions. Dick had proposed that she might enjoy joining the Teen Titans, an idea which Damian immediately shut down. That would mean she’d move to San Francisco on an indefinite basis. Fay would not want that. 

(He doesn’t want that)

Damian might reconsider that idea if he decided to temporarily aid the Titans again which was unlikely to happen anytime soon. Fay was better off (with him) in Gotham. Dick pointed out that it wasn’t his choice to make, and Starfire would be a good mentor to Fay considering she understood what it means to come from a completely different world. Or in her case, a different planet. Fay might struggle at the beginning given she was largely an introverted creature but she was capable of teamwork. 

It wasn’t a concern that she might not thrive in that environment. It was that she might . Fay will not want to return to Gotham. She’ll continue learning about that world and honing her abilities amongst others. Damian felt like throttling Dick for bringing it up in the first place. Things were going rather well, so why change anything? Damian did not like sharing. He may be capable of kindness and generosity, but he is also selfish. And he did not like the idea of sharing his friend - family - with anyone else. 

So when the former Robin said that Starfire agreed to pay a visit and officially meet Fay in a few days, Damian’s first instinct was to think of effective ways of convincing Fay that she didn’t need the Titans in case she was tempted to take up on the offer. 

Damian glanced down at the red cushioned seats filled with people. Fay had been right that the Waynes are being watched more closely but that had always been the case, especially since their public appearances were sporadic. His father had organized a party that night while they were watching the play to satiate the curiosity of the press. Damian was more than happy not to attend, but as he contemplated the scenario where the media did find out about Fay, he found he didn’t care if it did happen.

So what? Fay Kipling was his friend. With Maya and Colin, it was unlikely he’ll ever be caught in public but he also did not spend as much time with them as he did with Fay. The Montgomery girl was an unfortunate acquaintance given she now knew of their identities. Fay did like her though, who knows why and the blonde had kept her promise to pretend she knew nothing. Of course, that didn’t stop Damian from monitoring her with the same pathos as he did criminals. 

But Fay would be impacted if others knew. She wasn’t ready to have that much attention on her (again). If she wanted to enjoy those moments just with him - and her paladin - then that was fine by him. 

After the play was over, they snuck out of the playhouse and headed back across the river. Fay was in a good mood back. 

“Starfire wishes to meet you.’’ He remarked finally when they were back at the warehouse, watching her crouch down to offer attention to all the pets. 

Fay looked up at him in surprise. “---That’s...Kory, right? Dick’s girlfriend. She is a member of---’’ 

“---The Teen Titans yes. One of the original members. She now serves as a mentor and trainer for the new generations.’’ 

Fay straightened, looking puzzled. “I don’t mind---but why she does want to meet me?’’ 

“She is curious, for one. Grayson has spoken to her about you. He has also trained other members of the Titans, having been the first leader. As I have.’’ Damian clicked his teeth. “She will also make you an offer. To join them and train to be a Titan, yourself.’’ 

Dick could have made the offer. But Starfire was likely to be more persuasive, to level with Fay in a different way. Deep down, Damian knew that move was not intended to be malicious or manipulative. He still will give Dick a hard time about it though. 

Fay seemed to mull that over. Damian watched her intently, for anything on her face or body language that might indicate she was tempted by that offer.

“Do---do I have to?’’ She asked, finally, after exchanging a look with her paladin. 

Not. “It is your choice,’’ Damian said in a carefully neutral voice. 

Fay nodded. “Will you be going as well?’’ 

“No. I am in needed in Gotham.’’ If she wanted to though--- “Bagheera will, naturally.’’ 

That made her look conflicted. Even disgruntled. Good.  

“I---I would like to meet her. I mean, I am curious too. But---I like it here.’’ 

Damian inhaled. “If you wish to stay, all you have to do is say so. No one will force you to do anything you do not wish to do.’’ Fay nodded. 

The conversation had dampened her mood visibly, but he had to get ahead of it. 

He pulled her upstairs and nudged her into a conversation about the themes and symbolism of the Nutcracker, before talking to her about the life and accomplishments of Tchaikovsky. 

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Starfire was breathtaking. Her moniker fit her incredibly well. Fay had stumbled on her words and tried to contain herself from gawking like an idiot when the woman introduced herself. As it turns out, Starfire is a princess herself, from another planet. Her otherwordly appearance was obvious enough from the ocherous skin and luminous green scleras, and the hair which reminded Fay of the sun. 

Her abilities are also energy-based. On the sun and stars! Fay had a vague knowledge of that from having spoken to Damian about her, but she hadn’t understood just how incredible the woman’s abilities were until that moment.

“Oh!’’ Kory exclaimed when their hands connected and their energies clashed. It was like a spark, not painful, just sudden and unexpected that traveled down Fay’s arm like a current of electricity. Her flux coiled underneath her skin. The woman must’ve felt it too because she broke the handshake and stared at her hand then at Fay’s exposed marks.

“Oh, you glow as well!’’ 

Fay smiled sheepishly, not sure what to make of it. Her marks stopped glowing after a few seconds and her flux felt as it usually did. 

Dick smiled, as he watched the interaction. Damian had an unreadable expression as he stood next to the man, hands crossed at his back. Bagheera stood glued by Fay’s side, watching the alien superhero. The fur stood his back, not because he felt the woman was a threat but because he could also feel the energy running through her. 

Kory asked if Fay would be comfortable going to San Francisco for a day or two, just to be given a tour of the tower and so she could meet the other members. Fay’s first instinct was to refuse, although she was very curious. Dick reassured her that the visit was not a commitment to the team, but rather an induction and she was free to come back to Gotham sooner if she wished to do so. When she looked at Damian, he said nothing, expression betraying none of his thoughts. It wasn’t very helpful. 

Ultimately, she agreed to the trip, trying to squash the sense of horror she felt when she was told that only Dick was accompanying them. 

An irrational thought made its way in her head. Was---was she being pushed away? Did Damian not want to be a friend with her - just like Titoh did - and was sending her far away from him? She tried to ignore those thoughts, with the help of Bagheera’s calming presence although she remained anxious the entire trip to San Francisco. 

When they were near the city, Starfire asked her if she’d like to make the last leg of travel by flying. 

“So---just jump out of the plane?’’ Fay asked. 

Starfire smiled. “I shall catch you if there are any issues.’’ 

There weren’t. Fay had thrown herself out of the plane into the dizzying abyss below her, with Starfire following after her. Bagheera stayed back on the jet, Dick consoling him over being left out. 

Flying in Gotham was a complicated affair. It had to be done always at night, at certain times to avoid being seen. But at that moment, she was flying in the middle of the day, passing her way through the grey clouds and feeling the bite of the winter wind on her skin. 

Starfire led her to the giant T-shaped tower built on a small island just off San Francisco Bay. Fay wished she could have landed as gracefully as the woman did but she was still trying to adapt after two years of not being able to fly. She glided across the ground and managed to stop without falling over on her face, thankfully, despite stumbling on her feet like a newborn calf.

When she turned around to look at Starfire, Fay smiled sheepishly. “I, um---still working on that.’’ 

Starfire just complimented her on her overall agility in the air and told her not to worry. Bagheera ran to her side as soon as the jet had landed and they were both led inside the Tower. 

Fay’s curiosity and enthusiasm died considerably, replaced by anxiety and self-consciousness when she found herself being introduced to the Titans themselves, a mix of boys and girls that ranged from being her age to their late teens. She instinctively leaned against Bagheera who no longer managed to hide her completely behind his large form given she was taller now. 

“Erm, hi.’’ She said awkwardly. 

“Team, this is Fay. She is from Gotham and she is visiting us for the day.’’ 

Several pairs of eyes just stared at her. Fay wondered if it was too late to make a run for it. 

That is the coolest wolf I have ever seen! ’’ A green-skinned male, who looked around Robby’s age, with an equally green mop of hair stepped forward staring at Bagheera with a particularly gleeful look. Then he suddenly morphed into a wolf himself which made both Fay and her paladin gape comically. 

Bagheera looked at the boy-turned-wolf then at her. “Rgg?’’ 

“Ye-yes. I can see that too.’’ 

The green wolf approached Bagheera slowly, then playfully nudged his head against the paladins whose confusion immediately projected off of him. 

The boy immediately reverted to his human form, looking awed. “Whoa---is---I could feel his emotions! Wait---he is an empath! Raven--Raven!’’ He glanced over to the side where a young woman around his age was standing apart from everyone else. She was wearing a long, dark cloak with the hood pulled down revealing violet locks cut short and pale blue eyes. Her face had been expressionless until that moment but curiosity flashed in her eyes when she glanced at the paladin. 

Everyone introduced themselves to Fay, one by one. The green-skinned male was Beast Boy whom she hadn’t initially recognized. She did recognize Raven, however. After them, first in line was Jaime Reyes, who called himself the Blue Beetle in battle, then Lorena ‘Acquagirl’ Marquez who inquired about Fay’s water-based abilities which Dick had mentioned in the passing. Lorena was only a year older than Fay. Following them, Fay also met another two otherworldly beings: M’gann and Cassandra, also known as Miss Martian and Wonder Girl, respectively. There were other members as well, but Fay did not get a chance to meet them that day as they were away on a mission.  

Fay was given a tour of the tower before she was allowed to sit in on a training session. She was fascinated. Her anxiety had melted away considerably by the end of the day. It was easy admitting she wasn’t of that world considering the background of the Titan members. She understood why Dick felt that would be a good place for her and Bagheera. 

They would be accepted there. She would have support in learning how to control her abilities. She would belong to an actual guild of warriors, of that world. The various members varied in age and personality, as much as they varied in the experience they had. Fay did not know the details of how they came to be part of the Titans but Dick told her that she would not face judgment for her background. Everyone there had a story to tell, their burdens and scars to carry. 

It was frightening but Fay could see herself fitting in there. Not easily and not immediately. She would find it hard to open up to them, to demonstrate what she could do with such an audience or have them witness her fail. What if she had panic attacks? What if she lost control? She shyly expressed that to Dick, because she knew him and she trusted him enough to do so. 

“You would not be the only one with struggles,’’ Dick told her. “And you will not be the last. The Titans are not just about training and saving the world. It is a sanctuary as well.’’ 

Bagheera would enjoy it there as well. He already seemed to adore Beast Boy and earlier that day, Fay had seen him approach Raven. They just stared at one another, without touching. Two empaths communicating. Raven might even be willing to train Bagheera, Fay thought. 

Fay had dinner with the Titans. She didn’t speak much, preferring to listen to their stories and observing the various team dynamics. If she was asked about her abilities or her adventures in that world or where she came from, she answered with a slight stutter. She never went into much detail. She did however agree to demonstrate her flux by making the water out of her glass float in the air and then converted it into a sheet of ice, which she let fall on the table. She was met with a mixture of awe and curiosity and intrigue which assuaged her nerves but also made her feel very shy. 

Bagheera must have sensed it because he decided to steal the spotlight by showing off his battle form. Fay smiled as she watched him prance around rather proudly, basking easily in the attention he was given. 

Once they were back in the bedroom they’d been assigned for the night, Fay had a minor panic attack. She felt overwhelmed. She ultimately spent the entire night awake, watching San Francisco in the distance from her windows. It was a brighter and bigger city than Gotham. Quieter, too. She was both tempted to stay and run away. She analyzed her emotions and thought over and over again about what she’d learned that day and what Dick told her. She asked Bagheera how he felt too. 

Fay was showered, dressed, and fully awake when at seven am in morning she was told that it was time to go. Dick was returning to Gotham, so he could offer her passage. She didn’t get to stay for breakfast but she did bid goodbye to a few of the members on the way out. Starfire told her to have a think about the offer, with no rush, and then let Dick know of her decision. 

Fay didn’t need any more time, however, and she made Dick aware of her decision on the plane. Unsurprisingly, he was supportive. When they arrived back in Gotham, Fay was left at the Wayne Manor. It was late, past midnight so Damian was still out on patrol. Fay retreated to the room she always occupied when there, which at that point, she considered her room.

Damian found her sitting on the bed, reading. Bagheera was sprawled by the window, sleeping soundly. 

“Excellent. You are still awake.’’ Dick had refused to tell him what her decision had been but he had mentioned that Damian ought to be supportive. Thus implying she was tempted to accept the offer. 

“Number one. You will not have the space or privacy you have in Gotham.’’ 

“Huh?’’ Fay stared at him confusedly. 

Damian rolled his eyes. “I am obviously making you aware of all the disadvantages of moving to San Francisco. There are advantages, as well, naturally but you are already aware of those.’’ 

“What---’’ 

“Number two. The hygiene habits of some of the members are abhorrent. That is in addition to their lack of discipline and common sense--’’ 

“Damian, there’s no need---’’ 

“Number three. While it may be appealing of you to have the opportunity to fly in daylight, you will not have more freedoms there than you do here. Starting with and not limited to being able to have Bagheera accompanying you in public.’’ 

Fay sighed. “ Damian .’’ 

The boy clicked his teeth. “Do not interrupt me when I am talking---’’ 

“I said no .’’ 

“Number---’’ Damian stopped. He stared at her. Then it clicked to him that Dick had tricked him. He knew that Damian will try to persuade her to stay inadvertently revealing his desire to have her there in Gotham. Damn him. “You said no.’’ He repeated. 

Fay abandoned her book and moved closer to the edge of the bed, sitting on her knees. “I do not want to join the Titans. Maybe---maybe one day.’’ 

“Why?’’ He wanted to hear her say it.

“...It is a great place. Just like--like a guild is in my world, I suppose.’’ Fay smiled. “It would not be easy but I think...maybe, I would get used to it. It was tempting but um, I don’t want to. I am happy here with you and everyone else.’’ There it was. “I know there is probably a long way to go to---to be stronger, to find out what I want to do. But--’’ Her cheeks colored as she stared at him from under her lashes. “--I prefer doing that with you. If--if that’s okay.’’ 

Of course, it was. “I would have no issues with that.’’ He replied coolly. Suddenly, he felt like doing something incredibly irrational. Hug her, tightly and bury his nose in the crook of her neck but he’s only ever done that when she was asleep and unaware. 

“I---do think they’d be accepting. There are so...many different people there. But--’’ Fay sighed, shoulders lowering. “I---I know change happens. It did--it did in the past year but---I don’t want to lose this. Being your friend and um, staying at the warehouse and working with Dana and--and everything else. It would feel like---like back then. When everything just changed, very suddenly and I---I am not ready for it. I think I would go back to not...being well.’’ 

Fay looked ashamed. “I know it’s cowardly---’’ 

“It’s not.’’ He cut her off. “You have reflected on the impact such a change will have on your psyche and current progress and you made a logical decision using the data you have. That is not...cowardly. It is analytical.’’ 

She smiled again. “....are you sure---it wouldn’t be better if I went there? I did cause a lot of trouble here, didn’t I? I mean---I am complicating your life--’’ 

“Don’t be stupid.’’ He reached to push a few strands of her hair behind her ear.  “It was not my idea but Grayson’s.’’ 

“So---you didn’t want me to leave?’’ she mumbled shyly, looking away. 

He had contingency plans to stop her family from taking her away if needed. Of course not. “It was your decision to make.’’ He paused. "But no. I agree that it is too early for a change.'' Didn't she say she wanted to form a guild of her own? He'd given that some thought just as he'd considered that one day he might form a team of his own. 

Fay met his gaze again and she smiled slyly. “Is that why were you listing cons about me going there?’’ Perceptive idiot. 

He will make Dick pay for it. 

“It is only natural that as your friend I present you with a different perspective, including the disadvantages which I am sure Grayson or anyone else have not bothered to tell you about. As someone who has worked with the Titans, I have a clear picture of both pros and cons.’’ He said in a self-assured manner.  

Except he hadn’t been very well-liked at the Titans Tower. Fay could see why, but she'd still choose Damian over them. 

“You were trying to convince me to stay.’’ 

“I did not say that. Don’t put words in my---’’ 

Fay leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her head against his chest. He didn’t fully return the embrace, but she felt his gloved hand press on top of her head. He hadn’t even changed out of his Robin attire before coming to my room, she thought. She smiled harder. 

“Damian?’’ 

“What is it?’’ 

“Don’t....never give up me.’’ 

Damian frowned. Was she afraid he might? Still?

“I can see that twelve hours with the Titans had been enough to damage your brain.’’ He won't. “Plus, I believe you have already committed to forming a guild with me.’’ 

“What?’’ Fay pulled away. “You said you will be part of my guild.’’ 

He scoffed. “And that naturally requires a leader.’’ 

Fay gave him a look. “And that should be you?’’ 

“Should it be you?’’ He asked, with a smirk.

She glared. “No. Bagheera will.’’ 

Excuse me ?’’ 

Just like that, they ended up bickering over it. Then Alfred threatened to not allow them in each other’s rooms until they learned not to argue at four am in the morning. 

Bagheera was grateful for the intervention as he really just wanted to sleep. 

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“I am---I am alright.’’ Fay panted, as she lay curled up on the marble floor. “I am alright.’’ She repeated more to herself than the boy crouched before her. Damian didn’t comment as he reached to turn off the faucet. After she’s managed to calm herself down and stand up on her feet, Fay slowly exited the bathroom with both the boy and paladin helping her along. 

The bathroom was flooded. She’d been so agitated in her dreams that she’d instinctively summoned her flux causing the water to burst through the pipes.

“Get changed. I will shut off the water mainline.’’ Damian instructed and she nodded shakily. Bagheera helped her into her closet while the boy headed downstairs. The water was already trickling through in her bedroom, seeping into the wooden floor and drenching one of the soft carpets. 

Startled by the commotion, most of the pets had left her bedroom. Pip and Nada were rather accustomed to it, however, so they stayed curled up on the bed. After changing into dry clothes, Fay drank a glass of water then crawled underneath the down duvet. She felt Pip walk around her head, whining softly a few times before he ultimately decided to go sit next to Bagheera who laid down at the end of the bed. 

Damian returned several minutes later. Much to her surprise, he didn’t leave right after nor did he lay down on top of the duvet to wait until she fell asleep as he usually did. His visits were always sporadic, sometimes coming into her bedroom several days in a row, other times once or twice a week depending on how often he came by the warehouse. If he stayed in his room, she'd learned that was generally a sign he preferred being alone so she rarely ever bothered him. 

The duvet was tugged up at her back causing her to shudder - she’d had to spend several minutes underneath the cold water - but it was quickly replaced by a warm, firm body pressed against her back. He must have changed his clothes because he felt dry as well. An arm slid around her waist, knees pressing against the back of hers. 

Fay didn’t question it, didn’t point out that Bagheera could have warmed her quicker or that her body will naturally bounce back to its regular temperature. Instead, she instinctively pushed herself into him, keeping her arms tight against her chest. Her hands were very cold.

“I am sorry.’’  

“Go to sleep.’’ 

She wanted to. She felt tired. But the fear hadn’t gone away yet. 

“I think…’’ she whispered fearfully. “One day it’s going to get me.’’ 

“What are you talking about?’’ 

“The monster that I keep seeing. The one---the one that looks like my mother but isn’t my mother. Every time ---every time I dream of it, I feel I am...closer to it. And if it gets me----I feel like that’s...it. I won’t wake up anymore.’’ There was a moment of silence before he spoke again. He sounded closer than before and his hot breath tickled her ear and neck.

“It will not get you. And you will not die.’’ He said it with such certainty. The same way her parents always promised she was safe. 

Fay was only partially comforted. “What---what if it means something? What if--it’s something to do with what I can’t remember?’’ 

He couldn’t say it didn’t. There was not enough data. She knew that and he knew that, and she knew how important data is to him. 

“You are still journaling your dreams?’’ 

“Ye--yes. Not as often as before, though.’’ 

“Then do it. We’ll look for patterns and leads. If I am here when you experience a nightmare, then recount it to me as soon as you are awake before you forget details.’’ 

Fay turned around to face him. Bagheera moved to sit behind her, back to back and she smiled. She felt considerably safer at that moment despite the uncertainty that lingered. 

“Sometimes I dream of you and Bag, as well,’’ she muttered. 

“I know. Now go to sleep.’’ 

I love you, Damian. 

So she did. 

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“What are you doing?’’ Damian asked irritably when the girl suddenly slapped her hands against his cheeks and started scrutinizing his face. 

Fay’s expression grew more troubled by the second. “This is so unfair.’’ She remarked. “You--your skin is flawless. Why is it so nice? You’re fully human.’’ She grumbled. 

Damian smirked. “Perfect genes.’’ He poked her forehead where a particularly red pimple had reared its ugly head, quite literally. Fay squeaked and instantly pulled away. “Don’t touch my face! Don't--don't even look at it!’’ 

He rolled his eyes. “You touch it all the time, which is why you keep experiencing breakouts. It’s your fault.’’ 

“I have not. Not---not lately.’’ She pouted. “It’s---they just keep coming back and it’s itchy---it’s so annoying and--’’ She stared at him spitefully. He found her attempt at being malicious amusing. And endearing. “--you don’t even have one.’’ Fay gave him a once-over. “And now you’re growing taller as well.’’ He was. If he kept going at that rate, by spring he might end up taller than her. 

Damian just stared at her smugly. In all honesty, he hadn’t been completely immune to the pains of adolescence but she didn't need to know that. 

He was becoming ganglier which required him to adjust his diet and training to gain more muscle mass, as his body kept burning through everything momentarily. There were the usual pain growths as well: hair growing at an alarming pace, more recently on his jaw and chin, his voice changing which made him inclined towards speaking in a lower register let him risk another incident like that time. He had been arguing with his father when his voice just cracked in a most undignified manner and the sound that came out had been most revolting. His father had wisely not brought it up until they were back at the cave where he pointed out that he had experienced that all the time at his age. 

Most recently, nocturnal emissions had become a particular nuisance. They didn’t take place as often as they could have but he took minimal consolation in that. He did not recall the dreams that led to such events, nor he wanted to but he had been particularly careful about ensuring he never slept too deeply when he stayed at the warehouse. Contrary to what Grayson said or his research indicated Damian hadn’t also been plagued by sexual thoughts or fantasies. Damian was rather proud of that - he was a cerebral being. He wasn’t absent of such ruminations, they just did not rank as high on his list. 

But Fay was having a harder time than she did, from the looks of it. In addition to the similar pain growths he experienced and her sporadic skin outbreaks, Fay’s unique physiology seemed to present challenges of its own. 

She called it ‘ phasing ’. Fay wasn’t entirely sure if she was experiencing it but the phasing stage was when her marks were bound to change in line with other developmental changes she went through. The marks hadn’t changed yet but she had started suffering from intermittent bouts of sensorial overload which required her to lay down in a very isolated and quiet environment. Her skin tended to get over sensitive at times, particularly around her marks which led her to have frequent ice baths and rely heavily on oils and creams. She didn’t like discussing it and even less admitting to it, but he’d noticed that her skin peeled around her marks causing her skin to be raw for several hours after. That generally appeared to take place in the same period she experienced her cycle. It was useful having notifications in regards to that (which was another piece of information she didn't know he had). He’d learned by then that Fay required space most times in those moments, although she never turned down books or chocolate. 

He had compared her to a reptile, which was ironic considering her father’s clan history of interacting, learning from, and taming dragons. It had been amusing. For a few seconds only. Fay had nearly put him through the wall of her bedroom right after that, very clearly not amused. She had grown rather comfortable with being violent. He was rather proud of it at times. But he decided to keep any reptile-related comments to a minimum unless they were training. 

Her control over the flux fluctuated wildly as well. There were days when she struggled to channel it properly and other days when she had to train for several hours to exhaust herself and feel in control. Like having ants or needles underneath her skin, she had described it. 

Fay sighed loudly as she sunk on the chair of her desk. “There was this amazing salve my mother used to prepare. It felt so nice. I wish that plant grew here.’’ 

“You’ve experienced this before, then.’’ 

She nodded. “I don’t remember much because I was young. My marks would itch and hurt times but never this badly. They haven’t changed since I was four or five.’’ 

“Is that not the norm? You’ve said they are bound to change several times throughout your life and it also depends from individual to individual.’’ 

“Yes.’’ She sighed. “My mother had more than I did at my age. And I know other children who had them--but theirs had changed earlier than mine.’’ She rolled her eyes. “Healers always blamed everything on the trauma. Or on my mixed bloodline.’’ 

“Have you asked Barlow?’’ 

“I thought you said I shouldn’t get too close to her.’’ 

Not that it wasn’t obvious Fay was going through changes. Daphne would have noticed as well, given her knowledge of Fay’s world. Why not take advantage of it? 

“Keep details to a minimum including how your abilities are affected. If she knows, she’ll offer it on her own.’’ He’d seen how frustrated she'd get at times. How she'd look in the mirror with barely contained self-disgust. That, of course, had different root causes but his friend struggled particularly in those moments. Damian didn't fully understand why would she see herself that way - he didn't - but he knew that how others have treated her played a part in that. As well as the constant comparisons she must have heard between herself and her parents. 

Fay smiled. “Alright.’’ 

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“Um, Mr. Wayne, are you sure it’s okay---for me to be here?’’ Fay asked. Not for the first time either in that hour alone. Damian had practically dragged her there two days before and told her she’ll stay until after Christmas. 

Bruce’s large hand landed on her head. “You are hardly a guest anymore.’’ His son had made sure of that. “Christmas celebrations are important in this household. I am sure you’ll enjoy it.’’ Fay smiled tentatively as she looked around. “It looks amazing. Thank you.’’ Then she ran off towards the youngest Wayne who looked as if he was about to start an argument with Tim over which present was better wrapped. 

Bruce watched her hand brush against Damian’s wrist. Subtle. The boy didn’t look at her but tutted loudly before turning around to strut off. Fay smiled at Tim placatingly before she was pulled to the side by Stephanie. 

“Bats, cats, and now fairies,’’ Selina remarked as she appeared beside him, snaking an arm around his elbow. “What’s next?’’ 

Bruce grunted. “Damian insisted.’’ He hadn’t protested either. His son would have just been in a mood the entire night then gone to the warehouse after dinner, as the previous year. Not that Bruce was allowing the girl there just to indulge his son. Part of it was also the philosophy of keeping the unknown close to him. Another part was what Dick had told him weeks earlier about acknowledging that Fay had slowly but gradually become a part of the family. Damian certainly treated her as such, given the trust and time he reserved for her. 

And Bruce could not say his son had made a bad choice. 

“Ever the doting father.’’ Selina teased as she raised herself on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “I like her.’’ She glanced at the green-eyed teenager. “I can see why he does too.’’ 

“It’s not like that.’’ Bruce was pretty sure someone in the family had started bets on that. He preferred not to ruminate on it. How long before his son will start discussing wanting to take over the mantle again? Or perhaps, given his inclination towards making bonds outside of family and their influence, Damian might choose to go on a separate path.

“Of course not. But he does like her. In whichever manner.’’ Selina leaned against him. “ Or perhaps adoring is the more appropriate word.’’ 

She wasn’t wrong. It wasn't obvious with someone like Damian, but he did seem to care deeply about Fay. 

“She prefers dogs.’’ He said, slightly teasingly, glancing at Bagheera who was eyeing Alfred like a hawk. He knew the butler held the power when it came to getting more food. Titus must have realized it too because he watched Alfred just as intently. 

“He is a paladin, darling, not a dog. Do pay attention.’’ 

That made Bruce look at her. “You’ve met, I see.’’ 

A couple of weeks earlier, Damian had sent her on a low-level mission to apprehend a group responsible for stealing exotic cats. Selina watched the girl absolutely entertain herself as she and her paladin tormented the thieves, before knocking them out. Then Fay released the two tigers and tended to them, with a rather reckless approach as she seemed undeterred by their hostility. Yet unsurprising given she was accompanied by a beast as well. Curious, Selina had engaged with her in a brief conversation. 

“You could say that.’’ She said cryptically. 

That year, they had a new person appearing in the family Christmas photo. Dick made sure to take several additional ones when the two teenagers didn’t pay attention. 

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Kissing on New Year’s Eve was a popular, well-known tradition in that world. Almost as popular as having to kiss the one you’re stuck with underneath a mistletoe. Such traditions weren’t uncommon in her world but she did find those two rather strange. Thankfully, for Christmas, she hadn’t stepped underneath any mistletoe at the same time as another person. It wasn’t as if a kiss was mandatory but still. 

For New Year, Fay stayed at the warehouse. A party was thrown at the Wayne Manor, as it usually was the case at that time of the year although Bruce and many other members ended up having to balance that with the patrol. It was an eventful night, given the amount of drinking and celebrations that were taking place. 

Fay had previously heard of the New Year tradition from Dana, and a week earlier, Cora had mentioned it again when she expressed annoyance at how other girls from the academy seemed to be very focused on it, just as they liked posting many photos of their Hallmark-like holidays. Fay wasn’t sure what Hallmark was but then again, social media and pop culture still managed to elude her. Cora had been teaching her some things but Fay found it all so confusing or unnecessary and at times, terribly addictive as well. 

On New Year’s eve, though, she went up to the roof and sat in the covered seating area, watching Gotham in the distance. The weather was frigid and it had snowed several times that week, but the snow had not managed to build up more than several inches. Gotham’s streets were covered in sleet, however, and the river was largely frozen. 

Fay spent hours watching colorful explosions illuminate the sky. There had even been one that mimicked the Batsymbol at one point. She’d been tempted to fly high up in the skies so she could see the view from there but she didn’t want to risk being seen. Or worse, collide with one of the fireworks. She listened to the televised countdown on her phone, and when the clock struck midnight, Fay could hear the celebrations echo from the other side of the river. The sky was so bright for several minutes that when she closed her eyes, she could see the lights flashing beneath her eyelids.

Bagheera wasn’t a big fan given his sensitive hearing so he preferred retreating inside the warehouse to shield himself from the noise along with the other pets. 

A little past three am, Fay watched Damian land on the roof. He was still in his Robin suit, and he approached her at an unhurried pace. He looked unharmed but his breath condensed when he spoke. “If you get sick, I will not cancel training.’’ She was dressed in thick layers and had brought a blanket with her as well, so she felt fine except her hands and feet felt colder than usual. Damian was just being dramatic. 

Fay stared at him pensively. According to the folklore of that world, the first person one encounters in the New Year determines whether if they’ll have a good fortune or not in the upcoming year. That it was Damian the first person she saw was rather fitting and not at all surprising. She floated over to him and placed her hands on his shoulders. Before the doubt could settle in she quickly leaned to kiss his cheek. 

Cora said it didn’t have to be a romantic kiss. Fay didn’t believe in such superstitions but she felt compelled to follow them if only because she wanted to take all precautions. 

“Happy New Year.’’ She said with a smile, heat traveling quickly to her cheeks making them tingle. Damian stared at her through his domino mask. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. 

“That is a silly superstition.’’ He said, voice quieter than before. For a moment he almost asked her how come she had kissed his cheek instead given the tradition dictating otherwise, then immediately dispelled that thought. He hadn’t thought about kissing her in that manner. Yet he did wonder, all the same. 

Just a curiosity. 

Fay shrugged. “I know but you are the first person I saw and-I su-suppose I wanted to make sure that I wanted to start the year right.’’ 

He wasn’t bothered by it. But he’ll have to dissect and analyze that moment later on. 

“Want a hot chocolate?’’ Fay asked, after a few seconds not sure what else to say as he kept scrutinizing her. He grunted in response, and she turned around to fly towards the stairs leading to the rooftop of the garage. Silly girl, she could have just flown over the edge of the building directly to the main entrance. Or one of the windows. 

Damian followed her inside. As she puttered about, preparing the hot chocolate, he shed the heavy layers of his suit and then checked on the dogs. They had huddled all together around the paladin near the ground floor fireplace, all disgruntled by the sound of fireworks. 

“Here you go.’’ Fay handed him. It was nowhere as presentable as Pennyworth’s but the hot liquid felt great against his throat after an entire night spent in the damp, cold weather. His suit was equipped to protect him from the elements and he did have a fit enough metabolism to help him cope with patrol in those conditions, but that weather had a way of insinuating itself either way.  

Fay rubbed at her eyes. “I think--I am going to sleep.’’ She muttered after drinking half of the hot chocolate and placing the mug on the coffee table. 

Damian wasn’t sure what possessed him but when she glided past him to head towards the stairs, he grabbed onto the blanket she had kept around her shoulders. Fay turned around, mid-air, looking confused. Tugging her towards him as if she was a balloon, Fay was forced to land her feet on the floor. 

“What--’’ 

He leaned forward and pressed his mouth against her right cheek. The scent of chocolate and frost mingled together and invaded his nostrils. The chaste kiss was exactly two seconds longer than hers had been. When he pulled away, slower than she did, Fay could have sworn she felt something brush against her lips, barely touching her like a butterfly’s wings. She must have imagined it. 

Her face felt incredibly warm and the spot where he'd kissed her tingled. It hadn't been the first time he did that but...it felt different. Maybe because it had been so unexpected. 

The boy straightened and he stared at her with a cool expression.  

“Happy New Year.’’ 

And with that, he walked past her and went to his bedroom, leaving the befuddled girl standing in the middle of the room.

Just a curiosity. 

Yet it didn’t feel fully satiated. 

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On the third anniversary from that night, Fay stayed in bed for three days. She didn’t experience a Bad Day per se, but she felt a constant sense of anxiety that put her on edge. The sadness she felt was almost palpable, and it hadn’t helped that she ended up experiencing her period that same week. Her body felt weak and her marks hurt and her temperature oscillated constantly. All in all, she just felt awful. 

Damian gave her the space she needed, and neither one of them talked about the books or luxurious European treats that appeared in her room. On the fourth day, Fay came into his room and watched him work on his laptop. Gliding over to his bed looking like a miserable ghost especially with the blanket around her, Fay laid down on it. 

“I watched people die. And I didn’t do anything about it.’’ She murmured as she glanced at the journal in her lap where she’d been documenting her dreams. “I think---that’s who the bodies are. They are all...people who died that night.’’ 

“You were not in a position to help anyone. War or any large physical battle is bound to incur casualties in most cases regardless of the cautions taken.’’ Always the logical one. They both knew that statistics or war theories did nothing to assuage her survivor’s guilt. Or the fear that the night terrors induced. 

Fay hummed in affirmation, as she slid underneath the covers and pressed her face into his pillow. The journal was abandoned on the floor. 

“Sometimes...I think I hate them.’’ 

And with that, she fell asleep. 

Damian didn’t bring up the comment the next day. There was no need for them to discuss it. He understood that regardless of how much she adored and respected her parents, she also carried a small yet undeniable level of bitterness. Of resent. Because she believed they had been infallible and yet they have failed her. Not just one parent, but both. And if there was a chance that they anticipated what was going to take place that means they also knew how much she’d suffer. 

That is the problem with placing people on pedestals. They are seen as perfect, undefeated until they are not. 

Just like he had once believed Batman was. 

(He still did, just as she still looked up to her parents) 

Damian closed down his laptop, then glanced at her sleeping figure. Bagheera was standing by the door looking wide awake. The paladin didn’t sleep as much when Fay was going through a difficult period, preferring to focus on being by her side. But he was grieving as well, in his own ways, in those days. 

“How about a race?’’ Damian proposed as he grabbed his boots. 

“Rgggg.’’ 

If the boy offered him apples and other treats after, it remained a secret. 

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3rd of March. It has been two years since she left her homeland. Two years since she’s last seen Maysoon and her family. Much has changed in those two years. 

Damian organized another scavenger hunt for her that year. It was just as exhilarating as the last one although she didn’t manage to finish all challenges on time. 

No matter. 

Fay reveled in those moments, in the traditions and habits they established. She will never ever take the small moments for granted. Because one never knows when things might change again, suddenly and irrevocably. 

She wasn’t wrong. 

Chapter 47: Of worlds clashing (I)

Chapter Text

‘’My worlds collide. When one thing happens, it just starts a domino effect - everything else goes on.’’

Wanda Sykes

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18th of March

Fay curiously looked around the hundreds of colorful graphic novels and related paraphernalia that filled the shelves. Posters, toys, clothing, accessories, tech gadgets, memorabilia. It was quite an incredible sight. Fay knew Robby frequented such places, but she’d never gotten a chance to explore one herself until that moment. 

“Pretty cool, right?’’ Cora said, who walked around the store with the same familiarity as a staff member. Fay followed her on the escalator leading to the second out of three floors. The ground floor was more of a regular bookshop containing office supplies based on pop culture such as the Harry Potter notebook that Cora selected.

“Yes. It is.’’ Fay remarked quietly then explored the shelves one by one. There were few comics that she recognized but the Japanese section of graphic novels drew her attention. Fay had seen several of those illustrated books in Damian’s room - he seemed to be a fan, discreetly so. She was tempted to buy him a few of them but she wasn’t sure which. 

Cora was, thankfully, quite knowledgeable and she quickly gave Fay a rundown of the series she’d already read. Fay ultimately got one short series for herself and the first volumes of another couple series that she thought Damian might enjoy as well. Bagheera wasn’t picky, he just enjoyed it when she read to him stories. 

Fay wasn’t sure how long she’d been there when she finally made it to the highest level of the store, but the number of customers had dwindled to a dozen or so. Cora had excused herself to the bathroom on the ground floor, leaving Fay temporarily alone. 

Which is perhaps what her stalker must have been waiting for to make their move.

Growing up, Fay had always been naturally sensitive to energies around her but it has never been a consistent ability. Seasoned flux masters are capable of masking their energy so well that only someone particularly talented or just as experienced would be able to detect it. Her mother, after many years of practice, had been able to hide it completely making it virtually undetectable if she wished for it. Fay had never come close to being able to hide hers, due to how volatile her flux had always been. Likewise, she hadn’t yet reached the stage where she could identify or track down other energies effectively.  

But at that moment she did. Fay did not recognize the energy, but she could feel it clearly. A sort of electricity running up and down her spine and then traveling down her limbs, making her marks ache. Goosebumps formed on her skin immediately after and the small hairs at the back of her neck stood up. 

The energy felt colder than hers yet heavier. During training, her tutors used to tell her that the more experienced or powerful a user is, the more their flux will feel suffocating. The pressure will be like an invisible weight being thrown over her. The bigger the pressure, the bigger the danger.

The flux user nearby hadn’t appeared out of anywhere. They chose to reveal themselves in that moment, which meant Fay was being watched and she hadn’t even realized it. Alarmed, she glanced around the store. Her body felt tense, shoulders rigid. Her flux coiled underneath her skin. 

The energy she was feeling wasn’t the most powerful she ever felt, but it was the first time since arriving in that world, that Fay felt something of that level. And it might even be just a taster of what the individual was capable of. 

Stepping through the rows of books and display cases cautiously, Fay looked around, inspecting the other customers in the store. None of them paid attention to her. It was frustrating, but she couldn’t pinpoint the exact location of the flux. Logic dictated it couldn’t come from all directions. The user was simply projecting in that manner, which was a frightening skill in itself. Had Bagheera been with her, he’d have been able to track the person much faster.  

Fay discreetly reached towards her watch and tapped twice against the screen. The digital projection of the analog watch disappeared in favor of a menu. It was a custom-made watch with security software built-in that allowed her to easily send out a distress signal. Damian was bound to get it within seconds and if he was unable to respond, then someone else would. 

A wave of nausea threatened to make her expel the delicious lunch she’d had earlier with Cora. There was pressure at the back of her head that felt as if her skull was being squeezed. Fay stopped near the end of the room where a children’s section was, to regain her bearings. 

The energy disappeared as suddenly and quickly as it appeared. The pressure in her skull vanished but it left her with throbbing temples. 

“Hello, Lafayette.’’ 

Fay’s breath hitched, her head snapping to her left where the voice came from. A petite woman with dark curly hair and slanted eyes, dressed in inconspicuous clothes. If Fay didn’t know any better, she would have assumed the woman is just another Gothamite.

But she did know better.

She said my full name. Does she know who I am?

As far as Fay knew, Damian was still at the manor, training. It would take him less than ten minutes to reach her. 

Fay remained rooted to her spot, staring at the woman, committing all of her features to memory. The woman was the one who had essentially tortured her that day at the Manor. She was also quite possibly the reason Fay could fly again. Unless that had been an unwanted or unexpected side-effect of whatever had been done to her. 

“Who are you?’’ Fay asked quietly. She was mildly proud of not having stuttered, of not feeling as afraid or anxious as she once would have been. They were in a public space. She couldn’t make the first move and if the woman decided to attack, innocent people could get hurt. Cora could get hurt. 

The woman raised her hands in a placating manner. 

“It’s okay.’’ She reassured. “I mean no harm to you. I am not surprised you don’t remember me. Last time we met, you were very young.’’ 

Fay frowned. That the woman was from her world was obvious, but someone she’s already met? Who could it be? 

“I am a former member of the Resistance.’’ Well, that answered Fay’s question. “I was an ally and…. a friend of your mother. Of your father as well.’’ She had an American accent, her English as fluent as a native speaker. 

Why not speak in one of their homeworld languages, though? 

“My name is Kaera.’’ 

It was vaguely familiar. Fay couldn’t be certain if she had indeed met the woman before or not though. Kaera was not an uncommon name so she could have heard it elsewhere. 

Kaera slowed her movements, as she took out an item from the pocket of her leather jacket. It looked like a folded piece of white paper which she showed to Fay to emphasize it wasn’t a weapon. Then she unfolded it and turned it around, revealing the item to be a photograph. 

Fay hesitantly stepped closer to look at it, just enough so she could discern the subject in the photograph. Her mouth went dry when she recognized the young girl in the picture. 

It was Fay herself, perhaps no older than four or five, in her mother’s arms. An equally young Bagheera was by her mother’s feet, looking up at them with his tongue lolling out of his mouth. 

Next to them, Fay recognized Baije’s hulking figure, bald and dark-skinned with the same cheerful dark eyes she remembered. He was captured pinching Fay’s cheek with his free hand which had caused her younger version to pull a face. Her mother looked wildly amused. Unsurprisingly, Baije’s other hand was holding a large glass of what Fay knew to be the finest ale of Aeryg, his favorite. There were a few other people captured in that photograph, some more familiar than others. 

But standing next to Baije with a more muted but equally happy smile was the same curly-haired woman standing before her at that moment. Her hair was longer, thick ringlets framing her face and falling to her collarbones.

So... she was telling the truth. Fay wasn’t sure whether to feel guilty or not. She didn’t recognize the woman at all.  The paranoid, fearful side of her said that didn’t mean Kaera was still an ally. Their first encounter hadn’t certainly pointed to that.

Kaera lowered the photo, folded it, and put it back in her pocket. She was frowning now. 

“You are not safe here, Lafayette. You have to come with me. Bagheera too.’’ 

That was certainly not going to happen. Fay was rather done with being taken against her will. 

“What do you want from me?’’ Fay asked. “Why are you here? And---what did you do to me? Back-back there.’’ 

Kaera took a step forward, which in turn motivated Fay to take one back. 

“Please,’’ The woman said, with urgency, growing more alarmed. Her eyes flitted past Fay’s shoulder towards the rest of the store. “I know this is confusing but we have to go. They know you are here.’’ 

Fay glanced over her shoulder. There was no one there except a handful of customers. Then again, she had failed to notice Kaera earlier as well so maybe there was someone else lurking in the shadows, ready to attack. 

Or perhaps it was a trap.  

Kaera’s energy manifested again. Not as strong as before, but Fay was standing closer and she could feel how sharp it felt. She couldn’t put it in words exactly how it made her feel but she could tell that the woman’s flux was potent. Most likely, she was also very good at using it. 

“Shit.’’ She hissed, although her frustration wasn’t directed at Fay at all. “They are here.’’ 

“Who? Who is here?’’ Fay asked, agitatedly, looking between her and the rest of the store. A couple of hundred feet away from where they were standing, she could spot the escalators leading customers from the floor below to that one. Cora’s blond curly hair came into view. The girl stepped off the escalator and looked around curiously, no doubt looking for Fay. 

The fire alarm went off suddenly, the piercing sound jolting customers out of their conversations and perusal of the store’s items. A staff member on that floor loudly announced for everyone to head towards the staircase he was pointing at. 

Dread settled in Fay’s stomach. That could not be a coincidence. 

“You need to hide.’’ Kaera moved so fast that Fay didn’t have time to react. The woman pushed her forcefully, her strength inhuman. Fay could barely feel the slight amount of flux she used to achieve that, a further testament to her mastery. She went flying backward, amongst the rows of graphic novels but stopped herself short of slamming against a display full of figurines. Mid-air, with her scarf hanging loosely from her neck, Fay looked up at the woman. 

Kaera had turned to face an invisible opponent in the direction Fay had looked earlier, posing herself in a traditional fighting stance Fay had seen and used many times before.

“Get out of here, right now!’’ The woman warned. When Fay didn’t move, the woman glanced at her. “Run, now!’’ She snarled. 

Fay’s instincts told her it was best to follow the woman’s advice although she hadn’t yet established whether she was truly an ally or what the woman wanted from her. Planting her feet on the ground, she started running in the direction of the fire exit which was at the other end of the room. 

The ground shook underneath her feet as an explosion followed and Fay threw herself on the ground, rolling to the side to press herself near the wall as shelves started toppling onto one another. Glass displays shattered, pages went flying in the air. The fire sprinkles turned on, spraying water everywhere. 

Fay glanced over her shoulder, but she could barely see anything through the smoke. The explosion had been that big? There seemed to be too much smoke, too thick, compared to what she heard. Kaera’s flux was once again an uncomfortable pressure at the back of her skull.

Shadows flitted across the room, and Fay tensed as she was unable to make out whether it was the smoke or perhaps whoever was after Kaera. And Fay herself, as well, it appears. She quickly moved from her position, towards the fire exit which was only thirty feet or so away. There were no other customers left on that floor and the escalators had stopped working. 

Another explosion forced her to stumble through the fire exit door where a pair of arms grabbed onto her. Fay gasped and immediately gathered energy in her hands, ready to use it to push the assailant away. 

It’s me.’’ 

Coughing, Fay lowered her hands as Damian released the hold he had on her shoulders. He was dressed in a mix of what appeared to be his dark incognito attire and Robin suit, with a dark red armor vest and his tall, laced boots.

She relaxed significantly, upon seeing him. “Where’s Bag?’’ 

“Outside.’’ Damian glanced towards the door she exited from, with furrowed brows. “What is happening?’’ 

Fay opened her mouth to tell him, but she was interrupted by a third explosion that manifested very close to where they were standing. She felt the energy reverberate through the air, heading towards them like a wrecking ball so she pushed both herself and Damian out of the way to the upper floor.

The fire door was completely shattered. Smoke quickly filled the corridor, causing her to experience a very strong sense of deja vu.

A strong current of energy made her shudder and looking up from the landing between floors where she and Damian had ended up, Fay’s mind struggled momentarily to process what she was looking down at. 

The stairs below them had fused with part of the wall that separated the fire exit from the rest of the store floor. The steps had also lost their geometric shape to assume unnatural curving as if the staircase was a sponge that someone had decided to twist around. Fay felt the remnants of the flux that caused the structural changes. 

It was incredible. Fay had only witnessed such ability only a handful of times before, but it appeared Kaera used her flux to decompose and restructure matter. Much like flux masters capable of utilizing multiple natural energies, the manipulation of matter is not necessarily a common ability in her world. There are varying degrees of skill one could reach much like in the case of elemental manipulation, but Kaera had to be a top-tier master. 

Said woman appeared seconds later, stepping out of the smoke, and Fay was keenly reminded of a painting that hung on the fourth floor of the old palace. It depicted an ancient order of female warriors that had trained under Maysoon’s guidance, eons earlier. Fay had often marveled at that painting, often hoping she could look at least half as imposing as those women. 

Damian was already upon his feet, poised to attack the woman but Fay stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. That photo certainly put things in perspective. Even if she wasn’t truly an ally, she still could have the answers Fay had been seeking.  

The woman looked relieved to see Fay, then her eyes narrowed at the sight of the masked boy. Turning around, she swiped both of her hands in the air as if to form two wide circles and the two teenagers watched as electricity sizzled around her. In the smoke, the energy she wielded looked like flashes of lightning among dark clouds.

They watched as the woman willed the gaping hole left by the missing door and crumbling wall to close. Fay understood, in theory, what she was doing. Kaera was using existing matter - the cement of the remaining walls - to seal the entrance by deconstructing and reconstructing it. 

Shutting off the oxygen supply to the fire that had started on the store floor, the smoke also cleared significantly. The fire alarm continued to ring loudly, however, and Fay’s head started to throb even harder. There was a constant pressure she felt, like an invisible heavy blanket being thrown over her.

Kaera turned towards them. Her clothes were dusty and the scarf she’d worn around her neck was gone. There was a cut on her right bicep, deep enough to cut through her jacket and shirt underneath. It was bleeding and judging by the depth of it, a few stitches might have been needed. 

“That won’t hold for long. We need to leave, Lafayette. Now.’’ 

“She’s not going anywhere.’’ Damian sneered. “How about you tell us who is after us?’’ 

Kaera stared at him icily. Fay was rather wary of that expression. Damian, on the other hand, took it as a challenge. “Or I will make you tell us.’’ 

Fay dearly loved her friend but, sometimes, he really didn’t know when to just keep his mouth. As talented as Damian was, Fay did not want them to take on Kaera. Surely there was a better way of finding answers and the woman had seemed rather willing to offer them up until the moment the mysterious assailants showed up. 

The woman opened her mouth, no doubt to point out how aggravating the boy was - Fay had learned that was generally the default reaction most people had when it came to Damian - when a sound on the other end of the newly formed wall drew all of their attention. 

The wall would have been thinner than it’d been originally. To Fay’s knowledge, masters like Kaera can only use already existing matter but seeing as part of the wall had been destroyed, she would have had to thin out the rest of the structure to cover the gap. Like stretching a cloth to its limits.

And whoever was on the other side of the wall would have an even easier time smashing their way through. Or in that particular case, judging by the distinctive thumping noises, punch their way through the wall. Cracks appeared, insidious and spreading as quickly as oil. 

“Go, right now!’’ 

Damian did not like running from a fight. He did not generally feel a need to, much rather tackling his enemy head-on instead. Kaera’s presence didn’t sit well with him, and he’s not sure why Fay had stopped him from attacking the woman but at first glance, it appeared they had a common enemy.

Who was the enemy on the other side of the wall, though?   

Tutting, he pushed Fay towards the upper floor. There was only one more, generally used by the staff members as it contained the storage rooms. There was also an exit leading to the rooftop there, which is how he came in. 

Kaera followed closely behind, exiting right after them. With electric energy flaring around her body, she fused the exit with the rest of the wall, sealing it off.

They were two days away from the official start date of the spring period but the weather refused to grow any warmer, stubbornly keeping temperatures in single digits at night and just barely above that during the day. That week it had been raining non-stop and that day was no different. Glancing at her watch, Fay could see it was only twenty past six in the afternoon but between the receding winter and the stormy weather, the evening had set in early.

Fay spotted Bagheera on the roof of two buildings over at the same time he saw them. The paladin quickly made the jump over to rush to her side. 

Kaera looked between them and the boy, with a calculating expression. Perhaps she was pondering the boy’s presence and what he meant that Fay was so close with him.

“You need to leave. They will kill you.’’ Kaera glanced over her shoulder towards the sealed door. They all heard the sound of the wall crumbling down echoing two floors below.  

“Who is they?’’ Damian and Fay asked simultaneously, in very differing tones. One was impatient, the other was anxious. 

Kaera cautiously moved to the side, so she could have both the teenagers and the door in easy view. She regarded Fay with a look the girl knew well. It was the type of expression people carried when they knew the information they had might hurt or devastate the receiver. She’d seen it so many times that it was to pick up on. 

Lafayette, you need to leave. If this boy is your ally, then tell him you are in danger.’ It wasn’t the language of Maysoon, but a dialect of Aedyr. Fay knew the language of the Empire, quite well, but she was startled to hear it after such a long time. At that moment, she wasn’t even sure she could fluently reply in that language. “You have to trust me, please.’’ 

Fay’s breath was stuck in her throat. Vaguely she heard Damian snap at the woman to speak in English. 

“Who is after me?’’ She asked shakily.

Kaera was not able to offer an answer. She was forced to jump away, as were Fay and Damian when their mysterious enemy forcefully pushed their way through the sealed roof entrance. Debris scattered everywhere, and clouds of dust and smoke quickly rose up to the sky. 

“Remember the plan.’’ Damian hissed at her.

“Al--alright.’’ 

The plan was that should Damian decide that it was best for her to retreat from a fight, she’d have to follow his lead and escape along with Bagheera. They had gone over different signals he’d communicate that her both verbal and non-verbal. Fay wasn’t entirely keen on the idea of potentially leaving Damian behind, but she did trust his ability to recognize their odds of winning a fight. 

With Bagheera to one side and Damian to the other, Fay braced herself in a fighting position, gathering flux in her hands, and mentally recalled the progress she’s made so far to stoke her courage in persisting.

The universe had a way of throwing her curveballs, however. No amount of training could have prepared her for what happened next. The assailants that exited the building and lined themselves before them were dressed in dark outfits with armor vests that had intricate emerald patterns along the edges. In the middle of their chest, the gold plates attracted her eyes immediately, her brain recognizing the stylized figure of the dragon inscribed in it. 

Each of the assailants was wearing a different mask from the other, but all equally elaborate. Finely crafted pieces that could have easily been displayed in an art exhibition for how striking they were. Each one was unique, Fay knew that because they were all personalized for the wearer and meant to capture their personality. Or rather, their warrior spirit. 

In her world, only the higher class of warriors are bestowed with such an honor. It is one of the traditions that had survived the changes that the revolutions brought forward, and many children still dreamt of reaching such a level of mastery in their life that they would be allowed to carry their own distinctive masks. 

The three men standing before them were elite warriors from her world. 

Lafayette Estaris. By order of the Emperor and the royal clan Estaris, you are hereby to return to Maysoon.’’ 

.

.

.

“Don’t listen to them!’’ Kaera called loudly. “They are not really warriors, Lafayette. They’re here to capture you!’’

Fay looked between the warriors and the woman. Well, that was a conundrum. How was she meant to tell who was saying the truth? Why would Kaera, a former remember of Resistance, not allow warriors of Maysoon to approach her?

“She’s not going anywhere, with either one of you.’’ Damian tutted, stepping in front of her, unsheathing his sword as he did so.

“We will eliminate anyone who stands in our way. Your Majesty, please do not make this difficult.’’ The masked warrior remarked calmly. Something was off about the way he spoke, but Fay couldn’t place her finger on it.  

Her mouth trembled. “They’ll...kill anyone who tries to stop them.’’ Damian scoffed, clearly nowhere as intimidated as she was. All those scenarios she had in her head of her family supporting her choice to be there, of the bonds she’s made, were suddenly crushed. 

It had to all be a mistake. A misunderstanding. There had to be more to it. Something didn’t make sense about it. She couldn’t figure it out, but her instincts told her something was off about their presence there. 

Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking. She suddenly felt very, very dizzy. 

When she refused to step forward and surrender, the warriors did not hesitate. And just as they promised, they were attacking with the intent to kill anyone who stood in their way. 

As they soon learned, they were not the only ones who had come searching for her as several more appeared within minutes.

.

.

.

Everything that followed was a blur. Fay acknowledged that her lack of experience with real battle was one of the reasons why she struggled to keep track of what was going on, as most of her focus was on one of the warriors trying to incapacitate her. 

Kaera was telling the truth. The warriors were not only above using force to capture Fay but they were also willing to harm her as evidenced by the blade she narrowly dodged.

She did fight back. Guided mostly by instinct, while her brain tried and tried to make sense of what was happening. The pelting rain was an advantage as well, as Fay found herself having little difficulty in using water to fend off her attackers. It was the only strategy she could employ - keep them as far as possible from her. There was no way she could take them on, and even if she did, she was outnumbered and out-skilled. 

Damian himself seemed to be struggling, as he went one on one with the first warrior that had spoken to them, engaged in a sword fight. Bagheera kept close to her, making his fierceness well known by quickly switching to his battle form. Kaera manipulated the constructions around them with the same ease that Fay did water, making it seem as if the bricks and steel and cement the buildings are made of are as easy to mold like clay.  

Everything after was a blur. The swordsman that Damian has been fighting with, tapped out and headed towards Fay. The boy had difficulty stopping him as two other warriors blocked his way. 

Kaera and Bagheera were too busy with their opponents as well. Fay braced herself, instinctively forming sheets of ice around herself to form a shield of sorts. The warrior that headed her way was fast, inhumanely so and she wasn’t able to keep track of his movements as he suddenly disappeared from her line of vision. 

It felt like fighting a shadow, one she could barely see but was nonetheless dangerous. Fay only caught glimpses of him right before he started tearing through her defenses. First, a front kick to the thinnest piece of ice to her left, then a swipe of his sword to the one on her right. 

Fay tried to rebuild her shield, over and over, but he was too fast. With some horror, she realized he was tiring her out. Even with the weather conditions, she could feel herself growing clumsier in recreating the shield with each minute pass.

She was not going to win against such warriors. Or assassins. Or whoever they were.

Fay gasped, as she felt her control over the thick block of ice in front of her unravel like strings being cut off. The ice cracked and shattered as the warrior that suddenly materialized in front of her punched his way through. Fay froze on the spot, taken back and confidence rapidly waning as she found herself with no defenses. 

The warrior raised his foot towards her chest. Fay just barely had time to raise her arms and block the kick. She could feel her bones jostle - or perhaps fracture? - as the thick boot connected with her body.

The world around her was suddenly moving very fast, as she was sent flying in the air, several hundred feet backward. Fay struggled to regain control of her body, so she was unable to stop herself from going through the windows of what appeared to be an office space.  

Fay squeezed her eyes shut, her body assailed by a series of sensations that made her nauseous. She felt the sharp sting of glass cutting into her skin, the pain flaring in her back and limbs as she landed harshly over the office furniture, rolling onto herself several times once she was on the ground. People were screaming in the background but the sounds were drowned by the ringing in her ears. 

Her stomach clenched and she threw up. Hair covered half of her face, blocking an already blurry vision and she tried to move to her hands and knees but her body refused to cooperate. 

Did she hear a female voice - Kaera? - call out to her. Fay groaned loudly at the way her head throbbed when she tried to look up.

What happened after, her brain only perceived in snippets, as she blacked out several times. 

She remembers being pulled up to her feet. Are those raindrops hitting her face? Where was Bagheera? And Damian? Someone was carrying her. Gunshots. An explosion. Smoke. A musty scent. Was that perfume as well? Clothes rustling. Police sirens in the distance. 

Then nothing. 

.

.

.

When Fay wakes up, the first thing that she becomes aware of is the pungent smell. Then the sound of water trickling. She moves slightly - she’s been propped against a cold, slick wall - but she’s not tied up nor does she feel as if she’s been drugged. By then she’s had plenty of experience with that to tell the difference. 

Her marks ache, but her flux is coursing freely through her veins. So, she hasn’t been captured then? Opening her eyes, she blinks a few times to adjust to the darkness. 

“You’re awake. Good.’’ 

A few feet to her left, there’s a bright sphere of light, about the size of a tennis ball, that has been placed on the ground. Fay recognized the technology. She’s been equipped with such light spheres in the past during travels or mock missions. Kaera stood near the light on what appeared to be an abandoned bin, in the process of removing a piece of metal from a very gnarly wound on her thigh. Blood trickled down her trousers and dripped on the dirty floor. 

Fay pulled herself up, ignoring vertigo and the way her stomach churned. It appeared they were in an abandoned subway station, judging by the litter and derelict adverts that still hung from the wall. The stairs to her left appeared to have crumbled down, blocking the exit. The tracks didn’t look functional either, both disappearing in darkness at each end. 

The water she’d heard earlier was coming from the cracked ceiling. Water? It was obvious they were underground, but did that mean they were underneath the river? Or it was just old pipes at fault? 

“What happened?’’ Fay asked, lowering her gaze from the ceiling to the woman. “Where’s--Bagheera and Dam---Robin?’’ 

Kaera grimaced slightly as she wrapped a long strip of cloth - it appears she’s taken it from her own shirt judging by how tattered it was - and tied it tightly around her wound.  

“Some of this world’s warriors showed up. Allies of that boy, I presume. Your paladin was safe, last I checked but I have had to remove you from there.’’ 

“What about him? The--the boy.’’ It felt strange to refer to Damian like that out loud. 

Kaera was silent as she fixed Fay with a steely expression. The girl’s heart sunk. 

“He’s alive.’’ But--? “They took him.’’ No. Oh, no. “So he will not be alive for very long. I believe they may plan on using him to extract information on you.’’ 

Fay shook her head. She shed the raincoat she was wearing, feeling encumbered by it, and let it drop on the floor. She was drenched anyway. Her backpack was lost in the fight, and her phone wasn’t on her so she must have dropped that as well. When she glanced at her wrist, she found that the screen of the watch was cracked. It was useless. 

“I need to go back.’’ She looked around for an exit. They couldn’t have used the stairs which meant they came through the tunnels. If she could figure out which way was the right one, then she should be able to get out of there rather fast by flying. 

Kaera stood up. “No.’’ 

Fay glanced at her. “He’s my friend--’’ 

“He’s an outsider---’’ 

That inflamed her. “That doesn’t mean he’s not my friend. You don’t know anything.’’ 

Kaera didn’t seem to agree, but she faltered slightly. “Alright. I am sorry. You’re right. I don’t. But you can’t go back. Those are not really warriors of Maysoon.’’ 

Fay frowned. “Then who are they?’’ 

“They’re mercenaries,’’ Kaera said simply. “Posing as warriors. Do you not find it strange that Maysoon warriors had been sent after you? That they attacked you the way did, in the plain day, and immediately tried to hurt you?’’ 

Fay opened her mouth to say no, it wasn’t strange. She was from Maysoon, after all. Then she really thought about it. For the warriors to travel through the Veil, they would have used a portal, not the dark paths, which meant the Council would have to be aware of it. 

“Given you are technically outside the Empire’s jurisdiction, Maysoon wouldn’t have had the authority to send their own men and women here. The Council would have had to approve the travel. If they had, they would have sent a special team. A discrete team. That would not attract unnecessary attention.’’ 

Fay contemplated that before responding. “...so the Council doesn’t know? How are they here then? And their---their masks. Those are the masks that---they’re fake? But why?’’ None of it made sense. 

Kaera sighed. “Someone from the royal court wants you dead.’’ 

Fay swallowed in an attempt to get rid of the lump that had formed in her throat. She failed. She and Damian had already theorized that someone close to her or her family had something to do with the bracelets almost killing her. Damian had also not wanted to exclude her own family from that theory but she’d found it hard to do that at the time.  

“Does the name Ranis mean anything?’’ 

“Y-yes. He---he’s--’’ Does that mean he’s--- “He’s an advisor at the court. He deals with um, diplomatic affairs and international relations.’’ 

Fay had only crossed paths with him a few times and he had always been cordial with her. Inoffensive, even. Ranis had never served as a warrior as far she knew so she wouldn’t have suspected him at all.

Then again, that was the point.

“Ranis was the one who proposed that you wear the seals,’’ Kaera said bluntly. “We believe that he may be acting on behalf of a conservative party.’’ 

“---but--my uncle. He didn’t want to. I---I had a choice.’’ 

“You did. You had problems with your flux, didn’t you? So he predicted you would once you heard there might be a way to help you.’’ Fay nodded slowly. “You running away had been unexpected, however. If you hadn’t, actually, the clan would have likely taken longer to discover he was corrupt.’’ 

Good things did come out of her running but she hadn’t expected that one. “What do you mean?’’ 

“Those bracelets were meant to incapacitate the use of your flux the moment you tried to defend yourself. Ranis was going to either kidnap or kill you while you were traveling. If you hadn’t run away he may or may have not succeeded. In fact, his men almost caught you in Sarien.’’ 

Fay’s eyes widened. Sarien was the name of the place where she met Len. “Wait. The man who sent me here---’’ 

“Yes. Len. He was a former member of the Resistance as well. He was the one who sent you here.’’ 

“But---I thought---I thought he used the dark paths….’’ 

Kaera shook her head. “We do not know of their location. Very few people did, including your parents and Baije. Unfortunately, they’re gone and Baije is missing. Len had used a portal to send you here.’’ 

“I don’t understand. Why he wouldn’t just tell me who it was? Why--why didn’t you when we first met? And why I can’t remember anything?’’ 

It seemed that with each answer she received, the more questions she ended up having. Fay did not have time to chat - she had to find Damian and Bagheera. 

“Ranis’ men tracked you to Sarien. Len had intended to send you to a safe location. Your parents had a contingency plan in place that if Maysoon ever proved to be unsafe, then myself or Baije or another close ally would bring you --and Titoh and Bagheera- to safety. In this world.’’ 

Fay brushed a hand over her face. The adrenaline had run out leaving her with an aching body. Her right forearm was very painful and she found herself keeping it lifted and pressed against her chest. 

“Len was kidnapped.’’ Kaera continued as the girl started to pace lightly back and forth as she tried to process the new information whilst also dealing with her pain. “It took us a year to retrieve him, so we didn’t know where you had been sent. We managed to save him, but unfortunately, Ranis’ men got their hands on the portal technology. I searched for you for months. It wasn’t until the Sponsor that I actually found you.’’ 

“So...you weren’t there because of me?’’ 

“No. I was there on a mission to track down and apprehend Bernard.’’ 

A mission? On behalf of whom? The Resistance? The Council? 

“But...how did Len have access? To portals. I thought only the Council---’’ 

“I work on behalf of the Council. So did Len.’’ Kaera admitted. “As former members of the Resistance, we may or may not have our ways of procuring that technology as well. The Council was made aware of Bernard’s activity but they are not aware you are in this world. I found you were in Gotham a few months ago. I wasn’t sure whether those masked warriors are your allies or whether you are being held against your own will so that is why I have not approached you immediately.’’ 

Fay’s head felt like it was about to explode.

“Alright. Um, so my family knows I am here?’’

“In this world, yes. Here in Gotham? No. Aryg is aware of Ranis’ corruption, and that Len was the one to send you here.’’ 

Fay nodded. “And---those men--they are in disguise and they were sent to kill me by Ranis?’’ 

“Exactly. There is no official order for your retrieval or arrest. Ranis has used the portal device to send his men to find you.’’ 

“But...how does he know where I am?’’ 

“His men have been searching for you as well just as I have. I am not sure exactly how they knew of the Sponsor, but you crossing paths with Bernard has also garnered their attention. Ranis also knows I am looking and that Aryg is suspecting him. Hence he is so desperate to get to you first.’’ 

It was a lot, but the puzzle was starting to become clearer, the information piecing together. 

Kaera limped forward a few steps. “Lafayette, I understand this is not easy. Albeit I am not a grand fan of the Estaris, they do not wish your harm. Your uncle would have sent an official rescue party but that may have played into Ranis’ hands.’’

Fay stared at her in confusion. “So...no one knows I am gone? What--what about Titoh? Is he-is he safe-you said my parents would have wanted him to go to--to this sanctuary.’’ 

“He has. Your brother is there, safe and sound. As far as it concerns your official status, Aryg has confirmed that you are travelling still. For your education and training.’’ 

Well, in a way she has been doing exactly that for the past two years. 

Fay nodded, more to herself than Kaera. “My uncle knows that Ranis has sent those men?’’ 

Kaera shrugged. “I have not been in contact with your uncle since last year. However, he is aware I am looking for you.’’

The more she thought about it, the more Fay realized that the men who attacked them back in the city had not behaved at all as warriors of Maysoon would have. Their approach had been rather crude, despite their skill. Elite warriors often served directly as royal guards or operating on behalf of Maysoon’s own council, formed of representatives from all clans. Rumors are - which Fay knows are not just rumors - that they are also used in covert or clandestine military operations, earning them the moniker of ‘unseen warriors’. Had her uncle wanted to send people after her, without the Council knowing, he wouldn’t have sent any official agents. He would have sent someone he trusted, a family member, or a close ally.

Someone like Kaera apparently. 

“Those are assassins, you said. Why would they disguise themselves, then? If they kill me, won’t that expose Ranis, especially---especially since you and my uncle know the truth?  

Kaera pursued her lips. “It’s a gamble, but look at this from the perspective of politics. After the attack on Maysoon, the public has been paranoid and ready to accept all kinds of theories about who perpetrated the attack, even without hard evidence. Ranis wants to use your disappearance to further the theory that Vontagor has been behind it. ’’

Ranis did not expect her to run away, much less for Len to succeed in sending her to that world. Ranis’ men may have looked for her, but Len hadn’t betrayed her real location. By sending them to look in Europe, Kaera was able to figure out what happened when she detected their travel there. Ever since then, Aryg had been monitoring Ranis as well.

However, none of them expected Fay to settle down there the way she did. Not only she managed to release herself from the bracelets, but she allied herself with warriors of that world. It wasn’t until Kaera infiltrated the Sponsor’s network – both to capture him and thinking he might be working for Ranis – that she found of his obsession with the dark paths and having found a child capable of decoding what he believed to be the secret.

“So you knew the Bible was a fake?’’

Kaera smiled ruefully. “Aranar was a red herring. Before my time, but I knew Bernard was chasing a wild lead. I also figured he had no business with Ranis but then he brought you there to interrogate you.’’

Which led Fay to remember a burning question she’d been wanting to ask for months.

“What did you to me? What was---that pain I felt?’’

Kaera’s smile faltered. “The seals on the bracelets were not the only ones that had been placed on you. There were others, unseen. On the inside.’’

Fay stared at her in horror. “What?’’

The woman glanced at her own watch. “I will explain it later, but right now, we need to go. We’ve been still for too long. We need to leave the city.’’ 

“No. I can’t leave--I need to find Bagheera---’’ 

“I will retrieve your paladin once we’ve put some distance---’’ 

No,’’ Fay said firmly more out of panic than defiance. It was all happening too fast. “I want to find Bagheera and Robin first.’’ 

“Lafayette---’’ 

“I am not leaving.’’ Fay stepped back as if to emphasize her resolution.

Click!

“I think the kid has made it pretty clear she knows what she wants.’’ 

Kaera looked briefly surprised, then rather irritated with the intruder. Fay glanced over her shoulder at the man who was poised several feet behind, a gun trained on the woman. She’d never have thought the sight of the red helmet could bring her such a relief, but it did. 

“Come here, kiddo,’’ Jason ordered. 

Fay threw the woman an apologetic look. Kaera was not malicious. She wasn’t the enemy either. She wasn’t there to hurt Fay and if she was telling the truth, then all she wanted to do was respect her parent’s wishes. So the girl did feel like a traitor for stepping away to stand closer to Jason although her desire to go after Damian did not change. She was no longer sure if she could stay there, just because she wanted to like Damian said. He promised that he will make sure no one will force her to leave, but she couldn’t bear putting him or anyone in danger. 

“Ah, ah.’’ Jason tutted at the woman when she tried to move. “I will shoot you.’’ 

“Please don’t,’’ Fay said, glancing at him. Then she looked at the woman. “Please. No--no fighting. I understand why you are doing this but I can’t...just walk away.’’ 

Kaera fixed her with an unreadable look before she exhaled sharply. “Very well.’’ Somehow, I am not surprised she ended up fitting in so well here. She threw a look to the Red Hood. “I will not fight you.’’ She looked back at Fay. “What is your plan, then?’’ 

Fay hesitated. 

“They took Bagheera,’’ Jason remarked. He did not lower his gun. Fay couldn’t blame him. “Their tracker showed they were taken on the outskirts of Gotham. Then they disappeared.’’ He gestured at the woman with his gun. “Any ideas of how that happened?’’ 

“Portals. They would have used them to come here as well. To do that, they’d have to know where exactly they are going. It is unlikely they will be able to move around too much in the next twenty-four hours. They must wait between trips.’’ 

“How far?’’

“It can be anything from a few miles to being countries over.’’ 

“Do you have any idea where they could have been taken?’’ Fay asked. Kaera hesitated, again. Fay stared at her pleadingly.  


The woman sighed again. Having warriors of that world privy to such information was a most unwanted complication but they were clearly allies of Fay. Kaera wondered just how much they all knew about her, and whether that loyalty was going to last. 

If it came down to it, Kaera might just need to eliminate them. The Council will certainly consider that strategy if they were to find out. She could potentially take on the masked man, but it appeared he was just part of a bigger network or guild of warriors of that world. If Fay refused to cooperate, it’ll be difficult to extract her. But Kaera knew she couldn't leave behind her paladin. 

“I might have an idea where they went.’’ 

 

Chapter 48: Of worlds clashing (II)

Notes:

New Artbreeder creations of how I have envisioned some of the characters can be found at the bottom of the page. Super-super bottom of the page, just in case there's readers who prefer envisioning the characters on their own.

Also, conversations that are in ''italics'' mean that the characters are speaking a different language. If it's just italics, then it's their thoughts.

Chapter 49 ETA: 13th of October

Guests can now comment as well.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

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He had been stripped of most of his equipment. His mask was no longer functional but it hadn’t been removed even when they blindfolded him.

His captors understood English. Damian knew they did because when he insulted their fighting ability, one of the masked warriors punched him in the face. His nose was broken now. Blood had gushed out of his nose all the way in his mouth and defiantly, he had spat on the shoes of his attacker. As if he would be broken so easily.

Damian was likely being used as bait to get Fay. The damn girl better not fall for it and come for him - he will get out on his own.

“Where is girl?’’ One of the assailants asked in broken English.

 Damian mocked his language ability. Two of his ribs were broken subsequently. Compared to some other beatings he’s taken in his relatively short life, that was hardly the worst one. He made a note to talk to Fay about the lack of finesse the warriors in her world demonstrated. It was embarrassing really.  

If he didn’t bleed out by then, of course.

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Damian had him first on his list to oversee Fay’s safety. Was Jason surprised by that? Yes and no. Yes, because he expected Dick or even Alfred to be the boy’s first choice. Perhaps even Bruce, who despite his paranoid tendencies, would have likely monitored Fay’s whereabouts. Jason initially assumed Dick was unavailable. Then Oracle told him that Dick was off that evening, and she already sent out a signal to Red Robin and Spoiler to look for Damian. Dick also decided to suit up when he’d heard, which meant that Damian had gone for Jason first.

His surprise was short-lived. He figured out why Damian chose him.

Jason would have no struggle with the no-kill philosophy, certainly if Fay’s life was in peril. If he had to put a bullet or two in someone’s head for trying to capture the kid, he is unlikely to hesitate. Clever little shit. Jason could appreciate why he made the choice he did but it also spoke volumes about the extent the boy would go to ensure Fay was safe.

He wondered if Damian would be willing to cross that boundary if it meant saving her.

Maybe.

It was only slightly past midnight when they arrived at the location that Damian was being held, on the periphery of Gotham County. Through a pair of long-range infrared binoculars, Jason counted seven different heat signatures posed around a lightning device like the one that Kaera had used earlier. The kidnappers had set themselves up near the crumbling walls of an old mill. They were at least twenty miles from the nearest populated area, and the thick forest there shielded them rather well. Well not from him, it didn’t.

Eight individuals, with the smallest one, tied up and laying on the ground. Damian. Nine, with the paladin who appeared to be lying unconscious not too far from the boy. Still alive, but either injured or knocked out. There had been ten assailants in total – Kaera had killed two of them, Bagheera a third one. He’d lost comms with the Oracle a few minutes before they arrived there. Jason got the sense the attackers were responsible for it because the closer they got to their location, the more his tech malfunctioned. Hadn’t Angel’s men caused blackouts of a similar nature many months earlier? They never did find the technology that had been used but they’d theorized it was from Fay’s world just like the senwi.

After they stopped about a mile away from the small camp, on higher ground to give them visibility of their target, Kaera explained that whilst not official warriors of Maysoon, the assailants were still dangerous. Mercenaries.

Oh well. Killing them will not be an issue. The fact that Damian was being so immobile also indicated they had a go at the boy. Jason might actually enjoy blowing their head off.

He ordered Fay to stay put. Kaera agreed to create a distraction. Her mobility was affected by her leg injury, but she could still use her flux. She could create a distraction and take out several of the assassins in just one go.

Of course Fay protested. She wanted to come with. Damian was clearly rubbing off her, cause the kid had become rather sassy. He half expected her to slam her foot on the ground in defiance. She didn’t, but she did talk back at him. Perhaps he did have a soft spot for her because rather than finding that annoying he found it amusing. Okay, a little bit obnoxious as well. They had no time to waste.

He was prepared to tie up the kid if she ended up insisting on being obstinate. Better than to let her use herself as bait, which apparently was what was planning.   

“Something is not right,’’ Kaera said suddenly, sounding surprised. Jason and Fay followed her gaze to the tendrils of smoke rising up to the sky from the orange and yellow glow in the distance. “...do you feel that?’’ 

Suddenly, the energy in the air felt as if they were standing next to a live wire. Fay shuddered. She could feel it in her marks, as well. Jason would have compared it to the electric feeling a storm brings about, except several times more intense. 

Glancing up at the sky, Fay could see the clouds roiling above their heads, lighting flashing temperamentally through them. It hadn’t stopped raining the whole evening, and the rain had only grown heavier in the last hour. The winds were so strong that she’d had to give up on flying, risking being pushed around like a leaf by the strong gusts of air. Flying in unfavorable weather was definitely a training exercise she should explore later on.  

The energy in the air, however, felt unnatural. It did not feel just like a storm.

“What is happening?’’

Kaera pursued her lips, looking apprehensive. She recognized the signs when she saw them.

“I believe a portal is being opened.’’ 

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Damian had a mental tally of the injuries he had been inflicted. His resilience was not shaken but he acknowledged that with each minute pass, he ran the risk of becoming discombobulated as a result of blood loss. His ribs ached the most, along with the deep cut in his left thigh. Two of his left fingers were broken, and the area around his right eye had started to swell underneath his mask and blindfold, so he kept it shut. 

He had pretended to be unconscious. The fact that his captors had grown desperate enough to beat him, only indicated that they had no idea where Fay was. Good.

He had two explosives that he had kept in a compartment in the heel of his boot, which he had removed when his captors assumed he had blacked out. A few feet from him, he could feel Bagheera’s low grunts and frustrated growls. He could not move and judging by the metallic clink he heard, Damian deduced the paladin had been chained. Special ones. Regular ones couldn’t have kept Bagheera incapacitated for so long.

Damian heard his utility belt being dropped approximately twenty feet to his left. He couldn’t tell whether his katana was still there, but he’ll have to make do with the shurikens in his belt. He was counting down the seconds until he used the explosives to cause a distraction and reach for his belt when he felt the change in the air. The electricity was so strong it felt palpable.

The warriors stepped past him, seemingly walking away. Damian moved his hands against his back where they’d been tied with rope. Good knot. The blindfold wasn’t tied as well, which was rather pathetic of his captors. Damian discreetly pressed his face against the ground, brushing his cheek so he could push the cloth up. Through just the one good eye, he saw that almost all of the masked attackers had grouped together about forty feet from where he was, near the crumbled wall of what was either an old church or mill house.  

Something had been drawn onto the wet soil, between them and the debris. A large circle that Damian estimated had a diameter of at least ten meters. Intricate symbols, some more geometric than others, were contained within the circle in symmetrical patterns. The only reason he could see them so clearly was that they’d started glowing.  

Some of them were familiar. Or at the very least looked similar to the seals he had seen on Fay’s destroyed bracelets.  

The energy was coming from that circle. Above them, the storm had reached its peak with winds so strong that it ripped leaves and thin branches off the trees around them. The sphere of light near his legs malfunctioned, going out just like a defective lightbulb.

One of the warriors stepped closer to the circle, holding a device only slightly larger than his palm. Damian could not discern any other details beyond that other than it was glowing, as well. 

A wave of heat traveled from the circle, unstifled by the cold rain. Air felt scarce, rarefied. 

His eye blurred. Then he realized that it was not his sight at fault. The space within the confines of the circle was distorted as the very fabric of reality was coming undone like a plastic film that’s been disturbed. Momentarily taken back, Damian watched as the runes within the circle grew brighter and brighter until he was forced to look away. It was only for a second, but when he looked back up, a mass of white energy had formed itself in mid-air.  

The mass shifted, taking a more defined shape, a circle that quickly expanded at an incredibly quick pace. Within seconds, the whole space within the circle looked like a wall of energy measuring approximately seven feet in height and four in width. 

A door, really, as crudely shaped as it was. Made entirely of energy that reverberated so strongly in the air that it caused the trunk of nearby trees to splinter, and its heat left scorch marks well beyond the circle that seemed to generate it. Even the warriors had been forced to step back.

Were they opening a---?

A portal!

And they’re using the storm? Either to mask the output of energy or as a source.

And out of the portal emerged a man, average height and weight with grey hair slicked back. His face was long, with an aquiline nose and deep-set eyes. His clothes - dark grey and gold - were elaborate and Damian had seen a similar fashion before. In the photos that Fay had shown him of her father.

The man crossed his hands behind his back and stared at the warriors unhappily, even as they saluted him - pressing their fist to their heart - before kneeling and bowing their heads before him. 

All except one. He had remained near Damian’s position. Out of everyone else, he was the shortest and quite possibly the youngest one as well. His mask was white with gold accents, more delicate in its details. It resembled an animal just like the rest of them. Damian suspected it was a bird but he could not be bothered to give much thought to it.

That kidnapper had only talked once. Whatever he said had upset several of his companions, Damian had noticed, but beyond that, he did not interact with any of them. He had also not bothered to approach Damian for interrogation or to take a hit at him. He was the swordsman that Damian fought. Fast. Experienced.

He had abandoned their fight to go after Fay and destroy her defenses. Yet despite having the chance to incapacitate her, he had thrown her off the roof. 

Something was off about him. 

He was the one who had tied Damian’s blindfold, as well.  

The man approached Damian’s position. He spoke, voice low and gravelly, in a language, Damian had become familiar with. He did not know enough to understand words beyond ‘paladin’ which Fay taught him. He also heard her name leave his lips. The man’s tone indicated he was annoyed. 

Damian righted himself onto his knees, gripping the explosives in his good hand. From the corner of his eye, he watched the masked assassin salute the man with a curt nod only. The older man’s eyes narrowed. He was not happy with the lack of respect, it seems but he did not comment on it.

Instead, he switched his attention to Bagheera and Damian, disgust contorting his features. The paladin could barely move, his body held down and restrained by thick chains with seals on it.

When the white-and-gold masked individual spoke, his voice was calmer than the others, almost soft. The man’s disgust shifted into ire, and he gestured with his hand towards the men who hovered behind him like loyal dogs. Damian watched as one of them, the same one who broke his fingers and kicked him in the ribs several times, pulled out his sword and stepped towards the paladin. 

“Don’t touch him.’’ Damian snarled. “Don’t you dare, you piece of--’’

He went ignored.

A sharp blade was swung through the air. Blood splattered everywhere, a few drops landing on Damian’s cheek. Many more stained the paladin’s fur.

Bagheera had stilled, just as everyone else present, watching the limp arm that had been cut cleanly from the rest of the arm and ended on the ground. The sword fell near the paladin’s stomach. The warrior’s wail of pain was cut short when the same blade that left him with no limb from the elbow down inflicted a cut in his jugular.

The man fell limply to the ground, blood still gushing out. The other assassins immediately went on guard, pulling out their weapons. The man - clearly not having expected such betrayal – shouted and quickly stepped back.

The traitor used his sword to cut through the chains holding the paladin, then much to Damian’s surprise, to remove the binds on his wrists before throwing over to him his katana. He had been keeping it on him from the looks of it.

“I believe we may have a common enemy.’’ He said smoothly.

He had a stronger accent than Fay but he spoke English better than the rest of his companions. 

“Hn.’’ It would appear so.

For now. 

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Fay had reluctantly agreed to stay put, if only because she wasn’t sure Jason was serious or not about tying her to the tree.

Ranis.

He was there. In that world. Because of her. He couldn’t have possibly known she had been captured so perhaps it had been a prearranged meeting? Fay was no longer sure. She didn’t understand the teleporting technology very well, much less the one used to transverse the Veil. As far as she was aware, portals weren't the type of technology that many had access to.

Yet the man who wanted her captured and possibly dead was there so who knows?

With bated breath, Fay watched through the binoculars as chaos ensued. She was on the sidelines again. Damian was injured. She could tell from how much slower he moved, by how he chose to be on defensive rather than offensive two out of three movements. She had gotten to know him too well to not see it. Bagheera had switched to battle form, his roars echoing through the forest and his flux palpable even from that distance.  

Despite being outnumbered, her side appeared to be on the winning side, especially when Jason and Kaera joined in. It only took seconds for tables to be turned, however.

Fay couldn’t tell who it was that threw in the first bomb, but several explosions caused her visibility through the binoculars to reduce. The portal also seemed to attract the storm, with lightning striking several times within the same radius of several hundred feet. Trees toppled over, smoke rose in the air.

The only thing she could feel clearly was the portal. Even so, the energy had started to dim.

Was the portal closing?

Fay dropped the binoculars, immediately, lifting herself up in the air. Energy drummed in her body.

The anger was easier to summon these days.

Why not let Ranis have a taste of it?

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Ranis’ eyes widened as he watched a wave of water materialize itself, violently pushing away one of his men against the trunk of a tree, knocking him out.

The girl that should have died, the one who should have not survived the tampered seals, flew down from the skies and landed a few hundred feet away, facing him. In a fighting stance. Not afraid, not crying, not humiliating herself the way she did in the past by being overly emotional.

She met his gaze. Unfalteringly. Angry. Her expression said ‘I know what you did’.

Green energy swirled around her hands as she summoned the falling raindrops in her command and converted them to sharp spears three feet long.  

She was not running away. She was not cowering.

She was coming for him.

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Damian would have berated Fay for interfering had it not been for the fact that the girl charged at her opponents with a viciousness that indicated she had every intention of making them pay for their transgressions.

He removed the blade from his shoulder, hissing as he did so, and raised to his feet. Fay had the weather on her side and a determination that was months in the making. He experienced a sense of deja vu watching her fight in that manner, except the Fay in front of him was much healthier. Stronger. Better prepared. 

And far more willing to share her anger with the world.  

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Ranis found himself stepping back towards the closing portal, heart thundering in his chest. He was afraid. How did things get out of control so suddenly? How could that brat - that disgusting half-breed- fight back? She had not only released herself from the bracelets, but she had grown stronger. That was not possible.

And she made allies. Warriors of that world? They had to be. The one with the red mask was merciless. And he defeated his men as if they were hardly ever a challenge.

How? How? How? It wasn’t possible. 

He could not stay there. If the girl did not get to him - and she seemed determined on advancing towards him - then that Resistance scum will. The portal will close soon, and he’ll be left stranded. 

But if he went back---they’ll know. They will know he has failed. That fool of Aryg and the rest of the Estaris will have him in chains soon enough.

If he went back, he might buy himself time to escape, however. 

Ranis turned around, picking up his pace. He was only feet away from the mass of energy, now just barely large enough to let him fit through when something cold whizzed past his ear. Pain bloomed on the right-hand side of his head, accompanied by a burning sensation. Blood trickled down his neck and he reached towards his ear, only to find his lobe was dangling freely. The only thing keeping it in place was a very thin membrane of skin and muscle. 

Flinching, he looked down at the ground, a few feet before him where the responsible weapon had landed. It was a piece of ice, shaped like a small blade and just as sharp. The rain had already started melting it, given how thin it had been. Such an attack had required precision, both in converting and molding the elements. Had it been a poor aim that made the blade cut his earlobe or had it meant to embed itself in his skull?

That child. Ranis glanced over his shoulder, where the girl summoned a shield of ice to block the kick of one of his assassins, temporarily distracted. He knew it was her. Who else? That Resistance bitch was fighting deeper into the woods, out of sight.

A shadow caught the corner of his eyes, from behind the old wall.

Dread filled his stomach, body frozen in fear.

Fay let out an undignified sound when she was suddenly pushed to the left by one of the masked assassins. The same one who had kicked her into the building earlier that day.  

Except he wasn’t attacking her this time. 

It took her a moment to realize he had pushed her out of the way of another assailant’s sword. The white-and-gold mask effortlessly dodged, then after knocking the sword out of his opponent’s hands, swung his own blade at the man’s stomach. Fay turned her eyes away when she saw the man’s intestines spill onto the floor, feeling lucky she didn’t have any contents in her stomach. She wouldn’t have been able to hold them down.

The killer straightened and turned towards her. His stance relaxed slightly, his sword lowering but Fay wasn’t quite as willing to lower her guard as she stared at him confusedly. 

Your Majesty. It has been a long time.’’ 

Fay’s eyes widened. No way. That voice. She recognized that voice! It was deeper than she remembered, and its owner was also taller, but she recognized it all the same. 

Th--Thelion?’’ She stammered. 

Bagheera’s growl caught her attention. Damian had released him earlier, and the two have taken to fight closely one next to another, supporting Fay in advancing towards Ranis. She wasn’t quite sure what possessed her to go after him – or maybe she did - but she had been determined to stop him from escaping. Kaera had struggled to fight as well as she did earlier due to her leg, but Jason had quickly taken care of at least four assassins. 

Fay tore her eyes from Thelion towards her left. Damian was on Bagheera’s back, but she couldn’t make their figures clearly in the woods. It was dark, and the weather torrential. The portal was closing, having shrunk to half of the size it had originally been already and only growing smaller quicker with each second, taking away the light it had generated as well. Fay could feel the energy dissipating.

Ranis hadn’t gone through, however. He was lying unconscious near the circle which had lost its glow. He was tied up, as well, from the looks of it. The clearing they had been fighting in was suddenly very silent. Looking around, Fay realized that all the men that were working for Ranis had all been taken down. Most of them had been killed. 

Fay’s heart skipped a breath when she saw her paladin’s form collapse to the ground with a whine. The boy on his back toppled off, landing beside him, unmoving. She couldn’t see what caused it, however.

What is happening?! If Ranis was tied up and all his men have been taken down then who---where was Kaera? And Jason?

My apologies, your Majesty.’’ 

“What--?’’ She responded in English out of habit, head-turning towards the male next to her. She didn’t even see him move but there was a sudden pressure on her neck.

No other thought had a chance to form in her head before everything went dark. 

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When Jason woke up, he found himself staring at Dick’s masked face as he leaned over him asking him if he was alright. “Peachy.’’ He grunted and pulled himself up. “What the hell happened?’’

Red Robin and Spoiler were there as well. 

“You’re asking us? We should be asking you that.’’ Tim remarked.

“Where is Robin? And Fay?’’ Stephanie continued. 

Jason stared at his surroundings. He was in Gotham, on the roof of a building not far from uptown. Was that Gotham General Hospital on the other side of the street? It was. How the hell did he get there? Dick helped him up to his feet. A scent lingered in his nose. Flowery. Foreign. Not necessarily unpleasant, just out of place. 

Had someone drugged him? It would explain why he could not recollect how he got there or why he couldn’t recall anything since the moment he found Fay in the abandoned subway station. There was a woman with her---and that’s it.

“You can’t track either one of them?’’ Jason asked when the other three vigilantes exchanged looks whilst remaining very silent after he told them what he could remember. Or rather what he couldn’t.

The silence is never a good sign. 

Tim shook his head. “No. Fay’s signal dropped after the attack in the city. Damian’s a few minutes later. We couldn’t get through him at all. You went offline as well for several hours, then your signal re-appeared here, on this roof.’’

Jason had a splitting headache. He wanted a drink. Or to shoot someone. Or some sleep. Not necessarily in that order, or one option excluding another.

Hm. It’s not raining anymore. He thought as he glanced up at the sky. The sky had cleared but everything looked wet and slippery. In the distance, he could see the darkness of the sky starting to pale in favor of the sun rising.

“There was a storm.’’ That felt relevant to his amnesiac brain. Why was it relevant?

“Pretty bad one, too.’’ Dick nodded. “Several neighborhoods had blackouts. Busy night.’’

It seemed so judging by the cuts on Jason’s clothes. His boots were muddy, and his bullet reserves were nearly empty. Something or someone had warranted the use of most of them.

The foreign scent lingered, like a perfume. Pretty shitty for a lead.

“How so?’’ 

“There was enough energy to power pretty much the entire city.’’  

“Did you track it down?’’ Jason asked as he brushed a hand over his jacket. It was tattered. Great. 

“We did. The state park near Hudson River. We found blood and signs of a fight, but nothing else.’’ 

Well, fuck. 

At least the captors had the decency to drop him off back in the city. 

That was certainly new on his long list of weird shit happening.

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Fay decided it might be time to make a list of all locations she unexpectedly woke up at. Might as well treat her continuous encounter with danger with a sense of humor. She was finally starting to understand why many seasoned warriors, including her parents, had developed a dark sense of humor. She used to think it was pride or a show of valiance. It could have been both of those things but it was definitely a coping mechanism as well. It had to be.

Inappropriate humor was certainly better than crying and having a panic attack.

Not that she didn’t feel like crying. Especially when she woke up rolling off something – a bed?- only to fall against the hard wooden floor. She smacked her face harshly enough to feel a bump forming on her forehead. Her nose was tender.

She could not catch a break.

Rgghhh?’’

Fay gasped, as her head snapped up at the sound. Her paladin was standing in front of her, towering over her with concern wafting off of him. “Bag!’’ Her body ached but Fay ignored the soreness as she lunged herself towards her paladin and hugged him. “Oh. I am so happy to see you.’’ She smiled when he nuzzled her neck, affection replacing concern. Pulling back, she quickly inspected him. He could use a bath, but other than that he looked unharmed.

“Are you alright, Bag?’’

He blinked twice. Yes. Fay sighed in relief. “Where is Damian? Is he---‘’ Then she finally looked around the room.

Her brain momentarily got tripped up. I am back in Maysoon.

Then, slowly, she realized that no, that wasn’t correct. At least the Maysoon part. If she had been, her chambers would have looked different despite the similarities. She might have as well been in her world considering the architecture and décor, however.

Baffled, Fay floated up on her feet as she surveyed the room. The room she’d woken up in at Bernard’s residence now felt modest and dull in comparison.

She had fallen off a canopy four-poster bed that had been posited onto an elevated portion of the room. As it was situated in the middle of the room, Fay had a clear view of the immense space. Right across from her, at least thirty feet away, were a pair of doors that looked as if they’d been built to accommodate a giant. They were painted in white with sculpted designs meant to imitate tropical flora and fauna, and gold accents framing everything together. The doors were an art piece all on their own.

The ceilings were high, even more so than the one at the warehouse in Gotham, and decorated with colorful, complex imagery. Historical events, she realized, as she recognized some of the characters by either their clothing or other characteristics such as their weapon or paladin. Right in the center of the ceiling, there was a circular window that allowed the sun to filter through.

The walls were just as artistic with a brocade décor of golds and crimson and silvers, complemented by fine woodwork and dark floors. Tall vases painted in pale colors with delicate line designs were filled with fresh flowers from both worlds. To her right, there was an arched entry leading to what she quickly discovered to be a personal bathing area with a carved-out pool and balnae bath. The whole interior was made of gold and ivory marble. To her left, she found the windows, almost as tall as the ceiling itself and covered by heavy beige silks embroidered with green motifs.

Gliding over to that side of the room, she pulled on the thick braided rope on the side to open the curtains.

The sun was unexpectedly bright, as was the heat that came with it. Fay shut her eyes, tilting her head aside to avoid being blinded by it. When she finally adjusted to the light, she gazed out the window, which had been left slightly open.

Her mouth dropped.

The jungle was a kaleidoscope of green with titan-sized trees towering over the building she was in. The warm air was thick on her tongue and rich with the scent of soil and tropical flowers. The natural urban noise she’d grown accustomed to was completely absent but it wasn’t as silent as it had been at the Sponsor’s residence.

Fay could hear the flutter of wings, mating calls, and the rumbling growls of predators. Branches crackling, the foliage glistening as a result of the sun’s rays trying to protrude its way through the vegetation yet not quite succeeding. She could barely see the sky from that angle, just splots of clear blue amongst the thick canopy of intertwining trees.

Yet it wasn’t quite just her jungle. Not the one in Maysoon. The trees back home are even bigger than that, the flora even more exotic and varied. Much like the flowers in the vases, the jungle before her looked like a mixture of both worlds’ ecosystems. She recognized both the hyacinth macaw birds she had come across in the Amazon and the vilkas, monkey-like creatures with white fur, orange eyes, and long ringed tails, a native creature of Maysoon.

“What the hell?’’ She found herself whispering out loud. She glanced at her paladin. “Where are we? This isn’t Maysoon. Are we---are we even in the same world still? What is going on?’’

Her paladin growled at her, annoyed by the open-ended questions.

“S-sorry. Are we in Maysoon?’’

No.

“Are---are we still in the same realm?’’

Her paladin just stared at her.

“You…you’re not sure?’’

He blinked twice. Yes.

Fay reached to rub her face, part in frustration and part because she wanted to make she wasn’t having a strange dream of sorts. Her muscles felt sore, her marks ever so slightly sensitive but when Fay glanced down at herself, she saw that she had no obvious injuries she could see. Her trousers were the same as before, and her sweatshirt had been replaced with a tunic. Her shoes were missing, however.

She should have had injuries, however, even if just bruises but there was nothing there. Fay could recall at least three parts of her body where she’d been nicked by a sword deeply enough to draw blood. Perhaps she’s healed. But that meant she must have been out of it for a while.

“How long was I out?’’ she murmured, meeting her paladin’s gaze. “One day?’’ No. “Two days?’’ Yes.

Two days, okay. Alright. Could have been worse.

They were still together, so that was a positive.

“Is---‘’ Bagheera was allowed to roam freely from the looks of it, and he did not look agitated so did that mean they were safe? “Are we safe?’’

Yes.

“…is Damian safe?’’ She whispered.

Her paladin shifted. He blinked twice, signaling yes but she could feel his apprehensiveness. Right. Damian had been severely injured—no. Beaten up. He had been tortured.

Because of her.

“Is—is he here?’’ Yes. “Where?’’ Her paladin stared. “Bagheera, where is he?’’

Her paladin growled lightly and rather than answering her, he turned around and walked over to the large ivory doors. Fay glided closely behind him and helped him open the doors. She found herself staring at an ante-chamber just as opulent and cavernous as the room she’d woken up in. There was a seating area in the middle and a large open balcony to her left. Both across the room and to her right there were more doors. Her paladin led her to the ones in front of her, and pushing himself up on his hind legs, he pressed one of his large paws onto the knob.

He pushed the door open with his head, then offered her a pointed look.

Fay peeked inside the room immediately – it was almost identical to hers -, her eyes falling on the familiar figure lying still on the bed. Her heart soared at the sight of him, but her enthusiasm was curbed abruptly when she realized he was unconscious. Damian was always a very silent sleeper, and a light one at that, but she knew him well enough to tell when he was actually awake or not.

He was definitely not. Fay half-expected—hoped, really—that he’ll open his eyes and tell her how much of an idiot she was the moment she flew by his side. He didn’t. His breathing was quick and his hands were half-clenched by his side. He was in pain.

Fay frowned at how clammy his skin looked, at how there was barely any part of his body that hadn’t been bandaged. Most of his suit had been removed, even his Kevlar tights replaced with dark cotton shorts. Dark red spots had seeped through the bandages around his shoulder and there was a cast of clay on his left hand. The entire right side of his face had been bandaged, including his eye.

If only she had intervened quicker. If only those men hadn’t been after her. She knew Damian would never blame her for it, but Fay felt responsible all the same.

Fay reached to touch his forehead. It felt warmer than usual but maybe not enough to be labeled as a fever.  

Bagheera sensed the arrival of someone else before she did, and Fay jumped when she heard the doors in the antechamber open. She didn’t know what or whom to expect, as she heard the person step inside and pause. Maybe they were looking for her?

Flea?....Oh for fucks sake, don’t tell me I lost the kid again.’’

What the-?

 “Aunt Lira?!’’ She flew towards the antechamber just as the woman stepped forward.

It really is her!

The woman smiled. “Flea!’’

Fay flew straight into her arms, hooking her legs around the woman’s slim waist. “Aunt Lira, it’s you!’’ She half cried and half laughed. “I missed you.’’ Lira laughed and swirled them around, returning the hug with just as much fervor.

You damn brat. How dare you run away and not tell your favorite aunt about it?’’

Fay smiled sheepishly, and pulled away, red-cheeked and emotions roiling inside her chest. She really was happy to see her aunt but she was also confused. And worried. And hungry. And she could use a bath. She released the woman and planted her feet on the ground. The woman placed a hand on her head. “Puberty kicking in hard, I see. How are you this tall already?’’

Lira was several decades old, much like other members of the Estaris clan but physically she looked in her early twenties. She was the youngest sibling of the Estaris clan and a rather estranged one at that. Fay’s father had once told her that her aunt chose to keep her distance due to too much history. Lira wasn’t close to her siblings, and in part that was due to her being only half Estaris. There was a time when she’d been treated very poorly because of it, but Fay knew little beyond that. Lira had always been closest with Damar, however, and later Fay’s mother as well with whom she got along well. They both certainly swore like pirates.

Fay adored her when she was younger. Lira’s visits to Maysoon were sporadic but when she did come by she always brought gifts or spent hours with Fay, taking her on trips. Lira had never quite behaved as formally as any of the other clan members so Fay had felt a sense of kinship to her. Fay couldn’t say she’d been treated poorly by the rest of the clan, but she understood what it was like to not be quite like everyone else. As a result, she always found it easy to open up to Lira whenever she found herself baffled by her clan’s customs or had difficulty fitting in.

They also bonded over the fact that neither one of them had fully inherited the Estaris trademark looks – dark hair and gold eyes. Lira’s hair was a light brown, with blonder locks at her roots as a result of spending time in the sun. Her eyes were also grey rather than gold and she was not as tall as other women in the clan.

Fay had not seen Lira in over two years. The last time they met was approximately four months after the attack when Lira had offered to Fay to go traveling with her. Blunt and outspoken just like Fay’s mother had been, Lira had also been a refreshing breath of air in a place that seemed to be full of people more focused on compartmentalizing their loss and moving on. Aryg hadn’t allowed Fay to go, deeming it too dangerous although he never made it clear what exactly Lira did abroad. Fay knew the woman completed classified – and by default dangerous - missions but she’s never been told what they entailed.  

Aunt Lira---‘’ Where does she even start, really? “---what is happening? Where are we?’’ She glanced over her shoulder at the unconscious boy. “Is—is he going to be alright?’’

Lira sighed. “He’ll be fine. The healers have taken care of most of the injuries, but we need to wait on his body to work its way through the poison.’’

“Poison?’’ She blurted in English. “What poison?’’

Her aunt proceeded to tell her that the assassins who attacked them had had their weapons dipped in a deadly concoction of toxins. Some of it had been found in Fay’s system as well but between the small amount and her natural fast healing rate, she had had no complications. The healers were able to remove it easily when they healed the rest of her injuries.

Damian, however, had been in a much worse state. He had lost a significant amount of blood, he had several different broken bones including fingers and ribs. The amount of poison in his system could have been fatal. It was one of the reasons Lira had chosen to take him with them as it was unlikely his ‘fellow warriors’ or healers of that world would have been able to help him in time.

Fay felt sick.

Damian had almost died.

She almost lost him.

Just…like that. She could have woken up and found out he’s dead. His body cold, his eyes closed permanently---

Hey, hey—‘’ Lira had to steady her with a hand on her shoulder.

Fay took a few deep breaths. “I am alright. I just---‘’ She felt exhausted mentally. “---I am just so confused. And---‘’ She would have preferred being at the warehouse, reading books and arguing with Damian or helping Dana at the soup kitchen. “---Nothing makes sense anymore. Even---even when it does.’’

I know. Everything’s just---‘’ Lira sounded frustrated herself. “---completely fucked. I am sorry, flea. I didn’t want you to end up here in this manner---actually, I would have preferred if you hadn’t at all, to be honest.’’  

The girl had no idea what she meant. “This isn’t Maysoon, so where are we? You said that healers of this world couldn’t do anything to help so---so does that mean we’re in the same world?’’

Lira smiled slightly.

Well, I suppose you could say we’re in the best of both worlds.’’

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Best of both worlds. Quite literally.

Lira told her that they were on the biggest of a dozen or so islands closely located to one another in the western part of the Atlantic Ocean. So, yes, they were in the same realm. Except people of that world had no idea those islands existed, due to an invisible barrier shielding them from the rest of the world.

Fay wasn’t sure she had the mental bandwidth to understand how that worked – Damian would have, she was willing to bet or at least not felt as confused – but she tried to wrap her head around it as much as she could.

The islands were located between the worlds, yet not really. They were within the same realm, but not really. Violent weather surrounds the islands, several miles out into the ocean past the barrier which Lira described as being not that dissimilar to the Veil itself. For decades, aircraft and ships had often met their peril as a result of such weather, generally never to be located again. At least not by those living on the other side.

Fay wasn’t surprised then to find out that the entire territory had gained notoriety as being a source of the paranormal, with people even nicknaming it the Devil’s Triangle. Then she recalled having seen that location on maps before, referred to as the Bermuda Triangle. At the time she was far too busy trying to figure out a way for her and Bagheera to escape the Amazon, so she can’t recall whether she’s heard anyone talk about it.

Lira must have noticed she was starting to feel overwhelmed because she paused her explanation and told her they can talk about it later. She only needed to know that she was safe there, amongst allies.

Someone knocked at the door, interrupting Lira just as she was about to answer Fay’s answer as to what happened with Ranis. Lira offered permission for the man to come in. He was a healer. Tall, in the mid to late twenties with a shaved head and tanned skin, the man smiled cordially and bowed to them both.

Well, it has been a while since Fay’s had to deal with such formalities, that was for sure. She bowed her head curtly, then watched him as he approached Damian’s bed.

She refused to leave while the healer performed his checks and Lira didn’t force her. The man’s name was Corim, and surprisingly – or maybe not so much – he spoke English. Strongly accented, yet fluent all the same. Pale blue energy enveloped his hands as he moved them slowly and gently over the boy’s body. It was the flux, being applied in a very different manner than Fay used hers. She wasn’t new to witnessing such practice, however, having been healed many times before by the healers at the palace.

Fay wrung her hands nervously as her eyes flitted between Damian and the healer. One looked in pain, the other had an unreadable expression.

“Is he going to be alright?’’ She finally blurted, not standing the silence.

The healer hummed in response as his hands hovered over the boy’s shoulder. He could sense and understand things that Fay couldn’t. It was an incredible ability but Fay was too preoccupied to admire it at that moment.

“He is no longer in critical condition,’’ Corim remarked, eventually. “He has lost significant blood, and the toxins have affected his healing. He is fully human, yes?’’

“Yes.’’

“Hm.’’ Fay’s jaw clenched, forcing herself to hold back from making an impatient remark. It was not Corim’s fault. “He is a strong boy, Miss Lafayette. He will be just fine.’’

Fay nodded, releasing the breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding.

“I have mended his bones and healed his muscles. The hemorrhage was stopped, but unfortunately, we did not have transfusions available for him. However, there have been no complications and I do not expect there’ll be but he may be out of it for at least another day.’’ Corim straightened himself, the energy dissipating from his hands. He removed his surgical gloves and looked at her. His eyes were brown. Kind, as well.

“I shall have Madame Moma prepare her herbs, to give his metabolism a boost. He’ll be very weak when he wakes up.’’

‘Very weak’ and Damian did not fit well in the same sentence. It felt wrong. Fay had seen him in weakened or vulnerable states before, but even then, he always demonstrated resilience.

“Moma?’’ Fay blinked in surprise as her brain caught up on the man’s words. She glanced at her aunt. “Moma is here?’’

 Lira, who had stared at Damian with a contemplative look, moved her gaze to her. She smiled. “Damn right. That woman was ready to come and hunt you down herself.’’ Fay could see that happening. “She’s not the only one here, though.’’ At that, the girl frowned.

So did her aunt. Fay received her answer even before the woman voiced it.

Aryg is here as well.’’

Fay was emotionally frayed. Finding out that she was about to meet with her uncle two years after running away from home was the last straw. She hadn’t had a panic attack in weeks, but the last two days – was it two days? – had crossed off virtually every single of her triggers.

The panic attack assailed her without any further warning. It was the strongest one she’s had in a while.

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When Lira last saw her niece, she had nearly burned the palace down. The new one, of course.

Her niece had been so traumatized that she stuttered constantly and stumbled over her words, and when she wasn’t doing any of that, then she was deadly silent. Fear clung to her so heavily that Lira could almost taste it, and when fear wasn’t prevalent, then grief was. Amongst the impassive expressions and detached attitudes of the clan members, Fay was a walking open wound.

They weren’t unfeeling cold fucks, even though Lira often referred to them as such. Well, not entirely. They could be, and they were excellent at it. What bothered Lira is how they failed to see that their behavior affected Fay. It was funny almost, really. Aryg always liked to point out how reckless and irresponsible Lira can be but he couldn’t see how his own shortcomings. Or was too proud to acknowledge them.  

Fay had been such a happy child. Kind and joyful and full of light and innocent and everything none of them had ever been. She wasn’t supposed to lose that brightness in her eyes, to become so frightened of the world that she couldn’t talk or function properly.  The darkness got to her, too, as it got to all of them but that wasn’t supposed to happen. Not anymore. Not after they changed things.

They weren’t supposed to die, either.

Aryg had no idea how to handle Fay, regardless of proclaiming otherwise. Lira could see it on his face, even with all his hidden emotions, that he had no idea what to make of her. He did love her, though. They all did. They just didn’t show it in the right ways.

Lira had wanted to take her away – it had been a spur-of-the-moment proposal. She just took one look at the kid and all she could think was that she needed to be taken away, as far as possible from the political agendas and the psychological warfare and the grief and killing. She had no idea how to take care of a child but she adored the kid. She would have figured it out. She would have taken Titoh too, and Bagheera. They wouldn’t have been alone.

Aryg said, no, of course. Bastard. He had allowed Fay to go through with the Trials. Lira had told him it was a bad idea. Fay didn’t know what was best for herself. She didn’t. She just wanted to please everyone, to make them proud, to be like them. And Titoh? Well, they fucked that up, didn’t they? One child had crippling anxiety and the other had fallen with the wrong crowd, his impressionable mind being influenced in all the wrong ways.

If Damar had been there, he would have silenced all the elders and the politicians and anyone who dared to look at his children the wrong way. Who dared to make them feel inadequate and insufficient. He would have done something about it, just like he did with Lira in the past. If Evera had been there, she would have berated Aryg. Likely broken some of his bones.

Was it such a surprise their daughter ran away? No, not really. Lira couldn’t say she wasn’t proud of her for it, either.

When they realized she hadn’t been kidnapped, most of those who knew of her missing status had seen Fay’s actions as a child who has reached the breaking point and decided to pursue something very reckless. A childish adventure. A rebellious streak. A coward’s retreat even.

Lira saw it as an act of bravery. The kid – that stuttering, shy child who barely talked and hoped – had decided she wanted to leave everything behind for a dangerous purpose. Leave that realm. And she succeeded. Of course, maybe Fay hadn’t even counted on that but she did. Despite the complications and unexpected troubles that led to Kaera and the others losing track of her, Fay had survived. On her own, with Bagheera, in a world, she’s only ever studied or heard tales about before. She found a way to remove the bracelets and she made allies – and friends – and she carved nothing short of a new life.  

When Kaera failed to track her down, Aryg sent Lira to look for Fay which is how she found out the kid was missing in the first place. 

She did find Fay. And lo and behold. Her niece was not starving or fighting for her life or imprisoned or miserable as Aryg or the others have worried.

No. The kid was smiling. She was smiling and laughing, and she was having fun. She had made friends. She volunteered. She visited places and used public transport and had her own money and a whole new identity. Fay – the one before that night – was back. Different, still, and older. No longer as innocent or unguarded but happier all the same.

Lira had watched her. Repeatedly.

That boy, the one Fay was now looking at with a familiar fear on her face, was the constant. He did not smile nor seem to act much like a child, actually but whenever Lira saw them together, her niece always looked so…. happy. She talked, loudly and fast, and she didn’t stutter anymore. She laughed freely, even when the boy was sarcastic or cutting with her. And he wasn’t the only one in her life even if he did seem to occupy a large space.

Fay had people who cared for her, in that world. That blonde at the place where the destitute came for meals. People at the museum? Not just one or two. Several, even some of the security guards. That blonde human girl who always wore such bright colors and spoke even faster.

The boy was a warrior of that world. And he was not the only one Fay had entered contact with. Lira hadn’t been able to clearly determine the other’s identity but there was one night, near the end of the previous year when she had watched her niece, with a mask on, stop a minor robbery of a store. The boy was watching from afar, along with another masked man. Then it clicked to Lira.

They were training her.

There was some humor to be found in that. Here was the Estaris going insane about having lost their heir, and here was the heir being welcomed by warriors of that world. The so-called outsiders. They welcomed her, for all her emotional being and panic attacks, and soft personality. The irony.

They’d have been proud.

Lira hadn’t wanted to interfere. At first, because she didn’t want to alarm Fay or jeopardize the trust, she’s gained from the people there. Then, Lira caught wrapped up in the life the kid had built. She started thinking. Was it such a bad thing that Fay lived there now? She was clearly doing so much better; she was much happier. What good will come out of her returning to Maysoon?

Fay had achieved something a younger version of Lira had desired. To cut ties, to be free, to decide on her own who she wants to be.

Isn’t that what Damar would have wanted? What he do as well, many years earlier? Aryg wouldn’t understand. Even if he didn’t want Fay to be miserable, he wouldn’t get it. He’s never fully understood what it means to feel trapped. Wanting to be a different person.

And Fay likely knew that too. Lira could see it on her face, the moment she found out that Aryg was there, that she was going to confront the possibility of having to go back. It wasn’t fear, just guilt and shame.

There should be none of that. She hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Hey, hey,’’ Lira said gently as she crouched before the girl kneeling on the floor. She signaled Corim to keep his distance when he worriedly stepped towards Fay. Lira didn’t touch nor she get too close to the girl. Bagheera hovered to the girl’s side.

Lira had watched her have panic attacks before. They were worse than her mother’s although not many had been aware Evera was afflicted by them. Fay had always been sensitive, more in touch with her emotions and letting them run free rather than denying or suppressing them. Her flux only ever reacted in response to that. The last time Lira had watched her have a panic attack – at a family dinner – she had hyperventilated so much that she’d turned blue in the face and Moma worried she might faint.

The Fay in front of her was dealing with it differently, however. Despite her rapid breathing and clear struggle with the fear corrupting and confusing her thoughts, Fay was not calmer per se, but she seemed more collected than before. Without guidance, she switched to breathing exercises and when that didn’t work, Lira watched her reach for the jug of water on the table behind her. She spilled it over the edge, then used her flux to most of the water in her hold. She formed a sphere in hand, green energy containing the liquid as if it were inside a container.

The last time Lira had checked, Fay would get so paralyzed by her panic attacks she couldn’t even move or speak. Yet now she could focus her flux and use it as a coping mechanism?

Huh.

The girl changed the shape of the water as if it was clay. A star. Then a crescent-shaped shape. A triangle. “Three—three things can---can no longer be hidden.’’ Fay breathed shakily. “The s-sun, the mo—mon and----the truth.’’ Then she repeated it again. And again, as she kept shifting the shape of the water.

Slowly but surely, the girl calmed down. Bagheera approached her, pressing himself against her to help her along.

Lira straightened up to her feet and glanced at Corim whose expression was one of pleasant surprise. He wouldn’t have been aware of Fay’s long-standing issues with her panic attacks and control over the flux, but he had to have recognized the unconventional, yet efficient way Fay was using her flux to calm herself down. It was a repurposed training technique.

The mantra was a new addition, however.

Twenty minutes later, Fay was back up on her feet. She wiped at the tears that had dripped on her cheeks and although still trembling slightly, there was a quiet determination.

Lira couldn’t help but smile at her. She convinced the girl to take a walk with her so she could have something to eat. 

Fay very reluctantly left Damian’s side and only when Bagheera agreed to remain by his side. That the paladin chose to on his own also spoke volumes about the importance of the boy.  

Lira glanced at his unconscious form as they left the chambers.

Aryg was definitely going to flip out.  

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                       Damar Estaris                                                              Evara                                                              Kaera                                                           

Damar Estaris  EvaraKaeraLira EstarisLira Estaris 

 

 

Klaus   Klaus

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

I was looking at possible mantras that Fay could use to calm herself down. Something that maybe Damian would have given her. Then I came across a clip from Teen Wolf series where they use the Buddha-inspired quote, and I thought it was a perfect. Also, now, I am probably going to rewatch all of Teen Wolf because of that.

Chapter 49: Of worlds clashing (III)

Notes:

As a rule of thumb, if speech appears in italics, it is because the characters are speaking in any language but English. It will generally be specified which language they're reverting throughout the chapter.
As in the previous chapter, I've added two Artbreeder creations of two characters at the very end of the chapter.

A massive thank you to Quintessence1 for their support and helping me proofread this chapter!

Chapter Text

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Madenia was a hundred and twenty-seven years old. On a good day, she looked in her seventies. On a bad day, well. It was what it was. She did not like thinking how much time she had left, for she was already older than she’d thought she’ll make it. She’s witnessed generations of warriors rise and fall, rulers achieve power, and make their mark on the world before being remembered as either disgraced tyrants or martyrs. She lived and survived the royal court of Maysoon, even when the Empire had gone through its darkest periods. 

Yes, Madenia has lived a long life. An outlier, perhaps given the average human lifespan hadn’t always been if it was in recent times. An anomaly, some would say, considering she’d not only lived a long life, but she had done so spending most of her life tending to the very same people who have played a part in curbing average human lifespans. 

Madenia was many things. She was a veteran, a renowned herbalist, an excellent cook, and despite the pains of old age, still a remarkable archer. She has never been formally trained in the ways of a warrior, but she’s spent all her life around them. Her father had sold her to be a servant when she was six, and for a good while of time, that’s all she’s been. She’d always had a knack for herbs and potions, however, and a sharp mind to go with it which had helped her survive countless times. She’d witnessed thousands die. The young, the old, the warriors, the civilians. The innocent, the guilty. She’s seen power corrupt men and women, and she’s seen hope and kindness shine through even in places where they shouldn’t have been possible anymore. She’s watched and cared for children who had grown up to be vastly different people. She’d watched them fall prey to the darkness of the world. Some stayed lost, others found their path again. She watched men and women forge their way through the world and change it along the way, for better and for worse. 

There was once a young boy. He was intelligent, beautiful and even though he resembled many others in looks - he had been different. He looked like his fellow clan members, and he was taught the same values as them. He was born in the middle of a war, so death had always been present in his life. The first time he watched someone die was when he was four years old. When he was seven, he killed for the first time. It was expected. It was encouraged. He was praised and adulated for it. He only continued to earn favoritism since that moment. 

The boy was never a boy. He was a soldier first, a prince second and the embodiment of Evnei mastered. 

But the boy was more than that, as well. He liked it when she read to him, he liked to study - not to find out how to best conquer his enemies but because he was fascinated by the world. The boy who carried an uncanny gentleness that very few of his clansmen possessed or ever cared to explore. The boy who admitted to not understanding the point of killing; though, was exceptional at it. 

Madenia watched that boy become a man. She watched him dip in and out of the darkness that constantly tried to swallow him whole. 

The boy who first called her Moma. Because it sounded like ‘Mama’, a foreign word from a foreign realm that meant ‘ mother ’. 

And so Madenia became Moma and she was rarely ever anything else after that and she carried the new name with pride. She was Moma to the Estaris clan, she was Moma to all the students she taught the secrets of herbs and potions, she was Moma even to powerful men and women who have learned to not look at her as a servant anymore because she was everything but that. 

She was Moma to new generations of children, who will also have to face the darkness, even in a new progressive world. 

She was Moma to a white-haired boy who never had children, then was adopted into a family that shined so bright that their death felt like an eclipse. 

She was Moma to a girl who was nothing like the boy - the one who gave Moma her name - yet she was everything he wished she would be. Everything he had to fight the darkness for. 

So, when the girl ran away, Moma worried. But she also understood. The girl had to run away to find it again just like the boy had many, many years earlier. 

Moma! ’’ 

Moma turned around slowly, leaning on her cane as she did so. Her back has been acting up lately, and it didn’t help that the place had so many damn stairs to climb. 

There she was. 

My fairy child. ’’ 

And it looks like she found it. 

That which pushes people to move forward, which reminds them the pain is not the end of all even when it feels that way, which gives warriors their unbreakable spirit and civilians their resilience.  

The shine , of course. 

.

.

.

Ow !’’ Fay rubbed the back of her head, where the elderly woman had smacked her over. As soon as she lowered her hand, another smack followed. That made her instantly float away from her caretaker and grandmother-figure. “I am sorry. ’’ She knew she deserved those slaps. Probably a lot more than just two, but she really didn’t want to get smacked again. Moma was stronger than she looked. 

It was a relief to see she hadn’t changed much. The woman was short and thin, with greying hair cut short and dark eyes. Her face bore the signs of age, with deep wrinkles around the corner of her eyes and mouth. Yet her eyes had a sharpness to them that belied her age. Fay had learned at a young age that the woman should not be underestimated, especially since she often pretended to be frailer than she is. 

Let me look at you, child. ’’ The woman said sternly. Fay stayed still as the woman grabbed her chin firmly but not painfully, then started examining her closely. Lira watched amused from the side. 

Moma’s eyes narrowed. 

Wh—what? ’’ Fay asked nervously. “ I—I finally grew up, Moma, see? And I can fly again! ’’ 

Why are you so thin? ’’ The woman asked dissatisfiedly. “ Do you not eat? Do these outsiders do not have proper food?’’ 

Fay’s cheeks reddened. She was at a very healthy weight, if not a couple of pounds over the average number. She had constantly fluctuated ever since her menses have begun, causing her to experience some startling growth spurts in some areas but also frustrating ones. Such as the pale pink striae that she’d spotted over her chest area in recent weeks. 

Damian had teased her once when he caught her weighing herself, pointing out that she could be Stephanie’s apprentice. When Fay asked what that meant, he just smirked and walked away. Then she remembered that Damian called Stephanie ‘ Fatgirl ’ all the time. Out of spite, she took away his katana. Then refused to talk to him for three days. Unluckily for him, during those three days, she’d gotten her period, so she had been particularly unforgiving. 

He never apologized and she never returned his katana – she was sure he had plenty of others, so it hadn’t even been such a great strike on her end – but later that week, they had traveled to New York. A case, he said. He barely left her side for three days, however, and there was virtually no place they hadn’t gone that she didn’t ask for even when he found them obnoxious. 

She let him have that one.  

I---I am not thin. ’’ She mumbled. “ And I do eat.’’ Damian was still quite tyrannical about making sure she ate in a nutritious manner, so really, he was responsible if she ended up gaining too much weight. “ I’ve been…very active. That’s all.’’ 

Moma looked unconvinced, that hawk-like expression still on her face. Fay shrugged, then smiled tentatively. When the woman’s lips curled, Fay’s smile widened into a grin. Moma wasn’t really angry. 

Come here, you! ’’ 

Fay immediately wrapped her arms around the woman to have another hug. She’d missed that scent of herbs and oils that Moma always smelt of.  

Moma, I am almost taller than you are now .’’ 

The woman chuckled. “ I will slap you again, child. ’’ 

Fay giggled as she pulled away, then admired the view they had from the large terrace that they’d exited onto. A table with several seats had been positioned near the iron-wrought parapet and the tall trees offered a perfect shade. It was a good thing Lira knew her way through that place because Fay would have gotten lost. The building was a strange fusion between a temple – tall domed ceilings and stained-glass windows – and a castle – maze-like corridors and hundreds of rooms. It was painted white on the outside and nature had been allowed to reclaim partial dominion over the building, with vines and moss covering large parts of the walls. It really did feel like Maysoon in many ways. 

And the island was breathtaking. A mountainous coastline that stretched further than she could see, even when she had lifted herself up in the air to get a look over the tall, tropical vegetation. She could see other residences, smaller and colorful hiding amongst the trees or blending into the rocky, steep cliffs all the way down to the beaches. It was a village, Lira told her, that developed vertically with overlays of streets yet never quite entirely separate from nature. 

There was just so much to explore. The ocean with its vivid blues, the greens of the jungle peppered with bursts of colors from fruits and flowers. She’d also spotted deep gorges that ran down towards the beach miles away from where they were. 

After living in Gotham for so long, the vibrant colors of that place were almost overwhelming. The island reminded her of her homeland as much as it did of the southern cities she and Damian visited during their visit to Europe. In the distance, she could just barely see the darker clouds marking most likely where the tempestuous weather had begun. A dichotomy of the highest level. The beauty and brightness of that place were separated from the rest of the world by tornadoes and maelstroms. 

Fay breathed in deeply. The scents there felt cleansing. She felt guilty for leaving Bagheera with Damian, he would have loved to roam free in that place. Perhaps later. 

Why is my child so dirty, Lira?’’ Moma asked as she sat down in her chair. 

Fay remained standing, soaking in the view beyond the railing. She wanted to fly everywhere in that place and see everything that it held. It had to wait. 

Lira looked chastised, and ever so slightly indignation. “Hey, don’t blame me. Everything went to shit---‘’ 

“---language!’’ 

“---Ranis sent a small army out and then he actually showed up himself.’’ 

At that, Fay turned around and looked at her aunt. “ Ranis! That’s right. What---what happened to him, Aunt Lira? The portal closed and I saw that he was tied down---that was you, wasn’t it?’’ 

Lira smirked. “ He’s in custody. I am quite sure Kaera is having fun tormenting him before he is handed over to the Council.’’ 

Fay couldn’t say she felt any sympathy for the man. 

Moma’s eyes narrowed as they fell on Fay’s wrists. She grabbed one of the girl’s hands and lifted her wrist up. In the sun, the small scars left behind by the bracelets were very easy to notice. Fay frowned. Most of the time she didn’t really pay attention to them. The phantom burning sensation she used to experience had no longer returned. 

See this? ’’ Moma scowled. “ That man is responsible for these marks.’’ 

Fay smiled nervously and gently pried her hand away from the elder woman’s scrutiny. “ It’s alright, Moma. I—I mean, he has been caught now, so it doesn’t matter. ’’ With some pride, she added. “ I managed to get them off!’’ 

“How did you manage that, anyway?’’ Lira asked, eyeing Fay’s wrists. “ I thought only the seal creator could have removed them. Or someone very skilled in breaking seals.’’ 

The girl hesitated. She hadn’t expected she’ll have to offer stories of her travels quite so soon. 

A woman dressed in a pale blue toga with a white sash interrupted them briefly as she brought in a large wooden board filled with food. Fay was delighted to see fruits of both worlds – strawberries and Eldar fruits – as well as grilled fish with spices from her world. The woman looked somewhat surprised by Fay, gawking at her for a second which made the girl self-conscious. 

“My apologies.’’ The woman said quickly. “It is very nice to finally meet you, Miss Lafayette.’’ 

“I, um, likewise.’’ 

She would have asked why the woman had looked at her the way she did, but Fay was far too hungry. Her stomach grumbled, and she sat down on a chair between Moma and Lira, pulling the fish towards her first. Neither woman pressured her in answering questions and Fay found it surreal sitting there, underneath the sun and surrounded by the jungle with them both. When she was done, the headache that had been creeping up since her panic attack was almost gone and her stomach felt satiated. She felt stabler. 

Then she told them about her travels. How she lost track of Bagheera in the Amazon jungle and she came across those traffickers, how they traveled thousands of miles and met all kinds of people. How they got in trouble and they had to escape authorities and angry farmers. Then they arrived in Gotham, an unplanned destination. She found Dana there.

 As she talked, more food was brought out and Moma pushed her to eat in-between stories. She did not believe it was appropriate to do so, but on that occasion, an exception was warranted. 

“Dana,’’ Moma repeated. “Tell me about this Dana.’’  

Fay smiled brightly, as she finished one of the Eldar fruits. She told them about how Dana owned a place she used to help homeless people, and how kind and generous she is. How she offered Fay a place to stay and then started giving her money for small errands, and how Mack cooked the best chicken soup, and how Robby always told her about cinematography and graphic novels. 

Her enthusiasm faltered slightly when she had to talk about how her health declined as well. 

My flux felt weak. I didn’t realize it at the beginning---I just thought maybe the bracelets got damaged. I lost weight and I was always nauseous. I couldn’t feel my flux anymore. And whenever I had a panic attack, um…. the bracelets hurt me. They would burn.’’ Fay said, looking at them both. Lira’s expression was growing thunderous whereas Moma remained more cryptic. She told them how she stopped healing properly and how she started experiencing nose bleeds and she was overall just poorly. 

Then…then everything changed. Well, not everything. And it wasn’t sudden. The more she spoke, the quicker the words left out of her mouth. She wanted them to hear and see how far she’s come, how much she’s overcome. 

Fay told them about the burning building and how Bagheera saw the child inside, so they ended up going after him. How she met Robin and how he ended up having to save her because they were blocked inside, and she was panicking. Fay only referred to Damian as Robin from that point forward, not wanting to disclose his identity just in case. It didn’t matter really, which name she gave out. His actions did not change. 

She told them about how he offered her money and identity, but she refused because she was worried she might end up getting discovered. She accepted in the end. Then several weeks later, she ended up facing a criminal named the Angel who tried to capture children. Robin was infected with the senwi and Fay removed it, and then she fought Angel’s creatures. That’s when she pushed the seals further than she should have. That’s why they left scars on her hands. 

But they also broke in the process. 

Then Robin took care of her. He had given her shelter and food and he exchanged the jewels she stole – at that Lira looked guffawed in amusement – and he had made her train every day to regain her strength. Fay didn’t tell them about how much time she’s spent with Damian, about his family or his background, and how much she’s told him of herself and her world. She didn’t tell them about Talia and the attempted drowning, either. Or how he borderline terrorized her in the beginning. 

Moma hummed in response, as she thumped her cane against the floor out of habit. “ This Robin is the boy that Lira brought here?’’ Fay nodded. “ A human. A warrior child of this world?’’ Fay nodded. “ And your friend?’’ 

Fay smiled shyly. “He’s my best friend.’’ She had never actually referred to him as such out loud before. Not as ‘best’ friend’. Cora has when she pointed out that she and Fay were indeed friends, but given Damian was closer to her, that made them best friends. Fay had really liked the ring of that, but she didn’t say anything to Damian. He’ll just tease her or scoff at it.  

But really, out of all the friends Damian had, she was his best friend, right? She hoped she was, even if it was greedy.  

“I see.’’ Moma smiled. Fay missed the glance the two women exchanged, as she popped a few more strawberry slices in her mouth. 

Feeling full, the girl leaned back in her chair. “I…. I really like it. Being in this world, I mean.’’ She admitted, feeling safe doing so with Moma and Lira. “It was really hard at the beginning but…now I like it. I learned so much and I---I feel better. ’’ Physically. Mentally. She knew she didn’t need to elaborate. She looked down at her lap. “I am better.’’ 

“I can see that.’’ Moma agreed, with a nod.  

Fay wanted to ask if she’ll be forced to go back to Maysoon, but it felt selfish doing so within the first couple of hours of having been reunited with her family. 

We ought to get you cleaned properly,’’ Moma remarked, as she stared disapprovingly at Fay’s-stained trousers. “ Come, child. I believe it is time to check on this Robin of yours, as well.’’ 

.

.

.

Fay would have stayed and watched Moma prepare the herbs from the large selection that had been brought on a trolley. She’d missed watching the woman expertly combine the dried leaves and fruit juices and powders. When she was younger, she’d always look through the many containers that Moma kept in her study and sniff all the scents inside. Of course, once, or twice she’d ended up sick or knocked out when she accidentally touched the more potent ingredients. Her mother was also a great connoisseur of plants, given she used them as much in battle as she did for healing purposes. 

However, as soon as she was back in the chambers, Fay found herself dragged into the private bathing area by two women. One of them was the same one who brought them food earlier and introduced herself as Amina. The other was Mena. Moma ordered them to make sure Fay was scrubbed clean and looked like someone her status should, not a beggar. Bagheera – who appeared as he’d already been given a bath himself – had stayed in Damian’s room. He kept his distance though, knowing better than incur Moma’s wrath by getting fur in her concoctions. 

Fay found the pool filled with lukewarm water and oils, and despite her protests, the two women insisted on helping her out of her clothes. She managed to draw the line at being washed as she’s never liked having someone else do that. Except perhaps Moma or her mother. Her aunts, very rarely and only when she’d been much younger. Amina did, however, wash her hair using several different masks that left Fay smelling like an orchid. She half expected insects to start being drawn to her. 

Once she was clean, Fay asked the two women to turn around and offer her some privacy as she dried herself and got dressed. She was starting to feel overwhelmed again, and although she knew they all meant well, she did not like having her independence being reduced in any way. The dress she pulled on was made of a soft cotton-like material, finishing above her knees with an asymmetrical pattern. It had long loose sleeves with cut-out shoulders and an incorporated darker green sash that she tied around her waist before tying in a bow at her back. 

It was a nice dress but it looked out of place on her. She would have preferred trousers. The dark leather sandals were simple with block heels and several straps. When she was done, Fay accepted Mena’s offer to comb through her hair and dry it. It had taken a while but when she was finally done, Fay couldn’t help but admire it. Her hair looked incredibly healthy, and it was slightly wavy which she knew won’t last for very long. It now reached past her collarbone, and lately, she’d been debating whether she should ask Dana or Alfred to cut it again. Bagheera always tugged on it when he was playful and Damian touched it all the time, a habit perhaps, even if she knew he’d never admit it. Cora told her she looked nicer with long hair. Fay never cared about such things before—maybe she did now, just a tiny bit.

She was happy to accept one of the skin lotions offered, knowing it would feel soothing on her still sensitive marks. It had a sweet scent. 

Fay thanked the two women, then exited as soon as she could. She found Moma still in Damian’s room who was still unconscious. The bandages had been removed and it looked like Moma had lathered him in a pale paste wherever she’d seen an injury. It will help with the healing, she explained. The rest will have to wait for when he’s awake. Fay wanted to tell her that the boy was likely to be very stubborn about any help, but she decided against it. Best to cross that bridge when the time comes. 

She had hoped she could stay there and wait until he was awake, but Moma told her that she was expected. 

“Expected…for what?’’ 

Your uncle wishes to speak to you, child.’’  

Fay frowned. “Do…do I have to? Right now?’’ She glanced at Damian. She felt ashamed for being so needy, but she really wanted to speak to him first. It was selfish, too, considering he was injured and yet there she was, still needing him to find the courage to speak to her uncle. 

Moma eyed her while she was crushing several dark leaves in a clay pot. 

“It can be postponed if you’re exhausted.’’ The woman was offering her a way out. 

Fay contemplated that. 

“No. It’s alright. I…must do this.’’ 

.

.

.

Aryg Estaris shared the looks of many other Estaris clan members. The height and broad shoulders, the tanned skin, and the raven hair. The gold eyes have come to be recognized as a distinctive trait of the Estaris clan. It wasn’t an exclusive eye color of course but that particular shade – like melted gold – was unmistakable. He ended up falling in love with a woman who was the polar opposite, and not just in looks. 

Sysa Estaris was the youngest daughter of one of the twelve clans, who had inherited her family’s own trademark looks: fiery red hair and pale blue eyes. Until he met her, Aryg had never known that such bright looks could be so beautiful, and after that, all the other women that he could have courted had seemed dull. 

It wasn’t until Sysa that he understood Damar’s love for Evara. Even then, it had been a slow process. Sysa had helped him overcome years of indoctrination and has always been the more progressive one out of the two. 

There were still many things he could not overcome fully. The pull of the old values, the threat of falling into old patterns. Aryg genuinely and strongly believed in the cause that Damar had ended up fighting for, the cause that had led him to turn his back on his family for. Except they had never really been a family before, have they? They only started to learn how to be one once they accepted the change, once they were willing to be part of the force that would see the world become a better place. 

He had loved his brother. Even if he had also been angry with him, confused by and resented him in his younger days. And he had grown to love Evara as well, just as if she were his sister, even when she drove him up the wall and even if they had almost killed one another in the past. Such was the nature of their lives. 

And he certainly loved Fay. He just had not known how to offer her what Damar did, because he has never been like his brother, and he never will. No one was. Despite being the elder brother, he’d never quite measured up to his own brother. Very few did. 

So, when Fay looked at him, with that unabashed pain, with an unvoiced plea for help with her loss, Aryg had no idea what he was meant to do. He had fought wars and survived political machinations, some of his own creation, and he was an expert in diplomacy and warfare. He had children of his own that he loved and raised, and he wished they would be better men and women than he will ever be. That they will reflect the values and principles of the new regimes. 

Yet when he looked at Fay, all he could see was Damar even in those brown eyes. He could see Damar’s kindness which had been both a blessing and a curse, he could see Evara’s tendency to wear her heart on her sleeve. He could see the suffering, the disillusion, and the realization that the world is an unfair place even if people like her parents had supposedly won. 

How did Damar do that? Teach his child so much kindness and selflessness when he grew up in the same household that Aryg did? How had he found the continuous strength to shake the invisible chains they’d all been born with? What would have he said to Fay if he’d been there, Aryg had wondered many times. He thought he knew but there had hardly been any interactions with his niece that had not gone wrong in that year after the attack. Fay wanted answers, she wanted things to make sense. 

They didn’t. Aryg couldn’t make full sense of them himself, not even then. But he accepted them for what they were. Painful, cruel aspects of the world they lived in. 

He had lost Damar’s child. Correction. He had failed to support either one of the children. Titoh may have joined the family not long before the attack, but Damar and Evara had loved him just as dearly. Aryg cared for him, as well, but he had not had the chance to connect with the boy as much. There was a time when Fay used to smile when she saw him, not constantly bow down her head in shame. There was a time when she’d chant ‘ uncle Aryg, uncle Aryg’ and she’d talk his ear off about things he didn’t really care about. He didn’t stop her because how could he? She was a happy child, just like his own. There was more laughter and innocence in those palace walls than there’d been in decades. 

It was almost cleansing. Almost, because the past could not be changed or forgotten. But Fay, like his children and many others, was proof that those chains they were born with had never been permanent. 

Fay did not smile again after that night. Titoh hardly knew any other emotion but resentment. 

Seeing his niece realize she could no longer fly was like watching a bird having its wings cut off. Hearing her scream as night terrors kept her awake at night, so much that Moma had to restrain her, was watching the darkness creep back in the palace. Will they ever be free? Have they really won, in the end, if his and Damar’s children still had to suffer? Had his brother – his brilliant, prodigious, wise brother – anticipated that? 

He would have done a better job, Aryg thinks with equal parts sadness and bitterness. He would have. If Aryg had died, his children wouldn’t have suffered the way Fay did. They wouldn’t have felt the need to run away, they wouldn’t have been pelted with rocks and humiliated. They wouldn’t have had that dead, haunted expression on their faces for such a long time. Damar would have given the right answers, Evara would have imbued them with love that Aryg wasn’t sure any of them were capable of. She’d been something else, that woman. 

Fay had preferred running away, choosing no financial security and danger overstaying in her own homeland. What did that say about him as the clan leader? As one of the rulers of the Empire? 

As her uncle? 

Why did Damar leave her in his care? Why not just send her with Evara’s familiars and allies? 

A soft knock broke him out of his reverie. He didn’t answer immediately, taking note of the familiar energy signature. It was stronger than it used to be and just as uncontained. He felt the scent of herbs and flowers. The fear, too, except he had expected it to be stronger. Her heartbeat thudded so loudly he could clearly hear it across the room. She was anxious. 

“Come in.’’ He said calmly, turning away from the window. 

The door opened, and in stepped his niece. No, she didn’t step in. Her feet weren’t touching the floor, she was gliding through the air. His face was an emotionless mask even as he felt an array of emotions upon seeing his niece for the first time in two years. 

She was flying again. How had that happened? Kaera had not mentioned it in any of her reports. Neither did Lira. 

Affection. It was there, discrete in his hardened heart. She had grown taller. No longer a child, but well on her way to becoming a woman. Her skin was paler, yet she looked healthy. The bags underneath her eyes were much fainter and her hair---she was growing it again? Fay hadn’t let it grow ever since those delinquents had abused her. Were her eyes lighter? No, still brown. It wasn’t the color. They were…brighter. The anxiety was still there, he could sense it clearly but she stood straighter. 

Her eyes met his gaze. Then they averted quickly, cheeks reddening as she saluted him before bowing curtly at the waist. When he was a child, he used to have to bow with as much humility as civilians to his senior clan members. Different times. He believed etiquette was important, but exceptions could be warranted. 

Fay straightened and met his gaze again. “Uncle Aryg.’’  

“I am relieved to see you are safe and well, Lafayette.’’ 

She smiled. 

She didn’t do that before, either. 

.

.

.

Her uncle looked thinner. Exhausted. He was older than her father, physically in his late thirties to early forties. The stern expression on his face had remained unchanged, as did the calm and graceful way with which he moved. Her father moved that way as well, but there had always been something slightly more relaxed about him. He smiled more; his golden eyes could be more expressive. Aryg was always serious, a no-sense type of person. It always made for a very strange contrast when her aunt Sysa was around, what with her more lenient, whimsical personality.  

Unsurprisingly, he did not hug her (her father would have). The smile he offered her was genuine, but it wasn’t particularly wide, and it was short-lived (her father wouldn’t have). He gestured for her to take a seat across from him. There was nothing between their seats to offer more distance between them. Shame. 

Fay was not hurt by the lack of affection, but she wishes he’d…given her something more than that. Was he angry with her? Could he tell that she had changed, and not just because she had a growth spurt? Was he happy that she was able to fly again? 

Instead, he just stared at her with an expressionless look after they sat across one from another as if they were about to discuss business affairs. She couldn’t recall at that moment ever seeing him relaxed. Fay thinks he used to be better before the attack on Maysoon but then again, who hadn’t? As usual, despite the tiredness and weight loss, he was no less put together than he usually was. He did not wear the robes that clan leaders traditionally wore, but he hadn’t also allowed himself to wear simpler clothes. That place wasn’t Maysoon. It was neither world, in a way, so why did it matter if he wore formal wear or not?  

Her mother used to say that some people just feel more comfortable when they’re conforming to their own set of rules, just as others feel best when they break them. It’s about control, at times. Fair enough. The Estaris clan, like many others, certainly liked to control everything about themselves: their behavior, their fashion, the way they presented themselves to the world.  

Fay wondered why he bothered to be there, though. Couldn’t have he greeted her in that manner when she’d be returned home?

If. If . She was going to try to prevent that from happening as much as possible. 

“You look well, ’’ Aryg remarked. “You seem…well.’’ He added with some hesitance. Perhaps what he’d really wanted to say was ‘less broken’. Fay didn’t think she was unfair for thinking that. Not anymore. 

She willed herself to not look away from his gaze. She’d looked in the eyes of many different frightening people over the last two years. Her uncle no longer felt as intimidating. 

“I-I am.’’ She said, cursing herself for letting the old stutter creep back in. She can do better than that. She had to show everyone just how much better she was, how good it had been for her to be there. “ You don’t look…. very well rested, uncle. Are you---actually. I—I am sorry. I know that may be my fault. I apologize for causing any problems.’’ 

His voice was not accusatory. “You have. I hope you understand the ramifications of your actions.’’ Fay inhaled, nodding. The insidious thoughts were right there, floating at the back of her head, ready to creep back in. Aryg was not berating her. He was merely making a truthful observation, she knew that. She had acted carelessly, regardless of the positive outcomes that came out of her decision to run away. 

“I have heard that you have had quite a journey. You and Bagheera.’’ Aryg continued. “ That you have become quite attached to humans in this world.’’ 

“I...I did.’’ 

“You have caused great concern for your family. We believed you were kidnapped, that you may have been killed---‘’ 

“---I didn’t mean to.’’ Then she grimaced, realizing she’d rudely interrupted him. “ I understand. I understand that---that I…hurt people with my actions.’’ But she’d been hurt too. Where was their apology? Fay fell silently, taken back by the viciousness of that thought. She’d told Damian that she did feel angry with her family, but she didn’t think she’d feel quite that level of bitterness. 

I know that you have had a difficult time. I should have never allowed you to compete in the Trials. You weren’t ready.’’ Aryg sighed. “You felt the need to act out. I can understand that. I should have removed you from the capital earlier---‘’  

Fay shook her head to herself. “You don’t get it.’’ She found herself blurting in English. Her face felt as if it was in flames. Stop, stop before you say something stupid.  

Aryg did give her a warning look for being interrupted twice. “ Two years in this world and you’ve already forgotten your manners?’’ 

She stared at him. Really stared at him. His dark hair, his gold eyes. Same as her father, but nothing like him at all. Why was it that her own uncle suddenly felt so much more like a stranger? It wasn’t that she’d been gone for so long. 

Damian had been right. Why does she feel so much shame at failing her uncle’s expectations when he couldn’t see her? 

“No.’’ She found herself saying. “Two years have passed, and I have---I have changed. I---I didn’t run away because I was acting out.’’ That assessment had stung deeply. “I ran away because…because it no longer felt like home.’’ 

“What happened was a tragedy. One that no one had expected. Change and adapting to change are expected in the life of a---‘’

Tears gathered in her eyes. Even so, she did not stutter when she spoke next even if her mouth trembled slightly. 

I…was angry.’’ She found herself saying. That was not how she’d wanted her first conversation to go. She’d had a speech prepared, she’d spent hours thinking about how she’ll tell uncle of how she felt, the epiphanies she’s had.  

Her uncle blinked. Once, twice. An almost imperceptible sign he’d been taken by surprise. Then his stern expression returned. “ What are you---‘’ 

“I am angry.’’ She repeated. Louder. Firmer. Interrupting him again. It was getting easier, even if she was throwing all caution out the window. “I am really angry.’’ She said again, looking at him. She wanted him to hear her clearly. “ And---it hurts so much. I understand everyone is. But I am not everyone. They—they were my parents. They are gone.’’ Fay inhaled . “My mother and my father are dead. They are dead and they are never coming back. I will never train with my father again. I will not hear my mother sing again. I will not be able to do---to do those things I wanted to do with them.’’ 

Aryg stared. Fay had never before loudly acknowledged, with her own words, that her parents were gone. Others have done it for her, including himself, repeatedly so, but never herself. 

They are gone! And nothing makes sense about it. You---and everyone else just moved on. And---and yo-you made me feel as if I was doing something wrong because I didn’t.’’ Tears spilled down her cheeks. Her eyes were burning as she stared back at him unfalteringly. “ The healers said I was--- broken. ’’ She spat, disgusted. “Broken, uncle Aryg. You----you didn’t do anything about that. You----you just looked at me the same way they did. And it makes me angry. So---so I don’t want you to say that to me. That I ran away because I was acting out.’’ 

Sysa should have come with him. But then she would have also slapped him and said he was incapable of finding the right words unless he was playing political games. It was so much easier with his twins. They were calm, tempered children. 

They won’t look at him with that look that says ‘I know you’re not him and I won’t forgive you for it’ .

“I should have chosen my words more wisely.’’ He conceded. Apologies were not in his nature, not in such an emotional context. They’d been beaten out of him at a young age. “ We can resume our conversation when you have calmed down---‘’ It was incredible really. Negotiating the annexation of territory with treacherous noblemen was far easier than talking to his own niece. A child. 

Fay glared at him. Glared. In the name of Tora, what exactly have the past two years done to her? She no longer cared about paying any modicum of respect, to show any sort of propriety. Then again. He knew who her parents were. They would have encouraged it. 

Sysa would have told him he deserved it. She was rarely wrong.  

“No. I will not---I will not calm down. I am not like you. I am not like you, uncle Aryg.’’ Fay didn’t seem to have her words planned out but they came out all the same. She must have been waiting a long time to do that. “ I am not like any of you. I don’t---I can’t ignore how I feel. I can’t---I can’t just pretend I am not angry. I tried that. I tried that and I hurt Titoh. And for—for what?’’ Gesturing with her hands. That, she had gotten from her mother. Aryg wondered if Fay was aware she was doing it. “ I…don’t want to be like you.’’ She announced.“ I am not like my parents either and I---I want to, but I think I am alright if—if I am not.’’ 

The girl raised to her feet. She hadn’t been dismissed but she was exhibiting defiance. She had Damar’s darker features, but at that moment, Aryg could see Evara in her. That preposterous, unnatural need to show the world just how exactly she felt. To look at him as if being in control was the actual wrong approach. 

I know you were raised differently. I know that you are not like my father. I know---I know that you tried your best, uncle Aryg.’’ Fay conceded. “ But---you don’t understand. I wish---I wish you would have asked what I have done in the past two years ra—rather than assuming. You have no idea of the people I met. Of the things I learned. Of how much---stronger I am. Maybe---maybe not in the ways that you want me to be. But I am . I have friends—and I have---I have a family in this world, as well. I did all that---I did.’’ Her breath hitched. “ I did that. Bagheera and I.’’ 

Fay raised her hands up to him, to show the scars on her wrists. She was not done. She was far from being done. A small voice at the back of her head told her that her emotional outburst would only prove that she had not gotten better in fact. That her uncle might have even listened to her, and she was perhaps being too harsh. 

I almost died. Did you know that? I almost died. The bracelets almost killed me. But I removed them. And I almost died again. Fighting. Really fighting, with my flux. Not a mock mission or training exercise.’’ Was she shouting at her uncle, the clan leader, and one of the royals? She was. “ And—And I liked it and I won. ’’ Debatable, but he didn’t need to know that. “ You are right. People found out that I am not from their realm. But those people---they---they trained me, and they offered me shelter and they---‘’ Her jaw clenched. “--- They didn’t care that I had problems controlling my flux. Or that I had panic attacks.’’ 

Not like you did. It was left unspoken, but Aryg heard it all the same. 

I met so many different people. Kind ones, and terrible ones too. I found Daphne Barlow. I fought the Sponsor. I did. On my own. I have been training with the warriors of this world and they---they have helped me. I---I helped people.’’ She smiled, which she had a feeling looked hysterical. She likely sounded that way as well. “I went into a burning building. I fought assassins. I---I almost drowned. I helped a man escape traffickers. Bagheera and I broke into houses to steal food. I---I made friends. I go to the museum, and I am learning new languages. I even study. I have been learning to control my flux better. I no longer have as many Bad Days. My panic attacks are not as bad.’’ Fay was aware that she was ranting but she felt like a bottle that’d been sealed for too long and the tap had finally been removed. Her uncle’s expression betrayed nothing, and he looked not at all impressed, but she found she didn’t care at that moment. 

I listen to music again---'’ 

“That’s enough.’’ Aryg cut her off. 

“--- and did you know my name is on a book now? I helped with it---‘’ 

“Enough!’’ 

Fay’s next words died on her lips. She froze in place when she found herself having to tilt her head up to stare at her uncle because he had stood up. She swallowed, nervously. She could feel her heart thud in her ribcage.  

“That is enough, Lafayette.’’ He repeated, in a calmer yet definitive tone. He looked as if he was about to add something but a knock at the door interrupted them. Irritation flashed across his features as his head snapped towards the door. “What is it?!’’  

The door opened. It was Moma. 

“My apologies, sir. I am afraid we have a situation.’’ 

Fay’s heart sunk. What now? 

“What is it?’’ Aryg asked tersely. 

Moma tapped her cane against the floor as she looked at Fay with a grim look. “ I am afraid our guest has gone missing.’’ 

“What guest?’’ 

Fay’s eyes widened. “Da---Robin? Robin has gone missing?!’’  

Aryg glanced at her, then back at Moma with a look that clearly said he had not known the boy was there. Fay ignored him, as she stepped towards the woman. 

“I thought he was too unwell. That it will take another day---where’s Bagheera?’’  

As it turns out, Damian had unexpectedly gone missing from his bed. So had the paladin. He should have not been able to walk around already. Fay wasn’t quite as surprised that he was.  

He is stronger than most humans.’’ She said. “I am going to find them.’’ She didn’t even wait to see what her uncle had to say about that, both eager to leave that room and to find her friend and paladin.  

Moma bowed her head at the man, apologized for the intrusion then followed the girl. 

Lira stepped at the threshold a moment later, leaning against the door. She smiled coldly at Aryg. 

Don’t you ever get tired of being a bastard?’’ 

Aryg offered her a scathing look. “ You brought the outsider here.’’ He growled. “Do you realize how irresponsible that is?’’  

Lira shrugged. “He would have died otherwise. I might be wrong but I thought we were beyond letting children die.’’ 

“He is a liability.’’ 

His younger sister offered him a withering expression. 

“Yet he made Fay his responsibility. You just can’t stop being a selfish fuck, can you?’’ 

 “ You lied to me. You said you had not been able to find Lafayette until two weeks ago.’’ 

The woman shrugged, looking shameless. “ She was happy.’’ 

“You don’t get to decide that---‘’ 

“Neither do you.’’ Lira cut him off. It appears everyone was that day. “Last I recall, she was miserable in Maysoon. Have to wonder why she’d gotten so much better once she left all of you behind.’’ Cold grey eyes met his unflinchingly. “Then again, what would you know about being anything else than what others want you to be, hm?’’ 

Then she walked away. 

Aryg reached to press his thumb and index finger against the bridge of his nose. He sighed. 

Sometimes it felt like there was no one left who didn’t wish he had died instead of Damar.  

Even himself. 

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Moma had to have noticed how red and puffy her face was but she didn’t say anything. 

Thankfully it did not take long to find Damian and Bagheera. Unfortunately, when they did, much to Fay’s horror, the boy and her paladin were in a fight. With---was that Klaus? It was . His Grymla, as well. Fay had no idea how Klaus was there, or how both males ended up crossing the path, or why in the world they thought they should start fighting but it had to stop. 

There was a courtyard built in one of the building’s wings, open to the sky and easy to admire from any of the five floors. Fay stepped next to Corim, who was leaning against the stained glass parapet, gazing down at the courtyard. They were on the fourth floor, but Fay recognized Damian’s form all the same. As she did her paladin’s and the other two opponents. 

In retrospect, that was the actual moment that Fay reached her breaking point. Anger came back tenfold, and this time it was directed at her friend and paladin. Those idiots! As if everything wasn’t hard enough, as if there wasn’t enough confusion and uncertainty. They just had to go ahead and start a fight! 

And Damian should have been resting! But, no, of course not. Here he was – where did he even get a weapon, that maniac! – taunting Klaus who responded in kind by seemingly trying to set him on fire. Could not he see that his shoulder was bleeding again? 

“I am so sick of this.’’ 

Stupid boys and judging uncles and people dropping in her life unexpectedly with secrets and mind-bending revelatory information. 

In retrospect, she may have behaved in a rather…unhinged manner. 

Especially when she found herself flying herself down to the courtyard, fists glowing green. She’s not sure what possessed her to use that move then. She’d only just started to practice it in the last months, and it was primarily against the dummies in Batcave. It was meant to be an exercise helping her understand how to best channel her flux and how much of it she should depending on the damage she wanted to inflict. 

But at that moment, she did not want to contain herself. She had wanted to let loose. So, when she landed in the courtyard and slammed her fist against the ground, she did not hold back. 

“Stop it, right now!’’ 

Definitely unhinged. 

The earth cracked. Shifted. Fay remained oblivious to the damage that reverberated to the lower floors causing the glass parapets to shatter. Incredibly enough, she didn’t even make note of the way the ground split open although it was right in front of her eyes, far too caught in berating both boys and their respective paladins. The Grymla, naturally, tried to attack her mainly because she was suddenly startled by the way the girl made her entrance. 

Swirling in the air, Fay sent a gust of wind that threw the beast flying across the courtyard. Bagheera had recovered the quickest out of all of them, and he had tried to approach Fay but when he sensed her emotions, he wisely chose to keep his distance. Was his tail singed? Yes, it was. Because her paladin decided it would be a good idea to help Damian instead of stopping him! He was her paladin, not his! 

“What do you think you are doing---‘’ Damian looked half-dead and was coughing blood, yet he still dared to use that tone with her. Fay glared at him. “Shut up!’’ She threw her hands in the air. “What is wrong with you?! Look at you! You almost died and you thought you should start a fight!’’ Her voice was cracking. She was screaming that hard. By that point, she’d completely lost it.

Damian was only temporarily surprised by the anger directed at him. He was who he was, however, and he didn’t always know when to shut up. Not if his pride or arrogance had a say in it. “You’re overreacting---‘’ Fay could have punched him. She would have if Klaus didn’t decide to attack her. 

Fay just barely dodged his fist. 

What the hell was wrong with the world? The last time she’d seen Klaus, she had helped him! 

Well, if that’s how he wanted to behave. She went for Klaus with the same ferocity she’d gone after Ranis. Was that revenge? Maybe. She ended up breaking his nose and freezing his legs and arms together. Should it have felt good? It did a bit. Yet it also didn’t. She didn’t want to hurt any of them. 

But she had had it with everything and everyone. 

The Grymla re-appeared in her line of vision, snarling. Fay stared at it challengingly, wisps of energy swirling around her. The beast did not advance any further. 

Fay rounded on Damian, who had managed to get up to his feet. He looked terrible. 

“I had it handled---‘’ 

“You are such an idiot.’’ She spat. “Why would you do this when---when you’re this injured?’’ 

“First of all, that fool attacked first---‘’ 

“---why were you even walking around----’ 

“--- TT , I am perfectly fine. Stop dramatizing---‘’ 

“---you almost died! You were poisoned---‘’ 

“---Perhaps if you had actually listened and did as I told you---‘’ 

“---you were injured before I arrived. What I was supposed to do, just stand and watch---‘’ 

“---yes! Yes, that’s exactly what you were supposed to do. We’ve gone over this, but clearly, you are incapable of processing simple instructions---‘’ 

Stop it .’’ And now she was crying. “Stop it, please.’’ 

Damian frowned. His right eye was healed so he could see with both again, but his vision was slightly unfocused. Regardless, he could clearly see how red and puffy Fay’s eyes were, how much she was shaking. She looked hurt . She had been upset before she’d arrived there and saw him fight with Klaus, but the disappointment he read on her face? That was directed at him. For him? Because of him? He couldn’t tell. That was aggravating. He’d always been able to pinpoint the root cause of her anger or sadness, to recognize even the smallest of gestures, even the ones that were involuntary. 

He’d pushed and prodded her many times during training, so he’d seen her get angry before. 

But this wasn’t training. 

It was something else. 

It was her family, he soon discovered, just minutes later. And that place wasn’t her home, not really, but it was something akin to that. 

A young woman in her twenties, which Fay referred to as Aunt Lira , had ended up escorting them back inside. Damian wasn’t feeling cooperative, he would have preferred having answers. He would have preferred being alone with Fay and understanding why she was behaving in that manner. He could care less that she destroyed the courtyard and hurt Klaus – that had been satisfying to watch, actually. No, he wanted to know why she’d been so enraged that he had automatically been included in her line of fire. 

It was selfish, really. He did not wish to see her upset but equally, he was irked, to say the least, that she looked at him in that manner. Him. Out of all people there, He should have been the exception. 

It was her family’s fault. It had to be. Damian wasn’t sure how long he’s been out but clearly, they had enough time to get to Fay and affect her in that manner. 

The only reason he didn’t protest as much as he wanted to was that by the time they were back in the chambers he’d woken up, he had started feeling light-headed. It wasn’t just that, however. His whole body felt wrong. Sluggish. Still working well enough to take on Klaus, although not that the idiot was a particularly good fighter when he wasn’t relying on his flux. Fay was certainly better than him. 

Fay had gone eerily quiet. She no longer looked angry but as sick as he felt, but her hands were still trembling. They were both seated on a long velvet bench in the antechamber with Corim checking Damian’s injuries. The boy had nothing short of snarled when the man tried to touch him, but then he had conceded the healer to get close when a bout of nausea assailed him. If he wanted to find answers and possibly escape that place, he had to be operating at his one hundred. 

Corim’s flux felt different than Fay’s. Damian didn’t find it unpleasant but he also did not like it. It wasn’t warm like hers, it wasn’t familiar. Instead, it felt cold, like ice being pressed against his skin, the energy was prodding. He watched as the injury in his shoulder closed, the tissue repairing itself under the bright energy. He felt sticky. He had been covered in some sort of salve that had a minty scent yet the texture of honey.  

In English, Corim told him about the toxins that were purged from his system and how they were likely responsible for him feeling the way they did. He also highlighted that it was exceptional Damian had woken up and was so active already, which was a good sign. Damian grunted, far more earnest to finish the conversation so they could all leave than pointing out that his quick recovery was only expected. He was excellent. 

There was an old woman who didn’t speak English. She scrutinized Damian the entire time that Corim was healing him. The boy simply returned the look. It seemed to amuse her for some reason, and then she turned her head towards Fay who was seated at the other end of the seat. She hadn’t moved or spoken at all. Damian didn’t understand what the woman said, but judging by the tone, she was lecturing the girl.  

And judging by how Fay tensed up and bowed her head, she was certainly taking it at heart. 

Damian scowled at the old hag. 

Aunt Lira , on the other hand, was also fluent in English. She had also exhibited a rather nonchalant attitude the entire time and referred to Fay as ‘ flea ’ several times. Some sort of ridiculous nickname. There had been another man watching them in the courtyard but he had not followed them there. He hadn’t been dressed in the same outfits as Corim or the female servants either.  If that was who Damian suspected he was, then Fay’s emotional state made all the more sense. 

Bagheera had tentatively gotten closer until he was finally pressed against Fay’s legs. Damian was not sure where the Grymla was, but he had seen Klaus being taken away by another servant. He had been shivering uncontrollably and his entire face was covered in blood. Good. 

When Damian woke up, he had been in such a disoriented state that he’d ended up on the floor as soon as he tried standing up. Bagheera was there and given he was only worried and not agitated, then Damian easily deduced Fay was safe. The paladin wouldn’t have just stayed there by his side if she hadn’t been. Bagheera had tried to stop him from leaving, but when he refused, the lupine creature accompanied him. It wasn’t long before they had exited into the halls of the palace-like residence that Damian came across Klaus. Regardless of Fay’s assessment that Klaus had only been just an unwitting puppet of Bernard’s, Damian still considered him an enemy. So he demanded why he was there and where Fay was. 

The idiot decided it would be a good idea to mock Damian. How pathetic of him to think Damian wasn’t going to retaliate. 

Then the Grymla showed up, and Bagheera defended Damian. It just escalated from thereon. 

“I think what you need right now is, rest,’’ Corim remarked as he stood up. He glanced at Fay. “Miss Lafayette, are you injured?’’ 

The girl shook her head. 

“Very well.’’ He glanced at the elderly woman and spoke next in the Maysoon language. 

Damian eyed Fay. She was wearing a dress. It was an odd sight, yet it fit her. Her hair looked shinier, almost styled, although there were several locks out of place. Her hands were still clenched, her right knuckles bruised. She kept her head bowed and eyes trained to the ground, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. 

Was she embarrassed? 

Because of him

An acidic emotion filled his veins, a combination of anger and bitterness and just a speck of guilt which went ignored. There was an underlying hurt as well. She was embarrassed by him? Because he had started a fight in front of her family? Is that why she looked so castigated? The old hag reverted her attention to Fay and spoke again. It was phrased as a question. Fay shook her head and responded in the same language. 

Lira spoke as well, a few sentences that Damian didn’t understand either. Then they all finally decided to leave but not before Corim pointed out that a servant will come back with fresh clothes and food for Damian. 

The tall, heavy doors were shut behind them. And just like that, they were alone. The silence was almost deafening, as neither one of them spoke for a while. 

Damian, out of pride and growing ire at the prospect that Fay would feel embarrassed of him in favor of her family’s opinion. Fay, out of exhaustion and shame for how she’d behaved, and because she struggled to keep herself from crying. She failed. Several more tears slid down her face and she wiped them away quickly, but others followed. 

For fuck’s sake. What was wrong with her? 

Damian did the only thing he knew best when he was hurt by something. He enveloped that emotion in anger and let it color his words. 

“Perhaps the contingency plans— ‘’ The ones they spent hours discussing. The ones in which he’d promised he will always come for her because he lov---“—should have accounted for your friend not being up to your family’s standards.’’ 

Fay looked up startled. Her eyes were red, glassy. Yet he couldn’t stop, even when there was a part of him that told him he was going down the wrong path. 

“Wh—what?’’ 

“Spare me.’’ He snarled. “Don’t cry just because you’ve suddenly forgotten who I am . Or was your continuous concern over being found by your family an act?’’ 

Bagheera growled at him. Warningly. The hurt that flashed across Fay’s face as she stared at him bewildered was not at all satisfying. 

“What are you talking about---why are you saying these things?’’ Fay whispered. 

He doesn’t know. It was that look. That look. He’d seen it before. On Mother’s face. On Father’s. 

“I don’t recall ever treating you as an embarrassment despite having been far more reckless and emotional----‘’ 

Slap!

He had seen it coming, in the way her hand had twitched, the way her mouth twisted at his words. He could have even stopped it, despite his slower response rate. 

But he hadn’t. 

He knew, deep down, that he had earned it. Even if Fay looked horrified and guilty by the gesture immediately after. She hadn’t even slapped him hard, barely turning his head to the side when she did. She could have done far more damage – if she truly wanted to - she could have easily fractured his cheekbone if she used her flux. Decapitate him, even, like she'd done with the dummies in the cave before. 

But she didn’t. Because despite all the discussions about self-control, all the so-called ‘incidents’ that Fay feared might repeat themselves, she never lost control. Not with him. Not unless he had already provoked her during training. In a way, Fay had better control over her impulses and her flux than he did over his bloodthirst. He never told her that, he doesn't think he will. Not yet. Maybe never. Not when it was hard admitting it to himself. 

Fay had not given him a reason to doubt her. 

But he accused her of doing so. He had allowed Klaus in his head, as ridiculous as that was.

“You are just like my uncle. You just judge me...and assume things.’’ He didn't look at her. Damian refused to touch his cheek, even if it stung. It would be equal to admitting that he was hurt, even if most of that pain was inside. 

When he didn't say anything, Fay turned on her feet and rushed into the chambers behind him. The doors were shut loudly behind her. Then locked. Bagheera had not been allowed to follow, much to his frustration and concern. His whines went ignored. Damian didn’t need the paladin’s empath abilities or his keen hearing to know that Fay was crying. 

Shit. 

(He failed again) 

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Aryg Aryg Estaris

Moma Moma 

Chapter 50: Of worlds clashing (IV)

Chapter Text

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21 st of March 

Fay isn’t sure for how long she stayed in the air. Hours, perhaps. She circled the island several times - it was far bigger than she’d expected - and then had laid down on a small strip of beach nestled between cliffs. It was peaceful out there with the sound of water crashing and rolling onto the sand and no pollution or skyscrapers hiding the stars away. 

As she managed to process and think her way through the emotions roiling inside of her, the tension left her body. The anger dissipated, leaving her drained. She’d managed to self-reflect enough on how and why she behaved the way she did by the time she was ready to fly back. 

Fay had more questions than she had answers, and yet every time she tried to find the latter, her life spiraled out of control. When had her time in that world become so complicated? Why did her new life there have to be turned upside down once again? 

Either way, she recognized that the stress and confusion that built up in the last few days had contributed to her feeling overwhelmed. Her outburst with her uncle was another matter. She didn’t necessarily regret it, for she meant everything she had said, and she was glad she found the courage to say it. How she went about it however could have been refined. She would have liked to be calm and collected and eloquent, to serve her anger with grace and not with a verbal hammer. 

But it had all been years in the making, hadn’t it? Ever since she’s started acknowledging what lay beneath the grief and sadness. She just didn’t think she’d do it alone, in that familiar yet simultaneously foreign place, with no Damian or Bagheera by her side. Or so early in her reunion with her family.  

Fay still thought Klaus and Damian had acted like idiots. Why did they have to resort to violence? 

But something had been off about Damian too and it hadn’t been just his poor physical state. He was capable of being cruel, he had a tongue that was just as sharp as his mind, she knew that. Fay had grown used to it all, though. She knew that affection and compliments did not come easy to him, and he could be very backhanded about either. She knew that while he could cut people with words as well as he could with his sword, one had to look beyond that and judge him for his actions rather. She knew that he would always come after her if something happened, with as much certainty she knew Bagheera will always be by her side. 

And she knew that his controlling ways were partly due to his upbringing and partly due to his protectiveness. He could go overboard, and he could push boundaries and he could be difficult. She’d seen him lash out before, at herself or others. His temper can be mercurial. 

He has never spoken to her in that manner, before. In the heat of the moment, she thought he had sounded hateful because she had listened to his words only. But as she kept replaying the scene again and again in her mind, she realized that while his words may have been harsh, his tone had been….He sounded wounded . He sounded exactly how she felt when her uncle accused her of acting out. 

Then she felt guilty about berating him the way she did in such a public setting but it wasn’t as if he didn’t lecture her all the time when she did something that led her to be injured or in danger. 

How could he think she was embarrassed by him, though? If anything, when she spoke about him to Moma and her aunt, she felt humbled. He, out of all people, was her friend. He had a dozen different contingency plans to keep her safe, he is always there for her in her most vulnerable moments, and he’s been a pillar she could lean. When she talked about what type of friend he is, she only further realized how much that was.  

With a shake of her head, Fay left the beach and returned to the residence. It was hard to miss, seeing as it was the biggest building on that side of the island. From up in the air, she realized how old it actually looked, a hybrid type of architecture that’s served as headquarters for the men and women that shaped history in her world. 

Fay could barely keep herself awake by the time she managed to find the windows to her chambers. She probably wouldn’t have, if it hadn’t been for Bagheera coming up on the large balcony of the antechamber and catching her eye. 

She slid inside and closed the glass doors. Damian’s chamber doors were shut. Bagheera blinked twice when she asked him if the boy was there, so she sighed in relief. Then her heart twinged because she had no idea where they stood.  

She had slapped him. That had been a most terrible transgression because she should have had more self-control and tried to understand why he was behaving that way because something had clearly been wrong. 

Retreating to her chambers, Fay changed out of her dress into a  maroon two-piece set of sleeping wear. A sleeveless shirt and three-quarter pants. Her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. 

She wasn’t bothered by the warm heat, but just two days earlier she’d been wearing several extra layers, so it was rather strange. Bagheera climbed up next to her, and she wrapped her arms around him, whispering apologies and reminding him how much she adored him.  

The sleeping quarters reminded her of Maysoon yet she did not feel at home. The bed was too big, and it was too quiet, and the scents were all wrong even if she liked them. 

She was glad she was too exhausted to fret over the possibility that she might not go back to the warehouse. 

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“Maysoon is under attack.’’

“---We are all going to die.’’

“No one knows where they are---‘’

“Help me, please! Help---‘’ 

 

“My darling fey---‘’ 

 

The gasp that left her throat was identical to someone who’s been underwater for too long and was desperate for air. Her lungs worked in overdrive, driving her chest up and down at a quick pace and she pressed a hand against her chest, where she could feel her heart thumping wildly. A calloused hand touched her shoulder and she jerked away, startled. 

No---! ’’ 

 

“It’s me.’’ It was dark in the chambers. The skylight allowed the natural light of the moon to filter through, but it was not enough for her to clearly see the boy’s face. The room felt wrong as well, with everything placed on the wrong side. Then she realized that she was, in fact, in another room. Damian’s room. How did she---?

 

“Da—Damian?’’ She whimpered. Her head hurt because of the exhaustion and constant crying, and she struggled to get her breathing under control. The nightmare had been different, at least towards the end. She’d dreamt of her mother speaking to her, on that night. That’s never happened before. Yet as soon as she was awake, the content of her dreams had already faded.  

 

Then she remembered how her last meeting with Damian went, and she suddenly felt like crying again. “I---I am sorry---‘’ she sobbed. Damian did not respond immediately but then he tugged her forward by the shoulders. Fay immediately wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled herself as close as possible to him. He must have bathed before going to sleep because not only was he wearing a new set of clothes. Frustratingly enough, the scent of herbal oils overpowered his actual scent which she struggled to smell even as she pressed her face against his collarbone. 

She apologized again and again and again. He had hurt her too, but she should not have slapped him in that manner. She should not have compared him to her uncle because they were nothing alike even if they shared many things in common. 

“Shut up,’’ Damian cut her off on what must’ve been her dozenth apology. “Stop apologizing.’’ She felt warm in his arms. No longer the thin and fragile thing she used to be, but he still felt like covering her away from the rest of the world. And why shouldn’t he? Her family clearly was a negative influence on her emotional state. 

“I have committed a logical fallacy.’’ I hurt you, and I am sorry. “Your reaction was proportional to that.’’ I deserved it. 

He fell back against the pillows, pulling her with him. Fay was still shaking slightly so he didn’t release her from the hug. She didn’t seem like she wanted to let go anytime soon if the grip on his shirt was any indication. 

And that was absolutely fine by him. 

 “I…you—you said those things and I—'’

“I know.’’ He cut her off. “That could hardly qualify as a slap, however.’’

Fay sobbed. 

“I…. I was angry.’’ She whispered as she pulled her head away slightly to look at him. She could only make out the outline of his face, but it was enough for her to reach for his cheek. The one she’d slapped. There was a spot there that was warmer than the rest of his skin and she gently brushed her thumb over it. “I shouldn’t have---direct it at you. I am so---‘’

Damian slapped his hand over her mouth. He had to have been glaring at her, but she couldn’t see it, so it didn’t count. 

“— TT —what did I say?’’ He said irritably. “I do not hold it against you. Do you?’’ His behavior. Will she forgive him?

He lowered his hand. Fay shook her head and removed her hand from his cheek. 

“Perfect. Then there is no reason to keep dredging this up. Nothing’s changed.’’ He wasn’t going anywhere. They had had a…. miscommunication . That’s all.

“I would never be embarrassed by you,’’ she said quietly, her breath tickling his jaw. 

He knows. He knows . He did not want to talk about it – about his failure, about having reacted in such an emotional way – but he knew she’d think about it. Even if she knew he didn’t mean the words. 

“I,’’ he swallowed. “I am aware.’’ 

He couldn’t tell her about Klaus’s words and how he’d allowed such silly words to get to him. Because then he would also have to admit that, actually, no it hadn’t been that moron and his words who had the power to affect him in such a manner. It was her, and the permanent fixture she represented in his life. He would have to admit before he’s had a chance to dissect his own mind and heart, that the idea she might consider him unworthy to be a part of her world, had been lingering at the back of his mind. He thought he had been effective in squashing such thoughts away. 

Fay bit her lip. If he was aware, then why did he say such things? Was their friendship starting to crack and fall apart? No, no it couldn’t be. He wouldn’t waste time and effort if he wanted to stop being friends. If anything, that he was hurt – and she knew he was, even if he acted as if he wasn’t – then, it meant he cared. She just didn’t know why. 

If she asked, she didn’t think he’d tell her. Maybe later. Too much had happened. 

“I am glad you’re alright,’’ she muttered ultimately, feeling drowsy. She could use several more hours of sleep. 

 “There is nothing to worry about. I’ve— ‘’

“—had worse, I know.’’ Fay smiled. “But I will always worry.’’ Pause. “Because you’re important to me.’’ She added in a softer voice, embarrassedly. “Both you and Bagheera are.’’ 

“That hardly seems like a compliment.’’ It was. One of the highest she could pay him. Because Damian knew how much she adored Bagheera. She’d often said her paladin was one of the creatures she loved most in her life. Damian had been on that list for a while but if she wished to reaffirm that, then he would not stop her. The selfish part of him wanted to hear that he was the most important one. Out of everyone, even above her paladin. Maybe…. maybe soon. When had he ever settled on being second or on a tie with someone else? After all, two years earlier, she was too afraid to even be in the same room as him.

“Yes, it is,’’ Fay replied. She had stopped shaking, and her muscles gradually relaxed. She liked the way he kept brushing his thumb against the tape of her neck. “I don’t…’’ She murmured. “I don’t know…what I would do if something happened to….either of you.’’

Damian didn’t respond although there were plenty of snarky comments that formed right on the tip of his tongue. He also didn’t react when she moved her head briefly over to his so she could kiss the cheek where she’d slapped him. Then she pulled away, pressed her head under his chin, and fell asleep within seconds. He stayed frozen like that, processing and analyzing and dissecting. 

A few minutes later she moved, turning to the other side but remaining pressed to him. Her breathing and heart rate indicated she was deeply asleep. He could see quite well in the darkness, but even if he hadn’t, he could feel the energy thrumming underneath the marks. By then, he’s learned the position of most of them, particularly on her upper limbs. 

He moved slowly as if he were to be caught doing something illicit – it always felt that way whenever he got that infernal itch of keeping her close – and pressed his forehead against her head. Her hair smelt different. Objectively it was a pleasant scent, but he did not like how different it was. It said ‘ of my world and not yours ’. 

He let his arm fall over her, loosely so and when she instinctively grabbed his hand and pulled it between hers, he didn’t protest. Even when asleep, Fay wanted to keep him close.  

That thought silenced the voice at the back of his head which still told him that he had grown weak, for wanting to be so close to others. 

.

.

.

It must have been the aftereffects of the toxins that caused him to sleep for so long. Or perhaps something he’d been given by the healers because he had also slept rather deeply throughout the night. He didn’t like it. Sleeping deeply, in a foreign environment in which he was disadvantaged equaled vulnerability. Vulnerability equaled weakness. Weakness meant he could not protect--

Fay’s laughter echoed through the cavernous chambers, and Damian was up on his feet in seconds. He felt far stronger than he did the previous day, and when he’d briefly glanced under his shirt, he could see that most of his bruises had healed as well. There were no broken bones or tears in his muscles and skin. He had to admit that the way that healer used his flux was rather intriguing. Fay had mentioned in the past that the flux can be applied in different ways and in the span of a few days, he’d seen two different types of flux users. Kaera, who appeared to be manipulating matter rather than the elements, and Corim, who used his energy to heal. 

Another giggle. Well, good to know she was having fun instead of assessing the perimeter. Idiot.

Damian followed the sound out of his room into the antechamber and then out onto the spacious balcony. He was rewarded with the sight of the lush evergreen trees, so large they could have rivaled giant sequoias and a strong aroma of the vegetation which immediately invaded his senses The sun was almost right above their heads, and the light filtered through the maze of intertwined branches like bright lasers. The flora was incredibly varied, in size and shape, and color, as if an artist had decided to include all the colors he could possibly think of. It was a beautiful sight, Damian could not deny it, the type that could serve as a muse for creativity. They were not in Maysoon, but if Fay’s homeland was anything close to that, he understood why she always spoke of it with such reverence. Why she had found it so easy to survive the Amazon, which could actually pale in comparison. 

Fay’s laughter was coming from inside the jungle, not too far from the residence and Damian heard the leaves rustle to his left. Bagheera’s figure, dark and large, flitted in the distance. To an untrained eye, he could have been passed for a trick of the light. 

Damian jumped over the railing onto a nearby branch that was at least four feet wide and grew wider the more he stepped towards the trunk several hundred feet away. He went deeper, switching to another branch, recalling how Fay had told him that the jungle’s beauty had often resulted treacherous and misleading. A distraction for the weak who would become side-tracked, gawking, and admiring only to fall prey to the wilderness. 

And in the middle of all that lethal beauty, Fay looked completely at ease, laughing, and floating from branch to branch, as she played with several creatures resembling monkeys. Their white fur contrasted with the greens and browns dominating the view, and he briefly wondered how they survived with such a stark lack of camouflaging ability. Then he saw how quickly they moved, and the way they used their tails to propel themselves through the trees. At that moment five of them were keen on catching the girl, or rather the large red fruit in her hand which she teased them with. 

Fay’s speed and agility were not that different from what he was familiar with, but there was something different about her. The glee he’d detected on her face when she ran from building to building in Gotham was twice as potent, and she seemed very much at ease in her body. Rolling, jumping, climbing, flying, somersaulting. She was being playful. 

Bagheera tried to pounce on Damian from a branch above his head, but the boy had anticipated it and moved away. The paladin landed before him, eyeing him as mischief rolled off him. He was interrupted by one of the monkeys jumping on his back and tugging on his ears. Damian smirked when the paladin whined and started galloping about, trying to throw the creature off of him.

His friend spotted him, seconds later. “Damian?’’ Fay threw the fruit to the monkeys, who quickly toppled onto another trying to fight for it as soon as it was on the ground. Damian spotted several of the same fruits hanging from the branches above their heads. So, it wasn’t the prize, but the chase that interested them.

The girl floated towards his position, cheeks all flushed and hair wild. She was barefoot and she had smudges of dirt over her outfit and face, but she looked cheerful. Her smile faded slightly as she stopped a few feet from him, mid-air. Her expression became bashful. Unsure. 

They had already addressed what had transpired the day before. He wanted to criticize her for looking apprehensive, but he knew that would not eliminate the sting of his words or the guilt she felt. When she planted her feet on the branch, positioning herself right in front of him, Fay no longer looked at him with that look, though. She didn’t look hurt, or disappointed, or angry. She glanced at his cheek, mouth twisting down, and then looked away.  

He clicked his teeth. Damn girl and that conscious of hers. 

“What are those?’’ He said, glancing over her shoulder at the ring-tailed creatures that had switched their attention to them. Several pairs of luminous orange eyes were watching them unblinkingly. One of them was brave, as it jumped over to the branch Damian and Fay were on, and then climbed on the girl’s shoulder. The long ringtail wrapped around her neck, a clawed paw resting on the girl’s head while the other clutched a piece of the red fruit. The juice dripped over its fur, crimson stark against white as if it were blood. 

“Vilkas,’’ Fay said, as she glanced at the animal. Its bulbous round eyes met her gaze, then reverted it back to Damian. “They’re very playful but if you offer them something, they’ll generally be friendly.’’ Fay looked back at him, smiling widely. “They usually can sense who has good intentions or not.’’ 

“Hn. Is that so, ‘’ 

Fay took out a half-eaten bag of peanut M&M’s from the pocket of her trousers and handed it to him. The Vilka eyed it with such interest that it even dropped the fruit, mesmerized by the yellow bag, before releasing a series of squeaking sounds. Damian accepted the bag and raised a brow at the girl. 

“They have a sweet tooth, as well.’’ She said, “One of them snuck inside my room and was trying to steal the bag this morning.’’ 

All that while he was asleep. And he hadn’t woken up once. 

Neither did she. 

Damian scowled lightly. “You left me unconscious.’’ Because saying he was asleep would be admitting that he slept so deeply that he could have been killed. Or that she could have. 

Fay shrugged. “I thought you needed it.’’ She looked nervous again. “I am sorry. For waking you up last night.’’ She didn’t ask how she ended up in his room. Bagheera had already confirmed that Damian moved her there, but she knew better than to press him about it. It didn’t matter, really, the why. What mattered is that nothing’s changed, just like he said. Many months earlier she would have spent hours thinking whether that fight had marked the end of their friendship, whether he would end up saying he can’t stand being her friend and they’ll go back to being strangers. While she had worried about their friendship being affected, she found herself thinking none of the other things. She did not fear Damian would walk away, not in that manner. It was rather amazing, having that sense of confidence in their bond as she did with Bagheera. 

Damian sighed irritably at the apology. They both sat down on the branch, next to one another, and for a few moments, they just watched as the Vilkas raced each other to reach the chocolate-covered peanuts that Damian threw out to them. It was strange, being in a place like that with Damian. 

“You were angry,’’ Damian remarked quietly. “Even before you interfered yesterday. Why?’’ 

Fay sighed. “I…I did something very stupid.’’ 

“Unsurprisingly,’’ He smirked. Her glare went ignored. “But I shall be the judge of that so tell me.’’ 

Fay went from the beginning, from the point where everything went wrong at the comic bookstore. She told him about the discussion she had with Kaera in the abandoned subway, how Jason found them, and then Kaera led them to Damian. Towards the end of the battle, her aunt Lira appeared. She was the one who rendered them all unconscious. Jason was left in Gotham and she’d taken Damian because he had been poisoned.  

“The warrior with the white and gold mask. You know him.’’ Fay blinked. How did Damian even come to that conclusion? It was an accurate one, but it’d been such a brief and unexpected moment, meeting Thalion again. 

“He released Bagheera back there. During the fight, he had also actively killed the warriors that were closest to you.’’ Ah. That explained it. Leave it to Damian to be able to pay attention to such details even in the state he was in. Damn. Maybe she ought to get into more fights.  

“Thelion. His name is Thelion.’’ Fay said, hoping her expression didn’t betray anything. 

Thelion had been sort of a long-standing crush for her in the past. An unachievable one, but that hadn’t stopped her from having had brief and childish fantasies about being courted by him. She was only six or seven at the time, then when she learned what courting would entail, she quickly grew out of such thoughts. She didn’t exactly outgrow her crush, which one could not blame her for. Thelion was incredibly good-looking and a prodigious warrior, but he was also mild-mannered and kind. Very charming altogether. He was born into one of the twelve clans, and by default considered as being of royal blood regardless of the new regime irrevocably and significantly changing the monarchical system. Her father had tutored him in the past, and given his quick rise in the ranks, Thelion had also been tasked on several occasions to watch over her. After the attack on Maysoon, all those childish and innocent fantasies were forgotten along with many others. She had only seen him once or twice during the year after but had barely registered his existence, to be fair. 

He was there, during the Trials, however. As was his family. As were many others who had watched her humiliating moment. 

Fay shook her head to herself, not wanting to recall such memories. She was feeling rested, and certainly far more stable from an emotional point of view. She had to preserve that calm state for she knew there’d be other difficult discussions ahead. So, she went ahead and told Damian how she woke up on that island, the information Lira gave her on their location, and how she also had to confront her uncle. It had started out as expected, with her uncle being formal and borderline cold, and it went down south within minutes after. 

Cradling her head, Fay admitted with horror that she completely lost it during the conversation. All the anger, all the frustrations. They all just came out, because he had used the words acting out , which he’d acknowledged had been unwise. Fay didn’t even give him a chance to rectify himself. 

“Yet none of it was false,’’ Damian said. “Regardless of your delivery.’’ 

Fay looked at him with a tortured expression. 

Two years have passed. Her family had been worried, regardless of how they behaved. She had wished to show them how much she’s changed, how she could control herself but all she’s done is be emotional again. And while she acknowledges that she’ll never be like them – something she’s also screamed at the top of her lungs to her uncle, which Damian found thoroughly amusing -, Fay wished she could have been more… 

“Cool? Cool, yes, that’s it. I wish I would have been cooler about it.’’ 

Damian rolled his eyes. Between Jason and that Montgomery girl, he wasn’t sure which was the worst offender in corrupting his friend’s vocabulary. Still, he would have liked to be in that room when Fay ‘lost it’. By her own account, she had lost her composure, which in turn may have jeopardized her eloquence but Damian had seen her angry plenty of times to know she could be compelling either way. Two years earlier, she would have not stood up for herself like that. If her family failed to see that, then they did not deserve to pass judgment. 

“Do you wish to take them back?’’ 

“What?’’ 

“What you’ve told your uncle. About the challenges you’ve faced and the obstacles you surmounted. About the life you created.’’ About me. “Do you wish to take them back? Beg for his forgiveness, sacrificing the truth in exchange for etiquette? Show him the respect you believe he deserves, not because he’s earned it but because of his title and the familial connection, and in exchange not be true to who you are now? What you want.’’ 

A ray of sunshine fell right on her back, warming her skin. Below them, on the steep and inclined jungle floor, Bagheera playfully chased some colorful parrots. He wouldn’t hurt them, she knew, but he must have missed the thrill of the chase. When she looked up at Damian, she found that he was staring at her, face unreadable but eyes scrutinizing. She got the sense that he was not only talking about herself. Damian has had to make similar choices she wished to make, after all. Disrespecting his mother’s wishes, turning his back on that side of his family, having his choices and principles questioned at every turn. 

“No,’’ That was the answer that felt right to her, as simple as it was. “I don’t want to do that anymore. I mean, I do respect him, and I do love my family but….’’ She pursued her lips. “I think that’s what my parents would have done. They---they wouldn’t have just changed their decisions if they strongly believed in them.’’ 

“So, don’t.’’ He looked away. “Trust in yourself. You have made many decisions on your own, decisions that you would have not otherwise if you had stayed in Maysoon.’’ 

“Yeah.’’ Fay smiled tentatively. “I…. I don’t think it will help me convince him I should stay, though.’’ 

 Damian snorted. “First, let’s find out what this place is and why you were brought here instead of your homeland.’’ 

“And after?’’ 

Green met brown. Her cheeks were slightly sunburnt. With the sun shining from behind her, he could see different shades in her hair from brown to chestnut and even some strands that had an auburn shine.  

“Then we will go back home, obviously.’’ 

In the shadows partially obscuring his face, Fay also couldn’t help but think that Damian looked as if he belonged there more than she did. With the jungle for his eyes and just as dangerous. 

.

.

.

When they returned to the chambers, Amina was waiting for them there with a trolley full of food. Lira was lounging on one of the long velvet seats, calmly eating an apple. When she saw them, she didn’t bother to move immediately as Amina explained she left their clean clothes in their respective chambers. The woman left them alone as soon as Fay confirmed they didn’t need anything else and thanked her. 

“We need to talk,’’ Lira said in English, as she straightened in a regular sitting position. “About what happens next.’’ 

“And what exactly will?’’ Damian asked hotly.  

Fay instinctively touched his shoulder, knowing he was likely to be impatient. “It’s—it’s alright. Aunt Lira wants to help.’’ She glanced at the woman in question. “Right?’’ 

Lira took another bite of her apple, only and gestured for them to sit across from her. Fay did not hesitate to do so, but Damian remained standing, behind Fay, ever so stubborn. 

Once she swallowed and her mouth was free, Lira was straightforward as was in her character. 

“I have been watching you for months. Since the start of last winter, actually.’’ 

The boy looked like he wanted to stab her. Huh. Fay looked taken back, more confused than upset by that revelation. 

“It wasn’t clear what happened to you until several weeks after you went missing. With Len captured, there was little to no trail as to where you’ve gone and Ranis made sure to throw off any scent for the search parties sent out. I heard what happened in the Trials,’’ Fay’s eyes immediately fell down to her lap, shoulders tensing. “And that Aryg intended on sending you to stay up north but I was not notified of you missing until later.’’ 

“Why?’’ 

Because no one bothered to tell her.

“It doesn’t matter.’’ She said dryly, as she took another chunk of her apple. “I found you in Gotham shortly after you came across the…Sponsor, was it? What a stupid name.’’ With her right hand, Lira chucked the apple core into a wooden basket placed in the corner of the room. It was at least twenty feet away and at an unfavorable angle to her left, but she did not miss. She also did not look when she threw it, Damian noted to himself. Interesting. But he wasn’t impressed yet. 

“Kaera said she knew I was in Gotham but she wasn’t sure…whether it’s safe to approach me.’’ 

“Kaera doesn’t know I found you. Neither did the Estaris. Or anyone else for that matter.’’ Lira confessed with nonchalance as she leaned back in her seat and crossed her legs. 

Damian crossed his arms over his chest. “You kept it a secret. To what purpose?’’ He paused. “I see. You were gathering intel.’’ 

Lira shrugged. “Yes. And no.’’ She paused, looking out towards the balcony for a few moments. Contemplating. Then she reverted her attention back to Fay. “…you really like it in this world, don’t you?’’ Lira asked with a fond smile.  

Fay nodded. “It’s different…but yes.’’ 

“You want to stay.’’ 

“Well…yes. I don’t---I don’t know for how long,’’ The boy’s eyes flitted to Fay so quickly that a regular person wouldn’t have noticed it. Lira caught the very brief glance but she pretended otherwise. “For—for as long as I can, I suppose.’’ 

There was nothing on his expression to indicate whether he was happy or not with the response. His heartbeat was under control, as well. His scent carried no notes of fear or anxiety. Hm. The boy was either really confident or really stupid to be so haughty in a foreign environment like that. 

“If you stay here, you might even enjoy it. I don’t think Aryg is wrong about that. This place would be good for you. You can learn and train and don’t have to worry about any of the pressure you would have in Maysoon.’’ 

But ?’’ Damian piped up. 

Lira didn’t look at him, keeping her gaze trained on Fay. Contemplating. “This world has been good to you,’’ She said. “Who cares if you stay out there for the time being? Maysoon is not going anywhere.’’ She smiled briefly. “I think your parents would have not had an issue with that.’’ 

“I thought they wanted me to be brought here.’’ 

Lira brushed a hand over her leg. “The plan was to bring you to this island when you and Titoh were older. To train here with former members of Resistance and maybe even see what’s past beyond the barrier. Plus you wouldn’t be entirely on your own---You have found Daphne Barlow, haven’t you?’’ 

Fay opened her mouth to express her surprise that Lira knew about that, then she remembered the woman did admit she’s been spying on them for weeks. Fay had visited Daphne several times throughout winter, so at any point, Lira could have followed her. 

“How did you find her?’’ Lira asked. 

“Um, by---by accident?’’ 

Lira raised a brow. “You sure about that?’’ 

Fay told her about the research she was doing on traveling to Europe and how she came across Bruno’s name, then Daphne’s. How she had noticed the woman’s scar. Looking back, it had always felt like an incredible coincidence. 

Perhaps it wasn’t. 

“Barlow has mentioned she had been part of the Resistance. Early circles.’’ Damian remarked. 

Lira nodded. “An old-timer, that one.’’ Her lips pursed. “I didn’t get to know very well back then, but Damar did.’’ 

“Yes, they were…allies.’’ Fay was about to comment on how Damar had made Daphne promise that she’ll do him an unknown favor, but Damian swiftly jumped over the back of the seat and sat down next to her. It was a brief, quick gesture but she felt his hand brush past her elbow, and thankfully she caught the signal. He didn’t think it was wise to speak further on that topic. 

“You didn’t know her back then,’’ Damian said. “Yet you know of the name she assumed in this world.’’ 

Lira shrugged. “I didn’t until I started monitoring you, but I did recognize her. Up until this point, I only knew she had gone missing or presumed dead.’’ She brushed a hand through her hair. “I am assuming that was Damar’s doing, to ensure she wasn’t bothered.’’ 

“Not even the so-called guardians?’’ 

“No.’’ 

“But she was taken by the Sponsor as well,’’ Fay said. “Didn’t Kaera see her?’’ 

Lira nodded. “Yep, but Kaera never met her before. She’s quite young. Maybe Len would have recognized her, but even so, it’s been a lifetime. They think Daphne is just a human that has been caught in the crossfire.’’ 

This means they are the only three people, potentially across both worlds, that know of Daphne. Four, actually, including Bagheera. 

“Considering no one else knows, you have a reason to keep this a secret,’’ Damian’s eyes narrowed. “You think this isn’t a coincidence at all.’’ 

“Maybe,’’ Lira said cryptically. “I won’t tell you not to say anything Fay, but there may be a reason why your father kept Daphne a secret and not just because she wanted to start a new life.’’ 

Neither one of the teenagers could disagree with that. 

“Len and Kaera want to talk to you, as well,’’ Lira said, uncrossing her legs. “While you do that, how about I give Robin here a tour?’’ 

Damian sneered at her. Fay looked alarmed. “Can’t---can’t he come with me?’’ 

Lira sighed. “You do understand that he knows far more than he should?’’ She glanced at the boy. “I am the only one right now who knows how much you know. A large part of that is because I have been monitoring you. It is best if others do not know how much has been shared.’ 

“They’re not very good at their job, are they?’’ Damian quipped. “And you keeping this a secret as well is what? A generosity? You don’t seem to care very much if outsiders know about this place or your world.’’ 

“The only reason your memories haven’t been wiped or you’re not in a cage, brat, is because you are friends with her.’’ Lira gave Fay a pointed look. “Likewise, I am willing to bet you know more about him and his masked friends than you should. I am not saying Do not make me regret doing this.’’ Her expression darkened. “Others would not care about protecting your feelings, Fay. Do you understand that? Len and Kaera work for the Council and they have to report back to a higher authority. What do you think will happen if they end up reporting all this?’’ She waved her hand between the boy and girl. 

Fay nodded. 

Damian clicked his teeth but didn’t comment. She may have a point but he was not going to fear anyone. How could he not have known she was watching? How could he have been so blind, still ? If Dick had been there, he would have said it’s because he hasn’t shared everything. 

“So…what I am supposed to say?’’ Fay asked, the blood going cold in her veins. Damian’s life may have been saved by being brought there, but now he was at risk of being caged? Imprisoned? Oh sweet Maysoon , what about the rest of his family? What if the Council did find out? 

“Right now, Moma and I are the ones who know most. Aryg, does too, to an extent. He knows that your friend here is aware of your real identity, where you come from, your abilities. Kaera only knows that you have been in touch with warriors here who are aware of your abilities.’’ Fay nodded. Kaera had said a very similar thing. “She didn’t even know your exact position. She tracked Klaus in Gotham, but he hadn’t been forward from the beginning so your location remained unclear for weeks.’’ 

Klaus had inadvertently done her a favor. 

“As far as it concerns Robin, they know that he is a human warrior. That he does not work alone, but I’ve taken care of his partner.’’ 

“Taken care of,’’ Damian repeated icily. 

Lira raised a hand in a placating manner. “He’s fine. I didn’t do anything to him other than administer a drug that made him forget a few hours.’’ She lowered her hand. “He probably knows more beyond that as well, but no one here is aware how closely you all work together.’’ 

Fay felt overwhelmed again. “Wait---wait. A drug? To—to make him forget?’’ 

Lira nodded. “Only the most recent several hours. I have left him near a place with healers, as well.’’ 

Fay felt Damian relax fractionally. She wouldn’t have known he did if her hand hadn’t been on his forearm, where she’d instinctively placed it earlier. He did care about his foster brothers, regardless of what he said. 

“What…what happens if the Council finds out?’’ 

“They would have to assess whether any of the outsiders are posing a threat first.’’ 

“And if I am?’’ Damian challenged. 

“I have no idea, actually. However, they won’t have an issue with you staying, Fay. Or living in this world, if they are reassured you won’t somehow be used against us. Should there be any concern of that?’’ 

“Of—of course not,’’ Fay said, shaking her head. 

“We are also speaking about a scenario in which they do find out about everything else, not just you staying in this world. The only way that’d happen is if the guardians here choose to report you.’’ 

“But don't they...have to?’’ 

Lira smirked. “They’re former Resistance members, flea. They will bend some rules if they have a good reason to do so.’’ Fay was minimally comforted by that. “ If they know how much Robin knows, then they will have to be wary, and rightfully so. I think I can work with them to an understanding. My brother, on the other hand, will be harder to convince.’’ 

Fay felt nauseous. She’d thought before about the repercussions she might have to face if her family and the Council were to find out, but now that she was there, having to face them, she felt crushed. Choosing to stay in that world would mean people had to lie for her and break laws. What if her choice to stay there will cause a conflict between Damian’s family – and other warriors – and her world?

The idea made her nauseous. 

“Fay,’’ Lira called to get her attention. The blood had drained from the girl’s face and she looked pale as a ghost. “I am talking about worst-case scenarios. The likelihood of the Council finding out about Robin is very low. If we can get Aryg to agree to you staying, then you won't have to worry. Especially if you wish to settle down here on an indefinite basis.’’ 

An indefinite basis. Permanent. As in forever? Or at least for the rest of her life. 

“Or not,’’ Lira said quickly. “For however long you wish to stay.'' 

“…alright,’’ Fay said, although nothing really was. She felt naïve. “But I don’t think he will ever agree.’’ 

“We’ll see about that.’’ Lira got up. “Now, Amina will come and take you to see Len and Kaera. I will stay here---‘’ She smiled widely at the boy. “—and keep your friend company.’’

Fay could only hope she wouldn’t find anyone stabbed by the time she was back. 

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“It’s really you .’’ 

The man smiled at her, thoroughly amused as the girl gaped at him for several good seconds. 

“Hello, Fay.’’ It was definitely him . Cleaner, and his hair cut shorter than what she remembered. The accent he previously had was gone, as well. She has certainly not expected him to speak English fluently. He had lost weight as well, his cheeks looking gaunt in comparison to when she’d seen him last. Then Fay recalled that Kera had mentioned he’d been captured and interrogated, which by default meant he must have received the same treatment as Damian. Or worse. 

The man standing before her was the one responsible for Fay and Bagheera being in that world. 

“You both have grown quite a bit. I am glad to see you have made it safely to the other side.’’ 

Fay blinked. Has Bagheera become bigger? She hadn’t noticed. Perhaps because she was also growing now. 

Fay looked at Kaera, who was dressed in a pair of tight khaki trousers and a dark tank top. She appeared to have made a full recovery herself, her flux was undetectable. Kaera was shorter than Len by at least a head and a half, but seeing them side by side, Fay could detect resemblances between the two. It wasn’t just the dark curls or slanted eyes but also the shape of their nose. Len looked in his late thirties to early forties whereas Kaera was younger, in her late twenties. 

“He’s my older brother,’’ Kaera confirmed, with an amused smile. Fay sheepishly averted her eyes, realizing she’d been caught staring. 

“So,’’ Len asked after the teenager sat down on a chair before them. “Where do you want to start, Fay?’’ 

The girl swallowed. She glanced at all of them, then met her paladin’s gaze who must have felt the sudden apprehension she felt. Fay had many questions, but she felt there was one who was more urgent than others. She also had to keep in mind everything Lira had told her. 

To fully understand all the other answers she required, she first needed to ask the question that had been plagued her for two years. 

“Do you know what happened the night that Maysoon was attacked?’’

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There were no clear-cut answers. No, ‘ X was responsible for Y’ as if it were one of Batman and Robin’s criminal cases in Gotham. Fay could tell from their expressions that despite being willing to offer her more information than others have in the past, the two former Resistance fighters could not confirm with certainty, what had taken place. She was happy she wasn’t having the conversation alone. Her paladin was pressed against her legs, nearly blocking her view with his large form. 

They may have won the war, Len started, but changing the world required years more on top of that. The task had not ended when they overthrew the old regime, but it had only just begun. The world could always change for the better, after all. One of the reasons her parents had agreed to lead the Estaris was because they would have served as proponents of change from inside the system. Her mother, of course, also worked closely on behalf of the Council as an ambassador, which many hoped she would. 

Regardless of the changes made, of the tyranny being removed and clan leaders agreeing to conform to the new changes, there have been plenty of those who remained resistant. Those who were vehemently against the implementation of the Council, those who believed that power was being unfairly removed from them. The controversy was always bound to exist, as were those who would have gone to extreme lengths to jeopardize the new values being communicated. Fay nodded along, like Ranis right? she asked. By the way, what had happened to him? 

“He is in custody,’’ Kaera replied. “He has admitted to having tampered with your bracelets and sending those assassins after you. He will face trial before the Council who will likely sentence him to a very long time in prison.’’ 

Fay nodded but didn’t ask any further questions, preferring to let Len continue. He followed by explaining that whilst each territory had kept an eye on sympathizers of the old regime, the Council had also wanted to ensure that the changes being implemented wouldn’t be temporary or isolated to certain parts of the world. That’s why they had tried to get as many territories as possible to sign the peace treaty. The Council itself is made of former Resistance members or leaders from various territories, either serving in a neutral capacity or as ambassadors. So, whenever a particular territory is having trouble either because its rulers are not following the peace treaty or there is an external threat, the Council will be consulted and may even dispatch some of its own agents. 

A simplified version of the actual political intricacies, Len admitted slightly sheepishly, but enough to give her a picture of how important the Council is. 

Ranis is a very small threat, although it may have not seemed that way to Fay. “There have been men and women far more powerful than himself, who have threatened to undo the progress we have made,’’ Len continued. 

The attack on Maysoon had been unique, because of how sudden it had taken place. “It has not been confirmed publicly but the Council believes that portals may have been used for the enemy to infiltrate. How they managed to do that undetected and past the jungle is still unclear, I am afraid.’’ And frightening, Fay thought. So, so frightening. “What complicates matters further is that not many seem to recall correctly what had taken place.’’ 

Fay blinked. “You mean…because of the confusion?’’

“Yes.’’ Len exchanged a look with Kaera. “There have been various accounts. That it was either Vontagor warriors or rogue warriors or Duanimas leading a revolt. The problem is that even if there was evidence of any or multiple parties being involved, it is rather hard to understand if they were truly involved or if they were framed.’’ 

“Many people believe Vontagor was responsible,’’ Fay remarked. “Or—or at least that’s what I heard.’’ 

“Because it seems like an obvious answer. The Vontagor ruler may have ceded some of its power to the rulers of its various territories but is still authoritarian in many aspects. However, one could also think about how that may be a bit too obvious.’’ 

“So…it wasn’t Vontagor,’’ Fay started. “But someone wanted people to think that?’’ 

“Potentially. It could have been someone like Ranis. Or it could have been someone else entirely. Your uncle along with all the other clan rulers are still seeking answers, Fay.’’ Len said, in a reassuring tone. “If your uncle has not revealed any of this to you, I am sure it was because he did not wish to confuse you further.’’ 

Or because he hadn’t trusted her to hear such things. That she might break further.  

“I—I see,’’ Fay said, dejectedly. So, no one could still make sense of that night it seems. Whoever it was, they must have been incredibly powerful not only to breach Maysoon natural defenses and to lead to her parent’s demise. Just thinking about it made the anxiety run so deeply that she could feel it in her bones. Like she used to in the past. 

“What…. what about the dark paths?’’ Fay asked. “I thought you used them to send me here, but…I was wrong.’’ 

Len smiled sympathetically. “My apologies for deceiving you. You weren’t very trusting, which is only fair and as you should have been, and I knew that would get your attention after hearing you mention it to Bag. I did intend on revealing who I was, but I noticed we were being followed. Ranis’ men, some of which attacked you three days ago, had tracked you down.’’ 

“I don’t---remember any of that.’’ Fay blinked, then glanced at her paladin. “Neither does Bag.’’ 

Len smiled sympathetically. “I have used a gas that induces amnesia. I wanted to throw them off our scent and ensure the information does not travel back on you traveling here. You and Bag have likely inhaled it as well. However, I was injured in the process and captured. Fortunately, I did manage to have you and Bagheera sent here. Just now what we would have liked.’’ In all fairness, she hadn’t been that far from the sanctuary.

A gas? Fay thought. Was it the same one that Lira had mentioned having used on Jason? 

“So, no dark paths?’’ Fay asked. “Do—do they even exist?’’ At that point, she was starting to doubt it. What if the dark paths were a red herring as well? 

“Afraid not,’’ Len said, as he leaned back against the desk. 

Damar and Evara were of the few people who had been able to travel through the Veil through the use of ‘ dark paths’ , but it hadn’t been the only way. The Resistance had obtained the technology that Seekers used on teleporting from one realm to one another, and they had modified it, allowing them to travel within the same world. It had given them an incredible advantage because up until then, only the highest echelons had access to such technology and it had been kept very much confidential. When the Council was formed, much of that technology was destroyed, sealed away. However, they could not be certain that there wasn’t someone out there who had gained access to the technology or even discovered the ‘ dark paths ’ themselves, so the Council ruled that they should keep an eye on any travels through the Veil. From both sides. Len had served under one of the Resistance faction leaders. He had agreed to become part of the specialized task force, along with his sister, and they came to live on that island. 

Which brought him to the origin of that island. Simply put, Len explained, they do not have information on how that island came to be, but it had been used previously by Seekers. Given how covert those operations were, there was very little in the manner of a paper trail to indicate why that place had been chosen but they’ve later theorized that it had to do with the Veil itself. The curiosity and desire to travel through the Veil would have originated from the legends of the Prophet, but the research required to devise such technology must have taken decades.

The island was the first place the Seekers have been to. From there, they’ve started exploring the rest of the world, although not without difficulty given the treacherous weather. The initial explorers had to have spent years on that island because, by the time the Resistance found it, they had also found an underground tunnel leading them through underneath the natural barrier. 

“Aunt Lira also said the barrier around the island is not that---um, different from the Veil?’’ 

There is a sort of energy barrier around the islands, which is either the cause of the weather or because of it. They also have a theory that the barrier is an extension of the Veil itself, in which case the island is not so much in either world as between them. It would explain why it has remained undiscovered for centuries.

“The jungle,’’ Fay glanced towards the stained glass. “It’s not just of this world.’’ 

Len shook his head. The Seekers, the ones who must have originally found it, had also introduced new ecosystems, according to some very old journals they had found on the island. That had happened several centuries before the Resistance came across it, and the hybrid flora and fauna were not the only thing they found. There have been attempts at colonizing the island, but it is unclear why that has been unsuccessful. Once the Seekers were able to travel past the triangle, they had likely started focusing on that, as evidenced by more recent accounts of them having spent years across the various continents. When their mission was completed, they would return to the island from where they would travel back to their homeland. 

When Len told her that he could send her to that world, he had intended on sending her to the island, where she would have been safe. However, they were attacked. 

“So, the portals can be opened anywhere?’’ Fay asked. “Not just the island.’’ 

Thanks to the Seekers. By exploring that world, they’ve also created ‘ entry points’ , which allowed them to travel from one point to another when they were done with one territory. Traveling from one realm to another point different from the island, however, is much more difficult and not always successful. Len hadn’t intended on sending her to the Amazon, it had happened because the initial portal had been compromised. As he was kidnapped, he lost communication with Kaera. They lost, in the process, track of Fay as well. Ranis sent his men to that world using Len’s portal device, but they had arrived in Europe instead after Len told them he had sent Fay there. He had hoped Kaera would have found her by then, but instead, his sister had been alarmed by their presence there and focused on Europe, herself. Even Aryg believed that Fay might have gone there, given he’d found a map of that world in her world. An old one, left behind by her parents which Fay had entirely forgotten about when she left Maysoon. 

It wasn’t until Bernard that they crossed paths. Kaera had heard of Klaus and his affinity for using the flux to manipulate fire, and that Bernard had been supplying resources from their world to criminals. 

“But---wouldn’t have he known about the island? As a former Seeker?’’ Fay blinked. “I mean, it makes more sense now how he had all those items but wasn’t he meant to be dead?’’ In a spur-of-the-moment decision, Fay decided not to bring Daphne’s name. No one had mentioned the woman the entire time she’d been there, which Fay realized, at that moment, was rather odd. Perhaps she was being paranoid. Still. Damian had a point about being careful about what information she volunteered. 

“We hunted down Bernard many years ago. We did assume he had died.’’ Len explained. “Then he resurfaced as the Sponsor. We do not interfere unless we have evidence that our target is from our world, or in his case, that he was using resources such as the senwi. He would have known about the island, but he also likely knew that he wouldn’t have been able to travel here undetected. The Council would have found out and hunted him down. That is exactly perhaps why he decided to hide behind a disguise, why he was incentivizing others to join him.’’ 

It sounded as if he was building an army when put in that perspective. Fay thought about the man’s cold, dead eyes. The heartless way he had abandoned Klaus, how desperate he’d been to discover the dark paths, how he had preferred to die rather than be taken, prisoner. Something hadn’t felt right about the way he died. Suicide. By his own admission, Bernard had been a warrior before he had been a Seeker. Yet…he had not fought like a warrior. He had tried to shoot her, and then when he found himself cornered, he had thrown himself to his death. Who knows. He has lost his family as well. Grief has a way of changing a person. 

“Bernard has kept several safe houses, with the primary one being in Scotland. Klaus has helped us in tracking them down,’’ At that, Fay refocused her attention on them. “You brought him here?’’ 

Kaera nodded. “I found him last winter. He and the Grymla, so I told him who I was and asked him if he would like to come here. To learn how to use his flux – Bernard has kept him in the dark about his abilities.’’ 

Fay agreed wholeheartedly. “Yes, he, um, didn’t even know what the flux or a paladin is.’’ Then she remembered breaking his nose and freezing his limbs off. Fay offered a nervous smile. “I am sorry, by the way, for um, the damage I’ve caused yesterday. Is---is Klaus alright?’’ 

Both Len and Kaera looked amused. The eldest of the siblings nodded. “Klaus is just fine. I think he actually feels bad for what has happened, but you have caught him off guard.’’ 

“Your flux is powerful,’’ Kaera remarked. “But unrefined. Imprecise. That can be useful for one, decisive blow but if you need to keep fighting after, you will be too drained after.’’ Blood rushed into the girl’s cheeks. Kaera was the first flux master Fay has encountered in a while, so she suddenly felt very self-conscious knowing the woman had witnessed that ungraceful display. 

“I, um, still working on that,’’ Fay offered weakly. 

Kaera simply hummed in agreement. “I can train you.’’ 

“What?’’ Fay stared at her in surprise. 

“You have a long way to go, but you are still growing and so is your flux. Right now, it is like wet clay. It just needs to be molded correctly. Your mother was one of my trainers. I can teach you as she taught me.’’ Fay’s breath caught in her throat. An opportunity at finessing her flux. Not from any trainer, but one who was clearly a top-tier master and that had learned from Fay’s mother herself. It would be the closest Fay could get to her mother’s teachings. 

As Kaera lived on that island, however, the offer implied that so would Fay. 

“I…why here?’’ Fay asked instead. “Why did my parents want me to be here?’’ 

“Because it is a sanctuary. Many of those who live here have fought for the Resistance in one capacity or another, but they have also chosen to build a life here. This island is…a neutral zone if you will. There are no monarchies, no clans, no politics. Thankfully, there have not been many instances of anyone trying to travel through the Veil, so we’ve been focusing on other things as well. The mastery of the flux, on the arts of herbology, on preserving endangered species.’’ 

“I see.’’ It sounded like a paradise. It sounded too good to be true. “So, my parents wanted me to be here? In case something happened to them?’’ 

Kaera nodded. “They knew you could very well continue your studies here. They thought you might even enjoy becoming a guardian like ourselves in the future but of course, that is up to you.’’ She glanced at her brother, then back at Fay. “Maysoon, as you may have deduced by now, finds itself in a difficult situation. Nothing that it won’t survive, but it is not…safe. We think Ranis was working with others, so until a---‘’ Kaera smiled. “— house clean is completed, to put it that way, we would like for you to stay here. The Estaris have agreed to it.’’ 

But---“What…if I don’t want to stay here?’’ Fay exhaled, carefully watching their expressions. “I---I like living in this world. Um, I mean out—out there.’’ 

Len and Kaera exchanged looks. Fay thought they looked concerned. Not so surprised, however, by her request. 

“I don’t think that is possible---‘’ Kaera started, and Fay tensed up. 

Len placed a hand on his sister’s shoulder, stopping her mid-sentence. He smiled at Fay. “We understand why you may feel inclined to stay out there. The past two years, you –and Bagheera, of course – have lived on your own. I think it is very impressive how well you’ve adapted to this world. We only want to make sure you’re safe and right now, this would be the best place for you to be.’’ 

Their intentions were only good. Fay also understood that if she insisted, she would also be indirectly asking them to lie to the Council. If Len and Kaera felt responsible for her, then they would always worry about her safety. Out of a sense of duty for her parents. 

“We can only present you with the advantages and disadvantages of you staying here, such as Kaera teaching you how to master your flux or continuing your studies. The Estaris have agreed to you being here, but anything beyond that, your uncle will have to approve. The Council will have to be engaged on this matter, potentially, as well.’’ 

Well. 

Fuck. 

 

Chapter 51: Of worlds clashing (V)

Notes:

Next update: October 31st

Chapter Text

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21 st of March, afternoon

Instead of heading straight to the chambers, Fay made a stop on the patio where she'd had lunch with Moma and Lira the day before. She just wanted some time alone to reflect on both what Lira has told her and the discussion with Len and his sister. 

Fay wanted to return to Gotham, to resume the life she’s built there. That hadn’t changed. However, she recognized the opportunity she was given as well. In a place like that, she wouldn’t have to worry about the formalities that came with her titles, and she'd have access to knowledge from both worlds. She could train under Kaera, and Bagheera would have far more freedom there than in Gotham. She could tell that he liked that place.  If she stayed there, she wouldn’t be putting Damian and his family or anyone else she’s met in that world in jeopardy. No one would have to lie for her anymore. What if staying here would allow her to find out what happened that night? What if she could finally master the flux? 

All that was at the price of her friendship with Damian. It wasn’t as if he could stay there. Batman needed him in Gotham, it was where he belonged. There would be no more warehouse, no more hours spent talking, no more nights admiring the chaos of Gotham which had grown on her. There would be no more visits to the Wayne Manor, no more meals from Alfred, no more donut trips with Dick. No more volunteering at the soup kitchen, no more---anything. Everything in her life would completely change. Again. But if she learned how to use her flux effectively, she’d be more useful. She could go back to Gotham, one day. Surely, she could still visit. Or Damian could? What would his father even think if he knew of that place? Of whom she was truly? 

Bagheera interrupted her musings when he suddenly growled. Turning around and following his gaze, she found Klaus standing a few feet behind her. His nose had been healed but the skin under his eyes was still bruised. Fay hadn’t really gotten a good look at him the previous night, but now that she did, she could see that he had grown taller as well. He no longer looked thin, and his hair was lighter than before. There was no Grymla in sight. 

“What do you want?’’ Fay asked warily. He didn’t look like he wanted to start a fight. Bagheera seemed to agree with that assessment because although he remained tense, he didn’t move from her side. 

Klaus stepped closer. “I---‘’ His jaw tightened, as he briefly looked away before meeting her gaze again. “I would like to…apologize.’’ He finally said. “For attacking you.’’ 

Fay gaped slightly. He had tried – and almost succeeded – to kill her in the past. Fay had not held it against him, which is why that day in Gotham, she had preferred to strike a conversation. He had looked far more confused than he did angry, which was understandable given Bernard’s indoctrination. After Damian quite literally chased him out of the city, they hadn’t crossed paths again, but she did wonder on several occasions if he was alright. 

“I…. that’s alright.’’ She finally said when she regained her composure. “I am sorry for…breaking your nose. And erm, freezing your arms and legs.’’ 

Klaus just blinked once, then nodded slowly. “You’ve gotten faster.’’ 

She shouldn’t have felt that flattered really at being complimented by someone who had once thrown her off a cliff.

“Uh---thank you?’’ Clearly, being on that island has been good for him. 

“I have provoked him.’’ He continued. “Your… friend .’’ 

Well, okay. “You—you did?’’ Not that it took a lot to get on Damian’s nerves. “Why?’’ 

Klaus looked away from her towards the jungle. “I don’t like him.’’ He sounded almost petulant. “He has no right to be here.’’ 

Fay’s eyes narrowed. She could understand him not liking Damian, given their history, but he had no place to judge who had a right to be there or not. 

Klaus looked back at her. “Thank you. For treating Waren.’’ 

“Waren?’’ Oh. Wait. Was that the Grymla? “You named her?’’ 

Klaus looked tense. “She is my paladin.’’ He said as a matter of fact, even though months earlier he didn’t have an idea what that meant. 

Fay’s lips twitched. The island has indeed been good for him, at least when it came to him understanding the other world better. It must have been so confusing for him, to have everything he knew ripped apart. 

Klaus turned around and started walking away. 

“Perhaps the contingency plans should have accounted for your friend not being up to your family’s standards.’’

“Don’t cry just because you’ve suddenly forgotten who I am. Or was your continuous concern over being found by your family an act?’’

“W-wait.’’ Fay stepped forward, then stopped when she saw him glance at her over his shoulder. “What---what did you say to him exactly?’’ 

Klaus gave her a once over as if he was trying to determine what he said next will get him in trouble or not. 

“I told him that---‘’ 

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When she finally returned to the chambers, Damian was nowhere to be seen. Her mind immediately jumped to the worst possible scenarios, enough to make her anxiety levels rise again. It also did not help that her uncle was waiting for her in the antechamber. Damn it. She was not prepared to see him just yet. Fay required more time to think about how she’ll go about the outburst she had, and she had been hoping to talk to Damian first as well. 

Fay was so nervous that she completely forgot to salute or bow to her uncle and just stared at him like a deer caught in the headlights. Her uncle for his part did not look angry. He looked at her, then at Bagheera who had also frozen by her side. What with his keen senses, there was no way he wouldn’t have heard how quick her heart was beating or the bitter notes of fear and panic mixed. Fay had forgotten how much she dreaded that most of her clan members had such inhuman senses that she had inherited. She could never really hide anything from them. Her uncle raised a hand up, in a placating manner. “ Your — ‘’ His mouth twisted slightly. “--- outsider friend is with Lira. ’’ He looked annoyed by that. “ As if he didn’t already know enough about this place. ’’ 

Fay didn’t speak or move, but her face felt very hot. 

“Sit.’’ She blinked. Her uncle sighed. “If you will, Fay. I merely wish to speak to you.’’  

In all fairness, he had wanted to do that the day before as well. It ended up with her screaming her heart out at him. Fay hesitantly glided over to the seating area, followed closely by Bagheera. He climbed on the velvet seat she sat down, despite the disapproving look Aryg gave him. “Um, where is Imarsi?’’ She asked because it was the safest question she could think of. Imarsi was her uncle’s paladin. 

Aryg, much to her surprise, pulled the chair closer to where she was and sat down right in front of her. So close, that if she moved, her legs would have touched his knees. 

“Home.’’ He replied curtly. “Sysa is due very soon, so I feel better knowing he is with her.’’  

Fay’s eyes grew wide. “Aunt Sysa is pregnant?’’ She was going to have a new cousin. What else has changed while she was away? Aryg nodded, his features relaxing ever so slightly. “Yes. Your aunt has insisted on the gender to be a surprise.’’ But they both knew he was hoping for a boy. Not that he would not have loved another daughter. It’s just that he had three already, with two being identical twins. Aryg was terribly outnumbered by females in his household, and they had all inherited his partner’s headstrong, independent personalities, a topic of great amusement for the rest of the family. She knew that he loved them dearly, however, and that he was proud of his children, regardless of their gender.

“I am—I am glad. Congratulations.’’ 

Her uncle hummed in agreement. Then stared at her. Which caused Fay to fidget nervously. 

“You no longer stutter. A little, but not as noticeable.’’ Fay shook her head. “ You still play with your hands.’’ 

Fay smiled sheepishly. “Um, yeah. I have been…working on that.’’ 

“I know. You have certainly been working on being louder.’’ 

The redness had spread to her ears. She could feel them burning beneath her hair. 

Fay bowed her head slightly. “I am sorry, uncle. For the way, I have---spoken to you.’’ 

“No, you’re not.’’ Her head snapped back up. Her uncle looked amused . Perhaps he was more unwell than she assessed initially. “ You have always been a polite child. One who is respectful and mindful of others. Perhaps too much.’’ 

Fay just stared, bewildered. 

Yesterday, you behaved in an emotional and disrespectful way. Complete disregard for etiquette and the fact that I am not only your uncle but also your clan leader. After two years of worrying us for running away.’’ He paused. He did not look angry or offended despite his words. Instead, his lips curled up ever so slightly. “ You know where you’ve gone wrong, however. That does not mean you regret anything of what you said, Lafayette. Do you?’’ 

The girl didn’t hesitate, just as she hadn’t earlier when Damian asked her the same question. 

“No. I…don’t.’’ 

Aryg’s smile widened, briefly, before he composed himself and hid it away again. The amusement was only present in his eyes now. Fay was very, very confused. 

Tell me.’’ 

“I, um…what?’’ 

You accused me of not knowing anything. About what you’ve achieved, what you’ve learned. So, tell me.’’ 

Fay stared at him, unsure. He wasn’t going to discipline her for her outburst. Instead, he had been amused by it and now was willing to listen to her. It felt like a trap. 

“What…. would you like to know?’’ 

“Everything,’’ Aryg said, simply as he crossed his legs and seemingly made himself comfortable in the chair. “I want to know what my niece has been up to.’’  

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When Damian finally returned to the chambers, led by the ever-so-smiling Amina, he found Fay sitting outside on the balcony. The sun was setting in. The air was cooler and the jungle quieter, as the evening rolled in. Fay was perched on the railing, looking lost in her thoughts. She almost fell off when he called her name. Damian resisted rolling his eyes. She was incorrigible. As soon she recovered, Fay smiled at him widely and jumped off the railing. “I was told that aunt Lira gave you a tour?’’ 

“Hn. Something along those lines. She was fishing for information on my intentions are with the information I have on you and this place.’’ 

Fay wasn’t surprised given their meeting earlier that morning. She supposes it was only fair that Lira had attempted that. “Oh. Um, did it go---well?’’ 

Damian told her that Lira had not been able to get much out of him, not even when she tried to show him her other side. The one that was not quite so human. 

“I am sorry,’’ Fay said after. “You’re…stuck on this island. Your family doesn’t know where you are or what happened, either.’’ 

Damian snorted. “I am not stuck .’’ He spat. “If I wanted to leave, I would have.’’ In other words, he was still there because he wanted to be. 

Fay hummed, unconvinced. 

“What have you learned?’’ Damian asked, watching her carefully. Fay had been on edge ever since the meeting with Lira. When the woman had mentioned ‘indefinite residence’, Fay’s attitude had dampened considerably. He had felt how tense she’d been, how conflicted she had looked. Was she having doubts about leaving? 

 “I met Len. The man who sent Bag and me here. They, um, told me quite a few things so.’’ 

Damian stared at her inquisitively, encouraging her to go on. She quickly laid out all the information she’d been given, and then she told him that she also spoke to her uncle. Aryg had not only just listened to her, but he had also actively participated by asking her questions. Fay remained apprehensive of offering too much information, because of what Lira told her. She was worried, he might see her as having been jeopardized. Perhaps it was best that some things stayed between them such as the information Daphne gave them and how close Fay was to Damian and his other family members.  

Once they were both caught up on how their respective days had gone, silence had settled in and stretched for what felt like hours. 

“You have doubts,’’ Damian remarked in a controlled tone. 

“I am…scared,’’ Fay admitted softly. “I don’t…want to put you in danger. Or your family. Aunt Lira is right. You know more than my uncle, or the Council would allow the—the same way I know too much.’’ 

“My father and the others do not have an issue with you.’’ Damian immediately pointed out. 

Fay smiled at him. “Yes, they do. Not—not with me personally. I know…they know that I am not a threat. That I want to help. That—that we are friends.’’ She said, “But they are also—who they are, right? They have to have…contingency plans.’’ 

Damian frowned. He couldn’t deny that. His father did likely have a plan for a scenario in which Fay turned out to be less than the ally she was. He did for the League, so he would certainly for someone like Fay as well. He was surprised, however, to find Fay had observed that on her own. He had always reassured her she had nothing to worry about because she didn’t – he would never allow anyone to hurt her. His father would have to prove she’s done anything wrong and even then, even then, Damian would want to gather his own data and evidence. 

Why couldn’t he get through her? Four days on that island and she was already---“I don’t…want anything to happen to you.’’ Fay said, finally. “What---what if the Council does find out? What if I cause issues for—for your father and---some sort of conflict?’’ 

“What conflict?’’ Damian asked. “My father does not dictate what I do or who I spend my time with.’’ 

“You---‘’ Fay stopped and sighed, looking mildly frustrated. “It’s not about what or what you can’t do. It’s…I just don’t want people to get hurt. Just because---just because I want to stay. It feels selfish.’’ 

“— TT —your aunt has said you would be better off out there.’’ Damian reminded her. “Your parents have come to this world numerous times. Barlow has lived here for decades. Clearly, exceptions take place.’’ 

Fay just looked down at the ground. Damian brushed a hand through his hair. The humidity was making it hang lower than usual, strands falling over his forehead. 

“Fay.’’ 

She looked up at him. 

“There’s a part of you that wants to stay.’’ He concluded. “You have the opportunity to be trained by people who have worked and fought side by side with your parents. You would be a fool not to at least consider it.’’ 

“I—‘’ 

He met her eyes. “The risks haven’t changed. You always knew there might be potential repercussions. What has changed is what is on offer for you.’’ He couldn’t offer her the knowledge Kaera had. He couldn’t offer an indirect connection to her parents that people there would. “If you chose to be Fay Kipling on an indefinite basis, you would not have access to these resources. It is a practical consideration.’’ 

Which meant that there was a possibility he might return to Gotham. Alone.

Fay opened her mouth to comment, then she closed it.  He was right. “It is…tempting,’’ Fay admitted. “I would like to learn how to master the flux. Kaera said it’s best now that it’s still developing and she…is right.’’  She stepped closer and reached to brush back the strands falling over his brow. 

“I think it is selfish for me to want to leave. People would have to lie for me, and my family would worry.’’ Fay smiled. “But....my parents would have encouraged me to follow my instincts.’’  She lowered her hand. “I want to stay.’’ Pause. “With you. In Gotham.’’  He didn’t react. Not externally. On the inside, however, the invisible vice that had been tightening around his organs had loosened.

“I want to be responsible, however, this time. I want to make sure that it is done…properly. I want to convince my uncle that he should let me and in return, we may not even have to lie that much to the Council.’’ 

“You would choose Fay Kipling over Fay of Maysoon?’’ He asked, exhaling. 

Fay shrugged. “I don’t really know…who Fay of Maysoon was. Beyond…what others told me. I love my world and---I do want to go back one day. To learn and to see it and so on. But right now, I feel…like I have still to learn in this world. Not as Fay Kipling,’’ she shook her head. “Just as myself. Just as Fay, I suppose. I think----I think they would have wanted me to do that as well.’’ 

Just like that? She was going to turn her back on all of that for—for Gotham? For his friendship? Fay had missed the jungle; she would be happier there than in that grove by the warehouse. She could fly at all times of the day, swim in the ocean, race Bagheera. She could eat the fruits of her world and play with Vilkas. 

Had it looked that brave? When he had turned his back on his mother. Had his father felt the way he did at that moment when he had found out that Damian chose him – his values, his life – over his mother’s? 

Copying her earlier gesture, Damian reached to push her hair behind her ear. He felt like doing more than that – an uncharacteristic rush of affection filling his veins – but he didn’t.  There was no need to also because Fay leaned forward to hug him. 

 “I---really meant it.’’ 

“That you wish to stay, yes. I believe you.’’ He closed his eyes, slowly wrapping his arms around her. Lightly because he didn’t trust they weren’t being watched. 

“No.… I mean that you are really important to me.’’  

I told him the truth. He does not belong here. He’s an outsider. I also told him I think he’s just a temporary distraction, and he’ll get kicked out of here soon enough. That may or may not be true; you clearly have a thing for him. Or maybe you don’t. I don’t care. Either way– now we’re even for the time he almost stabbed me.’’ 

Klaus had touched a nerve. That it took so little, however, meant that the frustration Damian felt must have been building a while. Unlike her, he always kept certain parts of himself more guarded. He kept his internal struggles to himself, even if he’d allowed her inside his head on several occasions. Being told he did not belong there shouldn’t have meant anything, especially if those words came from Klaus’ mouth. Except they did.

Damian’s first instinct when he woke up, despite his injuries and being in a vulnerable position, was to search for her. And the first words he heard was that he was unwelcome there. Fay imagined what that would have been like for her if roles had been reversed.  If she had woken up after the battle on Halloween night, and Dick or Alfred in the house told her that she did not belong there. She would have been devastated.

Damian kept his worries to himself, acting as if he had none. Fay could not change, she would not either, but she did wish to reassure him.   Fay tightened her arms around his shoulders. “You will always belong in my life.’’ She muttered. She felt him tense, muscles going rigid. 

Damian clicked his teeth. “You-‘’ He inhaled, then exhaled. “You know .’’ His hands came up to her waist and tried to tug her away. Fay refused to budge and only clutched on him tighter. 

“Let go. Right now. ’’ He hissed. He wouldn’t push her. He couldn’t, even if every fiber of his being screamed at him to do so. He felt exposed and when someone like him felt that way, his first instinct was to cut down whatever was causing such a reaction. 

“I will not tolerate being condescended---‘’ 

Fay moved her head slightly against his head, her mouth slightly muffled. “I love you.’’

His words caught in his throat. His gut felt as if he’d been punched. Even he knew that was not the natural reaction one should have when they’re being told they are loved. 

“I am not…being condescending. I promise.’’ Fay continued. “I think...I understand. I won’t ask you to speak about it if you don’t want to. But---‘’ Her head was nestled in the crook of his shoulder and neck. “---I don’t want you to ever think those things. Ever. I will never think of you in that manner. You---you always tell me that I have nothing to hide from you. My, um, anger. Or what I am afraid of. You don’t either and I know---I know that you won’t open the way I do and that’s alright.’’ He could hear the smile in her voice. How could she smile at that?  “Because…well I see you.’’ She bowed her face into his shoulder, embarrassed. “I know that you know you are excellent and a genius and a great fighter and so…many other things. That’s why I want to be better as well. Because you went through a…lot,’’ Understatement of the year. “But you’re still here. And you’re still determined and you’re always moving forward. I really think that my parents would have liked you. They would have been happy to know that I am friends with someone like you. Not that's why I am friends with you, but I just wanted you to know that as well.’’ 

Damian stood so still he might have as well been a statue. Fay couldn’t even tell if he was breathing, but she took advantage that he was being quiet and listening, so she pressed on before all her courage evaporated.  

“You are my…best friend. My family, just like Bag is. So, I will always accept you and…I will always want you to be a part of my life.’’ Her grip was so tight on his tunic that her knuckles had turned white, and she could feel the material straining. She loosened her hold, now that she was certain he wouldn’t try to pull away anymore. “That’s why…I am worried. I want to stay, but I don’t want to do anything that might put you—or anyone else in danger. But I will always be on your side just like you were on mine.’’ She exhaled. She had gone off track, from what she had intended on telling him, but she was satisfied with her words. “I---‘’ She really, really loved her friend. “---see you and you see me, and I don’t want to ever not be friends with you. That’s---that’s what I am worried about. I don’t want you to…hate me as Titoh did for—for complicating your life or coming between you and your family.’’ 

He didn’t say anything, but he also didn’t try to push her away anymore. They just stayed like that for a few moments. Bagheera watched curiously, sensing both teenagers’ emotions. There was some variation in the emotions they experienced, but the intensity was the same in those that mattered most. His Fay didn’t have just him in her life anymore, and regardless of how competitive he’d get with the boy at times, the paladin was satisfied. His Fay was loved. As she should be. 

Damian blinked. His eyes felt uncharacteristically prickly, likely because of the pollen on the island (although he knew well that he did not suffer from any allergies). It was aggravating the way the girl had with her words when she truly wanted to.  Stepping backward, he pulled her after him in the antechamber. Bagheera caught the pointed look he threw at the doors because the paladin pushed them close immediately after. Confused, Fay tried to pull away, but she found herself caged by his arms. 

“Hm—‘’ Damian’s hand had snaked at the back of her head and she found her head back against his shoulder. She couldn’t see his face, but she felt his head pressed against hers. 

“I will never hate you.’’ He remarked simply, pressing his mouth against her temple. “Do you understand that?’’ 

“Y—yes.’’ 

“Every problem has a solution.’’ He continued. For balance and to avoid an awkward position, Fay slid her arms around his torso. “If you wish to stay in Gotham, then we will find a way for you to do so.’’ 

“Alright.’’ Fay nodded against his shoulder. “I don’t know…if my uncle will agree, though.’’ 

“You’ve said he was in a better mood.’’ 

Fay nodded. “He…was better today. He asked me about what I’ve been through, then he asked me whether I would truly prefer to be out there. He told me that he doesn’t like the idea, that he doesn’t agree with it, and he doubts he can accommodate such a request. Unless he doesn’t tell the Council. But---"

“That would imply breaking the law.’’ Damian finished. “I find it hard to believe he’d also allow an outsider to be privy to all this information without asking something in return, either.’’ 

“He is…not happy about you knowing. He has nothing against outsiders but…. I get it. He, um, doesn’t know you as I do. The people here are living a peaceful life, and they don’t interfere with the world out there unless necessary.’’ Fay pulled away. His hand stayed on her head, at the back of her neck. There was not that much of a height difference between them anymore. He was catching up. 

“He hasn’t said whether he will consider it, either.’’  

Even if they succeeded in covertly leaving the island, they would eventually be tracked down. Damian was more than happy to hide her away but that was not a feasible plan long-term. Not to mention Batman would not be particularly appreciative of having warriors from another world invade Gotham in search of her. However, if her clan did decide she could not leave? What then? A compromise was the next stage. Damian did not like compromising. It would imply he would have to concede something on his end even if the other party would as well. 

“Show me.’’ 

“Huh?’’ 

“The jungle. You’ve been rambling on about it for months. While this jungle isn’t entirely like the one in Maysoon, you said it was similar.’’ His hands fell from her waist. “What’s so great about it?’’ 

Fay smiled, eyes shining. 

.

.

.

22 nd of March 

“What she’s asking for, I cannot grant,’’ Aryg grunted, as he sat down by the window. 

Unsurprisingly, Lira scoffed at that. “You mean you don’t want to.’’ 

He did care about his sister, even if she didn’t believe that. They had simply never learned to like each other. It would be a lie if he said that he wasn’t glad Lira preferred to live away from the capital, but it would also not be the truth. He didn’t want her to keep insisting on her self-imposed exile. It’s not what Damar would have wanted. However, the moment he and Evara were gone, Lira had little to no reason to come back. If she ever did it was because she had loved the children, not because she was eager to see the rest of the family. Aryg had to wonder if one of the reasons Lira favored Fay so much was because she saw herself in the girl. It was ridiculous, of course, because Fay and Lira were nothing alike, least of all at that age. Unless he counted that fact both females were only half-Estaris. 

Sysa had once told him that deep down, he experienced a level of envy towards the sibling he had once looked down upon. Because out of all of them, Lira had been the first that Damar had trusted. The first who had gone to his side. Of course, Aryg always told Sysa that was a silly observation. They both knew that she knew him better than he did, though. 

Aryg sighed and tilted his head to look at the young woman. She refused to stand, instead preferring to cross her arms and give him that angry look that he’d been on the receiving end for decades.  Then he thought about Fay and Titoh, and how those two had bonded as siblings despite not being related. How that bond had fallen apart. How his niece had gone and forged new ones, all her own in a foreign world. It was harsh, but if he had been asked whether he would have thought Fay would grow so much in those two years, he would have doubted it. 

“Did she not tell you about what she’s gone through?’’ Lira asked impatiently. “You said you will listen.’’ 

“I did.’’ He did. He had really listened. Fay had been wary and hesitant, to begin with, but the more she talked, the more her mood uplifted. She did not stutter once and had smiled several times throughout while reminiscing the adventures she’s gone through. Aryg had listened, and he had also stared at her, and thought what would my brother think? 

After that night, Aryg had kept hoping for the moment when Fay would finally find the strength to move on from the grief. Or at the very least, learn how to detach from it. To not allow emotions to rule her head. Fay does not appear to have changed in that regard but there she was, gaining the trust of human outsiders, and surviving an entirely new world on her own. She had used those emotions he had hoped she’d learn to balance better to her advantage. 

Fay broke apart from the clan and did just fine. He wasn’t a good enough man to not feel the slightest scorned by that. But isn’t that what they fought for? For the new generations to no longer have their future pre-determined from the moment they took their first breath. 

“You have found her earlier than you said you did, haven’t you?’’ Aryg asked. 

Lira held no affection when she looked at him. Aryg wondered how much she wished he’d died instead of Damar. Probably as much as others have. Not as much as he did at times. 

“Maybe.’’ The woman shrugged. 

“I know you to be reckless but leaving Fay in the hands of the outsiders--’’ 

“You’re not in any position to criticize me.’’ Her voice was filled with vitriol. “Whose fault is it that she ran away? Whose fault is it that those bracelets and the seals ended up on her body? Whose fault is it that she ended up being stoned and beaten and humiliated?’’ 

“It’s my fault.’’ He replied immediately, tone unchanged. 

That took his half-sister by surprise, some of the anger receding from her face. Temporarily, only. 

“I may be a bastard, or however else you wish to label me, but I am capable of admitting my own shortcomings,’’ Aryg said. Sometimes.  They could have done that all day. Blame each other. Point out their failings. Divert from the matter at the hand and fall into old conflicts they have never quite resolved. 

“She has asked Len questions about that night,’’ he continued after a few moments of silence.“He has told her things I would have preferred she didn’t have to worry about for the time being.’’ 

“Of course she’ll ask questions, Aryg.’’ Lira asked. “Len didn’t tell her everything, not that it would help. I think after three years, she deserves some clarity. If she stays here, she will keep asking questions.’’ All the more reason living out there, past the barrier surrounding the island, Fay had a chance to be relatively free from all the chaos that came with her family. 

Aryg threw her a disapproving look as he tapped his fingers against his knee. “That's a weak argument for not having her here. She'd have contact with former members of the Resistance yes, but this island is isolated from everything that is going back home. It’s safe, only a few people would be aware of her location just as with Titoh. She can learn here, Lira. Prepare her. If she does ask questions, this is a good place to seek them.’’ 

“Your solution is to force her to stay here?’’ Lira scowled. “For how long?’’ 

“For as long as it is necessary. We haven’t even managed to fully understand what it is they were working on, but we know that they wished for both her and Titoh to be kept safe. We do not know who our enemy is, precisely, Lira and we do not know how powerful they are but if they are even half of what we have theorized them to be, then Fay – and it pains me to say this, it does – is better off isolated.’’

“You mean in a place where you can control the information that is being given.’’ 

“Yes,’’ Aryg admitted shamelessly. He did not wish to manipulate his own niece, but if keeping her in the dark was keeping her safe, then so be it. Too many people had too many theories with little to no evidence, so he didn’t want her to be influenced. Not until he and their allies figured out the extent of the trouble they were facing. 

“I agree that Fay has…grown. That she may be in a better mental state, but she is still a long way off from being ready to have to deal with such matters, even if in theory only.’’ Aryg could not risk pushing too far. Especially when it came to the memories of that night. It could end up being incredibly damaging for his niece. “In time, Lira. First, we must understand who Ranis was working with. He’s a vermin and a rather uninspired one at that so he could have not come up with everything on his own.’’ 

“She might not be safe even here then,’’ Lira argued. “I trust Len and Kaera, but we don’t know if the line of communication between them and the Council has been compromised.’’

“True. It would be foolish not to consider that.’’ He conceded. “But we do have to give the benefit of the doubt to the system. Either way, we can’t have anyone think that we’re suspicious. It may either alert our enemy or cause unnecessary friction.’’ 

“How many people know about her having run away? A dozen, at most. Ranis did, as well so we can assume so did his partners or superiors, whichever they may be. So, we don’t have a number. How many people know about Fay being in this world? The smaller number on our side, but unknown on the enemy’s.’’ Lira said. “Now, how many of them know of her exact location up until this point? That the seals haven’t killed her.’’ It was a rhetorical question, of course. Aryg also understood why Lira had been secretive about having found Fay. She had information she was unwilling to share but maybe that was for the best. 

“Go on.’’ Aryg placed his elbows on the armrests and stapled his fingers underneath his chin. 

Lira smirked, knowing she got his attention. “It wasn’t easy to find her and I probably would have had a very hard time if it hadn’t been for that retired Seeker. Kaera had problems tracking her down, which means that Fay is far better hidden than any of us expected. I know the Council would disapprove of outsiders being privy to so much information, and I get it why having that boy here is a threat, but he’s also our chance at having Fay in an even safer place than this island.’’ 

“We would have no jurisdiction or freedom to take action. Not without causing a potential conflict between the realms.’’ Aryg was not even sure who would be the ambassadors for that world but the Council would have someone in mind already. Just in case the island was ever to be exposed or one of the Guardians compromised. 

“Yes. Because we would attract attention, which we already did thanks to Ranis. However, if anyone dares to come after Fay, they will also have the same struggles we do. I have to admit it, that brat is quite resourceful. Thelion has told you, right?’’ 

He did. Thelion had reported that the human boy had fought with broken bones and internal bleeding and still managed to hold his own against the assailants. 

“Hm. Leave her safety in the hands of outsiders. That seems lazy and irresponsible.’’ Aryg said, but his tone indicated he was contemplating her words all the same. “How do we know we can trust them? Especially if they start asking questions.’’ 

“We don’t need to. Fay does. She has their trust and vice versa.’’ Lira finally sat down across from him. “There’s no such thing as a guarantee. If we can’t have it in Maysoon, we won’t have it anywhere else. But you must admit that Fay had been safer out there than she’d been back home.’’ 

“What about Titoh?’’ Aryg asked. “Whilst they are not very close, I would prefer they remained together. As a family.’’ 

A brief look of disgust flashed on the woman’s face. Not for Titoh, or the idea that he might be considered family. Lira cared about Titoh, and Evara and Damar had considered him their child, so that was that. No, the disgust was directed at her brother whom she found hypocritical. Old wounds and all that. 

“Moma said that he has been doing very well on the island.’’ 

“He is no longer as…troubled, yes. A positive influence, certainly.’’ Aryg agreed. “Which is why I think this is a great opportunity for Fay and Titoh to bond again. I think if there is one thing we can both agree on is that Damar and Evera would have wanted them to address the issues between them.’’ 

Lira pursued her lips. She couldn’t argue with that. “There’s no reason why she can’t spend some time on this island, either.’’ She clicked her teeth. “How many people know about Fay being here? Apart from those on the island.’’ 

“Enough people. Our siblings and closest family. The rest of the clan had been informed that Fay and Titoh are spending time traveling, still. Thelion’s mission is not official and as a result, his clan is unaware. Even if they were, I am not particularly worried about their loyalty. Outside that, we have two council members who are aware of Fay missing and Titoh being on this island. Brolgas and Saphil. It is likely they may have to disclose that information with the highest members of the Council, for transparency purposes.’’ There could be more. They considered the Council to have remained untainted so far, but their experiences dictated that information had a way of being exposed even in the best of environments.  

“How many people would know of Fay having lived in this world? Myself. You. Len and Kaera. Thelion.’’ Moma was a given but neither one of them would ever be concerned about her.

Aryg nodded. “You and Kaera would be most familiar with it. Moma only knows from what Fay has told her, as do I, for that matter.’’ He eyed his sister intently. “How many outsiders know about us? How many people beyond that boy has Fay disclosed her identity to?’’ 

“It is only him who knows about us, about the island, about who Fay is. The others - one or two at most -  may have an idea of her abilities but not so much of who she is.’’ Lyra said as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Aside from the people we’ve listed, only a few others on the island have seen her and Robin.’’ She pretended she didn’t know that Robin was the boy’s moniker and not his real name. Aryg didn’t need to know everything. He was likely withholding information from her as well. 

Old habits and all that. 

“Nothing we should be worried about, or that we can’t address.’’ Lira paused briefly. “We could still have her monitored, you know. Discreetly.’’ 

“Len and Kaera would be forced to lie to the Council about her being here. They do not respond to either of us, so by default, they would be breaching rules. Laws.’’ 

“It’s a good thing that you’re excellent at talking people in doing things your way, then.’’ Lira didn't think they'd be hard to convince, especially Kaera.  

“Hm. I am not so sure about that. You’ve never listened. Neither does Fay.’’ 

Lira smirked. “Admit it. You had the screaming coming. Acting out , really Aryg?’’ She tsked. “I hope you have another daughter. Teaches you a lesson.’’ 

As if he had any say in his household on most days. That was a battle he lost a long time ago. 

“She has become rather…brazen.’’ He was getting the sense that boy – that human child – had something to do with it. Or perhaps not, considering the people Fay was related to and had been surrounded by. “As is her aunt. Eavesdropping, Lira. Really ?’’ He asked, imitating her.

The woman shrugged. “I knew you’d screw up. I was worried Fay might get a panic attack.’’ Her eyes glinted with mischief. “Imagine what Sysa would say if she knew.’’ 

Aryg refused to take the bait, even if he knew exactly how Sysa would react. It would not be good. Especially with her being in the late stage of the pregnancy.  

“Let’s summarize, shall we? You want me to allow Fay to return out there in the world, with a human boy and the guild of warriors she appears to have taken a shine to. Len and Kaera will have to lie to the Council about Fay being on this island although we have no evidence that we should worry about unwelcome eyes or ears within the institution. The whole clan will also be deceived about her whereabouts, as will our closest allies among which are the clan leaders that rule and uphold Maysoon. Oh, let’s not forget, of course, that while this is happening, our niece will be gallivanting out there with no possibility of us actively protecting her as she would be on this island, along with her brother.’’ 

“That’s about it.’’ 

“Hm. Here I thought it would be complicated.’’ 

“You’re being sarcastic which means you’re considering this.’’ 

Aryg’s lips twitched. “For someone who hates me, you certainly know me so well, sister.A good strategist considers all perspectives, that's all.’’

Lira returned the smile. It was made of ice. 

“You’re conceited enough to see yourself as more than just good.’’ 

Aryg uncrossed his legs and lowered his hands away from his chin. He was done contemplating, for now. 

“Which is why I think it’s time I met this Robin.’’ 

.

.

.

When Aryg and Lira walked into the chambers of the two teenagers, they were greeted by the sight of the boy and girl wrestling on the ground while the paladin watched from the side, clearly more interested in chewing chunks out of a large watermelon.  Damian sensed them before Fay did, but he didn’t bother to get up from the floor, where he was currently straddling the girl while she was desperately trying to stop him from smearing any more of the Eldar fruit on her face. The fruit itself, about the size of a grapefruit, had a smooth thick red peel with white streaks. The juice inside was jelly-like in texture and of a crimson shade, which stained terribly. 

How did the fight start? Fay teased Damian about being a snob when he criticized the taste of some of the breakfast dishes they’ve been left with by Amina. He then slapped her hand which was holding the Eldar fruit, which resulted in her face slick with the juice. 

For one being so self-righteous about not starting fights, Fay had no qualms about pouncing on him. Most of the food had ended up on the floor and walls. 

“You ass—‘’ Fay stopped mid-sentence when she finally noticed the two new people in the room. Her eyes widened in horror when she caught their expressions. Lira looked amused. Aryg most certainly did not. In fact, he seemed to be scandalized enough by what he was seeing that the emotion was visible on his face. 

“Lafayette,’’ He said calmly but reproachfully. “ What is the meaning of this?’’ 

“I---‘’ Fay lowered her hands from Damian’s wrists instantly. The boy didn’t move, however. When she glanced at him, she found him staring at Aryg with a desultory expression. His lips curled, ever so faintly in a smirk. 

Please don’t say anything

“So, you’re the great warrior clan leader?’’ Damian remarked smugly, staring at Aryg as if he was the least unimpressive creature in the world. He was still straddling her, fruit in one hand with the juice running down his wrist. “Do all warriors in the other world move as loudly as elephants?’’ 

Fay’s mouth jaw dropped. 

What. 

What. 

Had they not agreed she had to convince her uncle to let her leave?!

Aryg to his credit did not allow the boy’s words to get to him, or at the very least he did not show it. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly at him which spoke volumes, however, about what he thought of the audacity that the boy displayed. 

Lira, on the other hand, snorted with laughter. 

“Lafayette,’’ Aryg started, calmly. “Get up from the floor and please give us the room.’’  

“Huh?’’ Fay blinked, still frozen on the floor. “I---what do you wish to speak to me about---‘ ’ 

“Not you.’’ He cut her off, then met the boy’s haughty gaze. “I wish to speak to Robin.’’  

Oh. 

This is not going to end well.  

Chapter 52: Of worlds clashing (VI)

Notes:

God, I love writing Damian being a little shit to people.

As always, I welcome your comments and I hope you enjoy the chapters. Next update will be on Sunday, 7th of November (sigh, can't believe it's November already).

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

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Aryg has been sitting in the same room as the boy for barely five minutes and his opinion was so far unfavorable. He had to wonder if perhaps his niece was either too kind to notice how obstinate the boy was. Or perhaps it was some sort of infatuation that was clouding her judgment. The human child was arrogant, overconfident and with zero regard for his own self-preservation, it seems. Aryg knew humans to be creatures capable of a reckless level of defiance – is it not that how the Resistance was born? – but he found himself irked by the child before him. 

Aryg Estaris did not get irked easily. He’s met countless men and women who were powerful enough to warrant them to behave in a manner that spoke of their expertise and ability. Aryg was one such person as well. If he was confident or arrogant, it was not because he overestimated himself, it was because he knew what he was capable of. He has lived far through much in his long life to be irked by a human child. An outsider, at that. 

Aryg did not underestimate that that world could produce talented warriors but his general perspective was that it could never compare to his own world. He did not have anything against outsiders, did not wish to discriminate against them but the comparison was inevitable. Aryg is a traditionalist in many aspects, and as a result, he believes that each world should keep to its own, there should be no mingling or alliances or fourteen-year-old nieces gallivanting about with outsider boys. 

He knew why the boy irked him. He just preferred not to acknowledge it, because it was a preposterous thought. The boy hadn’t earned such comparison , regardless of what his niece may think. 

Aryg smelt no fear on him. The boy was not apprehensive to be standing before him, even if Fay had likely told him what he should expect. He was either stupid or overconfident, Aryg thought, watching as the boy sat across from him in a manner that said he wasn’t worried. He should be. Anyone with the tiniest amount of self-preservation should be worried. He was in a disadvantaged position on an unknown territory standing before a man that was less human than he was. That, at the very least, the boy had to know. If Fay told him anything about the Estaris, then he should have at the very least pretended to be respectful, if only because he had to realize that Aryg had no intention to go easy on him just because he was a child. 

But, no, there was none of that. Instead, the boy scrutinized him openly, green eyes full of challenge. You mean nothing to me, those eyes said. 

Foolish boy. 

“You are the human child my niece has been spending time with,’’ Aryg said, ultimately when it became clear that the boy had no intention of speaking. He was not about to play such games with a child, although he played them all the time at the court. 

The boy’s expression looked disinterested. “You are the one responsible for Fay running away. For a leader of such a great warrior clan, you are rather dull.’’ 

Responsible for Fay running away? Is that what his niece believed? Perhaps. But Aryg had played enough mind games in his lifetime to recognize when he was being baited into a reaction. The boy seemed disrespectful by nature but he was also trying to get under his skin. It was an unsuccessful endeavor as Aryg did not so much as bat an eye at his comment. Is this the type of friend his niece has made? Perhaps it wasn’t infatuation. She’d always been quite soft, and the boy was clearly of a dominant nature. Yet when he had walked into the chambers that morning and found them engaged in such a childish fight, Fay had looked happy even as she berated the boy. 

“Fay has mentioned you are intelligent,’’ Aryg remarked. “I see now she has made a wrong assessment. Only a foolish person would make statements about something they do not know anything of.’’ 

To his credit, the boy didn’t react either. Well, then. 

Let it be a game. 

“I know you have foolishly allowed spies in your clan, your Majesty .’’ Daring little shit. “I am curious. How long did it take to realize that those bracelets were going to kill her?’’ There was something cold in those green eyes. A type of iciness that Aryg has seen before, in his own reflection or in the eyes of his fellow warriors. The coldness of a killer. “Was it before or after you lost her?’’ 

Aryg curled his lips in a subversive smile. He wasn’t actually amused. 

“Are you accusing me of endangering my own niece, child?’’ He crossed his legs, adopting a casual stance. “I would be quite so careful in choosing my next words if I were you.’’ 

“Or what?’’ The boy smirked. “You do not have any power here. Not legally. You could kill me – well you could try, anyway – ‘’ Haughty. “—but then you would have to respond to others.’’ He knows about the Council. Just how much has Fay told him? “Not to mention, she would never forgive you.’’ 

Probably not. 

“Dead? No, certainly not.’’ Aryg remarked calmly. He wasn’t being arrogant, or threatening but truthful. “That would be reckless. Why would I kill an outsider when I could have them trapped?’’ He inspected his hands. An intimidating tactic. Casualness when threatening the enemy. “However talented or capable you think you are, the odds of you leaving this island on your own are very slim. If you were to be taken, let’s say, before the Council in the other world…well then. You would be in quite a situation, wouldn’t you?’’ 

The boy’s brow only angled downwards briefly. He wasn’t intimidated but he was at least considering Aryg’s words. Assessing the veiled threat. 

“No,’’ The boy said, confidently with a smirk. “I don’t think that will happen.’’ 

“Hm? Why is that?’’ 

“Leverage,’’ Robin smirked. “The Council is not aware of everything, and your presence here – alone – only indicates that this is all being kept under wraps. Otherwise, I would have not been brought here or allowed to roam freely. Fay has also not been instructed from withholding information, and we’ve been both placed in the same chambers. Not that the separation was needed.’’ The brat had better not imply what Aryg thought he was---“Take me before the Council if you will. See what happens when you kidnap a warrior from this world. Imprison me, if you will. I will escape.’’ 

“Oh?’’ Aryg said. “And she would so accepting of your actions?’’ 

“Yes.’’ The boy replied with no hesitation. “She knows she is happier out there. She has certainly been under better care than before.’’ 

Aryg may have had the upper hand in terms of physicalforce and resources but the boy knew he could always place himself on higher moral ground when it came to Fay’s welfare. Because he knew Fay agreed with that assessment, because he knew Aryg could not deny that Fay was healthier, better, stronger. He had no shame in taking credit for it and Fay had not shied from giving it to him. Whether Fay was being manipulated or not, that remained to be seen.

“She has,’’ Aryg agreed, graciously. It was time to switch tactics. “I have to wonder, though.’’ 

“Hn.’’ 

“What shall you ever do when Fay finally decides that her place is not amongst the outsiders.’’ 

“She won’t.’’ 

“You can guarantee that? Really. Hm, I was not aware you had the ability to predict the future. That’s most useful.’’ 

The coldness had returned. “— TT —as opposed to what? A place amongst you?’’ 

Got you. 

Aryg shook his head. “No. Perhaps not that either. Fay has a mixed bloodline, but she’s always been raised with different views by her parents.’’ He drummed his fingers against the chair arm. Aryg could almost hear Sysa’s voice, telling him to tread carefully, that there is no reason to insinuate himself in a human child’s head and attack his defenses the way he would in politics. That Fay would be most unhappy if he did.

 “She is half-human and has managed to adapt to this world as a result of it. But half , here, is the keyword. She will always be half otherwise . Half Estaris. I admit I do not know nor am I interested in your world, so I do not understand her curiosity or fascination. What I do know,’’ He paused. One, two, three seconds. “Is that one day, it will not be enough. Fay may not wish to be a warrior, she may not be inclined to such a lifestyle but she’ll certainly never be just a human girl. Not to mention, she does not age the same as other humans do in this world.’’ 

One day, she’ll outgrow you. 

“This is but an….adventure. An exploration. It is actually a tradition in our clan, for the young to be encouraged in undergoing a journey on their own. Hers has simply manifested earlier than it should have, in very unconventional circumstances.’’ He continued, knowing he’s struck the right nerve when he saw those green eyes harden. The boy was good at hiding his emotions, but he had nothing on a man who had spent decades reading others. “It is but a phase in her very long life. You are but a blip.’’ Stop, Sysa’s voice said in his head. That’s enough, my love. That’s the old you resurfacing. “You may entertain her now, and she may genuinely care about you. However, that does not mean she belongs here. No more than you belong on this island, or in our world.’’ 

He half expected the boy to lunge himself at Aryg, because of the way his fingers had twitched by his side. His heartbeat had picked up. Not as fast as it could have but his muscles were tenser than before. Aryg had definitely touched a sore spot. 

“If one day,’’ Stop. “She decides to return to our realm, what then?’’ Stop. “You will ask her to wait until you’ve either been killed in your line of duty or your human life has run its course? She would. But she would also suffer. Do you really wish to be responsible for that?’’ It was an emotional threat. An undignified one. Aryg had learned many years earlier that bonds between people can be powerfully motivating, that they can be worth all the vulnerability and sacrifice they inadvertently tie in with. He told himself he had to be harsh because his niece’s safety was at play but the truth was that decades of being a cold negotiator were also hard to undo. 

The boy’s jaw clenched. 

Then, the anger as quickly as it appeared was hidden. Not fast enough, though or perhaps he simply did not care as much as Fay believed he did. 

“Yes.’’ 

Aryg lifted a brow. 

“You don't know who I am so you would not understand that I would find ways to circumvent that. One way or another.’’ The boy said with the same conviction one says the sky is blue. “Even if that were not possible, I would not back down from something as ridiculous as being afraid of aging before she does.’’ 

He hadn’t considered that much. It was not something he wished to consider but he’ll have to, later on. 

“So you choose to be selfish.’’ Aryg challenged.

“I couldn’t care less how you label it.’’ The boy snarked. “I will not force her to stay if she does not wish to do so. She does , however, and for as long as that is the case, she will be under my protection.’’ The boy’s chin lifted, looking defiant again. “I do not care about something as ridiculous as her titles or bloodline. Those are not what defines an individual, and if she has adapted to this world, it is only because she has found a place where she's accepted beyond any of that. I doubt the same can be said about your or your clan.’’ 

Hm. 

It is an answer that Damar would have liked to hear, Aryg supposes. 

“And just who is she? Seeing as you claim to know my niece better than I do. Better than her own flesh and blood.’’ Now Aryg was just curious. “Why is it that you would feel so compelled to protect a creature that is not of your world?’’ 

The boy clicked his teeth, looking as if he’d run out of patience with their discussion. 

“She is--’’

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“All good, flea?’’ Lira asked when she saw Fay reach for her head and rub at her temples. 

“Yes. I just—the past few days have been…challenging.’’ A polite choice of words.

Lira hummed in agreement. “Yes.’’ She paused. “I am sorry.’’ 

Fay blinked in surprise. “For what, aunt Lira?’’ 

For not trying harder to take you away. For not protecting you. For not staying around longer. For not being them. 

“Well, you know.’’ Lira shrugged. Aryg had the emotional capacity of cabbage, but unfortunately, they were all screwed up to one extent or another when it came to expressing their emotions. “I shouldn’t have allowed my brother to decide everything. For what happened after. With Titoh and the Trials.’’ 

“Oh.’’ Fay’s head bowed slightly, as they finally stepped outside the residence. Hundreds of steps appeared before her eyes, meant to lead them to the lower areas of the island where the village began. There was something enchanting about those old steps, some of stone and eaten away by time, others replaced with ones made of wood. The jungle wasn’t entirely contained on either end with thick roots boldly growing over the steps as if nature was planning on tripping anyone that tried to take that path. The trees above them offered shelter from the bright rays of sunshine and some vines hung so lowly that Fay could have grabbed onto and swayed herself on them. 

“It’s not your fault.’’ She said finally, momentarily caught in her own memories. The ugly voices who used to taunt her hadn’t disappeared, she wasn’t sure they ever would, but their power had waned. She found it easy to silence them. Fay wasn’t sure if she’d be able to maintain that control if she would have had to return to Maysoon then. She wasn’t quite that strong yet. “…everyone talked about it, didn't they? How---how badly I failed the Trials.’’ 

Lira wasn’t there to witness firsthand the rumors but she didn’t need to. “Most likely. People like to talk. Regardless if you win or lose, so don’t worry too much about it.’’ So, she failed. Who cared? Why did it matter if Fay was a warrior or not? Maybe she didn’t. Maybe she was better off in that world amongst the humans there, living a peaceful life. “It’s been a while now, so they more than likely moved on to something else.’’ That wasn’t false. It also wasn’t entirely true. Fay will not be at the center of attention if she returns. 

“So, I’ve meaning to ask—‘’ Lira said casually, hoping to change topics because the kid was starting to get very silent again. “---that thing you did with your flux. When you had a panic attack. How did you come up with that?’’ 

“Oh. I had different ways—of dealing with my panic attacks. Not all of them helped always but this one does.’’ Fay said, head tilting back up. The tension melted away from her shoulders. “I’ve been practicing my precision using some of the training methods that the masters showed me in Maysoon. And that---that mother also showed me. It really helped one time when I had a bad nightmare. So I started using after as well.’’ 

“I see.’’ 

“Damian told me to use those words.’’ Fay smiled, completely forgetting to use the boy’s moniker. Lira acted as if she didn’t notice. “They aren’t exactly a quote but they’re inspired by a very important religious figure in this world. Buddha. You must have heard of him.’’ 

Vaguely. Lira couldn’t care less about religions or gods or the primordial universes. If she did, then she had some unsettled scores. 

“Mh-hm. He’s been teaching you many things, has he?’’ Lira glanced at her. “I saw you, you know. Wearing a mask. Catching robbers, one night.’’ 

Fay looked at her in surprise. “Oh? Really?’’ She paused. “What did you think?’’ 

“I think they had it coming.’’ Fay smiled. “But I've got to wonder, why did you? Do you feel indebted to do that?’’ 

The girl looked troubled by that assessment. “No, of course not! Da—Robin, didn’t want to let me do it, actually. Neither did the—the others. But---I don’t know. At first, I wanted to get healthier, and then,’’ Damian’s mother kidnapped and almost killed her. “I wanted to…fight. I mean, to be able to fight. Against others who—who may try to hurt me or Bagheera or anyone else. I…didn’t know how angry I was, I suppose until I met Robin. Actually, I did—but I was always scared of what would happen if I got angry. Because---because of what happened in Maysoon.’’ Fay confessed.

 “But Robin didn’t care. So he started training me and he was awful about it but---it really helped. It is easier now. I can’t control my flux that well still, but whenever I am upset or um, angry about something,’’ She shrugged. “I will just run. Or fly. Or train with Robin.’’ 

“I see,’’ Lira repeated. “You two are close.’’ 

“Yes.’’ 

With a teasing smile, Lira winked at her. “How close?’’ 

Fay turned beet red as she offered her aunt an exasperated look. “Please stop. It’s—it’s not like that.’’ Then under her breath, “Why do people always ask that?’’ 

Lira snickered. 

“It’s all good, flea. I believe you. I might still mess with your uncle’s head though.’’ Her smile turned positively feral, as she lowered her voice in an attempt to imitate her brother’s baritone. “Young lady, how dare you? Do you know how inappropriate that is?’’ 

Fay giggled. Lira ruffled her hair. 

“I am really glad you’re here, aunt Lira.’’ 

“Yeah, me too, flea, me too.’’ 

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His mother died in childbirth, or at least that’s what he’s been told from the beginning. The elderly couple who tended to him as an infant lived a modest life and had very little in their small house in a small village in Aeryg. They weren’t poor, but their food resources depended primarily on their garden. Pol was a welder. Mina used to be a wonderful seamstress before retiring. She had lost the use of her legs as a result of an attack on their village during the height of revolutions. 

When he was four, Mina died. Peacefully, in her sleep. They would have stayed in the village but he was a sickly child. Some said that it had to be related to his striking features. Others saw no correlation like Pol, but there was nothing that could be done in the village. It was small and while it had prospered with the advent of new laws, no healer there knew what to do. Pol sold the land, decided to take him to Maysoon. It was the land that welcomed everyone now, Pol used to say. Mina had wanted to see Maysoon too, but they never got around to it, in the end. Pol found new work in Maysoon. He may have been blind in one eye and his reflexes half of what they used to be, but he was experienced. 

He doesn’t remember much of the trip. He does remember being nearly blinded by how colorful the new territory felt. He remembers feeling overwhelmed by the scents, and his respiratory issues flaring up. The heat was too much. The capital was so noisy, so full, so much of everything compared to the small village. He didn’t want to stay there, he didn’t like it. 

Several months into their stay, Pol took him to the palace. Once upon a time, civilians weren’t allowed to do that. Not to marvel at the architecture and be listened to. No, no. Before one knew that if one went to the palace, they’d either not come back or they’d come back wishing they had never gone in there. He couldn’t remember how Pol got the invite, how he managed to access that place. Probably because everything else had felt so overwhelming. He had felt very sick again, his body feeling hot and tight and his chest tight.  

The next thing he knows there’s a woman standing over him. She has cool hands that feel so incredible against his heated face. Long auburn tresses tumble down over her shoulders and vivid green eyes stare at him. For a few moments, he assumed she might have been a creature of the forest. Especially when she smiled. It was the prettiest smile he’s seen. A hand settled on his chest. It was glowing. With the energy that felt cool and relaxing, like he always did whenever Mina used to put that nice unguent over his body whenever he developed a rash. Pol is standing next to her, looking wary and humbled, and relieved. 

“Don’t worry. We’ll take care good care of you, hm?’’ The woman said. He nodded because he wasn’t sure what else to say. She said it with such conviction that it was hard not to believe her. 

It wasn’t the last time he met the woman. She came to visit him several times at the new house in which he lived with Pol. She’d give Pol some of that green liquid that he had now to drink twice a day, every day. It wasn’t particularly pleasant but whenever she asked him if he drank it, he always said yes, because she’d always smile afterward. 

The woman was a hero of the people, Pol said when he had asked, just like other Resistance fighters. A warrior. One of the newest leaders of Maysoon, because Maysoon no longer had just one. He hadn’t known what any of that meant, being just five years old. He had vague ideas only. All he knew is that the green liquid made him feel better. He no longer coughed as much or as often, he no longer felt exhausted all the time. He still got sick, more often than most children, but he was better. 

Well enough to be educated. With other children, Pol had said. It had been her idea. He had never been around many children. Too sick to play with the ones in his old village even if he really wanted to. Maysoon had all kinds of people, but he was kind of odd there, too. If people found his physical appearance startling, they would get over it rather quickly. Some children could still be mean, though. Especially when he’d get sunburnt easily or because he was rather skinny. Fragile, really. He wasn’t built like any of the natives there with their sun-kissed bodies and dark hair and strong bodies. 

Pol had to quit his welder responsibilities not too long after. He was awarded a monthly stipend for his life services, enough to maintain both of them but Pol was also growing slower. His bones ached more often and his good eye was rapidly becoming just as bad as the other. The woman came back. He hadn’t seen her as often after starting school. He had heard of her of course – everyone did – and he had seen her around. If not in person, then virtually everywhere else. In the paper or a book or a projection. 

She asked him if he would like to live at the palace. Pol could too if he wished, but he had refused. He did too, not wanting to leave the only family he ever had behind but Pol pushed him to go. “I ain’t gonna die anytime soon, son, but see no reason why you can’t have a better life.’’ 

Pol died two weeks later. He remembers crying even if he didn’t fully understand. Why did people die? Why did he not have parents like others and why did he have to look so different? Why did he have to be so sick all the time? The grief passed, slowly. Life at the palace was spoiled. He had the best healers he could have, so he was no longer as sick. The woman came to visit him often. He was being looked after by a middle-aged woman who always cooked and clothed him and made sure he had everything he needed or wanted. The woman would take him to her garden, telling him that he’ll get stronger, he just needs to get his body used to it. She never made him feel out of place. 

When he was seven years old, he met the woman’s daughter. He knew she had a child, had heard of her but he hadn’t paid much attention. 

It was unexpected. And confusing. And overwhelming. He had decided to venture deeper into the jungle to pick some flowers that the woman had shown him a few weeks earlier. Maybe offer them to her in a bouquet? He had gotten lost, and then he had panicked because he could feel someone watching him. Someone that kept moving fast in the trees around him. That, someone, was just a girl, he found. A girl that could fly as if she was a bird and was covered in mud and was accompanied by a dark, furry creature that he had mistaken for a shadow. Or a void with eyes and legs. 

He had been so frightened that he just ran away. It wasn’t until a few days later when he went to see the woman for his regular visits that he saw the girl again. On the lap of the woman, giggling. How could she not? She had the undivided attention of the woman. The dark mass--- a dog, or a wolf or something – was there, as well. It latched onto the edge of his trousers, playfully but with enough strength that he almost fell over. 

Then the woman introduced him to the girl. 

“My daughter, Fay.’’ She smiled. “Fay, this is the boy I’ve told you about. His name is Titoh. Oh—and that’s Bag, by the way.’’ She said, throwing a look to the dark creature who instantly released his leg, looking admonished. 

Fay and Bag. 

Fay, daughter of Evara. 

“Hi.’’ He said. The girl smiled at him, but he wasn’t sure he wanted her there. That was his time with Evara. Even if he was there because he was scheduled for herbal inhalations every two days. Evara always talked to him beyond that, always asked him about how his day was and if there was anything new he learned or what he thought of this or that. Maybe other orphans got the same treatment, but none that he knew so that’s all that mattered. The girl was silent in the beginning. He thought she was odd, always flying everywhere. She didn’t look that much like Evara. Her hair was darker and her eyes were brown and her smile was definitely not as pretty. Bag was always attached to her hip, or in her arms or poking out of a backpack. Titoh didn’t mind him – for some reason, he always felt in a good mood when the creature was around. 

An empath, Evara told him. When Fay was happy, Bag was happy, so everyone else could feel that. Titoh didn’t want to know what it would be like if she wasn’t happy. He found out later, anyway. 

The herbal inhalations were scheduled three times a week. It was his favorite part of the week. From that day, however, he was invited to the private botanic garden every evening. Fay would almost always be there. Titoh wasn’t initially happy with that, especially when Evara was too busy to attend and she’d leave them alone. Fay seemed more interested in talking and playing with Bag, as if he was a person. 

“Why Bag?’’ He asked, finally. 

She stared at him as if he’d suddenly asked why the sky was blue. Weirdo. Then she disappeared for several minutes. When she came back, she had a book in her hands. Written in a language he did not recognize nor has ever seen before. She presented it to him as if it was made of gold and he was meant to venerate it.

“This,’’ She said in a manner that he found rather dramatic. “Is one of the best books in the world.’’ 

“Really.’’ He said skeptically. 

“Yes.’’ Bag growled from beside her as if to agree. 

“What language is this?’’ 

“English.’’ Fay smiled, proudly. “I can read it. My parents taught me.’’ 

“En—gla—what?’’ 

“English,’’ Fay repeated the foreign word. “It’s a language from another world. I will travel to it one day.’’ She said with conviction.  

Titoh snorted. She wasn’t just weird but insane too, then. 

She wasn’t. 

He’s not sure how many evenings passed before he stopped feeling annoyed that Fay had started being presented for those meetings. At one point, not that long after, however, Titoh had met her father as well. A walking legend, just like Evara. Titoh had stared flabbergasted at him, frozen on the spot and unsure what to say or to do. The man looked like the other Estaris, and everyone knew that they weren’t human, not really, not entirely which is what made them so powerful and dangerous. They are the ones who tamed dragons and carried their blood, some children had whispered to him when he had first expressed not knowing who they were.

The man simply stared at him. Assessing. Then asked him if he’d like to join them for dinner. The rest was history, really. Out of all orphans, it was him who became adopted by two living legends. Revolutionaries. Him. He had a family and it wasn’t just any family. Titoh wasn’t sure one could have a better one. He was fortunate. He gained a sibling too. Well, two, really if one considered Bag and it was not hard to. 

It was paradise. 

Until it wasn’t. 

Until he lost everything again. 

Titoh wasn’t new to loss. To lose the family that was never really his, to begin with, but he had hoped he won’t have to experience it again. He wasn’t even really that surprised when some people simply moved on. When some overlooked the fact that he, too, lost his parents and not just Fay. 

They had loved him, and he wished they hadn’t. 

The bitterness filled his veins. The anger settled in quicker and quicker. And suddenly he found himself hating all of them. He hated Evara for making him think he’ll never be alone again. He hated Damar for making him think that he could have a second father – third if one counted his unknown biological one. He hated the Estaris and just how different they really were from his foster family. How cold they felt in comparison. 

Then he hated Fay, too, just the tiniest bit. Whenever he looked at her, all he could see was just how much she’s had compared to him. How she had the perfect family from the first day, how loved and fortunate and protected she’d been by the best of individuals. How she still had Bagheera, and how everyone doubled over to make her pain go away. They had for him, too, but he hadn’t cried as much as Fay did. He had nightmares, but he wasn’t wracked with anxiety attacks. He just felt cold inside.

So when Fay turned to him, looking for that familial connection he wished he had never formed – it was excruciating – Titoh couldn’t be near her. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t her fault, he knew, deep down. Fay lost her parents too. Now she knew the emptiness that he’d carried for far longer than she did. 

He used to think it wasn’t fair that she wanted to clutch onto him when he had no one to turn to. Or so he had seen it at the time. Fay had always been there, even if she was shaken by grief and struggling with control. Just because he denied her in his life, just because he allowed others to get in his head and fill him with misplaced envy and anger, he still had Fay. Titoh would often think about the mistakes he’s made. How did he get to that point? How could have he led those boys and girls to Fay in that manner? How could it have taken him so long to react when he had realized what they were going to do to her? 

He had nightmares of it. The way Fay screamed, the sight of the blood on her back. The unadulterated hatred on those children’s faces, the entitlement they felt in hurting another person in that manner. It was too late, of course, by then. Fay had been scarred by the incident, physically and emotionally. Titoh had never wanted that, yet he had behaved just as monstrously? How many times he had felt justified in pushing Fay away? In thinking that she had no right to compare her pain to his? 

The Trials were awful. Not as awful as the rumors and the whispers and everything else that followed. He never approached her, though. Too much of a coward. Not even when he saw how quiet she’d gone, how little she left her chambers, how little she ate. How she no longer looked at anyone in the eyes anymore, or even looked alive. Not even when Aryg told him that Fay will go on a trip with Moma, for a while. Titoh could join her if he wanted. 

He refused. 

Then he didn’t see her again. For two whole years. At first, they had told him she had made it safely up north. Then he noticed how on edge everyone was. How little they spoke of her when he asked how she was. Sysa eventually told him the truth. Fay is missing, she said. We thought she may have been kidnapped. Or taken . We couldn’t find her or Bagheera. Then, later, Moma told him that actually, that’s what Fay wanted. To run away. But they didn’t know where still. They never told him. Even when they did find out of her tentative location. Titoh was instructed not to speak of it.

Several months earlier, Titoh was brought to that island. It will be good for you, Aryg said. Moma will stay here with you. And so they left him there. 

He did enjoy the island. Things got better. He felt better. But the guilt grew and grew until there was a constant weight on his shoulders that he could not remove. What if they lied and will never find her? What if she was dead? He’ll never see her again, the sister he had denied. He’ll never get a chance to apologize. He'll lose family again and this time it will be on him. 

Then, a few days earlier, Moma told him that Fay had been found. In the world beyond the barrier around the island. 

Fay has lived in that world for two years just like she had once declared she would. Titoh wonders if that has always been her plan, to run away and become the adventurer she wanted to be. How did she even do that? 

It doesn’t matter. Fay is alive and he may have another chance. 

Another chance to have a sister again. 

“Titoh,’’ Moma called, from outside the hut he was currently in, pouring over the textbooks before him. Would Fay even want to talk to him? 

“Yes, Moma?’’ He glanced towards the entrance. He could see Moma’s figure standing outside through the small gap in the curtain covering the entrance. 

Something large and dark moved near Moma’s figure. 

Is that--?

“Child, I thought I told you to eat properly.’’ 

“Eh, but Moma, I did!’’ Titoh froze on the spot, eyes growing wide. That voice---? It wasn’t quite the same but---A large lupine head suddenly popped through the gap in the entrance cover. 

Titoh and Bagheera stared at one another, seafoam eyes meeting leaden-blue. 

“Bagheera?’’ The feminine voice got closer. “What are you doing? That’s rude.’’ 

“It’s fine, flea. This is the place anyway----‘’ 

“---alright?’’ The cloth parted, allowing the sun to shine through the gap but it was soon blocked by the girl stepping inside, who was still glancing over her shoulder outside. 

“Who exactly----‘’ Fay stopped mid-sentence when she finally turned her head towards the inside of the hut, and her eyes zeroed on him. He was right across from her, sitting on a pillow on the ground with a low table before him that was overfilled with textbooks and his notes. He had been studying very hard. Would she ever want to know that? She used to ask so many questions before. 

Titoh clumsily stood up, more startled than anything else, and knocked a few papers off the table in the process. A little warning could have been nice. Judging from her shocked expression, she hadn’t known either. 

Bagheera stood still, beside her as he always did. He has grown bigger, Titoh thought. So did Fay. She was simultaneously familiar and unrecognizable to him. Taller, her hair longer, looking stronger as well. The bags under her eyes were largely gone as was the sickly pallor she had grown to have in those weeks after the incident. 

He has changed too. Grown several inches, and had been training more extensively so he was proud to discover that he was capable of generating muscle after all. 

“…Hey.’’ He said awkwardly. 

The surprise on Fay’s face melted away. She looked somewhat wary. Not angry or disgusted, though, so that was a good start, he supposes. She didn’t reply to him but she hadn’t also turned and walked away, so he decided to press further. 

“I---Moma said you arrived a few days ago.’’ He remarked. “I…I am happy.’’ He had no right to say that. No right. “That you are alright. Bag, too.’’ The paladin huffed in response. He was definitely holding a grudge. Titoh couldn’t blame him. 

He had so many questions, but he felt he could not ask any of them. 

“You are not my sister. You are not my family, Fay! Just stay away from me!’’ 

“Oh.’’ She blinked a few times. “So...you do live here now.’ She stated. 

Titoh nodded. “Eight months, now. It’s---I like it.’’  

“Hm. Alright.’’ 

Silence enveloped them. 

“I—‘’ Titoh grimaced. “You look really well.’’ He added awkwardly. 

“I am,’’ Fay said, with a nod. Come to think of it, she wasn’t stuttering anymore? “You look well, too, Titoh.’’ She looked as unsure as he felt. Then she smiled slightly. It was a polite type of smile, not one a joyful sister gave to their brother upon being reunited. “You look…happier.’’ 

Titoh scratched the back of his head nervously. “Yeah, I guess I am.’’ He glanced pointedly at the table. “I’ve been learning how to be a healer.’’ He found himself admitting. He didn’t want to talk about himself just yet but he had no idea how to broach the whole I-treated-my-sister-like-crap thing. Moma had just told him to be patient, and honest. Lira slapped a hand on his back and told him that Fay was unlikely to hate him. Titoh wondered if Lira was angry with him deep down, seeing as she’d always had a soft spot for Fay. 

He certainly hated himself plenty. 

“A healer?’’ Fay glided forward. 

Glided . As in her feet had left the floor and she flew. Titoh’s eyes bulged. “You can fly again.’’ He blurted out, almost accusingly. “You can fly again!’’ He was nothing short of screaming. “That’s incredible---‘’ He stopped, when he realized what he was doing and the way Fay had stopped from advancing towards him, looking at him startled. Justifiably so. He had expressed joy at her being able to fly when in the past, he had only been cold or contemptuous. 

“S-sorry. I am sorry.’’ He rushed to say. “I am really sorry, Fay. I---‘’ His eyes suddenly stung. So much for being patient. “I, um, really happy to see you. I am. I know you might not, and that’s—that’s alright because I---well, why would you be? I am sorry.’’ 

Fay lowered her gaze to the floor, unsure what to make of that. Unsure what she should feel first because there was a wide array of contrasting emotions in her chest. Relief. Anger. Hurt, so hurt still. Petty, maybe, because there was a small part of her that wanted to say, yes, you have no right to be happy to see me. We’re not family remember. Betrayed, too. She felt affection too, underneath all that. It wasn’t quite as bright as the affection she felt when she thought about Damian, because there weren’t as many other emotions to drown it. 

But she’s changed. She’s had time to think, over and over again about the way Titoh treated her. At some point, she isn’t sure when she had decided that even if she felt angry and even if she still felt hurt by him, Fay could never hate him. He had suffered just as much as she did even before he lost his foster family. He had never really spoken to her about Pol but her mother had told her about him. She thought she had understood, but perhaps not. Now that she was an orphan, now that she had experienced what it is like to be taken under the wing of people that are not her family but became such, Fay understood better. 

Maybe they’ll never be family again. Not in the way she had hoped they would be. But she doesn’t want to hurt him back. 

“Were you…worried?’’ She asked hesitantly. 

Titoh nodded, lifting his gaze back up to her. He had pretty eyes, as well. Like the stones, she used to collect while diving in the lagoons of Maysoon. His hair was still as white as she remembered it to be and he had let it grow, the strands falling over his forehead. He was taller by at least two inches than her, his shoulders broader. 

“I…I didn’t know until later. They wouldn’t always tell me everything, not until after we came here, anyway.’’ He explained. “But---I was worried. I was .’’ He said vehemently. “I…I was worried I won’t see you again and that erm,’’ His cheeks reddened. “I thought you ran away because of me. I—I understand if you did. I---it’s my fault. For---for a lot of the things that happened. I shouldn’t have said those things---I don’t know why I did. I mean I do but it’s just…hard to explain. I shouldn’t have…treated you that way.’’ He said remorsefully. Then bowed his head forward to her. 

“I am very sorry, Fay.’’ He wanted to beg for her forgiveness. He couldn’t gather the courage to say it, though. 

The silence stretched between them painfully. Accusingly. His neck hurt in that position but he didn’t dare to look up. 

“It’s…Titoh, please stop bowing.’’ She said softly after what felt like hours. 

He straightened and tentatively looked at her. Fay smiled, a little wider than before, even if it wasn’t quite as big as it could have been. 

“You really hurt me,’’ Fay confessed quietly. “I---I understand that you were also, um, hurt. That…I was selfish and didn’t really think about what you went through before. I am sorry, as well. For a really long time, I thought that I deserved it. How you behaved and what the others….did to me.’’ She swallowed. “I still think I do sometimes. I wish I had better control and that...I was better, well, at everything. But---I don’t want to let those moments….affect me anymore. I am trying not to let them, anyway. I—I am not sure if I can trust you…but I don’t hate you.’’ She nodded, to herself. “I know you said you don’t want to be my brother and um, all the other things. But I think you will always be my family even if….even if we’re not close.’’ 

Tears prickled at the corner of his eyes. How could she just forgive him like that? How could she be so understanding when she had those awful scars on her back because of him? 

“I....don’t want you not to be my family.’’ He confessed, before rubbing his eyes furiously. “I just don’t know how I can take that back.’’ 

Fay wasn’t sure either. With time, maybe. There was a great, wide gap between them so it won’t be easy to close it, but Fay does not want to be on bad terms with him. Even if at the moment, she isn’t sure if they will ever be close again. 

“Can…I hug you?’’ Titoh asked. 

She smiled. “Yes.’’ They could start there, perhaps. 

Bagheera wasn’t quite as forgiving, so he stood by, watching as the two teenagers exchanged a brief hug. When Titoh turned to him and apologized, bowing his head just as he did towards Fay, the paladin huffed. He didn’t forget. How he had been kept away from protecting her, the pain and fear Fay had felt. 

Forgiveness did not come as easy to him as it did humans, but neither did hatred. Not if his Fay didn’t feel any of it. 

He’ll need some time as well. 

.

.

.

Silence had enveloped them, and they’d been simply staring at one another, assessing. Aryg had to admit, to himself at least, that he had not expected the boy to be so candid. He was clearly very direct by nature, with no patience for concocting appearances or engaging in diplomacy. That was a disadvantageous trait to have. Then again, Aryg has made that assessment before of others like the boy, and he’d been proven wrong. The human child had chosen to reveal something about himself that Aryg was certain he wouldn’t have in other circumstances. He did not have enough data to judge the accuracy of his statements, but Aryg found no signs of deceit. He would have seen it or smelt or heard it. He spent his entire life trying to detect what the other person before him thinks and wants and will do, so much so that it had become a deeply ingrained habit. Damar had been like that as well, except he had been a silver tongue with a dry sense of humor and a low tolerance for small talk. Aryg was more of a businessman, preferring to pander to a discussion he may not be entirely interested in if it serves him well down the line. Damar tended to use honesty to take people by surprise as well.  

The boy had used a similar tactic. He was not interested in gaining Aryg’s trust or favor, that much was clear, but he must have realized that he had to concede ever so slightly if he wanted Fay out of there. Unless he was an expert manipulator, even at that young age, in which case his niece was better off without him. However, Aryg knew that if he did force Fay to stay there and send the boy back, both parties were bound to react in a way that'd only complicate things further. He could not hurt a child, even an obstinate one, not without actual cause. He may have not liked the boy but his influence on Fay did appear to be positive. Lira certainly seemed keen on that assessment, which also meant she knew far more than she let on. Either that, or she was not thinking it through properly. 

Lira could be reckless and let her temper get the best of her, but she would not want to jeopardize Fay’s life, Aryg reminded himself because Sysa wasn’t there to do so. 

“Very well,’’ Aryg said. “I am listening.’’ 

The boy’s eyes narrowed. 

“What is it that you will do to ensure that she is safe? Should I decide to let her stay, which I have not? I stand by my assessment that she is better off here.’’ 

.

.

.

Fay spent several hours with Titoh and Moma. Her foster brother was incredibly curious, she could tell, about where she’s been and what she’s seen but he tried to refrain from asking too many questions. There was a constant awkward tension between the two of them that would have been far worse if it wasn’t for Moma. Fay did however offer him a succinct version of what she told the others but found herself sound almost clinical. She didn’t mind Titoh knowing, and she didn’t mind him asking questions. It just felt, in a way, that she was talking to a stranger. Moma must have picked up on the tension because she switched the attention from Fay to Titoh, pointing out that the boy had been training to be a healer. 

“A healer?’’ Fay asked in surprise. “Really? Wait—does that mean---‘’ 

Titoh smiled sheepishly and raised his hands up. Fay felt the energy gathering through him and channeling to his limbs before she saw the bright glow. It looked very similar to Corim’s albeit not as strong. While Corim’s was white, Titoh had a nuance of blue to it. 

“Oh.’’ She stared at the energy, bewildered. “You…have the flux.’’ Then she glanced at Moma inquisitively. “But he’s never…had it before?’’ 

Titoh shrugged, dispelling the energy, and lowering his hands. They were both seated across from another at the low table with the books and notes all pushed aside. Moma had served them freshly squeezed fruit drinks, which she had prepared herself and then handed them over in two tall clay cups. 

“It is not unheard of for a flux to manifest later in life,’’ Moma said before she sat down on a knitted straw stool at one head of the table. “I have known of men and women who only became aware of it later in life. Sometimes the flux manifests only when the body, soul, and mind are ready for it. In Titoh’s case, I believe it was a matter of his body, given his history of sickness.’’ 

Fay nodded. That made sense. The flux is the energy possessed by all creatures and not only it manifests differently for each person but it is also that plenty has no awareness of it throughout their life. Energy can be converted into weapons, used to enhance the strength of the body, and heal. And sometimes, like in her mother’s case and Fay’s as well, it can also manifest via marks on their bodies, indicating their strong affinity for natural elements. 

 “How did…you first found out?’’ Fay asked. 

Titoh explained that he’d started experiencing headaches. Then he started feeling as if his body was constantly prickly, and then one of the tutors had noticed a shift in his aura. The healers confirmed his flux was growing strong and, in the weeks after that, Titoh grew more aware of things. It wasn’t the same as the inhuman senses that the Estaris have but rather a gut feeling. He started learning how to channel his flux, but he discovered it wasn’t very useful in battle. Moma decided to have him train with the healers and that is how he ended up becoming part of a guild of healers in training. When they arrived on that island, he continued studying under Corim and other retired healers. 

“I really enjoy it,’’ Titoh grinned. “But there’s so much to study,’’ he sighed. “I don’t even get to practice it that much right now because I have to study anatomy and so on, but Corim is so talented, and I am going to learn everything from him!’’ 

Fay nodded, smiling back. “That’s great, Titoh. I am happy for you.’’ She was. She still had to wrap her mind around her foster brother being able to do that, but she found it was rather poetic. Someone who has always been sick growing up was now training to heal the sick and injured. 

Moma smiled, as she watched them silently. 

“Kaera has told me she’s offered to train you.’’ She piped up. “She has also said that your flux has grown stronger.’’ 

Fay shrugged embarrassedly. “I suppose it has. It feels…. different. Especially after the seals—‘’ Her smile faltered. “---inside of me were removed.’’ 

“Inside of you?’’ Titoh asked horrified. He looked at Moma then back at Fay. “What do you mean inside of you?’’ 

Fay opened her mouth, but Moma beat her to it. Which was for the best because she had no idea how to explain it. 

“It is a rare and very difficult technique,’’ Moma said. “Rarer still to have it placed in such undetected manner.’’ 

“Who…did?’’ Titoh looked confused.

Both the elderly woman and the girl were silent. 

“That—how? And why?’’ 

Fay shrugged. “Kaera told me it is likely it was someone who worked with Ranis, but they don’t know yet.’’ She paused. “The seals were affecting…the flow of my flux. Once she removed them, um, I was able to fly again. And it was easier to channel my flux.’’ 

Moma hummed in agreement. “The seals would have stunted the development of the flux, and ultimately killed you. If the bracelets hadn’t already.’’ She tapped her cane against the ground. “Although I am not convinced your ability to fly was not also impacted by everything else, dear.’’ 

“I suppose so.’’ When Titoh continued to stare at them both with horror, Fay smiled tentatively. She couldn’t tell if he was worried about her or generally horrified by what could have been labeled an attempted assassination. “It’s alright. I am alright now.’’ 

“You…went through all that. Alone, in that world.’’ Titoh blinked. 

“I wasn’t alone,’’ Fay said. “Bag was always with me and then I had…other people as well. I still do.’’ 

Moma scoffed lightly. “That friend of yours is rather untamed, is he?’’ 

That was one way to describe Damian, for certain. “Yes. He is.’’ 

“Who?’’ Titoh blinked. “You made friends? With outsiders? And wait---he’s here on the island?’’ 

 Fay nodded. If Moma noticed that she wasn’t willing to offer much information on how she met Damian and how close they were, she didn’t bring it up. Fay merely informed Titoh that Robin was a very close friend, and yes he was human and yes, he was on that island. He had been injured protecting her, so Lira brought him there. 

“Is—is that the one Klaus fought?’’ 

“Yes. You know Klaus---‘’ 

Titoh nodded. “He doesn’t talk much but I’ve seen him training with Kaera. Sometimes when Corim heals him, I am allowed to observe.’’ His expression soured. “Apparently he grew up in this world, but I don’t know much beyond that.’’ 

Fay grimaced, then she exchanged a look with Moma. 

“What?’’ Titoh sighed. “What else do I not know?’’

“It’s a long story,’’ Fay replied. “Klaus and I met before. He…was different at the time, but I think everything is alright now.’’ Klaus certainly didn’t look like he wanted to murder her anymore. Aside from his obvious grudge against Damian, he had seemed almost peaceful. He had apologized and had been polite even if curt. “He and Robin don’t like each other very much, that’s all.’’ 

.

.

.

The sun was setting when Fay returned to the chambers. She hadn’t even realized how late it was until she exited the hut and saw the darkening sky. Flying all the way back to the main residence had been quicker than taking the steps, so she entered the antechamber via the balcony. There was a temporary moment of panic when she found that room empty. Her worries were quickly assuaged when the doors to Damian’s chambers opened to reveal the boy. He stared at her with a look that clearly said he had been waiting for her far longer than he would have wanted. When it came to Damian that generally meant anything above twenty seconds, really.  

“I am sorry. I didn’t realize how late it was.’’ That he had chosen to stay there and not sneak around the island was rather odd though. 

“How---how did it go with my uncle?’’ Damian looked the same as he did earlier that morning. No sign of injury, so at least he hasn’t tried to challenge her uncle to a fight which she’d feared he might. 

“Hn. What took you so long?’’ He grunted. 

Fay placed her feet down on the floor. “Oh. Um…my brother is here.’’ She said, “I spoke to him.’’ 

Damian’s eyes narrowed. Fay made a mental note that it was perhaps best if Titoh didn’t meet him anytime soon. Her friend wasn’t as forgiving. Even Bagheera wouldn’t treat Titoh as coldly as Damian would. A small – terrible – part of her takes satisfaction in that. Knowing she has not only her paladin but a friend that will defend her vehemently. That will be on her side. There was no need, of course, but she had to imagine what it would have been like if Fay had had a friend like Damian back in her world. If Titoh had been more like him. 

She might have not run away. 

“It’s alright.’’ She said although he hasn’t commented. “He has apologized to me.’’ 

Damian snorted, at the same time her paladin huffed. Fay sighed. Those two were spending too much together. No wonder she loved them both dearly, they were both so much alike in some ways. 

“You forgave him.’’ Damian deduced easily because he knew her all too well. 

“I did.’’ Fay nodded. “I don’t…hate him, Damian. I just…don’t know him anymore, I suppose. He doesn’t know me either.’’ 

The boy rolled his eyes. “He has done nothing to earn it. An apology means nothing.’’ Fay chose not to comment. 

“What did my uncle say?’’ 

“Let’s go somewhere else. I don’t trust this place.’’ 

Twenty minutes later, they were sitting on the same beach she had the first night there. It was a secluded spot and even if anyone from the village happened to come that way, Bagheera was bound to sense them. 

Fay found herself staring at the way the moon was reflected in the vast body of water. The view reminded her of painting number twenty-three, and ironically, she was side by side with the artist. It made her smile. 

“He is thinking it over,’’ Damian, sitting down next to her, while she adjusted the brightness on the sphere of light she brought along. 

“Did he say that?’’ 

“There was no need. I could tell because he has been willing to listen to how your education may be furthered.’’ 

Fay turned to look at him. “I am sorry?’’ 

“He is lying when he says that he cannot accommodate your request. You said it yourself. The Estaris have been in power for centuries and it wasn’t just due to sheer raw power or their draconic abilities. They were also politicians like you said.’’ He smirked. “I may not enjoy wasting my time with such conversations but that does not mean I do not know how to conduct them.’’ 

Fay wondered if he was being over-confident. As much faith she had in him, her uncle had decades of experience over him. Centuries, really. 

“You are a person of interest due to your parents, which is why they may be so wary to leave you out of sight.’’ 

Fay ran her hands through the sand as she listened quietly. 

“If there is corruption at the court, there’s nothing to say it hasn’t reached other places. Both your aunt and uncle have preached about how important it is to have transparency as a result of the laws imposed by the Council, yet the Council does not know anything yet.’’ He tapped two fingers at his temple. “Yes, it may have been due to your uncle wanting to keep things discreet. However, there is something that doesn’t match up. Len and Kaera, former Resistance members—‘’ He drew two lines in the sand and placed an ‘R’ above them. “—they were on high alert following the attack. Your uncle did not send you away immediately to this place, although logic dictates he should have. Maysoon had suffered an unpredictable, devastating attack. By all means, that would qualify as being compromised.’’ 

Fay nodded and watched him draw a circle to the left of the two lines. He explained that represented her uncle and her family. Then to the left again of the circle, he drew an ‘F’, which stood for her. 

“You said it yourself. You lost contact with many of your parent’s allies. That Baije, for example, although by your own admission, he was very close to your mother. An uncle figure to you.’’ Damian continued. “Why haven't any of them contacted you? Your family?’’ He asked, tapping his finger towards the two lines. “Why were you, your foster brother, and Bagheera not evacuated and brought here? Your aunt Lira had also been kept in dark unless she’s a skilled liar.’’ 

Fay didn’t think Lira was lying, but she didn’t say anything. 

“If you had been brought here earlier, you would have not had to experience the…incidents. You would have had better support here compared to what you told me you had.’’ 

Damian glanced at her. “We could attribute it to neglect, of course. There are also, however, other components. The seals inside of you that no one appears to know how they came to be and then, Ranis and his bracelets. But—something doesn’t make sense about that. Can you tell what that is?’’ He challenged. 

Fay blinked, then stared at the drawings in the sand pensively. 

“The seals inside me. They would have damaged my flux and...killed me, Moma said. Eventually.’’ Fay said. “So—there was no need for the bracelets?’’ 

“Which means…’’ 

Fay swallowed. 

“…someone else placed those seals. Someone who…didn’t work with Ranis?’’ 

Damian hummed in agreement. 

“Again, not surprising given the many possible parties involved and the enemies your family has. However, those seals would have required a particular set of skills. The healers in your world had not detected them. Was it always the same healer in charge of you?’’ 

Fay shook her head. “No. There were different ones.’’ 

“Hm. The likelihood of all of them being compromised is low but not impossible. It does depend on when the seals were placed. We assumed it was shortly after that night because your ability to fly was impacted. If that was a coincidence, however---if your mental block was real and then later, the seals took over in influencing your flux, then they may have been placed later.’’

“I still…wouldn’t know who it is. I don’t remember much of those first few months.’’ 

Damian placed a question mark in a corner, away from the other shapes, along with a small ‘1 ’ underneath it. “We have a culprit who is responsible for the specialized sealing technique that has not been identified or caught. We have—‘’ He wrote ‘ 2 ’ next to the question mark. “—a second culprit. Ranis and his potential acolytes.’’ 

She nodded, to show she was following. 

“Going back to our parties here,’’ He said, bringing his attention back to the two lines representing Len and Kaera. “Len had been following you. So were Ranis’ men, according to his story. He sent you here, to a different place than what has been planned. Then he was MIA for months. This means that most of his story of what happened before you came here cannot be proved. Not unless Ranis’ men confess to it but most of them are dead, so that is moot.’’ 

Fay blinked. “Wait…are you saying Len---that he may be---?’’ She whispered, leaning towards him. 

Damian’s brows knitted together. “There’s something about his story that doesn’t fit. However, if he had wanted to kidnap or kill you, he could have done so in better ways. By sending you here, everyone lost track of you. Sure, the bracelets or the seals would have killed you, but why not do it earlier? There would have been a chance still that someone would have found you here.’’ People did. Damian found her. Then she found Daphne. Because she reached Daphne, the Sponsor found her. Because he found her, Kaera did as well. If none of that had happened, Lira would have still potentially tracked her down. 

Fay thought about Len and his calm, welcoming disposition. She thought about Kaera who was mostly quiet throughout the conversation. Neither of them had felt dishonest or malicious. 

“Bag---‘’ The paladin perked up, from where he was rolling around in the sand. “Come here, please?’’ 

Bagheera pulled himself up and swiftly came by their side. Fay scratched his chest, which pleased him greatly. 

“Today, when we were speaking to Len and Kaera, did you…feel anything? Odd?’’ 

He blinked once. No. 

“Dishonest?’’ 

No. 

“Angry?’’ Damian asked without looking up. 

No. 

“Alright,’’ Fay said. The paladin sunk down next to her and placed his large head on her lap. She obeyed his demand for attention and started massaging his ears. 

“It doesn’t make sense,’’ she said after looking over the symbols drawn on the sand. “You’re right. Why weren't we sent here earlier or why weren’t we told of this place before? Also, I have been wondering…’’ She leaned forward and placed a ‘C’ next to the ‘R’ above the two lines. 

“Len and Kaera are guardians, right? They report to the Council. But um, Kaera said that she found me by accident while investigating Bernard.’’ She placed a ‘B’ in the sand. “Who had been officially hunted down years earlier. Except he survived.’’

“They would be aware of the operation from years earlier but they’re not aware of Barlow’s involvement.’’ 

Bagheera groaned in delight when she scratched a particularly good spot at his ear. 

“They weren’t watching Barlow. Otherwise, they would have found out about you earlier. They hadn’t detected the Sponsor before you were taken from Gotham, either. Their intel on him must have been scarce, then or they are simply terrible at their job.’’ He scoffed. 

“My uncle also kept in touch with Kaera about finding me. But they lost touch. So he sent aunt Lira.’’ 

Damian nodded along. “They did not alert the Council about you being in this world, so it’s understandable their communications would have had to be discreet. But why lose touch? Why only send your aunt after ?’’ He clicked his teeth. “Why waste time? The Estaris clan has other trackers, correct? That Thelion, as well, whom your uncle clearly trusted to infiltrate as a double spy.’’ 

Talking about Thelion, Fay hadn’t seen him at all the entire time she’d been there. She wondered if he was still on the island. 

“My aunt…isn’t close to Maysoon. Not like everyone else.’’ Fay highlighted. “I suppose…you could say she is a bit of an outsider. She is not involved in public events or politics or official affairs of the family. Not very often.’’ 

“No one would have suspected her of traveling here for you.’’  Damian nodded, figuring where her line of thinking was going. “Ranis was not the threat they made him be. He had the element of surprise but he was a sniveling worm who tried to run away in the end. Sending men dressed as warriors of Maysoon had also felt…incompetent. He could have sent them dressed as warriors of Vontagor and then frame that territory for harming you.’’ 

“So…Ranis was an idiot,’’ Fay said, bemusedly.  

Damian’s lips twitched. “Yes. I also don’t think he knew about the other seals.’’ 

Fay frowned, amusement gone. “Which means there is someone else.’’ She glanced at the question mark on the sand. “Or multiple someones.’’ 

“Yes.’’ Damian brushed his hand against the sand, wiping away the doodles. “There’s also the matter of Barlow. Where does she fit into all this?’’ He laid down on his back, crossing his arms underneath his head, still smirking. “It is an interesting case but we require more data. Otherwise, it is all but assumptions and theories.’’ 

“Hey,’’ Fay nudged him. “It’s my life.’’ 

“But a case as well. We have an unknown enemy, a list of suspects, a target--’’ She stared at him petulantly. “—and a detective with superb skills.’’ 

“Who is that?’’ She asked innocently. Bagheera huffed, in amusement. 

Damian clicked his teeth at her. “Keep being disrespectful and I will leave you here.’’ Fay laid down next to him, Bagheera moving his head over on her stomach. 

“No, you won’t,’’ Fay said, confidently, staring at the stars above their heads. “…so, will my uncle say yes, do you think?’’ 

“Haven’t you been listening, you idiot?’’ He chastised. “Of course he will. Because he doesn’t know who the enemy is. And because he doesn’t know, he has to do the logical thing and assume the enemy is everywhere. Including inside the Council. He was never going to have your ventures in this world reported to the Council, not entirely anyway.’’ 

“You sound confident about that.’’ 

“I am never wrong.’’ 

“Yes, you are.’’ 

“Child, do not cross me---‘’ 

Child ? I am older than you.” 

Bagheera rolled his eyes and moved to sit away from the two children as they started bickering. 

Ay, sometimes he could not catch a break. 

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Titoh

  

 

Notes:

Highlight: If I do offer the backstory of a character or I choose to explore their perspective at length, it will generally because they will play an important part in the plot. Bernard was, for example, main antagonist in a past arc but he was temporary, so I saw no reason to waste too much time with him.

Hint Hint. The backstory he offered of himself was also left up to debate on purpose :) It'll come up again.

Chapter 53: Of verdicts and baptisms of fire

Notes:

Next update: 14th of October

Comments welcome as always :) Enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

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They did not return to the residence immediately, despite the late hours. Damian, because well, he was Damian and still refused to abide by normal sleeping patterns. Fay, because she was feeling far too anxious. She felt the need to distract herself lest her mind started wandering down a terrible line of thoughts that might trigger panic attacks. 

While they were bickering, Fay had swiped a hand through the sand, unconsciously gathering the flux in her hands. What should have been only a handful of grains, ended up being several kilos of sand being thrown over the boy. 

Fay had stared, mouth gaping, at the boy half-covered underneath the sand. Bagheera had started chittering and huffing loudly, thoroughly amused. Damian was on his feet within seconds just like an angry serpent, giving her chase. She thought she’d have an advantage if she went in the water because it was one of her favored elements.

She was wrong. She tripped on her own feet, ending up face flat in the water with Damian tackling her right after. 

Bagheera had saved her, ultimately and she flew out into the jungle. It may not have been her jungle, but it was close to that so she was confident about blending in there. And she did, of course. As skilled as Damian was, he was on unfamiliar territory. She did betray her location when foolishly fell for his act of having injured himself and after that, she struggled to shake him off. She didn’t try very hard truth be told to get away though because she was having fun. 

Fay had chosen to yield when Damian did almost come close to a plant that emitted pollen which would have caused him a terrible rash. He couldn’t have known, and winning the game wasn’t worth seeing him afflicted. He did give her a lecture about having sympathy for the opponent but she didn't pay attention. 

“You’re shaking,’’ Damian remarked, later, as they were resting. 

“Oh?’’ Fay looked down at her hands. They were visibly trembling. It wasn’t because she was cold, that was certain. “I guess I am.’’ 

“Panic attack?’’ 

She shook her head. “No. I don’t think so. It’s just…been a few hard days.’’ She said slowly. “No one is...they’re all keeping things from me. It’s very frustrating.’’ 

Fay smiled when she caught the way his eyes narrowed. They had climbed up on a high branch, offering them a good view of the ocean in the distance and the jungle before. The ball of light had been placed between them.

 “I know you’re not.’’ She said, “I meant my family. The more I know, the more I feel like I don’t know anything, actually.’’ 

“You’re not wrong.’’ He watched her reach for her head and massage her temples with a grimace. “When was the last time you ate?’’ 

“Um, at lunch, I think. When I met with Moma.’’ Fay straightened. “Did you eat?’’ 

He hadn’t, to be fair but he wasn’t bothered by it. 

“Oh. Do you want to find the kitchens?’’ Fay smiled, mischief accentuated by the bright light casting sharp angles on her face. 

And they said he was the bad influence. 

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23rd of March 

Fay’s anxiety skyrocketed the moment they walked in the room - the same one she’d met with her uncle the first day - and found him sitting down already with Lira leaning against the wall to the side. Not wanting to come across as needy, or weak, Fay resisted the urge to grab either onto her paladin or the boy as she sat down on the sofa across from her uncle. Bagheera took his place to her left, his back pressed against her legs. Damian sat to her right, closer than he usually did or needed given how much space there was, for which Fay was grateful. She caught her uncle noticing the shoulder-to-shoulder closeness, making her wonder if Damian was trying to aggravate him.

She sighed internally. 

Lira was quiet, face unreadable so Fay couldn't tell if good or bad news awaited them. All the usual playfulness in her eyes was gone, replaced by something old and weary. Fay wondered if her family would really hurt Damian. Would they make him forget about that place, or would they just knock him out and send him back to Gotham? Damian would come looking for her, he would , and then what? Was she going to end up fighting her own family? She wouldn’t even be able to win against them. She really wished her parents had been there instead. 

Her uncle did not bother with pleasantries. 

“I have your tutor’s reports, for the training stage you were at.’’ He remarked. Definitely not the first words she expected to hear, but she kept silent. “The overall consensus was that whilst your flux is strong and there’s is potential in you, you had difficulty channeling all the elements even in a meditative status. Especially if they were not already present in the environment. From a theoretical standpoint, you have always scored high, however.’’ 

Fay nodded, even if she was unsure if she was meant to or not. It didn’t sound like a question. 

“Your flux cannot go untrained.’’ He said firmly. “Especially given the way the seals have affected you. There could be developmental issues that someone of Kaera’s caliber would be able to help with.’’ Fay was torn between agreeing and feeling dejected. Her uncle clearly wanted her to remain there, and she wouldn’t even be able to argue against that statement. It would be childish and irresponsible to say she could figure out her flux on her own. “There is both theoretical and practical work that you are severely behind on. Not to mention several other topics such as your language lessons.’’ 

He crossed his legs, hands falling on his lap. 

“It is my understanding that you have adapted some of the training exercises from our homeland to train here in this world.’’ Fay nodded. “And they have been effective. I do not recall you being capable of summoning your flux so easily if the eastern courtyard is anything to go back.’’ Was that a compliment? From her uncle? “Kaera is right, however. You have a long way to come if you wish to become a master. Unless you prefer to live your life with rudimentary skills and unrefined control?’’ 

Fay shook her head, reluctantly. She didn’t. She wanted to be able to stand on her own two legs, to protect others. She wanted to be in control and feel powerful enough to no longer be afraid so easily. 

“Good.’’ Her uncle said calmly. She couldn’t read his expression at all. When she glanced at Damian she saw that the boy was watching the man intently but he too, had an unreadable expression. “You will resume your studies at the same time Kaera will start your training.’’ 

Her eyes widened, her body going rigid. That was it? It’s been decided and she did not have a say?

“But uncle---‘’ 

“I am not done, Lafayette.’’ He interrupted her. “You will be spending time on this island. My decision is final in that regard. You will need to dedicate a certain amount of time only to training. To begin with, for at least four weeks, or longer should Kaera decide so. Outside of that, I will expect you to dedicate time to your studies regularly, and you will have to follow up with a report weekly of both your physical and educational progress.’’ 

Fay blinked. Then blinked a few more times. Ten seconds passed. Twenty.

“So….’’ Please don’t let me be wrong. “…I can go back?’’ Fay asked softly. 

She looked at Damian, who looked annoyed. “It’s a compromise.’’ He said scornfully. 

Aryg raised a brow at him. “It is a favorable deal. More than I should be granted you in the first place.’’ He looked back at Fay. “There will be very few people aware of this arrangement, Lafayette. So you must understand how crucial it is that you follow it accordingly, or I will have no choice but to return you to this island. Indefinitely.’’ He pointedly looked at Damian. “Alone.’’  

Fay nodded. She could make a compromise. “What…what about the Council?’’ When she glanced at Lira, the woman’s surprise was still clear on her face. She hadn’t expected Aryg to agree, then. When Lira caught her looking at her, she smiled. Some of the tension disappeared from her posture. 

“I will take care of that,’’ Aryg said cryptically. “However, this arrangement does depend on something else. If this particular criterion cannot be fulfilled, then I cannot let you go. For your safety, and for the preservation of peace in both worlds.’’ When he didn’t continue, Fay stared at him confusedly. Damian scoffed, drawing her attention. “He wants to make sure I won’t disclose the existence of this island. What do you want? My word? A pinky promise, perhaps?’’  

Damian wouldn’t disclose the existence of the island. He wouldn’t have any reason. But they’d also been gone for several days, missing after a public attack. What would his father and family think when they returned? They would ask questions. Which meant Damian would have to lie to them. For her. It wouldn’t be the same as keeping their long conversations about her family and world private. He would be purposefully hiding something from his father, Batman, the Dark Knight, a member of the Justice League. 

“I’ve already given my word,’’ Damian said irritably. “I am assuming you want to hear it because she’s here so if I break my promise, she will understand why you had to take drastic measures.’’ 

Drastic measures? As in…Fay looked at her uncle. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t. Then she glanced at Lira, who instead preferred to look away. 

“I will accept your word even if I do not trust you,’’ Aryg said. “I also do not trust you will not be using my niece for information. For her abilities. This is why there will be measures in place to ensure she is safe.’’ Fay no longer felt as if her uncle’s verdict was that positive. It was a childish thought but why couldn’t everything go back to the way it was? When she didn’t have to worry about reporting and lying to people she now cared about? 

“Tch. Fine.’’ Damian said. “You will not, however, set camp in my city. Fay is under my protection while she is in my city. When she is here, she will be allowed to correspond with me as when and how often she pleases, as well.’’ 

Lira’s lips twitched. Aryg couldn’t say the kid didn’t know how to negotiate a deal. 

“There will be no operations being conducted in your city. I wish for your presence, Lafayette, to remain as discreet as possible. That includes invoking greater care around protecting your identity. Do not attract attention to yourself, under no circumstance.’’ 

In Gotham? Unlikely. Did that mean she could no longer use her abilities while there? 

“Lira will be monitoring you.’’ 

“Absolutely not.’’ Damian snarled. “She will have no more access to Fay’s life in Gotham than I have to the life here.’’ 

Aryg tapped his finger on his knee. The impatience was visible now on his face. He opened his mouth, no doubt to point out that Damian couldn’t stop Lira, not if he wanted Fay to stay in Gotham but the woman beat him to it. 

“It will be for the weekly and monthly check-ins.’’ Lira piped up from her position where she was leaning against one of the pillars by the tall windows. “I assume my brother chose me because I was the one who wanted you there in the first place.’’ She eyed Aryg. If anything went wrong, it would be up to Lira to protect Fay. If she failed, it would be her fault. Starting with wanting Fay to be in Gotham. Fucking bastard.  

“I will bring you back and forth between there and the island, as I am one of the people who will know where you are,’’ Lira said. 

Damian’s jaw clenched. He did not believe the woman was simply going to stay away until her weekly drop-ins. 

“You have to vow,’’ Fay asked suddenly, speaking for the first time in a while. She was looking at Lira, then switched her attention to Aryg. “You---you have to place your trust in him but he also has to do the same. Promise that you will not interfere in Gotham unless I ask, or it’s absolutely needed. Make a vow. On… on my parents. ’’ 

“That’s ridiculous---‘’ 

“I promise. I swear by Damar and Evara.’’ Lira said, firmly. “I get it, Fay. We all have secrets we want to keep and we are all taking risks here.’’ 

Aryg grunted. “You have my word. The only reason this arrangement is in place is to respect your wishes to live beyond this island. We would not have otherwise had any interest.’’ He sighed. “We will work on a cover story to account for your absences from the island.’’ 

Fay nodded, feeling simultaneously relieved and worried. About new things. 

“When…will the three months happen?’’ 

“Immediately—‘’ 

“No.’’ Damian shook his head. “Not immediately. She will be returning with me first.’’ 

Before her uncle could protest, Fay jumped in. “I…agree.’’ She said, “Th-there are people who are worried about me, back there as well. About both of us. I need…some time.’’ Plus, she preferred having the time with Damian alone. To think things through. 

Aryg sighed, looking weary. Lira shrugged, looking as if she agreed. 

“Fine.’’ Her uncle conceded. “But you will not be returning after two weeks. You will be staying for a minimum of four weeks. If Kaera believes that more is necessary, then you must make the responsible choice.’’ 

Fay nodded. Four weeks. That was the longest she’d be away from Gotham, from Damian, from the warehouse. Bagheera will be with her, which comforted her immensely. 

“That is that, then.’’ 

Damian was up on his feet before even Fay realized that they could walk away. With shaky legs, she got up after her paladin moved and started moving towards the door where the boy was already standing by. 

“Lafayette?’’ Aryg called. 

“Yes, uncle?’’ 

The man met her gaze. 

For what it's worth, I have never thought of you as broken. Regardless of what difficulties you have faced in accepting their death.’’ Aryg looked hesitant. Lira looked as if she’d just watched him sprout another head. “ I believe they would have been proud to see how you’ve fared in this world.’’ 

Fay stared at him, bewildered. Not knowing how to respond, she bowed her head slightly. 

“Thank you, uncle.’’  

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“Oh, you must be…erm, Fay’s um…acquaintance?’’ Titoh said awkwardly. “Is—is she here?’’ He was stuttering. Because the boy standing before was staring at him as if he was an insect to be squashed and everything about him screamed danger. Titoh had instinctively taken a step back, trying and failing to squash the sudden cold fear that crawled up his spine. 

Why was he in her chambers anyway?

The boy didn’t respond. Just stared him down with such a withering look that it took all Titoh’s willpower not to turn around and run. Didn’t Lira say he was human?

Was he really

“I am---‘’ 

“I know who you are.’’ Damian drawled, stepping forward. Slowly. Confidently. Like a predator. 

Bagheera just watched the interaction from atop the bed. He didn’t look like he was going to interfere anytime soon. 

“You are the vermin who sold her out,’’ Damian said coldly. Titoh frowned, eyes widening. Fay had told him---? “You are the mewling sibling who has no loyalty to his own family.’’ A step forward. Titoh took one back, feeling suddenly very very small even if he was taller than the boy. “You are the parasite that watched her scream and bleed and did nothing.’’ 

“I am going to go---‘’ 

Titoh didn’t get a chance to turn around and leave, because the boy had him on the ground in seconds. He was fast. Turning around to face the male, Titoh leaned against his hands to support himself. The boy looked nonchalant almost, his hands in his pockets even though he had just shoved Titoh on the floor. When did he even move? The paladin had left the bed and was watching the interaction from the sides. He growled softly towards the green-eyed boy. Oh good. At least Bagheera didn’t look like he actually wanted the boy to hurt Titoh. 

Damian sneered, eyes like chips of jade boring into him. Titoh swallowed, a cold sensation killing his veins and his heart pounding. 

He had the eyes of a killer. 

“Thread carefully,’’ He warned. “I can assure you would not escape if I dragged you away.’’ 

Titoh raised to his feet, shaken. He could see it on the boy’s face that he was serious. He was going to hurt Titoh and he would do so easily, remorselessly. He felt so confused. This was Fay’s friend? An outsider? A killer? How could have they allowed him on the island? How could she be---Then he realized that what he felt in that moment, that sense of terror, the unfairness of having someone who didn’t know him treat him in that manner, was exactly how Fay must have felt all those times.

That’s why Bagheera wasn’t defending him either. 

“…I-I understand.’’ 

The doors to the antechamber opened. 

“I am back!’’ Fay called as she stepped inside carrying a drawstring satchel slung over her shoulder. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Titoh stand near the entrance to her room, his face nearly matching the whiteness of his hair. Damian looked bored, as he leaned against the threshold, while Bagheera stood a few feet behind the boys. 

“Put a move on it.’’ The dark-haired boy said.  

Fay nodded, alarmed that the two boys had been alone in the same room. She had hoped they didn’t meet yet, truth be told. Something clearly had transpired between the two given how terrified Titoh looked.

"Where…you’re leaving?’’ Titoh asked, hoarsely finally finding his voice. He wanted to put distance between him and the other boy but he felt frozen to the spot. Damian walked past him, grabbed Fay’s duffel bag, and then exited the room, but not before he gruffly told her not to waste any time.

Bagheera lingered behind, settling beside Fay. 

“Moma said she would inform you, but yes,’’ Fay said. “I will be back, however, for a few weeks.’’ 

“A few weeks?’’ As in she was not staying permanently? She was going away with that guy? Willingly? He had just threatened to kill him! “You will leave again, after?’’ 

Fay nodded again. “Yes. I want…to travel.’’ She half-lied. “I want to learn more about this world.’’ 

“With…with him?’’ Titoh whispered, afraid that the boy might just show up again. “He...’’ He almost said ‘he doesn’t come across as a good person’, but stopped. Neither had he, in the past. “Do you really like it out there so much?’’ More than being there on an island that was safe and similar to their homeland? 

“Yes,’’ Fay said firmly. “Of course, I do.’’ 

“Oh.’’ He had no right to ask her to stay. Fay had forgiven him but she clearly didn’t seem keen on being there, much less around him. “I will- I will see you, I suppose. When you’re back.’’ 

Fay hummed in agreement. She stared at him, looking as if she wanted to add something else but couldn’t find her words. “Stay safe, Titoh.’’ 

He smiled slightly. “You as well.’’ 

With that he watched her turn around and walk out the chambers, paladin in tow. He thought about the young girl he met years earlier and how she’d once promised him that she’ll go on adventures, her and Bag. Then how she’d always include him as well in that small circle, and how happy he felt, even if he had never been much of a field person or one who liked traveling at length due to his sickly body. 

Looks like Fay had achieved her dream. 

He just wasn’t part of it, anymore. 

Just like he had asked. 

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Dick thinks that one day, sooner than later, he’ll wake up and find grey hairs. When he does, it will be entirely due to stress. The stress will be primarily caused by his youngest brother, that’s for certain. The same one who was now standing before him – after several days of being MIA – behaving as if he had only been gone for a few hours. Fay refused to meet his gaze the entire time, face red as a tomato, conscientious enough to feel guilty.

They both just strolled in the Batcave that morning, as if they had not gone missing after an attack in the middle of the city. 

On top of it all, Bruce himself had been disappearing more often with Justice affairs. That he had happened to not return when he should have earlier that week was a small blessing for the two teenagers. A headache for the former Robin because instead, he had found himself having to consider whether he might have to don the cowl a few times if only to not let Gotham grow lenient. Bruce’s last communication, the day after Damian and Fay had left, was not very informative. Just that he was looking into something that the League had considered to be of an urgent matter and he will not be returning just yet. That’s it. All in all, it offered nothing, really in terms of where he was, what he was doing, and when he would be back. 

“So, who wants to go first?’’ Dick asked, crossing his arms over his chest.  

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Fay sat down on the bed. Her bed. In her actual bedroom, at the warehouse. Alfred had looked after the pets in her absence, so they had all been taken care of accordingly after being transported to the Manor where she left them for the time being. The warehouse was empty and quiet. She was still waiting in the air to heat up, and she shivered which almost made her laugh. The day before she’d been on an island that no one knows exists and was speaking to her family. Now she was back there, and she found herself feeling guilty because she felt more comfortable there than she had on the island. It was like wearing a familiar, comfortable outfit after wearing a complicated, tight one that she hadn’t gotten the chance to become accustomed to. She'd know. 

She was confused, still. And scared. Everything had changed, again, even if her uncle had agreed to hold onto that life she built there. 

Fay found herself wishing they hadn’t found her. Did that make her a horrible person? Her family members, as complicated as they were, did love her. They were still alive and there looking out for her. Her uncle – her strict, emotionless uncle – had finally listened to her. He had given her what she wanted, even if he had conditions.

She could not shake the fear that she was going to lose everything. The familiarity of that place, the safety, the joy, the motivation she felt. Fay hadn’t felt that anxious about the future in months. 

Fay waited until the room had heated before she went and took a long, hot shower. She found herself crying. Then she cried more because she felt stupid and irrational for being so emotional when really, things had gone better with her family than she had expected they would. She really didn’t want Damian to see – he’s already doing so much, already had to lie for her – so she waited in the bathroom until she felt stable enough. She didn’t think he’d stay that night. She both wanted him and didn’t. She felt selfish, requiring his presence there to feel better. When will she finally be able to stop seeking comfort in others – him, Bagheera – and just get herself out of ‘the funk’ as Cora said? Or something like that. 

He did say that he wanted to check the security system and perimeter, before going on patrol. 

Dick was not someone she’d ever seen get angry, but he had clearly been worried about them. He didn’t yell or lose his patience, and all the points he’d made about them disappearing and then returning with no answers was not acceptable. In the end, Fay had asked Damian that they should at least give him something, the guilt crushing her so much she found herself wondering if her presence there was much of a nuisance at that point too. Won’t Damian get sick of it at one point? 

So, they did offer an explanation and it wasn’t false. It just wasn’t the complete truth and when Dick asked them about that, Damian had admitted that he could not tell him everything. Fay got the sense that the only reason Damian was honest about that was that it was Dick asking him. Fay understood that. She trusted Dick as well, so she did tell him that her family had agreed for her to stay there, in that world. They did not mention the island, but the matter of portals being used was inevitable. How else would her family have traveled there? 

Dick wasn’t the issue, though. Fay wondered if Bruce would continue to approve of her in that city, in his own house if he knew of who her family really was. She was filled with shame when she realized she was more afraid of not being able to stay there rather than her family being upset with her being away. 

When had she become so detached from her clan? When had she become so distant that when she thought about them – although she felt affection – she also found herself thinking she’d be stifled, claustrophobic, trapped if she went back? But this isn't new, was it, she thought as she pulled on a fleece onesie. She hadn't been happy back in Maysoon, not ever since her parents died. 

If she did stop being welcomed in Gotham, what then? She couldn’t put Damian in a position so difficult that he'd have to defy his family.

Where will she belong then? Maybe just continue to travel that world, anonymously? With her paladin by her side, of course. Isn’t that what they used to do before they came there? And now that she was healthier, and she had money and she understood that world better, it would be easier. 

But without Damian? Without ever seeing Dana again? 

Was it a Bad Day? It was starting to feel like one. 

Sigh. 

Fay crawled onto her bed, TV already on a low volume and the fairy lights casting soft lights. She was just trying to arrange her pillows when Damian came into her room. He was still dressed, so he was not staying. Fay quickly averted her eyes from him, suddenly more interested in fluffing her pillow. 

“I am going on patrol.’’ 

“Alright.’’ Did her voice sound different? It did. He will be able to tell she was crying. “Please…be safe.’’ 

Fay pulled herself under the blanket even if she wasn’t cold and hid her face into the pillow. Everything smelt right again, but she couldn’t relax enough to enjoy it. She wasn’t sure whether to feel upset or not that he didn’t check on her. Instead, she just heard the door close behind him and then a few minutes later, her watch sent her a notification that the alarm system had been armed. 

Bagheera settled next to her, feeling concerned. 

“I am fine,’’ She reassured with a wane smile. “I am just feeling…a lot of different things.’’ 

She wrapped an arm around his neck and pressed her head near his. She fell asleep within minutes. 

He did return to the warehouse in the morning, right before dawn. Still partially dressed in his Robin suit, he sat on the edge of the bed and watched on his tablet the feed from the various cameras around the property. They’d both woken on the borders of Gotham but that didn’t mean Lira was gone completely or that she didn’t know about the warehouse. 

Fay mumbled something unintelligibly as she shifted around her in her sleep. Her face was still slightly flushed, because of the crying Damian hadn’t commented nor he had attempted to comfort her earlier. When she was in that mood, he had learned it is best to let her work through it and only interfere if she asked. He couldn’t stand the lack of power he experienced in such situations, especially knowing that if Fay was in a low mood, she was also listening to her own insecurities. He did not doubt the faith she had in him, but he could not eliminate the fear of loss that was deeply rooted in her. Not yet.

He brushed away the unruly strands that had fallen over her face and threatened to invade her mouth. Leaning back, he placed his head near her stomach as she laid on her side facing him, listening to her steady breathing. 

Now. He had to think of ways to ensure that she did come back from the island after her training. He trusted Fay would not change her mind in regards to wanting to stay there, but he didn’t trust her family. To say that he was unhappy with having to concede to such an agreement was an understatement, and he fully planned on figuring out how did Lira and the others travel through and forth to the island.

Tunnels, Fay had mentioned, but something told Damian that wasn’t the only way. 

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“I am sorry,’’ Fay bowed her head to Jason who just stared at her amusedly. “Erm, that you were…drugged?’’ The poor kid looked so weary. Family reunions can be shitty, huh? “I don’t—I don’t think she meant any harm.’’ That wasn’t a lie. Lira may have drugged him and jumbled up his memories – which had actually come back in fragments if not completely – but she had made sure to leave him in a safe place. One might even say she had been thoughtful.

Someone. Not Jason himself, though. 

“Your aunt, hm?’’ 

He would lie if he said that he hadn’t planned on hunting down the person who left him on that roof. So, he didn’t and watched Fay grimace, looking fearful. Damian glowers at him, more so than usual, and Jason wonders what they have been up to in those few days that they were gone. They’ve both been rather silent since they returned, with Fay quieter than before, Dick had mentioned. There was no danger, Damian had said. Just that Fay’s family had decided to let her stay there on the condition that she continued her training as well. In a place, he refused to disclose. Ah. Babybat is worried about Bruce’s reaction, Jason thought. And Fay well—the kid worried easily about many things, so he wasn’t surprised to see how keen she was to make sure that Jason and her aunt didn't actually end up clashing with one another. 

Hmm. Problem was, he didn’t want to make a habit of letting people who managed to take him off guard go. He did have a sort of soft spot for the kid though, not that anyone needed to know that. Jason wasn’t as reckless as Bruce believed him to be at times. Even with the little information Damian offered, it was becoming clear that Fay was only allowed back there due to some sort of arrangement. Arrangements can break. He was willing to bet that if it did, Fay would be forced to choose between her friendship with Damian and her family’s wishes. 

“Tell you what,’’ Jason said. “Your aunt apologizes to me, it’s all water under the bridge.’’ He didn’t actually expect the woman would. 

Fay stared at him with wide eyes. He thought there was some dark amusement to be had. She wanted to stay there , in that dark city, around them? Just how bad was her family?

“I will ask her.’’ 

Jason raised a brow. “Really, Tinkerbell?’’ 

The girl smiled. “I am her favorite niece.’’ 

He bet she was. 

Snort. “No.’’ 

“Why not?’’ 

“I am not apologizing to that human.’’ It was ridiculous. Were all humans so presumptuous in that world? Maybe he was related to the brat, that’d explain it. “I left him in a safe place. He should be grateful he’s still alive.’’ Once upon a time, she would have slit his throat. Without giving it a second thought. That was progress, right?  

Fay stared at her pleadingly. 

It was fine. It was all fine. It won’t work. As if she’d fall for something like that – Damar would have, which was a hilarious and surreal concept someone like him would. 

Please , Aunt Lira.’’ Did---did her paladin join in? He did . He was staring at her with begging eyes, only because he was always Fay’s number one supporter. “He is—‘’ Nice? Not really. An ally? Maybe a bit more than that. Friends? No, not really. “—he was good to me.’’ Was he a good person? Well, he hadn’t done anything to make her think otherwise. As far as she’d gotten to know him. She did know that Jason was set apart from the others because he killed. That was certainly not something he shied away from considering the number of times she’d seen him covered in blood while he helped himself to her fridge. He’d even allowed her to look at his guns closely once, then they discussed firearms and how they differed between worlds. 

Lira rolled her eyes. Look what’s become of her. Being asked to apologize – apologize! -  to a human warrior that’s probably not even a quarter of her age in a world she is stuck in because her niece made friends there. No, that wasn’t entirely fair. Aryg would have never agreed to Fay staying there if Lira hadn’t either, he had made that clear.

Fay didn’t need to know that of course. She’ll just feel guilty about it. 

"You're lucky you're adorable."

The girl smiled widely. 

Flowers. 

The woman from another realm that drugged him sent him flowers. Correction. She had left for him an exotic orchid of sorts, packaged carefully in a clear plastic box. Near a group of tied up and beaten up robbers who were so traumatized by the woman who assaulted them that they immediately begged Jason to be taken to prison. They hadn’t even stolen from one of Gotham’s banks, but a bank in New York. Did she drag them there? As a sort of offering? 

Was that normal in the other world? 

He was going to follow up on that with the kid. 

The orchid had smooth dark arrow-head leaves with the flower itself almost as large as his palm. He had initially perceived the sepals and petals as black until he had tilted the box at a different angle and realized they were actually a very dark red. Like dried blood. The labellum had white small splotches peppered all across it, smaller and higher in number the closer to the center and the anther cap was snow-white. 

Fay had looked bewildered by the gesture herself but reassured him the flower was harmless. Couldn’t blame a man for asking. 

He kept it. For research purposes, of course. 

Not because he was somewhat intrigued to meet the woman who thought tying up criminals and giving him an exotic flower was a good peace offering. 

Although Damian found it amusing – even prompted him to chuckle, which was rare -, Fay decided it was wiser if they didn’t tell Jason that the orchid had a rather negative connotation in her world. A rather outdated one, but most people still avoided sending the Oribal orchid to other individuals. As she’d explained to Damian, sending that flower to someone was considered disrespectful and inappropriate. It is not a declaration of war per se – there are other flowers that convey that message much more directly – but it is an insult all the same. Historically, it was a discreet language that the upper-class citizens used with their rivals. 

The orchid was the equivalent of flipping someone off. 

Damian disliked Lira less after that.

Just slightly. 

Her hands were shaking. It was ridiculous. She was not being kidnapped, she was not in danger. She was only going back to the island where she’d be surrounded by family and friends. Titoh, who is family but also a stranger. Moma, who is supportive. Lira, who feels like her greatest ally when it comes to her decision to share her time between the two worlds. Or is it the same world and just two places? Who knows. Friends, who are not really her friends, but of her parents. 

A minimum of four weeks. She tries to think about the positives. The training and guidance she’ll have from Kaera, the stories that she’ll hear from Len and other residents, which she had yet to grow more familiar with. The freedom that came with spending hours in the wild. Eating some of the foods she’d dearly missed and having people who understand her biology in-depth, talk to her about the changes she’s been going through. 

The negatives? Really, the most glaring one was being away from Damian. Dana was used to Fay disappearing intermittently and had been told that she’ll be away for summer school, somewhere in Europe. Her emancipation was now complete but she remained under Wayne's protection. Not public information, which didn't matter because Dana doesn’t care about any of that as long as she knows Fay is happy and safe. Cora had figured that she is away to work on something ‘super secret’ and told her they’ll just hang out when she’s back, but to try and keep in touch if possible.

They will all be there when she comes back, Fay tells herself. So will Soul Bowl and the museum and the warehouse and the pets. 

So will Damian. 

But, But. It’s that what if that constantly lingers at the back of her mind, irrational as it is. What if he won’t be there for her to come back to? What if he is injured fatally? What if he—just disappears? She knows that’s irrational too, to think of such scenarios. But isn’t that what happened with her parents? They were there one moment and gone the next. 

The ‘ what if he doesn't want me to come back’ thought is even more frightening. From a logical point of view, Fay knew she shouldn’t feel so dependent, such in a constant need of reassurance. But she is. In the two weeks between returning to Gotham and preparing to leave again for the island, she is constantly anxious. The scars on her back are aching. Now that she’s seen Titoh after so long, his face is more vivid in his mind so she sees and hears him so much more clearly when she remembers how he’s rejected her. 

Damian is not Titoh. Damian is not those children. Damian is Damian. He doesn’t tell her and she doesn’t ask, but she knows he is probably planning ways to find the island. He would come after her. But what if he can’t? What if her uncle decides it’s best if she stays there because she is doing so poorly still with her flux? Will she run away again? Wait to be saved? 

“You’re overthinking it,’’ Daphne remarked.

Fay hadn’t seen her in several weeks and she hadn’t planned to be there that day, but the constant state of anxiety pushed her to visit the woman. She was an experienced therapist after all. Fay had given a brief summary of what had happened. Daphne hadn’t looked surprised by the existence of the island but she was by the fact that the Estaris agreed to let her stay there. Daphne told her she doesn’t necessarily care if the guardians find out about her, seeing as Lira was aware of her. She agreed to not discuss her father's request for a favor and keep it between themselves, for the time being. 

“Do not feel ashamed of it.’’ Daphne continued as she sat in her armchair across from Fay. “Improving one’s mental health and changing thinking patterns is not an easy feat, nor is it linear. Do you understand what that means?’’ 

Fay nodded. “That there’ll still be periods when I don’t feel well.’’ 

“Exactly. Sometimes you will take two steps back after taking five forward. That does not mean you haven’t progressed.’’ Daphne said. “Have you had any panic attacks?’’ 

Four, in total. Not as much as she used to have, but far more than in the past months. She has only told Damian of two of them. 

“What are you afraid of?’’ 

Fay didn’t tell her that she was afraid that her friend might not be her friend anymore if she left. It felt childish. Daphne might have not judged her, it might have been indeed nothing to be ashamed of but Fay wasn’t ready to admit it. She hadn’t even been able to talk about Damian, although he probably knew. Instead, she confessed to Daphne of the troubles she’s had in Maysoon, with other children, and with Titoh, and how living on the island made her anxious even if she had things to be enthusiastic about. 

“You were severely bullied. Abused, would be a more fitting term.’’ Daphne said, clinically. No judgment, no pity. “You suffered a great loss that would have debilitated adults, but you were very young when it happened. Then following that, you have also experienced emotional and physical distress.’’ Daphne wouldn’t have been so blunt or technical with any other child, but Fay wasn’t like other children she’s treated. The girl grimaced at those words. “They are frightening words, I know.’’ She said with a smile. “Being a victim of such abuse does not make you weak, Fay. I have worked with many children and adults who have gone through similar experiences. I can also talk from personal experience, as you may well know by now.’’ 

Fay nodded, quietly. She looked pensive. 

“Being afraid of losing people is…human. Being afraid of the pain that comes with losing people is also human.’’ 

“I know.’’ 

Daphne knows she did. Fay was a highly introspective teenager. 

“There’s no magical cure for it. You will not necessarily feel better after your visit today, although I hope I can at least help you understand why you feel the way you do. You will have difficulty leaving, and you will have to adapt to your newest circumstances. You may step back more than two steps, you may feel like you’re failing or that you can’t progress. I want you to remember that’s not true. You are better at adapting than you think – look at the past two years, for example. That doesn’t mean adapting is easy or that it won’t feel like a…baptism of fire if you are familiar with the expression.’’ 

“I’ve heard it before, I think.’’ 

“It is originally from the Bible, but its meaning is largely the same when used in other contexts. Even soldiers use it in this world when they refer to their first time in battle. Either way, it is that period in a person’s life when their resilience or faith or knowledge, or all, are tested.’’ Daphne said. “Everything after that night has been a baptism of fire for you, Fay. It still is. Within that, you’ve faced many others. Coming to this world, creating new bonds, facing dangerous situations.’’ Daphne paused, looking slightly amused. “Nagging me all the way in London.’’ That managed to draw a small smile from the girl. 

Fay inhaled, her chest feeling lighter, just a bit. 

“When will it…end?’’ 

“In some ways, it already has. Acknowledging your parent’s death, for example. You’ve said it used to be hard talking about them, even mentioning their names. Placing trust in new people. In other ways….when it is time.’’ 

“And when it does…I will be stronger?’’ Daphne raised a brow at that. “In Maysoon, they always used to say that…pain makes people stronger. That it, um, forges a warrior’s spirit.’’ 

Daphne rolled her eyes. Some things never change.

“Pain can certainly teach us important lessons. Without pain or sacrifice or compromise, we do not understand how valuable a thing or a person is. A lesson without pain may not be a lesson. But that mentality that you speak of – which I am sure your uncle shares to an extent – is not entirely healthy. After all, can you really say it was pain, or only pain, that helped you in the past two years?’’ 

Fay shook her head. It was Dana’s kindness and Mack’s sense of humor and Helen Wilmot’s optimism and Damian seeing her. It was because she cared that she chose to fight the Angel. Pain was there as well, converting in anger, but until then she hadn’t felt driven to take action. It was hope that pushed her, and the affection she felt for Bagheera and the people around her. Her mother had been right. Emotions truly are as powerful as they can be difficult to live with. 

“You can think about what you might lose, but you can also think about why you’re wanting to get better for instead.’’ 

“…I think I understand.’’ 

.

“If you don’t want to leave, then do not,’’ Damian said as a way of greeting, as soon as he was within hearing range. Fay looked up from where she was sitting on the sofa, reading while the TV was on. It looked like an action film was on but she hadn't paid much attention to it, intent on finishing Dune before she left. Lira had told her that Kaera will be tough and uncompromising as a trainer, so it was very likely Fay won’t even get much time to do anything but train. Kaera couldn’t be that much worse than Damian could she? He might end up taking that as a challenge. 

Fay lowered the book in her lap. She was only halfway through but so far she’d been captivated by it. “No. I will go.’’ 

“But you don’t want to,’’ Damian repeated. “Don’t lie. I know you have—‘’ Been crying more often. Experienced low moods. Distant, stuck in her head. “—been disgruntled by it.’’ 

“Yes,’’ She nodded. “I am. But I have to go. I also…want to. I do want to train my flux better.’’ Damian looked unconvinced by that but ultimately sat down next to her. 

Fay pushed the book aside and moved closer to him. 

“It’s just been hard not to….overthink things. Or think about bad things.’’ 

I know. “Hn.’’ 

“Daphne was right. I am…worried about things, and I know they’re…not logical but I am still afraid because I do not want to experience bad things again.’’ He knew that as well. “I don’t doubt you,’’ Fay said reassuringly. “I am just…doubting myself.’’ 

Damian frowned. 

“I think it will be better than what I think it will be,’’ Fay admitted, then placed her head on his lap. “It’s just that…ever since I came to this world, I have…been deciding on my own. Even—even with you being a tyrant.’’ She smiled. He would have snarked at that but she was finally opening up after two weeks, so he held his tongue. “I have just been Fay. I…could decide who I want to be. But with my family and the island and…everything else, it feels like---I will never really have a choice. That I will always have to be….Fay of Maysoon. There’s nothing wrong with that but—‘’ She stopped. 

“It’s not on your own terms.’’ He finished. 

Fay nodded, folding her arms under her head. “I know they’re trying to protect me but it feels like they are all just doing it…because my parents wanted to. Because my parents wished it.’’ She relaxed when she felt the fingers ghost over the tape of her neck, under the low ponytail. “They don’t really see me, do they?'’ Now that she knew what it felt like to be seen again Fay no longer wanted to go back to a time where she hadn't been. She knew better what she wanted, even if not in the long term. She knew, even if not entirely, who she was. She was more confident, too, that perhaps she could be a warrior – just a different type. Or if not a warrior, then she'll have the time and freedom to keep thinking about it. Back on the island, it didn’t feel like she had that. 

“Maybe…I am being unfair.’’ She muttered. “I should give them a chance.’’ 

No. Don’t. Stay here and turn your back, and you won’t have a reason to miss them. “Maybe. You will find out soon enough.’’ He said, in a carefully neutral tone. 

Fay hummed, becoming drowsier. She was worse than a pet, really, invading his personal space and asking for attention. Still, his hands slid deeper through her locks and he brushed a thumb against the small scar right behind her left ear. An accident when she was younger and had flown too high, only to plummet back down through the trees and injure her head in the process. 

“Damian?’’ she mumbled. 

“What is it?’’ 

“Please…don’t disappear, as well.’’ 

“Don’t be ridiculous.’’ 

If anything, she was the one who was more likely to disappear. 

Like, for example, leave and never come back. 

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And she never did. 

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(A/N: just joking :P)

 

Notes:

Just joking :) Their story is not over, don't worry.

On a separate note, some of you may think that Fay is indeed being emotional and overthinking. But I will always touch base on topics of mental health, as it does have an impact on a person's behavior and how they form bonds. In her case, I think it's justified to feel afraid she might lose the stability and contentment of her life in Gotham because she's already lost everything once already.

Chapter 54: Of absence that makes the heart....

Notes:

As usual, your comments are welcome. Next chapter will be posted either on Sunday 21st or Monday 22nd.

Chapter Text

"You know what they say. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”
“If my heart grows any fonder, it’s going to hop out of my chest and into yours."

- Olivia Cunning 

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Fay leaves Gotham on the 8th of April. He dropped her off at the meeting point at the borders of Gotham County, five miles only from the bunker that the Angel had used as a base of operations. 

In the days leading up to her departure, Fay’s mood had remained stable and if she sought his presence more than usual, he indulged it. 

He, on the other hand, did not fret as she did. Fay will be back, simple as that. Either on her own or he will retrieve her. They will keep the line of communication open, and they had over a dozen ways of letting each other know if she felt unsafe or wished to leave earlier. Her family had stipulated for them to communicate every week, but Damian thought that was ridiculous. Too much could happen in a week, not to mention the time it would take for him to travel there if something did.

It pleased him to know Fay agreed with him. Lira had surprisingly – and suspiciously – agreed to facilitate them with a device from their world. The advanced technology came wrapped up in a small dark cube that would allow him to receive a projection of Fay, despite the distance and other potential disrupting factors. Fay would be able to see him as well, in return, if she wanted to and the holographic projection would be in real-time. Intriguing. Of course, there was still the risk of communication being cut off as it hinged on each other responding to the signal the cube would emit when one would try to contact the other. 

It will have to do for the time being. Damian kept it with himself or hidden at the warehouse. That was his to know about only. 

He didn’t tell her he would miss her even if she did when she said her goodbyes. He didn’t initiate the hug nor return it as well as he could have when she wrapped her arms around him, but he did remind her that she shouldn’t let anyone guilt her in making a choice, especially her family. 

Lira stood quite far away, holding Fay’s duffel bag. Damian was certain she heard everything perfectly anyway. He had, after all, got a glimpse of how deceivingly human the Estaris were, yet decidedly weren’t when they allowed their other side to surface. He hadn’t been intimidated in the least - please , they have no idea who he was raised by - but he could see – and feel – the power that came with their nature. 

Damian nodded at Fay when she asked him to stay safe and then watched her leave. He had placed a tracker on her, of course, and he had planned on following. If only to test out the waters. 

But Lira was good, he’ll give her that. He lost track of them less than a hundred miles later. Perhaps another portal? No. He would have been able to track such a large source of energy with no thunderstorm to mask it. He won’t miss her. That would make him sentimental. It was only a matter of several weeks. While it was the longest gap their friendship would experience, it would be ridiculous to allow something as small as being apart for a month to affect him.

He won’t miss her. He has no time for trivialities. He must investigate the island, have a talk with Barlow and think about ways to ensure Fay’s freedom in that world wasn’t stifled when she was there. That, on top of his duty as Robin which was particularly important seeing as his father wasn’t due back for another two weeks. He had a city to keep safe. 

He won’t miss her. No matter how much she had managed to insinuate herself into his life and his routine. 

Dick gave him three days before he started showing signs that he was affected by Fay’s absence. Subtle ones because he was Damian and he’d die before he admitted that he missed his friend. Tim bet twenty dollars that it would be a week, while Stephanie said two. He could be stubborn when it came to acknowledging what others meant to him. 

They’d all ended up losing to Alfred.

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The cube, about the size of a golf ball, deceitfully simple with its matte dark faces, hid inside the technology which Damian was tempted to pull apart to study. He doesn’t, because then how else would she contact him? 

What has become of him, placing the pursuit of scientific education second to talking to another person. 

Fay contacts him one day, twenty-three hours and forty-seven minutes after she leaves. He’s only keeping track because he wanted to get an understanding of the amount of travel time from Gotham to the island. That’s all

The cube opens and unfolds, the faces breaking into smaller parts that move around like a Rubik’s cube being manipulated by invisible hands. There’s a bright light coming from inside and a mechanical clicking that reminds him of a watch being winded. There must be something inside there, he thinks, that allows the cube to establish a connection. Or perhaps it’s magic? Or it simply comes across as magic because it is a science that has yet to be understood. Damian made a mental note to ask Fay to get him a spare so he could dissect and study. 

The light shines out from the cube as if it were a regular projector. The wavefronts shine, flicker but he counts to eight seconds before it stabilizes, and a familiar shape appears across the room. Fay is suddenly standing before him, the holographic projection so vivid that her tri-dimensionality is captured perfectly. 

Fay is looking at something past him, then he realizes that she does not actually see the rest of the room. She’s likely seeing a projection of his own body, sitting in the chair. The cube was recording and reconstructing an image on one end and projecting another on the other -- interesting. Damian had to admit that the technology was impressive, the kind that the Justice League would be equipped with, or the League would have encouraged the development of. 

Fay must have finally been able to see him as well because her gaze focused on his face. She smiled widely, eyes crinkling. Something loosens in his chest. There was nothing wrong with being relieved that his friend had arrived safely, he rationalized.

They did not talk for long. Fay tells him that she had been knocked out for the better part of the journey and woke up on the island, as was Bagheera. Her uncle is no longer on the island, but Moma has confirmed that there are no concerns so far with her arrangement. She will be spending a few days acclimatizing and visiting the village at length. Then, on Monday, she will be starting her training with Kaera who had already warned her that she should be prepared for a strenuous several weeks. 

“I guess she will be a tyrant about it as well.’’ He feels irritation trickling through his veins, which he chalks up to something he can offer a logical explanation to. It has been forty-eight hours since he slept, so he was due for a refreshing hour of sleep. 

Fay remains oblivious and asks him if the pets are okay – obviously -, if he has eaten and slept well, -- he’s not a child, why would she ask such idiotic questions? – and if everyone is safe – eye roll – before she apologized. 

“What for?’’ What didn’t this girl apologize for?

“I will miss your birthday,’’ Fay said with a grim expression. “I…I realized that after I left.’’ 

He hadn’t thought about it. He didn’t care about his birthdays, but he did recall that a year earlier, she had asked him if he was happy. If she were to ask him again, what would be the answer? 

“No matter,’’ he replies. “I don’t care.’’ 

She didn’t care about her birthday either. He still spent days working on that painting. Fay will feel compelled to gift him with something if only because she’d want to make him happy. There was no need for that. She just had to abide by the ridiculous arrangement and that’s it. 

The communication ended with her wishing him to stay safe and him telling her she was obnoxious. 

Meow …’’ Nada placed an insistent paw on his leg, staring at him demandingly. 

Damian got up. “Fine.’’ 

It would do good for them to be apart. How will she learn to overcome her social anxiety if she does not challenge herself? Yes, he thought, if anything the month will allow him a distraction-free environment. They are close friends, and she is one of the few people in the world he will confide in with certain matters but they didn’t have to be around each other all the time. He didn’t think their friendship was in danger of becoming stagnant but how else will they find answers if they don’t have eyes and ears on the island? 

She will miss him, of course. Fay was more sentimental. As annoying as he may find it at times, he did not reject that side of her. If she requires reassurance, he will offer it. He is her confidant as well, so when she will need to vent out about the frustrations the island will cause her, he will listen. With that amount of communication they will have, why would they even miss being in the same room? 

He didn’t like the arrangement, didn’t want her out of Gotham and in a place he could not protect her, but there might be positives to her travels after all. 

Just because he chose to stay at the warehouse, it didn’t mean he missed her. He enjoyed the privacy there, how it could be just him and the pets and his research. 

And if he chose to stay in her room when he was at the warehouse, it was only because he wanted to find all the hiding spots she’d stashed sweets. He vowed to get rid of all of them. Teach her a lesson about eating such large quantities of sugar. 

But he would not miss her.

Grayson and the others will lose their bet.

Idiots. 

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The days between her arrival on the island and the start of the training are filled with leisure activities, meeting veterans, and preparing to restart the studies she’d had in her world. Languages, history, politics, sociology, warfare. She enthusiastically tells him that even though she’ll likely have to read up when she’s back and even complete homework, she can’t wait to talk to him about what she’s learning.

They end the conversations in the same vein as before. Fay wishes him to stay safe and sends her best wishes to everyone else. There’s something about the way their conversations end that doesn’t feel right. 

He chooses not to linger on that. 

On the first day of training, Fay is not conscious when the twenty-four-mark hits. The cube lights up and whirrs again two hours later than it should. He’s learned that the cube can be locked and prevented from receiving the transmission by simply closing it and rolling the faces around in a set pattern as if they were a Rubik’s cube. 

Truth be told, he is not alarmed when she doesn’t contact him immediately. He knew that training started that day and she had likely been wrapped up in it. Better for her to worry about being attentive to her progress if she wanted to come back sooner. 

The projection is not of Fay, however, but of Lira. The insufferable woman smiles at him, then informs him that Fay has been treated by the healers following her first session with Kaera. Everything was fine, as her exhaustion wasn’t unexpected or a cause for concern. Lira showed him a projection of Fay sleeping, sprawled on what must have been a bed but instead looked like thin air. Bagheera was awake still, curled against her back. He did not look alarmed either. 

Lira told him she’ll ask Fay to contact him as soon as she’s awake. He didn’t bother to wait for whatever the woman had to say next and closed the cub, cutting off the comms. The hologram vanished. 

It was fine. The more she trained, the more she’ll show progress, and subsequently, the quicker she will return. 

Fay does contact him, several hours later. Her voice sounds hoarse, and she looks exhausted, but she smiles and tells him that the first day with Kaera was difficult. Far more so than what her tutors had previously put her through in Maysoon, because Kaera used different training methods as well. 

“I can’t believe I am saying this,’’ she yawned. “But…I think her training sessions are worse than yours.’’ 

His training sessions hadn’t been easy. Easy didn’t bring results, but hard training did, and she had learned that well, despite the blows her self-esteem may have taken. 

He finds himself cutting off their conversation, the irritation sliding back in his body although he’s well-rested. It’s patrol time, he tells her even though it’s only ten in the evening. 

“Isn’t it…earlier than usual?’’ She asks. “Is everything okay?’’ 

Of course, it was. He was just feeling restless. There hasn’t been a good case in a while, and while he enjoyed that he patrolled with Dick routinely, Damian felt he lacked…a challenge. Stimulation. So, he’d started digging through cold cases. 

“I can go on patrol earlier if I want to,’’ he’s not sure why he’s irritated. Boredom, perhaps. It can be damaging to the mind of a genius. 

He sees the way her brows furrow. 

“Everything’s fine,’’ he adds a beat later. “Stop worrying needlessly.’’ 

“I will always worry,’’ She says. The sentence ends there. No ‘because you are important to me’, or ‘because I love you’. “Please stay safe.’’ 

.

The days pass by. Some slower, others in a blur. Fay checks in almost every day for the first week except for two more instances where she’s unconscious again. Lira shows him her sleeping form, a sort of silent agreement between them because he didn’t trust her words unless he saw Fay himself. One time Fay is so exhausted she falls asleep while talking to him. 

The bandages that appear on her body never come off anymore. She is thinner by the end of the first week. She’s eating more, she tells him, but her body keeps burning through it. Bruises grow in number as each day passes. Training is hard and Kaera is demanding, and Fay is not allowed to grow lenient, she tells him. Damian had to give credit to the woman’s training style – she clearly demanded no more than complete commitment and discipline. 

Their discussions are kept to a minimum because Fay is generally too tired to speak. On one occasion, he can tell she’s been crying. He doesn’t ask, expecting her to volunteer the information – she always did – but she doesn’t. Instead, she asks him how everyone is doing as if he cared to waste his time – their time – with such nonsense. She tells him that Bagheera has been training with a Resistance veteran and his own paladin, so she doesn’t see him that much either during the day. He can tell she feels lonely as a result of that. 

She still smiles at him. She still expresses relief that nothing eventful has happened in her absence and is still happy to see him. 

She doesn’t say anything beyond that.

Fay is holding her cards close to her heart. It happens gradually, as the first week turns into two. She’s not secretive per se but he can tell she’s avoiding being vulnerable with him. Their conversations focus on others primarily and even when she talks about her training, she does not offer him much detail on herself. 

The meetings start leaving him with a sour taste in his mouth. 

He blames Pennyworth’s cooking.

Not outloud though.  

.

In the third week, he speaks to her only twice. The first time, he can barely see her. He can hear her, however, clearly. She is upset, and she is in pain, but when he asks her why she’s been crying, she just tells him that it’s nothing to worry about. 

Training is harder than she thought it’ll be, she admits, but she has been learning to do things she didn’t think she was capable of before. Kaera learned from her mother, and it makes her happy knowing she’s being taught in a way that Evara probably would have. 

There are very few people on the island she feels uncomfortable around. It’s better than she expected, she says.

His stomach clenches. It was certainly Grayson’s fault that day. He had taken over dinner preparation, bringing in burgers and pizza instead of a proper, nutritional meal. 

“…It really is a sanctuary,’’ she yawns. 

Thelion – it was the fifth time she mentioned him – also trained her. A prodigious warrior , she said with reverence, who became one of the youngest guild co-captains in Maysoon. He had been teaching her hand-to-hand combat. 

Damian doesn’t speak. He finds his throat drier than usual, and he scowls when he sees his fists clenched. He forces himself to relax. 

Things with Titoh had gotten better if only slightly, she adds. They don’t talk often, but he does seem to try and overcompensate for what has happened to them. He’s asked her to help him perfect his English which he understood and spoke well enough but struggled to write in. 

“You agreed,’’ he says emotionlessly. Of course, she agreed. He suddenly feels angry with her – how could she allow Titoh close to her after what he’s done?

“I don’t have much time,’’ Fay mumbles. She’s falling asleep. “So, maybe next time.’’ Next time. She still has one week left, but she’s already thinking about next time she’ll be there?

He doesn’t have a chance to discuss that. Fay whispered goodnight to him and then cut off the connection. She never once said that she missed him. She hasn’t told him she can’t wait to return to Gotham. 

Yet she has remembered to sprout praises about the island and the people there. 

Damian closed his eyes and inhaled. 

No matter. There was no need for all that, she must have finally realized that she had been too sentimental to begin with. Three weeks had gone by quickly, and she seemed satisfied with her training. That’ll make it easier in the future, especially if she’s been progressing well in her training. If she did plan for next time, it is only because she realized that further travels are inevitable for the time being. 

One more week. 

Then everything will go back to the way it was before. 

.

His birthday comes and passes. Grayson wants him to celebrate it despite Damian’s threats he will poison them all. There’s cake and there are gifts regardless. 

Father comes home two days later. Worn out, but not injured. Seriously, anyway. No one talks about the attack at the comic bookstore or Damian having gone missing with Fay for several days. Not yet. 

He gives Damian a lunar rock. That certainly offers a key clue about where he’s been. Damian accepts it – his father remembered – and tells him that he would have preferred a trip to the Moon instead. Bruce is not surprised. “We’ll see.’’ That response pleases him. 

Fay contacts him too and wishes him a happy birthday. The strange timing, the panicked expression indicates she’s forgotten . She appears to be in a rush, Kaera’s voice in the background yelling that the ‘ break is over ’. Fay looks conflicted, which only sparks his irritation again.

“It’s fine,’’ he says coolly. “I don’t really care as I’ve already told you.’’  Damian ends the transmission after curtly telling her he has something to take care of. 

He had been truthful about not wanting anything from her on his birthday. Yet something bothers him about the way she’s contacted him. As if he was...an afterthought. 

It was only logical he would not be a priority while she was there. 

He didn’t have to like it. 

.

In the fourth week, they talk once, halfway through the week. Fay has curled up in bed again and he can’t see her well. He had seen only glimpses of her in the past three weeks. She’s been avoiding letting him see her face. She looks terrible and she feels better if he doesn’t see it, Fay said but he knows she is hiding something. 

He doesn’t push. Just as he doesn’t confront her even if that is in his very nature. To push and prod and have his answers when he wants them. 

Because asking suddenly feels like a concession and his pride says no . She doesn’t want to open up to him, that was a choice she made. She had to know by then that he’d listen. Their friendship was too well cemented at that point, he reasoned, for him having to ask. 

A part of him said he was wrong. Fay hadn’t changed, regardless of her opinion of the island differing. She was in a place where her development was supported in ways, he – and he hated to admit it – could not support. Kaera was a master of the flux, after all. That Fay did not feel miserable should be a relief. When she returns to Gotham, she will show him everything she’s learned. It was also very likely that she merely did not feel comfortable to talk given the distance between them. 

As her friend, he wanted her to be set up for success, so when she returns, she might even be ready for that thing he’s been working on. 

Except. 

Excuse me? ’’ He asked. 

Fay had a sheet draped around her. She looked as if she was sitting on the floor, leaning against a wall. The projector was pulled close and placed to the side, so he only had a view of her profile. The better part of her body was covered in bandages. 

Her hair was longer.

“Master Kaera has said that, um, I am progressing quicker in the past week.’’ She swallowed, hesitating. “She would like me to stay for another four weeks.’’ 

Even with her face shielded he could tell that Fay wasn’t apprehensive to give him the news because she was worried about staying there longer. She was apprehensive because she wanted to stay, and she didn’t know how he’d react. 

Four weeks earlier she had been having panic attacks because she didn’t want to leave. The separation anxiety had been so severe that had he pushed further, she would have likely agreed to break the arrangement and hide from her family. 

Now, she wanted to stay longer. 

The coldness that settled in his veins was automatic. A defense mechanism against the treacherous effect of emotions. 

“Do as you please,’’ He said icily, even if he knew he was being unfair. Fay had talked to him about if he said no, she wouldn't stay. 

Fay’s head tilted towards him. Now she decides to look at him.

“Wait, Damian---‘’ 

“You want to stay, do you not?’’ He asked coolly. “So, what is the problem? You don’t need my permission.’’ 

“I, um, no but---are you angry with me?’’ she asked anxiously. “I---I just thought that if I get better now, I won’t have to go for as long next—next time?’’ 

Damian crossed his arms behind his back. He did not want her to come back just out of guilt. If Fay was well on that island, then… then

“Please…talk to me.’’ She sniffed. “I…I didn’t mean to give you the news so late. I---I didn’t think I was even doing that well---‘’ 

At that, his head snapped up. “What are you talking about? You said you have been progressing. That you have found it easier channeling and converting the elements---‘’ She lied about that too? “-- TT --Why did you lie?’’ 

He can see her reach to wipe at her face. She’s crying. 

“I…didn’t lie,’’ Fay said shakily. “I…It is hard, but I have been getting better. I can…summon water easier now. Without having to depend so much on external sources.’’ She sniffed again. “Air, as well. The ground has been…very difficult and I am not better with fire. ’’ 

Fay pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Her head turns to the side, and he can’t see her face again. He has to bite back an order to tell her to stop doing that. 

He wanted to see her. That thought rushed so quickly inside his head that he had no time to intercept and rationalize it or squash it away. 

He wanted to see her, and he wanted her back there. 

“…. I just want to get better.’’ She whispered. “But I do want to come back. As soon as possible.’’  

Damian blinked. 

“Fay. Talk to me,’’ he demanded as well as he could without snarling. 

“Is—is it alright if we don’t right now?’’ She asked. “It’s just…hard.’’ 

No. No. She had to tell him. How else would he eliminate the problem? 

“I promise.’’ She added. “I…I am sorry. I didn’t mean to concern you.’’ She straightened her head; he could make out her profile. 

Damian inhaled.

“Are you in danger?’’ 

“No. No, not at all.’’

“Fine.’’ 

Fay shifted, removing the sheet from around her. There was not an inch of her that wasn’t bandaged underneath the sleeveless tunic and shorts. Was someone hurting her? Beyond the training? 

Was it Titoh? 

Because Damian will find that island only to hunt him down, if so. 

“Damian?’’ 

“Yes.’’ 

Tell me. Tell me everything. 

“Don’t be mean about it…. but I really miss you.’’ She sniffed. “I know it’s...silly, but I haven’t seen Bagheera so much and you’re not here either….’’ 

He closed his eyes. The coldness is chased away by a heat that starts in his chest and radiates throughout his body. 

Idiot. She’s such an idiot. 

(No, he is). 

“Yet you want to extend your visit.’’ It was just an observation, not criticism. Fay’s reasoning lied elsewhere, not in not wanting to come back. She said she wanted to get better but that had always been the objective. Which means she was even more focused on it than before. What changed? It wasn’t just that she had made progress. Something else had happened. She found it difficult to talk about it with him. What could it possibly be? Her family? What could have happened that she hasn’t already talked to him about? That she’d feel the need to hide from him? 

“Moma is looking for me,’’ she said, suddenly. “I will, um, --‘’ 

“Fay.’’ 

 “Y-yes?’’ 

“If an additional month would be beneficial, do not jeopardize your progress. Gotham is not going anywhere,’’ I am not going anywhere. 

She smiled. 

“Thank you.’’ 

.

.

.

The tension had been bubbling up in the boy so much that it was almost palpable. Dick didn’t have all the details, as Damian had stubbornly refused to broach the topic of Fay. The more days passed by, the more it became a taboo. 

Bruce still didn’t know the full story – or perhaps he pretended he didn’t – and if he noticed anything different about Damian, he didn’t comment on it. He did, however, found it strange to not see the girl around the manor. 

The signs didn’t start until the third week as Alfred predicted. Being more snappish than usual. A little bit more aggressive on patrol. Sleeping less. Spending more time training or in his room or at the warehouse. Dick wondered if Damian realized just how much his original routine had changed since he befriended Fay. If he was in denial about having liked it. 

Yep. Definitely. 

In the fourth week, Damian becomes a walking live wire. Fay had not been ‘ reporting in a satisfactory manner ’ Dick had managed to gather from him which really was a translation for ‘ I haven’t spoken to her as much as I would have liked’ . And that was clearly a problem. 

“Hey, little D, was thinking we should do something for Fay’s return. I know she’s not into parties---‘’ 

“That won’t be necessary,’’ Damian says impassively. “She will not be returning at the end of this week.’’ 

Dick blinked. As in she was not returning until later or not at all? If it was the latter, could Damian be so unaffected by it? No. Not even him would be able to mask that. So, it’s the former then. 

“When is she due back for?’’ He keeps his tone light, watches the boy move. To anyone else, he might have appeared calm. Bored even. But Dick knew him well enough to detect the way his shoulders are tenser than usual, the nearly imperceptible extra force he puts when typing. His face is a blank mask, which shouldn’t be because Damian, for all his capacity of being cold and cutting, is not an emotionless machine. 

“3rd of June.’’ Comes the disaffected reply.

An additional month. Oh boy. Dick wants to ask why. Is it training? Is it her family? Is it part of the arrangement? 

“I bet she misses you.’’ 

“Hn.’’ No protests? No ‘missing someone is for the weak’ ? That it is ridiculous for his friend to miss him after only a month? He has been making those points repeatedly ever since she’s left. 

This means Damian, in his usual roundabout ways, must have finally acknowledged it to himself. 

He misses her too. 

“Well, I miss her. I think Alfred does too. The dogs and cats do, as well, don’t they? Alfred has said they’ve been restless.’’ Dick continued casually. “Let’s do something for her when she comes back, either way.’’ 

The boy doesn’t respond. 

Is it that bad? They’ve all been focused on the idea that Damian might end up displaying signs of irritability and impatience all whilst denying that he will miss his friend, that they hadn’t considered how deeply he might have been affected. 

“Damian---‘’ 

What ?’’ He snarled, just like a wild animal that’s suddenly been backed into a corner. “What is it, Grayson? Spit it out, because I have had enough of the chit-chat and faffing about and everyone’s childish bets— ‘’ Oh he knows. Of course, he found out.

“Hey, hey.’’ Dick interrupting, as placating as possible. Damage control was needed before it became property damage and Alfred kicked them both out of there. “I am sorry, bud. The bet was a bit of fun, that’s all. There’s nothing wrong with missing her, Damian. We didn’t mean to---‘’ 

“Didn’t you?’’ Damian hissed. “What exactly was the fun? Oh, let’s see if the killer can feel something?’’ His eyes were dark with fury, and his face twisted in a menacing expression. Dick could still clearly see the boy underneath all, though. The one who is hurt and does have a heart and has been underestimated about it. “Why are you still here? Father is back. So go back to your city. You’re not needed here.’’ With that, the boy got up and headed straight for one of the training rooms. 

Dick rubbed a hand over his face. 

There was a lot more to unpack there than just him missing someone, it seems. 

.

Fay contacts him more often than before. Their conversations are still brief because training still takes a toll on her but she makes sure to check in personally, rather than Lira. They do not talk about whatever has caused her to withdraw, because that is a conversation that'll take place when she comes back. He respects that, although he is not happy about it. 

For her sixth week away, she tells him that she won't be able to contact him due to having to complete a training phase that requires her to be deep into the jungle. There's a survival element to it, but she promises him that Lira will notify him if anything goes wrong, implying that it was a possibility. 

He is not worried per se, but the week goes infuriatingly slowly, aided by the fact that Gotham is rather boring lately. 

She contacts him on the first day of the seventh week. There's a blanket around her, and he thinks it is because she doesn't want him to the extent of damage she suffered. If the bandages around her head and the swollen right eye are any indication, the survival week has been more than just about relying on natural resources. 

"I, um, passed,'' she says exhausted, leaning her head against her folded arms. Did she now? He felt pride, but it was mixed in with the bitter emotions resurfacing at seeing her like that. It reminded him of the time he'd found her in the forest after Talia's attempted assassination. 

"You do not appear satisfied by the outcome,'' 

There's something haunted in her expression. He'd seen it before, on a daily basis when they first met and on Bad Days, still, as rarely as they took place now. Fay looks older than her fourteen years. Damian had little in the manner of detail on her training but it was enough to deduce that Kaera was not only testing her physically but also mentally. Fay was being pushed past her limits, and he was conflicted between wanting her to stop - she did not need to torture herself when she had him to protect her - and wanting her to succeed - because she had potential and he was curious to see how far she could go. He had only ever known training at the highest level of intensity, since he was very young, so anything less than that was ineffective and unproductive. But Fay wasn't like him. She would have to be broken before being rebuilt in order to transcend into a much higher level of skill. 

"I feel like I am behind,'' Fay admits with glassy eyes. "Even when I go forward.'' 

"Give up, then.'' He doesn't mean it. He's testing her. However, if she were to give up, he would still accept her as she is. That's how deeply she has insinuated herself into him. 

There's a flash of anger that crosses her eyes, her brows furrowing ever so slightly and he bites back a smirk. The warmth blooms from his chest again and spreads throughout his body and although he wasn't cold, to begin with, he feels like a person who's been numbed by it until that moment. 

"No...I don't think I will.'' Fay says tiredly, but firmly. 

Good. 

She asks him if he would be alright with playing the violin for her. She doesn't say why she needs that all of a sudden and he doesn't question it. 

He reprises Clair De Lune. 

Fay doesn't need to know that he didn’t shut down the coms until a couple of hours after she’s fallen asleep. 

.

.

.

Between the end of the seventh week and the beginning of the eighth, they lose touch again. This time it is because of the high fever that fogs his brain. As if his mental faculty being affected is not enough, his body stubbornly refuses to obey him. When he tries to push, he is rewarded by pain blooming everywhere in his body. It is intense enough to make him reconsider moving at all, and although it reverberates through his torso and limbs, the source is in his left leg. A bullet injury. It had stopped short of going through his femur. 

The only thing more painful than his recovery is knowing that he had been so foolish to get in that situation. He will heal. He will come back stronger. This isn’t the worst pain he’s experienced, he will survive. 

He will take the pain over having to look in his father’s eyes and seeing the disappointment there. Because father had told him not to follow Black Mask’s men. Damian would have listened, perhaps, if it had not been for the tension that had formed between them since his return. Correction. Bruce saw the footage of the attack at the comic book store and found out about him and Fay disappearing for several days. Damian had refused to offer any more details than he already did. Yes, they were after Fay. Yes, Jason had been drugged as a precaution. Yes, her family and by default, her world had something to do with it. Yes, Fay is more than she appears to be but no, that’s not any of his business. 

The matter of trust came up, and from thereon, their conversations have been either arguments or not anything less than terse. 

Two days before he was injured, Damian overheard him talking to Dick about Fay. That she knows too much of them, who they are, so Damian cannot keep holding onto information on her. Bruce may want to take precautions and may be paranoid, but he had not considered Fay to be a threat. He had to think about the implications of someone like her being so close to them, how could he not, but that was who he was, and that was their lifestyle and it was out of malice towards his son’s friend. If Damian wants her to keep her close, he has to be prepared to make objective calls. 

Damian did not wait to hear Dick defend him. He knew the man would. Unlike his father, Dick always did. 

He didn’t accept the call from Fay that night. He didn’t bother staying at the Manor, either, instead choosing to go sleep at the warehouse. He needed a place to think, one where he would not be disturbed. There have been certain thoughts circling his head for months now, which were becoming more frequent. 

The next day, he went out on patrol before his father did. He knew Batman was after Black Mask and he’ll take action that night so what better vindication to have against his father than snatching his case away and resolving it? That’ll show him that not only he’s as excellent as ever in his role but perhaps it has come time for him to patrol on his own. 

Black Mask’s operation was compromised. In that sense, the mission was a success. 

Just not his current state.

Damian woke up twenty-seven hours after. His whole body felt too warm, too weak, too vulnerable. Father is sitting beside him, in a chair. He's lost a significant amount of blood, he informs quietly, so just focus on resting. Damian wants to protest - there are so many emotions bubbling in him now that he does not have the strength to compartmentalize - but he ends up falling asleep. 

He wakes up again. It was night. A substantial amount of time has passed and Fay hasn't heard from him. The cube is at the warehouse. What if something happened on the island in the meantime? That girl never keeps herself out of trouble. 

(If she'd been there, she'd have childishly stuck her tongue at him and told him he's the one to talk)

He tries to get up, tries to fight his way through the fever and the weakness and the pain. It feels excruciating and he can only use one leg properly. The room sways around him, and his stomach lurches. It feels like he's walked miles already when in reality he barely makes it two feet from his bed before he falls down. The fall jolts his bones and he can feel the stitches ripping. The metallic taste of blood fills his mouth as he bites onto his cheek to force back the undignified sounds threatening to erupt out of his throat. 

The door opens and his father walks in. He knows it's him even with a blurry vision because he'd spent countless hours studying his father in the past. Back when it was easier to look up to him and when he thought meeting him would be different. 

 

"F-Father...'' 

Strong, calloused hands are unexpectedly gentle when they grab him by the shoulders to pull him up. Damian hisses, and struggles or at least attempts to, yet it leaves him winded all the same. "It's alright, son,'' Bruce says, patiently. He guides the boy back towards the bed. Still, even in his condition, he refuses to sit down even if the pressure on his leg must cause him agony. His face is clammy and his eyes red, wetter than usual. Unfocused, as he moves his head around in search of something. 

"It's---it's not here,'' he breathes. "I have to get it.''

"Get what, Damian?'' 

The cube, he mumbles. He has to get it. Bruce has no idea what he is referring to, but he gathers the word warehouse, and then it becomes clear that whatever the cube is, it is likely related to Fay. 

"She---the idiot will worry,'' Bruce finally manages to push him back onto the mattress, and Damian lies on his back. His face twists, as the movement causes electrifying pain to travel from his leg up to his hips and torso. "She's going to think--'' he mutters, eyes closing, but doesn't finish the sentence.  

Bruce wanted to tell him not to worry, but he couldn't. For one, he is taken back that his son's mind would still drift to Fay, even in that state, and her welfare. Secondly, because although he is the world's greatest detective, he doesn't know whether Fay is alright. He doesn't know where she is, either. Dick has some theories but he hasn't shared them yet. 

Does everyone believe he will go ahead and forbid Damian from having Fay around? 

It appears so. 

Can they be blamed? Not really. 

"Go to sleep, Damian.'' He says, brushing a hand through his son's sweaty locks of hair. 

The boy's eyelids are apart. Unfocused pupils are revealed, yet he still manages to muster anger. "You'll...take her away,'' he accuses. 

Bruce sighs. "I know you heard me, Damian, what I said to Dick,'' He pulls the blanket over his son's body, up to his shoulders. "But no one is taking anyone away.'' 

Damian's eyes flutter closed, and true to his nature, he must have his last words. "You don't see me,'' With that, he falls unconscious leaving Bruce to stand silently by the bed, staring. 

It wasn't just an observation.

It was comparison as well. 

Although Damian has been spending a considerable amount of time at the warehouse, Bruce has never actually visited it himself. He knew of it, and what it used to be like before his son had it converted into a habitable place. He had heard from Alfred that the renovations had been overseen by Damian himself and they were impressive, and he heard from Dick that the place has gradually gained personality thanks to Fay. 

It is somewhat of a surprise, however, when Dick reassures a still feverish Damian that Fay was alright. Jason talked to her. Because Fay knew him almost as well as she did Dick, and because Jason tended to spend time at the warehouse sometimes. 

Bruce bypasses the alarm system. Or rather, all five of them. Motion sensors, infrared cameras, booby traps set off by triggers hidden in the floor, biometric scanners. The warehouse might as well be full of precious jewels and priceless artifacts. 

The ground floor is, at first glance, not of any particular interest. Cure had been taken in ensuring it is endowed with the latest appliances and a decor that complements the industrial elements. The personalized elements are easy to detect from the first few minutes. The plants, the diet plan from February that's been left untouched on the fridge door, the various bowls and plates that must belong to the pets along with playpens and toys. The study area behind the home cinema section is full of artwork. Replicas, originals, some printed on glossy paper but most framed. There, the shelves are overfilled with books. The terrace wasn't part of the old blueprints which meant Damian had it put in place. For her. 

The second floor is partially exposed. Damian's room, on the left. Simple. Unsurprisingly there's a desk full of tech, but it's tidy as his room always is at the Manor as well. It looks unused. There is no cube. He's already checked the underground secret room. Ah, so that's where weapons have been disappearing too. No wonder there have been weeks when Lucius has felt they were going through more tech than usual despite no increased crime rates. 

That leaves the room on the right-hand side, partially situated above the kitchen. As Batman, he has no qualms to go inside. As Damian's father, he hesitates. His son had purposefully sent Dick there, to try and establish contact with Fay. 

Was it necessary? No. He is there for his son. Because he did not like to see him in that state, he had not liked the way Damian had looked at him when he accused Bruce of taking her away. He is also there because he is curious, and because he is who he is. He wants to see it. What his son doesn't think he can, what apparently the girl can. Why has his son spent so much time there? 

He does see. He sees fragments of Fay's personality in the decor and the numerous memorabilia she keeps on the shelves. In the large selection of books and mementos and gifts. He also sees Damian's presence in her life, and how much of it he seems to take of it. There are expensive items that Fay could have acquired on her own but they would have more likely been provided by Damian. He sees photos, innumerable on the wall above her head. Of herself, of Gothamites that Bruce did not recognize, of her lupine companion. Of Damian. For every three photos, there's at least one with him. Sometimes alone, but many of them with herself in it. Damian rarely ever looks happy in any of those, his expressions ranging from scowling to being bored but that there are so many instances he's allowed a photo to be taken of himself speaks volumes. It tells Bruce of the amount of time they've spent - at the warehouse, Gotham museum, the park, Wayne Manor, Europe - and of how varied their activities have been. 

There's a painting hanging on the wall, left of the entrance. Bruce recognizes her. It doesn't take long to deduce who the man and woman are, especially with the paladin being represented. Damian has painted that. He created a portrait of two people that are dead, fabricated a memory that will never come to be. That is proudly displayed on the wall indicates she was happy with such an offering. How many more offerings? How much more private information have they confided in one another? Far more than Damian would ever admit to. 

Damian was right. 

Bruce didn’t see him as well as he could have. He wasn’t sure if he ever will. 

Bruce arms the security system as he leaves. 

.

.

.

He hallucinates her. It is rather infuriating because it seems she is intent on occupying every part of his life, even those moments that are not real but a product of his brain not receiving enough blood. Or maybe it’s the drugs, that may also explain why the pain has been reduced to a mild throbbing in his leg. 

The hallucination engages all of his senses, except his visual one because his eyelids feel too heavy to open. She is lying down next to him, hands brushing against his forehead. Her hand is warm. The scent is an amalgamation of something herbal and perfume, with notes of something more unique. Something that is entirely her. He hears her voice but can’t make out the words. 

“Hm,’’ Opening his eyes is akin to trying to lift a boulder. He manages just enough to capture the image of a blurred person sitting next to him. It’s her because the figure is too small to be any of the other household members. It’s also not her, because she doesn’t look exactly the same. 

A hand - instead of skin he feels cotton gauze- touches his wrist. He can feel something buzzing against his arm like electricity but not painful, yet somehow alive because it ripples through him. The buzzing is even stronger on his ankle, and his leg is suddenly invaded by a cool sensation. It takes away the pain and the tightness in his muscles and skin. 

She speaks again, but he only catches part of her words. 

“This……..heal……may…...stay?’’ 

Alfred’s voice he recognizes immediately. Why is he responding to a hallucination? Damian’s hallucination? 

Unless of course, it isn’t one. 

Darkness claims him. 

When he opens his eyes again, there’s a stripe of sunshine peeking through the heavy curtains in his bedroom. Titus has strategically placed himself within its trajectory, head facing him. Watching. 

There’s the sound of a pencil scratching against paper. Soft chewing. Damian’s head tilts - it doesn’t hurt all anymore, the fog is gone - and he stares at the figure perched on the stool before his drawing table. 

Her hair is longer, reaches her elbows. The roots are lighter, auburn mixed in with warm browns and her skin is no longer pale but sunkissed. He can’t see her face as her back is turned to him, as she seems to be poring over a piece of paper while taking an occasional bite of one of the cinnamon buns on the plate next to her hand. 

She is wearing dark long trousers and one of his hoodies and she’s really there, not a holographic projection or a product of his ailing mind. 

She rotates on the stool, cinnamon roll half-stuffed in her mouth, having heard the sheets rustle. Her confusion melts away into surprise when she sees him awake, and the idiot forgets she has food in her mouth because she smiles. The treat falls off and she squeaks, catching it clumsily before placing it back on the plate. There’s icing over her top. 

Brushing it off and standing up at the same time, Fay looks up at him again. 

She smiles widely. 

“If I find ants in my room, I will make you eat them.’’ 

Fay ignored the remark altogether in favor of toppling him, and wrapped herself around him like a sloth, smushing her cheek against his. 

She expects him to make a remark about her weight and how she may be crushing him - and he does, the jerk - but she also feels his arms wrap tightly around her back and waist. 

“I am back,’’ she whispers giddily because she’s happy and she feels safe in ways she hasn’t entirely for the past two months. 

“You have an enthusiasm for stating the obvious,’’ He grumbles, but when she tries to shift away, she is instead held into place. She doesn’t fight it but does manage to turn her head to press a loud kiss on his cheek, giggling loudly when he stares at her as if she’d sprouted a second head. 

“Has the sun burned away your last brain cells---’’ 

She is so excited to be back that she doesn't care. She is pushing it with what she does next, slapping her hands against the sides of his face and leaning forward to kiss his nose. It is an innocent gesture, one that she does with Bagheera all the time. One that her mother used to do as well, albeit she'd kiss Fay's forehead instead. It isn't until she meets his eyes that she realizes she's perhaps chosen the wrong way to show her relief and joy at seeing him again. 

"I...sorry,'' she mumbles and quickly removes her hands from his face. Then, with some horror, she realizes she has been sitting on top of him, likely squishing him under her weight. He has only just woken up after days of being feverish. The last thing he probably needed was to get suffocated by his friend. 

“Oh--I didn’t mean to, um---’’ She was about to float herself off of him when he suddenly moved, bending at the waist as he lifted towards her. Fay squealed, body tensing because she fully expected having to wrestle her way out of his hold, as in the past. Damian sometimes had a strange way of accepting affection. 

Except he didn’t. 

Instead, she found herself caged in between his arms and legs. Bagheera has healed him well if he could move so well already, she thought. She snaked her arms around his torso, not wanting to give up on the rare opportunity that he was initiating a hug. 

“Hm,’’ She sighed happily. “I missed you,’’ 

“You’re a sentimental fool,’’ says he who pressed his head against hers, while a hand reached to tread lightly through her hair. 

Fay took no offense to that assessment. 

She was back. 

Chapter 55: Of absence that makes the heart....II

Notes:

Sorry about the late update, been busy with work. This chapter is from Fay's perspective while she's on the island.
I hope you enjoy it, and your comments are always welcomed.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"A baptism of fire, I'd say. You'll pass through the fire, which burns but also purges.
And you'll do it alone.
For were someone to support you in this, help you, take on even a scrap of that baptism of fire, that pain, that penance, they would, by the same token, impoverish you."

Andrzej Sapkowski

.

.

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The trip to the island is uneventful, primarily because Fay doesn't remember much of it. Lira had told her that she knew Damian might try and track them down, which Fay couldn't deny because she knew he would even if she asked him not to. She felt somewhat like a traitor when she removed her trackers and agreed to be knocked unconscious.

When she opens her eyes again, she is back on the island, in the same chambers as before. Moma is by her side, waiting with a concoction of herb juices for her to drink because she fears Fay is dehydrated. It's already been twenty-four hours.

Fay doesn't like the idea that she's lost so much time whilst unconscious, but she doesn't bring it up. It is what it is.

The anxiety hits her hard, however, because suddenly it's just her and Bag again, far away from Gotham and everything that's become familiar.

It feels wrong to be there without Damian. His chambers – which were never his, but she still thinks of that room in that manner – are empty, of course.

That night, after a long tour around the village, she ends up sleeping in there. There's no trace he has ever been there, but she ends up claiming those chambers for herself for the rest of the stay.

.

The village is more complex than she'd initially assumed, and the more she is being guided through the maze of steep, narrow streets, the more she is awed of that place. There are huts and tents and larger buildings that are made of wood and clay, stretching over several miles of coastline. There are several hundred people living on the island.  

At least a hundred of them are retired warriors who, years earlier, have decided to forego all matters of the other world in favor of a peaceful life there. Some, albeit few, have also decided to stay there out of fear that they might be persecuted by their respective countrymen for having turned their back on the old regime. Kaera also mentioned that there are men and women who were allowed to stay there after they requested asylum but when Fay asked how that worked, she was told that it’s confidential information and it’s best if she doesn’t worry about it for the time being.

Out of the four hundred-odd individuals on the island, there are less than fifty who can say they lived and fought at the height of the Resistance operations.

The island is considered a sanctuary still because that's precisely the role it has served in the past. The Resistance leaders used the location as a haven to tend to their injuries or to meet and discuss. Sometimes they used it to store information that would have been crucial in their operations; other times, they used it as a last resort to protect people by bringing them there. Those individuals were rarely ever told what that place was or that they had been transported there via a portal.

Following the significant battles that led the Resistance to declare the end of sovereignty first in Aeryg and then in Maysoon, the Resistance had started using that location more regularly once they found it easier to use portals. Those who could no longer fight became advisors and settled there, bringing their families with them if they had one. There had been civilians who had chosen to stay as well, ultimately, appealed by the prospect of settling in an environment that was and remained peaceful.

Len has taken over the leadership role from his predecessor, Onan, a former leading member of a faction that had operated on the border between Maysoon and Aeryg. Onan died several years earlier, but Fay was informed that her parents had worked with him in the Resistance's heyday. Len and Kaera had not started there, but they ultimately served as part of her mother's faction, hence their close partnership.

Everyone on the island works together to maintain their community. The residence where Fay lived was endowed with living quarters, but it was rarely used as such. There’s also a wing containing a wealth of knowledge on Fay’s homeworld. Literature, artworks, weapons, certain pieces of technology, most of which are obsolete or no longer functioning. The islanders wanted to start afresh, so they chose not to rely on modern technology.

There's no public transport or large machinery. The islanders prefer not to depend on outside help. They have created their own agricultural system, and the resources are never not bountiful. They have healers for sickness or injuries, and they have enough natural resources to rebuild their houses if needed or expand further into the island.

There are no threats there, not man-made, at least. The jungle presents its own perils, but the island inhabitants have grown accustomed to the hybrid ecosystem. There are no significant large predators, certainly not as one would find in the Maysoon jungle. The islanders do hunt on the islands, but they primarily prefer keeping to a pescatarian diet. The village, as brilliantly simple yet complex at the same time, is but a small part of the main island, and there are individuals there who prefer to live even more remote than the others, relying only on what nature offers them.

There are smaller islands as well, many of which remain untouched. Some are so small that it would only take twenty minutes to walk around it, Kaera explained. However, there was never a need to expand further than what they have, even as new generations were born and grew up there.

"There are…children here?" Fay asked, surprised. "They grow up here?"

Most of them, yes. The families do have the option of moving to their world of origin, where their offspring would benefit from education and citizenship there. However, many have chosen not to, and as their numbers on the island grew, they had instituted their own educational system. When individuals come of age, they may choose to remain on the island or reach the Council to express their desire to leave.

Children born and bred on the island do not belong to any territory in Fay's homeworld, so they may be recruited by the Council. However, to even be considered for such a role, they must prepare thoroughly, and even if they are considered, they will still face years of education after from the Council itself.

That is not the only option available to them, of course, but they'd still be subject to many checks to ensure the island is not compromised.

"What about…out there?" Fay asked. "Doesn't anyone want to know the other world as well?"

Kaera shrugged. They could become guardians if they wish to be sent on missions past the barrier. One of Kaera's apprentices, Sanna, is, in fact, a guardian-in-training. In recent decades, there has not been a great need for them to leave the island and travel past the barrier, truth to be told. Many of the missions had turned out to be false alarms. Bernard was the first considerable threat they had had to deal with in years.

"But…if someone was curious." Surely there'd be those who wished to explore what laid beyond the barrier? "What happens then?"

Kaera's expression told Fay that the answer was not very simple. "It will be considered." The woman said cryptically. "No one is a prisoner of this island. However, they may have to enter an arrangement just like you have. Except…. stricter, let's put it that way."

"Alright," Fay said, although she had more questions about that. Maybe later.

The day ended up with Fay being taken to the center of the village, where a hall had been built to accommodate large meetings or festive events. Len was there, talking to a man and woman that appeared to be in their eighties. When he saw them arrive, he immediately took charge of the introductions.

According to Len, the two individuals formed an informal council for the island, and they are amongst the handful of people that have direct contact with the Council.

Fay recognized them to a degree or another. They looked mildly amused when she gaped at them for several seconds before finally regaining her composure and bowing to them several times, switching immediately to being overly polite.

The man was named Faron. A former Resistance second-in-command for a faction that operated primarily north of Aeryg, in the colder territories. Fay recalls being taught that he had played a vital role in the early operational days of the rebels by gathering supporters and convincing several tribes to join the cause. Most Resistance members had to fight in one way or another, and by default, most were seen as warriors, but Faron was first and foremost a diplomat. He had not operated within the same generation as her parents, understandably, but Fay wondered if he knew of Daphne. She made a note to ask Daphne about it, rather than Faron as no one else there knew of her.

The woman was named Olena. She was a former paladin trainer as well as a weapons expert. Fay wasn't as familiar with her, not by her birth name. But when Len started telling her that Olena used to be part of the Caldora cabal, Fay figured out her expertise immediately. The Caldora cabal had been a prominent guild that grew from a small but proficient clan of paladin breeders to a large guild that had headquarters across different parts of the Maysoon and Atlabas territories. Throughout history, allegiances of the cabal changed, as did their numbers, but it was generally agreed by most regions that the Caldoras were among the best specialists in training and breeding paladins.

There weren't many left. Fay knew that a dozen or, so descendants of the cabal were based in Maysoon, albeit under a different name and they still actively accepted new members, even if they were quite selective. They were still called upon for their advice by other royal clans, as well.

"It's quite alright, Fay," Len chuckled. "We actually don't do that much here. Everyone knows who they are, but seeing as most islanders are from newer generations, there’s not as much…fuss."

“I like it when people fuss over me though,” Faron mumbled petulantly, making Fay’s lips twitch. There was something very playful about the man despite his age and presumably many hardships.

Fay straightened and looked at them. "I—uh, alright." Then she looked at the elderly couple again. "It is an honor to meet you.'

Faron smiled. "Aye, there's no need for all that," He reached to scratch his chin, where his long greying goatee was. Evara's daughter, hm? Adorable," His eyes were of a startling pale blue shade, which stood out against his tanned skin.

Olena, tall and statuesque with silvery hair pinned up, nudged him with her elbow. "Don't embarrass the girl, fool," She threw him a dirty look before it melted away into a smile as she brought her dark eyes back on Fay. "It is a pleasure to meet you as well. We did know your parents, if not as personally as Len here, then as fellow rebels. I met your mother several times when my guild used to supply the rebels with weapons."

The woman's eyes fell on Bagheera, who, until then, had quietly stayed by Fay's side, watching.

"My, look at you," Olena admired, approaching the paladin, and scrutinizing him. "You are quite the specimen. Not a purebred, I see."

Bagheera didn't like being surveyed in that manner, so he made his displeasure evident, freely projecting his emotions. The woman blinked twice, eyes growing wider, the only sign that she was surprised, which made Fay wonder just how many types of paladins she had seen in her long life to not be more shocked with Bagheera's ability. On the other hand, Faron looked visibly surprised, whereas Len smiled, already acquainted with Bagheera's strong personality.

"Gorgeous," The woman remarked. Despite her age, she moved gracefully with a fluidity Fay wasn't even sure she had even at her young age. Olena bent at the waist, bringing her face close to the paladin who stared back at her challengingly. "Quite cheeky, are we?" She said playfully.

Bagheera huffed in her face. Fay sighed.

The woman took no offense, simply chuckled. "He is lovely. I would love to hear more about him when you have settled in Lafayette." Then she winked at the paladin. "If he, of course, agrees to that."

"Fay—Fay is fine," Fay smiled shyly. She glanced at her paladin, who met her gaze. "He'll think about it. Thank you."

Olena smiled.

Well, the first day had gone relatively well. Then she and her paladin were once again alone in her chambers.

The island was beautiful. She was enthusiastic about exploring it, about learning from Kaera and Len and Faron and Olena. Unlike before, she no longer felt she would be tethering on the edge of a panic attack whenever her parents were mentioned. Perhaps she is strong enough to hear more about their past adventures from Len and his peers without feeling as if the grief will crush her.

She cannot wait to visit the library and something Kaera called the 'hall of remembrance'.

So far, no one has looked down at her with those expressions she used to see in Maysoon; no one has asked her questions she struggled to answer. If she did receive curious looks, it was more that she was an outsider rather than because of who her parents were or her clan. How ironic.

And refreshing.

Fay was relieved all the same when she finally saw Damian's hologram. She exhaled, the tightness in her chest loosening.

It would have been all so much better if he had been there with her.

.

Her uncle was serious about wanting her to resume her studies. Fay found a whole curriculum waiting for her, and one of the island's educators, Lima, has been tasked with providing her with the material and the assignments. Her grandfather had been an educator in Atlabas, first under the strict regimes there before later helping the rebels. He came to the island after his partner passed away, giving birth to Lima's mother, having been declared a traitor which forced him to leave his homeland.

"He is no longer with us," Lima explained. "But he has passed down his knowledge to my mother, and she passed it to me, so here I am," She smiled. She has two young children.

Lima immediately put Fay at ease when she highlighted that the curriculum doesn't have to be followed to the letter if Fay doesn't want to. There will be reading assignments, and there will be tests to check the information she's retained and perhaps some written assignments.

She also enthusiastically offered Fay to join her classes with the other students on the island. There are at least a dozen who are around her age.

Fay refused politely, not feeling ready to be back in such a shared environment.

.

Fay is welcomed into the community almost immediately as if she were just another inhabitant. In the beginning, no one asks questions. They don't care she's an Estaris, or perhaps they don't know because she's never introduced as one. She is just Fay, and sometimes Fay of Maysoon, sometimes Fay, daughter of a rebel.

Fay learns that because the islanders have been so removed from the other world's affairs, they only have an abstract idea of what is happening on the other side of the Veil, so by default, they don't have as much interest. The younger generations, those who were born and bred there, are curious and they do see Fay and her family members as special guests, but they did not pry too much.

The former Resistance leaders and some elders did ask her about what life is like in Maysoon. If the values they fought so hard for are still being upheld. Fay doesn't talk about the attack in Maysoon, and no one brings it up, but she is confident they all know about it because she can see how they sometimes look at her. Knowingly. Instead, she just nods and smiles and says that yes, the world has changed significantly from their younger days, and in a positive way.

Aside from Faron and Olena, only a handful of those actively participated in rebel operations, and we're alive to talk about. Many have passed away throughout the years or chose to return and work on behalf of the Council.

Baije's name is brought up. He is not the only one whose whereabouts are a mystery.  

Len and Kaera simply shrug their shoulders and point out that they are likely keeping a low profile or helping the Council discreetly. Fay can tell they know something she doesn't, and Bagheera agrees, but she doesn't dare to question them.

Lira is more direct about it. Some of them are missing, she puts it bluntly, and it’s unclear whether it’s because they’re in danger. As in, no one has had contact with them since that night.

"Is there something you're not telling me, Aunt Lira?"

The woman stares at her at length. "Nothing that you need to worry about. Just…politics."

Fay frowns at that, but she doesn't comment. Damian was right. There are many loose strings, and her uncle's decision to let her travel freely was not just because he was generous or because Lira made a compelling argument. Something is going on, and it has to do with what happened that night, but no one wants to tell her.

However, they all seem to be truthful when they say they don't know who perpetrated the attack.

Fay wonders what it would have been like if she'd been sent to that island from the beginning. She wouldn't have felt the same pressure she did in Maysoon, that was for sure. She would have probably gotten better there, too. But she would have been curious about the world beyond the barrier. Would have tried to run there still? Maybe. Maybe not.

Would have she met Damian? Unlikely.

As many scars she carries now, both physical and emotional, she finds herself thinking that perhaps it is a blessing she hasn't been sent there in the first place. How would have she acknowledged her anger in such a peaceful setting? How would she have discovered the desire to stand up for herself and fight for others in a place where fighting is unnecessary?

She'll take the painful memories and the scars if that's the price she pays for having met everyone in Gotham.

.

Kaera warns her that she will be pushed to her limits, in a way the tutors in Maysoon had never done. The training that awaits her relies on exercises Fay may be familiar with, including non-conventional approaches. Traditional ones. She doesn't go into detail about what it is that makes them unique, but Kaera is straightforward about the pain that'll await Fay. Both her physical and mental limits will be tested thoroughly.

Fay doesn't bother trying to lie to herself that she's frightened. Bagheera is mortified by the woman's words, his concern almost palpable.

"We don't have to do it this way," Kaera says. Fay can choose the easy way. There's no rush. There's no pressure to prove herself to anyone there.

Except to herself.

"No," Fay says shakily. "I want you to train me as my mother would have."

"Very well."

Fay asks who it was that trained her mother. Kaera looks like she is struggling to answer that one.

"Other masters, of course."

Come to think of her, Evara never gave her a specific answer either.

Suddenly, her mother's past feels somewhat clouded.

.

There are several components to the training, and they are all rooted in the philosophy that to master the flux, one must achieve a balance between the body, mind, and soul. For the body, the training will aim to increase her stamina and overall physical fitness and target her ability to heal. Fay has not inherited her father's genes regarding Dragonborn rapid healing and the inhuman senses, but her body is programmed to heal itself, either way. Faster than regular humans, still, because of the flux. A robust and healthy body will have a rapid response to any injuries, but a body in which the flux is balanced well will heal even faster. With years of training, she may be able to redirect her flux so that healing is promoted in areas she needs to prioritize.

Titoh's flux is of a healing nature, but he may use it for self-defense in time, albeit not at the same level as Fay. Likewise, Fay may learn basic healing techniques, but that will not come naturally or easily.

She is already in good physical fitness, Kaera says, "But endurance is a continuous work in progress. When you use your flux, even if you remain stationary in a battle, your body will still be engaged. You may chalk your exhaustion due to having used your energy reserves, but that is not entirely accurate. If there was no energy left in you, you would be dead. If you struggle to draw on natural energies, it is because that is as far as your body can go.”

"So, the more I train my body, the more I will be able to use the flux without getting tired?"

"Exactly. Your capacity for summoning the flux changes, as well. If you struggle to summon the energy or use it, it is because there's an imbalance. You could be exhausted or injured, or you are mentally distracted. Anxiety, for example, can be an inhibitor, as is fear."

Wonderful. Fay certainly checks the boxes on those two.

Ideally, training the flux in various environments and conditions should be achieved at a young age. That is why Fay's mother used to take her to the lagoon or allow her to roam the jungle where she could freely use the flux. A battle can bring countless variables from having to fight injured or in a state of fight-or-flight or in weather conditions that are not favorable.
 "Your strongest elements are air and water, so you rely on those. When it's raining, or you are in an environment where you can easily connect with water, you are advantaged. Even more so if it's not present in a static state because that saves you the effort and focus required to create movement."

Fay nodded along to that.

"But imagine you must fight out in the desert. Imagine you must focus on other things as well, like anticipating your opponent's move." When she fought Ranis' men, Kaera noticed that Fay had been singularly focused on him. She may have been able to hold her own against the warriors, but they were far more experienced. That would not have gone for long. What if there was another flux master added in the mix? What if they were using elements that Fay is struggling with?

Like when she fought Klaus, Fay thought.

Given all that, Kaera will flip the conditions in which Fay is training throughout her stay there. She needs to be pushed out of her comfort zone and forced to deal with multiple challenges.

.

On the first day of training, Fay is thrown at the bottom of a pool with weights tying her ankles together. The challenge is to undo the weights before she runs out of air.

Oh, the irony.

.

On the third day of training, Fay's hands are tied as well.

On the fourth day, Kaera uses her abilities to cause the pool to change shape constantly. It becomes something akin to a moving cage. One that also threatens to drown Fay.

On the sixth day, the water is freezing, and Kaera is attacking her constantly while underwater.

On the seventh day, Fay doesn't get out of bed. Her body aches, her throat burns, and she can't stop crying.

She's never going to make it.

.

I must make it, she thinks, as she stares at her friend's hologram. He is working on his laptop, so he doesn't see the way she stares at him with a mixture of reverence and guilt and perhaps just the tiniest bit of envy.

Damian is a fully human boy who has faced baptisms of fire his entire life. The Year of Blood has been far more complex than whatever Kaera has put her through, and he had been only nine. Fay doubts he even told her everything that transpired during that year but based on what she knew so far Fay had to wonder if he truly was human.

She would have never made it. Not even a day.

Yet there he was.

Damian has noticed she's fallen silent and glanced over his shoulder, from where he appeared to be sitting at his computer. "What are you gawking at like an idiot?"

I wish I had your determination, "N-nothing," she smiled.

"How is your training progressing?"

"It's hard," she admits because she knows she won't get away with lying to him. "But...I will get through it."

Three steps forward and step back is still one step ahead. She hasn’t drowned yet, so she’ll try to take that as a win.

Fay doesn't tell him she misses him. He knows how much she cares, and it hasn't been that long. He'll just think she's being sentimental.

She feels proud of having a friend like him.

She wants him to feel proud of having her as a friend, too.

She wants to feel proud of herself.

.

"Ready?"

"No," Fay shook her head, staring anxiously at the pool. "…but I don't want to give up."

Kaera smiles.

"Good girl,"

.

On the twelfth day and her one-hundred fifty-seventh try, Fay manages to break free from the chains and get herself out of the water before Kaera can land a hit on her. Being punched underwater hurts far more than she’d expected, that much she’s learned.

It is not a victory per se, as a real battle would require her to defeat her opponent too. She's only managed to survive and evade.

But it's a start.

.

Kaera is fast. Experienced. Agile.

Kaera has the precision of a surgeon when it comes to channeling her flux. Her control is so efficient that, by her own admission, she hardly breaks a sweat to achieve the damage she did in Gotham.

Kaera has no mercy. She does not wait for Fay to recover, get up, or think about which elements to use. She keeps coming, again and again, and Fay finds herself falling, repeatedly. Damian was relentless, too, during training. He never showed her any pity or exhibited lenience unless she tapped out, officially. She learned that although that is an option, it shouldn't be. So, she gets up, even if she knows just how terribly disadvantaged, she is.

It's the least she can do.

Corim mends her bones and repairs her muscle tears. Kaera causes the damage again in the next session.

Kaera must break her first before molding her.

Fay still cries.

Sometimes during training, other times when she's finally in her chambers, battered and barely able to breathe without feeling as if her body is about to fall apart. She chooses to take the herbal sleeping aid rather than contact Damian in that state, too ashamed to talk to him.

Damian wouldn’t cry.

Her parents wouldn’t either.

.

She starts finding her determination in other places, as well. When she looks at her paladin and sees how much he's been training with Olena. When she looks at Titoh and remembers, by default, the people that have hurt her. When she looks at Kaera and Len and imagines how many hardships they must have faced for children like her to afford to choose not to be a soldier. When Faron tells her stories of the many conflicts the northern tribes faced in unifying themselves against the old regimes. When she looks at the scars that they all bear.

She starts seeking out the fire that lies deep in her heart, even if it still scares her.

.

After several days of sparring – or better said, days of Kaera battering her every single time – Fay is forced to sit under the sun for hours. Kaera points out that if she's thirsty, she should use the water that's still present around her. In the air, as stifled as it may be, in the vegetation around her.

 As if it's that easy, Fay thinks sourly. Pain makes her sarcastic and bitter and quite petulant, too. Most of those thoughts stay in her head only.

Her skin is tight, and her marks ache. Her head feels like it's going to split open.

By the end of the day, she hasn't managed to extract a single drop of water. Corim and Moma end up having to wrap her up like she's a mummy in oils and herbs to soothe the sunburns.

.

Fay loses her temper by the third day of the new exercise. Perhaps it's the dehydration. Maybe it's the self-hatred and disappointment she feels.

Fay is not proud of how she behaves. It can only be defined as a tantrum. Of someone who has experienced a privileged life. A safe one.

Kaera remains unfazed and just tells her to stay where she is. If she leaves, there will be no more training. Take it or leave it.

Her mother would have been disappointed, most likely. Her father would have told her to own her poor behavior and carry on with the exercise.

They both would have.

That thought doesn't make her feel as determined as it should have.

.

On the fourth day, she stays in her room. It's a Bad Day. Or maybe she's just too tired, too burnt, too exhausted. She doesn't tell Damian, even if there's a part of her that wants to. She wants his subtle and sometimes underhanded way of comforting her; she wants to know that he doesn't see her as a failure as she does. More than anything, she wants her parents.

None of that is possible.

Bagheera stays by her side, watching. A silent comfort.

.

On the fifth day, Titoh comes to see her. He brings her a treat. Moma has sent him. Fay is neither mean nor polite with him, just indifferent. He's not on her list of people she wants around.

"It's a good thing he doesn't expect us back anytime soon," He tries again, after previous attempts at establishing a dialogue failed. Fay would have given him credit if she hadn't been in the mood she was. He is not sure what to say to make her feel better but he is trying.

 

"What do you mean?" Fay says, staring at the bowl of fruit he brought her. She doesn't have an appetite, even if it looks delicious.

Titoh shrugged. "Well, you know, don't have to worry about what the clan wants now that Vesa has been accepted as a contender."

He thinks that'll make her feel better.

It doesn't.

He realizes, with some horror, that she didn't know any of that when he sees the way she stares at him, unblinkingly and shoulders tensing visibly.

"Oh—you didn't ---I am sorry," he rushes. "I---I thought you knew." Why does he always make things worse?

"What—what do you mean Vesa is a contender?" Fay asks, brain still buffering. "And---why wouldn't I worry?"

The color drains from his face, and he's almost as white as his hair. "I, um, ma—maybe you should ask Moma instead?"

Moma knows. If Moma knows, then it means so does Lira. And if they know, then so does her uncle and the rest of the clan.

Yet Fay doesn't. No one has bothered to tell her anything.

.

It is an old tradition and a somewhat outdated concept that the firstborn of the clan leader will inherit the title, one that the Estaris has abided by for centuries. Despite the many internal clan changes that have taken place, many Estaris have automatically considered Fay a strong contender for the title of the clan leader. She was, after all, not just the firstborn of Damar Estaris but also the child of a prominent hero of the people.

In addition to being expected to inherit the best of both of her parents, she would have been a symbol of change. It wasn't set in stone that she should take over when she was deemed ready to do so, though. Other clan members were allowed to contend for the role if they proved themselves capable warriors and were voted in by the clan council. Titoh himself could, in theory, lay claim but no man or woman who did not prove themselves capable of protecting the clan would ever be accepted. Additionally, if two or more potential individuals were interested in the title, they would have to participate in a series of tribulations meant to establish who was most suitable. In the past, that would have included a fight to the death.

Many have perceived Fay as being the most appropriate contender. When she was little, she'd seen it more of an 'I will do the same job as my father' and by default felt honored. Then her parents explained what that entailed, and she was no longer so enthusiastic, more in favor of having the freedom to choose who she wanted to be. Her father had never once pressured her into it, even if there have been many who often talked to her as if it was a decided matter, if only because it fits their ideals.

Of course, she'll be a great leader. Of course, she'll be an incredible warrior. What else will she be considering who her parents were?

Anything but that, it seems. She is the heir that made a fool of herself at the Trials in front of the rulers of the twelve regions and her own clan. The heir has officially been sent away from Maysoon for two years but lives a new life in another world. She had been set up for success – the bloodline, the resources, the tutors – and yet she still didn't achieve it.

Now, the potential is seen as belonging to someone else. The expectations are on the shoulders of Vesa Estaris.

In a daze, Fay had rushed to find Moma or Lira. She found both on the patio. Titoh followed behind, unsuccessfully begging her to calm down. Bagheera kept up with her, but he knew that she would not be consoled unless she had answered, so he didn't try to stop her.

"Why has no one told me?" She asked without preamble. She didn't need to clarify what she was talking about. It didn't take long for the two women to figure it out.

Lira grimaced immediately, whereas Moma sighed.

"Tell me!"

It's true, Moma said finally. Following the Trials, the clan council has expressed concerns about Fay's mental state and that her flux is not presenting as expected. A diplomatic way of saying that her mastery of the flux is not at the level they wanted it to be. Not all clans are equally supportive of the Estaris. Some are bound to try to use what happened at Trials to undermine the clan. The clans may all work together under the laws of Council and for Maysoon's sake, but that does not mean all twelve rulers have the same agenda. Some have no qualms to use Fay's struggles to their advantage.

Moma didn't say it out loud, but Fay could hear the words that must have been passed amongst the clan advisers.  Because Fay failed, because Fay embarrassed herself, she tainted the clan's image. She exposed the clan to ridicule, which means there may be people questioning their ability to rule the capital, a much-coveted territory they've stayed in the power of. The reality was that the world can be a ruthless place, even if a failure does not define an individual in the long term. The cold truth was that there will always be power games where there's the power to be had.

The clan must be so relieved that she is gone, she thinks, bile rising at the back of her throat. Out of sight, out of mind. All those hours she's spent thinking those dark thoughts, she had been right.

"Fay," Lira started. She could almost see the moment that Fay realized just how ruthless her world can be, still. Even with everything she's already experienced. "It doesn't matter." It doesn't. Who cares what the Estaris want? It's an old, cursed bloodline that Fay and Titoh are better off without. It's a blessing, not a punishment, she tries to explain. They don't need any of that, Lira thinks, but she finds it hard to put it in words.

Fay blinks. Once, twice, three times.

"What am I…to the clan?" she asks, "If I ever go back, I mean."

"You would have the same privileges as before. You are still a member of the main branch of the family," Moma explained, leaning on her cane. "As is Titoh, for that matter. Like any other member of the clan, you also have the right to lay claim to the head title. That remains unchanged." But it does. Fay is not that naïve to think there's no difference. Clearly, the clan cared enough about their image that they'd rather have a contender even younger than Fay than---than what? Be on her side? Defend her?

Her stomach churned. "People—people have always been allowed to challenge uncle Aryg to the title if they wanted to. No one ever did, but they could have…challenged me as well." For damage control, the clan would have had to prove they didn't need her. She had always been a future consideration because Aryg had years ahead of being able to rule successfully. Unless he stepped down willingly or due to extenuating factors, there was no need for her to step forward. So having Vesa be announced officially as a contender wasn't due to the necessity of preparing an heir so early on.

It was because they would prefer people to know it was Vesa than Fay. Someone better.

"That's why they chose her," Fay said.

Because Vesa Estaris is everything she's not, and she'll be the one to distract people from Fay.

"It's just shitty politics---" Lira starts.

"How long?" Fay interrupts her. "How long has this been happening?"

Moma looks down, as does Titoh, for that matter.

Lira doesn't. She stares Fay in the eye with a worried expression. "For...some time."

“How long, aunt Lira?’’

The woman sighed.

"Shortly after you've left." She says grimly. "You were going to be told, but…."

They could have still told her. When she sat in that room with her uncle, trying to convince him she's gotten better. He accused her of acting out when he made it sound as if her choice to stay in Gotham was so troublesome.

"I am sorry, flea---"

"I wish you hadn't found me," Fay said quietly, voice shaking with fury. Even though she's emotional and angry, she does mean those words. "I was so much better without any of you. Why do you even care what I do?" Her head hurt. "You all just agree with it all, don't you?"

Titoh, she realizes later, only spoke next because he genuinely did not wish to see her upset. He chose the wrong moment to speak, and he was the wrong person to attempt to comfort her, but his intention was not malicious. Later, she'll acknowledge that.

Not at that moment, though.

"Fay, that's not true." He completely missed Lira's warning look as he turned towards her and stepped closer. "Isn't this for the best? You can be both here and back—back out there. You never cared about this stuff anyway, right?"

It was a harmless statement, objectively speaking. A truthful one as well. Fay had never cared about politics or titles. But that wasn't the point.

It is everything else. That her uncle had seemed to go along with a narrative that says yes, Fay must be replaced because no faith can be placed in her anymore. That he had arrogantly and uncaringly assumed she had run away out of a childish sense of adventure, that she'd been rebelling. He said he has never considered her broken but has he ever treated her as anything else in Maysoon? No. Which meant that hadn't changed after she left, either. It is the fact that Fay had been doing so well before Kaera showed up in her life and before she was brought there. It is the fact that they all hid the information from her, once again emphasizing just how fragile they must perceive her as.

It is the fact that Titoh, the brother-not-brother who had caused her pain, either directly or indirectly, is there trying to comfort her as if he has any right to do that as if he is allowed to pretend, he knows what she wants, or she doesn't.

She's forgiven him. She hasn't forgotten the pain, but virtue dictates she should walk away. Titoh no longer knows her, so he doesn't realize the impact of his words. He means well, but he does not see her. He doesn't understand her emotions like Bagheera or her motivations like Damian.

That day ended with Titoh being rushed to the healer's hut with a broken nose, fractured archway, and a swollen eye.

She is not that virtuous, after all.

.

"Go ahead,"

Fay tiredly stares at Kaera, an hour later after Lira had to pry her off Titoh. She doesn't want to be there. On the training field, on the island, around her family. She can't even hide in her chambers because Kaera dragged her there.

Fay can feel the guilt starting to settle in for reacting the way she did, but it’s still not as loud as the anger singing in her veins.

"Go ahead with what?" Her voice is sharper than usual, tone impatient.

"Attack me,"

"Why?" Fay says, half-resigned half-irritated. "I will just lose. I can't even get close to you."

"You weren't angry before," Kaera says. "So, go ahead. Attack me. Pretend I am Titoh or Aryg if it makes you feel better."

Fay opens her mouth to protest.

Then she remembers that she's always felt better whenever she didn't hide her anger with Damian.

.

That day ends with Fay finally landing a blow on her mentor, her flux-infused fist going through the wall made of earth meant to shield Kaera and connect with her stomach.

She breaks two ribs.

The day ends. The training doesn't because Fay stays up until late, practicing extracting water from the vegetation and air. The next day, she spends hours in the sun again. There are precisely twelve drops of water floating before her eyes by midday. Whenever she feels like she'll lose control of the water, she thinks about the Estaris and their politics and everything else that makes her angry.

Twelve drops turn into twenty, and twenty turns into a liter.

She'll move forward, if even out of spite.

.

Fay misses Damian. She misses talking to him and being close to him because his presence always makes her safe, even when he aggravates her. She misses arguing with him because she likes how comfortable she feels doing that, even if he often ends up having the last word or is better at coming up with snarky replies.

She wants to tell him about how she feels but always loses her courage. Instead, she focuses on anything but that. They have been talking so rarely that she does not wish to waste that time using him as her emotional crutch. She feels ashamed to tell him about the panic attacks she's been having and how she still ends up crying after almost every training session.

She sees his projection and something inside of her twists. She wants to ask him, how do you feel, knowing he's lost his place in the League. How did you feel when your clone – a twisted version of you – had killed you? Do you ever wonder what it would have been like to stay with the League instead? She doesn't voice any of that.

Fay doesn't feel she has any right to pry. She’d be doing it for selfish reasons at that moment. She does want to know everything about him, but not then and there.

One time, she almost blurts that you would probably like Vesa better, too, so she ends up telling him she's fatigued and cuts her conversation short. Then she cries because she feels like a horrible person.

The next day she walks to the training field three hours before Kaera expects her to.

She also visits Titoh who to his credit just smiles sheepishly and points out he knew he had it coming.

“I am angry,” Fay admits. “I have been…for a long time.”

“Yeah,” He nodded sagely, no judgment or surprise in his eyes. He seemed so much more mature than the image Fay had of him in the last years. “I think…I was too. I still am.”

They reach a wordless understanding. Two years too late, but perhaps that’s how it was meant to be.

.

"Your Majesty,"

Fay bowed her head, her cheeks tingling as blood rushed into them. "There is no…need to be formal, Thelion."

He smiled. Oh, so his smile was as charming as she remembered it. Thelion was two years older than her and one of the clan heirs she's known well since she was young. Her father had always been on good terms with her, as Thelion's clan, the Orivel, remained to that day a close ally and supporter of the Estaris.

He was also as handsome as she'd remembered. Good to know some things don't change. Not that she expected him to become uglier as the years passed, that was impossible with his long blond locks, fair skin, and pale blue eyes.

Kaera stepped closer to them. "Thelion will be training you in close combat for the rest of the week. I will be monitoring."

Oh.

Thelion smiled. He really was good-looking yet…Fay couldn't place her finger on it. She no longer felt the butterflies in her stomach. Maybe she just outgrew her crush, which was good. She did not want him to think she was still a silly little infatuated girl.

Throughout the training, when he does come close to her and she ends up looking into his eyes, Fay inexplicably finds herself disappointed.

His eyes are cerulean. A beautiful shade to match a very aesthetically pleasing face.

Fay used to think his eyes remind her of the sky.

She prefers it when she’s reminded of the jungle now.

.

.

.

Four more weeks. Ideally, it should be months, Kaera tells her. Fay wonders how much better she would get if she did stay months.

But no. She could never stay that long. Not unless Damian was there as well.

Part of the reason she is tempted by the additional month is to prove to herself that she's not so needy that she can't stay a bit longer away from her friend. Another reason is that she is very close to overcoming some of Kaera's challenges and wants to walk away knowing she's a step -or even just half of that - closer to understanding the flux better. She wants to show Damian how much more capable she can be. She'd like for him to feel impressed, even, although that's a tall order. Is that boy ever impressed with anyone?

She knows he won't be happy about the news. When she does hear the iciness in his voice, however, her heart aches all over again.

Finally, she tells him how much she misses him, but she can't bring herself to tell him everything else. Then she would also have to admit how much she's struggled and why. How spoiled she’s behaved, how many times she’s failed and how much she’s wallowed in self-pity. He would have never done any of that.

She just wants to go back home first.

.

.

.

"Master Kaera?"

"Yes?"

"Did my mother ever…. struggle?" Like I do.

Her new mentor smiles. "Of course, she did." She knows she's not referring just to the struggle of mastering the flux.

Fay hummed at that.

"How do I stop my flux from being out of control?"

Kaera scoffed. "Your flux is not out of control. Who told you such crap?"

Fay looks at her bewildered. "What." Everyone did---no, wait. Her mother never has. She's never actually told Fay such a thing. Volatile, perhaps, but never conveyed in a way that implied it was a negative thing. But everyone else did, including other masters of flux at the court.

"Wait. Let me ask you this—" Kaera says. "—when you mean to lose control, you mean accidentally summoning your flux and using it without thinking?"

Fay nodded.

"Give me an example."

Fay told her about the incidents. The woman guffawed, making Fay stare at her with eyebrows raised so high they nearly touched her hairline.

"Do you have any idea how many times I destroyed our family home when I was young? My flux presented early, so whenever I threw a tantrum, well…so did everything around me."

But. But. The incidents. The Trials. The people she's accidentally hurt. The shaming. The disappointment.

Was it all for nothing?

Maybe. Maybe not. Her flux is particularly attuned to her emotions, more so than on average, her mentor explains. So her flux may have reacted in accordance with the intensity of the emotions that she experiences. 

“But you also have to understand that the mastery of flux is not something was so widely talked about until several decades ago. Flux masters were few and between, those who did not pledge an alliance were persecuted. In a warrior culture that has valued control over emotions, over one’s own nature, it will not be easy to get people to be more open about a philosophy in which one openly accepts their own internal struggles and demons and works to balance them with their qualities.”

That made sense. Fay vaguely recalls her mother discussing something similar but it has never really clicked to her that a lack of knowledge of the mastery of the flux was a root cause for the criticism she faced.

"The scars on your back are because of the cause of one such…incident?" Kaera asked carefully.

"Um...I didn't lose control that day, actually." Fay said.

"But someone injured you." Those were not the type of scars that one gained by accident. Lira had told her Fay had been bullied, but Kaera didn't realize just how much until she saw those scars during training when the girl removed her outer top.

Fay scratched at her nose. "Yes."

"You were in pain. In danger. Yet you did not react?"

"I…. I was afraid."

"Yes," Kaera nodded. "That can be an inhibitor for anyone. But you were afraid in those other situations you talked to me about?"

When she fought the Angel, yes. When Titoh had been harassed that time, as well. "But---that was different."

"Why?"

"Because…. because I—I wanted to protect them."

Kaera smirked. "But you did not lose control when Bernard took you. Removing the seals off you have been traumatic for your body, but it was also the equivalent of removing a dam. Like with your bracelets."

Fay stared at her, confused.

"Our flux is a part of our being. It hinges on a balance between our mind, body, and soul. The flux is damaged when one is damaged. In your case, damaging your marks may affect your connection with the elements, and the flux may have to adjust to being used differently. If your mind is out of balance, then so will the flux."

"My mind was, um,"

"The health of your mind has been affected by what happened, yes. Stress. Anxiety. Fear. You were grieving. You were uncertain of the future. That is all normal considering what you've been through. I have experienced periods in my life in which I struggled to use the flux."

“You…did?” What about –“So did your, mother. However, if your flux ever reacted in a manner that you did not expect, it is only because you were acting on instinct."

"….oh. But…what if my instincts are wrong?" Fay asked contemplatively. "What if I shouldn't be acting on instinct first?"

"I think you may be giving less credit to how efficient your instincts can be than you should. Let’s talk about these incidents. What you felt prior to ‘losing control’.”

At the end of the day, Fay felt like she understood herself a little bit better.

One step forward.

.

.

.

She doesn't forget about his birthday. It is at the back of her mind for days, and she even thinks about what she could give him as a birthday gift. How could it rival what he gave her last year? Perhaps it shouldn't. It's not a competition.

But she wants to make him as happy as he made her. Or as close as possible to that.

It's not that she forgets about what that date means. Fay can barely remember to eat. At the end of the day she forces herself to remain awake enough to bathe and talk to Damian and even that she can't do on a regular basis

Training is excruciating but it is also keeping her mind distracted enough that the insidious thoughts don't invade her mind. It's days before she speaks more than a few words with Moma or Lira.

Ironically, she does speak to Titoh more often. He has changed. Gone back to his old self just like she has. Unlike her though, she realizes, he hasn't had as many people. The 'friend's' he had were left behind. He had to start anew on that island.

Fay wonders how lonely he must have felt in the past two years.

Kaera doesn't give her much time to rest. On Damian’s birthday, she oversleeps, and her mentor makes her run for miles through shallow waters on the beach, where shells and rocks cut through the skin of her feet mercilessly. If you want it to be easier, Kaera says, then focus on freezing the water. Or better yet, tame water to do what you want, including walking on it rather than through it.

Fay swears quite often that day.

Her feet are bleeding and her ankles are aching and she’s struggling to focus on her flux because she’s tired and hungry and uncomfortable. She's not allowed to fly. Or to have lunch until she's at least attempted successfully to do something other than run through water, looking like a newborn calf whilst doing so. 

That's when it hits her. What day is it? She completely lost track. She asks Kaera to give her a break – it's an emergency – and she contacts Damian immediately after (she always has the cube near her, just in case).

He is as impassive about it as last time. She wants to tell him something beyond the happy birthday wish, but she struggles to put it in words. Kaera is also watching.

Damian cuts off the comms, looking impatient.

That night Fay doesn’t go to sleep because she is in search of the perfect gift. Or at least she tries. Moma finds her asleep on the floor in the library. The next day she slaps Fay over the head, tells her it's okay if she's upset, but no reason why she can't ask for help.

Lira helps her later, if only because she feels guilty. Fay shamelessly takes advantage of it.

Nobody can say she can't be cunning.

.

Awkward silence settles between them. Titoh's face looks healed, save for the dark skin underneath his eye and that he still finds it hard to chew large bites. Fay stares at the ground. She feels guilty about hurting him now, but she also doesn't. That's the difference between Fay of the past and the Fay of the present. She no longer shoulders the blame for the hurt she's felt.

"I am sorry," and she flinches because it doesn't sound as genuine as it should have.

"You shouldn't," he says lightly, and she looks up at him in surprise. He shrugs. "I deserved that. And worse, really. I kind of---had it coming, huh?"

Damian wouldn't have cared about his self-deprecation.

Fay does, if only slightly.

"Um, I am sorry about…the heir stuff. Even if you didn't care about all that stuff…. someone should have told you. I should have, earlier."

Fay nods.

Some of the tension clears between them.

Titoh is no longer bitter, and Fay is no longer swallowing her anger for anyone's benefit.

They both wordlessly agree they’re better people when they’re just Fay and Titoh.

Another quiet understanding is met.

.

"I am sorry, Thelion." She bows her head slightly. "That you must be here, training me. You---you must have better things to do."

Thelion smiles at her, politely but his eyes are warm.

"I am here because I have chosen to be, your Majesty."

Fay's cheeks feel hot, but she sighs. "I…you can call me Fay. It's not like…I am an Estaris here." She smiles ruefully. "Or was that much of one, to begin with."

"I will call you Fay if that's what you wish," He says calmly. "But the respect you have from me remains unchanged."

She stares at him inquisitively. Tries not to gawk.

"Why? I haven't done anything to earn it."

"If you insist," He does not elaborate. "Let's call it a show of fate, then."

She's not sure what to make of that.

.

For one week, Fay is placed on one of the smaller islands and told she must survive. Seems like an easy task. Until it isn't.

Because there are more than just wild beasts and booby traps awaiting her. Kaera did warn her that she'd test Fay beyond her physical ability.

All in all, Fay thinks that almost drowning is better than being buried alive in the tight space of a cave. She wouldn't have because Kaera wouldn't have allowed her to die even if an enemy would have, but Fay allowed panic to eat away at her logic either way.

She didn't pass all the challenges that week.

However, Kaera tells her that the week is not a failure, and she's satisfied with her progress.

.

Less than a week until she returns to Gotham.

Fay knows something is wrong when Damian doesn't answer her. One attempt. Two. Three. She waits two hours and tries again. Five hours, and nothing. A day passes, and the cube brings up nothing. Fay doesn’t leave her chambers.

Something is wrong.

Her suspicions are confirmed when the hologram that materializes is bigger than it should be, and she finds herself staring at Jason. He's wearing his suit and the red helmet.

"What happened? Is Damian okay? Did someone attack---" She starts off, agitatedly, jumping from her seat.

"Calm down, Tinkerbell." He says, raising a placating manner.

Damian has been injured. He'll survive and make a full recovery, but he's developed a fever.

Fay doesn't sleep that night, too busy packing. She will return to Gotham sooner, even if Damian will make a full recovery.

Regardless of how many steps backward she's made, repeatedly even, she's also gone further than she thought she would.

Next time, there'll be more baptisms of fire.

And she just might go through those as well.

 

Notes:

Few highlights.

I am currently quite ahead in the story, in terms of chapters being written already. There'll be some parts that may feel they are glowing slower but I promise there's a reason for that. I think that often in fictional works, friendships between male/female are depicted as being inevitably destined to become romantic. I really really hate that. Not the part where friendships become something more, but how there's a constant expectation that all of them have to end up like that.
As a result, I do not want to write Fay and Damian as falling in love with each other because they're friends. Or just because they're friends. I want it to make it natural, whilst also exploring their character development and the underlying plot of 'what happened the night of the attack in Maysoon'

Another highlight I'd like to make is that very few characters in my story will be depicted as entirely evil or entirely good. I like multifaceted characters. But I assure you there'll be plenty more characters that you will either love and/or despise :)

That being said, there are two things I can reveal to you without spoiling the plot too much:

The bad news is that romance is not going to be kicked off very soon. The good news is that there's plenty of fluff coming up ahead, as well as scenes where the boundary between friendship/something more is explored. Lots of silly rationalizations, denials, epiphanies, and boundaries are being crossed towards non-platonic. I think you'll like them.

Even better news: I have the idea in place when significant development will take place between the two and I am currently writing it. I really think it will make the wait worthwhile (Maybe a Christmas gift from me to you?) ;)

I will try to be posting more often by the end of the year, but if that's not possible, I will keep to a regular Sunday update.

Chapter 56: On endearment and men made of shadows

Notes:

Today, I will be posting two chapters. So folks, watch out for chapter 57 as well as that's coming up shortly :) I will try to post multiple chapters per week as I have a vision of where I'd like to get the story to by the end of this year.

More details at the end.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“And as you lean into

Light, be gentle with the word ‘darkness.’

For more than it merely means wrong or bad,

it is also the color of a full, starless night sky,

and actual bodies of human beings

who have been overlooked too many times.”

—Morgan Harper Nichols

.

.

.

 

Fay jerked when Damian’s hand dropped from her neck towards her back, unwittingly brushing against the still-healing injury on her right shoulder. A small, pained moan left her mouth, as a stabbing pain traveled down her spine, which in return, made the rest of her body remember it was very bruised still. She had been so caught up in her excitement that she’d forgotten how sore she was.

Damian immediately removed his arm.

Fay inhaled sharply and pulled away from him, settling back on her knees on the edge of the bed. Her whole body suddenly ached, with sharp pains punctuating the places she knew had been affected most during the heavy sparring matches in her last week on the island. Her left wrist, her ribs, the right calf.

“You said the healers took care of your injuries,’’ Damian says, and it comes out accusing because when she shifted, he caught a glimpse of the bruised flesh underneath the collar of the hoodie. Before he could stop himself, he reached towards the zipper to pull it down.

“Don’t--’’ Fay frowned, with a mixture of horror and embarrassment, but she was far too sore to even react properly to him unzipping her hoodie and pulling down her shoulders. She was wearing a tank top underneath, so she wasn’t worried about being indecent, but she hadn’t wanted him to see the state she’s in. She sighed when she saw his brows furrow and his jaw clench, as his green eyes quickly flitted over the exposed parts of her body with the scrutiny of a machine.

“Damian---” Lifting up in a sitting position, he turned her around, guiding her by the hoodie rather than touching her. “Will you stop---”

“You told me you were being healed accordingly,” He remarked icily, cutting her off.

There were bruises everywhere, some so dark that her marks were difficult to make out. On the back of her left shoulder, he spotted a square patch of gaze stained with blood, and he could see the outline of more bandages around her torso. He didn't need to see her legs to tell they were just as bruised. She turned around, looking sheepish. Damian spotted splotches of violet all over her neck, down to her collarbones. Her hands looked like a bare-knuckle boxer’s, skin grazed away leaving her knuckles raw and some fingers still swollen. There’s tape around some of them. Subungual hematomas on at least four of her fingers.

Without thinking about the implications of it, he lifted slightly the back of her top. It was only an inch away, but he could see the shades of blue and purple already speaking of further bruises. Just how much more of it was? Was there anywhere at all that she had been spared from what was obviously a beating?

“Damian,’’ she slapped his hands, and straightened, turning around to face him. “Stop that. I--I am fine.’’

He glared at her. “Fine?’’ he sneered. That’s why she’s been covering herself whenever she talks to him.

Fay frowned at him. “They…didn’t beat me. I---lost during sparring.’’ She said, pulling the sweatshirt back up and zipping it up. “It’s not that different from---‘’

“Don’t,’’ he cut off. “Don’t you dare compare that—‘’ He pointed a finger towards her. “—to the training you have completed with me.’’ Even if she may have been bruised or had broken bones, Damian has never taken it that far. Fay healed faster than an average human and seeing as she’s left the island at least two days earlier than planned, that meant she had been in a worse state, to begin with.

Fay’s eyes narrowed slightly, and she angled herself back towards him. Although it didn’t register on his face, Damian was surprised to see that she looked annoyed.

“If it had been you in my place, would you have turned it down if it meant getting better?”

No. Never. The training he’s completed within the League has been just as brutal if not more so. But Fay was not an assassin. There was no agenda for world domination to push her to become the best she could be.

“It will heal,’’ Fay said. “It’s nothing compared to--‘’ She stopped abruptly, instantly looking away. “I am not saying I—I liked it, but…I understand why it was necessary. And it did help me.”

His teeth gnashed together. There was a part of him that agreed, if not applauded, that level of intensity in training. It is how he had been trained growing up, forced to be pushed constantly beyond his limits. You either break or you live to become stronger. But there was also a part of him that could not reconcile seeing her in that state.

Why did she choose that path? It couldn’t have been just because she wanted to become a better fighter.

“You have said nothing of this,’’ he said, finally. He couldn’t lie to her. Fay was not just asking to seek his opinion but to also gauge whether he thought she wasn’t capable of surviving such training. She clearly was, seeing as she was before.

That did not mean he would ever enjoy seeing her in that manner.

Fay’s annoyance filtered, and she looked shameful. “I…didn’t want you to worry.’’ She mumbled. “I…didn’t have an easy time. I am---I am not like you,’’ He blinked, in surprise. “Some of the challenges went really badly and they took me a really long time to complete successfully. I didn’t want you, um, to know until…until I had gotten better.’’

She was worried he’d be disappointed in her? Would he? No, no. A small part of him, maybe – that one that still wrestled with his old life – but it would have held no power over his perception of her.

How did Fay always look at him and find such a source of inspiration? How? Why?

Fay reached to scratch at her temple. She had hoped they wouldn’t have to have that talk until later. “…it felt unfair. Complaining to you,’’ she shrugged, then flinched. “That’s all.’’

Calling her an idiot felt redundant. Especially when said idiot looked exhausted. Really, she looked worse than him. When was the last time she slept?

“Do you require medical assistance?’’ He asked quietly, as he watched her pull up her hoodie and zip it back up, hiding away the bruises.

Fay shook her head. “I am just sore. My shoulder will heal quickly, it’s not that deep.’’ But it had been.

He reached towards her and tugged her forward, making her fall beside him as he leaned back to lie down. He still felt tired himself, and although he could have gone without not going to sleep, he could make an exception. Yet another one.

She stared at him unsure, lying on the side of her good shoulder, facing him.

“Something has happened with your family,’’ he deduced coolly. “Hasn’t it?”

She nodded. “I…will tell you later,’’ she promised quietly. “I just don’t want to think about it for a bit.’’ They both knew he will hold her to that.

Fay moved closer, to place her forehead against his collarbone and head under his chin. She inhaled. Her right carefully moved to sit across his chest. She wanted to tell him not to scare her like that again, not to get injured again, and make her experience three different panic attacks in one day. Then she realized that she couldn’t make him promise that. Not given his lifestyle. More reason why her battered body was worth it. Why she must keep pushing herself.

Damian shifted, his arm coming underneath her and around her shoulder. His fingers immediately locked onto her hair. He wanted to hear it. Why does she revere him so much? It was never just for the reasons he thought mattered most. Fay could be candid with her emotions, in ways he couldn’t most times. In ways, he used to abhor.

Fay yawned quietly, retracting her arm just to cover her mouth temporarily. She was a warm weight on him. It gave him the same sense of satisfaction a well-balanced blade did. It felt right.

“Damian?’’ She murmured. “You’re my family, right?”

He frowned. When she didn’t clarify, “What are you talking---‘’ Nothing. She had fallen asleep.

Damian pulled her closer.

Of course.

.

.

.

Fay smiled as she looked around the warehouse, mop in hand and a red bandana holding her hair back. Damian had already had the place professionally cleaned so there hadn’t been a need for her to do any cleaning, but she enjoyed it. She’d also brought non-perishables and many other items from the island that she wanted to find a place in her home away from home.

It has been three days since she’s returned. The first day, she had spent it at the Manor while Damian tested his newly healed leg. By evening, she ultimately returned to the warehouse with Bagheera and the other pets, where she’s done little besides reorganizing, reading, or sleeping. The bruises were halfway healed, but having trained so extensively with her flux, she was going to need at least two more weeks before she felt she was back in shape. Kaera told her that she’ll first have to feel worse before she feels better, and the effects of the training will become more obvious in the coming months. More energy, the easier flow of the flux, becoming more attuned to the elements which Fay had already noticed happening.

Damian had helped her transfer back, but she hasn’t seen him since then. No matter, they had plenty of time to catch up.

Fay was satisfied, however, that she’d managed to bring back all the luggage she had packed in a hurry. There was a duffel bag filled only with herbs, salves, and potions from Moma. Another with items that she either collected from the island or was gifted with by the islanders. The bulk of her luggage, however, consisted of books. Several were textbooks that she was meant to read and finish before her next visit. Fay decided that she was not going to abide by the weekly study schedule, feeling particularly defiant, and instead, she was going to accommodate her studying around her life there, not the other way around. Damian’s gift had been wrapped carefully and placed at the bottom of the pile of books.

“Hey, Oscar,’’ Fay cooed as she approached the elderly dog sleeping on his own personal bed by the fireplace on the ground floor. His tail started wagging, and his large head lifted off the floor, looking at her with an equally adoring expression. “Time for your shot,” She said, after petting him for a few minutes. She gently administered his shot, as she’d done many times before, albeit with far more confidence than the first few times.

The shot was for his arthritis, to dull the pain in his spine and hind legs. He was well on his way to turning thirteen years. He was well past the life expectancy of his breed, but other than his painful joints and partial deafness, Oscar was overall in good health. Fay knows she’ll be heartbroken when he dies, and even though Paw Planet was now a well-funded shelter that offered excellent conditions, she had wanted Oscar to spend his last years in a home. Perhaps not a traditional one, but he seemed happy. Docile, too. Pip sometimes annoyed him, with his youthful energy. “Good boy,’’ she gushed, kissing him on the head several times again. “You’re such a good boy,’’ She repeated. He licked her face in return, making her giggle.

Glancing across the room where Bagheera begrudgingly accepted the attention from the other pets.

Her watch buzzed, and a few seconds later, she heard the tell-tale sound of the alarm system. Still on the floor, massaging the dog’s ears, she watched the front door open and Damian step through a moment later. Fay smiled automatically.

“Did you give him his shot?’’ He asked, glancing at Oscar, who started tapping his tail even harder upon seeing the boy. Damian walked over and crouched in front of the dog, to pet his head.

Fay nodded. “He’s so gentle. He doesn’t panic at all,’’

“Hm.’’

She studied her friend quietly, even though she’s done that several times already. Damian had grown taller while she’s been away, and while he remained overall of a lean physique, he also seemed somewhat bigger. Shoulders just a bit broader, torso just a bit longer. When he had hugged her, his arms felt stronger too. It was all so normal, growing up, just as she was going through her own changes, but she still felt a silly sense of pride.

Maybe that’s why she couldn’t stop looking at him sometimes.

“You’re dressed nice,’’ She noted, eyeing his dark trousers and the dark green shirt tucked in them.

“I am always dressed well,’’

True.

“Hm, nicer than usual, then.’’ He looked handsome. Damian did have a flair for fashion, truth be told, and Fay hadn’t needed to understand the fashion standards of that world to realize that. Yet another thing he was good at, but he was dressed a tad more formal than usual which made her wonder if he had anything planned.

If he was there, his plan had to include her as well.

“Your standards are too low,’’ Damian retorted, although he smiled a little when Oscar leaned forward to sniff his face. Fay’s heart fluttered. She wished she could see him smile more often, and in that unguarded manner, not just an arrogant curl of his lips or a prideful grin.

Nada immediately walked over to him to ask for his attention by rubbing her head over his leg. The silence between them was rarely ever awkward but that day appeared to be the exception.

Rip the band-aid off, isn’t what Dana usually said?

“My family disowned me,’’ Well. That was one way of putting it. “Well, not entirely. I am no longer...recognized as an heir. Or...I am, just not in the way I was before.’’ Fay blinked as she realized that it was not, in fact, as hard as she thought it might be to mention. “Either way, the clan feels very embarrassed of me so they wouldn’t want to assume anyone they might be supportive in any manner of someone like...me.” The sarcasm filled her tone so viciously that it took both by surprise, but she also found herself not regretting it.

It came out rather easy too.

Damian looked up at her, eyes narrowing. Calculating. “Your status here is confidential. This is about the Trials, then.”

Fay found that she was building a darker sense of humor as each day passed because she suddenly felt somewhat amused.

“Yes, I embarrassed them too much.’’ Her breath hitched but she felt no tears forming in her eyes. She’s shed enough of those for days for different reasons. Shame. Anger. Spite.

“They are traditional, still, even if the Council encourages that clans no longer rely on the firstborn to take over the clan. They probably wouldn’t have…if it hadn’t been for my father. There’s a part of the clan that actually broke off because they did not want to follow him but---but the majority did,’’ she said, eyes on the grizzled hair of the dog next to her. “When I was born, most people assumed or—or wished that I would take over. I guess…’’ she said with a self-deprecating smile. “…they really counted on me being like my parents.’’

Damian watched her carefully. Gauging. “You said you were replaced.’’

Fay swallowed. “Yes.’’ She nodded, then shrugged. “She’s a better choice,’’ she admitted. “Vesa. She’s part of the branch family so I don’t know her very well. I think we’re only very distantly related.’’

Damian took that in quickly. “They’re using her.’’ He said, firmly. Not because he was trying to make her feel better. Not only. It was the truth, as well. “She is a tool for their politics.’’

Fay didn’t comment, but he could almost read her thoughts on her face. She’s everything I am not,

 “Fay.’’

The girl looked up at him. There was more anger than sadness in her eyes. Damian finally understood. Why she kept hiding, why she avoided him. She had been working through it alone because she wanted to prove something. To herself. To her family. To him. His respect heightened for her, at that moment. He would have preferred if she came to him, but he respected how she chose to process the news on her own, how she used that information to push herself further even if it hurt her.

Still. If she had come to him, he would have reminded her exactly that there was no loss in refusing to fit others’ agenda.

“I know,’’ she said.  “I know that she is not luckier. That she will probably have to deal with things…. I never wanted to and I am not good at it. I don’t---I don’t even care about it that much. I do envy her, in some ways,’’ she admitted because she could do that with him.

“But I don’t…know if I want to be in her place. I don’t know her well, so I don’t know if it’s the right choice.’’ She shrugged. “My father became a clan leader because there were still many things he wanted to fix from the inside. That’s what he used to say. Change the system from—from the inside. He has never said that would be my responsibility, he---he never pressured me into it.’’

“Do you want to go back? Prove yourself to your clan?’’ Say no.

Fay shook her head without hesitation. Something in his chest loosened.

“But…” Her jaw clenched. “I...I really want to---” Scream at them. Punch them. Show them that they have no right to put her down. That they should have tried harder because isn’t that what her parents fought for her? Wasn’t the world supposed to be better?

“You wanted revenge.”

Fay shook her head. “I just...I am just angry,” She said finally, frustrated. “Not just about the heir thing. There’s something else,” She said, face darkening. Anger sharpened her features. Made her look older. He found it oddly endearing. Fay was kind and selfless, but she was not an optimist. She no longer saw the world through the safety goggles she had as a child.

There was power in that anger. Strength. It was the type of anger he’d seen the first time she fought before him, the same type that saved her out of that lake. The kind that said that she will not be defeated, no matter how many times she’s broken or fails.

Fay told him about her discussion with Kaera on the loss of control over the flux.

“Not everyone accused me of being out of control. But--plenty did,” She said. “They made me feel like there was something wrong with me. And I... believed them. I think…” She looked mildly embarrassed. “Sometimes I think I would like to make them...regret it.”

So, there was a part of her that did feel vindictive. Unlike him, she had only just discovered that side of herself that explained the guilty expression.

“As you should,” He wasn’t his father. He couldn’t tell her that all those who judged her and abused her did not deserve to pay outside the justice system. He couldn’t tell her that he wouldn’t have felt the same way. If she asked him, he couldn’t even tell her that he wouldn’t be helping her. She won’t, but he would. He wanted her uncle, her clan, all those fools to see what they failed to before, and feel ashamed and bow their heads before her, not because she’s the heir but because she’s a better person than they’ll be.

But if she didn’t do that, that’d also be fine. He did not like sharing.

He did not want her to feel ashamed of it. “Come here,” He said, gesturing her over with two fingers stapled together. Fay did as she was asked, stopping until she was within in “They are not worth your time,” They don’t deserve you. “You have said it yourself. It is politics and years of tradition and attitudes that cannot be undone easily, if at all. Even with your parents and the Resistance’s achievements. They did raise you however to know that you do not have to conform yourself to other’s ideas so they must have anticipated these issues to an extent.” You’re better off. “You do not need them.” I see you.

Fay nodded, smiling slightly.

“I am not interested in going back and... getting revenge. I don’t want to cut off ties with my world but…’’ Oscar laid down with a sigh. “I know it’s silly,’’ Fay said, eyes darting to his face then back to her lap.

“But it’s really hard not to think about what everyone thinks of me now.’’ She tugged on her sleeves. “I don’t think I have…. the courage to go back, and that bothers me. It’s as if…I am proving them right. Even if people forget about the Trial, even if the Estaris have a new clan leader…. they will always compare me to my parents.’’

“Yes, they will.’’ Damian agreed, never one to sugar-coat his words. Fay felt like a coward for not wanting to return to a place where she would have to sacrifice her individuality. However, Damian understood there was more than that. There was a part of her that wanted to live up to her parent’s legacy, and that same part of her is hurt by the idea that she cannot fulfill other people’s expectations even if her parents would have accepted her the way she was.

Perhaps one day, she won’t.

(Perhaps one day, he won’t either)

“I would have understood.’’ He adds, eyes falling to her hands. To the new callouses on her fingers. To the damaged cuticles and the bruised knuckles and peeling palms. Proofs of her hard work.  

Fay sighed loudly. “I know.’’ She pulled herself closer until their knees were brushing against one another. “But it didn’t seem fair. I always depend on you and Bagheera to make me feel better. I---know that you always will be there for me. I…. I wasn’t doubting you,’’ she added quickly. “I didn’t want you to think I don’t want to be here.’’

 Her eyes fell on his lap where his hands were resting. She reached for them, cupping them in hers – his hands are bigger too? – and turning them around, so she could see all the small scars that littered his skin. Evidence of the hard work he’s put in. Evidence of his baptism of fires.  

She slowly brushed her thumb over some of the scars. Damian was not sure how to feel about the reverent expression on her face. It wasn’t always the first time she stared at him in that manner. Others in the past have looked upon him with admiration, but it had always been because it was expected or his lineage or his abilities. Fay looked at him. The person, beyond his capabilities and genius, even if she admired those traits as well.

“In the first week, I almost drowned. Kaera tied me up and threw me in a pool,’’ She said suddenly, with the same tone one talked about the weather. Damian frowned but didn’t interrupt her. She was finally opening about her time on the island.

 “She made it more difficult every two days, even if I was already struggling. It took me one hundred and fifty-seven tries, in twelve days to escape.’’ She said. “She said I did good, but…I only managed to escape, not fight back. I wanted to give up, after the first day. I did give up, several times in these two months.’’  

She kept her head bowed, gaze on his hands as she studied them. “Then I thought about what you would do. What would my parents do, as well?’’ She smiled slowly. “My parents are not here, so I don’t know whether they’d feel proud or not.’’ But he is. “I know you went hard on me, too. I know you could have gone even harder if you wanted to.’’ She nodded to herself.

“Kaera was the same. Except she is a master of the flux, so it was worse. And my mother trained her, and they…fought together. She knows the level I should be at.’’ Fay nodded to herself. “That’s why I didn’t choose another way. An easier way. Nothing worth having is easy to achieve, right? It wasn’t easy to come to this place, it wasn’t easy to…make friends,’’ she grinned. “It wasn’t easy to change.’’

Damian moved his hands, switching the scrutiny from his hands to hers. Her knuckles were still bruised, but her hands were overall healed. He inspected the new scars she obtained---there weren’t many, or large, but he detected them easily, knowing her so well.

Fay continued speaking, softly telling him about the challenges she faced. Kaera easily overpowered her when they sparred using their flux. Thelion made her fight blindfolded, which wasn’t really a fight given she ended up on the floor more than she did standing up. Damian would have probably agreed with his methods, given she had to navigate the jungle filled with booby traps while she couldn’t see anything and couldn’t rely on her paladin. Then, during the one-week challenge, Fay was alone on one of the neighboring islands. Surviving there wouldn’t have been a problem, per se, except Kaera had made it difficult. There were booby traps, and both her and Thelion had kept her on edge continuously by attacking her constantly. She had panic attacks because she ended up being reminded of that night, and the bullying incidents. They recreated the challenges she faced in the Trials by giving her a task to find three objects, whilst avoiding their pursuit and trying to survive.

“You said you’ve passed,’’ but she hadn’t looked happy or proud of it.

Fay’s smile faltered. “Kaera said I’ve done better than she expected. I don’t know if she was being generous and Thelion is too diplomatic,’’ She gripped his hands in an awkward but not uncomfortable handshake. “I was not able to get the last object. It was---um, it was in a cave.’’ She snorted lightly in dark amusement. “That’s ironic, I suppose. But…I got stuck. And I felt claustrophobic, and I had…a terrible panic attack, so I had to use the safe word.’’ She closed her eyes, shuddering at the memory.

“They couldn’t get to me. All I could think of was that I will be stuck there forever, alone. I felt…like that night. I was worried that if I use my flux, I will end up….’’ Crushing the walls around in on herself.

Fay looked up at him. “I was there for five hours. I think…I fainted at one point.’’ Her mouth twisted. “Then I…managed to relax. I thought about what you would do,’’ Again. “And that Bagheera will be alone if I don’t come back. That I will never come back to Gotham. When I panicked, all I could think about was my clan or what people in Maysoon think. It took me a while to remember that their opinions don’t matter as much as, um, yours. Or Bagheeras. People who—who know me and--’’ Her smile widened. “—wouldn’t give up on me.’’ 

How could she not see, though, how far she’s come? Damian did. Whether it was his eidetic memory or simply that she was one of the few people who had his undivided attention or both, it didn’t matter. He still remembers how frail, physically and mentally she used to be. That she managed to get where she was, only made him wonder how much further she’ll go. He wanted to see. More and more and more.

“You always think of me so highly,’’ he remarked calmly, reaching to brush her hair behind her ears. Longer hair suited her, but he had no real preference. Except that she didn’t hide her face. “Why?’’

Fay looked up at him. She seemed confused by that. “Why wouldn’t I?’’

“Hn.’’ When she looked at him in that manner, she made him want to be the type of person she thought he was. Yet, there was no danger of being cast out if he didn’t succeed. He will, of course. He will always aim for success. Damian wanted to ensure he was the friend to the standards she deserved, but Fay never pretended much from him. She took him as he was. Loved him. Just like that. He still finds that unnatural, he still meets it with a modicum of mistrust. “I will not see you anymore as a failure than you see me as a monster.’’

Fay frowned.

“Please…don’t say that. I would never think that because it’s not true.” Yes, it was. It just didn’t matter to her, he thought. Fay did not condone his actions, but she didn’t condemn him either. Fay stared at him troubled. “I am…proud you are my friend. I just want you, um, to feel the same way.”

One’s ability and experience are what he has always valued others for, and as a result, judged whether they have earned his acknowledgment. While Fay was still working on reaching her own potential, ability-wise, she had managed to add other qualities to the list of values that Damian can appreciate. That list has been started by Dick, of course, and others have added to it. It wasn’t as if others wouldn’t have agreed with it, but kindness was something he attributed to Fay. As was empathy and a strong moral code. None of those had been foreign to him. He just found representation in her.  Of course, those were not the only traits that he valued her for, but they were the ones that came first in his mind.

It was no surprise then, that she ended up being added to the exclusive group of people he loved.

“Damian?’’

He was staring.

“You have nothing to prove to me,’’ he said suddenly. “Remember that. I do not like to repeat myself.’’ For her, he always did, though. Exceptions.

Fay stared at him; brows furrowed but he didn’t elaborate. “Alright,’’ As his words seemed to sink in, she smiled. “But you know I still will, right?”

Yes. Just as he’ll keep trying to make up for his past errors.

“I lost my temper with Titoh, too,” She said. “He was the one who told me. He didn’t realize that I haven’t been told. I punched him.’’ Damian’s eyebrow rose, lips twitching. “Um… Several times.’’

Damian snorted, feeling equal parts amused and proud of her. “Good.’’

“Damian---‘’ She sighed.

“There’s nothing to feel guilty about,’’ He added.

“That doesn’t mean I should have,’’ She protested. “I don’t want to hurt him—"

“Yet you clearly did. In that moment. You did not kill him, and seeing you’re not particularly distraught, it means he must have already absolved you of it. You let him go easily. I wouldn’t have.”

Fay stared at him, wondering – yes, he was serious.

“Please don’t do that,’’ She asked. “If you two meet again.’’

“Why? You had your fun,’’

 Her cheeks reddened. “Stop it,’’ she said when she saw him smirk.

“But you wanted to. Didn’t you?’’

Fay looked like she wanted to protest, then her shoulders sunk. “I suppose I did, but…I don’t feel as good about it as—as I thought I might. I just took out my frustrations on him and that’s…not right. I don’t want to be that kind of person.’’ She met his gaze. “He wasn’t angry either. He said the same thing you said. That he deserved worse.’’

“That’s fine by me. I shall take that as---‘’

No.’’ She squealed. “Please, don’t. It’s…it’s not going to change what happened.’’

No, it wouldn’t. Titoh was also someone who committed terrible errors. Damian could understand his struggle to redeem himself, but that did not mean he had to like the idiot. Not when Fay carried those scars because of him, indirectly or otherwise.  

 “—TT—I don’t make any promises.’’

Fay just smiled at him, satisfied. 

He stared at her. Her eyes have become lighter, amber mixed in the usual dark brown shade, but they were bound to darken again in the often-cloudy Gotham. She’s grown taller. The physical markers of adolescence have become more noticeable, and he makes what he considers a clinical observation. Catalogs all the changes. He wants to see how she fights now, what she has learned. Did her marks change more than before? Does she have additional ones? Will she let him see them?

“Can we---Ah!’’ Fay stared mortified between the fist she’d caught from connecting with the side of her head and his face. “What---what are you doing?!’’

Damian smirked. “Making sure you do not grow lenient.’’

She let out a sound of indignation. “Wh-what? No, don’t do that!’’

“Tsk, what is the point of training intensively if you do not maintain, at the very least, the progress you’ve made?’’ Even before the last words were out of his mouth, he swung his other arm. Fay didn’t manage to catch it, but she did dodge in time, leaning backward and letting go of his other hand in the process.

“You are such a jerk,’’ Fay grumbled. She blinked when he just stared at her scrutinizingly. Her hands had instinctively stayed tense, ready to block any of his movements and she wasn’t sure if he was trying to catch her off guard.

“You owe me a fight.’’ He said with a smirk. “For now. Get dressed. Do try to look presentable.’’

“Where are we going?’’ She asked, enthusiasm quickly replacing her annoyance. She strategically ignored his jab at her indifference towards fashion. 

“You’ll see.’’ 

“Is it the museum?”

“Keep asking questions and we’re not going anywhere.”

They did go to the museum.

Much to her delight, she’d also found that there was a special exhibit being organized for a week only, because of the high demand in other countries.

It was the same exhibit she’s expressed an interest in before leaving for her training – look, Damian, this exhibit in France is incredible! -- but she kept that observation to herself.

.

.

.

“It’s not the original, but it is a remake by a famous artist. It is a popular version.’’ Fay explained with a nervous smile. 

It is also old. He can tell. An item that old would either be worth millions or be considered priceless if it were to ever be acknowledged on the market in that world. Not that he planned on ever selling it. Its value also didn’t come from its history or cultural significance although the backstory of the item was intriguing. No, its value came from the fact Fay gave it to him. 

And she likely broke several rules in doing so. 

The painting was intriguing, he had to admit. Measuring a hundred twenty centimeters in width and ninety in height, the piece of artwork had gothic characteristics. The frame was not the original, but Fay had instead, with the help of a former rebel on the island, repaired an old one she found on the island. The wood was made from a tree in Aeryg, bound to last centuries if tended to properly. As thick as his wrist, the wood had intricate carvings and it had been painted dark by Fay, who also used gold foil to create accents. 

The painting itself was well over a century old, according to Fay and its overall tenebrism would have made Caravaggio proud of the efficient use of the chiaroscuro technique. A man was depicted in the middle of the painting, before what looked like a fire pit, the flames creating a dramatic light that just barely made his outline visible. Damian could see why Fay chose it. The contrasts between light and darkness were reminiscent of painting number twenty-three. Just like in his artwork, in that painting, the subject was a mystery too and open to interpretation, perhaps condemned to remain a mystery except to the author. 

Or the right viewer. 

The man was dressed in all black, with a dark hood pulled up casting shadows over the figure’s, the barest hint of a chin peeking above the tall collar of the coat. Yet the author had put great effort in detailing the man’s armor. 

There were two in the painting that stood out to Damian as he studied it, aside from the techniques and colors used. 

The warrior was a swordsman. A longsword was between his knees, held straight by both of his gloved hands holding the handle. It was black, the flames reflecting in it. Perhaps it was meant to represent that it was made of exart? 

Finally, the fire camp smoke. At first glance, it looked as if it had been depicted incorrectly by being overpainted around the warrior, but the more he looked at it, the more Damian realized that had been entirely intentional. The subtle tendrils of smoke formed a caliginous shape of a dragon. Once the viewer detected the dragon, it could no longer be unseen and looked as if it rose from the warrior himself. 

“Who is he?” Damian asked. 

“No one knows for certainty,” Fay said. “There are different interpretations and it’s unclear where the original is or what it depicted exactly. A Vontagor painter had recreated it centuries earlier, only mentioning in his memoirs that he’s never been able to replicate the original as well as he wanted to. Despite that, it became very popular. There are other versions of it by other artists as well. As a result of so many theories, the man in the painting is often referred to as a shadow warrior. Later, this was used to refer to warriors in the service of the rulers that worked in a very covert manner. That definition changed again with the Resistance, and it referred to spies.”

“So it is unknown who he is and what he has achieved?”

“My tutors told me that the original meaning of the painting had not meant to be anything else but a representation of a weary warrior. However, there’s also a theory that the man represented is one of the initial founders of the Vontagor Empire. Maysoon had Tora, as I told you, who had succeeded in establishing a village in the heart of the jungle, but he wasn’t the only one who was successful. Vontagor was plagued by wars and bloodshed between various rulers wishing to gain dominion of the areas that were not as hostile environmentally. This resulted in many different tribes being established and to this day, the territory is not completely unified.”

The Vontagor’s pride themselves in the legend of a man that swapped his heart for that of a dragon, and it is often a topic of rivalry considering that Maysoon’s founder had also been credited with using the power of the dragons. 

The legend has different interpretations as well, but the most common one is that the warrior tricked other dragons into bowing to him and helped him gain dominion over territories, unifying them before he became a ruler. 

“My father told me that’s the version that the Vontagor rulers have chosen to focus on because it inspires fear and intimidation. However, he believed the warrior was actually a hero of the people because of an old poem he had found in his travels.” It spoke of a warrior that traveled around combatting the darkness of the world. The evil never expected it because at first glance the man seemed as dark as evil itself, which is why the poem referred to him as a man ‘made of shadows’. The warrior carried the ‘fury of gods’ and the ‘soul of a dragon’, expressions used to indicate potentially his resilience and the fact that he fought like a dragon. 

“He also told me that in his travels to Vontagor, he had met older generations of men and women who considered the man to be something akin to um, well…a vigilante I suppose. Some even claimed that because he was not human, the shadow warrior is reborn every several generations. The same is thought of Tora, as well, actually.”

Damian turned to look at her. “Why this one?” 

Fay met his gaze. “I don’t...know. I just saw it and…” She shrugged, cheeks reddening slightly. “There’s so little information on who he was, that he became more of a symbol that’s been interpreted differently depending on people’s ideals and perceptions and culture.” She smiled tentatively. “But I like the interpretation that my father believed in. That he was a warrior who went around combatting evils, with the fury of gods and the soul of a dragon. It just sounds...poetic, doesn’t it?” She looked at the painting again, feeling embarrassed by how he kept staring at her. 

“There’s no name or clan or affiliation. There’s just a man who has power and ability, and he chooses to fight darkness even if people may mistake him as being part of it.” She smiled wider. “My father liked this legend because he thought it represented how people are not black and white. What appears frightening and mysterious and maybe even evil is not actually at all that’s what it is.” 

She wasn’t just talking about the warrior. They both knew that. Damian blinked rapidly, his pulse quickening.

“I didn’t mean to give you a painting---it’s—it has nothing to do with my gift,’’ she clarified. “I just thought you might like, um, the technique and the way it’s painted. If you don’t like it, please tell—”

“Fay.’’ She immediately stopped babbling, looking sheepish. “I….it is appreciated.’’ Thank you. 

She smiled. 

“You stole it, didn’t you?’’ 

She mustered some shame onto her expression. “Yes. I mean…there was another copy, but it was more recent and not—not as interesting. This one was not even in view, but um, kept in storage. I found it while exploring the hall of remembrance.’’ She glanced over the duffel bags she hadn’t gotten around to unpack, pushed against one corner of the room. “Aunt Lira helped me pack it.’’ 

He raised a brow. “She helped you steal a painting for an outsider?’’ 

Fay’s cheeks and ears turned red. Even so, there was a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. 

“Well…. she did keep many things a secret from me, and I am her favorite niece.’’ 

He looked away because he wasn’t sure if he could school away every single trace of the emotions bubbling in his chest. 

“Manipulative, of you.’’ He said instead, as nonchalantly as possible. “I am starting to question your character.’’ Not at all. 

She leaned close to him, and he didn’t need to look at her face to know she was staring with that wide-eyed expression. Earnestly wishing to make him happy. “But you liked it, right?’’ 

“Hn.’’ Very much so.

Fay beamed at him. 

.

The old copy of the ‘Warfare and failures in the history of Atlabas’ stared at them from where Fay had left it on the table in the underground room. Fay had completely forgotten about it until she had found herself exploring the library on the island and came across other literary works on Atlabas. It was the only edition there, forgotten under a pile of other books. No one was certain for how long it’s been there, but when she’d gone over it with Len, he had told her there’s nothing out of the ordinary about it. Aranar had indeed never existed, as she theorized, and the Bible had been a red herring they had planned many years earlier. It wasn’t the only one either.

So, as it turned out, there had been no great mystery to solve. That Bernard had the history tome in his possession was a coincidence, and there had been items in his collection far more valuable or rarer.

The section on Aranar was four pages long. It offered a brief description of him, although he was a fabricated individual, and most of the content was focused on a series of cons he had pulled against a local ruler of Atlabas. Aranar had been a master of disguise, according to the history book, for he had managed to con several noblemen out of their fortune while posing as different people. Aranar however, had been just another disguise, if only the one to serve as a ‘foundation’ upon which all the others have been built on.

“In order for him to commit the cons, someone would have had to impersonate him,’’ Damian said, staring at the unfamiliar alphabet and the illustrations that accompanied it. There were two. One, was a simple outline of the small village Aranar had been ‘born’ and the second was barely a quarter of the third page. That one looked as if it was a replica of etching, of three mountains, the one in the middle smaller than the ones flanking it. Nothing peculiar overall, about it.

According to Fay, Aranar became a wanted man following his constant cons and his actions had rallied the inhabitants of a small village at the bottom of the mountains to revolt against their cruel landowner. He was a Robin Hood of that world, one of many, one of the firsts to cause enough trouble to warrant closer attention. 

The identity of Aranar was later used many times to redirect the attention of the enemy in other places.

“What do you know about this battle?’’

It was a battle won with no army, despite the landowner having sent over a dozen seasoned warriors. Aranar, or the people who created him, had lured the warriors deep in the mountains that are represented in the history tome. There, the warriors fell prey to a simple tactic for no reason other than they underestimated the civilians. They were killed. With the looted armor and clothing, the rebels returned to the landowner’s citadel and ended up destroying it from the inside. Many of them died, and the landowner was successfully evacuated only to later die because of having been poisoned.

That’s why it was a significant battle, Fay said, as she remembered her tutor’s lesson more vividly.

“A Trojan horse of sorts,’’ Damian said. “They were outnumbered, had significantly fewer resources and experience, so they relied on deceit and exploiting their enemy’s arrogance.’’ It may have not been a successful tactic in that the rebels died and the landowner they killed was replaced with another soon after. It was successful, however, in sending a message: those bold actions had stirred up the spirit of rebellion which may have taken years to mature but had ultimately proved to be the downfall of the old systems.

The cold strategist in him, the one who was meant to be a ruler and had been born in a position of power, said that they had been foolish. Then again, the old him would have also seen them as perfectly acceptable collateral damage. However, as the carrier of the Robin mantle and a protector of the innocent, Damian acknowledged their sacrifice. They had died for the cause they believed in, but he doubts any of them would have guessed how far the Resistance would go decades later.

“Let me guess,’’ He said. “Everyone died but Aranar, who ended up resurfacing later.’’

Fay nodded.

“And the village? Or the mountains?’’ He asked, tapping his finger on the illustration.

The girl shrugged. “I’ve never been there but it is a large city now. Len said that people there do speak about him, and in recent years, a memorial has been built. There might have been others, but they would have been destroyed. People would have been afraid to support what happened---at least out loud.’’

That made sense. Damian grunted, in assent.

“There’s nothing special about the mountains, not that I know of,’’ Fay said. “I did find some books on the area---geography and um, wildlife, things like that. But nothing out of ordinary.’’

But could it really be a coincidence?

“…there’s something else,’’ Fay said. “I haven’t really…discussed this with anyone on the island.’’

Damian looked at her, eyebrow raised, encouraging her to keep talking.

“Bernard probably lied about this, but he said that he used to be a warrior,’’ Fay said. “He was, um, hunted down---presumably by guardians or someone just as skilled – years ago. But—why was Daphne asked to find him?’’ She asked. “No one on the island had known about her until now, be—because I found her. Aunt Lira knows, but she hasn’t revealed where Daphne is…well, because of my father. That’s---that’s alright, I suppose. It is weird that I found Daphne, right? And that my father asked her a favor.’’

Damian’s lips twitched. He had considered before that it was peculiar no one on the island had known about Daphne, but that Lira had been so willing to keep her a secret. She either knew something they didn’t or suspected that Daphne and Fay crossing paths were a precursor to something bigger. Something that was best kept out of as many hands as possible, including the islanders and the Council, which was otherwise meant to represent a positive force in the other world. Either way, he didn’t interrupt Fay, although he was tempted to do so. Fay could be quite analytical when she put her anxieties away or she didn’t doubt herself. It wasn’t the first time he’s seen that side of her, but he always observed her closely when it did resurface. Fay would get a particularly focused expression on her face, brows furrowed and eyes shining.

“Bernard also…didn’t seem right.’’

“You mean aside from kidnapping children and egomania?’’.

She ignored the sarcastic comment. “No, I mean…it’s just the way he fought,’’ Fay said, brows knitting further. “He didn’t really fight. At all. He had guards and Klaus---and then when I went after him, he was actually…. easy to take down. He had a gun, but he didn’t fight in any other manner.’’

That was an interesting point.

“Presuming he didn’t lie. He could have been a civilian as far as we knew. Or not a very good warrior. His partner is dead so we can’t ask, and Barlow has no information on who he was before.’’

Fay pursued her lips. “Kaera said that he was hunted down several decades ago as Daphne said,’’ She shivered, feeling cold again. Her body temperature had been swinging back and forth during training and she was told she might continue to experience that week after she left the island.

Kaera had also warned her that considering how much she’s been training her flux; it is possible her marks might ‘phase’. Her first phasing since she was very young. It was not bound to be pleasant. It never is, Kaera said but it is a good sign because it means her flux is adapting to her growth and maturing. “She wasn’t part of the team, and neither was Len although he remembers the case. Bernard had committed similar crimes as now but at the service of another criminal. Of this world. Telling him of our world and the portals. At one point, he must have come across the Bible, I suppose?’’

“Did he tell you who the criminal was?’’

Fay shook her head. “He didn’t know.’’

Or pretends he doesn’t, Damian thinks, as he clicks his teeth.

“I also don’t think…they know it was my father.’’

“What?’’ He looked at her.

Fay looked uncertain. “I didn’t tell anyone about Daphne. Only aunt Lira knows so far, and I don’t think she’s told anyone else because—well, I assume---they would have asked me.’’ She pulled herself up to sit on the marbled counter, tugging her sleeves lower past her wrists. Her hands still felt cold. “I met two other former Resistance members and spoke to them. They---they thought the dark paths are a myth. Just like, um, Aranar doesn’t exist. When I asked Len about it, he said that’s a common perception---many Resistance members didn’t even know about the dark paths, or they assumed they referred to the portal technology that leaders of the faction had stolen and re-purposed. He’s not even sure, um, himself if they exist as my parents never confirmed or denied they are false.’’

“Based on that, you believe that your father either did travel via the dark paths here and no one is aware, or there are no dark paths, but your parents have kept the ruse up.’’

“I think…the dark paths may exist. Or maybe—I don’t think they’re just a rumor or a fake story. Why would my parents tell me? They told me about Aranar not being real. They also told me about the Seekers.’’

It seemed illogical to make her believe in something that did not actually exist.

“That’s not all,’’ Fay continued. “When Len talked about Bernard, he said he hadn’t been involved in the case but that the Council was likely to have sent someone at the time. So, um, ---”

“—he doesn’t know it was your father.’’ His lips twitched. As frustrating as the lack of data was, the entire situation was rather intriguing. Stimulating. “Did he say anything else about the Sponsor? They would have had to be given intel on them when he resurfaced if they know he’s already been hunted once.’’

“Not really? They tracked him down due to him using the senwi and other—other resources, but Kaera said they didn’t know he was a former Seeker. The Council believed him dead and ordered that he be captured or, um, disposed of but if it wasn’t for Bernard kidnapping me, and talking about the dark paths and so on, they wouldn’t have realized how much he knows about our world.’’

 Damian crossed his arms over his chest. “Interesting. That would mean that not only your father – and potentially your mother as well – kept his visits in this world confidential and kept Barlow a secret, but he also tracked and hunted down the former Seeker without telling anyone.’’

“The more questions we ask, the more we have.’’ Fay groaned.

Yes, he agreed with that. There was a mystery in all that that they were still taking shape.

Damian uncrossed his arms and leaned over to the table to close the book.

“Let’s go upstairs.’’ He said, getting up. She followed him. “Your father asked Barlow for a favor which he did not offer details on, more than fifteen years ago. We presume that involved you, but if that were the case, she would have not been able to bring you to the sanctuary on the island because she did not know where you were. Even though, according to their allies and your family, they had wanted you there. We don’t have evidence of that, however, and you did not know of the island yourself. Why tell you about the dark paths – a possible red herring – but not the island – a peaceful and safe place?’’

Fay was not sure how to respond to that as she walked ahead of him on the stairs leading up to the narrow secret entrance. It was starting to feel like she never understood her parents at all.

“Barlow has been sent into this world via the dark paths. She doesn’t remember how, but she does remember that she had studied them. She had also claimed that her memories have been wiped, including of how she landed in London. She may be remembering that she studied the dark paths, but that seems like poor workmanship for whoever deleted her memories.’’ Then again, that did not mean Daphne was lying about remembering.

They exited through the passage and ensured it was sealed correctly before they headed towards the kitchen. Fay was grateful that the air was warmer there, thanks to the sun shining through the large windows.

“Barlow is a skilled liar. She could have said she did not remember at all.’’

Fay felt like her head was going to split open from all the theories floating between themselves. She popped two pieces of sliced bread in the toaster, and then pulled out a jar of the hazelnut chocolate spread from one of the cupboards.

“Who else knew about the dark paths and found her years later?’’

“My father.’’

Damian smirked. “Exactly. Until proven otherwise, our current data is that Barlow was sent here by the early members of Resistance, and she had chosen to forget her research of the dark paths. Your father, whom quite a few people believe to have known about the dark paths, tracked her down years later. That he found her doesn’t necessarily mean anything – if he was a good tracker.’’

Fay jumped when the toaster pushed the sliced bread up, the noise interrupting the brief silence between them. She pulled the slices onto a plate and sat down at the kitchen island, next to Damian. He eyed the chocolate spread unfavorably but she was willing to bet he’ll steal one of her slices either way. “I believe it is not a coincidence that your father has kept visiting Barlow just as I do not believe you meeting her is one, either,’’ Damian said, with one arm crossed over his chest while his free hand curled under his chin in a contemplative posture.

“That…makes sense.’’ Fay agreed quietly. “

“Possibly. Your father allegedly tracked Barlow after he defected from Maysoon. Then, again, when the Resistance’s operations intensified. He would have known about the island, but whether he traveled via portals, or the dark paths is just another thing we don’t know for certain.’’ He rolled his eyes as he watched her put too much chocolate on the toast, which in turn, being hot, melted the spread quickly making it drip down her hand. “You have the manners of a backwater peasant.’’

“S-shut up,’’ she muttered, reaching to quickly wipe her hand and then eat the toasted bread before any more of the chocolate was lost on her hand.

“They are all lying about something,’’ Damian concluded. “We need more data— ‘’He started irritably then spotted the amount of chocolate she seemed to have managed to get on her nose and cheek. She was worse than a child. “You are eating with your face, you fool.’’

Fay was hurt for exactly two seconds. Then just to spite him, she decided to pass on to the next slice.

“Daphne also said the name Aranar didn’t mean anything to her, back when—when Bernard kidnapped us.’’ Fay paused, holding one slice in one hand and the knife in the other. “Wait, that’s not true. She did admit she lied, after, when I visited her again. She said she was worried that Bernard was listening to us---which, um, I think he was.’’

Plausible. “—TT—” Fay finished spreading the chocolate and lowered the knife down.

As expected, Damian reached to snatch it, as quick as a cobra making its strike. Fay moved it out of his way and immediately leaned away from him.

“No!’’ She pouted. “You always do that. I knew it, you’re so predictable---‘’

In retrospect, that had not been a wise choice of words. She saw him move, but she did not manage to evade him. Her hand, the same one holding the sliced toast, was pushed towards her face. Warm chocolate smeared across her eyelids, nose, and chin. She squealed, and floated away from the seat, the destroyed slice of toast falling on the floor. She stared at him, scandalized.  

Damian smirked, eyes falling on a small smudge of chocolate on the left-hand side of her neck. He had an unexpected, irrational urge to---“Hm. It’s not really your color.’’ The thought was squashed even before it was fully formed. 

“You’re awful.’’.

“You knew that my father asking you to look for Bernard was a secret, didn’t you?’’

Daphne was more amused than offended by that accusation. She had expected the boy to show up and put it out on the table, but clearly Fay has been growing bolder.

“You look well, Fay.’’ She said instead. It was the truth. Fay looked calmer than when she left, and her flux was stronger. Unfortunately, she did not seem to have reached the stage yet where she could hide it properly, but Daphne had spent enough years around mastering the flux to recognize the changes in the energy levels. Two months could bring significant changes to an adolescent and at that moment, Fay was tethering on the cusp of womanhood. Daphne still found herself baffled, deep down, that the child before her – the child about to become an adult – is the daughter of the man that Daphne had once served as a young girl. She would have never thought she’d live long enough to see him have children, and certainly not the type of individual Fay was. A positive, rather than a negative observation, that.

To Fay’s credit, she did not open the conversation with that question. The girl came for a visit, politely saluted her, and asked her how she was first. Daphne could tell something was on her mind from the moment she stepped inside, so she point-blank asked Fay to tell her why she was there. It wasn’t just a social call, was it?

“Yes.’’ Daphne nodded. “I don’t believe I’ve hidden that though.’’

“Omission of information is still deception.’’ Ah yes. The boy has decided to grace her with his presence again.

Daphne threw him a look, from where he was perched on the windowsill, mask, and hood hiding his features. “Perhaps. My intention was not to deceive, however, and it would have been a deduction you made, either way, seeing as I’ve also told you that I did not have any other ties to the other world except for your parents' visit. Your father, primarily.’’

That was a good point, Fay thought. She sat down on the armchair, feeling a mixture of dread and anxiety settle in her stomach like lead. “There’s just…it doesn’t make sense.’’

Daphne nodded. “I know. When you told me about the island, I wasn’t surprised as I’d told you. Damar had told me of it, and in my past…life, I had heard whispers. Of Seekers having a designated point to travel here. Your father did tell me that there was a safe location that the Resistance used that no one would expect. A median point, between the worlds, if you will. I thought he meant that figuratively.’’

“Yet you were not curious to find out? At all?’’ Damian asked, skeptically.

“No. I thought I made it clear that I tried to keep my new life as separate as possible from my old life.’’ Daphne sighed and turned her gaze back to the girl and the paladin standing by her. “Now I do have to wonder, though. Why your father told me the trips through the veil weren’t safe, or why he hadn’t left the matter to the guardians.’’

“He didn’t want anyone else to know?’’

“It seems that way, but Bernard had not seemed like a significant threat at the time. If he had managed to gain access to the portal technology, then why wouldn’t your father alert the Council? Even after when the Council was fully formed.’’

“Maybe it’s because of the dark paths,’’ Fay said. “It doesn’t seem like my parents wanted anyone else to know and not many believe they do, not even the Resistance members I met.’’

“That has always been the case. It’s more likely they either didn’t know or would have laughed in your face.’’ Daphne replied. “I believe your father was referring to the dark paths when he said about them not being safe.’’

“But you don’t remember and um, my parents are—are gone so….’’

“That leaves only Baije, potentially,’’ Daphne said. “But you said he’s missing still.’’

Fay nodded. Even if she did know more about him, she and Damian had agreed they would keep the information between themselves.

“Is no one aware of his whereabouts?’’ Daphne asks. “It seems strange that someone as prolific as him would go missing and no one would ask more questions.’’

“He’s not the only one,’’ Fay replied grimly. “I haven’t been told much beyond that.’’

Daphne pursed her lips, eyebrows furrowing.

“Something you want to share?’’ Damian asked with a biting tone. The woman fixed him with a cold look.

Fay looked between them apprehensively, wondering how she could have missed something that Damian seemed to find obvious. “Is—is there?’’ She asked. Bagheera growled beside her, to indicate that yes, there was something about the woman’s emotions that told him she was hiding something.

 Daphne sighed and raised from her armchair to walk over to the bookshelves taking up three-quarters of the walls of her living room. She pulled out what appeared to be a textbook, walked back to the chair, and sat down, the item in her lap. She pulled out something from the pages of the thick textbook.

“Do you know what this is?’’ She asked, lifting the creased paper up and turning it around so Fay could see it.

The girl looked momentarily confused, then her eyes widened in recognition. “Ah! That is a symbol—” She gestured with one hand in the air, as she seemed to try and remember. “—I think it’s a warning, isn’t it? The Resistance used symbols like that.’’ She squinted at the paper. “But maybe it’s an old one? I don’t remember seeing it in books, but my mother taught me about them.’’

Damian sneered at her. “And how long have you been holding onto that?’’

“Oh, this? Months.’’ Daphne admitted, shamelessly. “I received it in my post. I do not know who it is from. You are right, Fay. It is an old symbol; I would probably not be exaggerating if I said it is amongst the first of the secret language the rebels devised.’’ She handed Fay the paper, who was hesitant to grab onto it. Then she noticed Daphne was wearing her gloves. Leaning forward, she accepted the piece of paper.

“It means ‘be aware’. It is a symbol I have used myself to alert other groups that territory may be compromised or that there may be authorities close by.’’

Fay studied the paper and then showed it to her paladin. “Looks just like the one mom used to draw for us, huh?’’ she asked quietly. The paladin jerked his head in a nod.

“Your ability—" Damian started, but the woman cut him off.

“---brought up nothing. Not on the person who did this, so they were careful. I also must remind you that I cannot get read on all the objects. I’ve tried.’’

“Everything that comes out of your mouth is a lie, so I find it hard to believe you don’t suspect, at least, who may have sent you that,’’ Damian said venomously.

Fay looked up at that, carefully watching the woman. Her face had become a blank mask, but she seemed tenser than usual.

“I haven’t told you because I did not want you to worry,’’ She said, meeting Fay’s gaze. “I don’t believe that someone is making a threat. When you told me about your aunt and the island, I presumed that one of them was responsible for it. However, no one knows to seem to have had any information on me.’’

“How do you know they haven’t?’’

“Your aunt came to pay me a visit a while ago. Even if she had somehow known of these older symbols, I don’t think this is her type of communication. I haven’t told her about the symbol, but why send me this? She didn’t even seem to know that I had lived as Daphne Barlow until that moment.’’

That did fit with the explanation that Lira had given them on the island.

“You think the person who sent you this is a Resistance member, then?’’ Fay asked, glancing back down at the paper. “But---but not someone from the sanctuary?’’

Daphne shook her head. “Honestly, love, I don’t know. I don’t know who I am meant to be aware of. The sanctuary? You? The Council? Or an enemy we don’t know about?’’ Fay’s mouth dried at that, hands instinctively tightening around the paper, making it crinkle.

An enemy they didn’t know about. Who? Who could it be in that world?

“It is possible that they were referring to that Ranis councilman you’ve told me about but---”

“—But why warn you? And not me.’’ Fay finished. She reached to press her fingers against her sinuses feeling the ache built there. Yet another unanswered question. “May I keep this?’’ She asked, after drawing in a deep breath.

Lord, how Fay missed the simpler days sometimes.

“Be my guest.’’

Notes:

So, chapters 56/57 are what I like to call 'reflection chapters'. Basically, every time an arc ends, I like to use these 'reflection' chapters to show how recent events/changes have affected the characters.

I do not wish to spoil what's going to come up but I mentioned previously the wait will be worth it. I don't want to reveal when exactly there'll be a serious development from platonic to non-platonic, as I'd like to keep it as a surprise but there are two arcs that are going to come up.

The first arc will span several chapters. First, two will be posted next week, hopefully, sooner than Sunday. This arc will be different than the ones before as in there will be action/mystery but it will not be the only focus. In order for Fay and Damian to grow further as characters and in their own bond, they also need to explore who they are outside of themselves. So I will be including a lot of scenes that'll force them to think about things they haven't considered before. I can't say more to this but I promise it will make sense.

The second arc will also be several chapters. I can't tell you too much except that it will be a wild ride and it will significantly build upon the previous arc. One hint is: Chapter 25 ;)
There'll be more updates as well as insights into the chapters that'll come up ahead and why I decided to go in the direction I did.

Chapter 57: Of metamorphosis, hidden beauty, and secret promises

Notes:

I am sorry for the grammatical errors. I do have Grammarly Premium now, but it's not entirely accurate. Sometimes the suggestions are just plain weird and even I can tell that, as a non-English native.

I hope you enjoy it, and as usual, your comments are welcome! :)

Chapter Text

 

“So, Scheherazade began.”

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The phasing is a general term that had been traditionally used by the Duanima to refer to that stage when their young would start exhibiting the signs of their feral counterpart. Considering that definition, it was no surprise then, that the Dragonborn clans have adopted the terminology – or stolen, rather – to describe the phase in a young warrior’s life when they are finally forced to confront the Evnei in themselves. 

Masters of the flux also used it to describe the changes that they may experience throughout their life. It was a metamorphosis in a way. An alteration. Transfiguration of the energy that courses in their bodies, which varies from individual to individual as to when it happens, how often, and what it will entail. Well, regarding the last, Kaera had explained to her, most flux users will agree that it is rarely ever pleasant. Kaera’s first ‘phasing’ was also when her flux manifested in a manner that made her aware of it, which had consisted of terrible migraines and fever for days. 

It is different for each person, her mother had said. Evara had also told Fay that there was nothing to be afraid of because when the time will come for her flux to change, Fay will not be alone.

Yet a week after she returns from the island, Fay finds herself exactly in that position. She is not entirely alone, of course, because Bagheera is there and Damian is only fifteen minutes away at the Manor, busy with a case. It remained unclear to her what Lira did or where she went throughout the week, but Fay knows that Damian has warned her about being on Gotham unless necessary. She doubts that Lira listens to him, and if she does stay in the city until their next weekly check-in, the woman is very discreet about it. “All you need to do is call me,’’ Lira said. She has a phone, and Fay is likely her only contact but that doesn’t change the promise the woman makes. 

Kaera had hoped that Fay would phase while she was on the island as it was common for intense training to trigger it. Whilst it had become easier to channel the energy and maintain control over it, there were no changes overall to her flux. As the phasing can be a unique, individual experience, it could be that her flux has already changed, and Fay hadn’t made note of the side effects because she was already exhausted and sore from the training. An optimistic view on it, perhaps overly so. Fay knew that those who are born with the marks may have greater difficulty with such developmental stages. The marks may change or increase in number, and if they did neither of those, they are still likely to feel different. The phasing process could last anywhere from a few days to a few weeks long, as well. 

No amount of reading or second-hand accounts could have prepared Fay for how she felt the moment she phased. It started with a general state of unwellness in the days leading up to it. She chalked it up to still recovering from training or perhaps some sort of virus that she didn’t know she was susceptible to in that world. Then the night before she had vomited right after her dinner, albeit she had only eaten a small portion. 

The night just got worse from there, with her tossing and turning in her bed, barely able to sleep at all. There was a hot itching sensation that first started in her marks and then enveloped her entire body, including her scalp, palms, and soles of her feet. With a headache that made her feel as if there were drums inside her head and persistent nausea, Fay had managed to head to the bathroom to take a cold shower. She realized something was very, very wrong when not only did the cold shower do little to chase the prickling underneath her skin, but the water pressure felt uncomfortable. It was no different from the pressure she generally showered with, however. 

Mildly less uncomfortable, Fay thought that whatever was afflicting her was finally receding. She exited the bathroom, pulled on one of the soft tunic dresses she brought back from the island, and tried to go back to sleep, feeling drained. It was the type of exhaustion that ran deeper than just the physical type, the same she’d experienced whenever Kaera pushed her past her limits. An hour must have passed by before the heat crawled under her skin again. Twice as intensely as before, making her eyes water and panic to mount in her gut. Her body was sluggish and her thoughts foggy, as if she’d been drugged. The thirst that assailed her made her throat feel like sandpaper and her mouth like cotton. 

The tunic, albeit soft and thin, felt like a scour against her skin, and she tugged at it, in useless attempts to make it less uncomfortable. While doing so she accidentally touched the cluster of marks that formed a ring around her right bicep, and she cried out because the area felt raw. Her fingers came away feeling slick, and she stared horrified at the glistening red liquid. Looking down at her body caused her horror to reach new heights as she realized that the dampness as she quickly realized the dampness on her skin wasn’t just sweat. Her marks have started to bleed, the skin around them puffy and red. 

Another wave of the unbearable prickling traveled up and down her body, and her marks glowed faintly and that’s when it hit her. Something is happening with her flux. Her marks started to feel like freshly inscribed tattoos, and she could feel her muscles contract in response to the flux coiling underneath her skin without her having summoned it.  

Everything after that, she remembers in bits and pieces. She had rushed into the bathroom or tried to because her body refused to respond to her commands, so found herself falling on the ground as soon as she was up. Bagheera tried to help her, but she was suddenly all too aware of his flux, and she nearly wailed when she felt his energy brush against hers. She doesn’t remember how she made it to the bathroom, but she remembers the sensation of the cold marble under her bare feet. She remembers clearly how frightened she felt upon seeing her reflection.  

She doesn’t remember how she ended up on the floor on her knees and hands, screaming at the top of her lungs because her flux suddenly felt like it’s breaking, condemning her body, soul, and sanity with it. She’ll later choose to pretend that she did not remember her bladder giving up on her, or on how pitiful she must have sounded, please, please, make it stop, please! In comparison, the pain that she felt when those children were crudely sliding their blades across her back felt superficial. The flux was like a volcano, the magma replacing her veins and threatening to burst out of her as if she was a balloon that was overfilled. It kept swelling and swelling and she had no control over it, and all she could think was that I am going to die I am going to die I am going to die just like she did that day at Bernard’s manor. 

She screamed because it was the only release, she could have. Sharp cuts joined the throbbing, heated pain. Cold water pooled beneath her knees. She didn’t realize it at that moment, but she’d caused the bathroom mirror to shatter and the water pipes to explode. Her flux exploded in a similar way that it had in the past, except the circumstances were nothing alike. She hadn’t been in danger or stressed.  

It was the phasing, of course, and unfortunately for her, she’d ended up dealing with a nasty one.  

Damian, alerted by the silent alarms going off at the warehouse and her lack of response, had traveled there immediately. He found her in the bathroom, huddled in the bathtub while the bathroom looked as if it had been wracked by an earthquake. Fay would not remember later any of that, or the difficulty he had to get her out because she couldn’t bear to be touched or the challenge it must have been to get her to the shower in his bedroom so she could wash the blood, or that he had to do so without being able to support her physical. Or that he had to wait on her, eyes closed while she got out of her clothes and showered, with much difficulty because she struggled with the water against her skin and standing up properly. She remembered none of that, and he didn’t offer many details later, knowing that she would wallow in embarrassment for weeks. She also didn’t need to know about the gut-wrenching emotions he ended up experiencing when he realized there was not much he could do to help. 

When Fay ended up on the bathroom floor, screaming again, Damian experienced a rare moment of panic. It was obvious the flux was causing her suffering, but he didn’t know how to make it stop. He had no control over it. None of his abilities or knowledge were useful. He wasn’t useful. So by default, he was useless to her.

She managed to break two of his fingers while gripping his hand. He didn’t even notice it until later.

Dick ended up being the person Damian contacted first. Stephanie was second, for Fay’s sake, who continued to kneel on the floor with a towel around her. Alfred was third, for medical assistance because the hospital was not an option. 

Fay would remember none of that either. 

The first thing she remembers after destroying her own bathroom is waking up on her bed, lathered in one of the salves that Moma had given her and covered in gauze. The pain had receded, and her flux felt calmer than before. The salve must have been the numbing one because her skin no longer felt as raw. She felt full in a way that wasn’t natural as if there was too much of her inside. That couldn’t be true, she knew, but just how the roiling energy inside of her made her feel. 

She struggled to open her eyes, but the straw was pushed between her lips. She did not hesitate to drink, the water feeling heavenly against her raw throat. 

“Fay,” 

Her eyelids finally parted. Green framed by long, dark lashes stared at her. 

“Da…mian?’’ She croaked. The boy was crouched down by the bed, glass in one hand as he pulled it away from her mouth. She was lying on her side, facing away from the windows and past his shoulder, she could see the portrait of her parents and herself, and the door of her bedroom which was open. Bagheera was in the hall, his dark fur blending in with the shadows but his pale gaze unmistakable. She…she had pushed him away, hadn’t she? That hadn’t been something she dreamt. 

She blinked, very slowly, then met Damian’s gaze again. “I don’t…want it to come back,’’ She whispered fearfully. “It feels, --” she cleared her throat. “—h—horrible.”

Fay thought it might have been the ordeal that caused her to think that Damian’s expression looked softer than usual. 

“I know.’’ He said. “It shouldn’t, but you will feel unwell for forty-eight hours at minimum.”

“Why,’’ She sounded so small. 

Damian placed the glass on the nightstand and then faced her again. She noticed that two of his fingers had been put in a cast and the rest of his hand was bandaged to keep it in place. Did she do…that?

“Patrol,’’ He replied curtly when he caught her staring at his hand. “It is no cause for concern.” She blinked again, slowly, then met his gaze. “Your aunt has said that the worst has passed now that the new marks have surfaced. Your flux must stabilize, however, and that will impact your healing.”

It took her longer than it should have to process all that. 

“…new---new marks?” She whispered. 

Damian nodded. “There are several.” When she tried to shift and look down at herself, he stopped her. “Don’t disturb your bandages. Be patient.”

Fay hummed only, unsure how to feel about that development. “…my aunt?”

“I knew she had left you with means to contact her,” he said, although he didn’t clarify beyond that. Fay understood anyway. He had asked for Lira’s help, even if he would die rather than admit that. 

“Do you wish for her to be there?”

“No…not yet.” She said weakly. “But can you stay? Please…don’t leave.” At that moment she didn’t even think about his responsibilities as Robin. She just didn’t want him to leave. It was already frightening that her paladin couldn’t be near her.

I am not going anywhere. “I am not. Go back to sleep,”

Fay nodded. Her headache had subsided as well. 

“Will---will you tell me another one of those stories?” He could be stingy about that, requiring days of cajoling on her end compared to when she’d ask him to play the violin or take her somewhere. 

“Taking advantage, are we?” He said, albeit with no heat.

“Yes.’’ She tried to smile, but the curl of her lips was weak and short-lived.  

“Fair play.” He said, the frown melting away from his expression. He’d do anything to take her pain away. “Where were we last time?”

Fay thought about it for a moment, but he didn’t rush her. “Scheherazade,” She’d learned to pronounce it correctly. He wouldn’t let her get away with anything less, but she didn’t mind. “She had, um…started talking about---Sinbad?” He always interrupted the stories when it got interesting, damn him. He thought it was amusing, given the irony of it.  

“Yes, that was it.” Damian crossed his arms on the edge of the bed. 

Fay resisted the urge to fall asleep if only to keep hearing him talk. He could be surprisingly poetic when telling a story.

Outside on the hall, Dick smiled to himself as he leaned against the wall.  

.

A ring of marks joined the existing one on each of her biceps, and three fresh ones appeared on her back, expanding on the vertical line the existing four have created down her spine. She now has seven instead of four on her right leg, and eight instead of five on her left, the marks scattered around her skin in an almost haphazard way. The two symbols on the inside of each forearm remain unchanged, at least from a visual standpoint. 

It takes her three days to be fully healed and another week until Fay feels well enough to walk around as normal. She doesn’t dare to summon the flux during this period, but she can tell there’s something different about it. Something has changed. The energy inside of her feels more potent, and she becomes more aware of the natural energies around her.

For three days she ends up barricaded in her bedroom, overwhelmed by the sensory overload. Damian ends up setting a sensory deprivation tank which is quickly added to her list of coping mechanisms.

Damian stares at her. Fay is wearing as little as possible in terms of layers, shorts, and a tank top because her skin still feels more tender than usual. As a result, he can see most of the marks on her body clearly.

The marks represent the power she carried inside and the otherworldly connection with nature. The new marks on her body are proof of her growth, physical and mental even if their birth was marked by suffering. In a way, they are the embodiment of the results she’s gained after resiliently pushing through her baptism of fires. 

The marks, as much as they cause her grief at times, are also a silent declaration. 

I am here. I am alive. I will fight. 

“What?” 

Fay caught him staring from where she was sitting on the edge of the bed, playing with wisps of green energy. With her marks glimmering and the gold shining in her eyes and the flux at her behest, she looked less like a human girl and more like a fantastical creature. 

There’s something beautiful about the marks, and not just in the way they function or the power they offer. In how unique they are to Fay, and Fay only because they are a representation of all her growth and strength.  

And by default, so is their wearer. 

He doesn’t respond and Fay doesn’t insist. Instead, she angles towards him, hands raised.  

“Damian, look!”

He watched as droplets of air materialized between her hands, likely drawing it from the oxygen molecules in the air. Something she’s learned on the island. Energy buzzes against his skin. The droplets form a sphere of water which she started molding as if it was clay.  

A bird, made of liquid, floated through the air. A stylized version, not much detail, and the wings are rather clumsy, but it is nonetheless progressing all the same seeing as two months earlier she struggled to do that. Green energy wafted off the waterbird as she puppeteers it through the air, her fingers moving as if there were invisible strings attached to them.

The bird flew to him, and he instinctively extended his hand, allowing it to perch on his wrist. Fay broke control, and the bird trickled away down his hand and on the floor.

“Sorry,” She grinned sheepishly. “Still working on that.”

He looked back at her.

Yes. She was.

Two weeks after the phasing started, Fay feels the need to release energy and so Damian takes her to a remote training spot. 

“Seriously?” 

Fay stared at the large machinery with a dry expression. The Batrobot was apparently going to be her opponent for the day because Damian was well, a maniac

“Obviously,”

Obviously. 

“Does your father even know you took it?” She asked skeptically. 

The boy bristles. “I don’t need his permission.” She was pretty sure he did, but that was not an argument she wanted to get into. For the first time in weeks, she felt energized. Ever since she woke up that morning, she felt a steady rush of adrenaline. Fay had already run for two hours that morning and spent another two training on the roof of the warehouse. Then she ate what felt like her own weight in food and felt energized again. 

 “Are you worried I will hurt you?” She teased, knowing it wasn’t true.

Lesser men had fallen before the withering glare he was giving her. His friend, however, was impertinently immune to it on most days. 

“Cocky, are we?” He scowled. “I will not go easy on you. You said you were ready to train.’’ He had been reluctant to take her out so early, but he could feel her energy buzz. He’d caught wisps of green floating around her, her skin glowing that morning as she ran on the treadmill.   

Fay nodded. “I—I think I am,” She cracked her knuckles. “I never had a chance to show you what I learned.’’ She thought it was slightly silly watching him climb in that giant metallic machine, but she kept that comment for later. In case she needed to get under his skin, not that worked very often. 

“If I win,’’ She said slightly louder towards the nine feet tall robot. “I get five more stories!’’

If you win,” Came the robotic reply. Even with the disembodied voice, Fay could detect his arrogant tone. “When I win, you will owe me.” She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what exactly he had in mind. Owing him could never be good.

Fay looked over at her paladin, who jerked his head at her in a semblance of a nod. That day it’ll be just her and Damian.

A win was considered when the opponent was on the ground for more than thirty seconds which he claimed was generous.  

She pulled on a pair of gloves, to protect her hands seeing as they were crucial in her movements. The energy travelled through her easier than it did before. It was advantageous in a situation like that, but she had yet to adapt to it when she wasn't fighting because she kept summoning the flux instinctively. Kaera has told her that she will eventually get used to it and no longer experience that sense of constant fullness and need to release energy excess once her mind and body have fully adapted. 

“Hey, Damian?”

“Talking during sparring is—”

She clenched one glowing fist. 

“You are really obnoxious, sometimes.” She cut him off, right before she sent him across the field, all several tonnes of him. 

A mile out from their location, perched on a hill, the bets were on amongst the various members of the Wayne household. Bruce was not present, but he was bound to find out that his multi-million-dollar robot was not going to be returned intact.

This is why there was also a bet going on how he would react. 

.

Fay won the first round. 

She should have known that she’d end up losing the second, the moment Damian exited that robot with a sword in his hand after she told him that he looked ridiculous in the robot.

However, she had some vindication in knowing that Bagheera had ripped the Batrobot to pieces.

The third fight ended up with them wrestling on the ground for well over half an hour. She had felt good releasing that much energy, but she was also getting exhausted quickly, because the damn boy was relentless. Worst of all, he was still better at adapting to his opponent than she was, given his experience so although Fay had managed to take him by surprise several times with the new techniques and the potency of her attacks, he learned. Never show all your cards in the first part of the battle. She’d gotten cocky, perhaps, or maybe she had been enjoying how her flux felt now, that she had lost sight of winning.

When Fay found herself pinned on the floor, very close to losing, she did the first thing that she always used to do when she used to roughhouse with Bagheera and other jungle beasts.  

She bit him.

No one could say she couldn’t be vicious. 

But it worked, mainly because she ended up biting his ear – there weren’t many options given his suit, really – which caused him to release his hold of her enough for her to push him off. Using her flux whilst doing so because he wouldn’t have held back if their roles had been switched and to give herself time to escape. Another one of the rules for the day was that if they made it by five pm without a clear winner, the fight would be a tie. She could settle for that, seeing as she generally lost to him.

He wouldn’t though, so she wasn’t surprised when he came hunting for her with the same fervor a dragon did for his prey. He was just a human, yet she felt just as threatened as she would have if he had been an actual dragon. 

Fay couldn’t fly anymore, because he had slipped a bracelet on her ankle that weighed her down whenever she tried to lift herself up. Something he’s been working on, apparently. Tyrant.

It did not slow her down as much as he would have hoped because she’d been training with weights her entire time on the island, so she had not felt as encumbered by his tactic.

It was 16:47. Thirteen minutes felt like an eternity when one had to deal with a – former – assassin and current Robin. Fay exited the woods into the field where the Batplane was.

The former Robins were ‘supervising’ but Fay was certain they were primarily there for the entertainment of it. Bagheera had ultimately gone to sit with them, and she spotted his figure between Stephanie and Jason. 

The field was muddy, as it had started raining and Fay found herself tackled in the mushy soil when she was barely halfway to the red flag that had been planted near the Batplane. Fay was only vaguely aware of the mud slipping through her Kevlar suit as she barely had a chance to pause and regain breath. Damian fought with the same energy Bagheera did, like a predator. Ready to incapacitate, unyielding, agile. With her foot caught at an awkward ankle, she found herself losing her balance and he did not hesitate to take advantage of it. Straddling her, he caged her wrists above her hands with a metallic handcuff. 

“Yield,’’ He was covered in mud from toe to head, just as she must have been. On his right ear, she could make out the teeth marks she left behind. She’d even managed to draw a bit of blood, which hadn’t been her intention, but she found she didn’t feel so guilty about it. 

Especially after what he did next. 

“No.” She said stubbornly. What time was it? She didn’t think she had time to release herself anymore. 

Did she lose again even after all the training on the island? He was not going to let her forget it. 

“You already lost,” He said. 

“I won’t yield,”

“Be it your way,’’ He said with a smirk that was very much feral. Fay’s widened when he suddenly leaned forward. “W-wh—what are you doing?!” She panicked. 

She squealed loudly when he suddenly brushed a gloved hand against her right cheek, presumably wiping the mud away before he lowered his mouth towards it. “What?! You—No---You asshole!!” She tried to move her head away, but he kept it in place, and she struggled as hard as she could, which must have made her look like a worm in all that mud.

Nooooo--!!” She squealed again when she felt his teeth sink in her cheek. 

It hurt, but it couldn’t have been worse than when she did it, her conscience dictated. It was over in seconds, and he straightened, looking at her with an insufferably smug look. 

“I win.” He declared. 

Her lower lip trembled, not because she was about to cry but because she really wanted to punch him in the face, and she was too tired to move in that moment. She could feel the imprint of his teeth in her cheek, stinging and the heat pooling harder on that side of her face. 

“Actually,” Dick said with a mildly cheerful tone as he and the others approached him. “Fay had pushed you away right as the hour turned five, so the day ended with a tie.”

Stephanie, who appeared beside him along with the others, grinned. “But you knew that already, didn’t you, Dami?” She asked slyly. “I thought your watch alerted you to it.” She added with feigned innocence.

Fay’s eyes bulged, as she ripped her gaze from Stephanie to look at Damian’s wrist. His watch was caked in mud, but she could make out the blinking red light.

She gasped, loudly. “You---you!” Damian glared at Stephanie but otherwise looked shameless about his deceit. “You lied!” Fay shouted, wriggling under him again. 

The boy scoffed and removed himself. “Don’t be dramatic. Do you think that in a real-life---nnnghh!” 

“There was no need to bite me!”

“Get off of me, wench,”

“This is so much fun,’’ Stephanie grinned widely, as they watched the girl angrily tackle the boy to the ground.  

“Prime entertainment,” Jason said. 

“Well, he can’t say he didn’t deserve that one,” Tim remarked as the girl threw a blanket of wet mud over the boy when he tried to pin her down again.  

“Rggghhh,” Bagheera agreed. 

So, who wants to tell B that his robot is destroyed?” Dick asked. 

“Not me!” Stephanie said immediately. 

“Sorry, got people to shoot.”

“Nope,” 

They all stared at one another. 

“Rock, paper, scissors?”

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.

Bruce stared at the heap of bent metal and ripped wires that once used to be the Batrobot. The two teenagers beside him were silent. Fay, unlike Damian, had the decency to look guilty about it as she kept staring at the floor while shuffling her feet. They were both covered in mud. There was an unmistakable bite mark on Fay’s right cheek and another one on Damian’s right ear, in addition to many other bruises and cuts. 

“Who won?” He asked. 

The boy sneered. The girl’s head lifted, and she smiled. “It was a tie.’’ Which to Damian was a loss all the same.

The Wayne patriarch sighed. “No access to any of the robots without my approval.’’ 

“Yes, sir.”

“—TT—as if there’s a system that can stop me.’’ 

Bruce’s lips curled. “And Alfred has a list of chores for both of you.”

“Huh?”

“That’s preposterous.”

By the end of the weekend, neither teenager felt victorious. 

.

.

“Decades of being a warrior, to become a handler,’’ Lira grumbled to herself, as she stared around the library with a distasteful expression. It wasn’t the sight of books that elicited such a reaction, not that she’d ever been much into literature, but rather the loud group of humans across the room. Young, not that much older than her niece, and they all seemed to have come there for study except they were more interested in talking – so much talking – and giggling over whatever they found funny on their communication devices. 

She was starting to think her niece is still punishing her for not having told her about all that Estaris crap by asking her to meet there. It wasn’t as if Lira hadn’t wanted to – she warned Aryg it would be a bad idea to keep Fay in the dark – but she had also preferred that Fay didn’t worry her head with such matters. Fuck the clan, Lira said. Who cares what they want? Even if they do things differently, even if there are better people within it now, it was not enough to undo centuries of having behaved in certain manners. Lira didn’t think Fay should completely renegade the clan and certainly not Maysoon as her homeland, but she was better off, for the time being, away from all the mess. 

Lira detected Fay’s scent even before she walked in, and she looked up towards the escalators that led visitors from the ground floor to the first one. She had taken a seat at a rounded table near the glass balustrade as she liked the view it offered her of the ground floor below, as well as of the possible emergency exits, she could use if needed. Habit. 

There were not many things that made her feel warm inside, but the sight of her niece did. No wonder Damar had rarely ever refused her anything. Getting bigger each day, Lira thought as the girl smiled at her as soon as she spotted her and started walking over. She was dressed in civilian clothes – fashion of that world – and she looked like she belonged. To anyone who did not have Lira’s senses, Fay was just another human girl. Her scent differed, though as did something in the aura. It wasn’t just her flux, albeit that was a constant thrum of energy that made Lira’s instincts go haywire at times. Bagheera was not with Fay. The two have been working on being more independent, Fay told her, but he was never far away. Which meant the paladin was outside somewhere, hiding, and ready to interfere if needed. 

Lira tried not to think about how different her childhood would have been if she’d had a paladin as early as Fay. Alas, that had not been allowed. Half-breed and all. 

“Aunt Lira,’’ Fay beamed, as she removed the messenger bag and placed it down, before taking a seat from Lira. The girl cocked ahead at her, as she took in Lira’s outfit. “The fashion here suits you.’’ 

Never mind that it took her hours to choose it and the store assistant was close to tears. Fashion in that world wasn’t that alien from what she was accustomed to, but Lira preferred custom-made outfits. She preferred her hides and armors and secret pockets. In the end, she went for a pair of dark trousers with leather boots and a dark brown jacket on top of a long-sleeved shirt. It was warm outside – the temperature was above twenty degrees – but she doubted people there would turn a blind eye to the scars on her skin. 

Lira looked down at herself, then shrugged. “People here are very strange about their sizing,’’ 

Fay nodded a long-suffering look. “I suppose…there’s a tendency to favor smaller sizes and one size on an item doesn’t always match others. At least that’s what Cora told me.’’ 

“Your human friend?’’ 

“Yes.’’ Fay smiled. 

Lira’s lips twitched, as she gave Fay’s outfit a pointed look. The girl was wearing a thin long-sleeved shirt in a navy color and jeans, with a pair of white and navy shoes. “You seem to be doing fine.’’ 

The girl’s cheeks reddened, and she pulled in on herself, self-conscious. “Well, I guess I got used to shopping here,’’

“That’s alright,’’ Lira said reassuringly. “But, flea, there’s no way I am staying in this place. Come on, show me where these humans serve decent food for a change.’’ 

Truth to be told, she did not mind being there that much. She couldn’t say she was keen on that world but spending time with her niece made up for all the unpleasantness it may have offered. 

“Will you make me a promise, Lira?’’

“Does it involve being nice to Aryg? Cause that’s not happening.’’ 

“I could never ask something so preposterous.’’ A smile. “No, this is more selfish in nature.’’ 

“You make it sound so serious.’’ 

“….’’ 

“That bad? Do I need to kill anyone?’’ 

“No. I need you to protect someone.’’ 

“Who is that?’’ 

“Fay. I want you to be there for Fay. To support her.’’ 

“…. where is this coming from, Damar? Did something happen?’’ 

“I am merely thinking ahead. If something happens to Evara and I, please keep an eye out on her.’’ 

“I---just Fay? What about Titoh?’’ 

“Titoh will be taken care of, as well. Different children, Lira. Different needs.’’ 

“…. this is an odd request. Even for you.’’ 

“I am aware. I would just feel better knowing she had someone to count on.’’ 

“She would. Probably people who are far better qualified with children.’’ 

“Yes, maybe but this isn’t about raising her, necessarily. It’s about having someone who’ll support her when she is being pulled in too many directions. Because she will, no matter the new world we live in.’’

“You mean the Estaris? Because she’s half-human?’’ 

“One of the likely challenges, yes, but not the only one. There are worse people out there than that.’’ 

“I bet you’d never thought you’d ever say that, huh?’’ 

A chuckle. “No, I suppose not. Don’t worry – I am sure our name still maintains that reputation for many.’’  

“This is just paranoia and overthinking, though? Cause, you two are not going anywhere. You---you must tell me if something is wrong.’’ 

“Of course.’’ 

 

Liar. 

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“So, it’s like…zoomies,” Cora concluded when her dark-haired otherworldly friend told her how she sometimes gets restless about releasing her flux. Adjusting to something called a phasing. Which apparently caused her to be in agony but also made more marks appear on her skin.

 Cora was still trying to wrap around the concept of what the flux was but so far, she thought she was doing rather well. Learning that Fay was from another world was more of confirmation rather than a revelation. She’d already suspected that either a, Fay had been raised in possibly a remote or super unconventional way or b, she was from another planet. That wasn’t exactly the weirdest thing to happen. How many of the Justice Leagues weren’t human or from Earth? That Fay was from another realm – one that sounded as if ripped from the pages of a fantasy comic book - wasn’t so farfetched. 

The signs had been there. Fay’s accent wouldn’t have been enough alone. It wasn’t very noticeable and since they met her alien friend has been slowly assimilating the American accent. Or sometimes, British, because it seems she spent quite a bit of time around Brits. It didn’t matter. No, the signs had been others. Fay’s knowledge is varied yet at the same, it’s also sorely lacking in topics that most teenagers would be aware of. Even if she had been raised in an environment that allowed little to no focus on pop culture and entertainment – Cora was convinced that was the case with Damian who was even worse – the things Fay knew didn’t always make sense. 

Unless she was more than what she appeared to be and that was Cora’s conclusion even after Fay confirmed she had abilities. Oh, and beside the signs, there was also the occasional slip-up. ‘In my world,’ or ‘in my homeland’ or ‘people in this place are strange’. Cora had never pointed it out when Fay did slip up, and she had chosen, instead, to take everything in stride. She had a friend, and there was a bonus of that friend being so cool with a super cool wolf to top it off. Sure, Damian was more of an unwanted bonus because Cora was conflicted between liking Robin and disliking the boy underneath the mask. 

“Zo—zoomies?” Fay stared at her confused. 

Cora quickly googled it. “They’re also called frenetic random activity periods,” She turned around the phone and showed the article to Fay. 

The girl read it for a few seconds, then she scowled lightly. Cora thought that was Damian’s influence. 

“Cora,”

“Yep,”

“That’s for dogs.”

Cora grinned. 

“You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”

“A tiny bit, yeah.”

Fay smiled lightly. Cora relaxed, not even realizing she’d gotten anxious about teasing her friend. She didn’t always have a very mainstream sort of sense of humor. 

“I guess…the description does fit.” She conceded.

“Yeah, and you’re not fully human, are you?” Cora asked. “Unless you start sniffing people—”

“My aunt does that.”

“---you should---what?

Fay just smiled.

.

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.

“Look at you, an old hag all around.”

“Look at you, a monster in a pretty body still.’’ 

“We do look good, don’t we?’’  

“Like rotten apples.’’ 

“Fair enough.’’ 

“Cheers,”

“If you say so,’’ Lira smiled as she gently knocked the glass of whisky against the other womans'. “So,’’

So.’’ Daphne’s expression betrayed nothing as she took a sip of the alcoholic drink. 

Lira leaned back in the armchair across from her and knocked the whisky back in one go. To her, it probably felt like tea. 

“I heard you and Fay have gotten to know each other rather well.’’ 

Daphne saw no reason to lie. From what Fay has told her, she’d expected the woman would show up sooner or later. Out of all the Estaris, Daphne minded Lira’s presence the least.

“She’s a lovely girl,’’ The former warrior admitted. “I still can’t wrap my head around that she’s half Estaris.’’ 

Lira snorted. “Tell me about it. It’s like she was born to negate our clan,’’ 

“Hm. It’s our, now, is it?’’ Daphne teased. “My, the clan has really gotten progressive about its half-bloods.’’

“More or less,’’ Lira grumbled. “It was…good, actually, after Damar took over. Aryg is the clan leader now,’’ Her nose wrinkled. “Well, he’s not Damar.’’ Enough said. 

“Yes, Fay has told me about him,’’ Daphne nodded. “At first she seemed quite naïve if you’d asked me, but I may have underestimated her.’’ She took another sip. “She holds a lot of anger, that one.’’ 

Lira smiled ruefully. “Yes,’’ She leaned forward to place the glass on the coffee table between them, then made herself comfortable again. “She gave him a piece of her mind. I didn’t think she was capable, especially not with Aryg, but being away for a while has made her boulder.”

Daphne scoffed. “That, and I am sure that little shit is rubbing off on her.’’ 

“He is a little shit, isn’t he?’’ 

“Put a sword to my neck and hijacked my car the first time we met.’’ 

Lira snorted in amusement. “I gave him the full Estaris look, and he didn’t even flinch. The brat had the nerve to point out that he’d seen disguises that are more intimidating,”

Daphne chuckled. “My, how the Estaris have fallen if even a human child has the balls to say that.’’ 

Lira smiled. “I’d love for him to have a go at the Elders.’’ Her smile faltered, eyes growing distant as she gazed into the fireplace they were seated by. “You know who he reminds of?’’

“Evara.’’ 

“Yes.’’ Lira watched the woman fill her glass again. “Same…defiance. Haughty. No wonder Fay befriended someone like him,’’ 

Daphne handed her the glass. “They are quite close. He’s protective of her, sometimes too much, I gather. I have promised to not use my abilities on them, but I know Fay holds him in high regard. He is a little shit, but somehow, he’s a good influence on her. For now.”

Lira took back the glass but rather than downing back the liquid, she just swirled it around as she stared at it. 

“I know,’’ she said. “I’ve been watching for a few months now. You didn’t know Fay existed, much less of how she used to be, but she’d been…. a very happy child. Both her and Titoh.”

“Titoh is the foster sibling,’’ 

“Yes.’’ 

“But they are not on good terms, correct me if I am wrong.’’ 

Lira sighed. “They’re working on it.’’ 

Daphne tapped her finger against the empty glass. “I am surprised Aryg has agreed to all this,’’ She pointed out. “He’s not one to indulge others unless that’s changed?’’ 

Lira rolled her eyes. “He is still the same anal bastard if that's what you're wondering. I suppose…fatherhood has changed him in some ways but when it comes to following rules and playing the politicians, he is still just as ruthless as ever.” She brought the glass to her lips, watching the white-haired woman over the rim. Daphne had aged very gracefully given the life she’s had and for being a human on top of all that, despite how she may have been teased at the beginning. With her pale features, Daphne also reminded Lira of Titoh. 

Daphne remained quiet, contemplating. Her eyes bellied the sharpness her mind still held, in Lira’s opinion. When Daphne had been serving in Maysoon, Lira had been a young girl. She followed rules and orders at the time too, although she’s never quite bought into the culture of the clan. Lira hadn’t been born amongst them; she had been taken in. A preposterous action on the behalf of her father, considering that children born outside the clan were often hunted down. She had shown promise. There had been many times when she wished she hadn’t. In retrospect, Lira shared more in common with Titoh which is why when she heard about the boy’s behavior and actions leading up to Fay running away, she hadn’t been that surprised. Titoh was bound to be treated as an afterthought, as something lesser even if he had been loved equally by Damar and Evara. 

“Do you know what happened?’’ The woman asked, finally, voice quieter than before. 

Lira shook her head. 

“Are they truly dead?’’ Silver met silver. “Are you absolutely sure of that?”

“According to Aryg, yes. I was not there when it happened, or for the ceremony.”

“Do you believe him?”

Lira took a large sip, swished the alcohol in her mouth then swallowed it. “I don’t know. I can’t think of a good reason why he’d lie, even him, but at the same time, what happened that night…. something doesn’t feel right about it. An enemy that shows up out of nowhere and they both end up dead? After everything?’’ She snorted, then drank the remaining whisky. 

“Fay has told me that Vontagor is suspected.”

“It’s still unclear. I am not deep into the politics of it but there are tensions, obviously. No one wants another war, but there is some evidence to point out that Vontagor was involved.” 

It wasn’t the whole story, but Lira didn’t trust the woman. Fay had clearly been speaking to her at length, so she won’t bother to deny certain pieces of information. 

“I see,’’ Daphne placed the glass on the table and poured herself another two digits. “You had nothing to do with Fay finding me, then?”

“No,’’ Lira shook her head. “Coincidence, apparently.’’ 

“Quite a coincidence.’’ She leaned back, glass in hand. “You think Fay is safer here. I know you’re not telling me everything and that’s fine because I think you’d be foolish to do so. However, the situation must be particularly dire.”

Lira grabbed onto one wrist with her hand as she bent her arms at the elbow to rest them on her stomach. Her silence was enough. 

“Shouldn’t the children know at least?”

“Why?” Lira asked. “There are no clear answers and it’ll just worry them. Both are…. doing better.’’ She shrugged. “Maybe the best gift we can give them is for them to not end up being dragged into all this.’’ 

“I don’t know Titoh or what he’s like, but I can tell you that Fay won’t stop seeking answers.”

Lira sighed. 

“When we have them, we’ll give them. In the meantime, I just want to see the kid being happy again.’’ 

“Well, I can’t disagree with you on that.’’

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Dana has never been book smart, but she was a clever woman. Perceptive. Quick on her feet. She had been often praised for having leadership qualities and for a while, being a soldier had made sense. It gave her a purpose. Until it didn’t. She has seen enough to last her lifetime. Dana has spent most of her life in Gotham, and while there were times when she despised her home city, she had never left it behind. She almost had, once. After Robert’s death. She’d been tempted several times before and after that, but that had been the instance when she’d considered the move so seriously that she’d already started looking at other schools for Robby. 

But she never did move. Soul Bowl had grown on her immensely, and it gave her a purpose in ways being a soldier hadn’t been able to fulfill. Out there, in that canteen, she felt she had more power to help people. As much as one could in a place like Gotham. 

It was that line of thinking that had pushed her to invest so much in it, to take risk after risk. To take Fay in, who turned out to be the most unexpected child. 

At that point, Dana has watched her grow. From the small, stuttering, and frail girl that was accompanied everywhere by a scary-looking wolfdog, to the teenager rapidly approaching adulthood that now smiles and talks and laughs all the time. 

Dana is a clever woman. She is a Gothamite, too. She’s seen and heard enough to no longer be easily surprised or scared. Even when she did notice that perhaps Fay was not quite a normal child, she kept it to herself. 

It had started with Bagheera, really. Aside from his mysterious breed, he was too intelligent. Too perceptive. He always seemed to understand more than it was natural for a canine. Fay spoke to him as if he was a person and Dana had assumed it was a coping mechanism for her predicament, that it was loneliness and affection mixed. But what if it wasn’t?

Then, there was the matter of Fay herself. Her physical improvement had been gradual, so Dana hadn’t sensed anything out of the ordinary. It was perhaps the intermittent absences. Fay was always justified as either being sick or traveling or studying. Dana didn’t always believe her, but she didn’t ask. Fay looked healthier every single time. She grew little by little, slowly moving away from being a girl to a young woman. She wasn’t quite there yet, but Dana could see it. 

There was something different about her each time. The stutter disappeared. The aversion to being touched diminished. The quietness became intermittent rather than constant. She looked Dana and the others in the eye, and she expressed emotions easier. 

But it wasn’t just that. Dana couldn’t put her finger on it. A few times she’s chalked it up to her imagination, but she could have sworn that Fay moved differently. It wasn’t just that she was more comfortable with herself, that she’d grown out of her shell. 

It was small things that she wouldn’t have noticed if they hadn’t started to happen more than once. She didn’t for months. 

One time, Fay moved Mack’s large pot of gumbo from the hob. The pot was almost half her size and weighed so much that even Mack had difficulty with it. Yet, when the chef returned from the storage room, he found it moved aside. He had assumed it had to have been Dana, but when he thanked her, the woman had simply stared at him confused. Fay was in the kitchen that day, visiting. They were the only ones there that early. Another time, Dana saw her catch a plate about to roll off one of the canteen tables with a quickness that looked out of place on someone so young. 

Small things. 

Except for one. A couple of weeks earlier, Fay accompanied her to the wholesale to shop supplies for the soup kitchen, which she never seemed any less enthused about. Partially because she’d end up buying packs of sweets for herself and partially because she seemed to have a fascination with products there. Dana always enjoyed having the girl with her, it had become a sort of a monthly ritual, just like the regular haircut and the Sunday dinners. 

Dana was looking for bulk packages of paper napkins but found the lower shelves empty, so she left Fay by the cart and went to find someone to help her. After ten frustrating minutes, she returned to the cart. She found four packs of tissues in the cart and Fay casually leaning against it. 

“I---where did those come from?” She asked confusedly. 

Fay smiled. She does so easily nowadays. Dana wasn’t sure she’d ever tire of seeing her look happier. 

“Someone came.” The girl replied, then lifted the list in her hand. “I think we need to head to the bathroom section next.’’ 

Dana watched her push the cart forward, then she glanced up at the shelves where four packs were missing. The store wasn’t busy, and Dana had stayed close to that row, so she would have seen a staff member. A minute later, in fact, an employee did show up and asked her if she still needed help as he’d be happy to get the products from storage as there were no ladders available. 

“I think someone...already helped?” Dana said, unsure.

The employee looked confused. Short-staffed for the day, he said, and he was the only one manning the floor. His colleagues were all helping at the tills. Dana had no idea what to say to that, so she thanked him, then walked after Fay. She couldn’t help but stare at her closely the entire day. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. Perhaps the exhaustion and stress were getting to her. Soul Bowl was doing incredibly but its expansion brought on more responsibilities, and she was considering hiring an assistant. Mack was busy as well, if not in the kitchen, then taking out his food truck, especially in the winter.

One day of the month, Soul Bowl was closed. Inventory, deep cleaning, bulk order deliveries, staff meeting. All that generally took place before afternoon, but in August, Dana found herself running behind the schedule. The cleaning team was meant to arrive at four am, and finish by seven when the first bulk orders were meant to arrive. That never happened. Additionally, the kitchen supply company meant had been victims of a robbery the night before. The orders would not arrive for another week from another branch outside of Gotham, so Dana had to go and buy from another place. Even with the van, she borrowed from a friend, it still took her several hours to finish. Staff meeting went accordingly but by the time it was over, it was three o’clock in the afternoon and she was feeling dizzy because she hadn’t eaten anything all day.

All three floors now belonged to her, and whilst they were regularly cleaned and disinfected, Dana also arranged for deep-clean monthly. Many people passed through that place now, especially since she agreed to support nearby victim support charities that were almost not at capacity. The second floor contained twenty single beds and six bunk beds, and a section reserved for toilets and showering. Sometimes the third floor was used to store more beds, but other than that, she primarily used it as a recreational area along with another section reserved for private meetings. Dana received primarily women in her care, and half of those women had young children with them, so she’d tried to ensure that there was free legal advice where possible. There were also medical volunteers that came by for weekly check-ups and support.

She couldn’t close the soup kitchen for another day. There was a precarious arrangement in place in which another charity temporarily hosted over the regulars that usually came by the Soul Bowl either to eat or sleep or both.

But Dana hadn’t also arranged for any other cleaning company to help, and the place was a mess. The kitchen and canteen needed a deep clean, beds changed, bathrooms sanitized. It was too short notice to get any volunteers or staff members to support. Robby was busy with college and Mack needed a break himself.

Then Fay showed up, as they’d originally planned on having dinner together that day, but Dana completely forgot to message her. The girl was not upset, however, and she immediately offered to help. Even with Fay, however, Dana knew it was going to be impossible to finish everything, so she decided to focus on the most important stuff.

They had a late lunch at Dana’s. Fuel, she joked, drinking her fourth coffee of the day while Fay helped with putting the plates away in the dishwasher.

The last thing she remembers, Dana sat down at the kitchen table ready to make a list of the most urgent tasks to take care of.

When she woke up, it was midnight, and she was in her bed tucked underneath the blanket, shoes removed. Fay and Bag were nowhere to be seen, and the apartment had been locked behind them. The girl left her a note saying not to worry because she asked Damian if he could help with another cleaning company.

Blearily, Dana tried to call her, but the girl didn’t respond. So, she went to check the cameras. Dana has had to install them after she had a few instances of anti-social behavior and attempted break-ins. Well, one attempt was successful which resulted in her losing the three microwaves and most of the food in her fridge. That had been another stressful day.

Dana ended up rubbing her eyes several times, thinking she was imagining things or maybe hadn’t fully woken up.

The entire place looked flawless. 

The real-time feed showed a kitchen that looked vastly different from what Dana remembered seeing last. So much so, that she wondered if the feed was stuck on a loop from the previous days.

Everything was clean. Spotless. There were no pots and pans that were still soaking and required hours of scrubbing. No sticky floors with all manners of dried sauces and food litter. No packaging amassed in a corner of the room waiting to be broken down and separated in recyclable and otherwise.

Switching to the canteen view, Dana found that room in tip-top shape as well.

Playing back the recorded footage, Dana watched Fay and Bagheera access the kitchen from the back exit, at approximately 16:47. Approximately an hour after they had finished their late lunch.

The girl closed the door behind herself and looked around. Then dropped her backpack by the entrance, which she locked and then much to Dana’s surprise, removed the shirt she was wearing. In the years she’s known Fay, Dana has never once seen the girl’s arms or legs exposed.

There was something dark on her limbs. Brows furrowed; Dana leaned forward to take a closer look. Fay had…tattoos? It couldn’t be. She was so young.

Several emotions wracked Dana’s body as she replayed the footage recorded that evening. Had anyone seen her at that moment, they would have thought she is trying for a challenge in which she can prove how many dramatic expressions an individual can pull off.

Shock. Incredulity. Hysterical laughter because really, who could blame her? The girl. The small, stuttering, and quiet girl who came out of nowhere with her large and unusually intelligent wolf-like dog was flying around the Soul Bowl. She was making water fly around, she was moving canteen tables and appliances that would have required at least two pairs of hands.

Gods. Was it even a surprise? Or better, why was it? Something had always been strange about Fay. The way she spoke sometimes, the fact that she knew words like ‘magnanimous’ and ‘acrimony’ but did not know what ‘cool’ meant or barely understood pop culture references. How her paladin always stared with the intensity of a human being, how he appeared to be just as sentient as one. Fay didn’t just talk to him as if he was her dog. He understood. Everything.

The constant disappearances. Dana had chalked it up to her friendship with the Wayne boy but, the bruises. And the bandages she kept hidden.

Was that it was? That child – that sweet, kind, grieving child – she had given a place in the attic and gave food and tried to adopt was what? A vigilante? An alien? Was it magic? Because it looked like magic. Dana felt as if she was watching an episode of Sabrina the teenage witch and look, there was even a familiar. That’d certainly be a better label for Bagheera than a ‘dog’.

Dana isn’t sure how many times she’s watched the recording. A dozen times. Probably.

The next day, Soul Bowl was open again and everyone was marveled by how clean it was. How did she do it, they’d ask? Dana just shrugged and said she had gotten lucky to get another company to help her out. 

Later, when Fay came by, accompanied as usual by the large lupine creature, Dana told her about the cameras.

The girl paled slightly. “There’s---there’s cameras?”

Dana opened her mouth to say, I know. I know and it’s okay, but I am just trying to understand who you are and what you are and where you really come from---“They’re only going live today. Still needed to get the wiring checked one last time.” She said instead.

Fay’s shoulders relaxed. “Alright.” Dana looked at Bagheera. He was fixing her unblinkingly. Almost…accusingly. Could he tell she was lying? That was impossible.

About as impossible as the girl before her being able to manipulate water and move heavy objects that adults would struggle with and gliding through the air as if gravity was optional.

“Want to get lunch?” Dana asked.

Fay shook her head. “I am sorry. I promised Damian, I’d help him with something.”

Damian Wayne. Right. Did he know too? Was that why Fay had changed so much? Because someone knew about who she was and what she could do? Will she ever tell Dana about it? Was it a lack of trust that stopped her? Did she think Dana would feel scared or repulsed?

Because she wouldn’t.

Dana smiled and reached to ruffle her hair. “Okay, kiddo.” Fay always felt warmer to touch than most people. How had Dana never realized that could mean something else before? “Thank you for your help. It was great for Damian to get another company to help. Surprised they came over at such short notice.” She could have made it difficult. She could have asked what was the name of the company? Maybe I will use it again. Yet she didn't. 

Fay looked sheepish. Knowing what she saw on the footage, Dana thought she was very transparent. “Um, huh, yes. I suppose it helps that it was a Wayne asking.” A plausible explanation. Dana would have believed it if she hadn’t seen the footage even if Fay wasn’t particularly convincing.

So much more made sense now. The secrecy. The odd habits. The strange level of maturity, even. When she got home that day, Dana deleted the footage.

It didn’t matter, really.

Chapter 58: Of irony, old-school detective work and unidentified wants

Notes:

This won't be the only chapter posted today. I also would like to post a few more throughout the coming week. However, not only did I have to change laptops but I also decided to change the plot of this new arc significantly which means I had to rewrite several sections. The following chapter used to be three, so it wasn't very effective.

Enjoy!

Chapter Text

“Just because you didn't put a name to something did not mean it wasn't there.”

― Jodi Picoult

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11th of October

It wasn't raining that morning. Fay would have preferred it did so she could have used her umbrella to shield herself, but all in all, she did not feel as anxious as she thought she would. Although the car had been parked for a few minutes already, she didn't exit yet, preferring to take a few minutes to study the crowd of students that filled the Gotham Academy campus. The majority went inside the main building as soon as they were dropped off, while some had chosen to linger outside to meet with their friends, forming small clusters.

Fay checked herself quickly, feeling self-conscious. The uniform fit her well, and the colors complimented one another. She was, perhaps, dressed too thickly even if the weather had turned chilly, but she had to ensure her marks and any scars stayed hidden. Over her long-sleeved black button-up shirt, she had pulled on a cashmere dark teal vest that recalled the subtle green in the plaid of her knee-length skirt. The opaque tights were thick and tight-fitting, almost like the Kevlar suit, except nowhere as protective. She went for her grey blazer and pulled it on before rechecking her tie, which was tucked inside her vest. Alfred had tied it for her that morning after he'd served her breakfast.

"Shoulders straight, Miss Fay," He advised. "Keep your head held high."

"I am sorry for making you wait, Mr. Robinson," She said politely, glancing at the driver.

He smiled and nodded in understanding. After mentally counting down from ten, Fay pushed the door to her left open. She'd already told the driver that she didn't want him to keep opening doors for her. I wish Bagheera were here. She thought as she lifted the black leather messenger bag off the backseat. It was a beautiful thing, with its hand-made red stitching and golden buckles. Fay had found it on her bed that morning, but Alfred said he was unaware of it when she'd asked him. However, he recognized the make and pointed out that it was by an Italian designer, implying it was also costly. It didn't take long for her to figure out who it came from, and it made her smile, especially since she found a personalized crimson and gold fountain pen inside as well, with her initials on it. F.K.

Fay bid goodbye to Mr. Robinson and closed the door, hanging the messenger bag from one shoulder. She studied her shoes, dark lace-up brogues with thick soles. She would have preferred wearing her boots, seeing as the handbook did not prohibit them per se, but she was meant to blend in like any other student there. Keep a low profile, do nothing to attract attention. It is how she liked it, even though, as history dictated, she had a knack for doing the exact opposite.

The enthusiasm of working undercover and actively helping with a case triumphed over the anxiety she felt with being there. Fay will never fan crowds, but she also felt far more confident. The constant tethering on the cusp of a panic attack was gone. Considering what she's been through so far, how hard could it be to be a high school student?  

The graveled path leading to the main building was long, at least four hundred meters, and it circled a large fountain. Between the building and the tall fence delineating the Academy’s property, there was the same green space she had traversed countless times before when she used to sneak into the library.

Oh, the irony of being in that uniform attending as an official student.

The chilly wind pushed a few strands in her face, and she reached to brush them away. Dana had trimmed her hair, so it reached just below her shoulders, and had layered her bangs because, in her opinion, they looked better on Fay's oval face. The girl couldn't disagree. She still found it odd keeping her hair longer, but it helped shield her face. That, and the transmitter in her right ear.  

She spotted Cora standing by the fountain as she said she would, looking around. Fay smiled when the girl's head tilted towards her, and they made eye contact.

Cora beamed and immediately rushed to her.

"You're here," She whispered loudly, with thinly veiled enthusiasm.

Fay nodded. "Yes," She glanced at the entrance, which was decorated with black and orange posters. Fay didn't need to see them up close to know they were likely about Halloween festivities.

"You said you have to see the headmaster first?"

"That's what the email said," Fay said. "Then I will be given my schedule."

Cora pursued her lips.

"I hope you're at least in some of my classes. Come on; I will show you where the office is!"

Fay refrained from pointing out she knew where the office was, seeing as she'd snuck into it before.

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Three weeks earlier, a large group of students, among which many were underage, attended a 'pop-up' club organized in an abandoned warehouse in northeast Gotham, across the river. It would not have been discovered had it not been for six of the students who ended up in the hospital, following what they reported as a ‘monster’ attacking them while they were sitting outside the club smoking and drinking. Their report of the seemingly supernatural sighting was chalked up to them having ingested a fair number of hallucinogens. There were no other reports. However, a sixteen-year-old female student, Laura Carson, from Gotham Public High School went missing. Two of the students who had ended up in the hospital also reported seeing her shortly before she disappeared, talking to someone else not far from where they were standing. That person remains unidentified.

Benjamin Cooper, a seventeen-year-old student from Gotham Academy, also present at the club that night, had been the one to contact the police and call for an ambulance. When he was brought into custody, along with a fair number of other students arrested that night, Benjamin was noted to have been particularly shaken by what took place and mentioning that it was ‘too late for Laura.’ Thanks to an effective lawyer representation, he was released several hours earlier. Two days later, Benjamin was found by his grandparents in his bedroom in a critical state after having seemingly tried to commit suicide. He survived the attempt but remained in a comatose state.

Laura Carson was never found. After three weeks, there wasn’t much hope she’d be found alive. Look what happened to George Sanders and many others like him. It was Gotham, after all. The only real lead they had to her disappearance was Benjamin, whom the doctors weren’t sure if he’d ever come out of his coma.

Old school detective work was needed. If Benjamin had information, then there was a possibility that other students at the Academy did. A friend or a classmate, maybe.

As a result, Fay Kipling became a student at Gotham Academy after being homeschooled for most of her life.  

.

.

.

Collingwood Hammerhead's headmaster was a tall, spindly man with a long, wrinkled face and tufts of hair poking from above his ears, resembling horns. Sharp blue eyes stared at her, down an aquiline nose. Despite his curt manner, he politely asked her questions that she and Damian had already gone over. Where are her parents – mother in Asia, father in Europe -, why was she homeschooled – parent's preference -, what are best and worst subjects, – history and algebra, respectively -, does she have any unique talents? At that, Fay froze slightly, caught off guard.

Did she have a unique talent? Not really. She couldn't very well say flying. Or otherworldly manipulation of the elements. Much of what was considered special about her in Maysoon always came down to her parents. How sad.

"Art," She finally said. It was not an exceptional talent, but she's been honing that well, taking a point from Damian's feedback or learning from him as well. He was at a prodigious level so that she couldn’t hold a candle to him, but she thought she was decent enough with life drawing and if, needed, be creative about a subject, even if she couldn't put it on paper as quickly as he could.

"Hm." The man grunted. "No musical instruments?"

Not. The piano at the Wayne Manor hadn't recovered from her attempt at playing it a few months earlier. Thankfully, only Alfred knew about that. "No, sir."

Any languages? "None, sir." Damian had been teaching her about other languages of that world, including useful phrases, but she saw no reason to bring that up. Hammerhead didn't ask any further questions, but he did give her a lengthy speech about the values that the Academy praised itself on, its long-standing history, and the many prolific men and women that the institute educated, thus implying its role in their success. He also handed her a fifty-page rule handbook, told her to memorize it, and ensure she abides by them. With that, he welcomed her to the Academy then sent her out to the administration office down the hall where she was meant to get her student card, a key fob for the sports campus (that would have been useful in the past) and her timetable.

Then the class introduction followed.

Fay was used to being stared at, so compared to what she'd dealt with Maysoon, having only fifteen or so students stare at her wasn't too hard to deal with. She was vaguely aware she was behaving perhaps too formally, but it was a force of habit kicking in because she was in a new environment.

Somewhat new. She'd broken in that place enough times to be familiar enough with the layout of the Academy, and some of the students there had probably been in the bunker when the Angel had taken them. Hopefully, no one recognized her. Not only had she changed physically since then, but they hadn't known her name. Given how frightened they had been, it was unlikely they retained much of that night, especially amidst that chaos.

Her first class was Algebra, curse her fortune. She sat alone and pretended not to hear the whispering around her. Students were curious. Fay knew already what they'd find on the internet if they tried to search for her. Nothing. And if they wanted to see her 'parents,' they'd only find fabricated articles of a company that did not exist. No photos. The Kipling family was wealthy, but they preferred to keep their lives discreet with enough public mention to consolidate their social status.  

Her second class was Philosophy, which she shared with Cora, much to the girl's delight. Fay felt flattered, if not somewhat humbled, by how happy the girl seemed to be that she was there. Cora had considered Fay to be her friend before the latter did, and their bond was not like the one Fay and Damian shared, but Fay'd come to value it significantly. It helped that Cora now knew part of Fay's secret because she didn't have to hide as much.

“Why is she sitting with Montgomery?”

“I think they know each other.”

“Or maybe she doesn't know that it's better if she doesn't sit with losers from the first day.”

Cora frowned, but she didn't comment. Fay gripped her pencil a little tighter. Cora did not deserve to be spoken of in that manner.

The teacher told them to read a chapter in silence halfway through the class before temporarily leaving the room. Ten seconds must have passed before chatter filled the classroom. Muted, but it was clear that not all the students were interested in following the guidance given.

"Fay, is it?" A feminine voice called to Fay's left. Said girl tilted her head slightly to look at the blonde who acknowledged her, seated at a desk in the middle row, two down from the front of the class where Fay was. "I've never heard of the Kipling family before. What school did you attend before?"

Fay studied her for a second. Slim, pale. Strawberry blond hair, blue eyes. Pretty features emphasized by makeup.

"That's her," Cora mumbled next to Fay.

Her?

Ah. Yes. Julia Frier. Cora's long-time tormentor.

"I was homeschooled," Fay replied simply.

Julia's smile was not entirely genuine. Something was scrutinizing in her expression. Fay knew when she was being assessed.

"Why?"

"Because my parents wanted to." She responded simply, feeling zero desire to engage with her.

Another girl was sitting behind Julia. Tall, hair dyed in a brilliant vermillion and cut in a bob. Fay recognized her. She had been one of the students who had chased Cora many months earlier before Fay had chosen to interfere. Unlike Julia, the redhead did not bother with a pleasant façade, and instead, she stared down at Fay with a condescending expression. Inspecting her, from top to bottom.

"Is that a Mendini bag?" The redhead asked skeptically. "The new collection?" She added, rather accusingly.  

"That's not even out yet." Another girl from the back of the class remarked, but Fay didn't bother to look at her.

A few whispers trickled through. Most students had stopped talking to observe the interaction.

Even Julia looked at the bag appraisingly. "It’s a fake, obviously," she said confidently as she glanced at the redhead with a knowing look. "Mendini only releases his collection every two years, and getting it before it's on the market is near impossible. I would know," She continued as she reached to twirl a piece of her hair. "My parents have promised me one for my next birthday."

The bag was genuine. Damian did not do replicas or fakes, not that Fay would have cared if he did. She was surprised to hear that the bag was from such an exclusive and famous designer because it meant he went out of his way to get it for her. Sometimes she preferred not to make head or tails of the gestures Damian did for her and instead only take them as they are. He had his way of showing affection.

She didn't care what the students thought. In a way, it was so much better when such gestures stayed between her and Damian, anyway. A sort of silent language just for them.

"It’s a nice enough replica,” Julia conceded as if Fay needed that consolation. “You should sit with us at lunch. We’ll tell you all about---”

“No, thank you.”

The class went eerily quiet.

Fay smiled politely. The diplomatic smile she’d been told since she was little that she’d have to wear on her face, but she’d never quite liked. It came in handy, after all.

“That’s a nice offer,” Fay continued. “But I am already sitting with Cora.”

Said girl perked up in her chair, head tilting up. “Huh?” She looked confused. “Me? Oh yeah. Of course.” She smiled.

Julia looked as if Fay had just told her a joke which wasn’t very funny. “So, you two are really…. friends?”

“Obviously.” She was starting to sound like Damian.

Cora grinned.  

The teacher walked back in, oblivious to the tension mounting in the air, as he immediately started quizzing everyone on the chapter they were supposed to read.

Cora knew she might end up paying for it later, but she quickly raised her hand in the air.

.

.

.

‘People are very preoccupied that the bag is fake.’

‘Ignorant curs. Why are you debating something as trivial as fashion when you should be investigating?’

Trivial says he always color coordinates and ensures his clothes fit him perfectly, Fay thought amusedly.

‘I wasn’t. Some students asked about it. They were also not happy Cora, and I are friends.’

‘Valiantly, you had to defend her.’

Fay could hear the sarcasm even through the screen.

‘The reason they are discriminating against her is so silly. They are awful as Cora said they are.’

‘Don’t get distracted.’

I thought you trusted me with this?’ He never explicitly said that, but she took his choice of allowing her to go on that mission as a show of faith. He could have very well chosen a disguise and attend himself, seeing as he was good at it. She’d know, given that once he had tormented her by following her around Gotham while dressed as a suspicious-looking individual. His justification was that he was testing her observational skills. Worse, he had also roped her paladin into it, convincing Bagheera to play along and pretend he hadn’t noticed Damian was following them. As if she wasn’t paranoid enough.  

He wasn’t wrong about it being a helpful exercise.

But it did not make him any less of a maniac.   

‘A decision I will rescind if you stop wasting time with all the idiots there.’

Fay rolled her eyes and pulled a childish face at the screen of her phone.

I saw that.’

She blinked in surprise and looked around herself. She was alone in the hall except…. her eyes narrowed at the camera on the ceiling, twenty feet to her left.

Fay stuck her tongue at it.  

.

.

.

Fay scratched at one ear nervously as she sat down at the square table near the tall windows overlooking the sports campus. The field was large enough to serve as a park between that and the canteen. Even a small botanic garden with an artificial pond and animal-shaped bushes. Fay did not have experience with other private institutions in that world to decide whether the Academy indeed offered ‘excellent conditions.’ Still, so far, she could see why Gotham Public school appeared as of a lower standard. At least in appearance, anyway.

In the past, when Maysoon did allow the lower classes to be educated, they were always segregated. With the new regimes, a single universal institution was established to serve as a massive educational hub to which anyone had access, regardless of their social class. Of course, noble clans still preferred to rely on private tuition, and it would be naïve to think that they weren’t still more advantaged than other classes, but the situation had improved certainly. Fay, herself, has faced a combined education as she had both private tutors and she’d been sent to study at that institution.

Cora did not stop talking the entire day. Here is what that building is about; here is where that door leads, don’t take food from that bowl because it tastes funny; this desk is always suitable. Fay knew that Cora wasn’t having an easy time at the Academy, but the girl was always optimistic and upbeat, so she’d thought she was coping with it better than Fay herself would have. Now that she was there, she understood that Cora was quite lonely. She didn’t allow that to get her down or destroy her motivation, but Fay could easily empathize with the inevitable sense of isolation. It wasn’t even the lack of having a ‘clique,’ as Cora put it, as much as it was the judgment of others for not having one.

“It…doesn’t make a difference,’’ Fay said, as she watched the girl pull out her lunch from her backpack. Fay had her own, as well, courtesy of Alfred. It had been very kind of him to do that, seeing as she could have just bought something from the canteen. 

Cora blinked at her. “What do you mean?’’ 

“Being wealthy or not,’’ Fay said as she opened the dark insulated box she pulled from her bag. Alfred had packed rice with vegetables and chicken. “I think people will always find something to judge other people about.” Plus, being an outsider wasn’t such a bad thing.

‘If people make you feel like you have to change to belong, then they’re not your people. It’s better to be alone than being surrounded by the wrong people.’

‘You’ll find a place to belong, and it may not be at all what you expected.’

The blonde nodded. “I know,’’ She popped a sliced piece of apple in her mouth. “Are you rich back—back home as well?’’ 

Fay smiled sheepishly as she took out the fork packaged inside her box. “You could say that.”

“Cora!”

“Hey, Cora.”

Fay sighed internally. The energy to socialize with individuals she didn’t know was rapidly waning, not that it had been abundant, to begin with. She grabbed the homemade nut protein bar first and glanced at the two new students that approached their table. One was a boy who looked about her age. Short and sturdy, with a mop of messy dark hair and brown eyes. His cheeks were stained red, and he seemed shier than his companion, a slim girl with olive skin, long dark hair, and black eyes. They were both dressed in the standard Academy uniform and holding trays with food.

Cora smiled, indicating that they were friendly acquaintances rather than individuals who might cause her discomfort. She introduced Fay to them.

Reuben and Mara.

Fay shrugged when Cora asked her if it was okay that they joined their table. She would have preferred they remained alone, but she did not wish to be unnecessarily rude. Plus, the whole point of being there was engaging and observing with students to seek out information.

Reuben seemed like a very cheerful boy. Mara was quieter, but there was nothing hostile or malicious about her, but as Fay found quickly, she was pretty blunt.  

“Kipling?’’ Reuben repeated. “I am not sure if I know a Kipling. What do your parents do?”

Fay tried not to sound too rehearsed as she answered their questions when she spoke, although Damian had drilled the information in her the previous day. The maniac had even quizzed her. 

Jonathan and Erica Kipling. Father is a risk analyst; mother primarily works in market research across Asia and Europe. Fay refrained from pointing it was Wayne Enterprises and just said her parents offered their services to different companies. Her parents are both American, as so is she, but she did often travel as a child, so that’s why she was homeschooled. In Gotham, she lives across the River in Burnside and is looked after by an appointed guardian, which they didn’t care to ask about, thankfully. They didn’t seem surprised either that Fay did not see her parents that often or that she had so much independence.

Raucous laughter from a large table in the middle of the room interrupted their conversation, and they all glanced in that direction. Unsurprisingly, Julia and her friends were seated there and several other Sophomores. According to Cora, that was the ‘popular people’ table.

“I heard that you insulted Julia?’’ Reuben asked in a conspiratorial voice. 

Fay’s eyebrows raised. “No…I haven’t?”

“But you refused to sit with them?”

Oh.

Fay sighed. “Yes.”

“They were acting as if Fay can’t be friends with me,” Cora said with a scowl.

“I don’t care what they think,” Fay added.

Mara looked amused. “You got balls. But you should know that they’ll make your life a nightmare.’’ She remarked calmly.

Fay highly doubted Julia or any other students there could do worse to her than others have. She was not in the least intimidated.

It was refreshing.

“Is that a Mendini bag?” Reuben asked, eyes going wider when they fell on the messenger back propped by Fay’s side.

“Yes.’’

“How—”

“It was a gift.”

“Whoa. That’s quite a gift.” He said. “My mom would have a cow if she knew about it. She always buys everything that Mendini comes up with, but she’s never managed to get one before a launch.’’

Fay didn’t comment on that.

“Isn’t that Joseph Bronson?” Reuben asked, jutting his chin towards a tall boy who stopped by the ‘popular’ table. He had blond hair cropped short and a muscular built. “Wasn’t he friends with Benji?” Fay’s head tilted up, attention switching entirely on that table.    

“Co-captains for the lacrosse team,” Mara said. “But, yeah, I think they were also friends.”

Fay watched as Joseph’s stopped behind a younger male at the table. There was some similarity in their facial structure. Same nose, same hair. “Are---they related?” She asked tentatively.

“Yeah, that’s his younger brother. He’s a sophomore like us,” Reuben nodded. “How could you tell?”

She shrugged. “They just look alike, that’s all.”

“He’s one of the most popular students,” Mara commented. “Swimming team. Athletics runs in the family.”

“Yeah, so does being an asshole,” Cora remarked, then exchanged a knowing look with Fay. She glanced at the two students sitting with them. “Any news on Benjamin?” She asked although she knew the answer already. Fay had given her a summary of the case, if only because it might help have an extra pair of ears and eyes.

“No,” Reuben shook his head. “Still in a coma. My mom talked to his grandfather. The doctors are not very optimistic.” Benjamin Cooper’s parents died in a car accident when he was only five years old, and his younger brother was but a few months old. Since then, they’ve been in the custody of their paternal grandparents and had had to transfer back to Gotham. His father was born and grew up there before he ultimately moved to Seattle in his twenties and settled there.

“What happened to him?” Fay asked, feigning ignorance. She knew what the official medical records said, but she was curious about students' theories.

“You don’t know?” Reuben asked, surprised.

“She was homeschooled, idiot,” Mara grumbled, throwing him a look. “It was on the news, though. You don’t watch that either?” She asked, looking back at Fay.

“Not much,” Fay said. “There was a party, wasn’t it? And someone went missing?”

Reuben nodded. “Yep. Several students ended up in the hospital. From what I’ve heard, they were public-school students.”

“I don’t get it. How did they know about this club?” Cora asked, genuinely curious. Fay wanted to know as well, seeing as it appears the club's location was passed around verbally. No primary source was identified.  

Both students sitting across from them shrugged.

“So weird,” Cora mumbled.

“Not as weird as Benji trying to commit suicide after that girl went missing.”

Fay raised a brow at that as she poked her food with her fork. The meal looked appetizing, but she had no appetite, far more preoccupied with the mystery at hand. “Do you think he had anything to do with it?” It seemed like a perfectly normal follow-up question to ask.

“Nope,” Mara said

“Kinda?” Reuben said, looking unsure. “It’s too weird to be a coincidence, I guess. But I’d have never guessed Benji to be the type to do something like that.”

“Did you even know him?” Cora asked skeptically.

“Erm, well no. But he’s one of the nicer members of the lacrosse team. Last year, he helped me find my class when I got lost.” Reuben shrugged. “I guess it’s always the nice ones who have something to hide, right?”

Yes and no, Fay thought. She glanced over at the popular table. Joseph Bronson had walked away already to sit at a table where other older students were seated.

A former friend of Benjamin.

A potential lead, maybe?

.

“How was the first day, Miss Fay?”

Fay stared tiredly at the kitchen counter. “It was alright.” At Alfred’s raised brow. “They talk so much.” She grumbled. Ironically, she used to say to her parents in the past whenever she was forced to socialize with other clan children. It wasn’t as Fay hadn’t been a cheerful or engaging child; she just tended to get drained rapidly in social situations. “And I think I am on the list of the Academy’s bullies, now. Just because I didn’t want to sit with them.”

Tim shot her a sympathetic look from across her, where he was nursing a coffee. “High school can be a battlefield. Many students place high importance on the image and reputation they have.” Fay looked uninterested at that, and he smiled. “Yeah, I get that. Anything new?”

“Not really. I think Benjamin was friends with the captain of his lacrosse team, but I couldn’t find out if he had been at the party that night,” Fay said as she removed the strap of her messenger bag. Tim’s eyes flitted curiously over it, but she missed his look as she crossed her arms before her and leaned on the counter.

“Don’t you have your cases to worry about, Drake?”

Tim rolled his eyes. Fay straightened and looked over her shoulder at the boy who’d just stepped into the kitchen. She smiled. It felt very refreshing to see someone so familiar after an entire day of being amongst people she barely knew. Cora was an exception naturally, but Damian offered an even higher sense of comfort. Perhaps the highest, equal to Bagheera’s.

“It’s not your case, brat,” Tim said. “We’re all involved to a degree or another.”

The boy scoffed. His green eyes fell on Fay, giving her a pointed look. She got the hint and got up from the chair, grabbing her bag in the process. “I will see you later,” She said before going after the boy who’d already turned and walked out of the kitchen.

“I feel like we should give her something for always being so eager to help us,” Tim said bemusedly. “I am not sure if it is funny or worrying that she finds other students more tiresome than Damian.” He was only half-serious about it, of course. As unexpected and peculiar as Damian made a friend, Tim was glad he did. He wouldn’t go as far as Fay was influencing him because he remained arrogant and hot-tempered and conceited, but she did seem to offer him a source of contentment.

“I believe we already are, Master Tim,” Alfred said.

.

“Oh, I am so sorry.”

“Rghhh.”

“I know. I know. But you can’t come with me.”

“Rgghhh.”

“I missed you too.” Fay clutched her paladin a tight hug as she sprawled on the ground next to him. “Did you miss me?’’

Damian stared at them with an expression of disgust. “You were gone for eight hours only.’’ He remarked snidely.

“Bagheera and I are never apart.’’

“Have you forgotten how many times you’ve gotten kidnapped?’’

“That’s not the same,” Fay protested before she loudly kissed Bagheera’s muzzle, who chittered in satisfaction.

Damian rolled his eyes, then glanced at Titus, who met his gaze.

“They do not know what dignity is, do they, Titus?”

The Great Dane just stared at him affectionately.

.

.

.

Pulling the stool closer, Fay lifted from her seat to lean over so she could kiss his cheek. “Thank you for the bag. I like it.” She grinned, heat pooling in her cheeks. She felt like repeating the gesture, and it wasn’t the first time she’d felt that way. Sometimes, the affection she felt for her friend was so potent that she just wanted to let him know of it every possible second. He might end up stabbing her, so she chose not, but she didn’t pull away yet, leaning against his back and glancing over his shoulder.

“Hn.” She felt warm and soft. More so in some areas than others. Her hair tickled his ear and cheek, and she smelt of donuts, courtesy of Grayson. He had picked her up from the Academy that day, seeing as he was heading to the Manor anyway. He was seated at his drawing table, sketching. She could see there were pages hidden at the back of his sketchbook, but she didn’t ask to see them, despite feeling curious. Currently, he appeared to be working on a rather detailed view of the Gotham skyline. He still provided her with line art to practice her abilities, albeit far more complex than when she’d started. And Fay still kept the originals tucked away and preferred using copies because she couldn’t bear to destroy his work, no matter how easily he could replicate it.

“You didn’t report any panic attacks in the last four weeks,” He remarked, not taking his eyes off his drawing. He could feel her breath against his neck. “I take it that has not changed,”

Fay shook her head, “No.” then lowered herself back onto her seat and pressed her cheek between his shoulder blades. Her arms wrapped around his waist, her knees parting slightly so she could sit closer to him. He always felt warm and solid. Unflinching. Even when he was relaxed, he still felt like a predator ready to strike, but rather than feeling scared, she felt safe. Her hand landed against his stomach, right below his sternum, where she could feel the outline of a particular scar. It was the injury that had led to his death. The scar was meant to be bigger than that, but the process that brought him back to life had also led to many marks on his body fading or disappearing altogether. He’s quickly gained some back through training, such as the callouses on his hand and others via missions. Others had been particularly deep, and they never entirely went away, like the one on his abdomen.

It was a frightening prospect. The idea of Damian being dead. That could cause her a panic attack as quickly as the idea of Bagheera being injured fatally. She isn’t sure she could survive either one’s loss.

Fay spread her palm over that area, covering the scar and feeling the lines of his muscles there. She had grown toned as well after her time on the island, but she was still softer than him. Damian seemed incapable of retaining any fat, but he also didn’t seem to have inherited his father’s bulkier physique. She didn’t care, either way, to be honest, but she liked the way he felt.

“They’re not that different,” She muttered drowsily. “The students here from the ones in my world.”

“You already knew that, considering your many break-ins.”

Fay hummed, her other hand absent-mindedly playing with the soft hem of his shirt. She could feel herself getting drowsier, lulled by his warmth and familiar scent and the faint scratching of a pencil against paper. Those were the Good Days. The best of them. Peaceful and quiet and safe. “No.” She responded, two fingers brushing against something even softer than the shirt. Warm. Oh, that might have been his skin; she only half-processed. His heartbeat was quicker than usual, but she didn’t notice. She wasn’t exhausted, but a nap suddenly felt like the right choice, given how comfortable she felt.

Damian didn’t move, but he felt her grow lax against him, and her breathing slowed down. Her hands relaxed against him, ceasing the movements that had caused hot sparks to form in his navel and spread quickly like fireworks. Fay likely didn’t realize it, but ever since her phasing, her flux had grown more robust, and it seemed to almost leak out without her knowing because he’d feel the brush of energy differently than before. It was a warm – almost too hot – buzzing that used to make him feel on guard in the past but now offered all manners of sensations he shouldn’t have felt. Sensations he had told himself he would never succumb to, sensations that he would not experience unless he allowed himself because they required him to lower his guard.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? With her, his guard was never up as it usually was.

It would be naïve of him to chalk up those sensations to just the novelty of constantly being offered such a level of affection. A few minutes later, Fay roused up suddenly, and having realized she fell asleep against him, she mumbled a quick apology, then got up and stumbled over to his bed. She fell on top of it, boneless, and the duvet pulled up to her shoulders. It was far too early in the evening to go to sleep and too late to be taking a nap, but he let her do as she pleased.  

His back felt cold. He could feel the imprint of her hand against his abdomen still. A tingling sensation where her finger had brushed against his hipbone, having slipped past the hem of his shirt. Damian instinctively tried to rebel against the sudden sense of loss he experienced because he deemed it irrational, but he knew it was a moot point. It was there to stay.

To make him yearn for things he didn’t think he should need or want. Or deserved.

To make him want things he hadn’t even considered yet, much less able to name correctly.

.

.

.

13th of October

Cora tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible as she lingered by the locker rooms in the Academy’s sports centre. Inside, there was an Olympic-size pool and a basketball court, along with both the girls’ and boy’s locker rooms and a first aid office. On the same floor, the various trainers and teachers shared a relatively small office which only had a couple of desks and was currently empty. The sports centre was accessible via a large hall from the eastern side of the Academy and the corridor cut through a path between the covered swimming pool and the basketball court. At the end of that corridor, along with an exit leading to the field outside, the boy’s locker room sat across from the girls. The doors leading outside were wide open even if it was a chilly day, but Cora didn’t mind, as in that manner she had visibility of anyone coming from outside. From that angle she could also see down the other end of the corridor, where another pair of doors separated the sports building from the rest of the Academy.

It was a free period for most Sophomores, except those who were engaged in extracurriculars. Cora was meant to have drama class, but she skipped it in favour of helping her friend infiltrate the boys’ locker room. She didn’t want to get caught and ruin her perfect record, but at the same time, she experienced not a small sense of excitement. They had waited until they saw the lacrosse team head out onto the field. Cora would keep watch while pretending to have agreed to meet Fay there, who had just gone to grab something from her locker. If anyone asked, Cora planned on saying that she and Fay planned on studying on the bleachers, despite the cold temperature.

“He is not lurking around somewhere, is he?” Cora asked lowly through the tiny microphone of her earphones while looking around warily. “He always does that – just appears out of nowhere. Like a grumpy leprechaun that likes to torment people and rob them of their coins.’’ She paused. “Please, don’t tell him I said that.’’

.

Fay tried not to smile too hard at the image that popped in her head of Damian as a leprechaun running about with a bag of gold coins. Weren’t leprechauns a type of fairy? It was even funnier knowing that his Robin suit was so colorful. “I won’t,” She promised as she carefully stepped around the rows of blockers. The smell was ripe, and she was suddenly very grateful she hadn’t eaten much that day. Fay grimaced when she spotted some socks and underwear that couldn’t have possibly been that color when they were first purchased.

“I heard the boy’s locker smells,”

Fay grunted in agreement. Her eyes grew wide with horror when she turned a corner and knocked something off one of the benches. A magazine. Not like any magazine she’s ever read before, that was certain. “Oh!” She looked away, as if the woman on the cover was suddenly going to accuse her of being a peeping tom, then realized how silly she was acting.  

“Is everything okay?”

“Y-yes, mm-hm, yep. All good.” Fay nodded her head fervently, even if Cora couldn’t see her. She picked up the magazine by one corner, wishing to make as little contact as possible, and put it back on the bench. She thought putting the front cover down would be better.

It was not.

Mine are not even that symm--- never mind.

Focus.

It was---it was expected, right? The magazines. Dana said something about that when they talked. Fay herself had looked up some things. Nothing so graphic as the magazines, primarily just forums or anonymous questions from other – presumably – girls.  

Not the time or place to make those considerations. She shook her head to herself.

Fay didn’t have time to check every locker, but thankfully many of them had been left wide open. Those that weren’t, she picks locked. She figured she could use paperclips instead of the toolkit she kept in her messenger back. Using one as the tensioning tool and the other like a rake pick, she held the tension on the lock in the direction the key went. To the left, according to Cora, if the lockers were built the same as in the girl’s locker room. Fay raked the pins until they were both in the open position.

By her third locker, she was no longer shocked by some content inside. Nudes, broken pencils, abandoned textbooks, and some flyers for…parties? She made a note of them on her phone, although they seemed unrelated to the one Damian was investigating. Fay carefully rifled through duffel bags and messy shelves, frowning when she didn’t find anything useful. Joseph Bronson’s locker had also not revealed anything, nor did the formerly belong to Benjamin.

Well, that had been a waste. Before leaving, she placed several microphones around the room and a camera angled towards the entrance from atop one of the lockers. It would not capture any of the students in a compromising position, but it would record any who came in and out of the locker room. They will also be capturing all the conversations taking place in the room.

“Anything?’’

Fay shook her head. “I am afraid not.’’

“Hm, okay.’’ Cora removed her earphones. “Let’s go before anyone catches us. The free period is almost over, and I think we both have Business Economics next.’’

Fay could tell she’d already hate the subject. She is willing to bet her uncle would see it as poetic justice if he knew.

Later, she’ll have to come back and search the girl’s locker room, as well.

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The rest of the day passed by uneventfully. Fay remained largely impervious – she was rather proud of that – to the looks she had started receiving from some of the students at the ‘popular’ table. It was somewhat predictable, she thought, the way they behaved. And disappointing. In Maysoon, she attributed the negative attention she received because they felt wronged by her (or her clan), directly or otherwise. Or because she did not match the image they had in their heads of her. However, she had only been attending the Academy for two days, and it seemed she was already a target. Earlier, while she was waiting in line to get some fruit from the canteen buffet, the redhead that accompanied Julia – Erin, was it? – bumped into her purposefully, trying to make her drop her tray. She failed, as Fay had better reflexes than that, but she had a feeling it would not be the only attempt.

Once upon a time, she’d have felt wary and scared, and anxious. 

Now she barely cared, except for feeling rather irritated with how little it took for some students to behave in that manner.  

 “Don’t let it get to you,’’ Cora whispered as they sat down at the table by the window.

Fay blinked. “I am not. They just remind me of other people, that’s all.’’ Unpleasant people who had hurt her so much she used to hear their voices in her head all the time. She still did, sometimes. Fay has had only one truly Bad Day since the island, but there were other small moments in which she still managed to get stuck in her head, unable to stop the thoughts from spiraling down the wrong path. It was easier righting herself these days, though.

“Are bullies just as bad, you know, back there?’’

“Worse,’’ Fay replied simply, not elaborating. When Cora frowned, taken back by the direct response, Fay smiled at her. “It’s alright. It’s all in the past.’’

“Oh…okay.’’ The girl looked like she wanted to ask for more details but ultimately decided against it.

Fay glanced back at the table, thinking about a similar group of boys and girls that she used to watch from a distance. She had changed enough to be no longer crippled by shame or guilt, to acknowledge that she had not deserved their treatment regardless of her shortcomings. Now, she had a second home and had survived many challenges. She had friends. A family. So, no. She did not experience any fear when she saw those looks being thrown her way; she had no intention of letting them get under her skin.  

She just wasn’t sure if she’d feel as calm and confident if she were to go back to Maysoon and face everyone there.

Maybe not yet.

But she will, one day.

Chapter 59: Of beauty and pride

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Swallow your pride, you will not die, it’s not poison.”

- Bob Dylan

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16th of October

"What?" Damian asked irritably when he caught her staring at him while he was trying to walk her through her algebra homework. The problems were rudimentary if one asked him, but Fay worked herself up so much over them that she had developed hives on her hands. Then she started beating herself over not being clever enough to do them.

"Nothing." Fay shook her head. "I was just thinking about when I first met you, that's all."

"You should be paying attention instead of reminiscing and gawking at me like a fool."

She just smiled at that, unaffected by his comment. The affection in her expression lingered. A part of him still didn't know what to make of it. Not when it was offered in such an unwarranted manner. "I am sorry." She leaned against him, shoulder against shoulder, then averted her eyes back to the textbook before them. "I am paying attention, I promise."

"Hn." He eyed her from the corner of his eyes for a moment. Did something happen at the Academy? No, she would have told him. She didn't seem upset either. A week has passed since she's been attending the Academy, and while they made no progress in their case, Fay had managed to blend in rather effectively. She seemed to enjoy the insight she received into the lives of other individuals within her age bracket, but he could tell that she was also frustrated by the constant social interaction she had to conduct. That, he could appreciate.

"Will you go to the museum with me this weekend?" She asked later, after finishing taking notes of his explanations.

They just went a few days earlier. There was no new exhibit, and at that point, they had spent so much time at the museum that they were more familiar with it than its staff members. Sometimes they didn't even talk, which offered him a quiet space to meditate. Damian could do that elsewhere, but he found it refreshing expressing some of his thoughts or deductions about one thing or another, even if she didn't always know what he was referring to. Fay was also perfectly comfortable with the silence, especially if she had a book with herself.

"Finish the problems within the next twenty minutes, and I will consider it."

She did finish them in twenty minutes but only got three out of seven right.

"—TT—I told you to finish them."

"I did finish them."

"Correctly."

She grinned. Her eyes shined with mischief.

"You never said that."

He had the sudden urge to….do something. Something illogical and unexpected. She was already sitting in his bubble, shoulders, and knees brushing against his, yet he felt greedy.

A part of him never ceased to be scandalized by the other side of him that welcomed and encouraged the closeness to another human being. It was not, however, any individual. No. A stranger would hardly be allowed within six feet of him. Even the various members of the Wayne household are not permitted to be close to him equally. Brown takes liberties, having declared herself to be his older sister, which in her mind, comes with the right to tease him and invade his personal space. Grayson is plenty insufferable, as well, what with his nicknames and his hand on the shoulder', a gesture that shouldn't carry as much power as it should, but it does. More so than his father, even though his gestures are rarer still. Pennyworth has the most respect for another's personal space, but whenever he does reach Damian, the gestures are welcomed. Unless, of course, he is attempting to put a tracker on him, as he’s done that before.

Fay is not close to him just for comfort or out of a practical need or because she’s teasingly pushing boundaries. He's gone from tolerating to welcoming her physical presence to immediately detecting when she makes less contact than usual. Damian notices. He observes. More so than most adults, let alone teenagers. So, he saw that day too. Fay hasn't touched his hair or hugged him or kissed his cheek or even smiled at him at length that afternoon, far too preoccupied with her homework. She was taking it far too seriously, in his opinion. Diverting her attention in unnecessary ways.

With difficulty, he can acknowledge that he’ll always notice if she changes her attitude, but he doubts he’ll ever verbalize it. But he can admit that he preferred when Fay exhibited affection because that implied it was something he decided he wanted. It feels less like a need, involuntary and incurable, and more like a conscious choice.

So, here he was, once again tempted to instigate actions that were neither pragmatic nor productive. They often wrestled, which he rationalized could still be considered a decent enough training exercise even if it’s no longer just that. There's a strange, unexpected sense of power in eliciting all manner of reactions from her, from laughter to mischief to annoyance to adoration. Never hate. Never disdain or disgust, or rejection. It was an achievement he hadn't considered gaining without using his acting skills. Fay's emotions were genuine, and they were all directed towards him, as he was and who he was. Not an Al Ghul, Robin, or Damian Wayne, one of Gotham's richest heirs.

It was starting to feel insufficient at times, however. Even being close like that. But what was more? If just spending time with her and accepting her affection was no longer sufficient, then what was?

Because he was who he was, he made her rework the unsolved problems until she got them right. 

"There," Fay snapped because she could be temperamental too (which was generally more entertaining than anything else), as she slapped the notebook in his lap.

It only seemed fair that he'd take such an impertinent gesture as a challenge.

(an excuse)

"There's nothing wrong with being bad at---ack!" Once the surprise melted away from her face, Fay stared at him scandalized as he pinned her down on the bed. Then flicked her forehead. "What—what—" She squealed, immediately wriggling like a fish on dry land when she felt his fingers brush against her sides. (more) Damian was terrible when it came to tickling, primarily because he loathed it as a concept (which was silly, seeing as she saw him tease Goliath before). Unfortunately, she was particularly ticklish, so he didn't even need to do much to cause her skin to break into goosebumps and an annoying itch to fill her stomach. She let out a noise of frustration, immediately trying to fight back, resulting in everything being kicked off the bed, including a bewildered Nada.

The fight ended up in Damian's favor when Fay accidentally knocked her head against one of the southern wooden posts of the bed.

Damian grabbed her, pushed her back towards the middle of the bed, and pinned her back down, albeit gentler than before, careful not to jostle her. Fay didn't fight back as she clutched a hand to her head, groaning lightly. She swore she could feel the bump forming on her head and suddenly regretted choosing to replace her bed with a canopy one. Fay found the other one broken one afternoon during the summer. Suspiciously enough, Bagheera refused to meet her eyes the entire day and kept his emotions subdued. She was confident he had phased into his battle form while on the bed. Following training on the island, he easier switched between the two states. However, he also seemed not to have control of the transformation sometimes. Len told her it was expected, as Bagheera himself was going through his changes.

"Your coordination remains subpar," He remarked, albeit without any heat, as he turned her head to the side to check her scalp. It was fine, not even bleeding. She no longer seemed interested in continuing the fight, but he still hovered over her, one of her knees blocked between his.

(more)

"Now my head hurts." She mumbled.

She turned her head to look at him. She didn't try to push him away, either, just staring at him curiously. Her hair was in disarray, with a few loose strands having wrapped around her neck and fallen over her flushed face. She wasn't out of breath, her stamina level at the highest they've ever been, but her cheeks were always prone to reddening quickly. Damian's eyes flitted over her exposed skin. She was wearing a simple grey tank top, and he could see the rings of marks around her biceps as well as the ones along her collarbones. From that angle and proximity, he could also see other details that he expected to see, yet he was still somewhat startled. Was that lace—yes, yes it was. Huh. He had noticed, of course, that she had been relying on a more comprehensive array of support in that area, but as it'd always been a clinical observation, he's never cared enough to ponder the details of it. He still didn't, he told himself. It was just…unexpected, and that was illogical in itself. He already knew of those clothing articles, seeing them when he looked for a spare change of clothes during her phasing.

He just had never connected the item with her body until then. His eyes flitted away to the marks on her chest because it suddenly represented a neutral territory to look at.

And he always did like inspecting her marks.  

"W-what?" She asked, startled by his sudden scrutiny. "Is something wrong?"

When Fay summons her flux extensively, all her marks move around her skin. He knew for a fact that the patterns along her collarbones also moved down her torso. He was curious about what they looked like and if they were any different from the others. How many more will she gain?

"Does it hurt?" He asked, brushing his fingers against her collarbone, making her squirm because she was ticklish there as well.

"Hm?" Fay looked down at herself. The skin where her marks are and the immediate area were always more delicate, but it wasn't necessarily painful. "No. It feels…tender, but it’s not always painful.” Clothes sometimes felt abrasive if she was recovering from training or an intense sparring session.

He lifted his head. Green eyes met brown. She stared at the specks of golds around his irises and how the jade mixed in with emeralds as well. Between his darker skin and the dark, long lashes creating contrast, sometimes it looked like he had jewels for eyes.

Fay placed his hands on his cheeks, scrutinizing the lines of his face that had become more pronounced as the months passed. He had no breakouts to worry about, and his skin was overall flawless save for a tiny scar underneath his right eyebrow and another on the underside of his jaw, on the left-hand side. She used to think he was pretty, like a creature of the jungle that hadn't changed, but now that he was rapidly going through the passage into adulthood, she found herself comparing him to various works of art across both worlds. Like that painting of a former prince of Maysoon that used to sit on the third floor of the old palace. 

It was not just his looks, though. When she first met him, Fay had noted his good looks as well, but his behavior and approach had put her off. She had no idea there was so much more to him. Those parts that she had found unpleasant initially were still there, and while they often compounded her ire, she also took them as they were. A portion of him. Damian is arrogant and argumentative, and impatient. He can be mercurial, and she'd also seen how violent he can be. Before Gotham, he had also had a mindset to conquer and kill and always get what he wanted, leading him to be selfish and aggressive and with no regard for others but himself. Yet there he was, still dangerous and unpredictable, making her safe and protected and important.

Dick told her about how difficult Damian was as Robin initially but how he also had not been accustomed to having someone by his side, watching his back. Tim told her how tumultuous, to say the least, was their first encounter and how long it took for them to get accustomed to each other. If Damian scared her when she first him, she wonders how much worse it would have been if she had met him earlier. Maybe he would have never cared to seek her out in the first place, and if he had, it wouldn't have been because he wanted to reward her. Maybe, he would have looked at her the same way others have. A failure. Not worth his time. Now that she knew him so well, and they were so close, that scenario made her heart wrench painfully, her mind refusing to accept a scenario where they didn’t end up friends. A scenario in which she would have never found out that that he is capable of being kind and generous and loving, albeit in his own convoluted and puzzling ways. She wouldn't have found the courage to move from her limbo, or perhaps not when she did.

Damian was proof that people can be more than their errors. Just like her father was.

There used to be a passage in a book that her father liked, which spoke of the beauty of a soul. Fay had never really understood it, even when he explained it. She knew that people are just more than appearances. She had understood, in theory, that people can change even if that doesn't happen quickly or often, for that matter. But maybe that's what he referred to.

It wasn't until she saw those eyes widen ever so slightly that she realized she'd said that out loud. If she hadn't been so close to him, she probably wouldn't have caught his surprise.

"I…sorry," She muttered embarrassedly.

His eyes flickered then darkened. "That's fine," He said, voice lower than usual. It no longer cracked or pitched unexpectedly, but it had gotten deeper. Fay liked his voice, especially when he was calm and kept his usual condescending remarks to a minimum. It was one of the reasons she enjoyed whenever he explained to her a book or a concept or told her one of the Arabic tales. "Perfect genes." He added smugly, although his eyes did not seem to reflect that arrogance as much as they usually did. She found that statement rather superficial, so she felt the need to correct him.

"I…" She slid her hands up in his hair. "I wasn't talking about—I mean, just about your looks."

"Is that so," He asked, slightly mockingly, but there was something open in his expression that said he was willing to listen to her rationale.

Her cheeks burned. She wasn't embarrassed to admit what she thought of him, necessarily, but she knew she'd sound like a sap if she voiced all her thoughts.

"No," She said shyly. "You'll make fun of me."

One of his arms curled underneath her right shoulder and the other propped by her waist. Fay circled his shoulders with her arms. They've been in such proximity countless times before, and while he didn't initiate physical contact as much as she did, she did not find it strange. She reveled in it. He felt warm and solid and safe, and her anxiety just melted away, replaced by a general state of lightness. It didn't feel quite the same as when she hugged Bagheera. For one, there was a buzz in her body that she couldn't put in words but felt akin to when she was flying through the clouds.

"Tell me."

She couldn't look away in that position, and it felt silly closing her eyes.

"I meant…inside and, um, outside." She offered weakly. Her arms tightened around his shoulders, hands brushing through his hair against his scalp. He didn't feel heavy, per se, certainly not compared to her paladin whenever he'd playfully crush her with his weight, but she was aware of him. She just really liked it. Being close like that to him. It made her happy.

"That is a sentimental notion," His breath fanned over her face.

"No, it isn't," She murmured.  

"You are endlessly sentimental."

She glared at him. "Don't be terrible."

"Says the one who called me beautiful."

The heat spread to her ears and neck. He was never going to let that go now.

"But you are also terrible." She added lightly, not serious, although sometimes he redefined the term obnoxious. Her eyes moved to his collar. "You say mean things, and you're so nit-picky and always have to have the last word, and you never admit when you're wrong—"

"That's because I am never wrong---"

"---But you're still mine---"

They both paused, having talked simultaneously, and stared at each other for a second. Fay tensed so hard she might have as well been a statue, breath caught in her throat. Damn it. When Damian offered his undivided attention like that, it always felt as if she was before an audience of a hundred people. He had a way of making her feel as if she was the only thing visible at that moment.

"Yours."

"What?" She looked away. That close, she was willing to bet he could count the number of pimples she developed.

Her brain liked to sabotage her.

"You said yours." A dark brow lifted.

She blinked rapidly. "No—no, I didn't! I was---I was going to say you're still my best friend." No, she didn't, she realized with horror. Her line of thought was along the lines of that he's still her boy with green eyes. She can't believe she'd almost slipped on that silly connotation. It wasn't as if she thought of him as property. He was the boy with green eyes who scared her that night at the museum, and now that same boy was there, making her feel safe. Made her feel like she belonged somewhere, regardless of who she was meant to be.

Damian smirked. "You're lying."

"N-no, I am not---"

"Your heart is beating faster."

Damn him.

"Yes, be—because you're—you're being annoying."

"You're stuttering. You only do that when you're afraid or embarrassed." He lifted his head. "Your face is red. Hence it's the latter."

And just like that, she wanted to hit him again.

She wiggled, trying to get away from him, but he had an iron grip on her. "I take it back. You're just mean. Get off."

He didn't budge. "And you would be dishonorable to your friend by lying so blatantly?"

That accusation scandalized her.

"Di-dishonourable?!"

She tried to push him away, and she thought she was successful when he shifted off her. She was wrong. Her hands were pinned up above her head a second later, and her legs were blocked between his knees. Damian leaned forward, and she froze when she felt his teeth graze against her skin.

Oh no.

No, no. No.

"Don't—don't you dare!" She exclaimed, shifting her head back and forth, but there was no escape. His breath tickled her skin.  

The tyrant had bitten her at least three more times since the first time she used that move. A miscalculation on her end. She had reciprocated the gesture as viciously as she could, but he did so, too, so they were never even.

"Finish your sentence, then."

"No."

His free hand came up to keep her head in place, and she watched him lean forward again. Then she remembered that he would leave a mark if he bit her. What if it didn't heal in time for school the next day?! She was going to look as if a wild animal had bitten her.

"I am listening," He said smugly.

Screw it. She wasn't going to let him win.

"Fine. Do your worst." She said defiantly. "I am not telling you."

"Very well---" Her eyes widened in horror when she saw him bend towards her, all her resolve melting when she felt his teeth graze against her cheek. "No, wait! You are mine!" She exclaimed, then made it worse while trying to make it better. "You're my boy with green eyes!"

Shit.

That sounded so corny and sentimental and creepy when said out loud. He would mock her until she died, which was bound to happen soon. She was going to die of embarrassment.

Damian released her arms, and the hold on her chin also disappeared. He straightened, still straddling her legs, but she didn't look at him, feeling very much exposed. And maybe just in the tiniest like crying. She met her paladin's gaze across the room, who looked at her with ears pointed straight at the ceiling. He was the only one she'd ever referred out loud about Damian in that manner. Even if he could speak, he would have never betrayed her trust.

When he remained eerily silent, she tentatively looked up at the boy. He had an unreadable look on his face.

"Sorry." She whispered, voice trembling slightly. "I… that's silly. Sorry."

"Why?"

She blinked. "W-why what?"

"Why do you label me in that manner?" He asked calmly. "As yours?" The connotation should have filled him with vitriol. He belonged to no one. Yet when it came from her mouth, he felt anything but outrage. Fay believed in free will and held him in high regard, and she would never see herself as having ownership of him or what he offered. Even with that, those words shouldn't have caused the warmth to pool in his chest and extend down his navel, rapidly forming a ball of heat there.

"I…I, um don't know." She said. "I don't mean it---I don't mean it as if you're an object." Her eyes darted across the room before she finally settled to looking at his collar rather than his face. "I think of it like when I do of Bagheera. My paladin. My friend. My—um, yes. I suppose that it makes me think of—of how different we both were when we met and…. what we're like now." She smiled shyly. "And it makes me happy. When I first met you, I was…in a bad place, and I was sad, and you were frightening, honestly. And very confusing. I first noticed your eyes because they reminded me of the jungle and my mother, so I guess that's why... It's just---a silly thought, that's all. I don't care how you look even if, um, I think you're…. yeah. I just care…that you're my friend. So, um, mine." She sounded like an idiot, she thought.

"Hn." He moved away from her. "Pack an overnight bag. I am going on patrol earlier today, and it's more time-effective to return to the Manor rather than here."

Fay pulled herself in a sitting position, confused by the sudden change of topic. He was not even going to mock her about it. "So, we're going to the museum?"

"Obviously."

She smiled.

Hers.

(more)

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Fay and Stephanie listened to the conversations recorded in the girl's locker room across both schools, whereas Damian took over the ones in boys. Stephanie insisted it was maybe not appropriate for him to review the footage even if it was unlikely to have captured 'something not for his eyes.' Damian was not clueless, and he just found the implication that he was a 'peeping tom,' as the blonde put it, preposterous. Not that he looked forward to the ramblings of either gender.

As expected, the recordings from the male lockers gave him a migraine. Damian even wondered if his intellect was in danger of being affected by listening to such trivial conversations. Fay had not been enthusiastic about her task either, but he'd seen her notebook. It was filled with all the slang words she heard from the recordings and her time at the Academy. She also rapidly became familiar with pop culture references or other notions that she hadn't been exposed to before.

His friend might become brain-damaged by the end of the mission.

Meanwhile, Bagheera sulked. His Fay left for an unacceptable number of hours. He had no visibility of where she was going or what she was doing. What if there was a threat lurking nearby, and he wasn't there? Furthermore, she carried so many different scents whenever she came home that made him feel slightly dizzy.  

"What's the matter?" He asked when he spotted the paladin brooding in the corner of the room. Bagheera's back was turned to him, and he made a low sound, like a grumble. The boy rolled his eyes. "She's safe. Do not be dramatic."

Bagheera growled softly.

"—TT—"

Later that day, the boy fed him apples with a whole jar of peanut butter poured over them.

It was an acceptable offering.

Looks like the boy could be trained after all.

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19th of October

"Miss Kipling."

Fay frowned, head jerking up to find the teacher staring at her expectantly. The class, which had gone eerily quiet, was filled with barely contained chuckles. She had been spacing out, and the sociology teacher, Mr. Cunningham, must have been calling her several times already. Blood rushed to her cheeks, and she instinctively tried to make herself smaller in the seat as she regarded her teacher. "My apologies, sir." Too formal. Even her classmates noticed because one boy behind her mocked her choice of words, eliciting a few chuckles.

Mr. Cunningham smiled, albeit he threw her mildly chastising look. "Something more interesting in your notebook than my class?" Fay glanced down at the said item, which was blank save for the random doodling she made with her pen. She hadn't taken notes, her mind drifting away to the nightmares she's had the previous night. Same as always, but not any closer to deciphering them.  

"No, sir."

He stepped closer and glanced down at the notebook with an expression that said he would have preferred to see notes.

"Did you hear the question I asked?"

Fay shook her head as she saw no point in lying and ignored the students taking satisfaction at her being caught red-handed. The teacher glanced at the responsible students, silencing them with a long, hard stare.

"Alright," He said, walking back to his desk and plopping himself on it. In his early to mid-thirties, he was the source of infatuation of many female students. Fay had heard two girls debate why he was not married, considering his good looks. She supposes he was pleasant to look at, but she didn't see the appeal. However, he was mild-mannered, and Fay enjoyed his classes because she liked how he taught. It helped, too, that sociology was a topic she enjoyed. Every day, in her studies in Maysoon, geography, history, and politics. She didn't care for the latter, but they were all topics that she and Damian conversed about at length, as well, comparing the two worlds.

"My question was, what are the implications of social structure?"

He didn't punish her for spacing out, which Fay appreciated. A few hands were raised, and the students spoke about the various theories on social structure, such as Marx's and Spencer's. A boy was sitting alone at the double desk to her left with a mop of curly brown hair and light brown eyes. While listening to the girl’s locker room recordings, Fay heard Julia and other girls discuss who was most 'kissable’ in their year.

Sebastian Dupont was his name, and he ranked second on their list. He was on the swimming team with Archer Bronson, apparently the ‘most kissable’ boy. Fay had noticed Sebastian before, seeing as he generally sat at the 'popular' table and appeared to be close friends with Archer, but she hadn't really looked at him until that moment. He had appealing features. A slightly crooked, easy smile and an angular jaw. Brown curls that fell over his forehead and hazel eyes. She had to admit that he was good-looking, although nowhere as striking as Thelion or Damian. Sebastian had an athletic body and was on the shorter side, but that didn't take away anything. Archer, in comparison, was considered a 'heartthrob,' which, according to Stephanie, also had something to do with his 'bad boy' attitude.

She tore her eyes away from him as soon as she saw his head shift towards her. Fay didn't want him to get the wrong idea; she was merely observing. She's experienced before what she'd started calling micro-crushes. Fleeting moments of admiration from afar, she was embarrassed by in the beginning then started accepting for what they were. Short-lived infatuations. Like the young male at the cinnamon stand next to the wholesale store, she and Dana always stopped by. He had a friendly smile too. Fay would forget about it by the time the day was over. Her crush on Thelion is also no longer romantic, if it ever was. She genuinely admires him still, and she always feels humbled by how he treats her; he is very handsome, but good looks run in many royal clan members, so that wasn't surprising. Well, she's undoubtedly the outlier in that one.

Experiencing something more than a crush seemed so troublesome. Not to mention the whole secretly-from-another-world thing. How would that even work? Will she ever like someone in that manner? Fay associated romance with her parents' relationship, but that set up a high bar that she wasn't even sure she could reach personally. She wasn't even sure she was ready for something like that. Being in love with someone. The thought made blood rush to her face. Someone is in love with her. That thought threatened to trigger a panic attack. Who would even like her that way? The way her parents looked at each other. Didn't everyone say that was rare?

Sebastian was speaking again, but she didn't look at him again.  

"Social structure implies that people form social relations which are not coincidental or random. Also, social life can be categorized in groups or institutions that are interdependent."

Huh. Was he clever, too?

Mr. Cunningham smiled. "Perfect, Mr. Dupont," He lowered rubbed his palms together as he stared at the class. "Can anyone tell me what that implies further, however? For human behavior."

The class was silent.

Fay spoke before she could stop herself. "That we are not free to make our own choices." She could feel virtually every pair of eyes in the room bore into her, assaulting her from every angle. The teacher nodded as he brushed a hand through his hair.

"Would you like to elaborate on that, Miss Kipling?"

Not really. But it was a topic she was familiar with, one which she ironically had to debate before in another educational institute, in another world, albeit for different reasons.

"Our social environment influences the choices we make. The decisions we make, how we behave." Fay said after a moment. She played with the pencil in her hands because it helped her nerves. "So, we are not completely free in the choices we make or the actions we take."

"So, you don't think people have free will?"

The question came not from the teacher but from Sebastian. Fay glanced at him. "No. I think people are free to make choices. They… don't always realize how much of their choices are influenced by other, um, factors. Social behavior is dictated by society's norms, values, or rules. Spoken or unspoken."

Mr. Cunningham nodded, looking pleased with that answer which encouraged her. "Excellent answer, Miss Kipling. Can you give me an example?" More from her world than that one, so she took a few seconds to think of one that she would be able to argue effectively. "Traditional roles of men and women, property or even…class structure?" The teacher nodded. "But humans have an impact on the social environment as well."

"Why?"

Sebastian responded before she could.

"Because we evolve, and our priorities and needs change. So does our technology and how we do things."

So he was clever, at the very least, well-read. Fay glanced at him, feeling unusually competitive, but she was taken back when she realized the boy was smiling widely at her, amusement glinting in his eyes. Keeping a straight face as much as possible, she returned her attention to the teacher. Well…that was a strange reaction. He seemed entertained. By her? By the discussion? How odd.

The bell rung. She glanced in surprise at the clock above the blackboard. She hadn't even felt the last half an hour pass by.

"Before you all go, I would like to give out the assignments for next week. Like we spoke last week, in groups of two, I would like for you to do a presentation on the topics you will be picking from this bowl right here. All topics are related to one another, so you'll combine them."

A partnership?

Oh no. No way. With dread pooling in her stomach, Fay gathered her items and put them inside her messenger back. The students left the class one by one, but not before they reached inside the plastic bowl that the teacher held in his hand, full of small folded white cards. Most students seemed to have already formed partnerships for the project.  

Which left her. Maybe she could be an exception and work alone? Seeing as she was new.

Amongst the last to go, Fay stopped in front of the teacher and reached to pick a card herself. She opened it.

A neat cursive handwritten word. 'Globalization.' Huh. An interesting topic.

"You have done very well today in class, Miss Kipling." The teacher said, drawing her attention away from the card. "Don't be afraid to speak up in class. It would be a shame to let your ideas be silent."

She shrugged and looked at the floor, feeling shy. "I, um, I will try."

"May I ask whether you've been taught Sociology as part of your curriculum at home?"

She nodded. "I like reading, as well."

He smiled. "Clearly." He glanced at her paper. "What did you get?"

"Um, globalization."

"Who is your partner?"

"Actually…I don't have one. Would it be alright if I don't--?"

"I can be your partner."

Shit.

She and the teacher turned towards the boy, who had only finished gathering his items. He approached them, put a hand in his bowl, and pulled out another card. "Communication." He looked at Fay, smiling again. "I think that's a pretty good match, don't you think? If you're okay with that."

Was her face twitching? It felt like it was twitching.

"Looks like you have a partner, after all." Mr. Cunningham said, sounding pleased.

"Y-yes. That's fine." She replied politely, hoping they couldn’t read her disappointment. She couldn't come up with one good reason why she couldn't partner with him. Unless they solved the case, she didn't have to return to school before the assignment was due.

She hoped that would happen.

.

.

.

22nd of October

It was the end of the week; it was cold, and the rain had not stopped pouring the entire day. Fay had heard that some streets suffered from flooding, likely in the poorer areas. There were no leads, no clues, so as a result, the case has not been resolved. Joseph Bronson had been a dead end in their investigation into Benjamin Cooper’s ties. They had stopped talking the previous year after they had a fallout. Different circles, it seems. Joseph was popular, partied often, and guaranteed to be accepted in a great college. On the other hand, Cooper was not as particularly wealthy and tended towards being an introvert. He was an essential member of the lacrosse team but not very close to his team members.

Fay found herself in the library on the Friday of her second week there, waiting for Sebastian to meet with her to work on their presentation. She woke up in a bad mood, which continued to linger throughout the day and was still present even when she sat down at one of the library desks. There was a constant twinging feeling in her heart, and her emotions constantly swung from self-doubt and guilt to feeling hurt.

The previous day, Fay was on her way back from Soul Bowl when she and Colin crossed paths. They got along rather well. Colin was friendly, brave, and polite. He was an ally, as well, who had some knowledge of who she was and what she could do. He had hoped Damian was with her, as he wanted to apologize for not being able to infiltrate Gotham Academy for him. They ended up walking together to the bridge, and during that conversation, Fay found out that Damian had considered Colin for the mission before he considered her. She tried not to let it bother her chalking it up to Damian being overprotective or wanting to make sure she didn't jeopardize her identity. Colin did have more experience, she supposes.

But then, she found out that he wasn't the only one. Damian had even asked Maya if she was available, although the girl was traveling somewhere in South America where a distant relative was located. By the time Fay was back at the Manor, she couldn't shake the stinging sensation she felt. It got worse when she brought it up to Dick, whom she found in the kitchen and had immediately picked up on her mood.  As it turns out, Damian had only allowed her to go on that mission because Dick convinced him! The older man tried to assuage her by pointing out that Damian was only looking out for her, but Fay felt inevitably hurt that he hadn't discussed his doubts with her. When he had told her he needed her to go undercover, she had thought it was because he thought she was ready.

That evening she did ask Damian about it. And he admitted, readily and shamelessly, that he had not wanted to consider her. She could have exposed her abilities or real identity; he pointed out. She could have had a panic attack. He also didn't think she had enough experience with infiltration and undercover work. He had fully intended on going himself under a disguise, but Dick had highlighted how that mission might be a good opportunity for her to start putting in practice all the learning she's been doing. 

Although she was hurt to hear all that, Fay understood his logic. He wasn't wrong. 

The fact that Damian still had a disguise prepared for himself to use after he sent her to the Academy was what bothered her the most. He wanted to have contingency plans, okay, but he behaved as if he had already expected her to fail. She would have likely cried or been reduced to an emotional mess in the past. That happened, but only after she back at the warehouse and locked her door, clearly indicating she did not want anyone around, save for Bagheera and her pets.

He thought she was overreacting.

Well, she thought he was being an ass.

Fay barely slept, turning and tossing all night, trapped between thinking that he was right to consider how risky it was to send her and wishing he had been transparent. He was right about her potentially exposing herself or her panic attacks getting the worst of her, seeing as she considered those risks herself. But he could have talked to her, rather than keeping it a secret that he disagreed with her being on that mission. Damian was one of the most argumentative individuals she's met. He never held back from expressing his disapproval, so it wasn’t unintentional on his end. If he had discussed why he felt she wasn't ready with her, Fay would have been disappointed, but she'd have trusted his judgment. Instead, she went out there as Fay Kipling feeling proud; he was finally giving her a real chance to contribute rather than just letting her tag along on catching low-level thieves or giving her mock exercises.

She wasn't sure whom she was angrier with. Herself or with him. Either way, he didn't come to the warehouse, and she refused to break the silence. Instead, that morning she got dressed and went to the Academy. She sat in classes, took notes, and paid attention. It was a welcome distraction.

It was likely her last day anyway, given how unproductive it was for her to be there.

"Hey, uh, were you waiting a long time?"

Fay snapped out of her reverie and looked up at the boy who'd just approached the table. His shirt was untucked out of his trousers, and his tie was loose around his neck. He also smelt faintly of chlorine underneath his cologne, and the curls around his collar looked wet.

"No," She said as she studied him. "I was just early."

He sighed in relief, then sat across from her. "Sorry, I just finished practice. I did shower, but the smell of chlorine sticks." He said apologetically.  

Fay smiled politely in return. "That's alright. It doesn’t bother me." Bagheera would have felt differently had he been there.

"So, uh, anything planned for the weekend?" He asked casually, brushing a hand through his locks while pulling his textbook and laptop out of his bag.

His knees brushed lightly against hers, which he apologized for, and she just shrugged at. She did pull herself back on her seat, though. "Nothing, I guess." She was meant to see an exhibit with Damian, but she wasn’t sure if they would still do that or not. He was being prideful about how they left things. So was she, for that matter, but she was not going to be the one to break the ice first. "Maybe, I will go to the cinema."

"Sweet," He said. "What movies do you like?"

Fay would have preferred to talk about the assignment, but she did not wish to be rude. "I don’t mind…. most genres." She replied vaguely. "I like fantasy ones. Like, um, the Lord of the Rings. " She’d recently watched it with Jason after finishing reading the books.

Sebastian's eyes widened slightly, then he smiled widely, revealing his pearly white teeth. He had a friendly smile. "That is one of my favorites as well. Honestly, you’re the first girl I know that says that." She couldn’t tell if he was saying that to be polite or genuine.

"Really? Why would girls not like it?" Her curiosity was genuine.

He shrugged. "Maybe they do. Not the ones I know, though. My sister says it’s because there’s not enough female representation."

Fay thought about that for a moment.

"I guess…it makes sense. I did notice that." She nodded. "Girls can go on adventures too." She tried not to smile at that. It would have been an inside joke if Cora or Damian had been there to hear it.

"I agree. So where do you want to start?"

"I had some…erm, discussion points we could talk about in the presentation." She opened her notebook and showed him the list. From there on, they talked primarily about the assignment, going over each of their findings and debating the points she’s put down on the paper. Fay offered to take care of the presentation itself, so she pulled out her laptop and started working on the design once they coordinated what they wanted to show the class and what they wanted to keep. Sebastian was happy to present in class, much to her immense relief. So far, she had no criticism to bring him. He was polite, attentive, and seemed relatively easygoing. He was also rather clever, which did make him charming. Fay still had to be careful about how she expressed herself as not to give herself away, but she enjoyed discussing with him.

Two hours into their meeting, she was working on the final pages of the virtual presentation when he broke the silence that stretched between them.

"So, how do you like the Academy?"

"It's alright," She replied simply. "Different, I guess." She inwardly cringed at how curt she sounded.

He did not seem deterred, as he smiled tentatively. He did have a nice smile.

"How come you and Montgomery know each other?" She frowned, and he quickly picked up on it. "There’s nothing wrong with that. I was just curious. You were home-schooled, right?" He brushed a hand through his hair. The curls fell back on his forehead. "I just thought it’d be pretty hard to get to know people that way."

Fay diverted her attention from the slide she was working on and looked at him over the edge of her laptop lid. "Comic book shop." She replied. "I mean, that’s where we met. We just met…by chance. " It wasn’t untrue. They did meet by chance. While she was pretending to be a student, right before the Angel decided to kidnap them all. Sebastian wasn’t attending the Academy when the attack took place, thankfully.

His eyes shined. "You like comic books?"

She shrugged. "Yes."

"Which ones?" He asked earnestly, placing his crossed arms over his book and leaning forward ever so slightly.

"Oh, um." She listed a couple of Western and Japanese ones, and the boy only seemed to grow more enthusiastic at that. Huh. "Which…ones do you like?" She asked tentatively. He went from comics to movies, which was a more challenging topic as Fad didn’t know quite all the names he quoted, but she nodded all the same. That pushed the end of their meeting later than it should have been, and Fay had to admit she didn’t'' really mind. She hasn’t said anything to compromise her identity or purpose there, and he hasn’t irked or made her feel uncomfortable at any point.

She awkwardly fist-bumped him when they were finally done with the presentation. "You're a great partner!"

"Eh, you too." Lame.

They were gathering the items when one of the guards came by to tell them the Academy was about to close. As they were rapidly approaching the end of the year, the days were shorter, so when Fay glanced outside, she wasn’t surprised to see it had gone almost entirely dark out. Sebastian offered to walk with her. "If that's alright?" She nodded and pulled on her raincoat before slinging the strap of her messenger bag over one shoulder.

"The Academy is pretty wild if you ask me. Compared to my old school," He remarked as they exited the library. “I heard about the attack a couple of years ago, and now this whole thing with that Senior student.”

Fay eyed him from the corner of her eyes. “Did you know Benjamin?”

He shook his head. "Not really. I am close with Archer, and I know his brother was on the same team with Benjamin, but I never met him personally.”

"Oh, I see." Then, because she was curious, "May I ask you something personal?"

He looked at her, mildly surprised. "Sure."

"I don’t mean to pry,” She said slowly. "But Archer and the others don’t seem…very nice. At least they aren’t to Cora and Reuben." Just the other day, Reuben had been humiliated when he accidentally tripped on his feet and fell in the canteen. In front of everyone. Archer started calling him all kinds of names while making pig-like noises. Fay had helped him up, and she offered him her lunch, but she knew the damage was done. The boy tried to brush it off as if it was just an inoffensive joke, but she could tell he was hurt. Sebastian wasn’t in the canteen when it happened, but she wondered if he’d joined in. "Does that not bother you?" Perhaps she was hypocritical, but she wanted to know what motivated people to accept being around toxic people if they had similar reasons that Titoh did.

Sebastian frowned, but he didn’t look angry or offended by the question.  

"I don’t agree with it," He said as they went down the stairs leading to the ground floor. "They do go too far, sometimes. But they’re not like that…when it’s our group, I mean. I know Archer can be an asshole, but he wasn’t always like that. His dad is strict, and he is very competitive because of his brother. He was my first friend here in Gotham, and he’s helped me a lot.”

Fay nodded.

"I am not like that," Sebastian added a moment later. "I would never…say or do those things. I don't care how Reuben looks, and I barely know Montgomery, but she seems chill.” One who stands by and does nothing is just as bad as one who does the hurting. She's learned that both as the victim and the guilty party. If she'd stood up to her tormentors, perhaps she'd have been better at protecting those she likely hurt while trying to please others. If she'd stood up for herself, she would have never allowed herself to believe that everything that happened had been her fault. That she deserved it.

"…but no one stops him, either,” Fay says, although any judgment. “Not that—I am not trying to judge you. I don’t know you or Archer that well, but I think Reuben was hurt by it.”

Sebastian regarded her with a contemplative look. "He was, wasn’t he?” He said. “But I heard you also stood up for him?” Fay shrugged one shoulder. The boy smiled, all crooked and dimpled. “You’re a kind person.” Feeling heat rush up to her cheeks again, Fay quickly tried to change the subject.

"Have you ever been to the Louvre Museum?" Terrible choice.

I am an idiot.

"Huh?"

Why would you even bring it up, you idiot?

"Um, I---your—your name is Dupont, which is…French?" She knew he had only moved to Gotham from Paris a few years earlier, but Fay Kipling wasn't supposed to know that. "Sorry—uh---I assumed you grew up in France."

Sebastian chuckled. "It's okay. I was just surprised, that's all." Their descent was slower than it should have been, so they reached the ground floor after a few minutes. "Why the Louvre Museum?"

"What?" Fay was momentarily distracted by his smile again. “Oh. I---I like museums, that's all." She did visit the Louvre with Damian that time they went to Europe, but it had been a short stay. Perhaps she can convince him to go again. Now, she could fly on her own there, but she didn't see herself visiting without Bagheera or Damian.

Sebastian smiled wider. "Have you ever been?"

"Just…once. When I was younger," Fay half-lied.

He hummed. "To answer your question, yeah, I've been there. My parents and I lived in Paris before my dad passed away, a couple of years ago."

"I am sorry about that." It was such a standard response, she thought. One she had grown to hate after the death of her parents, but at that moment, she couldn't say anything else. She couldn't even empathize with him verbally because Fay Kipling's parents were still alive.

"Do…do you miss it? Paris, I mean?"

"Yep. I miss the food. And the music. And I had friends, there, too." Sebastian nodded, then shrugged. "But it was also hard on my mother and sister, so I get why we had to move."  He came across as level-headed and mature, Fay thought.

"Are you a Gothamite?" Sebastian asked. They went through a pair of double doors onto the corridor of the main building, leading to the exit. "You don't seem like one."

"What does one look like?" She asked, both out of amusement and curiosity. Was it that obvious that there was something foreign about her, although she doubted anyone could pass her for anything other than an average almost fifteen-year-old girl? Unless, of course, they saw her scars and marks. Sebastian shrugged, staring at her with half-lidded eyes while brushing a hand through his hair. Fay felt embarrassed, although he hadn't said anything to make her feel that way.

"Gotham is a pretty dark place, what with the crimes and vigilantes. Paris has both, too, but…not as much, I suppose."

Ironically, Gotham had become her home. She did not necessarily identify as a Gothamite, but it was the place where she was now settled for the time being. She recalls thinking the city was cold and gritty and felt oppressive and depressing compared to Maysoon. It still felt that way at times, but she'd grown accustomed to it. Because it was the place where she found people she cared about, and they cared about her.

They stopped several times down the corridor as they continued their conversation. Fay shrugged at his assessment, then asked him what his mother did for a living. Sebastian told her that she was a professional chef, and she owned a French restaurant in uptown Gotham called the Blue Frog, which amused Fay.

"It must have been hard," She remarked. "Gotham is not an easy place to have a business, is it?" Getting better. Socializing wasn't that hard after all.

"No," Sebastian scoffed lightly. "Not at all. My mother was born and grew up in Paris, but she'd always dreamt of being one of the best chefs. She used to work in a pretty famous one back in Paris but after dad…." He frowned slightly. "Well, it wasn't easy. We didn't have a lot of family on my mom’s side, and my dad’s parents were dead, no other siblings. We were lucky, though, I suppose because one of his old school friends helped him." He explained as they lingered by one of the hall’s radiators, staring outside at the campus. The rain was pouring, the sky so dark that it felt much later than it was. "That’s Archer’s dad.”

Fay stared at him in surprise as she adjusted the strap of her messenger bag on her shoulder once her rain jacket was on.

“Oh. Is that why---”

“Why am I friends with Archer even though he’s an ass?” Sebastian grinned. Fay thought that sounded familiar. “Yes and no. I did know English before I moved here, but it was still hard because of the culture shock and all. I liked living in our old home, and I liked my old school. The Bronson family helped my mother move back here and helped her open her new restaurant. It’s in upper Gotham, safer than in other places, but it wasn’t easy to open it either way. My dad went to school with Archer’s dad, and they used to be close growing up. My dad wasn’t exactly rich and…well, neither I am for that matter.” So, his friendship with Archer was influenced by other factors, Fay thought.

“Archer was not that bad, you know,” Sebastian added a moment later. “He helped me when I moved here. Both at the Academy and outside. I mean, he is spoiled. One time he told me he thought a regular pint of milk cost fifty dollars.” He added amusedly. Fay could tell that Sebastian genuinely perceived the other boy as a friend. She couldn’t judge him for seeing the best in his friend.

“Did…something change?” She asked curiously.

Sebastian looked hesitant.

“I don’t mean to pry,” Fay added quickly. “It’s okay if you can’t tell me.”

He eyed her again as they took a few more steps towards the exit.  

“You’re kind of easy to talk to,” He admitted, making her look away again. “And I don’t think you’re the type to go around and talk to people about other people’s business.” She shook her head, grimacing at the notion which made him smile again. It was effortless to do that, which she liked. “I am not sure myself, to be honest. His parents are super-wealthy but also super traditional. There’s a lot of pressure to be good at everything.” That sounded familiar as well. “Especially since his brother is a star athlete and already has Ivy League colleges making offers. I think it may have something to do with the secret club---” He stopped, pulling a face as he brushed his curls away from his face again. Fay wondered why he didn’t cut it when it was a nuisance. The curls added a kind of charm, though. “Shit, sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

A secret club? “…It’s alright,” She reassured, although she wanted to ask more.

They just stopped before the main entrance, where the doors have been left wide open. A cold gust of wind invaded the building, nipping at the exposed parts of her skin, and she zipped her raincoat up to her chin. The Academy had gone quiet, with most classes left empty and dark. There were still a handful of students there because of their extracurriculars or wished to speak to their teachers. More guards were patrolling at night than when she used to sneak at the school, just as there were more cameras due to the Halloween fiasco two years earlier.

“I am not making excuses, you know,” Sebastian said. “I just don’t think Archer has a very easy life, even if he has money. As for the secret club thing, I don’t know that much. Archer just mentioned it once, saying it was some sort of tradition.”

Fay nodded, trying not to look as intrigued as she felt by that. “That’s not that surprising given the Academy’s history…right?” At that, Sebastian seemed more open, the tension leaving his shoulders. “Yeah. Must be.” He glanced outside. “Do you have a lift, by the way? My mom is coming to pick me up, and if you want---”

“I am being picked up as well but thank you,’’ Fay said. She gestured to another car just pulling up on the private road. “That’s my car.’’ He nodded. Fay wasn’t sure what to say. She had not expected him to be that pleasant. “Thank you for today. I hope you have a nice evening.”

“Do you---never mind. Have a nice evening as well, Fay.”

She didn’t ask what he had wanted to say initially and instead offered him a polite smile before she stepped past the threshold and down the entrance stairs.  

“Wait!”

She stopped short of getting inside the car, the cold raindrops rapidly drenching her hair and slipping beneath the collar of her coat.  

“I am sorry,” He said breathlessly after rushing down the stairs after her. “Uh, a bunch of students---from different classes – are going to the Arcade tomorrow. We’ll meet at the Dion Mall around eleven. Archer’s dad had the whole place rented out actually, but anyone can go.” He rubbed a hand at the back of his head. “Uh, you can bring Montgomery, too, if you want to come.”

Well, that was unexpected.

“I—I will think about it. And, um, I will ask her.”

He smiled, meeting her gaze again. Then he reached for her hand, oblivious to how she tensed up or how her other hand fisted out of instinct. He bent down at the waist and then kissed the back of her hand.

“Je suis impatient d'y être.” He said in French as he straightened, letting her go of her hand slower than needed. Then he winked at her as he turned around and rushed over to the car parked a few feet ahead of hers.

With that, they bid goodbye, and she got inside the car. Mr. Robinson asked her how she was doing; he drove her off the campus and towards the bridge. Fay frowned at her phone when she found no notifications from Damian. She debated texting him about her discussion with Sebastian and that she would see if she could find out more about the so-called secret club the next day, but she didn’t, ultimately. He had to come to the warehouse at one point. Or did he expect her to apologize? She didn’t want them to argue or have such tension as it filled her with constant anxiety. She wondered if she’d overreacted, yet the thought that he ranked her so low on his list of capable people stung. Not that list was big, to begin with, given his standards.

She called Cora instead while bemusedly reflecting on the fact that she now had multiple people she could reach out to when before she had to be careful not to look insane while talking to her paladin in public.

Cora agreed to go.

But she also did not do any favors to Fay’s anxiety.

Wanna have a sleepover and discuss the fact that Sebastian has the hots for you?’

Sweet Maysoon.

Damian was generally her first choice to talk about, well, most things. Bagheera would be the first to know, of course, but Damian would be the one she’d instinctually seek out for guidance. Then Fay thought about how that conversation would go.

Cora must be exaggerating. Or teasing her again. Did Sebastian like her? As in, like her? Why? They barely knew each other. Fay was certainly not prettier than the girls she’s seen him sit at the table with, and she had to come across as quite odd even when she was at her best at blending in. Cora was the only girl she was friends with and from that world, nonetheless, so she was the best source Fay had.

Perhaps it was best to seek more insight from a feminine source than her logical best friend, who was bound to scoff at it.

.

‘---what about the new girl?’

‘What about her?’

‘I think she’s pretty cute.’

‘Nah, she’s rather plain. Not my type.’

‘She’s too big for my taste.’

‘Dude, she’s just thick. Nice thick. I think boobs are bigger than Julia’s.’

‘How do you even know that? Do you see how many layers she wears? That’s rather weird, actually.’

‘PE. She was wearing just one top and a sports bra. I am telling you, her tit—’

‘Guys, that’s enough. Come on.’

‘Ohhh, what’s the matter Sebby?’

‘Haha, Sebastian here has a thing for the new girl.’

‘I don’t have a thing—’

‘Oh, come on, I heard you were flirting with her in Sociology.’

‘We were debating a topic, not flirting, which you’d know the difference between if you actually had a brain.’

‘Touchy, are we? Ask her out!’

‘I am not asking her out. It’s just homework.’

‘Riiiight. And you weren’t staring at her during lunch, either. Admit it, Dupont! You want to get your hands---ow! Hey! Dude, what the fuck?!’

‘Fuck off, Ruby.’

‘What? Aren’t French boys supposed to be good at getting girls?’

‘I can assure we do it with more class than you do.’

‘Hold on, what if I want to ask her out?’

‘Aren’t you dating Julia?’

‘Nah, it’s just a hook up. We…lend each other a hand, if you know what I mean.’

‘No way. You guys are already doing that?’

‘Obviously, Ruby. Not everyone is shitty at getting girls like you are. Anyways, Seb, if you don’t want to ask her out, then there’s no issue if I do, right?’

‘I don’t know, Archer. His face kinda says he’s unhappy about that.’

“Shut up, Ruby. She’s not even your type, Archer.’

‘So? I got game. So, new girl shouldn’t be that hard to get. She’s got a bleeding heart that one, did you see how she defended that pigster of Reuben?’

‘I wasn’t there. But maybe you should lay off him, now and then, how about that?’

‘Don’t be a spoilsport Seb. Wanna bet that she’s wild underneath that proper girl bullshit? I bet you I could get to second base in a week.’

‘Yeah, I bet you would, man. You’re good with the ladies Archer.’

‘You do realize not all girls are into that, right? You might just end upsetting her, and not even you’re that much of an ass.’

‘What do you care? I thought you didn’t like her.’

‘I don’t need to like her to know not all girls like to be asked to make out behind bleachers.’

‘But I bet you’d like that, huh?’

‘Nah. Leave him, Ruby. He doesn’t know what fun is. I will just ask her out if you’re not interested Seb. I am getting a car for my birthday, so who says it has to be the bleachers?’

‘Whatever you say. I doubt she’ll fall for it. She’s pretty clever.’

A chuckle. ‘Who cares? It’s not like I am not taking her out for conversation. I wanna see if Ruby here is right about her boobs. And just how thick those thig—'

Damian deleted the recording and chucked away the broken pieces of the pencil he had previously used to sketch while listening to the recordings. They’d all been a waste of his time. It was better if Fay stopped attending so she would not hear such discussions about herself. There was nothing obscene or enticing about how she dressed, which made it even more ridiculous than his friend was being sexualized in that manner. Not that it would have ever been warranted. Objectively, they may consider her plain and see her only for her feminine physical attributes, but they’ll never know anything beyond that. As if they would ever be worthy. He was not worried Fay would fall for any ridiculous flattery tactics those fools would employ.

He glanced at his phone. Fay had not communicated ever since she stormed off the previous evening. Although he knew she felt hurt, he hadn't gone after her because he thought she was being unreasonable. She agreed that it had been risky to put her on the mission, so why was she being so difficult about it? He would have waited and seen how long she kept that up, but Dick asked him if he had spoken to Fay that night while out on patrol. It was his and Colin’s fault that Fay ended up finding out Damian hadn’t considered her because she did so in all the wrong manners. “If she insists on being immature, suit herself.” He replied coldly. Dick sighed. Then threw him that look he always did when he thought Damian was at fault.

“Why are you defending her?” The boy asked hotly, although the man said nothing. “This is your fault, to begin with because you didn’t mind your business.”

“Maybe,” Dick conceded, although he disagreed with the boy. He had a more important point to make, so he compromised. “Do you want to know what Fay said to me a couple of weeks ago?”

“—TT—” Yes

“She was happy that she was being involved because she wanted to help, but she was also worried that if she failed, you might feel disappointed.”

Damian looked away, refusing to let go of his scowl. “That’s ridiculous.” It was. Even if he did experience an inkling of disappointment, it would never be long-lasting or profound. Not with her. If anything, he had only thought about how it’d be his fault if she ended up being compromised or if she was put in danger needlessly.

“Yes. But she still beat herself up about it. You know why?” Dick knew he wanted to know even if the boy remained stubbornly silent. “Because she accepted the mission because of you.”

At that, Damian did look at him, trying to mask his surprise as much as possible. “She had a choice. I did not force—”

“That’s not what I meant,” Dick said patiently. “She knows that. Fay was nervous about being amongst other people, and she wasn’t keen on doing it, but she accepted anyway. She does want to help other people and to help us, but she also accepted because she thought you were trusting her with it.”

Damian frowned. “I would not have sent her if I had not believed her suitable.” And by default, trusted her. There were risks, of course. Bigger for her than Colin or Maya, hence why he told her that he believed she shouldn’t have been sent out. There was no fault in that logic. Or in the care, he put in making sure she was safe.

“Yes, but this was the first official mission, wasn’t it? Not just stopping liquor robbers or sending her on a mock mission. Maybe I am wrong, D,” Dick said with a smile. “But I think she also wanted to earn your admiration on this one.”

Then she found out that he had never wanted her on the mission. That he had to be convinced to let her go.

“Here’s my advice, take it or leave it,” The older man continued. “You did well in considering risks and looking out for her, and she knows that. Let her know that next time. I think Fay trusts you more than anyone else in this world. Aside from Bagheera, of course. You prefer when B is upfront with you, right?” Damian grunted. That sort of psychological tactic wasn’t going to work on him, but he understood the point Dick was trying to make.

They left it at that.

Damian intended on going to the warehouse after patrol, but they weren’t done until after dawn thanks to a drug operation that took longer than it should have to take down. He was meant to meet her later that day anyway, for an exhibit that had only just been installed at the museum and wasn’t yet open to the public. So, he went back to the mansion, showered, and slept. He wasn’t concerned nor had doubts the tension would be cleared between them.

Around seven o’clock in the evening on Friday, she texted him. He had expected her to ask him whether he’s coming to the warehouse – which he was ready for – or that she wanted to talk to him.

Cora asked if we could have a sleepover. I am taking Bag with me, and I already fed the others.’

The disappointment lasted a whole two seconds before he gave in to the irritation that filled his veins like magma. It was a more familiar emotion, so he preferred to focus on that rather than the fact that Fay was stubbornly holding onto her stance. ‘The museum visit is not an extendable offer,’ He texted back, rather viciously, just in case she got any ideas about it. Montgomery wasn’t quite that irritable but the museum visits – especially the private ones – were just for him and Fay (the paladin was by default included and that did not count).

Fay hesitated before replying, that he could tell. Which meant she either already did invite Cora – idiot – or she forgot. Those were both unacceptable answers.

Is it okay if we go later? I am going to the mall with Cora.’

As it turns out, there was a third unacceptable answer. The irritation was quickly shaping into fury. She was canceling plans to a location she adored, to spend her day in a public setting with Montgomery. There was a part of him that immediately believed she’s being a spiteful wench. That she’s trying to hurt him because she felt hurt and because he had let her in, she knew exactly how to do that. Then there was the other part of him. The one that was newer than the old Damian, who still felt scandalized by her choice but reminded him that Fay was not by nature petty. Not with him. Her choice did not make any sense, however. Was she distancing herself? That was an overreaction, regardless of what Grayson said. If she expected communication, she certainly didn’t offer it in return now, so that made her a hypocrite too.

Conflicted and still irate, he didn’t respond.

Fay did, though. Later that night, around the time she knew he and Bruce were going out on patrol.

‘Stay safe, please.’

Fay proved she had some pride as well, but she’d never been so proud to pretend that she didn’t care.

That was one of the reasons he had let her in, after all.

.

“I bought Bagheera apples. Four types, because I wasn’t sure.’’ Cora said as she emptied the paper bags onto her bed. “And, um, several kilos because he looks like he eats a lot.”

Bagheera stared at them like a child in a candy store.

Just like that, Cora was placed on his list of favorite humans.

Notes:

A few notes on Fay and Damian's relationship and the slowness of their own epiphanies. They're young, they're complicated and their relationship will never be like something along the lines of them realizing they can't keep their hands off of each other and so on just because they're now teenagers and full of hormones. Damian will never go ahead and say 'OhMyGodmyfriendhasboobs!' and Fay won't easily acknowledge that perhaps the closeness they have is slowly becoming non-platonic. There'll be plenty of that, later, but they still have other stuff to figure out. Themselves, their own sexuality, and how that impacts each other.

Also, one of the main reasons I decided to introduce this arc is so that both of them are confronted with social interactions beyond one another. Fay more so than Damian but he'll have plenty of opportunities to reflect. It represents a paving path.

More fluff coming up, I promise, and development in the underlying plot.

Chapter 60: Of retribution and closeness

Notes:

Next ETA will likely be on Sunday 12th, and I hope to post multiple chapters again :) I hope you enjoy and as always, I welcome your comments! (really, they do make my day)

Chapter Text

"Being someone's person means that you have love in your life that will last as close to forever as this world allows."

— Erin Cinney

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Cora didn't have many sleepovers, as she'd admitted herself. So, when Fay arrived at her apartment that evening, with Bagheera climbing through the window because Emma was bound to be scared by him, she found the girl's room full of sweets, magazines, and DVDs. Enough for ten guests, not just the one.

"Is---it that what girls do in this world?" Fay asked as she stared at a particular magazine quiz claiming to be capable of determining how fun the quiz taker is.

"I think so?"

They both ended up giggling at that.  

Bagheera sat between the two, gorging on sugar and apples and letting Cora scratch his ears constantly, who remained in awe of him. Fay answered her questions on courting rituals in Maysoon, and Cora told her about what she knew of dating, which wasn't much because most of her information was second-hand. They also talked about Sebastian, whom Cora believed was interested in her, but Fay didn't see it. Fay admitted she thought Sebastian was good-looking and interesting enough, but she wasn't interested in him, nor had she even considered being romantically interested. It was an entertaining night, all in all. Different from the ones she had with Damian. Fay wasn't comfortable talking to Cora about more profound matters, but she trusted the girl enough to be open about her confusion and anxiety when interacting with other students. Cora and Damian were very different people, so they managed to help her in various ways, albeit the latter will always be her go-to person for more important matters.

The next day, they both had breakfast, then got dressed to go to the mall. Bagheera accompanied them, but he remained hidden even after Emma dropped them there in the parking lot. Fay knew he had other hiding spots nearby if he felt he couldn't stay there. She and Bagheera had studied them months earlier to ensure that he knew precisely which locations helped him remain discrete when he followed her around.

Fay was not looking forward to being at the arcade in the middle of the day on a weekend day, as it was bound to be crowded. Cora was not particularly keen either, because she knew Julia would be there, but she also didn't think it's fair to let Fay go on her own. Fay regretted making the decision to come there rather than go to the museum with Damian the moment she saw how busy the place was. She wasn't interested in socializing. The games, maybe. Perhaps she could come with Damian or Cora after hours or when it's quieter?

She nearly turned around when she saw how claustrophobic the place was. Strobe lights, dozens of students everywhere, loud music, heady scent of fast food and popcorn, loud chatter. It was a silly lead, she told herself. Archer will not bring up the matter of a secret club in that place, and there was no way she could ask him. Even Sebastian had seemed tight-lipped about it and he was nicer than Archer. So why was she there? She certainly would not enjoy herself there, and if Cora was right about Sebastian, she didn't want to give the wrong impression.

Oh right. Her pride.

Idiot. What exactly was she going to prove by being there? That place was bound to trigger her anxieties and then Damian will have been right about his assessment. She wasn't ready.

I should have just talked to him.

But…he should have talked to me as well.

This is so annoying.  

"Should we go?" Cora asked, when Fay froze at the entrance, staring inside the arcade with a mildly horrified look.  

Too late. Reuben spotted them and immediately called them over. Mara was there as well.

With a sigh, Fay shook her head and in they walked. Sebastian had been right about the arcade being an open invitation as Fay spotted students from other years as well. Which only meant more students. Much to her relief, Cora took over the small talk side of things with Reuben and then Mara as she was clearly far better at socializing than Fay. Some approached her as well, just to ask how she finds that class or that teacher, or what is like being homeschooled or where is she going for vacation in winter. Fay didn't necessarily mind the questions but she did feel drained after only fifteen minutes.

No wonder the clan replaced her, she thought with dark amusement. Damian had never made her feel that way though. Not even when he used to intimidate her every day, or when she kept worrying about what his intentions were. If anything, whenever they conversed, she always used to end up forgetting about her anxieties and get distracted by whatever he was making her debate. Fay was tempted to text him and ask him for help. Then she mentally slapped herself for it. Really, she couldn't always depend on him.

The first section of the arcade was full of well over fifty types of games but the place stretched further than that to accommodate a dozen bowling lanes, a food court with a seating area and even a laser room. Sebastian came up behind her while she was standing towards the side of the roo and tugged on her hood playfully to gain her attention. He smiled at her, when she turned around. She had felt him walk up to her, but it didn't make her feel any less nervous.  "Bonjour," He said with a playful expression.

"Erm, hello." Past his shoulder, she had a view of the food court, having gone deeper into the arcade. Cora was a few feet away, playing at a Dance Dance Revolution! with Reuben. Much to her chagrin, Archer decided to approach them a few seconds later, after he spotted them, a smirk on his lips.

Well, that couldn't be good.

Sebastian asked her how is she but she didn't get a chance to reply as his friend stepped near them.

"New girl, I am surprised you came."

"My name is Fay." She said stiffly, already feeling on edge. There was just a mean gleefulness about him that set her off.

"Well, Fay," He said, shoving his hands inside the pockets of his trousers. "I am glad you are here. I see you brought Montgomery too. Attached at the hip, are we?"

Cora, who had interrupted her game when she saw Archer come closer, scowled at him as she stepped off the game's platform. "What's it to you?'"

The boy shrugged. "I don't give a shit. I don't have anything against you, Montgomery," He turned his gaze back onto Fay and he smirked again. He had striking features and a haughty attitude to go with, but despite the parallels, he had nothing on Damian, Fay thought. "Go out with me."

Cora gaped. As did Reuben behind her. Sebastian's eyes widened, his mouth twisting as he stared at his friend in disbelief. On the other hand, Fay had a similar reaction the first time she's officially met Damian. Hysterical laughter bubbled in her chest. Unlike before, she didn't care to hide it as much as before. Nor was she as diplomatic.

"No, thank you." She said bemusedly.

Archer was undeterred, and if anything he just looked more entertained. "Why not?"

"I am not interested in you."

"Are you interested in Sebastian then?" He cocked his head towards the boy, who looked mildly panicked at that.

"You don't need to answer that---" Sebastian started, going in for damage control.

Fay inhaled. "It's not any of your business," She was proud she didn't stutter although her hands trembled slightly by her side. She wasn't afraid of Archer. She just felt repulsion. She saw too much of that other boy – the one who had ordered the others to hold her down and earnestly hurt her – in him. Archer's dating request wasn't genuine. He was trying to make her feel uncomfortable in public.

"Told you it's the quiet ones you gotta look out for," Archer wiggled his brow towards his friend.  

"That's enough," Sebastian hissed. "Just drop it, Archer."

The boy was too arrogant for that, and instead he stepped closer to Fay, boldly coming between her and Sebastian. She refused to step back or pull back on herself even if she had to put her hands in her pockets to hide how she clenched them. "Say what." He said, dragging his eyes up and down her body in a manner that made her feel exposed although she was dressed in several layers. "I am one of the best arcade gamers at the Academy. Play three different games with me. If I win," His smile widened. The savage quality of it reminded her of Bernard. "You and I, seven minutes in heaven. In the boy's bathroom."

Fay had no idea what seven minutes in heaven was, but she could deduce from his tone and expression. She'd be alone with him. It wouldn't be for good intentions. There was an inappropriate implication to it that made her stomach churn. Her flux coiled underneath her skin, instinctively pulling it to her hands which were so clenched, her nails were leaving crescent marks in her palms.  

"But if you win," He continued "I won't ask you out again. No more jokes or teasing, you have my word."

"That's stupid," Cora protested. "You can choose to be nice, without having to make her play a game!"

"Archer, what the hell?" Sebastian said. "That's ridiculous. Leave her alone,"

Fay should take the high road. Do not engage with the idiot. Not in that triggering setting. Even if she'd be labelled as a coward. There was no reason to entertain him, just because he didn't understand the word no. Fay had said no before, to Damian, and he'd been far more frightening. But different people, different motivations.

She wasn't sure if she had the courage to face her old tormentors in Maysoon. But Archer? She wanted to share some of her deep-seated anger with him.

"I want a different prize if I win,"

She felt Cora turn to her, and even without seeing her face, Fay could tell the girl was shocked she was considering Archer's proposal. The boy in question seemed delighted that she was. "What would you want from me?" Fay is not sure where the next words came from. They felt out of character for her. Or maybe not. That side of her that defied all those who tried to put her down was still her.

"I want you to apologize to me. Reuben and Cora as well,"

Archer snorted. Reuben just blinked, looking puzzled. "Huh? M-me?"

"Is that it, bab---"

"And I want you to promise that you will never mistreat them again."

At that, everyone within their proximity went quiet. Archer's smugness melted away, caught off guard and Sebastian stared at her wide-eyed. A handful of Sophomore students intrigued by the conversation had come closer and they were staring at her with a mixture of surprise and amusement.

"Self-righteous, are we?" Archer taunted, but Fay could see that she'd turned tables on him. "Fine. If you win, I will get on my knees, right here. In front of everyone and apologize to your loser friends." He declared confidently, then he smirked again. "But if I win, you will spend fifteen minutes with me." He pointedly looked down at her again. "And enough with the weird number of layers." Did he really think that he'll corner her and make successful advances if they were alone? Fay would break his hands first. She would not be intimidated.

"Very well."

They shook hands. Archer warily looked down at them when he felt how tight her grip was.

"Um, Fay?" Cora called nervously, as the boy walked away to assume his position for the first game. Bowling. "Are you sure about this? Archer wasn't lying. He really is good at these things, and…you know what he meant by going with him to the bathroom, right?" She whispered, as Fay angled herself towards the girl and removed her backpack, then her raincoat. She was wearing a loose hoodie and underneath she had another long-sleeved shirt. "I mean, I know you can take care of yourself but…you don't have to do it. Who cares what he thinks?"

Fay didn't.

But she was very tired of people like Archer.

"I will be okay." Fay said, as she finally exhaled. "Seven minutes in heaven is something…. inappropriate, isn't it?"

Cora blanched. "It's a kissing game. Usually there's a spinning bottle used to select who goes in a closet or something at a party. It's not just kissing always um, so I have heard." She apprehensively glanced over her shoulder at where Archer had walked off along with his group. "I heard stories, about how many girls he's hooked up with. Just—he doesn't strike me as the type who respects boundaries."

"I don't, either." Fay handed her backpack and coat Cora, keeping her phone in the back pocket of her jeans. "But he reminds me of someone…unpleasant. I don't want to run away."

"I understand." She didn't really but she trusted her friend's judgement.

Sebastian also tried to talk her out of it. He looked very apologetic which Fay thought was a testament to his character.

"Hey," He stopped her. "If you lose – not that I think you will - you don't have to go in there, okay? This is just a stupid game."

Fay smiled. "Thank you. I appreciate that." If she lost, she was going to teach Archer a lesson either way, because she had no intention of allowing him to overstep his boundaries. She's not sure where the sense of vindication came from and she wasn't entirely proud of it, but she committed to the challenge, and she would not back down. Fay reminded herself of all the baptisms of fire she went through since coming to that world. No, she told herself, pushing away the dread and doubts and trickling fear, as she stepped to a lane next to Archer's, I can't back down now.   

Archer quickly gained points with his first throws. He'd clearly played many times before, whereas Fay had minimal experience. She'd gone bowling once with Dana, Mack, and Robby, but she didn't engage much in the game at the time. She understood the game though. So, she took her time, blocking out the stares and the cheers that Archer received or the way he commented that he got a very nice view of her ass from that angle. It was not a comment she was used to, and it made her heart stutter as a sense of disgust assailed her.

Cora did cheer for her. So did Sebastian, for that matter, much to his friend's chagrin.

Fay could have used her abilities. She wouldn't have felt so guilty about cheating, not with someone like Archer. But she didn't. Because she wanted to defeat him as Fay Kipling as well. The bowling game ended up Archer winning. It was two out of three, so it was a partial loss. Archer's friends clapped and cheered, and he grinned at her, wriggling his brows suggestively. Fay tried to remain gracious although she felt like kicking him in the shin. "Good game."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you want to get me alone,"

Fay wished she had Damian's talent for coming up with snarky or sarcastic replies lighting fast, because that would have been an opportunity to take Archer down a peg. Instead, she just frowned and remained silent. Damn it.

"You did well, too," Cora offered encouragingly. Fay nodded and forced a smile.

The next game was air hockey, chosen by Archer as he was the winner. Fay stepped forward towards the chosen table. Sebastian stepped close to her just as she positioned herself at one end, across from a smug looking Archer.

"Hey, are you sure you want to carry on with this?" He asked, thoughtfully.

Fay smiled at him. "Yes. I will be alright." She fully expected uncomfortable and personal questions to be thrown her way if she lost. She could lie. Or she could refuse to answer. Who did she have to prove she was honourable there, anyway?  

"She said yes, Sebby," Archer said in a sugary tone. "Let your girlfriend here, play."

"She's not my---fine." Sebastian sighed, and stepped backwards.

"Ready, babe? Don't worry. This game is not as hard as the other one."

The corner of her mouth twitched.

He was an asshole. A predictable one, too. 

Fay had never played air hockey but Cora explained the rules to her quickly. Seemed straightforward enough.

It was three out of five. Archer won the first round, partially because she chose not to engage as much as she could have. It gave her an opportunity to see how he played. He was aggressive and he had experience, and he knew it.

But she had better reflexes. Compared to the ducking and dodging exercises on the island, the puck moving around on the table felt slow so she won the second and third round relatively easy. The first time, she'd taken him by surprise, ending the round in less than three seconds. For the fourth round, Archer made the first move, driving the striker straight into the puck just as forcefully as he did before. He likely expected her to miss or move as slowly as she did before, assuming she was intimidated by his style of play. The smug expression on his face melted away instantly when she hit back easily. The puck ended up ricocheting off the back wall, ending in a score on himself. The group, who had been gradually but loudly cheering on Archer, had gone silent. The boy looked up at her, face slack.

Fay smiled politely. Her uncle would have been proud of the cold diplomacy.

Archer threw her a withering look, then straightened himself. "New girl is full of surprises, huh?" He smirked at her. She didn't take the bait. It seemed to aggravate him. His pride must have been wounded because in the fourth round, he ended up leaning over his side table more than usual, becoming more defensive. The position made it difficult for him to move backward, and he had a harder time blocking her shot. Fay, for her part, didn't move as much, her left leg back and right one placed forward with the knee slightly bent. She was delighted that she was finding it easy to adjust her stance and block his shots easily, feeling more confident by the second. It was not a state she was accustomed to, but she was going to revel in it wholeheartedly.

He got a second strike when she got distracted by someone flashing something in her eyes. She'd heard Cora yell that the other party was cheating by trying to draw her attention away.

They were two for two.

 "You were right. The game is not that hard." She's not sure where the haughtiness came from, but she could see why it felt good being able to have an upper hand on someone else. Archer's friends no longer seemed as keen in cheering for their friend. Archer, on the other hand, was having a hard time hiding his displeasure as he scowled at her.

He threw first shot again. She blocked it.

"I am curious," He said between shots.

"Hm?" She kept her eyes on the table, watching carefully. She wasn't sure what they were called, but Archer tried to employ tricks in the last round. First one was meant to confuse her, and almost succeeded, because he did two shots in one. He hit the puck toward her, seemingly towards one of the corners which hit the top, then the bottom of the corner. As the puck moved back to him, he tried to shoot it again. She stopped it, however. The second time, even as he talked, "Is it true that Sebby here would be your first kiss?" floated the puck diagonally in a direction that she figured was meant to deceive her. Just as he was trying to distract her by talking to her mid-game. She completely ignored his question, watching him try to strike the puck in the opposite direction that he sent it drifting to.

She blocked the move, hitting the puck off her rail causing it to go into his corner. The puck bounced a few times back in her corner before it arrived in a rather perfect position. She struck it. Hard. Archer didn't realize she scored until it was too late. The silence that followed would have been deafening if it hadn't been for the sound of machines in the arcade or the music blaring from the speakers. A few other guests had stepped closer, intrigued, she realized, and they started clapping.

"I win. So…I get to choose the next game?"

"That's right," He said, jaw clenching. "Go ahead."

Fay looked around the room. She's played video games before, but it might take her too long to get accustomed to one and it could be disadvantageous.

"That one," She said, pointing to her left, across the room.

The boxing machine.

It was a risky choice. She couldn't punch too hard as she might raise suspicion, but she also wanted to show up one on the boy. She was absolutely on a confidence wave, and she was going to soak in it given how rarely she felt that way.

"You can go first," Fay said.

A few students whispered amongst themselves as they followed Fay and Archer to the machine. "Sure, you want to go with this one, babe?" Archer said, rolling his sleeves up, earning some admiring looks from the girls. He clearly kept took care of himself, but he was nowhere as fit as Damian, Fay thought. "Yes." She said, ignoring the way he kept employing that pet name, as she stepped back.

The last score was 858 out of a thousand.

Archer encouraged his friends to cheer him on, as if he was a one man show. Cora made a retching noise, while Sebastian rolled his eyes. Fay felt strangely calm, but hoped she wasn't becoming too overconfident. Archer positioned himself in a correct manner, and made a few false attempts at hitting it, if only to incur more attention and laughter from his peers.

He winked at her. "Those fifteen minutes are mine." Then he punched the red glove. Everyone wooed as they watched the red digital numbers climb up quickly, the crowd growing louder and drawing other students to that location. Several had pulled out their phones and they were filming. Fay wasn't a fan of that, as she'd rather not be filmed or photographed but there was no going back. She'll have to ask Damian or one of the other bats to have her removed from any social media like they'd done before.

Archer obtained 745. A new record, it seems. At least for a Junior student.

He winked at her as he stepped away and walked past her. "Those fifteen minutes are mine."

Fay set the cap she was wearing lower on her forehead, using her hair to shield her face as well. She stepped onto the platform, reset the game, and waited until the glove came back down. She didn't hesitate, not wishing to give her anxiety to crawl in because she was being watched by so many, which reminded her of the Trials. Everyone went quiet, as she went for it, and the glove was thrown back into its hatch forcefully.

Numbers climbed up quickly.

Cora, bless her heart, however started screaming as soon as she saw the numbers still climbing quickly past 730.

The crowd erupted when the numbers finally stopped.

  1.  

And she'd held back.

Fay smiled and glanced over to Archer, who looked bewildered. "I win."

Cora hilariously started jumping between them, making it difficult for Fay to pry her backpack and jacket away. "Yes. Get on your knees, bitch!" She snapped at Archer, turning towards him. Everyone stared at her. "Sorry, um, got excited." She composed herself but grinned all the same. "She beat you, fair and square."

"That was…amazing."

"I can't believe she beat Archer."

"No way. Did you see that punch?"

Sebastian's brows were high up on his forehead, but he smiled. "That was really…incredible." Fay nodded nervously at all the congratulations and pats on the shoulder she received. Part of the crowd dispersed, but many stayed to see whether Archer would honor his end of the deal. The phones were out and ready to capture his humiliating, including that of his closest friends.

Fay felt some pity for him. His clique was more ready to capture him at his lowest rather than be supportive. Archer's fists were clenched by his sides, an ugly frown twisting his features, as he glanced around and seemed to realize he couldn't get away clean from that situation. If he refused, he'd look like a coward. If he accepted, he would have to get on his knees in front of everyone.

She sighed. She wanted to teach him a lesson.

But being publicly embarrassed was scarring.

"There's no need to," She said. "I don't care about your apology. It was…entertaining," She added, trying to sound genuine. "But you shouldn't speak to people like that."

"What did you say, you bitch—" Julia snapped, stepping forward.

Archer grabbed her by the elbow and pushed her away, throwing her a furious look. "I don't need you to speak on my behalf." A glimpse of hurt crossed the girl's face. Perhaps I should have just walked away. She'd managed to get her to win, but she has also drawn attention, and she didn't get what she came for in the first place. She did exactly the opposite of what she promised Damian, maintaining a low profile.

The confidence and satisfaction wilted away, replaced by guilt and apprehension.

"I said I will do it," Archer snapped. "Bronson's don't back down."

He cracked his neck, then threatened several students that if they filmed him, they would face the full wrath of his very wealthy parents. The students immediately lowered their phones. He stepped towards her but not before he barked at Reuben to stop hiding and step next to Fay and Cora because there wouldn't be a second time.

"I apologize if I offended anyone," He said, some of his self-confidence returning. "I solemnly promise," He didn't sound very truthful as he reverted his attention to Cora and Reuben. "That I will do my very best," He placed a hand on his chest rather dramatically as he grinned. "That I shall be on my best behavior from now on." A few of his friends chuckled. "As my lovely, lovely, Fay Kipling wishes." He bowed in a caricature show of respect before straightening and winking at her.

Fay internally sighed. Archer had clearly had his pride wounded, but he somehow turned his loss into a one-person show, thus automatically making him less like the losing party. If she told him it was insufficient or untruthful – which it was – then she'd look like a sore winner. So, she had no choice but to gracefully accept his apology, her hands crossed at her back to hide how they were trembling both due to adrenaline and irritation.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." He grinned. "The invitation is still open, by the way." He added salaciously, which earned him a scandalized look from Julia.

"What?!" She exclaimed. "I thought you were joking!"

Fay declined and chose to step away before Julia decided to start a fight. A few students congratulated her, and she nodded and smiled before positioning herself to the side where Cora and the others joined her.

"You are---" Reuben gestured wildly. "So awesome!" He bellowed. "I can't believe you got him to apologize."

"It wasn't very truthful, though," Cora said with a roll of her eyes, then she smiled at Fay. "But, yeah, you taught him a lesson."

"Not as boring as you look, Kipling," Mara remarked. Not exactly a compliment, but Fay took it as one anyway.

Sebastian joined them a few seconds later. "You were…pretty incredible." Fay doubted her face could get any redder. "I don't think I'd ever want to upset you now that I know how well you can punch," He teased.

"Yeah, me neither." Reuben nodded fervently, then made a show of punching the air. “Mortal Kombat Kipling!’’ He accidentally hit the wall, and he squealed, clutching his hand.

They all snickered lightly.

"What do you want to do next?" Sebastian asked.

"I kinda want to go and watch a movie," Reuben muttered as he kept rubbing at his hand. "Do you guys want to come?"

Fay ignored that as she stared across the room at a familiar Senior student. Joseph Bronson. She hadn't realized he was there, as well, albeit she saw a few other Senior students. He appeared to be talking to another student, perhaps another Senior, given he looked a couple of years older than her as well. She couldn't see Joseph's face, but the other student's expression was galvanizing. They were both standing in a corner near the food court, and it looked like Joseph would have preferred not to be engaging in the conversation further as he tried to walk away, but the other student grabbed him roughly by the forearm. They looked at each other, Joseph slapping his hand away before gesturing that they walk away.

"Fay?"

"Huh?" She glanced at her group, who were all staring at her. "What?"

"Do you guys want to go to the cinema?" Reuben asked.

She had other priorities at that moment. Like following Joseph Bronson. "Sure. You guys go ahead," She said as she grabbed her coat and backpack from Cora's arms. "I need to, erm, make a call." She glanced at the blonde. "Grab the tickets for me?"

Cora nodded. "Sure. We'll wait in the lobby for you,"

Fay smiled and quickly pulled her coat on, but rather than heading towards the exit; she followed Joseph and the other student through the arcade. There was an emergency door leading to the fire corridor tucked at the far end of the food court. There weren't any games or as many tables there, so that side of the room was largely empty. Cautiously, making sure no one saw her, Fay followed them but hesitated just before she could go through the same door. If they choose to stand right on the other side, they'll see her follow them. She couldn't hear their voices, though, so she pushed the door open as quietly and gently as possible.

The fire corridor was a stark contrast to the rest of the arcade. Tall ceiling, white walls, empty. There was a cold draft as well, and it gave her the impression of a hospital. To her left, down the corridor, she saw other emergency doors, presumably from other establishments, including the cinema adjacent to the arcade. To her right, she spotted Joseph and the other student walking down the hall, the first gripping the latter's arm with a thunderous expression. They turned the corner to the left.

Much to her relief, there were no cameras, so she stepped out onto the corridor and slowly closed the door behind her. Then glided down towards the teenagers where the gallery was split into a 'T.' Based on what she knew of fire staircases, each establishment in the mall had to have an escape route behind the shopfronts, which meant every floor had those corridors encircling the building. The likelihood of a fire starting at that moment was low, but she doubted the gallery was always empty, so she had to remain vigilant.

Fay could hear their conversation perfectly, even as they tried to keep their tones hushed, but she decided to pull out her phone and record them anyway. Just in case.  When they were done and turned around the corner to head back inside, they found the corridor as before.

Neither one noticed the girl floating above their heads, pressed against the ceiling.

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.

'What the fuck have I told you, Wallace? You do not talk to me. You do not even look at me while we're in public.'

'Get your fucking hands off of me, Bronson, and calm down. We're in the same year, you dick. It's going to be weirder if we never talk, seeing as we're in the same year.'

'No, it isn't. I don't have to be fucking friends with everyone. And you know very well why it's important to do that.'

'Yeah, well, fucking learn to answer your messages and calls, then and I wouldn't have—'

'Just tell me what you want. I don't have time for this shit.'

'Like I already said, we need to talk about what happened that night.'

'We already talked.'

'No, we fucking didn't. We just agreed on not telling our dads that we fucked up. What if he wakes up?'

'He won't.'

'You don't know that! If he wakes up, he'll talk, and I am willing to bet he's gonna say everything he knows—'

'No one is going to believe him---'

'They don't have to fucking believe him! All he needs to say is that we were involved, and then it will be an absolute shitshow!'

'Keep your fucking voice down, or do you want the whole place to hear.'

'Oh fuck you, Bronson. This is your fault to begin with! I told you that Cooper wasn't ready, and you didn't fucking listen.'

There was a pause, in which a hard 'thump' followed. Joseph had slammed the other student – Robert Wallace – against the wall.

'Shut your fucking mouth, Wallace and stop being a pussy. We had a task, and we completed it. Cooper turned his back on us and that's on him.'

'I am so sick of this bullshit and your bullshit and your dad's bullshit. I can't believe I let you drag me into this---'

'Fuck off. In case you forget, it was thanks to my father that yours isn't in prison, right now so get off your high horse.'

'You never said that someone will get hurt. If Cooper wakes up, he'll tell everyone what he knows and we are fucked, so it doesn't matter anymore---'

'It is being handled.'

'How?'

'That's none of your fucking business. Now, I am heading back inside. If anyone asks, we discussed sports or some shit but keep your distance.'

'That's it--?'

'Yes, that's fucking it. Keep your mouth shut, and everything will be taken care of.'

 

"Nicely done," Dick smiled as the recording finished, and he glanced at the girl fidgeting by his side. Fay nodded, but she didn't feel particularly enthusiastic. After Joseph and Robert had left the fire corridor, she chose to leave the arcade altogether and texted Cora to ask her to tell the others she had a family emergency. She sought Bagheera, then headed straight back to the Wayne Manor.

Damian wasn't there, as he had taken Titus out for a walk, but she did find Dick and Tim in the Batcave. Fay told them what happened and handed them the recording, but much to her chagrin, they already seemed to know she'd been at the arcade. Damian had the human kinematic program to detect her even by something as simple as her body type and stride, not only from live feeds but also on social media platforms. Someone had posted a video of her and Archer at the arcade, and although she was barely recognizable in it, the program identified her anyway. It was both frightening and brilliant that such a piece of technology existed. Damian did tell her about it but Fay hadn't realized how efficient it was.

Tim reassured her that it was quickly taken care of with the videos being removed. If anyone tries to upload them, the same AI software will flag them up and take them down. A teenager playing at the Arcade was hardly worth going viral and whoever was in possession of a video was bound to lose interest quickly. The social media posts had been few and they'd scarcely racked up likes.

Yet, she felt ashamed all the same. Fay shouldn't have engaged with Archer like that. She drew unnecessary attention to herself, and she had put herself in a position in which someone could have filmed her having a panic attack or, worse, exhibit the use of her flux. There was no excuse for why she'd agreed to the challenge. It hadn't been productive to her investigation, it wasn't a means to an end, and she could have monitored Joseph without aggravating his younger brother. It had been pride and a misplaced sense of vengeance towards bullies that were not even in that world and maybe even pettiness. It felt good, still, knowing she won against him but was it worth it? Archer hadn't been genuine about his apology, and if anything, he was likely to behave even worse with Cora and Reuben in the future.

"Hey, hey," Dick said. "I think you might be a bit too harsh on yourself,"

Tim nodded. "While it would have been better to take the high road, that doesn't mean you screwed up. You were careful about it, and, in a setting like that, you were bound to show up in someone's photo or video anyway. The program is there for all of us."

Fay wasn't entirely convinced, but she knew she had to try and not allow herself to be bogged down by her tendency to criticize herself over the top.

"I am sorry." She said. "I did do it because, um,…well, he was awful. I also kinda wanted to win." She admitted sheepishly. "I should have just said no."

"That you acknowledge that is already positive," Dick said, with an easy smile. "What matters is that you learn from it,"

Fay smiled at that. "Yes. I will."

"We'll run checks on the Bronsons and Wallace's. Damian should be back soon, anyway."

Fay didn't wait for that to happen, feeling both drained and queasy. She hadn't eaten anything since that morning, and breakfast had been slim because she had felt too anxious to eat as much as usual. She also wanted to get rid of the scent of fast food, so she headed straight to her bedroom on the second floor and had a long, hot shower.

It helped with her self-reflection. Damian had been unfair in not being transparent to her about his concerns, but he had also been right. Fay was inexperienced, and her emotions got the best out of her still. She would not scorn them as the old-school warriors would in her world because they were also essential in her mastering the flux, but she had to learn to compartmentalize. Competitiveness, pride, vindictiveness. She had never experienced those emotions very often, and she didn't think they defined her, but that day they could have jeopardized her. Likewise, she still had to work on her inclination towards overthinking and allowing her anxieties to affect her logic. But she did want to help again. She wanted to keep pushing herself out of her comfort zone. Failure has its value, her father used to say. She was just scared she'd commit the type of failure that would bring irreparable damage or long-term consequences.

After her shower, Fay pulled on a baggy t-shirt and a pair of soft joggers. While drying her hair, she noticed that Cora had texted her.

'everything k?'

'Yes, I am sorry for leaving like that. How was the movie?'

'pretty cool, actually, but I think Seb was disappointed u weren't here ;)'

Now Cora was just teasing her. Fay shook her head to herself.

'are u coming back to school?'

'I believe so. I will let you know.'

Fay brushed her hair before exiting the bathroom. She was mildly disappointed when she didn't find Damian standing there, although he always startled her when he did that. Maybe he wasn't back yet? Fay left her bedroom and glanced down the empty hall. Then after some deliberation, she went to his bedroom. She couldn't hear any noises from inside, but then again, he was always so quiet. She knocked, no answer.

It had been just a disagreement, she thought. A blip compared to what they've been through. Fay opened the door, and she frowned when she found it open. The fireplace was on, however, so the room was warmer than hers. She didn't want to talk to him in the Batcave where the sounds would easily carry. Instead, she walked inside, closed the door behind her, and went to sit on his bed.

Lulled by the scent of sandalwood and the way the flames played and chased one another in the fireplace, Fay fell asleep.

It had been a rather peculiar day.

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.

Damian stared at her sleeping form as she lay sprawled on her stomach on his bed with her arms underneath the pillow, partially shielding her face. She'd acquired the rather nasty habit of napping late in the afternoon, which in turn caused her to go to sleep late and then be tired the next day because she had to wake up early. He didn't particularly mind. She was always awake before he went to patrol and sometimes when he came back too, so they generally talked if he wasn't tired or injured. She was his sounding board whenever patrol with father turned sour or dissatisfying.

Dick had told him what Fay had been up to that day and the information she could gather. Damian had also seen the videos that he and Tim had removed after the AI picked them on the social media platforms. He had to admit he was somewhat surprised that she chose to put herself in such a position. The arcade had numerous triggers. The footage from one of the students, albeit of poor quality, also captured some of the conversations. Fay had not engaged or reacted, but Damian had heard the way that Bronson boy had taunted her. He was the one who had also spoken inappropriately of her on those recordings. Now that his family was a number one suspect in their case, Damian would take particular pleasure in bringing the Bronson family down.

Fay shifted in her sleep, turning over onto her back. In the process of doing so, her shirt hiked up to her ribs, exposing the better part of her abdomen. His eyes fell on the exposed skin, taking in the faint line of her ribs and the dichotomy of softness and muscle. Her hips have become more pronounced in the past year, as did her chest, which he could make out underneath the dark shirt. She was not wearing the usual amount of support, and the way gravity affected the muscle and tissue there piqued his interest. Damian chucked his coat and removed his boots before sliding into bed next to her. He pulled the hem of her shirt down, covering her back up but inevitably made a note of how soft her skin felt when his knuckles lightly brushed against her stomach.

Fay didn't wake up immediately, but she did shift around and ended up facing him. He brushed away the unruly strands of hair that escaped her low ponytail to clear her face. She was no longer upset with him if she was in his bedroom. Good. He listened to her steady breathing and picked up on her pulse when it quickened as her mind perceived his scrutiny even if she was asleep. Her eyelids fluttered when his hand settled in the crook of her neck, thumb brushing at the tape of her neck. It was a weak spot, often causing her to go lax and completely calm, like a child being swayed in the arms.

Fay's brown irises came in view, unfocused initially even as they immediately fell on his face. She blinked a few times as she regained awareness of her surroundings.

"Damian?" She muttered, voice hoarse with sleep.

"You have a talent for always observing the obvious."

Fay placed her hand against his forearm, gripping it.  

"I don't want to fight anymore," She mumbled. "It makes everything feel…wrong,"

With that, he could not argue. There was an almost tangible sense of imbalance when they were not on the same page. Damian didn't respond immediately and instead tugged her closer. Fay was positioned slightly higher than he was – not accidental on his part – so when she draped her arm around his shoulder, his forehead was to the level of the crook of her neck. She had no choice but to prop her chin against his head instead.

Her scent was stronger in that spot, her heartbeat as clear as a drum. 

"I understand," The vibration from his diaphragm startled her when he spoke, considering how close they were now. "You accepted the mission to prove yourself. And because you believed I trusted you. You know trust does not come to me easily," Light patterns were being drawn onto her back. She felt like a child being soothed back to sleep. "But that is not why I had not considered you."

His head shifted, tilting upwards slightly, his hair tickling her jaw. He carried the crisp scent of winter air and the faint smell of cologne underneath. His arms felt solid, unbreakable around her, and his head was heavily pressed right below her neck. The closeness filled her with a silly amount of jubilation. 

"You weren't my first choice, not because I dismissed your ability," He continued; as she took the opportunity that he was being so open with affection to thread her hand through his hair, fingers brushing against his scalp. It felt divine, although he never told her. "But because I went by order of what was most acceptable to risk. I would not risk anyone's life needlessly," His breath tickled her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. "Colin would have risked far less if he'd been exposed, however." Damian wouldn't have sent Colin or anyone else if he thought there was a high probability of them being injured. Still, if a mission did call for a dangerous operation, he would certainly not put her in the line of fire, especially not when she was still learning. He'd make the others aware of the risk, of course, and it'd be their choice. But he wouldn't volunteer her. That's why he had considered going himself. She was an absolute last resort.

It was selfish. Dick was right when he said that it might hinder her progress.

But there'll always be a selfish side to him, especially when it comes to the ones, he has made exceptions for in his heart. Damian inhaled, his nose brushing against her neck, which quickened her pulse. He didn't linger on why he liked having that effect on her. He just did.

"You are not an acceptable loss." A ruthless thing to say. He didn't think the others would be acceptable losses, of course. Damian would no longer sacrifice others for a cause. He'd lay down his own life, if necessary, and he'd do so in a heartbeat as Robin. But it would be a lie to say that her loss would be equal to the loss of another. He may protect the lives of innocents equally, but it would be ridiculous to pretend hers is not more valuable in his eyes.  

The heat in her cheeks traveled past her neck and well past her torso as if she's suddenly just dipped into a bathtub full of hot water. Her heart fluttered, and there was a strange sensation in her stomach, but it wasn't unpleasant at all. Just unexpected. It felt the same way when she let herself fall from great heights. Exciting and unknown and a tiny bit scary. The kind that made one want to go back to experience it over and over and over. She didn't have much freedom of movement, what with the vice-like hold he had on her, but she gently moved his head away from her, which he allowed. It never surprised her how compliant he could be when he wanted to be. That filled her with a strange sense of satisfaction because it was like gaining the trust of a dragon when no one else managed to.

His head tilted up, and she met his gaze. She liked it when he looked at her like that, even if she couldn't put it entirely in words. It made her feel unique and warm and sometimes even invincible.

"I am…just worried I'll never be good enough." She admitted softly.

His fingers twitching against her back was the only indication that she struck a nerve; that he knew exactly how that felt despite his pride and arrogance, and self-assuredness.

"I understand why you didn't ask me first. I am not—I wasn't angry about that. I just wanted you to tell me why you felt that way to-to begin with." Then she quickly added, "I know that's not easy. I do. I—you were right, as well. There are too many triggers, and it was risky, and today…I—I, well I got distracted."

"The arcade. Bronson," He said succinctly, letting her know he knew what she was referring to.

Fay nodded. "I shouldn't have accepted the challenge. It had nothing to do with the investigation. I just---I wanted to beat him." She confessed. "He reminded me of—of someone. The one who, um, gave me the scars." She swallowed, her throat constricting slightly. His hand pressed against her back, where the scars and marks were. It felt reassuring. Capable of wiping away the ghost sensations of crueler hands and a sharp blade pressing into her skin. "It's just the way…he seems to like embarrassing others." She scowled slightly. "I…wanted to make him feel just as bad as others did, and it's…I am not sure if I felt that way before. Not that strongly, but I wanted him to feel exactly how others feel when he mocks them. I…um, I wanted him to apologize." She sighed. "It was stupid. He didn't even mean the apology, and now because of me, he might even behave worse with Cora."

He watched as an array of emotions passed over her face. Fay was conflicted between taking satisfaction she had retribution and feeling ashamed of it.

"You should not have engaged," He started, and she looked chastised. "He was not worth your time or attention," Her eyes met his, widening slightly. "but he deserved the humiliation. You were not solely fulfilling an act of vengeance, regardless of if you did it because he reminded you of those who hurt you in the past. You were also defending the dignity of others." His eyes flitted to her mouth, then down to her jaw and neck before they moved back up. "Although they were hardly worth your effort."

"Don't be mean," She said with a small smile. "You haven't seen how they treat Reuben. He is not even fat, yet they treat him as if he is…repulsive." Her nose wrinkled. "I don't like the way Archer spoke. He made me feel…" Dirty. Exposed. Vulnerable. "…he was just horrible," She settled for. "He said I have to do seven minutes in heaven if I lose."

Damian's eyes flickered then hardened. "You do know---"

"Yes." Fay nodded, then her brows furrowed. "Wait. How do you know what it meant?"

Brown. She filled his head with nonsensical information whenever they went on missions together.

"How do you?"

"Oh, um, I…figured. From the, um, things he said after."

The obscenities that Archer kept trying to use to throw her off her guard. Some of which Damian had heard in those videos as well.

"I…felt, well, it felt kind of nice," Fay said sheepishly, feeling comfortable admitting that to him. "Beating him, I mean."

"Yes, being better than others is satisfying," Damian said smugly.

She gave him a look that was a mixture between exasperation and affection. 

"You do not look that satisfied by the outcome," He remarked.

"I feel like a coward," She admitted bluntly, surprising them both. "If I went back to Maysoon now, I wouldn't have the courage to…confront them. I can't even confront my uncle properly. Taking---taking my anger out on Archer was…weak. He deserved to lose, and um, it felt nice feeling…confident, but it also doesn't feel real. Fay Kipling is not entirely human or just a student. So…I also felt like a fraud."

"You're an idiot," She blinked, but she couldn't see his face. Damian leaned forward, resuming his previous position and she felt his nose brush against her neck. "Fay Kipling may not be all who you are, but it is a part of you, and it is no less genuine than other sides. There's no point pondering how the challenge at the arcade would have gone if you were just a human average student. That is as useless as wondering what it would have been like if you were a dog."

Fay giggled.

"I like dogs, though. I wonder what type of dog you think I would have been?"

"A chihuahua." He responded, suspiciously fast, his lips twitching but his face hidden in her collarbone. He could feel the energy stronger there, beneath the shirt and her skin.

A few months earlier, in summer, Fay had ended up having a rather amusing – at least according to Damian, not her – encounter with a chihuahua that she agreed to help with. She had been volunteering at the Soul Bowl, bringing winter care packages to the poorer neighborhoods, when an elderly woman from one of the apartments Fay went to asked her if she'd be okay with taking her dog for a long walk. The woman couldn't do that often in the winter weather. The dog escaped its leash. Twice. It also peed on her, bit her nose and two of her fingers, and got her in trouble at the pet store after aggravating a bigger dog, resulting in several shelves being knocked down.

By the time Brutus was done with Fay, she had looked like a soldier who had just returned from the battlefield.

Damian had mercilessly teased her. Even Bagheera struggled to contain his amusement.

Fay gasped, “You are such a jerk!” and she tugged on his hair harshly.

"Do that again, and I will bite your throat out."

She doubted he would harm her, but she fully believed him capable of biting her, especially when he had such easy access to her neck. She swallowed. Every time she felt his nose brush against the skin there, the warmth returned in the pit of her stomach.

"I will…" He said suddenly. "… endeavor to be more transparent. With my decisions regarding you." He continued.

"That…would mean a lot to me."

He knows that.

"I am sorry I didn't go to the museum with you," She mumbled. "I would have liked that better, but I am glad I followed Joseph."

She'd been resourceful. Followed her instincts. Showed bias for action.

"You should not underestimate yourself so easily. Self-doubt begets mistakes," You are more capable than you think. 

"I will try harder," She was starting to feel drowsy again. Fay slid her hand through his hair again, brushing her fingers against his scalp before kissing gently the side of his head. "I see you," She mumbled, inhaling deeply before settling her head against the pillow. 

As I do you.

Chapter 61: Of mind diving and phantasmagorical encounters

Notes:

Sorry for the late update people. I am sick so been staying away from the computer last few days. I would like to think I have proofread this as well as I could, but there's a chance I might revisit it. The next update won't be out until Sunday, I am afraid but I am hoping I will be well enough to post two chapters. They're written, but proofreading can take a lot of time, especially if I want to have a break to make sure I get to re-read everything with fresh eyes before I post.

I am not sure yet if I will be posting the week after, the Sunday after Christmas, so there might be a brief pause as I'll def be back before the end of the year.

Chapter Text

"The repressed memory is like a noisy intruder being thrown out of the concert hall.
You can throw him out, but he will bang on the door and continue to disturb the concert.
The analyst opens the door and says, if you promise to behave yourself, you can come back in."

- Theodor Reik

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Joseph Sr Bronson, Michael Wallace, and Daniel Cooper have attended Gotham Academy together. Someone has also gone to great lengths to have their records buried. Back in the '80s, the school was still significantly reliant on physical documentations, and somewhere between that period and the launch of the digital system, most information was lost. Or deleted on purpose. If the police had decided to look for a connection between the three families, they would have had difficulty figuring out that all three students graduated simultaneously. Even if they did, there was no evidence that Bronson, Wallace, and Cooper had been close to one another.  

Joseph Sr had started from a far more modest rung of life than he currently led. Both his parents had worked in sales, and they had made just enough to live comfortably without the tuition fees putting a dent in their financials. He obtained a degree in Business from Harvard and then started working for an import and export company, rising quickly on the corporation ladder. He had reached VIP rank by the time he was twenty-seven. Young enough to warrant him widespread recognition in his company. Joseph Sr was now vice-president and had millions of dollars in net worth. His wife, Madeline, is the daughter of the company's former CEO. She remains an active philanthropist and formerly worked for her father's business before marrying Joseph and giving birth to his two sons. Damian also found that the death of the former CEO, William Pembroke, had been ruled out as a heart attack, despite the man's medical records indicating he was in perfect health. He was found dead in his penthouse in Seattle, six months after he announced that he's looking to step down as CEO and will decide on his successor by the end of the year. All bets were on his eldest child, Steven. William died shortly before the announcement was due. Many papers had echoed the surprise of the company employees when it was announced that Joseph would be taking over instead of William's son. Steven Pembroke was more than competent and had inherited his father's integrity and work ethic, so he had been loved by most employees. The company board unanimously voted Joseph according to classified documents. Steven later accused Joseph of having had something to do with his father's death, but no link was found between the two.

Michael Wallace's father was a lawyer. A corrupt one that met his untimely demise shortly after Michael graduated from the Academy. Whereas Joseph went on to a high-profile college and subsequently traveled the world in his bid to become a successful businessman, Michael had left Gotham for New York. Michael joined a prestigious law firm and was later made a managing partner by twenty-eight despite the poor grades in college. Just like Joseph, the death of a colleague -suicide- had posited him as the primary candidate for the partner role, despite his lack of experience. Michael also developed a gambling problem and appeared to have lost significant amounts of money in mafia-owned casinos. There was little communication between Joseph and Michael after their graduation, but they must have purposefully kept their connection discreet. Joseph Jr had also implied that Michael would have gone to prison if it hadn't been for his father. It is unknown who is the mother of Michael's son. Robert Wallace is amongst the Gotham Academy's students, whereas Joseph's songs are average at best but have inherited their father's inclination for sports.  

And finally, Daniel Cooper. Humble beginnings, a third-generation Gothamite. His parents owned an antique shop that had never been particularly successful and was still open to that day. Daniel attended the Academy due to a scholarship and partly due to his parents taking out a loan to support his studies. Not an official bank loan. It had to have been a behind-the-books one because how else could they have afforded the ten-thousand-dollar fee per semester? Damian found an old police report of Cooper's antique shop being a victim of a violent burglary when Daniel was a Junior. It hadn't been the only one either, but they all stopped shortly after. After graduating, Daniel moved to Seattle, studied architecture, and settled down with his wife Caroline, an interior designer. They both opened a small but successful company and seemed to have lived modestly compared to his former classmates. When their eldest son, Benjamin, was six years old, the Coopers died in a car accident. They had also left behind their youngest son, Jackson, only a year old, at the time of the accident.

There was a fourth potential person of interest.

Sebastian Dupont. His father used to be John Adamson before he decided to take his wife's name, a French woman he met and married in Paris while he was studying Journalism. He had a daughter, currently twenty-one years old and living in Paris, and a son, Sebastian himself. John Adamson died two years earlier after being reportedly attacked while walking through a park on his way home. Damian could not find out much about details around his death except that his injuries had been so severe that the family had chosen a closed casket funeral. According to Fay's intel, the Bronson's generously offered to support the Dupont widow and paved her way back to the US, where they even funded her restaurant.

Why? Why go to such lengths to bring them back there if John died? Why did they all come back at all? Bronson, Wallace. Benjamin had no choice following the death of his parents, as he had no maternal family to look after him and his sibling. His paternal grandparents had never left Gotham, so here he was.

They were there for something. Something that led to the disappearance and likely death of an innocent sixteen-year-old girl. Something that now their offspring were involved in.

And something that also led Benjamin to attempt suicide.

Did he, though?

In his research, Damian also found that perhaps Laura Carson's disappearance wasn't random at all. Albeit her parents are of no importance – middle class, no criminal records, average family –, her paternal uncle, Mark Buxton, was in a different situation. A member of Orange County's City Council. Half-brother of Laura's father. Not particularly close when compared to other family members – which regularly appeared in social media postings of family events – but he seemed to be close with Laura herself. Very few people were aware of Mark's family in Gotham, however, given he had been raised by a different mother and he hadn't reconnected with his brother until later in life. Since Laura's disappearance, Mark had not made any public statements as the press didn't seem to have gotten wind, he was related to her, but he did try to support the Carson family by offering them financial support.

There was something familiar about the case. It reminded Damian of George Sander's disappearance.

As if history was repeating itself.  

But he didn't believe in coincidences.

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.

.

The furor of Archer being beaten at the arcade was nowhere as big as Fay expected it, and the rumors seem to have been contained amongst the Sophomores. In retrospect, it was hardly worth attention. Just teenagers being teenagers. It certainly did not warrant the type of attention and publicity that she used to get in Maysoon, not that she'd ever want to deal with that again anytime soon (or ever).

A few Sophomore students that had been arcade smiled or nodded their heads or briefly saluted her as she and Cora stepped into the canteen the following Monday. Fay smiled back politely and tried not to engage too much. Mara and Reuben were already at their usual table, and Fay wasn't surprised when Sebastian came to sit with them rather than at the popular table. That earned them quite a different range of looks from the popular table, from surprise to anger. Archer did not seem interested at all, keeping his eyes glued to his phone. Fay could take a guess why he was behaving in that manner given they've been spying on the Bronson's the entire weekend. There was no strange behavior or discussions in the same vein as the ones she'd heard between Joseph and Robert, but Fay had gotten the impression that Bronsons were very elitist, not that she could judge given who her clan was (they had gotten better at that, to their credit). Joseph Sr was a strict man, slightly sexist and like Stephanie said, a man's man'', which Fay didn't know what meant until she explained it. He had berated his youngest for being defeated by a ''girl'' and publicly, at that – which Fay found offensive – and then spent the entire Sunday dinner talking about his golf session that day. Whenever his wife talked, he would interrupt her, or he'd belittle her. For her part, Madison Bronson came across as a soft-spoken, nice woman who didn't feel there was anything wrong with a ''girl'' beating his son. That had earned a reprimand from her husband, who very quickly told her ''Don't you dare teach my boys to act like pussies’.

Fay disliked Archer less after she's listened to the Bronson's the entire weekend. His own unpleasant attitude seemed to be a product of the environment he was raised in. If Joseph Sr was involved in ominous affairs and was now forcing his sons to join a sort of club that led to students disappearing and committing suicide, then she also felt sympathy for him.

"Hey," Sebastian said quietly, almost playfully. She ignored the look Cora gave her when he sat down next to her, sandwiching her between himself and the blonde. He maintained his distance, so they didn't touch, which she was grateful for, and he didn't stare at her weirdly, nor did he say anything to make her feel awkward.

Fay smiled. "Hello." He was a pleasant character. She had wanted to bring up the matter of his tentative interest in her to Damian if only to hear her friend's insight, but she felt embarrassed by it. Plus, she hasn't had confirmation – not that she necessarily wanted one – and it felt arrogant to talk about it.

"How was your weekend?" Sebastian asked politely.

She trained. She saw her aunt on Sunday morning and talked to her about how she followed a lead and how proud she felt. Then she accompanied Dana on errands for a few hours, before going to the manor and helping Alfred make calls in preparation for Thanksgiving and Christmas. He always told her it wasn't necessary, but she enjoyed it tremendously, especially when he told her stories or taught her things. Then in the evening, she and Damian went over what they knew of the case again. She cajoled him – with great difficulty – in watching a movie with her, which ended with them bickering because he kept voicing his criticisms every five minutes. Fay isn't sure, but she thinks she fell asleep. When she woke up, she was in her bedroom at the manor, with Bagheera sprawled over her and snoring loudly.

"It was…uneventful," She said. Uneventful is good, although sometimes she feels restless. "How about yours?"

Sebastian shrugged. "I helped my mother at the restaurant. It's fully booked until after New Year's Eve, so she's busy this time of the year."

"The Blue Frog, right?" Mara asked, jumping into the conversation.

 "Yeah."

"That's a nice place," Reuben piped up. "My mother likes to go there with her friends."

Sebastian smiled. "Yeah, my mother told me she's a regular."

"Is it just French food?" Mara asked.

Fay listened quietly as Sebastian explained the various traditional dishes that represented a restaurant's staple and the ones his mother created. She was aiming for a Michelin star. Fay knew from Damian that meant a hallmark of culinary excellence, seeing as they've been to several top-ranked restaurants in the past. In the Blue Frog's case, it appears that the prices were not as high as they could have been to make the restaurant more accessible, which wasn't easy. Not only was the location expensive, but Gotham was a city rife with crime. Fay wonders if Sebastian's mother knew it before she moved there. Or maybe it was the Bronson's keeping her protected?

Another week goes by. Bronson, Wallace, Cooper. They are all monitored closely, but unfortunately, they find no further leads.

.

.

.

Halloween arrived quickly that year.

The Academy, not wishing to be at the center of a scandal again, refused to organize any more parties within its grounds. Students were allowed to show up at school wearing costumes on the last day of the month, and some teachers preferred to put their usual curriculum on hold for some Halloween-themed games, but other than that, there were no festivities. Even the decorations were kept to a minimum compared to that year when the Angel attacked.

However, there was a Halloween fair organized in a park on the upper side of Gotham, ready to accommodate at least five hundred visitors. There were twenty-three stalls and thirteen attractions in total. At least a dozen paid actors walked around impersonating various famous horror figures. A booth equipped with green screens and professional photographers became particularly popular.

Fay didn't want to be there that night. There were too many people, too much noise and too many scents. The scary effects and pre-planned jump scares from the paid actors were more annoying than entertaining. Other visitors appeared delighted, though, and the demographic was varied. Groups of students. Families. Couples. Their costumes were just as elaborate as she'd seen in the past years, with some leaning towards a more classical approach – werewolves and vampires – whereas others went for the superhero route. Most parents in attendance chose not to dress up, but it was clear they've put great effort into their children's costumes.

Unfortunately, Fay had to don one herself, so she went as a witch. Ordinary, not particularly creative either. She wouldn't stand out in that, but she didn't need to worry about exposing her marks. Fay wore a pair of thick black and white striped tights and ankle lace-up black boots. The main outfit consisted of a knee-length long-sleeved black handkerchief dress cinched at her waist with a ruby red sash tied in a large bow at her back. The collar was tall, finishing with a lace hemline, and she even added a pair of dark red leather gloves because she liked how they paired together. Her hair was down to hide the communication device in her left ear, and she opted for a simple dark band to keep it in place. It was a windy night.

Fifteen minutes into being there, Fay felt a panic attack creep up. One of the paid actors dressed as a part human part wolf beast – Fay feels they'd be lynched in her world as such impersonation would represent a mockery to the Duanima wolf clans – grabbed her out of nowhere, trying to scare her. He ended up writhing in the pain on the floor after she kneed him in the crotch. No one else seemed to have witnessed it, so she quickly walked away after muttering an apology to the man.

 "Fay!"

Cora was there, as well. She was dressed as something called a 'ghostbuster,' and she had found it blasphemous that Fay had not known what it meant, vowing to make her watch the movies. Fay spotted a good number of Academy students attending with their friends or family. Amongst them were also the Bronson siblings and Robert Wallace. Joseph Sr was at home, working remotely and under surveillance, whereas his wife was also at the fair. Michael Wallace was busy gambling, but they had eyes and ears on him. If they had anything nefarious planned for that evening, it didn't seem like they were in a rush to put the plan in motion.  

"I like your dress," Cora remarked appraisingly. "It looks good on you." Fay wouldn't admit it, but she was slightly disappointed when Damian had offered no opinion on her outfit. She at least expected one of his usual criticisms, but he just gave her a once over then told her to ensure she keeps comms online and does not get distracted.

Fay smiled at her. "Thank you,"

Reuben, Mara, and Sebastian were well dressed as a mummy, a zombie, and…Fay wasn't sure what Sebastian's costume was, but she's certain it had to do with those movies that she saw Dick and Tim watch together. A soldier of storms? "Stormtrooper," Sebastian said when he caught her looking at him quizzically. Ah yes, "You're not familiar with Star Wars?" He looked positively pained by that.  

She smiled apologetically. "Not really."

"A witch, Kipling?" Mara remarked. "You don't strike me as wicked,"

Fay could fly, had element-based abilities, and a lupine companion that might as well be her familiar. The witch costume fit Fay better than Mara would ever know. Cora had mischievously tried to convince her to dress as a fairy, complete with the multi-colored wings and tiara. Fay had vehemently refused.  

"Or a dark fairy," Cora whispered conspiratorially when the others weren't paying attention. "That's even cooler."

Fay shushed her. The girl just snickered. Fay tried not to smile as not to encourage her. It never stopped baffling her that she now had friends with whom she engaged in banter easily and regularly.

She enjoyed it, of course.

.

Two hours into the fair and several sugary treats that left her feeling slightly nauseous and bloated, Fay was certain the fair was a lost cause for leads. Archer and his friends were keen on conquering one attraction after one. His brother was there, with his lacrosse team. Robert Wallace was on a date with a first-year student, Ricky. They all seemed intent on having a good night, and that's all.

Fay hadn't been in touch with Damian since she left the manor, but she knew he intended on going out on patrol earlier than usual. Halloween was a busy night. Criminality was on the rise in that period. Nothing major, so far, but it was only ten in the evening, so the night was still young. The fair was open until midnight for minors and three in the morning for adults, so Fay had several more hours of monitoring to complete.

"Guys, guys, guys," Reuben called excitedly as he came running towards the picnic table they sat at after going on several rides. They were eating hot dogs and fries. "Wanna ditch this place and go to a much cooler place?"

At that, Fay perked up, as did the others.

"What are you on about?" Cora said around a mouthful of sausage.

Reuben looked around surreptitiously as if they were being watched, then leaned forward. "A haunted place. A real haunted place," He whispered conspiratorially. However, his group did not react, as they all stared at him with expressions ranging from disinterest to skepticism. "Oh, come on," He pleaded.

"I don't believe in ghosts," Mara pointed out dryly.

"Also, it's Halloween. Do you have any idea how many places claim to be haunted?" Sebastian continued. Fay herself would rather be at home drinking hot chocolate, surrounded by her pets, and reading. But she also didn't want to leave too early if she could contribute to the case.

Cora eyed Reuben. "You almost crapped your pants in pendulum ride, and it wasn't even that scary," Fay chose to sit that ride out. Being swirled around dozens of times in a row sounded unpleasant. She'd know, given how many times she'd caught herself being thrown about in the air by a gust of wind lately. She needed to add flight control to her training list.

"No, no. I think this place may be the real deal," Reuben said, no less enthusiastic than before. "I heard some girls by the popcorn stand talk about it. They were from Gotham High. It looks like one of their friends was invited. Anonymously,"

Fay frowned at that.

"How did you find out about this?"

Reuben grinned. "I was in the line behind them, and I heard them talk," He moved to the side, plopping down on the bench next to Fay. Then he nudged his head towards his left, where the popcorn stand was. "See those two there? The one dressed as zombie nurses?" They all glanced towards the exact location. "Let's follow them," Reuben proposed.  

"They look like seniors," Sebastian said. "It's probably just a party, Reuben. They could end up getting arrested, and my mother will have my head if I get involved in that,"

An anonymous invite? Fay's brain was still stuck on that.

"I am in," Mara declared, wiping her mouth with a napkin. She ate faster than all of them.

"I don't know…." Cora said, unsure, glancing at Fay.

All eyes were on her then. Fay was tempted to follow the two girls herself, but it was safer and easier if the others didn't go. From the corner of her eye, she watched the girls accept their popcorn order and step aside.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Fay remarked. "I don't think there's a real haunted place. Probably…just a party, like Sebastian said."

"Yeah, I agree." Cora nodded, trusting her friend's decision.

"Your loss," Mara said with a grin as she got up. "Come on, Reuben. Let's see what they're on about, but if it's a party, we're out of there. I am not risking getting grounded to drink with the seniors."

The boy nodded and got up.

Fay cursed mentally. She couldn't let them go alone. What if they were putting themselves in danger?

"W-wait," Fay got up. "I am coming."

"What?" Sebastian and Cora chorused, staring at her, surprised.

Mara and Reuben stopped and looked at them over their shoulder expectantly. Fay glanced at the other two teenagers sitting at the table. "I…um, curious." She offered lamely. "Plus, it's better…if they don't go alone. Three is better."

"I am going if you are as well," Sebastian shook his head. "It's not safe." How gentlemanly of him. Fay would have preferred he hadn't been in that moment.

"Yeah, me too!" Cora either remained oblivious or ignored the look Fay was throwing her.  

Damn it.

.

Damian was not responding. Her earpiece was still working, but she couldn't get through to him. Was he in danger? Or worse, hurt? Without even thinking twice, Fay contacted Jason next. He did not respond.

Right. Halloween. Busy night.

The Oracle, Damian said. Contact her if she becomes isolated from the others. The Oracle has eyes and ears everywhere, after all.

'Everything okay? I can no longer see you at the fair. What's your location?' Barbara's voice came in as soon as Fay switched channels. Fay quietly explained why she left the fair, as she kept her distance from the rest group so they couldn't hear her. The two girls at the popcorn stand had left the fair at a quick pace, and they had followed them, as discreetly as possible. Fay advised Cora it might be best if she stayed behind, but the girl stubbornly refused, even though she was clearly apprehensive.

'Copy that. It is worth following the lead. I will get eyes and ears at the fair in your place,'

"Is Robin--?"

'Just a robbery that's turned out to be a bigger headache than expected. He's safe, F." Fay did not have a moniker or vigilante name, so they referred to her as F, for the time being. Or at least that's what Damian said. Did that mean she will get one?

"Thank you. I will keep you updated." She said, before shutting comms down.

Bagheera was never too far from her, and Fay felt the brush of his flux as soon as they stepped out past the entrance to the fair. He followed them discreetly. Cora had become familiar enough with him to no longer pass off as a coincidence or trick of light if she spotted a shadow moving. "He's following us, isn't he?" She whispered to Fay.

Fay nodded. "If something happens, run away, okay. Bagheera will direct you." She murmured. 

"Got it,"

.

.

.

Tinkerbell was trying to contact him, which meant something happened to the demon brat, which meant she might be in trouble. He was not surprised at all considering his current predicament, but it did still surprise him that she chose to reach out to him first and not Dick. Or Stephanie. Or Tim. Or virtually any other Batmember. Except for Bruce. That one, Jason would perfectly understand.

Unfortunately for her, he had a bit of a situation himself that he had to deal with, so he could not take the call. Hang on, kid. He thought as he got up back up to his feet and examined the large hole in the wall that his body was primarily responsible for. Scratch that. The hole in the two walls he was sent through, making him travel across two rooms before he slammed against a cabinet full of meds.

Still, in a coma, Benjamin Cooper was in a private hospital called Saint Catherine's, located only two miles away from the city's main one. The hospital was considerably smaller than Gotham General, with only three floors shaped like an L. There were only fifty-odd patient rooms spread over the three levels. The hospital is primarily used for long-term care, such as comatose patients, and very rarely for any medical interventions. Security and a handful of staff members check on the patients regularly throughout the night. The Oracle had Cooper monitored ever since he'd been brought in. Nothing out of the ordinary. His grandparents visited him daily, sometimes together, other times one by one, taking turns in staying hours and hours in his room in hopes he might wake up.

The cameras were cut off twenty minutes earlier. As Jason was closest to the location, Barbara asked him to investigate.

Someone had messed with the wiring. The guards were alarmed as they quickly patrolled the hospital back and forth to determine whether someone had decided to break in. The eighteen current residents at the hospital were from the wealthier class, but none of them were of any particular importance to kidnap. Then again, it was Gotham, and plenty of madmen didn't need a specific reason to cause chaos.

Jason checked Cooper's hospital room while perched on an adjacent building. He caught sight of the figure lying prone in the bed and the machines beside him monitoring his stats through his binoculars. Asleep in a chair facing the windows was an elderly man of average height with a mop of white hair and thick-framed glasses. The grandfather, then.

They weren't alone, however.

A tall figure was standing in the middle of the room, before the boy's bed. Dark cloak, hood pulled up, stationary. Unidentifiable.

What do we have here?

The lights in the western wing of the hospital went out even before the thought had finished forming in his head. The emergency generator kicked in seconds later, allowing the machines to flare back to life seconds after they went out. The elderly man stirred away, startled by the sound of the beeping of the electronic vital sign monitor, and the figure must have noticed because their head tilted towards that side of the room. Something long and silvery slid out of one of the intruder's long sleeves.  

A blade.

Jason made the jump over almost immediately, grappling to the hospital wall and swinging over, before kicking his way through the window. The elderly Cooper gasped, his face contorting in fear and surprise, and the figure jumped away, exiting the room quickly. Jason fired his gun even before he had landed on the floor, but the intruder moved at an inhuman speed, and the bullets missed, embedding themselves instead in the wall and door.

"What—What---" The man spat as he got up and leaned over his nephew protectively.

"I am not here to hurt you," Jason said gruffly. "Stay here, lock the door and call the police. Got it?"

The man just stared at him, but Jason didn't have time to stop and wait for him to get over his shock. He quickly made his way after the intruder into the dark halls of the hospital, guns in hand. Empty. He heard something crash to his left, round the corner where the corridor veered right. Moments later, dark vapor trickled down that hall, first in wisps, then in clouds. It was something dark and cold, and the more it poured onto the hospital, the more the mist started resembling spineless tentacles that grappled themselves onto whatever they could. The dark smoke drifted past his shoes, growing thicker and thicker.

Jason's eyes narrowed behind his mask as a huge cloud appeared from around the corner and started floating towards him. It barely had any shape, to begin with, but then it started shifting. Taking shape. As if invisible hands were carving into the mist.   

The creature's head brushed against the ceiling, and it quickly became apparent that there was nothing human about it. The elongated head, the flattened snout, and pointed ears. The creature was as wide as a horse and built like a bear. Never entirely defined, more of a tenebrous phantasm than a corporeal creature yet as he'll learn a few minutes later, just as capable of inflicting damage as a real beast.

He'll also learn that bullets had no effect. They just went through the mist, swallowed by it.

If one asked Jason, it was all rather cliché given it was Halloween night.

.

.

.

A former amusement park. That's where they had followed the two girls. Fay wasn't sure to find that ironic, worrying, or hilarious.

As soon as they arrived, Fay knew something was off about the place. Her flux coiled under her skin, which she'd learned to embrace and no longer consider an inconvenience. Her instincts were trying to tell her something after all, and she was feeling something. A type of energy. Cold. Insinuating. Hard to pinpoint, but it was there, in that park.

This can't be good.

"Are you alright?" Cora whispered as she stayed by Fay's side. They were both at the group's rear, with Reuben and Mara upfront.   

They were standing near the park entrance, marked by tall pillars that were once painted colorfully. The large sign above that announced 'Gotham Amusement Park' was missing letters, and at least two of them hung precariously, the metal eroded by the weather and neglect. It was a twisted, sad version of a location that had once brought joy and entertainment. Not unlike the Tilt' N Spin, actually.

"Something…is not right," Fay whispered with a pounding heart.

Reuben and Mara were hidden behind one of the entrance pillars, watching the two girls they stalked move deeper into the park. The entrance had not been sealed entirely, just thick chains tied from one pillar to the other from which several signs attached forbidding access, including a warning that trespassers would be arrested.

"Fay?" Sebastian asked, glancing over his shoulder from where he had been standing behind the other two students. "Are you okay?"

Fay nodded. "I think it's best if we turn around---" She internally sighed as she watched Reuben and Mara slide underneath the chains to step inside the park. Reuben turned around and gestured them to follow quickly. "—damn it." Fay whispered for the second time that night.

She had no choice but to follow.

.

'She's heading to the old amusement park, near the southeast docks. Following a potential lead.'

"Alone."

'She's not alone, Robin. Bagheera is following her. And she can take care of herself.'

'Who is watching the fair?'

'Spoiler is there now.'

Damian grunted, then cut off the comms. Using his body as leverage, he pulled back on the rope he was holding, hoisting the two tied robbers up in the air. They groaned in pain. Serves them right for trying to use innocent bystanders to shield themselves. He tied the rope around the streetlamp pole, leaving them hanging in the air.

Turning around, he saw his father straighten up from where he had been interrogating two other criminals.

"Police is on its way already. Red Robin is covering the explosion on 6th Avenue." The Dark Knight remarked gruffly. You may go, it translated to.

Damian pulled out his grappling hook and attached himself to a nearby building; he lifted himself in the air.

He followed the red dot that belonged to Fay's tracker.

.

The new location was a stark contrast to the fair, starting with the lack of lighting, which forced them to rely on their phone torches. The darkness caused them to lose track of the two girls, so they found themselves wandering amongst the carcasses of rides and attractions. Everything was dirty and covered in cobwebs. The ground was haunted by overgrown weeds and litter that must have been left behind by vandals and curiosity seekers, along with the graffiti sprayed on walls and ticket boots, some more inappropriate than others. The autumn wind was temperamental, switching between a breeze that nipped at their exposed skin to angrier gusts of coldness that made abandoned metal shriek and moan. Rodents skittered away as they made their way deeper into the park, and Reuben squeaked when he saw something that was decidedly larger than a rat move in the corner of his eye, disappearing behind an abandoned kiosk. He quickly pointed the bright light of his phone in that direction, but there was nothing there.

"Did—did you guys see that?" He asked, fearfully, his enthusiasm long gone.

Mara did not look as frightened as the boy. Fay thought she was perhaps pretending. "Probably just a rat. The place must be full of them." Fay didn't comment; she glanced over her shoulder towards the kiosk. Reuben pointed at once they moved past it. Pale, luminous eyes met her gaze from behind abandoned crates, and she nodded at him. Bagheera was keeping close.

Years of neglect and changing seasons had caused the paint on everything to fade, chip, or crack. Boots and kiosks were left barren, and nature had tried to reclaim its dominion by growing in the unlikeliest places. Through cracks in the concrete, through the bumper cars and seats of rollercoasters. Giant, metal tracks towered over them, and the rusting metal creaked and squeaked in protest with each strong gust of wind. It was a dangerous place to be even without the cold energy that made Fay's head prickle. Cora nearly tripped and fell onto a piece of rotten wood full of nails.

"Um, where to now?" Reuben asked shakily as they stopped at an indeterminate point in the park. It was dark and eerily quiet as they all fell silent, looking around.

"We should leave," Sebastian suggested. "Before we end up getting lost. We might not be the only ones here either."

"But---but where did the girls go?" Reuben asked.

"I swear we were right just behind them," Mara muttered.

Cora squinted in the dark, to their left. "Hey, do you guys see that?" She pointed.

They all followed her hand. The path they were on sloped over the hill a hundred feet or so ahead of them. There was an old pole, not far from where they were standing, with wooden arrow-shaped signs. The paint had chipped away from them as well, but they could make out the attraction that awaited them up and over the small hill.

"Is that music?" Sebastian asked suddenly. They all fell quiet. The sound was very faint, but he was right. It did sound like music.

"So, it must be a party then," Mara said and started walking again. When no one else moved, she glanced over her shoulder. "What? Come on. We came all this way, and we're not going to see how the older students party, at least?"

Reuben laughed nervously. "Ye—yeah, you're right." He reluctantly followed.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Sebastian said.

Fay silently agreed. Cora kept close to her as they followed the other three students.  

The prickling at the back of her head intensified. Fay glanced around warily. She could feel Bagheera's flux clearly, as he followed them, moving discreetly amongst the kiosks and rides without being seen or heard. His energy felt cool but familiar, like freshwater running down from a mountain. The foreign energy, on the other hand, felt icy. She couldn't pinpoint its location like she could with Bagheera's, but rather it felt as if it was coming from everywhere. As if that wasn't disturbing enough, the energy felt stifling, like an invisible blanket that threatened to shrink and suffocate her.  

As they approached the 'haunted' house, the music grew louder, and along with it, they also heard laughter and chatter. Split into two groups, herself and Cora, and the other three together, they hid behind two opposing old kiosks and watched as a group of teenagers sat around a fire built in a large trashcan near the house. Fay counted at least twelve students there, most of them older than herself, but she recognized none of them, not with their costumes on. A sizeable portable speaker had been placed to the side, and one of the teenagers turned it louder as a new song came on, which seemed to be particularly popular as at least half of them started dancing. Beer was being passed around from a cooler. A few cars were parked to the side.

"Huh. So it was just a party, after all," Cora mused as she crouched down. Fay, leaning over her to glance at the partying teenagers, hummed in agreement. She looked over at the group across from them. Sebastian looked eager to leave, and Reuben had relaxed, but Mara was disappointed. She was a brave one. Or perhaps she just had no sense of self-preservation.

Fay tried to contact Damian again, but she found her comms offline. She couldn't reach anyone, it seemed. Is the energy disrupting the signal? It must be. Her phone had no signal, and neither did Cora's, so that proved it.

Bagheera approached her. He blended in perfectly in the dark environment, but she could feel his emotions projecting wildly. And they were loud. Concern. Impatience. Apprehension. He didn't like being there any more than she did.  

Fay turned around. She could only make him out in the darkness because of his luminous eyes and his energy. "You can feel it too, can't you?" He growled softly, which got Cora's attention as well. She glanced over her shoulder to look at them. Fay, she could make out, although the girl's dark outfit did not make it easy. On the other hand, Bagheera indeed was just a shadow with eyes.  

A scream, high-pitched and full of terror, echoed through the ample, open space, cutting through the electronic bass of the song playing. "What the hell is that?!" Coming from one of the partying students as the music was turned off shortly after. Bagheera growled, and he tugged on Fay's sleeve. It was a silent sign that he thought it was best if they left as soon as possible. She could feel something akin to panic trickling through his other emotions. It wasn't fear, but her paladin was worried.

The inky mist came out of nowhere, swaddling them and immediately reducing their visibility. There was no scent to it, which explained Bagheera's concern as it meant he couldn't track it down properly. The pressure at the back of Fay's head heightened, and she found herself leaning against her paladin, one hand gripping the fur near his neck. The mist drifted and ghosted, glided, and dangled, and it felt endless. Is the energy causing it? Is someone ---someone is controlling the fog?

Fay heard the partying students scream and run around, some attempting to drive away in the cars while others took off in different directions through the park. Cora called out to her, sounding justifiably frightened, sounding further than she used to be just minutes earlier. The mist was incredibly disorientating. Sebastian yelled that he could no longer see them.

The mist shifted.

And then the night made a turn for the worse.

.

.

.

The lack of visibility, the frightened screams. Frantic footsteps and labored breaths. The hungry maws followed them no matter how far or quickly they moved. The terrorized voices. Help me. What is that thing? We're going to die. What is that thing? What's happening? Someone, please, help! It was too much like that night, yet also different. Fay recalls feeling overheated and sweaty when Maysoon was attacked, but she was just cold at that moment. Maybe it was the foreign energy, or perhaps her anxiety; she didn't know.

Bagheera managed to grab both her and Cora and tried to lead them away, but Fay was clumsy. The panic attack hit her so hard that she lost all of her focus, all logic. She barely registers Bagheera attacking one of the mist creatures and simply going through it before the creature re-materialized and tried to grab Cora. The girl dodged and moved away and, then Fay was alone.  

The mist was too thick to see through it. She could feel Bagheera's flux – why was it so far? – and Cora calling – why was there an echo?.

She narrowly avoids a claw emerging from the mist and stumbles between two kiosks, or at least that's where she thinks she is. She plummets to her knees, breath shallow and heart thudding wildly in her chest. She notes random things like the plastic candy wrap underneath her knee and the pebbles piercing through her tights, scratching her knees.

She's alone, and it's dark, and it's cold. Fay could feel her flux, coiling, ready to be let loose, but she's far too petrified to move. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears, and with terror that seemed to reach new heights, she realized that everything had gone eerily quiet. As if she was in the eye of a tornado.

And suddenly, she's not in the park at all.

There's still smoke. It's coming from the burning jungle and burning buildings and burning people. In the distance, she can see Maysoon falling apart. She's in the old palace, standing amongst the rubble that once used to be a large ballroom. The one in which she attended many events with her parents. It used to be full of lights and decorations and marble dragons with scales made of gold and eyes made of jewels. Now it is just lifeless, colors dulled and darkness threatening to swallow it whole and her along with it. Even though Maysoon is a naturally warm and humid place, and that night had been scorching, Fay feels cold. The palace walls have crumbled down, leaving her standing on a precipice as she watches her homeland suffer. But who is causing it?  

Only one side of the capital had been affected that night, but the damage had been extensive enough to seem like the entire city was crumbling down. There are warriors and dragons and paladins and civilians. Crying, fighting, screaming. Wailing. No, that's the jungle. The jungle is crying. It's a feeling rather than a sound, and it makes her skin crawl and her stomach lurch.

"Fay, darling."

Fay's breath hitches, eyes widening. She wants to turn around, to follow the voice – her mother's voice – but she finds that she cannot. Her body is locked in place, her feet glued to the floor. She can barely move her head or fingers.

"Fay."

It's coming from behind her. Closer than before.

Something heavy, cold lands on her shoulder. The sudden dread that fills her makes her feel as if she's been submerged in a frozen lake (she'd know). That's not her mother. It can't be her mother. Her mother doesn't feel that cold. She starts trembling. Fay turns her head with far more difficulty than she should have and looks down at hand. It would have resembled a man's head if it wasn't for the curved, dark claws that dug painfully into her shoulder, easily piercing through her dress. It's coated in blood, wet and glistening. Through the crimson, she can make out something on the pale skin.

"Lafayette Estaris," The voice says. She can't tell whether it belongs to a man or a woman, but it's glacial. Echoes like a deep sepulcher, piercing through her.

Her fight or flight instinct, silenced by fear and confusion, returned with twice as much vigor. Run, run, run, run. Whatever the thing was, she had to run, just like before. Because that wasn't real, it wasn't real. It was a memory or a flashback, and as real as it may have felt, it was all a concoction of her mind or perhaps an aftereffect of the mist.

The mist.

The park!

Fay shut her eyes tight.

It's not real!

She then tapped into her flux, summoning it voraciously, desperate to feel the warmth of the energy. Her hands clenched as hard as she could, and her marks glowed. "It's not real!" She yelled.  

"Fay?"

Her eyes snapped open, and she found herself staring at the cracked pavement of the old amusement park, at the pebbles and the dust and the small weeds that marked their territory through the small cracks in the cement. She inhaled loudly, like a man who had just resurfaced after diving to great depths and had run out of oxygen. She supposes that's precisely what she'd done, except she'd been submerged in her mind.

"Fay! Are-are you okay?" It was Cora.

A familiar flux brushed against hers, soothing. She was on her hands and knees, and when she looked up, Fay realized that the dark mist had faded considerably because she could make out the sky, as well as the kiosks around them. Cora was crouched down next to her, looking equal parts terrified and concerned, and Bagheera was before her. His emotions were subdued, but Fay could tell her high alert.

I remembered something. I think—I think that was a memory from that night.

But it will have to wait, she thought and hoped her brain would not try to bury what she saw.  

Fay pushed herself back on her haunches and inhaled a few times as she stared around, feeling disoriented. "Where's ---the others?" She asked as she took note of the lingering mist. Her legs felt weak, but the energy coursing through her veins had anchored her back to reality, and the adrenaline made her feel ready to engage in an offense if needed. Whatever had attacked them was still at large, and Fay doubted that all students could get away safely. How is she going to find them all? She couldn't contact anyone.

Maybe if---if I find the source of energy. She wasn't feeling brave, but she was also the only one in that park who might be able to do something about their current predicament. Damian is probably on his way. But I can't wait on him.

"I—I don't know," Cora whispered. "Last time I saw them, I think they were trying to get to the exit, so they went that way---" The blonde gestured behind Fay. "I think. It's confusing."

Finding them will be difficult, Fay thought, but they had no choice. She had to get Cora and the others out to safety.

"Alright," Fay exhaled. She gave the girl a once-over. "Are you hurt?" Cora shook her head.

Fay sighed in relief before examining her surroundings. She could make out the tall rollercoaster again, this time clearer. "That thing—" She said, pointing at it. "It is located behind the haunted house, so it's in the opposite way of the exit we came through. Alright?" Cora nodded.

"What—what are those things?" Cora whispered as they tentatively ambled, keeping the rollercoaster behind them. The blond stayed between her and Bagheera because, at that moment, she was the most vulnerable out of all three.

"I don't know," Fay admitted, eyes darting everywhere. "They tried to grab you too?"

"Y-yeah," Cora jumped slightly when an empty plastic bottle crinkled as it was pushed near her feet by the wind. She swallowed nervously. "They seem to come from the mist. I saw Sebastian throw rocks at one, but it just went through. It can hurt people, though."

Cora then glanced down at herself. At her dirty Ghostbuster costume, it now had at least three holes.

"Holy shit. I called that one out, huh?"

It looks like Fay wasn't the only one developing a dark sense of amusement.

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"What---what the fuck are those things?!"

"Reuben, calm down."

"Ca-calm down!? Give me a break, as if you're not shitting your pants, Mara!"

Sebastian shushed them both and gestured for them to lower their phones with their torches on. "Something is coming," He whispered as lowly as possible. All three students held their breath and pressed themselves closer against the wooden panel of the kiosk they were hiding in. An old plush toy, moldy and disfigured by years of abandonment, stared at them from one corner. They had no idea what was going on, but one thing they figured out was that monsters showed up wherever and whenever the mist was thicker.

And right at that moment, that's precisely what was happening.  

Fetters of the inky mist trickled through in their kiosk, like unholy incense, and Mara slapped a hand on Reuben's mouth to stop him from screaming. Again. What if the mist could hear them? What if it could sense them just because they touched it? It seemed impossible, but then again, so was everything else they saw that evening. They pulled their legs as close as possible to their bodies when rags of the mist tickled the tip of their shoes. It didn't help that a few minutes earlier, Reuben highlighted that it felt as if they were trapped in the Mist novel, which also saw unsuspecting, innocent civilians being attacked by a fog full of eldritch horrors.

Something growled. It was near their kiosk, and it felt big and inhuman and hungry, and they froze, hearts pounding in their ribcage. Although they could not voice it, they all thought the same thing. What if the creatures could hear their heartbeats? What if they could smell their fear? There was no escape then. Nowhere to hide. Reuben wasn't sure how further he could run, and he feared the other two might leave him behind. It had been his idea to come there, after all. For all her tough front, Mara wanted nothing more than to call her parents. Sebastian worried that he'd end up breaking his mother's heart, who'll have to deal not just with his father's death but also with his. Albeit it wasn't at the forefront of his mind at that moment, he was also worried that Fay and Cora were already dead.

To their right, the wooden panel of the kiosk was suddenly torn down. The mist that came through there was so thick they couldn't see anything through it. Large paws shifted out of it, as did a jaw several times as big as an adult.

The teenagers screamed and scrambled away as fast as they could.

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A few minutes into their walk, Fay mentally slapped herself when she realized she could just use her flying ability to get a sense of their position in the park. When the idea finally struck her, she instructed Cora to stick close to Bagheera before gliding slowly towards the sky. Much to her surprise, she found, the mist was not evenly spread at all. It didn't even seem to stretch further than a few hundred feet from where the haunted house was. They no longer encountered the fog because they'd left that area.

She rotated in the air as she surveyed the park, as far as her eyes could see in the dark. She spotted the entrance they came through approximately a mile away to her left. They had been heading in the right direction, and the path they took only had three minor twists before leading to the exit. Good.

The mist was thickest at the haunted hospital, so thick that Fay couldn't make out the lower level of the building. The fire had been put out, so there was no light source, and she also noticed that the three cars parked there previously were now gone. Could all twelve teenagers have gotten away? Hopefully, Sebastian, Mara, and Reuben might still be there, though.

It's strange, she thought, as she watched the mist travel no further than the immediate area around the haunted house. Is it only there because it can't go further?

A scream – or rather, a set of them – captured her attention. She saw the blurry figures of three individuals trying to make their way out of the mist. They were pretty near the edge where the fog seemed to lose its influence, but Fay could also detect how the clouds shifted. They were being attacked.

The mist is not natural. She's almost certain someone is controlling, just like she can use the elements.  

But if that's the case, then the mist may be susceptible to the same elements as regular mist.

Hm.

Fay lowered herself to the ground. Bagheera seemed to have heard the commotion himself because he was staring in the direction where Fay spotted the three students, ears perked.

"I think…I have an idea," She said. "Cora. Get on Bagheera's back."

"Huh?"

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"Ah!" Reuben felt his bones jostle, and his skin graze against the cold, rough pavement after he tripped over his own feet and fell flat on his stomach. He was tired, and the terror had reached the point that allowed for hopelessness to trickle through. He couldn't run anymore, and those things seemed to have no end. Mara and Sebastian, ahead of him, stopped and turned to look at him.

“Reuben!”

“Reuben, get up! Come on!”

 Reuben risked a look over his shoulder. The mist was traveling after them like a scorned god. He shut his eyes, arms lifting to cover his face, although he knew that was likely useless. All the horror movies he's ever watched were suddenly working against him because he could imagine the many ways that he could get torn apart.

The cold mist touched his legs, and he whimpered. He whimpered, expecting the inevitable pain that came with being mauled. Or perhaps he'll get dragged away? Maybe Stephen King was on to something when he wrote the Mist, and those things were there to impart judgment. Internally, he started listing all the ways he thinks he could be better at, like studying more for Algebra rather than copying Mara's homework, eating healthier, and helping his mother more.

The pain never came. Instead, a violent gust of wind forced Reuben to turn on his side and assume a fetal position. If he weren’t already on the ground, it would have likely knocked him over. His body was battered by the cold air, which brought along small debris that scratched at the exposed parts of his skin. The kiosks creaked loudly, and he wasn't sure because his eyes were closed, but he thought he heard one of them crash.

Then it was quiet. The wind, as sudden as it came, was gone.

Someone coughed. There was rustling.

Reuben dared to open his eyes and tentatively glanced around himself. The mist was there no longer. He could see fetters of it in the distance, but it no longer seemed interested in coming after them.  

Three kiosks had crumbled down in a heap of rotten wood, and when he glanced behind him, he saw that Mara and Sebastian were also unharmed. The wind must have thrown down them because they were both on the ground, covered in new abrasions and scrapes. He wasn't in a better state, for that matter, and when he reached for his head, he ended up pulling a small stick out of his hair. There was probably more where that came from, but it was okay. He was fine. He was alive.

"Reuben! Guys!"

Cora had exited from behind a bush on their left. She started running towards them, just as Sebastian and Mara got up to their feet and then came to help a still-shaken Reuben do the same.

"Oh, Cora!" Reuben screamed happily, then pulled the girl in a bear hug as soon as she stopped before them. "I am so happy to see you!"

The girl laughed sheepishly and gently pried herself from him.

"I am glad you are too. Are you guys hurt?" She asked breathlessly.

"Scared shitless, but…." Mara looked at herself, then at her companions. "But doesn't seem like it."

Sebastian looked at Cora, then the direction she came from. "Where's Fay? Have you seen her?"

Cora tried to feign concern and hoped she was believable. "I—I haven't seen her. I think…I think she managed to run away." She raised a hand to point behind them. "The exit is in that direction. I saw an old sign. We should go before those things come back." If any of them thought it was strange that Cora sounded confident about which way they should go or far too calm given what was happening, they didn't voice it.

To his credit, Sebastian was reluctant to leave without finding Fay first. Cora would have been too, but unlike him, she knew the girl was more than capable of taking care of herself.

"Shouldn't…we make sure?" He asked hesitantly. "What if those things got her?"

"That won't be necessary," A male voice added smoothly, and all their heads turned towards the old souvenir shop sitting a few feet away.  

Robin was perched on top of it, cape pulled over his shoulders, revealing his multi-colored attire.

"The police are on their way, so follow this path until you see the exit," He instructed gruffly.

"But—"

"Go. Now."

Reuben and Mara didn't need to be told twice, and Sebastian followed behind, albeit with some reluctance. Cora lingered.

"They went to the building that's meant to be a haunted house," She revealed quietly. "She says that's where the source of the mist might be."

The boy nodded curtly.

"Get out of here, Montgomery."

Cora hesitated, nearly asking him to ensure that Fay didn't get hurt.

Then she realized there was no need.

Chapter 62: Of history repeating itself

Notes:

Many thanks to MoonglowOnWater for their help with proofreading and the advice in making the chapter flow better.

I hope you all enjoy the new chapter! I don't think I will be posting again before Christmas, and can't guarantee an update next Sunday. At the latest, I will be back the week before New Year's Eve.

Chapter Text

"And I would have gotten away with it too if it weren't for you meddling kids!" 

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He found her perched on top of an old carousel, watching the haunted house located approximately three hundred feet away. The mist appeared thin and gossamer-fragile throughout the better part of the area, becoming thicker around the building. The first floor of the haunted house was barely visible. The mist there was like a blanket, deathly vapor clinging to everything in its wake. Bagheera was circling the carousel, mildly agitated when Damian arrived, and the paladin growled softly to gain the girl’s attention. She jumped slightly when Damian landed by her side but relaxed immediately when she saw him. The tension melted away from her expression but she didn’t smile.  

“Someone attacked Cooper in the hospital. Same MO,” He said, without any further preamble, as he instinctively stepped closer to her. Her hands were trembling, and her tights were ripped in several places revealing small abrasions, but she was otherwise unharmed. She looked calm enough. “Cooper is alive. Red Hood said there was a hooded figure in Cooper’s room right before the mist appeared.” His eyes left her face and he glanced into the distance, where the mist was. “I take it that is what happened here as well.”

“I didn’t see anyone, but the mist did appear out of…nowhere.” Fay swallowed, her hands clenched by her sides. She quickly told him how she followed the other students to that place, and right after they saw them partying in front of the haunted house, the mist appeared. She left out the panic attack for the time being because there was no time to get into it, and she wanted some time to process it first. She switched to tell him that after Cora and Bag found her, she noticed the mist kept to a certain radius even though some students hid only a few hundred feet away from it. It made her wonder whether the energy source responsible for the mist monsters was in the haunted house and if it had limitations like her own flux. She used air to help Reuben and the others, proving her theory that whilst those creatures could not be hurt the traditional way, they were vulnerable to the elements.  

Damian smirked at that. “Fog is heavily tied to water and wind. Those are your strongest elements, are they not?” Fay nodded, summoning some confidence. “It’ll be easy enough to get inside. However,” He took out his foldable binoculars to get a closer look at the building. The lenses could read heat signatures as well, and he saw at least two persons on the second floor of the building. Judging by how they crouched down and clung to one another, they were likely teenagers who had thought the building safe to hide in. “There are at least two people trapped inside. Some of the windows are broken, the mist would have gotten inside. If the source of it is located inside the building then they are in the lion’s den and don’t even realize it.”

Fay nodded. That’s what she’d been pondering before he arrived. 

“Is it the flux?” He asked. 

“I…I am not sure.” Fay responded. “It feels like that but it’s also…odd. It’s everywhere the mist is, but stronger near the house. It’s different from what I felt before with my mother or Klaus or Kaera. I remember reading about some warriors – or maybe it was a clan? – that used mist in their attacks, but it was a long time ago. I can’t remember much else, and I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone capable of it.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “But you said Joseph Sr. had business associates who died under mysterious circumstances? So did Benjamin’s parents, right? How would anyone prove it if it was the mist that attacked them?”

“That would be a plausible explanation,” He pulled out a domino mask from a compartment of his utility belt. “Here. Do you have any weapons?” Fay took the domino mask and carefully set it on her face, taking a minute to adjust to it before bending down at the waist to grab her small leather backpack. It was a miracle it had managed to stay on her given how thin the straps were, but it would have looked strange if she had brought her usual bag. Instead, she only placed a few essentials inside the small backpack such as a bottle of water, a small first-aid kit, and hidden in a leather pouch, several shurikens, and a blade. They were useless against the mist, but she slid the shuriken into the pocket of her dress anyway. 

“I found a map of the building,” Damian remarked as he stared at a holographic projection of the building’s blueprint. “It’s three stories high. The layout seems to imitate a Colonial-era architectural style. Rectangular shape, symmetrical but there are secret passages on each floor.” He quickly explained before listing all the secret passage entrances on each floor. Fay mentally repeated them several times to memorize them. “There’s also a basement.” They’ll have to investigate the entire house to not only find the teenagers but also track down whoever was responsible. Perhaps they were in the basement? That seemed fitting. 

Damian quickly formulated a plan and went through it with her. “We will not split up unless necessary,” He remarked. “We’ll access through the roof and work our way down using the secret passages. Once we reach the two teenagers, we’ll evacuate them the way we came in. If needed, we will create a distraction using flash bombs. Bagheera will take them to safety while you and I continue our search.” 

Fay nodded. Theoretically, it sounded like a good plan. Straightforward. Get in, search the house, remain undetected, save the teenagers, and find the criminal.  

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Fay hadn’t even thought the haunted house might have secret passages given it wasn’t haunted – well , that night it was, in a way – but it had once served as a source of entertainment and likely required them for the staff to scare people. However, when he initially proposed that she go inside and only be in charge of a diversion to allow him to infiltrate the building, Fay vehemently refused. Shaken or not, she was going to do as much as she could to help that night. Especially since their enemy was likely to use techniques from her world. Just when she thought that was over there they go again. 

Except she is nowhere as frail or vulnerable as two years earlier on Halloween night. She told herself she had become at least slightly better at compartmentalizing as she pushed away from the memory. Just to be on the safe side, she had told Bagheera what she saw so there was at least another soul who knew of it. When the night was over and done, she’d think it through, then talk to Damian about it. 

The plan went well up until the point they were inside the house. The mist had appeared sentient earlier that evening, detecting movement and attacking people immediately. Still, nothing happened when they got closer and Damian threw a shuriken through a small cloud of vapor. Perhaps it detected only living creatures? Bagheera tentatively stepped close to a wisp of mist and threw a paw at it, dispelling it. Nothing. 

Hm. Strange. 

They did not test their luck, instead opting to move to the building’s saltbox roof right after. The mist barely reached the second floor, so they remained undetected even when Bagheera accidentally made several rotten wooden roof slates break apart and fall off. The house was just as neglected as the rest of the park and his weight might as well have been an anvil atop a cardboard box. Her arms wrapped around his torso, Fay partially lifted him off the roof while she floated in the air herself, and boy, it wasn’t easy; Bagheera weighed more than a wolf. The roof stopped creaking and squeaking in protest, but she was certain they looked ridiculous. Thankfully, Damian quickly found them an entry through one of the attic windows. There was a secret passage hidden in the western part of the attic according to the blueprint. 

All three of them slipped inside as quietly as possible. Fay chose to glide rather than walk as she was likely to trip over her feet or make a noise when she moved. There was a thick layer of dust in the attic that nearly made Bagheera sneeze – she stopped it – and then made her sneeze. She muffled it in her shoulder, but her eyes prickled. She could almost taste the mold, and her throat itched. She was so focused on not sneezing that she paid little attention to how morbid the attic was, but she did make note of the peeling wallpaper and wooden rocking chair with an ominous little doll placed on it.

Damian found the secret door behind a painting of a woman dressed in black, tears of blood running from her eyes. Charming. 

The energy felt stronger in the house. It made Bagheera’s fur stand up on his spine and the back of her head to prickle. She whispered to Damian as much, who nodded and told her to stay on guard. 

The secret passage was narrow and encircled the building, not unlike a fire exit passage, and it was just as dusty and moldy as the rest of the house. Rodents skittered away frightened as they made their way through, Damian leading and Fay in the middle between him and Bagheera. Fay was grateful for the domino mask because it eliminated the need for a torch that would not have been as subtle. She wondered if he always kept a spare, or whether he purposefully brought it with him. 

The stairs leading them from the attic to the third floor were narrow and rickety. There was no mist there yet, but they did hear screams echoing through the house, likely coming from the two trapped adolescents. The sound was far away, perhaps coming from the other side of the house, but it seemed to come from the same floor. 

That’s when everything took a turn for the worse. 

They exited the secret passage on the third floor through a door located behind a fake grandfather clock. Once, freshly painted and polished, it might have looked convincing, but now it looked cheap and fragile. The pendulum fell out even though they had moved as gently as possible from behind it, but Damian caught it before it hit the floor. The room they stepped into looked like a study judging by the shelves built into the walls and filled with books – fake ones – and the seating area – also made of fake leather, now crawling with rodents and mold. The paint was cracking, and one of the chandeliers was hanging at an odd angle, having come out of its fixtures over time. Fay shuddered when she spotted the generous number of cobwebs that seemed to cover every nook and cranny of the room. The windows were surprisingly still intact on that floor, but a cold draft made everything squeak and creak and moan, like ghosts lamenting their fate. 

They intended to follow the noise to reach the teenagers, but whilst Damian had worked to open the door leading into the corridor and assessed the area, Fay heard something cracking. At first, she thought it was just the old furniture. But the cracking and snapping sounds were too loud to be coming from any shelves or armchairs. No, it was coming from below her, from the floor. She glanced over her shoulder where Bagheera had stopped in the middle of the room and now looked at his feet curiously. 

“Oh no,” She whispered, horrified when the floor started vibrating. 

Neither one of them had a chance to react. The mist appeared out of nowhere, trickling through from the second floor chasing the two teenagers. A boy and a girl scampered up the stairs. The hungry miasma shifted into a seven-foot-tall faceless figure that tried to grab onto the girl‘s leg, making her fall onto the stairs. The boy broke a piece off of the dilapidated railing and threw it at the assailant, but it was futile. It just went through it. 

As Damian jumped to help them, “ Close your eyes !” throwing a flash bomb at the mist creature, the floor gave out under Bagheera’s paws and he found himself falling to the second floor, into what seemed to have once served as a bedroom. 

In retrospect, what happened next was likely only a few minutes long, but it felt like hours. 

Fay flew after Bagheera, and they found themselves surrounded by the dark miasma which quickly shapeshifted into several different creatures. Bagheera’s attacks were unfortunately ineffective, but he had speed and keen senses on his side, so he was able to dodge any attempts of the mist trying to grab onto him. Fay’s eyes widened when one of the mist creatures changed shape to mimic that of Bagheera’s, but she had no time to ponder the implications of that because she was nearly dragged away. When one of the mist creatures grabbed her by the shoulder, she was struck by the coldness it carried despite its non-corporeal state. It was like an icicle was pressing onto her surface, and it made her flux roar underneath her skin. 

So, she let it out. It took her a few moments to gain her bearings and remember her training, anxiety, and confusion threatening to devour her logic and block her instincts. Then she remembered Thelion’s blindfold exercises preparing her for a scenario in which at least one of her senses was incapacitated. Gathering energy into her hands, she moved. 

The mist, regardless of what it was capable of or who was responsible for it, was still rooted in the natural elements. Which meant she could use it against itself. Fay lost track of where she was in the house as she worked to dispel the mist as much as possible. Just when she’d managed to clear the hallway, then a room she was pushed into by one of the creatures, the mist returned with a vengeance. It was resilient as a hydra.

The mist-creatures made her dizzy, moving around her like hummingbirds. If hummingbirds had fangs and claws and were intent on cutting through people, that is. When they tore through her dress and skin, the wounds felt like ice burns. Her skin itched and blistered, and the cold energy was insidious. One particularly deep cut on her right thigh left her entire leg cold. Feeling she was making no progress and worried about Bagheera, she decided to combine her attacks with two flash bombs, setting them off one after another, first in the room she had been pushed into – a dining room, judging by the long table that was now in pieces after she’d landed on it – and then in the corridor where her paladin was. 

She shielded her eyes and yelled a clear warning for anyone in the vicinity to do the same. The flash’s brightness threatened to filter through her eyelids. She probably should have thrown it further, because the concussive force and the loud sound it produced left her temporarily stunned as she crouched on the floor. It took almost a minute for the ringing in her ears to stop. 

Everything had gone silent, so she opened her eyes and quickly surveyed the area. The mist had receded almost completely, just wisps and fetters remaining by the staircase in the middle of the room. Bagheera was standing between it and the windows, shaking his head several times, looking mildly disturbed. A patch of fur on his left hind leg looked wet and Fay rushed to him to inspect the injury. It did not look deep, but it had drawn blood. He turned towards her, sniffing her face. “I am okay.” Then she looked towards the staircase. “Da---Robin?” She called out, then tentatively stepped towards it, her head tilted. She couldn’t make out much. “Robin, can you hear me?”

“Yes.” She released a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding. A whimper followed. Not Damian’s, of course. It sounded feminine. Fay saw him step close to the balustrade and lean over. Behind him, she spotted the two teenagers huddled against each other. “Are you injured?” Damian asked. He sounded calm, in control. She, instead, felt her heart galloping in her chest cavity. She didn’t feel tired yet, after having used her flux, but the adrenaline faded slightly and she became aware that the mist creatures had injured her in more than one place. Nothing seemed to require urgent medical attention although there were two cuts – one on her thigh and one on her left hip – that were bleeding. 

“I am fine,” She said instead. “So is Bag.” Then she glanced down the stairs, careful not to lean her weight against the railing because it felt as rotten as the rest of the house. The mist was no longer as thick; she could make out the end of the stairs and even part of the entrance marked by two double doors that had been boarded up. The energy, she realized, felt stronger now than before. Like a beacon. Fay wasn’t sure if it was because the phasing had amplified her abilities and made her more sensitive to other energies, or because that energy was extraordinarily powerful. 

“I can feel it!” She remarked. “The energy is coming from below!”

Perhaps the mist did have an auditory capacity. The last syllable was barely out of her mouth when she felt the coldness wrap itself around her ankles like a vice and sweep her feet from underneath her. She didn’t fall, instinctively letting her body float, but she was kept from flying away as if held back by invisible chains. The grip of the mist was strong and when she tried to fight against it, she felt the mist press tighter, bruising her flesh and threatening to break her bones. Bagheera faced a similar issue with the mist appearing out of nowhere and grabbing onto him like hungry tentacles. His anger was immediately palpable. The guttural, reverberating sounds leaving his lungs made the entire house shake and Fay felt his flux flare-up. When he was in a bad mood, her paladin couldn’t help himself from switching to his battle form and at that moment, he wasn’t keen on holding back. 

However, given how fragile the house already was, his bigger form threatened to make it collapse as if it was made of paper. 

“Bagheera, no!” Fay called, as she channeled the flux in her hands and cut through the mist holding onto her legs. The vapor was starting to fill the corridor again and it appeared to come from one direction. To her left, down a long hall that finished with a room of unspecified use. There was a door there, hanging half off its hinges, its knocker dangling with gravity. “Don’t do it, Bag! The whole house will come down on us!”

The paladin sneered as he shook the tentacles that latched onto his hind legs, but he otherwise held back as instructed. The mist just kept coming and it was only a matter of time before they’d find themselves surrounded by it again. Fay had lost track of the upper levels where Damian and the two teenagers were. The mist had already traveled up there, and he was likely trying to evacuate the couple whilst fighting it. 

They can’t keep doing that, Fay thought. The mist will return again and again, and she’d eventually get tired of using her flux so much. I have to stop it, she thought, eyeing the broken door at the end of the hall. Fay used the natural draft of air circulating through the house to dispel the new wave of mist, redirecting it down the hall. The harsh gush of air shattered the windows and made the wooden walls crack. Wisps of mist lingered but they were not thick enough to cause any harm, further proving that the mist was limited in what it could do.

“It’s over there!” Fay yelled at Bag. “Down the hall, Bag!”

Her paladin followed closely behind as she flew down the hall. On her way to the other end, she glanced outside and realized that she could now see the park clearly. There was barely anything left of the mist. It was growing weaker. That explained why she felt it had become easier to dispel it the more she fought. Bagheera tore through the crooked door at the end of the hall and they stepped into the room beyond it. 

Judging by the cabinets, faux appliances, and rusty pans, the room had been designed to be the house’s kitchen. There were no windows or other doors. 

But she could see fetters of the mist trickling from behind the kitchen island in the middle of the room. Bagheera growled menacingly, the fur down his spine so high it made him look positively feral. He could feel the energy coming from there. As did Fay for that matter. Slowly, and as cautiously as possible they moved deeper into the kitchen and stepped around the island. 

Dread filled her stomach when she saw the square hole in the middle of the floor. A cellar door. The room was poorly lit, but the cellar was pitch black. Fay swallowed, feeling her courage falter considerably. Her instincts told her that going inside that cellar was the last thing she should be doing, and she tentatively glanced towards the kitchen’s entrance. Should she wait for Damian? It made her feel weak to depend on him like that. She had foregone checking in on him to stop the source of the mist, and he could be injured so she couldn’t just wait for him to help her. 

“R-ready?” She breathed, feeling her paladin’s fur brush against her hand. 

He sneered soundlessly. 

And down the hole, they went. 

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.

Fay trembled, trying hard not to give in to the impending wave of panic threatening to wash over her when her visibility reduced considerably. Bagheera was pressed against her, his energy grounding her and his warmth a quiet reassurance. She let one hand rest on his fur while the other took out the small flashlight Damian had handed to her earlier. The mist was thicker here, and there was barely a nook or corner of the room that wasn’t touched by it. She made out some old shelves to her right side, but she couldn’t identify the contents. Abandoned mannequins in another corner nearly scared the wits out of her when the light of her flashlight fell on them. The mist no longer moved as it did earlier. If not for the cold energy, it seemed to her almost like any other fog, fumy and filmy. 

“H—hello?” A male voice asked. It was laced with fear. Judging by the direction the sound came from, the person was located across the basement room. Fay couldn’t tell how big the place was, but the boy had to be at least a hundred feet away from her. Bagheera’s ears perked.  

“Hello?” She asked back. “Are---are you alright?”

“Help me, please!” The boy continued, frightened. “I can’t see anything, and those—those things grabbed me---I think my leg is broken.” 

Could it be a trap? If it was, he was very convincing at playing the terrified victim. 

“Bag,” She whispered. “Can you---can you lead me to him?”

The paladin sniffed loudly, and then he growled. Yes, he could. The boy was bleeding, and the metallic scent was strong even amongst the dust and mold. Fay gripped onto the back of his neck as he stepped forward, making his way through the mist. Ironically, she felt more nervous now that the vapor remained still than minutes earlier when it had been intent on tearing them apart. She also didn’t understand where it was coming from. If there was a flux user capable of controlling the mist, shouldn’t he be here or somewhere in the house? The energy was strongest there. It made her skin prickle. Bagheera would feel it if the boy had any malicious intent, so if it wasn’t him who was responsible for the mist, then who was? Damian had said that there was an attempted attack on Benjamin as well, and when it took place she was already at the park. It seemed the mist had appeared in two places simultaneously.

Bagheera stopped. Fay moved her flashlight around and through the mist, she saw a figure laying on the floor. She was worried to use her flux to dispel the mist – what if that triggered it to attack them again? She let go of her paladin and stepped forward towards the boy. He squeaked loudly when she touched his shoulder and crouched in front of him. He laid on his left side, a hand clutching his right leg. Even with reduced visibility, she could tell the leg was out of proportion. Swelling, most likely. The trousers were ripped from his knee down, and his skin looked darker on his calf. Something was jutting at an abnormal angle on the inside of his knee. Did he dislocate his kneecap? 

She had to get him out of there. 

Fay bit down on the end of her flashlight to free her hands, and she helped the boy up. Bagheera would have had an easier time, but he was bound to frighten the boy. The teenager wasn’t that much taller than her, and he was maybe a year or two older. She wrapped his arm around her shoulders, making him lean against her so he didn‘t put pressure on his right leg. Then she lifted herself above the ground, which wasn’t easy with the added weight even though he felt slim. She didn’t need to fly him for great lengths or heights, she just had to get him out of there. 

“Whoa---” The boy gripped her as if his life depended on her as she glided them both back across the room. It was a straight line in, so it should be a straight line out. When she came to the stairs and the hatch door, she struggled. The way up was narrow, and she had to fly higher than before or risk thumping the boy’s long legs against the stairs. Not a good idea when his right leg was in the state it was. Her shoulders burned and her spine ached from the added weight, but she held onto the boy steadfastly, the flashlight almost falling out of her mouth a few times. Bagheera kept behind her protectively. 

Damian was waiting for her at the top of the stairs. Unharmed, thankfully. 

The wounded teenager was struggling to remain lucid, and he mumbled something about Robin being there. Damian knocked him out in response after Fay gently lowered him to the floor. “I think it’s his knee,” She breathed, reaching to rub her shoulder and taking a few deep breaths, which weren’t as refreshing as she had hoped. There was too much dust. 

“The other two are safe,” Damian remarked and glanced towards the hatch door. “Where’s Bagheera?”

Fay’s heart dropped to her stomach when she followed his gaze and realized her paladin hadn’t followed her. “He—he was right behind me,” She gasped. A loud crash came from the basement. Was it the shelves falling? Then Bagheera’s growl reverberated through the floors. “B-Bag!”

The mist came pouring through again. It latched onto her limbs and Fay found herself being pulled down to the cellar like a rag doll. The mist wrapped itself around her throat, preventing her from making any sound and quickly cutting her oxygen off. The world around her was foggy and disorientating. She temporarily lost her focus of the flux, distracted by the mist trying to crush her windpipe. She was rolled around in the air – or so it felt – before being thrown away like an object. She slammed against one of the basement walls and fell to the ground, gasping for air. The pressure around her throat was gone but pain flared across her whole body. She couldn’t differentiate in the darkness what was mist and what was her paladin moving around, but she heard him growl and felt his flux come close to her a few times. He was moving fast and all around the room so he must have been trying to fend off the mist. 

Her skin prickled again, a pressure forming at the back of her head that had nothing to do with how it had hit the hall when she was thrown away. She heard Damian call out to her, he was in the basement himself and when she tried to respond, all that came out was an ugly, raspy sound. 

Moving around on her knees and hands like a toddler, she tried to move towards the source of the energy. It was like a live wire, calling out to her and when she found herself bumping against a wall, she got up to her feet. Her hands roamed over the smooth surface of the wall – the basement was made of cement, not wood, it seemed – when a pins-and-needle sensation filled her hands. The flux coiled inside of her in response and her marks glowed as if to fight back against the iciness of the foreign energy.

It was right there. On that wall. Or maybe behind it, because the surface felt smooth. 

Could there be a secret passage behind that the flux master was hiding in? But it didn’t feel like the energy was coming from a person. It was too concentrated in that spot. If someone was controlling it remotely, it implied a connection between the user and that place. 

She had to cut that connection. 

Fay didn’t hesitate. Her body was aching, and she could feel herself becoming drained – quicker than she should have; perhaps the foreign energy affected her more than she had thought – so she stepped back, positioned herself correctly, and gathered as much energy as she could in her right fist. Rotating her hips and feet to give power to the swing of her arm, her fist connected with the wall. In retrospect, she should have stopped and wondered whether there would be negative repercussions from energy clashing with energy, but there had been no time. 

The foreign energy felt like a ball hidden behind or within the cement. Her fist would not have been enough to cut through it, but her flux was. It was burning through it, and she felt the moment the connection ‘popped’ like a balloon. The cement crumbled away and with it, the foundation of the already dilapidated house became incredibly unstable. Fay’s hand burned, she felt something slick slide down between her fingers – blood, maybe? The mist vanished as if lifted away by divine power. Fay swayed on her feet and she felt the structure above her head tremble. It was still dark but Damian and Bagheera could see her better than before. 

Fay dipped in and out of consciousness, just barely aware of Damian grabbing her and leading her out of the basement. 

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.

The air was knocked out of his chest as if someone had just punched him. The rebounded energy was sharp like a blade, and it cut into his shirt and trousers, as easily as through butter. He stumbled back, startled, and his back hit the old wooden cabinet so hard that he was bound to find a bruise above his tailbone the next day. But it‘ll be nothing compared to the multiple cuts on his body, to the burns on his hands. 

When he looked down at his fingers, he saw that blisters had already formed. That was not his energy. Someone had broken his ritual. Someone with energy as strong, if not stronger, than his had figured out his ritual and they broke it. 

How was that possible? There, in Gotham? Not just at the park, but also at the hospital. Both of his attacks had failed. He knew he shouldn’t have gone along with Bronson’s man – the man was an imbecile. Well, perhaps not. He had been clever enough to know that he’d end up dead like other men and women he had climbed over in his bid to become rich if he were to keep pushing. 

He got up, ignoring the way the cuts hurt, the warm trickle of blood running down his skin. He stared at the wooden table before him. The room was lit by dozens of candles placed around the room. He found that the fewer electronics he kept when using the ritual, the less risk of a surcharge and everything blowing up. 

The table upon which he carved the runes needed for the ritual was cracked. A zig-zagged line ran down the middle as if lightning had struck there. The blood – his blood – that filled the deepest of the carvings, the circle containing everything had congealed completely. When his uncle had passed on to him the secrets of summoning the mist and making it obey his every command, he had said nothing about someone else being able to reach it from the other side. 

It was no longer just risky. He’d been exposed. How long before they found out who he was? Before they came after him? 

Just like they did with his mentor.  

He initially chalked up the failure at the hospital as being on his shoulders, for having placed the ritual seals in such a vulnerable place. He had no choice. The private hospital hadn’t been easy to access, despite the good cover story that he used. The damn boy was being monitored closely, and not just by his family and the GCPD. Who were they, he wondered as he bent at the waist to glance under the table after he realized the totem was gone. As he’d expected, it had fallen to the floor. 

He grabbed it. It was carved out of clay, a rough human figure that could fit inside his palm. Just barely human. The shape didn’t matter so much. What did were the strands of hair tied around the neck of the figure. The mist gave him no hearing or sight, albeit when he was deep in the ritual, he could puppeteer the energy around however he pleased. Except for that night. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” He was not a man who lost his temper easily, but he believed it was warranted to not have a hold over his emotions as well today as he usually did. 

Everything was going to shit, and it was all Bronson’s fault. That cur. He should have just eliminated Bronson earlier, but no , Master Bernard had said he was useful. As ignorant, greedy, and aggressive as Bronson was, he had been loyal, Bernard would say. Not without getting something in return of course, but hadn‘t that been the agreement? The moment Bronson had started suspecting Bernard may be dead, he had behaved as if the leadership role fell to him. 

As if he understood anything. He had never been privy to the things that he was. 

He threw the clay carving away and pulled the phone out of the pocket of his trousers to text Bronson. Then he decided against it because it was best not to give the monkey more things he could potentially use to pin the entire situation on him. After pocketing his phone, he walked across the room and flicked the small switch. He stepped back as the wall parted, rotating a hundred and eighty degrees to reveal shelves full of books on the other side. He slipped through before the ten seconds were up and heard the secret door close behind him with a muffled swish! 

He was now in his living room. Average. Average size, average furniture, average house. Average neighborhood. Because he wanted people to think he was just an average man. Humanity is gullible when presented with something seemingly boring, even more so when he didn’t do or say anything at odds with societal norms. He hadn’t always been good at that, but he had learned. 

Turning on the TV and switching through the channels, he stopped when he noticed a perky blonde reporter was reporting live from Saint Catherine. The hospital was captured behind her, showing the main entrance, an ambulance, and two police cars parked in front of it. A security guard stood nearby, and after the reporter finished talking about the mysterious attack on the hospital, she turned to the man. “You were on shift tonight,” she said, “can you let the audience know what happened?”

“Red Hood,” he said. He appeared shortly after the blackout. A fight broke out on the third floor, shots being fired. The guardian looked flushed, eyes wide and lip trembling as he regarded the reporter. “I swear,” he said, “I swear I think I saw fog. On the third floor. I thought it was fire, but there was nothing burning.” The reporter nodded along, then with a partially faux look of wonder she addressed the public again. 

The Red Hood. One of the vigilantes. He had been there. He saw the mist. 

His hand clenched on the remote so hard that he felt the plastic crack. As if the fiasco with the Carson girl and Cooper being a coward like his parents hadn’t been enough. Now Gotham’s vigilantes were alerted by the mist. What if the person who severed his connection was one of them? Or worked with them. What if the rumors of masked vigilantes destroying Bernard’s headquarters were true? 

A lifetime of discretion. A lifetime of working in the background, unseen and unheard, crumbling to dust thanks to Bronson. 

He had held hope that his mentor would prove the rumors wrong. He had defied death once, so why not again? But no . Days had turned into weeks and weeks into months. No word. Bernard would have come to him. Even for help. If not for help, then to let him know that he was alive at least. He has always been loyal. Devoted. Even if it meant working with idiots like Bronson and Wallace. Even if it meant sacrificing others for the cause. 

What would his mentor do? He thinks he knows the answer to that. 

No matter how loyal a dog is, there comes a time when it needs to be put down if it stops following orders properly. Bronson needs to die. Maybe Wallace too. Or just throw a hint to the mobs in New York who are likely to still have it in for him. They had it coming for years, and he will enjoy seeing them fall. Then, once he’s done with that, he’ll have to leave. Go into hiding. 

But first things first. 

He had to ensure that no one will ever know of his involvement. 

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When she came to it, the first thing she noticed was the much cleaner air. She inhaled sharply, her eyes snapping open to find herself staring at a dark sky. It was a starless night, she mused because that was an easier thought to process than any related to what had happened inside the house. The moment was brief because then her hand started throbbing, and every breath made her ribs ache. 

“Fay,” A light shone into her eyes and she grimaced, turning her head away. Damian was above her, one knee on the floor. He tilted her head back and forced her eyes open so he could check her pupils which, needless to say, was very uncomfortable. “St—stop,” She croaked, then cleared her throat. She coughed. Bagheera whined softly and she felt his cold nose touch the side of her head. “I—I am alright,” She coughed again. 

Grabbing onto Damian’s forearm, Fay lifted herself into a sitting position and looked around. They were on the roof of a low-rise building, near the former amusement park which was on her left. She could make out the lights of the ambulances and police cars as they gathered at the main entrance. She couldn’t see clearly who it was, but there were two EMTs tending to a person on a gurney. Turning her head – she winced, she had developed a migraine – Fay could see the haunted house. 

Or rather, what was left of it. It had been reduced to a pile of wood and rubble. Huh. Come to think of it, ever since she came to that world, she’d been involved in, contributed to, or witnessed quite a few structures being destroyed. That odd reflection was perhaps a sign that she had hit her head harder than she thought she did. 

“Montgomery and the other students are safe. There’s no one left in the park.” Damian said as he pulled her up. Her stomach churned and she ended up leaning against him, feeling boneless. He tutted but maneuvered her around, pulling her onto his back. Fay used what little strength she had left to wrap her arms around his shoulders. 

“Hold on.” He said gruffly, before he shot his grapple gun to the nearest building, then threw himself off the roof. Bagheera followed them on foot, so familiar with the city by then that he knew exactly which shortcuts to take to keep up. 

No one had died. In that respect, it was a win. 

But it didn’t feel like one entirely. 

Whoever was responsible for that mist was still out there. 

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Lira pursed her lips as she stared at Saint Catherine‘s hospital from amongst the throngs of spectators that had gathered near the gated property. Most of them were worried relatives of the patients but as the police and firemen were still inspecting the hospital, no one was allowed to go inside. She knows what they’ll find. Nothing. The ritual had faded as soon as she had destroyed it, and along with it the mist. 

The targeted human was safe. But for how long? Fay had told her something about the boy trying to commit suicide after a party in the woods and another human girl going missing. Lira was willing to bet the mist had something to do with that as well. Was it for fun? Hunting down unsuspecting adolescent humans for sport? It wouldn’t be a first. 

Lira reached the upper right side of her abdomen. There was a cut there. It had stopped bleeding and it would soon heal away into nothingness, but if the bullet had gone through, it could have pierced her liver. Again, not a first, but she had to give the masked human some credit for being a good shot. She knew she was fast. Her niece just had to go ahead and make friends with such troublesome individuals, didn’t she? To his credit – and it wasn’t offered easily – she had been an intruder in that place. She had just wanted to see the human boy with her own eyes, see if there was anything special about him. She couldn’t shake off the sensation of foreign energy from the moment she had arrived at the hospital, and it had been strongest on the third floor. One of the storage rooms. Smart. It was unlikely for someone to look there. 

Unless that someone is well versed in such matters. 

Hm. 

She had a feeling her niece was not having a much better night. 

Best to check-in. 

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.

Aunt…Lira?” Fay mumbled tiredly as she rubbed the heel of her left hand against her cheek. As if it wasn’t enough that she felt battered, her skin also had to itch constantly. She really needed a bath, and that’s exactly why she went straight to her room at the manor after Alfred had examined her. She had no broken bones, but the metacarpal bones in her index and middle right fingers were fractured. Kaera had told her that with time her body will grow stronger, enough to withstand the force she’s putting out with her flux, but there’ll always be a risk that there’s an imbalance. That is why she needs to keep training and learn how far she can take her mastery. 

She had to switch to the speaker because of the cast on her two fingers. They’ll likely be healed within a couple of days. The foreign energy had rebounded on her as well, but thankfully it had only left her with a deep cut requiring three stitches between her knuckles. Realization dawned on Fay that it could have been much worse and she really had little knowledge in such matters. Severing the connection so abruptly could have ended very badly. No matter, she tried to tell herself. What’s done is done. If she had waited any longer, they would have all been harmed by the mist eventually. 

Are you alright?’’ Her aunt sounded concerned, justifiably so. Fay found twelve missing calls from her. 

“Yes,” Fay replied. “Aunt Lira, something happened---”

Was it the mist?”

Fay wasn’t sure if she was too tired to feel surprised. “Yes. It’s a long story but…” Closing her eyes because the bedroom lights were making her headache worse, Fay offered a succinct version of the night’s events. “The, um, house is destroyed so I had no way of—of checking, but I am sure there was no one there. The energy came from a wall.”

“It’s a ritual that allows a person to connect with an element. Have your parents ever talked to you about them? Or your tutors?” There was some disbelief in her voice. The door to her bedroom opened, and Damian stepped through. He had already showered, judging by the fresh clothes and his damp hair. Fay opened her eyes, squinting, and gestured her hand towards the switch on the wall next to the entrance. He got the signal and without even looking reached to flick the lights off. Fay sighed in relief.

“They, um, did. Sort of,” She said, finally. “I know that people have different---different sensitivities to the flux? That’s why some people are capable of mastering it differently than others. People, um, born with marks are generally on the powerful end of the scale.” It was strange to think of herself in that manner. “But there are also people who just have a natural awareness of energy but may not use it in—in battle. Or they can use it to heal people as Titoh does.”

“Exactly.” Damian’s head fitted to the phone, as he recognized the voice but didn’t say anything. He came to sit down next to her. Last Fay checked, Bagheera was being given a much-needed bath by Alfred who also tended to his injuries. “ But they didn’t tell you anything beyond that?” Fay did not consider herself impatient by nature but she felt mildly annoyed. She was sore, exhausted and the coldness of the foreign energy lingered, so she really wanted to scrub herself clean. It might not help with the latter, but she hoped sleep will chase away any remnants of the other energy. 

“I don’t remember,” She sighed. “I know there’s…rituals. For people to connect with, um, the elements. They can’t do it directly because they have no marks, so they have to use them as a---a---medium?” That wasn’t always true, though. There could be exceptions, Klaus being a point in case. He was not born with any marks but his affinity towards fire was uncanny. That was rare though, and Kaera said she wouldn’t be surprised if he did develop marks later in life. They could be there already, just not visible. 

Someone is using a medium – or a ritual if you will – to manipulate a natural element. Mist is one. So there wouldn’t have been anyone at the house or the hospital, because they’re doing it remotely.”

Fay’s brows furrowed. “How do you know about the hospital?” She hadn’t mentioned that yet. 

Because I was there,” Lira admitted shamelessly. “ That party you spoke to me about? The one that took place in the forest where that human girl went missing. There was residual energy at the location, very faintly. I got curious.”

Damian rolled his eyes, sneering. Fay’s lips twitched in amusement. She couldn’t be angry with her aunt when her own curiosity had gotten her into all kinds of situations, including that encounter with the Angel and everything that followed after. But if Lira was at the hospital, it meant she was the ‘intruder’ that Jason saw, not the one behind the mist attack. 

“I think…I think I get it.” Fay said. It started to make sense now. Why she felt no physical presence behind that energy, why it had been trapped in that wall. Those were seals. Someone was channeling their energy through them from an unspecified location but with the mist being used in such a precise manner, they had to be dealing with someone proficient. “The seals dictated the element used. But---they can’t be the only ones, right?”

“No. Whoever is doing this would be recreating those seals at their location. They also would have needed to personally place the seals both at the park and in the hospital and be aware of the layout.”

“…and there’s a limit to how far the energy can go,” Fay concluded. “That’s why the mist couldn’t travel too far at the park.”

“Not to mention that the longer the connection takes, the weaker the energy. It will drain the user. It’s been a while since I have come across someone who uses the elements through a medium, but to my knowledge, the flux does not come naturally to them. Their connection is not as natural or as strong as yours is, so they have to bargain with something else.”

Fay blinked. “What?”

“Their life force, flea.”

Fay opened her mouth to comment, then closed it. As terrifying a prospect as that was, it made sense. Her flux was interconnected with her life force, but if her flux was weak, that didn‘t mean she’d die. She might be affected by it as she used to when the bracelets caused her to feel disconnected from the flux. Physical weakness, poor immunity, and so on. But a man or a woman who had no direct connection with the energy would have to find a way to connect to it in a strong enough manner to exert influence over the elements. 

“There’s a recovery time, then,” Damian said suddenly, nearly startling Fay because he’d been so silent up until then. “The culprit requires time to recover. If they remain connected for too long, they also risk death.”

“Hey, little shit!” Lira greeted cheerfully. “ How have you been?”

Fay tried not to smile but failed, and Damian just scowled. He ignored her, “Did you track the source?”

“Oh my, oh dearie me, are you asking for my help?”

The boy looked like he wanted to stab the woman, but since she wasn’t there, Fay feared he might stab the phone instead. Or her, for not being able to hide her grin. 

“Aunt Lira,” She said, lightly chastising. “Are you able, though?”

No.” Damian tutted, and Fay gently elbowed him. “ They must be located far away. However, there are also limitations to that. The seals were not as advanced as I have seen in others, but from the sounds of it, they maintained the connection at length. So I would not say they are a beginner, but they must lack the knowledge for complex rituals.”

“This wasn’t…complex?” Fay asked, with a frown. 

I’ve come across medium users who could summon the elements from hundreds of miles away. He or she has perfected the mist within a particular radius but at no point did they attempt other elements. Or to separate the elements.” Lira was more knowledgeable in that area so Fay had to take her word. What she said next worried her, however. “ The energy was not particularly powerful, either. I think we’re looking for someone young---by human standards anyway.”

Dread crawled up Fay’s spine. “It wasn’t…powerful? But---” Right. Maybe it had felt strong to her because she lacked experience. “It felt cold. It---is that normal?” She asked instead, abandoning her previous sentence. 

“Yes and no. It depends on the user, much like in your case. You’re feeling unwell because of it?” Right on it. 

“Yes.” Fay felt Damian look at her, but she didn’t dare meet his gaze. She hadn’t had a chance to tell him the foreign energy had left her feeling slightly out of it, or that she was afraid the sensation wouldn’t go away. To her defense, after she woke up at the park, she blacked out shortly after Damian took off with her on his back. When she came to it again she was already at the manor, on one of the medical tables in the cave with Alfred checking her. “I, um, also used my flux to destroy the connection.”

“Hm. The energy rebounded. That’s normal,” Lira said. “But, be careful about it. If it was a stronger type of energy, it can cause serious damage. You can learn how and if you can sever these rituals, however. Kaera definitely knows about them as well.” Another thing to add to her ever-growing list of ‘things I need to get better at’, Fay thought. “It’ll go away, flea. Just ensure that you eat and get rest.”

Fay nodded, then realized the woman couldn’t see it, “Alright.”

“What’s the furthest someone can hold a connection of that type?” Damian asked. 

Fay was relieved when Lira didn’t take the chance to mock the boy again. “ I would say no further than a few miles. Ten at most, but that is generous.” She paused. “Once a connection is severed, the energy dissipates quickly so we’re likely already too late to track it. If I find anything, I will let you know. Fay, try to stay out of trouble until you feel better.”

“…alright.” Because the last thing Damian needed was any encouragement to be overprotective. Fay didn’t want him to remove her from the case, but she also did not wish to be a liability. 

With that, her aunt hung up and the silence stretched between them. 

“I…remembered something,” She said, finally. “From that night.”

“You had a panic attack?” 

Fay nodded. “I think it’s because of… how it reminded me of the attack. But this was different. It was a memory. A full, clear memory. Or—or I think it was. I was in the old castle, and I was looking at Maysoon while it was under attack. I think that really happened. When I was at Bernard’s mansion and I walked through that—that ballroom he had, I had the same sensation. I was in the old palace and I was looking down at…everything and—” She swallowed. “The jungle was…screaming. I could feel it, rather than…hear it. Everyone was but I didn’t see who it was causing it. Well. Except…” She inhaled and shifted her shoulder, where that clawed hand had touched her. She wasn’t sure what was worse. That it was an actual memory and that the creature existed. That it had actually touched her. Or that her mind was so confused that it tried to fill in her memory gaps with imagined events. 

“There was…this thing.” She said, unable to keep the fear out of her voice. “I heard my mother’s voice at first. She was telling me to run, but she---she wasn’t there. I couldn’t move, either. And this thing was behind me,” She licked her lips. Her mouth was dry. “It touched my shoulder and it said my name. My full name. It—it didn’t sound human.” She blanched and tilted her head to stare at him because she really needed to look at something or someone familiar. Safe. That memory – if it was one – made her feel alone and terrified. Just like that night. “It was covered in blood and it had claws. And it felt… dark,” She muttered. “Really cold, and really dark. I saw something on its hand. I think it was a tattoo. Or maybe a scar.” 

“Can you describe it?” He got up, presumably to grab paper and a pencil, “I will recreate it.”

Fay grabbed his wrist, then flinched when she realized she did so with her injured hand. It stopped him, however, and he remained standing before her. 

“There’s---there’s no need,” Fay said, taking her hand away and looking up at him. “It was a…spider. It was a very, um, simple version.” 

“Stylized, you mean.”

Fay nodded. “It was small, not bigger than a quarter. It—I think it looked more like a scar than a tattoo. Like…” She lifted her hands, bringing her wrists facing up. The scars left behind by the bracelets had faded considerably but they’ll never be entirely gone, remnants of the ordeal she’s been through. “It looked like these ones.”

Damian’s hands wrapped around her forearms, just above her wrists, and stared at the scars there. “Spiders have triggered panic attacks in the past,” She nodded. “I had always found it odd that you were frightened of them given you grew up in the jungle. It seems your mind knew well why it was afraid of it. It could be a clue to what happened that night. I take it you’re unaware of where this symbolism may come from? A clan, perhaps?”

Fay shook her head. “None that I know of. I could ask Lira---”

“Don’t,” He interrupted her. “Not yet. We’ll keep it to ourselves for the time being until we know more. When you return to the island, search the library. You said there’s a wealth of books in there?” She nodded. “I will also put it through the database. The two worlds are far more connected than it is assumed, clearly.”

“Alright,” 

He didn’t let go of her hands, though. She felt his thumbs brush against the scars. “You’re not.” He remarked quietly, which made her look up at him again. 

“I will be,” She said with a small smile. “It was just a long night and…unexpected.”

He grunted but didn’t add anything else. 

“You should go ahead and bathe,” He said, letting go of her hands.

The gesture filled her with some disappointment. 

“I…I don’t think I have the strength,” she muttered, eyeing the bathroom door. She would love to feel hot water running down on her but the effort of removing her clothes and moving around made her feel less enthusiastic. 

“It isn’t a choice,” He said. “Get up.”

Fay sighed. 

Chapter 63: Of pain that ripples (I)

Notes:

A late Merry Christmas to everyone (celebrating)! Thanks to the support of MoonglowOnWater I am able to post a chapter sooner than later, so here it is folks.

Next update will be on Sunday 2nd of January.

Chapter Text

“Just as ripples spread out when a single pebble is dropped into water,
the actions of individuals can have far-reaching effects.”

- Dalai Lama

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Fay sighed but did as he instructed, getting up to her feet. Her muscles were stiff and her knees shook, so it took her a moment to steady herself. Damian didn't rush her as she made her way to the bathroom, even if she moved with the same speed as a very elderly person. He hovered, though, so close that she could feel the warmth of his body and grab onto him if she lost her balance. She flinched when she switched the lights on, but fortunately, they could be dimmed. Fay put them on the lowest brightness possible.

She grimaced when she saw her reflection. " Ew ." Her hair looked like a bird had attempted to make a nest of it. The skin on her neck was purpling where the mist had tried to choke her, and her right cheek was slightly swollen. The skin there was also battered, but she couldn't remember how that came to be. Her witch costume could have passed for a zombie one because she looked more like a dead body rising from the grave.

"Exactly," Damian smirked, standing behind her, brushing against her as she leaned onto the marble counter. He was in a considerably better state, with just a few cuts and abrasions here and there. She noticed a cut on the left side of his chin and a bruise on the side of his temple, but other than that, he seemed fine.

Fay pouted at him in the reflection. "Shut up."

An awkward silence filled the room. The next logical step would be to remove her dress, but Fay doubted she could bend her arms well enough to reach the zipper. She floundered, feeling her cheeks grow warmer, which was not a good look - like a corpse with a blush on , she thought. "Um, --" It was alright to ask her friend to help her, right? Why did she find it difficult to ask that? "I don't think I can---"

Perhaps a blessing in disguise, Damian's lack of propriety eliminated the need for the request. He moved her hair away from her back over one shoulder, then reached for the zipper at the top of her dress. Fay looked away from the mirror because, inexplicably, watching him do that made her stomach feel as if she were flying.  The sound of the zipper going down was loud, and her cheeks burned as she felt her back being exposed. The red sash was missing. She wasn't even sure when she'd lost it.

Damian didn't step away immediately after, though, and Fay blinked, head tilting to the side. "What--- what's the matter?" She stammered, feeling self-conscious. When he didn't answer, she turned slightly to glance at his face over her shoulder. He was frowning. "Damian?"

"Your back is bruised." That was an understatement. Barely an inch of her skin wasn't covered in shades of purple and red. He had expected to see bruises, but they were so deep he struggled to make out her marks. He lifted a hand to the area, fingers brushing lightly to where he knew the symbols to be. He knew them so well he could recreate them on paper with ease, down to the exact size and shape. His jaw clenched when he noticed the usual buzz of energy was borderline absent; severing that connection had taken a toll on her. He saw the band of her sports bra dig into her skin harshly, no doubt leaving yet more red marks there. It couldn't have been comfortable, especially in her bruised state.

Fay straightened slightly when she felt his hands brush over the area, tracing the indented skin. All she could think of was how she surely smelled as terribly as she looked right then.  

"Would you like me to…assist with this, as well?" His voice was quiet. Almost tentative.  

Her eyes widened slightly, then darted about the room. She knew how difficult it was to remove her sports bras, primarily when sweat built up. Wiggling out of it as she usually did would be painful, but the idea of her friend removing it made her blood pressure skyrocket. Well, that was one way to feel warmer, she supposed. Very warm. From her face down to her stomach.

"I will cut it." He continued. "You won't be exposed."

"I—um---sure..." She swallowed. Exposed. Exposed . As in him seeing---oh gods. She blamed it on how she'd hit her head earlier that night, but the first thought that struck her mind was if he'd think anything of her breasts. Did he even—did he even ponder such things? He had to, right? Maybe not as much as Reuben, who seemed to gawk at almost every girl he passed by (although no more than at Mara herself). Would Damian like--no. No.

Fay shook her head, not caring how it made her migraine flare up. The pain was good. It grounded her mind, taking away the weird thoughts that had no place there. She tried to convince herself that it was just a consequence of the tiring night she's had, but in truth it wasn't the first time she'd made that consideration. How often had she come home from the Academy, full of information and ideas and new thoughts on beauty expectations in that world, and ended up sizing herself up? At first out of curiosity, to draw parallels between the worlds. Then because she felt self-conscious, which she supposed was silly.  As if she didn't have enough complexities to worry about. But it was hard not to contemplate at least the societal norms that seemed to affect and worry other girls at the Academy. Being thinner but not too thin, tall but not too tall, have a thigh gap and an ample, but not too ample behind at the same time. Fay had heard some boys loudly whisper behind her one time about how she must be a 'prude' for wearing so many layers. She'd also heard the same boys use derogatory terms for Julia and her friends because they were wearing 'promiscuous' clothing. 

Somewhere in those contemplations, she'd also wondered what Damian thought. Did those norms influence his perception of others as well? Did he look at girls and think they were attractive, similarly to the other boys at the Academy except far more subtly? Did he look at her, his friend, and think about whether she was ugly or not? That made her highly uncomfortable, which it shouldn't have because regardless of the answer to that question, Damian would still be her friend. It didn't matter what she looked like or who she was. She didn't doubt that although his demeanour often suggested otherwise, he could love deeply. Once someone gained his trust and favour, they would always have his loyalty and attention. It wasn't an easy feat, nothing about him was, but it was worth it. Yet. Yet. When that thought had struck her mind, am I ugly to him, she had felt momentarily breathless. She remembered getting up from her bed and busying herself with training until the weight on her chest was lifted. She had refused to think about it ever since.

Fay was so caught up in her ruminations that she didn't even see him move towards the marble counter to search for something sharp in the drawers. He settled for a pair of scissors, then he was behind her again, glancing at her reflection before he could cut through to see if she had any objections. Fay had a distant look on her face. She appeared to be spacing out. He opened the scissors and, gently lifting the material away from her skin so he would not graze her, cut through it. It only took one firm press for the synthetic material to come undone, and that seemed to snap her out of it. Fay blinked rapidly, and she instinctively pressed her arms tight against her sides when she felt the material give out, taking away the support with it.

"Th-thank you."

He didn't say anything, stepping aside and putting the scissors back in the drawer. Fay didn't look capable of undressing herself but asking if she wanted help with the rest of her clothes was a boundary he doubted she was comfortable with him crossing. He wasn't unaffected himself. He'd seen her in various states of undress before, more exposed than currently even, but in those moments his mind had automatically switched to clinical observations of her body. They weren't the only type of observations he'd made though, not in recent months.  

"I will be outside," If you need me. That was left unsaid, but they both knew the offer was there. Always. Fay nodded. She waited until he was out of the room – door left slightly ajar – to free her arms from the costume's sleeves. One was falling apart, so it ripped off quickly. Then in one go, she rolled both her dress and sports bra off, sighing in relief at the pressure around her chest being lifted. The dress was pushed past her hips and fell at her feet in a pool of damaged material. Carefully, she stepped out of it and chucked it aside because, knowing herself, she was bound to trip on it later. Her tights were harder work because she had to bend at the waist, which caused her skin to go taut and her muscles to extend. Her face pinched in pain. Ultimately, she had to use the scissors to cut off what was left of them. She did the same with her underwear.

She then stepped into the shower, irrationally feeling like crying when the hot water hit her skin. Fay stayed in there long after she had scrubbed herself – twice – with soap. Her skin turned pink where it wasn't already bruised, her cuts stung, and her fingers pruned, but she didn't care. The shower loosened her muscles and made her feel lighter than before, improving her mood overall. With a towel wrapped around herself, she walked over to the door, positioning herself behind it.

"Damian?"

"What?" He was closer than she had expected. Had he waited by the door the entire time?

"Can you pass me some clothes, please?" She asked. "Or, um, I can come out, but you need to turn away."

He didn't respond, but she heard him shuffle away, which had to be intentional because she knew he could be quieter than that. A few minutes later, a pile of clothes was shoved through the crack of the door, and she accepted them. "Thank you." He handed her a hoodie and a pair of fleece joggers, along with underwear, which she was mildly horrified by. Fay had none of her creams and herbs from the island – or what was left of them – but her skin felt considerably better after the shower, so she hoped she wouldn't need them. She dressed as quickly as she could before leaving her towel on the heated railing.

Emerging from the bathroom, Fay found him sitting on the edge of the bed, phone in hand. The lights were off, but the sun was already rising, natural light filtering through the windows. Glancing at the clock on one of the nightstands, she saw it was twenty-past six. She must have been unconscious for far longer than she'd assumed. She wanted to go to sleep, but she felt hungry, and she was bound to wake up with a worse headache if she went to sleep on an empty stomach. It was already Monday, so in theory, she should prepare to go to school, but that was obviously out of the question. She doubted that Cora and the others would attend school, and the news must already be filled with reports of what happened at the park. Cora had texted her saying she was safe and with her aunt, but the others were still wondering about Fay's whereabouts, so she lied and said Fay had already gotten out of the park before they did. Bless Cora for being one of the best allies Fay could have and never expected she would.

"Pennyworth has prepared food." Damian remarked, pocketing the phone and getting up.

Fay stepped closer to him, stopping only a few inches away from him to inspect the abrasions on his face. "You're okay, right?" She asked worriedly. She brushed a hand over the bruise on his temple, pushing away a few strands of hair in the process. She felt his head tilt into her palm when she lowered her hand to his cheek.

When she looked at his eyes, she noticed he was staring at her neck. A moment later, she felt his fingers lightly touch the skin there, just like he did with her back earlier. And just like before, she was filled with warmth, and her skin tickled pleasantly. He didn't respond. Instead, he continued to run his thumb over her neck.

It was somewhat of a habit that had developed over time between them. Months earlier, he'd watched her brush her face against Bagheera's affectionately and the paladin responding in kind. She later told him that she'd seen jungle animals express their care for one another in that manner, so she'd adopted the gesture with her paladin, who considered her a pack member anyway. It also explained why she ended up replicating the gestures with Damian. She first did it when she kissed his bandaged hand after a short training session. One time, after a mission, she had brushed her nose against his cheek, near a graze from a bullet. He'd come to expect those affectionate gestures, and in time he found himself reciprocating. Of course, with her only, it was almost like a language, just like ' I see you.' This language did not require any words or grand gestures, nor did it carry any expectation that he should return the gestures. Except he wanted to. More and more lately.  

It would be a lie to say he only ever felt the need to return the gesture when she was vulnerable or injured.

But at that moment, she was both, and he felt justified in leaning forward, brushing his cheek against hers. She responded, tilting her head against his, the hand on his face settling on his shoulder as she swayed slightly. She needed food and rest, but it could wait a little longer. Damian pressed his mouth lightly against the angle of her jaw as his hand brushed against her neck. He disliked it whenever she was injured, but there was also something akin to marvel, knowing how much damage she was capable of inflicting when she wanted to. Fay did not come across as fragile or dainty anymore, but one would not look at her and think she was able to punch her way through a cement wall, either. Lowering his hand, his eyes drifted to the column of her neck. Even in the dimly lit room, he could make out the darker areas where the red cells had begun breaking down, and the lack of oxygen had turned the skin a dark purple.

He had the irrational urge to lick that spot. To place his mouth there, again and again. Would she be bothered by that? She'd never pushed him away before. If anything, her past responsiveness was dangerous because it compelled him to want to keep pushing boundaries. And then, what? He would be acting more on instinct than anything else; he hadn't thoroughly dissected that impulse, so he hadn't had a chance to consider long-term consequences.

Damian straightened, pulling his head away. He would not be impulsive. Especially not with her.

He brushed his mouth against her forehead. She leaned into him, oblivious.

"Can you stay with me, please?" Fay yawned again, one ear pressed against his chest. She didn't notice how his pulse was just a notch higher than usual. "I am scared I will dream of that…thing."

Of course, he would. He could work out potential suspects from his tablet. Bronson and the others had done nothing to warrant a visit from Batman and Robin (although that wasn't out of the question yet), but Damian wanted to investigate the background of the boy they found at the haunted house. Why was he specifically taken? Just like with Laura Carson, he doubted it was just chance.

"You'll eat first,"  

Fay nodded. She pulled away but didn't let go of his hand as she followed him out of the bedroom and down to the kitchen. If Alfred noticed, he didn't say anything. She ended up falling asleep as soon as she had a very early breakfast and downed painkillers with the butler's perfectly brewed tea. Damian carried her back up to her bed, intent on doing some work on his tablet at her side.

He ended up sleeping for several hours himself.

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The injured boy from the amusement park was named Joel Hendricks. The son of one of Gotham's three finance and support councillors, working closely with the mayor himself. It did not, at first glance, make sense as to why someone would target him, seeing as Eric Hendricks had just recently been elected into office and had a seemingly clean record. When Damian started looking into the other councilmen, he found a pattern in the business affairs they hid – or tried to hide – such as accepting deposits in their offshore accounts right after signing off on zoning permits that should have never been signed. At least three different building plots had been signed off in the past year, and they all belonged to a subsidiary of Joseph Sr.'s company. Of course, he was never at the forefront of such deals, having tasked a man named Georgi with extending the company's influence in Gotham instead. Still a risk, considering how crime-stricken the town was. Perhaps Bronson agreed to have weapons or drugs go through his new warehouses in exchange for being left alone?

As far as it concerned Laura Carson, the surprising yet potentially good news was that she might still be alive. On Sunday evening, while they had been fighting deadly mists, Laura Carson's uncle had received an electronic request for him to step down from his position in the next forty-eight hours if he wished to see his niece alive again. He had also been instructed to write a letter of recommendation for another potential candidate who could be seen in a photo with none other than Joseph Sr. at a private golf club several months earlier. Laura may still be alive weeks after having gone missing, or her kidnapper was lying. Mayor Buxton had also received a photo of Laura with that email – frightened and tied up, but alive. However, who could tell if the photo was recent or not? Mark Buxton did not contact the authorities, fearing that it might cause his niece to be harmed. The email's IP address appeared to come from a town in Europe. A fake one, more than likely.

Rather obvious, Damian thought, and not to mention foolish to go after two councillors in such a blatant manner, and so soon after one another. Joseph Sr. was not the person who controlled the mist, but he was involved with them. The man struck Damian as a coward of the lowest rung, but he was cunning enough to give himself solid alibis for the evenings Laura and Joel had been taken. On Halloween night, as Barbara could attest herself, the man had spent the entire evening on work conference calls, and his family had been at the fair until midnight. However, the more they investigated Bronson and Wallace, the more apparent it became that their successful careers following graduation from Gotham Academy were not due to honest efforts or intelligence. Business rivals threatening to steal their contracts or deals? Died, or suddenly decided to back down and move cities. Zoning issues that would have taken months or years to sort out otherwise? Gone within days, all paperwork signed off. Small but successful companies suddenly choosing to sign themselves over to Joseph Sr.'s company? At least thirteen different ones in the past decade alone.  

How could a man prove he was being threatened if the mist was used to do so? He'd be labeled insane.

Sebastian's father had been a journalist. It was possible he'd been killed for trying to expose Joseph Sr. Or for not having wanted to become involved in such criminal affairs. He had lived a modest life compared to Bronson and Wallace. The Coopers had had a thriving architecture business, but that had been the product of their hard work and investments. Honest work, most importantly. For years, none of those former Gotham Academy students had kept in touch. Until two and a half years earlier, when John Dupont had flown to Portland. Daniel Cooper had had the week off, and there were no digital transactions to indicate he'd gone to the same place as John, but it could be inferred that he had. A week after that trip, John had died. Joseph Sr. had shown up at John's funeral, but that had been the first time Sebastian and his family had met him. They hadn't even known about John's friends in Gotham. But Joseph Sr. must have convinced them that he'd been close to John. Why else would they trust the man and move to Gotham? To allow the Bronson's to insinuate themselves in their family in that manner?

And how had Benjamin really ended up in that coma?  

"Maybe…Benjamin found out about his parents." Fay said, speaking for the first time that afternoon. She sat at his side sipping on a protein milkshake as she listened to Damian go through the information he pulled up. She had slept almost eight hours, enough to make her feel like a new person and for many of the bruises on her body to start fading into shades of yellow. "Joseph Jr. and Robert know something—at least it seems like they do, maybe they told Benjamin?"

"Or he was looking into it," Damian said. "Trying to find out what happened to his parents."

That sounded familiar.

"He found out. So now they're trying to get rid of him, which is supported by the conversation between those two at the arcade."

Fay swirled around the contents of her glass. "So the person who controls the mist is working with Joseph Sr.?"

"Or working for him." Damian scoffed. "For years, maybe since their time at the Academy." That was over two decades ago. "Something's changed, though."

Fay looked up at him. "What do you mean?"

"In this…arrangement, or partnership. If they are working together, they've done so undetectably for years. Decades. Even the Coopers' and Dupont's deaths have gone unnoticed, ruled as unfortunate accidents or encounters with a mugger, respectively. Although it would be hard for anyone to prove there's someone out there capable of controlling mist, care was still taken that not too much attention would be paid to their deaths. Yet here we are with two different events attracting attention in a city where Batman and several other vigilantes reside. There's loose ends – namely Benjamin Cooper – and gross miscalculations – trying to kidnap people with witnesses around." Damian sat down in the chair and turned to face her. "We know that Bronson and the others have alibis for these events, which means the person controlling the mist is someone we haven't looked at. Either that person has changed from the one operating in the past, or there's someone new giving out orders."

Fay mulled that over as she sipped the last of her protein shake.

"The Sponsor died," Fay said. "Maybe he was involved? I mean-- He found Klaus, Johan. He collected items and resources from my world. Maybe he knew of this mist master?" She wiped her mouth.

"Possibly." Damian intertwined his fingers before his chin, elbows on the arms of the chair. "We will find out."

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"Please don't shoot my aunt again."

"I make no promises."

Fay stared at him, wide-eyed. Jason wondered if that was how she always got her way with the baby brat.

"Or what?" He teased.

"I will be very sad."  

Good answer.

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Fay removed her cashmere scarf as she sat down on the plush chair and glanced out the window at the bustling streets of Gotham. With Halloween out of the way, all attention was switched to Thanksgiving and Christmas. Decorations were already up in the luxury café she was in currently, from trees with colorful baubles to golden tinsel hanging from the walls. It was warm and cosy inside, but she couldn't remove her scarf, as the bruises on her neck had yet to heal fully, three days after they'd been inflicted. It seemed that the bruises caused by the mist took longer to recover from, so that was something to consider in the future.

She hadn't returned to the Academy. The official explanation was that she felt unwell, and that her parents were on the fence about her return, worried about negative influences. The headmaster had even sent an email to her parents, trying to convince them of the safe space the Academy could offer. Fay thought the headmaster feared he might lose a potential donor rather than a student. Reuben, Sebastian, and Mara had all returned on Tuesday, but according to Cora, none of them talked to others about what had happened on Halloween night. There were rumours, of course, and stories spreading like wildfire from the older students that had been there. Some were from the Academy, others from the public school, but no one knew that Fay, Cora, and the others had been there. The only one who had confessed to his family what had happened was Reuben. He'd gotten himself grounded for trying to use a 'silly scary story' to hide how he'd been 'up to no good'. Who could blame them? Few people believed the 'mist monsters' story as most chalked it up to the teenagers drinking too much or getting high.

Joel Hendricks was still in the hospital. His leg required surgery, but he'd make a full recovery. He gave no statement, and his family chose to keep his presence at the amusement park under wraps; not wishing Gotham to know that the son of a councillor had been trespassing properties for parties where he'd engaged in illegal drinking.

Fay turned her head towards the staircase leading to the ground floor when she heard a familiar group of voices. Cora's curly blond hair and very bright orange beanie appeared in view a few moments later. Sebastian, Mara, and Reuben were just behind her, wearing thick jackets with scarves and hats to shield them from the nipping wind. Cora grinned as soon as she spotted Fay seated across the room at a table for six near the windows. They'd already spoken a few times in the past days, but this was the first time Fay saw the others since Halloween night.

She did not expect Reuben to push past Cora and, stopping just short of tackling her off the chair, give her a bear hug. Fay tried not to flinch at the sudden proximity; thankfully Mara intervened by pointing out he was acting like an idiot, sparking a bickering session between the two during which he let go of Fay. Cora mouthed an 'are you alright' from beside them, and Fay nodded as she quickly made sure her scarf still covered the remaining bruises properly. The fading ones on her face and the bandaged fingers could be easily explained as her having tripped and fallen while running away, but she didn't want to make up a story as to why her neck was also bruised. A few more days and they'd be gone. Her flux already felt stronger, and the lingering cold sensation of the foreign energy was gone, as Lira had predicted.

"Anyway---" Mara said, pushing Reuben away and looking mildly annoyed. She turned to look at Fay with what had to be the most genuine smile she'd ever seen the girl offer. "I am glad you're alright, Ki— Fay . We thought those things got to you." Huh. It was a wonder what a night of terrifying, deadly mists could do to one's attitude to another.  

Sebastian smiled also. "Yeah. I am happy as well. Cora said you got out, then Robin showed up, and we had no idea what happened after."

They all sat down at the table, Cora to Fay's left and Sebastian to her right, with Mara and Reuben across from them. They inevitably went over what had happened on Halloween night, with various theories being passed around as to whether the mist was truly supernatural or some sort of supervillain. They did not imagine it, and they were not under the influence of anything as people had assumed of the other students. "Robin was there, that proves it," Reuben nodded, a sagely look on his face. "But my mom won't believe me. She thinks I am making it all up." He added with a slight groan.

"I told you it was not a good idea to say anything," Mara chastised.

Fay stayed quiet throughout the conversation, nodding along if only to let them know she agreed with their theories or had been just as frightened as them (which was true). Cora, too, played along. Fay had given her a brief explanation of what had happened after leaving the park and how the culprit was still out there. She didn’t think any of them would be targeted, though. Lira believed the mist master required time to recover; perhaps they'd gone into hiding.

"It was a true Halloween night, and no one will ever believe us," Reuben lamented. "How is that fair?"

They didn't linger on that topic for their entire stay at the café. Ultimately, they ended up talking about homework, Christmas plans, and so on. It was nice. Except for Cora, Fay wouldn't say she considered them her friends because they didn't know her, but they were entertaining enough that she did not mind spending a few hours with them.

Sebastian brushed his hand against hers when Cora went to call her aunt, the other two to buy more hot chocolate. It was a brief touch, meant to draw her attention more than anything, and when she looked up at him, he smiled. "Are you sure you're okay?" He did not linger, and there was nothing objectively unpleasant about the touch but still. His hand was colder than she had expected, and maybe too soft. His fingers were neither thin nor thick, just normal-sized, but they lacked a gracefulness she didn't even realise she cared about until then, especially not when it came to other people's hands. Perhaps she was just shallow. She wondered if it was because she'd always need time before growing comfortable with people touching her. It had taken weeks before Fay had become entirely alright with Cora hugging her.

"Yes," Fay smiled. "It was a…strange night."

"Yeah. It was even weirder going back to school and pretending everything was the same." Sebastian shook his head. "I kinda wanted to tell my mom, but I have a feeling she'll react the same as Reuben's mom." Fay's parents – her real ones – would have never dismissed her. They would have investigated or taught her how to fight that kind of enemy. Of course, it wasn't a fair comparison. Fay Kipling's parents, she supposed, would react the same way Reuben's mother did: with disbelief and a considerable amount of scepticism.

"I didn't tell my parents, either," Fay said. "I just went home."

Sebastian eyed her bandaged hand. "They didn't ask what happened?"

No, because they're dead. Fay shrugged. "My parents are not in town. I told them I tripped and fell."

"Hm. It must be hard," He said. "With them being away all the time."

Fay looked away. "I got used to it." She hadn’t. She wasn’t sure she ever would, even if she got better at dealing with the grief.

"Yeah, I get that." He nodded. "It was tough when my dad died. I think it was all made worse by how suddenly it all happened."

Of course, Sebastian knew how it felt to lose a parent. They had that in common, and he didn't even know.

Fay glanced at him tentatively. "Does it get easier?"

"Not really. Sometimes, I think it does. Other times, I think it’s harder than before."

She understood that too, but she couldn’t say that. Not directly anyway.

"Well," Fay said. "Feeling grief is just proof of how much a person loved another. Maybe it's not a bad thing if it won't ever completely go away."

He looked surprised by that.

"Yeah. I guess you're right."

Fay smiled.

It was alright. Bad Days were no longer as frightening when she had people to stand by her side.

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On Thursday evening, four days after the mist attacked, Damian was finally able to find photos of students that had attended the Academy at the same time as Bronson in the most ironic of places. Twenty-five years earlier, Bronson and his classmates had been photographed while volunteering at the Gotham Museum, setting up exhibits. The photographs seemed to have been taken without the students being entirely aware of them, or maybe they hadn't cared at the time, but they had all been stored by the museum. They hadn't even been scanned into the system. Still, Damian had felt inspired to ask about them after he'd kept coming across online mentions of the Academy maintaining a yearly tradition of having its students give back to the community via volunteering in various ways. Helen Wilmot knew the museum inside out for all her aggravating jubilance, so when he'd asked, she'd immediately told him that there was a storage room on the second floor full of boxes of old photos.

He'd had them brought to the Manor the same day, and Fay was happy to help him examine the pictures. She'd been quiet lately, he noted, deep in thought and constantly spacing out. He believed she was more shaken by the possible memory she'd recalled at the park than the mist itself. She had barely slept due to nightmares the night before, he knew she must be tired. He had drawn the spider symbol as she recalled it, and he'd caught her staring at the piece of paper several times in the past four days, no doubt trying to remember something more about its origin and meaning. She'd also looked fearful, and he wasn't surprised. There were parallels between what had happened with the Coopers and Dupont and the mystery of her parents' deaths. Fay knew deep down that if she continued to search for an explanation for what had happened that night, she was bound to find something devastating and difficult to process. It would be easier to accept that it had been the Vontagorians or other traditional enemies of Maysoon attacking than an enemy out there that she hadn't considered yet. Or one that no one had told her about.

"I am done with my box," Fay said. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, an old box before her. They were both in the Manor's library, near the fireplace which kept them warm. He was sitting only a few feet away with a box of his own. Titus was pressed against him, back-to-back, while Bagheera had chosen to sprawl over one of the sofas. He liked to make a show of defying Alfred's instructions not to clamber over the furniture, but whenever the butler stepped in the room, the paladin jumped down from the sofa. One time he'd accidentally changed into his battle form because of a disgruntling dream in which his Fay was gone, resulting in several pieces of furniture being destroyed, including a costly lamp. Alfred had not been impressed.

"Most of the photos in my box were from the seventies and of staff members." She noted.

"I have the ones of students." Fay sat down by his side and watched him take out a stack of photos wrapped with a plastic band. The box was filled with junk otherwise, including old pens branded with an outdated Gotham Museum logo, some old fliers, and glossy posters of exhibits that came and passed. She liked some of them, as they depicted various animals and their anatomy, so she put them aside, intending to keep them.

"Found them," Damian smirked, which made her lean over to him, their shoulders pressed together. He held a stack of at least fifty photos. Fay was mildly fascinated by the fashion of that time and the quality of the pictures. There was a lower colour depth in them, and people appeared less defined, but the mullets and teased hair stood out anyway, as did the bomber jackets and colorful pieces of clothing. The students were dressed in a different version of the uniform with longer skirts for girls, white shirts for everyone, and darker colours for the blazers. Most students were photographed walking about helping staff members or possibly teachers put up posters or spreading fliers. Others were captured talking to a group of people, perhaps they'd been encouraged to give presentations to the public.

It was on the sixth photo that they started seeing familiar faces. It was not easy to identify them, as they didn't always face the camera, or they were in the background. Still, Joseph Bronson Sr. stood out because he was easily one of the tallest students. Wallace had a distinctive pompadour, and he was even captured styling it in at least three photos, indicating perhaps that he was very attached to it. As an adult, he'd lose it all, so Fay supposed it was a good thing he appreciated his hair while he still had it. The photos were the first physical evidence that the students had known each other well. Joseph Jr. was the spitting image of his father at that age, but Sebastian seemed to take after his mother more, she didn't see as much of his father in him. John Adamson was on the shorter side, sporting a flat top. One photo had captured him and Joseph Sr., arms slung around each other's shoulders and grinning, implying they were indeed friends. Another photo showed Daniel Cooper with a girl, possibly a former girlfriend, given the love-struck looks they were throwing at each other, Wallace pulling a face at both.

At least they had confirmation that they all knew each other and had likely been friends. It was sad to think about those cheerful teenagers ending up taking such different paths. Horrifying to consider that Joseph Sr. may have been involved in the deaths of John and the Coopers.

"It doesn't change that we'll have to pay a visit to Bronson and get some answers," Damian remarked as he went through the rest of the photos quickly. "But there's evidence now that they knew each other." When Fay didn't respond, he glanced at her only to find her staring wide-eyed at the last photo in his hand. "What's the matter?"

Fay gasped lightly as she took the photo out of his hands to stare at it from up close. At the forefront of the picture, two female students appeared to be working on some posters on a table. They were both smiling at the camera. Behind them, someone had been captured in the background. He was wearing the full Academy attire, down to the buttoned-up vest and tie, unlike the other students who had removed some layers or left their shirts untucked. His dark hair was long, brushing against his shoulders, a few strands falling into his face. Hands shoved in his trousers, he wasn't staring at the camera, instead frowning at something that hadn't been captured. He was rather good-looking if one ignored the zits and greasy-looking hair. The type of looks that would possibly get better once he outgrew the acne and improved his hygiene.

The type of looks that'd have female students from a wide age bracket fawn over him as he discussed the implications of social contracts.

"I think…-this is Mr. Cunningham, my Sociology teacher."

Damian's eyes narrowed. "I found no record of a Cunningham."

Not if he had changed his name. Not if he had come back to the Academy under a new identity to become a beloved teacher that no one suspected of being anything but a mild-mannered, handsome man.

Who would suspect a man like that, after all?

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James Cunningham knew it was risky to use the ritual so soon after that night. He should give it at least a few weeks before making another attempt, especially since he'd been feeling weak for the past four days. But the longer he waited, the more likely it was for someone to find out who was behind the mist. Or for Bronson and Wallace to throw him under the bus because that was the type of people they were. James despised them with every fibre of his being. Since he had been fourteen, they caused him grief simply because he was different from them. Because he refused to conform to societal norms and remained an independent thinker, someone who broke free from the mould that others had tried to impose on him. Of course, people like Bronson and Wallace would never understand that. And there'd always be plenty of people ready to eat out of their palms and follow them around like sheep, like Daniel and John.

The latter may not have contributed to the torment that Bronson and Wallace had put him through as a teenager, but they'd also never done anything to stop it. When Bronson had shoved his head into the toilet while Wallace stole his clothes from the locker, forcing him to sit in the shower naked for hours until a teacher found him. When Bronson had shouted obscenities at him or mocked his father for working as a waste collector. They had had plenty of chances to stop it, but they never did.

James would have never gotten into the Academy if it hadn't been for his uncle. His uncle had also changed his life completely when he presented James with the knowledge of the rituals. Told him the old leather books had been passed down from his great-grandfather and that the ability to connect with the mist sometimes skipped generations, but may not have skipped him. Oh, the delight and awe and wonder he’d felt when his uncle had been right. It had taken him weeks of practice, but when he’d finally used the mist for the first time, it had been as if he'd finally discovered his calling. He was meant for something greater; he was special. Of course, in the beginning, he could barely generate mist further than a few hundred feet away, and it had rarely ever lasted beyond five minutes.

His uncle had died when James was sixteen years old. He kept practising, again and again, until it was all he did. Then several months later, Bernard had shown up in his life. Caught him red-handed while he'd been hiding in an alleyway, trying to use the ritual to stop a mugging. He'd failed because not only had he been slow to take action, but the rain had washed away the chalk he'd used to draw those otherworldly seals he had yet to really understand. James had run away, frightened and discouraged, and the woman who was being mugged had likely ended up dead, judging by the gun he'd heard go off in the distance. Bernard had come to find him that evening, appearing at his door dressed in a fancy white suit, accompanied by his bodyguards.

He'd told James he knew the true origins of the seals, where they came from. He could train James, wanted to make sure James fulfilled his potential because men as talented as him were rare. He had been overwhelmed, of course, but Bernard had been the first person to honestly believe in him, even more so than his uncle. Bernard had ensured that social services never came by to investigate why he lived alone, nor that anyone found out his uncle had died.

"I want you to help me, my boy," Bernard had said.

"With what? What could I possibly help you with? You have it all," A young James had responded.

The man had smiled. "I want it all," He’d said firmly. "Why shouldn't I? Others have taken it away from me simply because they could. I think it's time I turned the tables."

Turning tables on an unfair world. It was the kind of thing an ostracised teenager wanted to hear.

"I want to make them pay," James had expressed, vitriol lacing his voice as he told Bernard about his tormentors. "I want them to feel the same pain they caused me."

Bernard had nodded. His lack of judgement had been refreshing. "As they should, my boy. But there are better ways to make them pay. You are, after all, a superior being. Superior beings do not lower themselves to the level of ignorant animals."

"Then…. -what? Should I just let them go?"

Bernard had grinned.

"Not at all. Even ignorant animals have their use."

James pulled away from his memories when the heavy backdoor of the gentlemen's club across the street swung open. He was situated in a dingy apartment on the second floor, offering him a great view of  'Mary's Lollipops', a club Michael Wallace liked to frequent. Animals are predictable like that , he thought, as he raised his binoculars to get a better look at the alley beside the club. Michael stepped out, his arm wrapped around a tall blonde wearing a glittery gold skirt barely long enough to cover her ass.

A pained moan escaped the apartment's tiny kitchen, which James ignored. The drugs he'd used to knock out the elderly couple that owned the apartment must be fading, but they were gagged, blindfolded and tied to chairs, and as such shouldn't be an issue. He wasn't going to kill them, especially since they didn't see his face or knew who he was, but he wasn't above roughing them up. He went back to spying on Michael, his mouth twisting in disgust when he saw him kiss the woman and grope her shamelessly.

Enough of that. It was time to put down the animals, to destroy the loose ends. Then he'd leave town and go into hiding for a while before setting out to seek what was left of Bernard's connections. He had his new identity ready at an old storage place, along with a car and his closest belongings. James took out a roll of paper which he spread out on a table by the window. On it, he had already drawn the seals inside the circle. The weather was ideal, he should be able to get the job done quickly and easily. Cutting his palm with a knife as he'd done a hundred times before, he waited until enough blood had seeped out of his hand. Then he smudged the blood onto the circle before placing both palms on the seals and focusing on the ritual. He had no totem on that occasion, but his target was close, making it easier to be precise. The most difficult thing he'd done had been using the mist to push Wallace's car off the road – not only had he been several miles away, but he'd had to exert influence on a moving object weighing over three thousand pounds. If he managed that, he could easily take out Michael. Then Bronson. James kept him for last, and if possible, he wouldn't make it quick, either. He just had to make sure Bronson did not keep any copies of the recording that would implicate James in the disappearance of Laura Carson. Even animals had moments of short-lived intelligence.

The seals glowed on the paper, and he felt something inside – deep, visceral, beyond the physical – twist and turn, filling him with a coolness that rivalled the temperatures outside. He loved it. His muscles grew stiff, and his skin felt tight, but that was normal. It was the energy inside of him, the one that Bernard had told him not many were gifted with. Not even Bernard himself. Whenever he activated the seal, James entered a trance of sorts, as if he was there but not there at the same time. An out-of-body experience, almost, which allowed him to feel the mist, to manipulate it as if he was an invisible creature moving along with it. He couldn't see, but he could feel everything, enabling him to attack with precision.

The longer he kept the connection open, the bigger the toll on his body, but it was worth it. To feel that energy rush through him was divine, and it reminded him that he'd always be special.

The mist formed on the street between the apartment block and the club. It was still early evening, so Mary's Lollipops wasn't busy yet. Only loyal customers like Michael showed up before sunset. What made that place ideal, however, was that many of the cameras on the streets were damaged. The city council gave up replacing them a long time ago.

James momentarily forgot where he was, allowing the energy to flow through him. He was weightless. Opening his eyes to lock on his target, which he could still see from that angle, James summoned more mist. He could not explain how he did it, but it came easy. As if he could feel the air and water and simply command them with his thought to go together. It had taken him years to master the ability to shape the mist however he pleased, and he considered it a special touch.

The woman that accompanied Michael pulled away from him, startled by the mist. James couldn't hear what they were talking about, but the man's body language was clear enough when he glanced around with agitation. He knew what the mist meant. He immediately abandoned the woman and tried to make his way back into the club, but James stopped him by making a monstrous figure out of the mist and having it swing its claws at him. The woman screamed and ran away. James knocked her out by slamming her against one of the walls. Best if she didn't alert anyone.

Michael yowled and fell backward, skidding on the floor and clutching his bleeding arm. James would have liked to drag it out, to play with him as if he were a mouse, but he had no time. The man's pitiful screams were bound to alert someone. James removed his hands from the table and moved them around like a puppeteer, shapeshifting the mist into a figure that resembled himself. He wanted Michael to know he was being choked to death by the man he'd always looked down upon, to realise he'd been the lesser being all along. Michael's body was into the air, hands of mist wrapped around his throat, squeezing mercilessly. James imagined the bones in Michael's neck cracking, the last gasp coming out raggedy and weak, the light fading from his eyes.

All that would have happened if not for the appearance of Robin. Again. How did he know? Had they already figured out James' involvement? Did Bronson rat him out? What if it was them ? Those dangerous people that Bernard had told him to be wary of. The ones James has been hiding from all his life, who possibly killed his mentor? No. No, it couldn't be.

James would have been ambushed in the apartment if they knew he was involved. Robin detonated a flash bomb in the alley, and James closed his eyes, turning his head away. He momentarily lost control of the mist and felt Michael slip from his grasp. Robin jumped out from the fog, carrying the man over one shoulder, which was somewhat impressive given how young the masked vigilante looked. James willed the mist to chase Robin up the building to the roof.

There it was again. That foreign energy. Compared to his, it felt like a heatwave, pushing back on the vapour of his making and burning its way through the energy tying him to the mist. James gasped as he felt his connection falter, just like that night at the amusement park, but this time he saw what caused it. A violent gust of wind coming down the alleyway ate away at his mist, forcing it to dissipate. With it gone he could see the culprit. A figure – young judging by the stature – in dark clothes and wearing a mask, just like Robin, was standing in that alley. Their hands glowed green, as did the wisps of energy escaping their body. There were no seals, no chalk drawings or carved boards.

He tried to summon the mist again, encouraging it to recover, but it was like trying to get a heavy, injured animal to get up. He watched in disbelief as the figure floated towards the end of the alley, allowing him a closer look at them, as they approached the mist lingering on the main street. It looked like a girl, perhaps not older than Robin himself. She set her feet on the ground as she regarded the mist. Then the energy glowed brighter in her hands, and he could see the air shifting around her. She was manipulating the natural elements, just as he did yet nothing like him. The energy coming from her required no rituals. He didn't know that was possible. Bernard had never told him there were individuals capable of using the elements in such a direct manner.

Caught off guard by what he saw, James could only watch as she pushed her arms forward, fingers pressed together and palms up, sending another gust of wind towards the remaining mist. He felt pressure at the back of his head when his connection broke and found himself falling backward. Pain followed, making him writhe on the floor and groan loudly. The energy had rebounded on him again, and it was the girl's fault. His mind was racing – who was she, where did she come from, how could she do that, Bernard said—Bernard said---did Bernard know ---and it took him a few minutes to gather his bearings. He coughed loudly and watched as tiny drops of blood splattered on the old linoleum.

He had to get out of there. What if the girl – was she even human – could tell where he was? He furiously wiped the blood off the floor with the sleeve of his jacket, then got up to his feet. He stumbled like a newborn calf, his head was pounding and the room swayed around him, but he pushed through all that in favour of gathering his things. He didn't bother to check on the elderly couple as he shoved the rolled paper into his bag, then glanced out the window one more time. The masked girl had joined Robin on the roof of the building. They appeared to be talking while Michael was on the floor, looking terrified as he clutched his bleeding arm.

Then both vigilantes looked in James's direction. They couldn't see him, he was hidden behind the curtains, and he hadn't turned on the lights in the apartment, but they were suspecting something. Much to his horror, he watched Robin grapple onto the side of the building James was in, clearly intent on checking that place.

James exited the apartment quickly and looked around, panicked. Fire exit? No, too obvious. Could he hide in another apartment? Not enough time. What if someone screamed or fought back? He had done his homework on the apartment he used earlier, that's why he knew an elderly couple lived there. Easy target.

Then his eyes fell on the fire alarm.

He didn't hesitate, a moment later watching as the doors of the apartment complex opened one by one, and the residents came out with expressions ranging from annoyed to fearful. He made a show of helping a woman with her dog and blended in with the rest of the residents as they all started going down the fire staircase. He had already cut his hair short, and with the dark scarf covering his mouth, he hoped he wouldn't be recognized. Once he was out of the building, he caught sight of Robin perched on the staircase of the adjacent building, but he made sure not to look directly. No one else seemed to notice him.

James bowed his head and made small talk with the woman whose French dog he was holding in his arms until he and other residents crossed the street, standing in front of 'Mary's Lollipops' while someone checked the building. He couldn't see the girl or Michael from that angle, but after making sure Robin wasn't perched somewhere close to watch him, he took off down the street, immediately heading into the nearest subway station.

What now? Aside from the shocking revelation that there was someone capable of summoning the elements in ways he had thought not possible, that person may also have killed his mentor. Which meant James was next. Maybe Bernard hadn't known such an individual existed, got caught off guard, and that's why he ended up dead. Or perhaps he was being held prisoner somewhere as he said he would if they were ever to catch him.

Should he leave? Go to the storage, get his car, and leave Gotham as soon as possible?

But if he was being suspected, it was likely Bronson was too. Michael was bound to crack under pressure, especially regarding Laura Carson. They would sell James out with no hesitation, so in addition to being hunted by the same people who took down his mentor, he'd also have to deal with the official authorities coming after him. Either way, he was screwed. And it was all Bronson's fault for wanting to use the mist to exact petty revenge against men who refused to bow to his bribery.

James coughed so violently he doubled over on himself while leaning against one of the subway doors. There was more blood this time. A few people turned to stare at him curiously, but he ignored them. If he escaped, he might be able to make it out of Gotham and start a new life somewhere else. Lay low. Start over. But Bronson would win. He wouldn't escape unscathed before the law, but he'd somehow worm his way out of a prison sentence. He may be a boorish asshole, but when it came to selling himself as something he wasn't, Bronson was quite skilled.

James Cunningham would rather risk being caught than let his former bully win. 

Chapter 64: Of pain that ripples (II)

Notes:

Next update will be on Sunday 9th of January. Many thanks as usual to my beta-readed MoonglowOnWater for the amazing inputs and patience in correcting all my silly mistakes :)

Chapter Text

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"Breaking and entering is a hobby that runs in the family, I see."

"Amongst many other things," Lira replied calmly, not even bothering to turn around and look at the man standing on the threshold of the secret passage. It was the third time they crossed paths, but the first time they interacted directly. Her niece had texted her an hour earlier to let her know that their suspect was a man named James Cunningham, who also happened to be one of her teachers at the Academy. They'd already checked his house. He was gone and so were some of his belongings. The secret room behind the bookcase had also been cleaned, leaving it almost entirely bare save for an old cabinet full of junk and boxes. Fay had given her the address as Lira wanted to have a look herself.

Lira didn't know the vigilante's real name. Fay did but insisted on keeping it a secret which Lira admired, and as a result, she never asked. Not that she cared or that it made much of a difference. She knew who Robin was, and it was obvious he had ties with Red Hood; finding one or another shouldn't be difficult if she ever needed to.

That day, it seemed he , for once, had found her . He had to be tracking her – why else would he be there? Hm. Lira had not gotten a good look at him at the hospital, too preoccupied with finding the seals, but she remembered making eye contact with him from the end of the hall after she'd broken the connection and dispelled the mist. He hadn't tried to shoot her again, perhaps because her hood was down, and he'd realized who she was. She hadn't drugged him heavily when they'd first crossed paths, as such she wouldn't be surprised if he did regain some of his memories, including being knocked out by her. According to Fay, it was all good, but in Lira's experience, people – especially warriors – did not let go of things quickly (including herself). She doubted it was different in that world.

Lira didn't bother to disguise herself that day, opting to dress like any other Gothamite and expose her face. Her hair was down, pulled over the red scarf wrapped around her neck, which was more for fashion than because she was affected by the weather. She'd never been one for spending hours on clothing, but she had to admit she had enjoyed shopping with Fay. Her niece was enthusiastic about this world, and although Lira didn't share all her fascinations, she liked seeing Fay so exuberant and open.

"How's the bullet hole?"

Bold. And perhaps lacking self-preservation.

"Bullet graze . You missed." She pointed out as she crouched down to look through the boxes stacked against the wall. "And it's just fine, thank you." Fay had already checked those (Lira could detect faint traces of her niece's scent), but it was worth a second look. She was very curious about how Cunningham had escaped Kaera and Len's attention. Perhaps he had been working closely with Bernard? That man had been such a pain in the ass. Predictable, but bothersome nonetheless. Lira doubted he'd known anything that could help her understand better what Evara and Damar had potentially been involved in before their deaths. "How's your pride?" She had watched him being thrown around like a ragdoll that night. He was not an average human, she'd give him that. Most of them would not be able to get up after being slammed through two walls, much less be ready to shoot.

He didn't answer, but he was watching her. Scrutinizing, no doubt. Lira wondered if the little shit had told him anything about who she was. Fay trusted Damian to keep most of the information he had on the island and their world to himself, but Lira didn't have that much faith in him.

"Tinkerbell said she'd prefer I didn't shoot at you anymore," Jason remarked casually as he leaned against the wall. Lira was a tall woman, around five foot nine and slim, with dark hair tumbling down past her shoulders. He had yet to get a clear look at her face because she seemed far more interested in those boxes than him, not once considering how dangerous it was to keep her back exposed like that. Or perhaps she underestimated him.

"What's a Tinkerbell? " She asked as if they were just two acquaintances making small talk. She abandoned the boxes and straightened, turning around. As her attitude indicated, nothing on her face implied she felt threatened or intimidated by him. There was nothing malicious in her expression either, but he did detect something defiant in those eyes. She was, objectively speaking, good-looking. Younger than he'd expected, but maybe a year or two older than him. Physically anyway. More than once, Fay had implied that her family members did not age the way regular humans did. Or that all of them were even human, to begin with. Lira's eyes were the color of molten silver, her skin pale and cheeks mildly flushed from the cold. Her pink lips were neither too thin nor too plump, and he could see the faint markings of a dimple in her cheek even though she wasn't smiling.

He wouldn't say he saw much resemblance between Fay and her aunt, other than they both looked deceptively human.

"So?" She asked as she took in his tall, hulking form. She was not a petite woman, but if they were to stand next to one another, he'd likely dwarf her. Not that she hadn't put down bigger men than him. "Are you here to shoot me?"

He was tempted.

But Fay would be sad if he injured her favorite aunt.

Plus, Lira had done nothing to get on his shitlist. There wasn't enough warranting him to attack her. She may have broken into the hospital, but clearly, she hadn't been there to harm Cooper. The blade she'd pulled out had not been for the boy. Would he have stopped the mist without her? He refused to think no .

"Not if you tell me what you're looking for," He said calmly. "This place has been checked already."

"What? Don't warriors in this world believe in being thorough?" She asked as she redirected her attention to the floor. Cement, with an old rug in the middle. There were marks on it as if something heavy had been dragged off. A table, perhaps? She couldn't get a clear scent, but small remnants of energy lingered in the room.

Then…

Lira looked up, gazing at the man curiously. Up and down.

"Are you the one who's ticking?" No, it couldn't be. The sound was not coming from him. It wasn't even coming from that floor; it was too faint.

That got Jason's attention.

" Ticking ?"

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"Rather pointless," Lira mused out loud as she stared at the pile of burning wood that used to be a house. "Why not blow it up earlier?" Jason brushed a hand over his leather jacket to remove some debris there. They'd gotten out just in time. The blast had set off several car alarms, and residents from nearby houses stepped out on the street to stare on curiously as they waited for the emergency services to arrive.

He kept his eyes on a dark grey car parked down the street from Cunningham's residence. The windows were tinted grey. The car itself was not particular, managing to blend in with many others parked in the neighborhood, but he saw the headlights switch on right after the explosion. Now it had left its spot, instead slowly making its way down the street, fleeing the sound of sirens.

It hadn't been a matter of bad timing. Someone else had been looking to get rid of James Cunningham, or maybe of anything incriminating he may have kept.

"So, just how good is Aunt Lira at tracking people?" He asked, if only because he wanted to know just how dangerous she was. Fay may be on their side, but as far as he was concerned, the woman beside him was still on trial.

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The day was starting to feel longer than it was, and it wasn't even ten in the evening yet. Simultaneously, she felt they were on the last mile of the case. Fay wasn't as good as her aunt at detecting foreign energies, but James Cunningham's was particular. She'd never come across such cold energy before, and he had to have been close for her to feel the draw of the power. Unfortunately, he’d gotten away, but her suspicion that he had orchestrated the attack from the building across from the gentlemen's club had been proven right when Robin had found the elderly couple tied up in their kitchen on the third floor.

Bagheera had caught his scent (having used one of the man's jumpers Fay got from his house) only to lose it again when the man disappeared into the subway. Too many scents in there, even for her paladin. It was clear he wasn't heading back to his house, which he'd already cleared at least two days before when his absence was reported at the Academy. As of the last twenty minutes, he couldn't go back even if he wanted to as it seemed someone had been hired to plant a bomb in his house. Fay was worried about how her aunt and Jason appeared to have crossed paths once again. As far as she knew, Lira's presence in Gotham wasn't known to many in Batman's circle. Dick knew because he'd been at the warehouse when Damian had contacted Lira for answers the day Fay had first gone through her phasing. Alfred probably did as well. According to Damian, they wouldn't have told Bruce, but what about Jason? Probably not. They were not close. Bruce hadn't exactly warmed up to her, but she liked to think she'd at least proven herself as an ally. What would he think or do if he knew that her aunt was there, implying that other people traveled freely between the worlds?

Fay arrived at Bronson's house first. Bagheera had kept up with her easily on foot while Robin grappled from building to building, following her. The Bronson residence was situated in a gated community in Northern Gotham over the river, and Fay didn't know whether it was a matter of poor taste on her end, but she found the house ugly. Painted in white, the house boasted seven bedrooms and nine bathrooms, along with several different rooms offering all kinds of entertainment, be it video games or a home cinema. It also looked like it was made up of cubicles placed on top of each other. She found the modernistic echo sterile and dull compared to the rich decors and colors characterizing the architecture of her homeland.

"No signs of the mist or Cunningham, " Damian remarked from a branch below her. They were perched in an oak tree in Bronson's backyard. Bagheera blended into the shadows perfectly as he sat by the trunk of the tree, observing. Even without binoculars, Fay could see the Bronson family sitting around their family dinner table through the tall windows. The lights were on in various parts of the house. "Dupont and her son are there as well. "

Fay frowned at that and glanced down at her friend. "What?" Then she counted the people at the scene. Joseph Sr., his wife, and his two sons. But there was another woman, petite and brunette, and then she caught sight of a familiar-looking boy coming into the living room. Crap. If her former professor indeed intended to go there to attack the Bronsons, Sebastian and his mother would inadvertently be caught in the middle of it.

Bagheera growled. They both looked down at the paladin as he straightened, fur standing up on his spine. His jaws parted, revealing his fangs as he sneered at the house.

James Cunningham was there.

And so was the mist.

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It took approximately one minute and thirty-seven seconds before the entire Bronson residence was filled by the mist. James Cunningham had to be inside because the lights went out a few moments later. Damian theorized the man must have already had an idea of the residence's layout as well; how else could he have gotten there before they did and set up a new ritual in time? The residence's fence was easy enough to climb over, but there were also cameras everywhere.

Fay, Damian, and Bag rushed inside without hesitation, but the residents were no longer in the dining room. It felt like a déjà vu, the three of them wandering inside a dark house with the mist threatening to attack them at any minute. At least this time, she didn't have to worry about dust clogging her lungs or rotten floors threatening to give out under her. The mist was thick and even more hostile than it had been at the park, perhaps indicating James's emotional state. He had chosen to come there instead of trying to escape the city. Why was he so desperate to go after his classmates? Damian thought James was attempting to ensure they couldn't use him as a scapegoat, but Fay found the man's actions quite emotional. It was hard to reconcile the image of the calm, mild-mannered man that most students liked with a man who killed innocent people to help others get rich. There may be more to that story, but the bottom line was that two students had lost their parents to the partnership between their former classmates.

Fay was no longer afraid of the mist, but she did find herself feeling particularly frustrated when she was caught off guard by a six-foot-tall mist figure grabbing her and slamming her against the wall. She lost track of both her paladin and her friend, but she heard their movements and grunts and hisses as they dealt with their attackers. Fay gritted her teeth, and channeling the flux into her hands, she swung a punch through the mist, dispelling the faceless creature. Inside the house, there was no draft as strong as at the amusement park; it made generating large wind gusts more challenging.

Fay found herself having to dodge and duck several attacks and making her way inside the kitchen to get away from the mist as she attempted, again and again, to connect with the hydrogen present in the air. James's cold energy was like a barrier standing in her way, so rather than waste her time, she took advantage of the nearby sink. She turned the faucet on, unwittingly grinning when she felt herself connecting with the water pouring out. She snapped waves of water around the room like a whip, and with growing satisfaction, she watched as the mist retreated like a scared animal.

A movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She turned her head towards the kitchen island, and her eyes widened behind her domino mask when she found herself staring back at Sebastian Dupont and his mother, both on the floor and hiding underneath the marble counter. His mother had his arms wrapped around him protectively and judging by the way he stared at her, Fay didn't think he recognized her. She was covered in Kevlar from her neck down, with a mask shielding her face and her hair tied back tightly in a bun.

Snapping out of her surprise, Fay converted water into an icicle and sent it flying through one of the kitchen windows overlooking the garden. The glass shattered. She almost told them to go but held back, worried he might recognize her voice. Thankfully, they didn't need much in terms of instructions. "T—thank you!" Celine Dupont stammered as she got up, pulling her son with her before they both stepped through the window, careful not to cut themselves on the jutting shards. She watched them start to run across the yard, presumably towards the exit.

With that, Fay glided out of the kitchen. The mist was thinner than before, and she found her paladin fighting one of those creatures on the first floor, pushing back on it from one of the bedrooms behind him. Bagheera growled, the guttural sound echoing through the house like a lion's roar, and the energy rolling off him was so strong that the mist vanished from the whole floor. He huffed and shook his fur, looking satisfied with his achievement.

Fay heard whimpering from the room Bagheera was shielding. She found it closed when she tried to open it, so her paladin kicked the door down. Madeline Bronson and her youngest son screamed when they saw the door snap out of its hinges and fall as if it was made of paper. A lupine figure appeared at the entrance, as frightening as the mist itself. It didn't attack them though; it just stepped back and disappeared down the hall.

"M-mom? " Archer whispered, terrified when his mother stepped forward to take a glance down the hall. "St-stop, mom---what if—"

"I think—I think it's gone. "

Fay watched from where she was hiding behind a wall to the left, as mother and son exited the bedroom slowly, both of their figures shaking with fear. When they realized both the mist and the lupine figure were gone, they quickly took off to the right, down the stairs a few feet away. She heard their footsteps on the ground floor. Then the entrance door swung open as they ran outside. Good. That only left Joseph Sr., his oldest son, and James himself.

Where was Damian?

Not on the upper floors, Bagheera confirmed a couple of minutes later. She asked her paladin to track him, and they found themselves moving to the opposite end of the sumptuous residence, passing various rooms in the process. Just like on Halloween night, the cold energy made her skin prickle, but it was significantly weaker than before. Fading, even. James had used the mist extensively only four days earlier, and now he was using it again, twice in the span of not even a couple of hours. He was going to kill himself…for what? To ensure that he dragged down the others with him?

Bagheera slowed down and snapped his teeth at her to do the same when the mist thickened again. Not as much as when they had first entered the house, but they had to be close to the source. She could also hear voices coming down from the long hall they were traversing. One she recognized as Joseph Sr.'s. "Leave my son out of this, you fucking degenerate!" Despite his crass words, his voice was heavily laced with fear. Despair.

Fay and her paladin stopped when the hall ended and remained hidden. The gallery opened onto a mezzanine, and past the railing, she could see Joseph Sr. on his knees near the windows. The mist wafted around him threateningly. She couldn't make out James Cunningham, but understood when he spoke, "Degenerate? " His voice is coming from under me, "Interesting choice of words from a man who would kill his own wife's father to get his hands on the company."

"D-dad—what---what is he talking about?" Joseph Jr. His voice was also coming from under the mezzanine. Was James holding him hostage?

"Don't listen to him," His father snarled, but his expression said that he would have preferred his son not to know such information. Fay instinctively tensed when she finally spotted Damian. There was a narrow passage on the ground floor, to Joseph Sr.'s left, presumably leading to another of the residence's many rooms. The cape allowed him to blend in so well she wouldn't have noticed him if it hadn't been for the faint glint of metal caught by the moonlight coming through the ceiling to floor windows overlooking the pool outside. He didn't have his sword that day, but Damian rarely ever went anywhere without something sharp on him.

A violent cough erupted from James's lungs, momentarily distracting him as he doubled over. Fay discreetly stepped out onto the mezzanine and glanced over the railing – she could see him now. A circle with seals had been carved almost crudely into the wooden floor, and he was standing right beside it, blood dripping from his wrists and down his forearms and onto the floor where small puddles formed by his feet. He looked terrible, even from that angle, face pale and body shaking. The ritual was draining him, rapidly so, which explained his continued coughing. Joseph Jr. was near him, on the floor. She couldn't tell what was stopping him from moving away, but she saw a larger puddle of blood near his feet.

"Time---to end this," James rasped viciously, and she could feel the energy bubbling within that seal, rising through his body and transferring into the air around them, making the mist grow thicker again. Damian intervened, throwing his blade towards the man, not to kill him, but certainly to injure him. She didn't see the object move out of his hand, but she heard James cry out.

"Robin, help---please! Stop this madman!" Joseph Sr. begged.

"Shut up, fool," The boy snarled as he quickly untied the man.

The mist rose to the ceiling, blocking her view. James must have been injured, but the connection had yet to be severed. "Bag, go---get them out of here!" Fay instructed her paladin before she jumped over the railing and landed on the ground floor, losing herself in the cold vapor.

"F—" They needed a better codename. Fay's breath hitched when she heard Damian cut off abruptly and then something heavy crashing at one end of the room. She heard him groan.

"Robin!"

"Don't worry about me; sever the connection! Now."

The mist wrapped around her limbs like tentacles, tightly.

Oh, not again! —she thought, and this time did not allow herself to get distracted. Letting her energy bubble up to the surface, she ripped herself free and then glided up. She caught sight of the windows to her right. Breaking them would allow the cold autumn air to get inside the house, and she'd be able to generate more powerful attacks.

She flew feet first into the glass, the steel-heeled boots assisting her in shattering the surface. Even with the flux sent to the soles of her feet, she still felt the force of the impact jostle her bones. The glass scattered across the sealed lounge area, shards falling as far as the other end of the pool, and she breathed in the crisp fresh air. Feeling the wind flutter against her body, she swirled around to face the mist. The gusts of winds she redirected inside the room were strong enough to knock framed photos off the wall, and a bookshelf toppled down onto the floor.

She heard Joseph Sr. yelp and Cunningham yell in frustration when the mist vanished, finally bringing them face to face. Damian was standing before Joseph Sr., both on her left. It was rather pitiful watching someone like the elder Bronson cower behind a boy that barely reached his shoulders. Bagheera and Joseph Jr. were nowhere to be seen, so her paladin must have already pulled the boy to safety.

James Cunningham stared at her in disbelief as she slowly glided back into the room, hands glowing as she kept them by her side, slightly lifted. "Y-you---" The seals beneath his feet were rapidly losing their brightness. Her former teacher collapsed to his knees in a fit of coughs that pushed him onto his forearms and arched his spine high. Blood spewed out of his mouth, slipping past the hand he slapped on his mouth, coating his fingers in glistening red.

He had used too much of his life force. Unlike her, James Cunningham only had a strong awareness of the natural energies. He could connect with them via an external ritual, but he was not imbued with flux, not in the way Fay was. His body, mind, and soul were not in balance because the amount of energy he tried to channel was more than he could handle. More than his body could take, even if his mind allowed him to be creative with the use of the mist. James had to put far more effort into maintaining a connection, which took an extreme toll on him.

"How---how?" He croaked, looking up. In that state, with his mouth covered in blood and his eyes filled with fury, he was unrecognizable. All along, the excellent teacher whose lessons she'd enjoyed was also the man who'd cold-bloodedly killed the parents of innocent children. Sebastian, Benjamin, and his younger brother all understood the pain that came with losing their parents. Because of him. And for what? To help the likes of Joseph Sr. and Michael Wallace make money?

"Be—Bernard---you killed him, didn't you?" The man lifted his torso, pressing back on his haunches. " Didn't you ?!" He screamed. "You took him away, you---you monster ." Fay wasn't affected by the word. There was something raw, a strong inflection in his voice when he spat out that word. There was also something sad about the broken expression on his face. It reminded her of Klaus when Bernard had left him for dead.

She felt far less pity for him.

"I didn't kill him," She said, mouth pursed. "He killed himself."

"You're lying ."

"No, she's not," Damian piped up. "The Sponsor is dead because he chose to throw himself off a cliff. Like a coward."

James's face was contorted by disgust.

"What are you waiting for?!" Joseph Sr. erupted. "Arrest him or---or kill him! Didn't you see what he's capable of--- he's a fucking freak—"

 "— TT —shut up." Damian snarled at him. The man looked scandalized about being silenced but made no further comments.  

That minor interruption was all James needed as a distraction. Fay's eyes widened when she saw him slam his hands onto the floor against the seals. "What are you doing---?!" The circle lit up, followed by the runes. She felt the cold energy project from him, but it felt…wrong. Not broken per se, but wilder than before. The mist wasn't coming back either, instead, sparks of energy flew off from the seal on the ground. It felt like a balloon that was being filled repeatedly, threatening to burst.

"Stop that! It's going to kill you---"

The anguished, gut-wrenching scream made her cringe and momentarily had her mind confuse it with other blood-curdling screams she'd heard in the past. Fay stared horrified at the man on the floor as the energy snapped back onto him like a whip, cutting through his clothes as if they were made of butter, leaving him with lacerations so deep that she was sure some had reached his bones. His hands looked as if someone had poured toxic chemicals over them, third-degree burns covering every inch from the tip of his fingers to his forearms. He made a horrifying gurgling noise as blood bubbled up his throat and gushed out of his mouth onto the floor. A few drops even managed to hit her shoes even though she was standing a considerable distance away.

The connection was severed. The foreign energy was gone, as was any trace of the mist. James's body wasn't built to withstand such a level of energy rebounding on him, it was not capable of naturally channeling energy; she was staring at the consequences of a man attempting to control what was beyond his ability. It was a terrifying prospect because it reminded her exactly why the marks were considered a gift. Still, she also knew that she wasn't exempt from a scenario in which her flux was damaged or affected in a way that would put her into a worse state than James.

The man in question fell forward, face smacking against the ground. Nausea twisted her stomach uncomfortably and Fay took a deep breath, trying to stifle the regurgitation sensation that crept up on her. Damian approached the limp body, crouched down, and took the man's vitals. "His pulse is weak, but he's still alive." Not for long, though. Not in that state. The boy rose up and glanced at her. "I've already contacted the emergency department."

Fay nodded stiffly.

"What---What about Laura?" Fay asked.

Damian grunted, then they both looked at Joseph Sr., whose face was slack with disbelief.  

"I will---I will tell you everything!"

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.

.

Laura Carson was alive. She was mildly malnourished and likely traumatized for life, but otherwise uninjured. She had been kept tied up in a warehouse, guarded by two thugs who'd taken turns in watching over her, hired by Michael Wallace himself. She'd been provided with blankets and two meals a day in the weeks she'd been held captive. Red Robin and Spoiler had recovered her that night, immediately bringing her to a hospital. The two goons had been delivered to police forces and were under arrest. Laura's family had been alerted as well. 

When Laura was rescued, her uncle, Mark Buxton, had already stepped down from his position as a councilor, unwilling to risk his niece's life. However, his replacement was ultimately arrested. Joseph Sr.'s involvement in Laura's kidnapping was exposed thanks to a recording he had kept in the eventuality that he might be caught. He knew he wouldn't be able to get away hands clean, but he had hoped to obtain a deal by ratting out the other two men. He was the one who had initiated the meeting right after Laura Carson went missing, and on the recording, he could be heard trying to come across as an unwitting party to the entire kidnapping. It would have been clever if only he hadn't had so much to gain from Buxton stepping down. Joseph Bronson Sr. had cracked under police interrogation after only seventeen minutes when holes in his initial story had quickly been identified upon being asked questions he could not answer.

Joseph Sr. and Michael Wallace had both been convicted of first-degree kidnapping, and they'd also been declared suspects in the deaths of the Coopers and John Dupont née Adamson. The investigation regarding those murders was still ongoing by the second week of November. Still, the expectations were that both Joseph Sr. and Michael Wallace were likely to be convicted of that as well. If it hadn't been for the recording by the Bronson patriarch, perhaps that would have never happened. According to New Jersey law, wiretapping fell in the One-Party Consent realm, meaning that regardless of the number of individuals in a discussion, if one person consented to be recorded, the recording would be legally admissible as evidence. Joseph Sr. Bronson had done precisely that the moment he'd recorded the meeting with his peers. It was not a good time to be him, indeed, as not only did the news of his convictions send the stocks of his company plummeting and his business partners to blacklist him but he was humiliated nationally for being the type of criminal who served himself and his partners up on a silver platter. That, and the fact that he was likely to spend the rest of his life in prison.

Their sons were not involved in any of the investigations. Madeline Bronson, who had until then held steadfast onto the hope that her brother had been wrong about her husband-then-fiancée killing her father, was reeling from all the evidence piling up against him. According to the law, a spouse could not be forced to testify against their partner, and in fact, she had not. But she had gone ahead and started making amends with her estranged sibling, immediately put the Gotham residence on sale and made plans to move to another city. Not before she'd filed for divorce, though. Her eldest son was in the hospital being treated for a deep laceration on the left side of his body and a concussion. He was expected to make a full recovery. Both he and Archer had been withdrawn from Gotham Academy. Fay suspected the family would need some time away to process everything that had happened, especially after journalists continuously hounded them. For days, there had hardly been any channel or newspaper that didn't speak of their father's crimes. They were better off without their father in Fay's opinion, as harsh as that sounded, but they'd also have a hard time recovering from the wounds the man had left on his family.

James Cunningham remained in the hospital, in a coma. Two days after he'd been brought in, Benjamin Cooper had woken up. A beautiful coincidence. There was something poetic about having the man who hurt so many people end up in that position. There was also something heart-breaking about the entire case. A former Academy teacher had commented that James Cunningham had been a smart but ' lonely kid that others liked to pick on, quite terribly at times .' James Cunningham used to be James Field. His mother's whereabouts were unknown, and she'd never been involved in her son's life as far as they could tell. His father had died when he was four, and he was placed in the care of his uncle. Those who knew James as a teenager had gone on to say that he had been close with the man. No one had known that James's uncle had been dead for years until then.

The police may not have been able to find out where James had spent years before his return to Gotham under a different name, but Fay and Damian knew. He had met Bernard. Judging by how troubled he'd been when talking about the man, James had been attached to him. Bernard had gotten into his head just like he did with Klaus, taking advantage of the fact that James was alone in that world, constantly classified as 'misunderstood.' He had to have known James could control the mist because there was no other explanation as to why he'd be so interested in him. Bernard had used him, and later, he'd used the others as well.

Joseph Sr. and the other students had all ended up indebted in one manner or another to the Sponsor, whom they'd never gotten to know very well as he'd always used James as a messenger. Cooper and Dupont had remained reticent to such an agreement, and they were seemingly left alone after they'd refused to help once they'd settled down with their families. John Dupont, as a journalist, became compelled by a desire to unmask the Sponsor after realizing that both Joseph Sr. and Michael had climbed up the ladder of success on others' bodies. He had traveled to Portland, where he'd met with Daniel Cooper in secret to ask him whether he'd like to help. But neither of them had realized just how dangerous Bernard was or that they'd been watched for years. James Cunningham had used the mist to kill them both, inadvertently leading to Daniel's wife's death as well.

The story of the mist being controlled by James Cunningham was construed differently by the public and media. There was no evidence pointing to the contrary. Still, the official version of events was that James Cunningham had relied on technology to generate the mist, as well as hallucinatory drugs. It was plausible enough. There were plenty of speculations. Was it a metahuman? Was it the Joker? What about the other teenagers' statements that vehemently insisted they'd seen 'monsters' in the mist? It had gone on for at least two weeks before the interest had ultimately died because, as far as everyone was concerned, criminals had been caught, victims saved, and justice served. It was Gotham. Once a shocking crime was exposed, another waited in line. By the third week of November, all attention had switched to a new drug making its rounds on the streets of Gotham. No mention of the 'Sponsor' or the fact that Bronson and the other students had either willingly supported him or been blackmailed into giving him money over the years.

There was one part of the case that remained unsolved.

And that was how Joseph Jr. and Robert Wallace had become involved in their fathers' affairs. The latter had been placed in the care of a relative after his father's arrest and given his previous reluctance to be involved, Damian had decided he was the one most likely to offer answers. That is why, a week after the arrest of senior Wallace, Fay and Damian paid a visit to their son.

To his credit, he wasn't that shocked to find two masked vigilantes sitting in his room in the middle of the night.

"Are---are you here to arrest me?" He asked, clutching the edge of his blanket tightly. Damian was perched on the edge of the bed's lower board, sword in hand, and tilted towards the boy's head. Fay thought it was unnecessary, but her friend enjoyed frightening people. She rolled her eyes behind the domino mask but did not comment. She stayed seated on the windowsill, hood pulled up and scarf covering her mouth. If she kept making appearances in Gotham, word would start going around that there was a new vigilante in town. She found that prospect surprisingly exciting. And frightening.

"Maybe. Why don't you tell us about Laura Carson, hm?"

"I don't know anything---" Robert closed his mouth instantly, swallowing loudly when he felt the tip of the blade press against his throat. "O—okay. Okay. I--- "He sighed. "I think my father is a bastard, for the record, and I---I never wanted anyone to get hurt. I didn't even realize that was being planned."

"Go on,"

The boy licked his lips, eyes darting to the side. "Joseph idolized his dad, even though he was kind of a prick. He started telling me how his father, my father, and several others have a guardian angel of sorts. How they have this agreement of getting wherever they want, and in return, all they have to do is stay loyal and make payments. My father was always shit with money though, and Joseph's dad had to cover him a couple of times over the years. He could have just backed out, Joseph told me, but my dad refused. Because of that, Joseph's dad had to save my dad's ass several times. It made them look unreliable to their boss. I think there was a boss, I'm not sure. I don't think Joseph knows either, and he was just so far up his dad's ass that he believed anything," The boy scoffed. "Joseph wanted to get involved in this, and I wanted to get money to leave as soon as I turned eighteen because I am sick of this place. So he said that he convinced his dad to let us help, and in exchange, Joseph will get me the money to help me leave."

A guilty expression crossed his face. "It seemed straightforward. Just organize a party in a place where it won't be discovered that easily, so the cops can't bust everyone's fun. Maybe invite a few people who wouldn't end up ratting the address out to everyone else, and that's all. Look, I know that meant underage people would attend but let's be honest, if it weren't that place, there'd be other parties. I genuinely thought that's all there was to it. Joseph said that he'd invite other people from Gotham High – he had friends there or something. I don't think he knew Laura that well or even realized that his dad would end up kidnapping her. Jesus, he's an ass, but I saw his face that night – he was shocked. And scared, just like I was." He took a deep breath, then exhaled.

 "The party got out of control. Drugs were brought in, and there had to be like---I don't know – three times more people than I expected. There was this guy from Gotham High, I think, who tripped and hit his head. He was still breathing, and the hit wasn't that bad, but I---I freaked out because there was blood and he was unconscious. I told Joseph that maybe we should just end the whole thing, call the police and get our asses out of there ---but he refused, said the task wasn't done yet. We dragged the guy – his name was Hal, and he's fine now, by the way – we, um, dragged him away outside, to a quieter place and tried to check on him. I started arguing with Joseph and---Benji was there. I'm not sure how much he heard, but he must've heard the part where we talked about Joseph's dad wanting the party because he---he just asked us about it. We---we denied, and then he got agitated---going on and on about how he found one of his parent's journals and he thinks Joseph's dad had something to do with it." The argument had led to Benjamin and Joseph Jr. getting in a fight which Robert broke up.

Then they'd heard screaming coming from around the building. That's when they had seen the mist. Robert had lost track of Benjamin and Joseph, and he'd run inside. The music had been loud, and everyone had been dancing and drinking, unaware of what was happening past the walls of the abandoned warehouse. Robert had tried to stop the DJ, but he'd kept getting trampled on. Joseph had found him a few minutes later and said they should get out because his father had told him that 'it's been done.' It hadn't been until later when the media reported that Laura was missing, that Robert had started suspecting that's what Joseph Sr. had meant by 'it's done'. He'd found it hard to believe at first, and had tried to ask his father about it, but Michael had gotten angry upon hearing that he was involved, telling him to stay away from the Bronsons.

He had no evidence, and no idea what to do, but he'd been crippled by guilt for weeks about unwittingly having helped someone get kidnapped. How would he even explain it? That before Laura had disappeared, there'd been mist? Gotham was always foggy. Of course, the fog he'd seen that night had looked and felt different, but he hadn't even known who Laura Carson was, much less that she'd been there. Why would Joseph Sr. even kidnap her? Robert thought he'd look like a crazy person.

Benjamin had been the one to contact the police that night. Robert thought he may have seen Laura being kidnapped, and Joseph Jr. did too, but according to the latter, he hadn't told his father of his altercation with the Cooper boy. Joseph Jr. had been afraid of his father's reaction, so he'd proposed they talk to the boy about what happened, against Robert's wishes who believed it was a bad idea. Benjamin had genuinely thought that Joseph Sr. had something to do with his parents' deaths – and what if he did? – so they'd been the worst people to go and try to talk him down from saying anything to the police. Joseph Jr. had offered him a half-assed explanation of how he must have misunderstood their conversation at the party, but Benjamin had refused to listen to them. The same day, later in the evening, Benjamin had been taken to the hospital after an apparent suicide attempt. Robert refused to believe that was the case because Benjamin had seemed far too determined to find his parents' killer to be suicidal, but Joseph Jr. declined to engage with him any further. The boy had cut all ties and told him not to interact. He hadn't believed his father had anything to do with Laura, but Robert thought he was in denial.

Robert admitted to having approached Joseph Jr. once, at an arcade, oblivious that both vigilantes in the room were already aware of that. He was honest about the conversation he'd had with the other teenager, how worried he'd been that Benjamin might tell everyone they'd been the ones to have organized the party. He'd also worried that Benjamin was in the hospital because of Joseph Sr., but hadn't had the guts to point that out to his former friend. When it had all come out that James Cunningham had been involved, Robert had been shocked. Not so much when it came to Joseph Sr. and his father. He had considered giving a statement, but that would have meant implicating Joseph Jr., and he believed the other boy had enough to deal with. They didn't talk anymore, but he knew that the Bronson family was reeling. Himself? He wished he would have spoken up sooner or not gotten involved at all, but he was not particularly sad over his father's fate.

"I---I learned my lesson… I promise." He said. "I---I honestly never wanted anyone to get hurt. I just wanted to get out of this place, but I wouldn't ---I wouldn't have done it if I knew what Joseph Sr. was planning."

"Hn." Damian sheathed his sword, much to the other boy's relief. "You better. We will be watching, even if you leave."

Robert nodded fervently. Robin jumped off and headed towards the windowsill where the masked girl was.

"W-wait." He said. "Did---did you find out? Who my father and Joseph's dad have been working for?"

"It's been taken care of," Damian responded curtly. "Forget about it. Go start a new life, as you wanted. Learn from your mistakes."

Before the boy could respond again, both vigilantes were gone out of the window.

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.

.

"You didn't shoot my aunt, again, did you?"

The sass was strong that morning, it seemed. Not even a 'good morning', how impolite. To her credit, it was five am in the morning and he was rummaging through her fridge again, but she never cared about him eating her food, and he never cared about asking for permission.

"Not yet."

Fay glared at him. It was adorable. Getting better at it, maybe the baby demon was rubbing off on her, but still hardly intimidating.

"Relax, Tinkerbell," He said as he pushed a plate of bacon omelet her way. It was a silent agreement that if he was there cooking and she was awake, he'd let her have a portion. A payment of sorts, because although she never minded him breaking in, he liked the kid enough to pay her back in the food. That, and it never stopped being entertaining getting on Damian's nerves by being there. The boy was not good at sharing Fay's attention, which Jason captured because she so quickly got curious about things. He hadn't done anything to her aunt. The woman had looked offended by the implication that she should track the men that blew up Cunningham's house for him and disappeared. She was fast, inhumanly so. When he'd found the bombers half an hour later, they'd been tied up already, a note saying ' you're welcome '.

Something told him that wasn't the last time they'd cross paths. Not if Fay lived in Gotham, anyway. He hadn't decided whether Lira was someone to be trusted, but so far, he couldn't say she was an enemy either. If only because Fay would not allow it. He did choose to keep it to himself, his knowledge, and his encounters with Aunt Lira because he knew that Bruce would likely freak out if he knew yet another alien had taken residence in his city.

Jason makes a mental note of the bags under her eyes and the way her brows remained furrowed even as she accepted the silent offering and started eating. It was too early for such a heavy breakfast, at least for her, so she ended up picking at her food. 

"I won't hurt her." He said, finally. "Unless she does something to warrant it."

Fay blinked. "Huh?" She seemed distracted. "Oh. I know that already."

His brow lifted.

She nodded, looking confident about it.

Huh.

.

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.

The storage facility that James Cunningham had used to store his belongings after abandoning his house contained an old Toyota that he presumably would have used as a getaway car and two duffel bags filled with his belongings. There was also a journal in which he kept notes on the seals he used to summon the mist, and they seemed to indicate that while he understood how he could use them best, he didn't have comprehensive knowledge. They also found references to his uncle, implying that he had passed his wisdom onto him, leading Damian to research Arthur Field. No record, former carpenter working odd jobs here and there, moved to Gotham when he was fifteen. He'd lost touch with his family over the years, except his brother, James's late father. They went back several generations on the family tree, but they could not ascertain which relative may have passed down the affinity for natural energy.

Fay planned on finding out for herself by making a short trip to the island towards the end of the month. Moma had wanted her to be on the island to celebrate her birthday, and although Fay wasn't keen on it, she could shoot two birds with one stone. The last time she'd been there, Kaera had told her that the guardians kept a record of individuals they either confirmed or suspected of having traveled to that world using portal technology. Daphne was an exception, thanks to her father, and Bernard had been presumed dead, so who was to say their record was that comprehensive?

.

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On November 16 th , James Cunningham died on the surgical table after suffering a heart attack. There was no proof that his death resulted from anything but his weakened body and significant injuries. Damian wasn't convinced, but he could find no gaps in the medical report. Fay was left with a sour taste in her mouth. James’ death left her feeling with a dreadful feeling. 

She didn't dream of the terrifying figure, although the nightmares never left her alone for too long.

But she couldn't help thinking that the spider symbol was an ominous warning for what was to come.

.

.

.

'Is it done?'

'Yes. James Cunningham is dead.'

'What about the girl?'

'Alive.'

'Good. She might be useful still.'

'If I may--What about the vigilantes? Robin. He is—'

'I know perfectly well who he is.'

'….'

'We must practice discretion as that is our ways. Unseen and unheard. The half-breed child will lead us to the answers we seek, and she will not know that she is doing it.'

Chapter 65: Of underwhelming events and illuminating conversations

Notes:

Next chapter will be posted on 16th of January.
Also, folks, this upcoming Wednesday marks the one-year anniversary since I've posted Chapter 1. It is incredible how much I've ended up writing and how what was supposed to be a 20-25 chapter story ended up turning into something I don't see finishing anytime soon. Thank you so much for your continued support and for sticking with this story for so long. Your feedback is always so encouraging.
I know that everyone is waiting for the romance to become more evident and I promise that'll come sooner than later, and the wait will be worth it :) The story is nowhere from over, but I am happy to have managed to write so much. Thank you so much to all of my Beta-readers, both past and current as they've all helped me become a better writer :) And a massive thank you to MoonglowOnWater for putting up with my errors and always offering advice.

Fun(?) facts:
- In the original story, Fay had ended up in Damian's world because she'd been kidnapped from her realm. She escaped, then arrived in Gotham and started living in an abandoned warehouse (the irony, huh?). Damian notices her first when she's doing errands for a Middle Eastern restaurant he is eating at.
- Bagheera was meant to wear a collar hiding his true form, which had wings and horns. He was not an empath.
- Dana and the others from the soup kitchen did not exist.
- Fay and Damian were meant to strike a temporary friendship, before she was retrieved by her family and returned home. Then they'd meet years later. ;)

As I started writing the story I realized there were many things that I should explore in order to achieve character depth such as Fay's PTSD and her struggle with the death of her parents, culture shock, the balance between Damian's difficult personality and his hidden compassion, how would she navigate a foreign world and so on. That's how this story become so long but I am glad I did :)

Chapter Text

"A poet laureate of adolescent sexuality and middle-age longing."

- William A. Henry III

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That was not how she’d imagined it would happen. She hadn’t had an exact scenario of what it would be like, who it would be with, or where. It had been more of an abstract concept she’d contemplated, and if she had thought about it, she’d always wondered whether she’d like it or what the logistics behind it were. 

She’d seen her parents kiss plenty of times, after all. In different ways. Once or twice, as far as she could recall, she’d also caught them making out. The first time, she had blanched and ran away. The second time, her mother had been horrified she’d walked in on them, but Fay had reassured her that she’d never be caught doing something so disgusting with someone else. Of course, she had also been nine, so her perception of that topic had shifted considerably since then. No wonder her parents had looked so amused by her declaration. 

Fay had undoubtedly not expected her first kiss to be in a foreign world, at the age of -almost- fifteen with a human boy she was likely to never see again. Her nine-year-old self would have been scandalised. 

It was the third week of November, and the media frenzy over the crimes of Joseph Sr. finally dwindled. Archer and Joseph Jr. had not returned to the Academy, which she supposed was small mercy as Cora told her their names were on everyone’s lips. Fay herself no longer went back as her ‘parents’ had decided that she was better off being home-schooled, and Sebastian was allowed to finish the semester by completing his work at home. After it had come to light that Joseph Sr. may have been involved in her husband’s death, Celine had decided she would transfer her family back to Paris. She was disgusted by the fact she’d accepted help and money from her husband’s murderer, and no longer considered Gotham a place where she wanted her son to grow up. The French restaurant she owned had been closed and the place put up for sale. Madeline Bronson tried to make amends, and while Celine did not hold her accountable for her husband’s behaviour, she did not wish to have anything to do with the Bronson's anymore. Sebastian and Archer remained in contact, unbeknownst to their parents. 

“Isn’t it weird, though?” Reuben asked, kneeling on the floor where he appeared to be wrestling with a roll of tape. 

“It’s not his fault that his dad is a piece of shit,” Sebastian remarked. Fay thought he was being mature about it, and she was glad to hear that he did not ostracise his friend. Archer Bronson behaved poorly, but a large part of his attitude was due to his father’s influence. Having the stability in his family shaken up in that manner had a terrible impact on him. He needed a friend now more than ever. The scandal his family faced could leave him full of resentment and anger that would affect his life in the long term. “Just don’t say anything around my mom, alright?” Sebastian said. “I don’t think she’d be angry, but I’d rather she didn’t know for now.” The other boy nodded. 

They were all at Sebastian’s home. It was nowhere near as sumptuous as the Bronsons’, and it was a rental, but there were still three floors to be packed. Celine planned on moving herself and Sebastian back to Paris before the holidays, so a moving truck was expected to come by on the second-to-last weekend of November. Celine, troubled by everything happening and busy closing her business in Gotham, struggled to pack up their belongings. Cora had suggested they could help, and that’s how all four of them found themselves at Sebastian’s house that Friday afternoon. 

Fay had been reluctant to attend, not because she did not wish to help, but because she’d been worried Sebastian or Celine might recognise her as the masked vigilante who had saved them. There was no sign of recognition from either one of them, though. When Sebastian talked about the attack at the Bronsons’ house upon Reuben’s request, he said he thought the person who got them out was Batgirl. He wasn’t sure anymore, given how quickly it had all happened. 

“Still can’t believe Mr. Cunningham was a bad guy,” Cora mumbled from where she was removing books from a shelf and organising them neatly in a plastic box. They were still on the first floor, but they’d made good progress in two hours. Fay could tell that Sebastian also appreciated having them around. He didn’t look like he’d gotten much sleep recently, although he was overall calm about everything that had happened. 

“Goes to show even hot people can be bad guys,” Mara remarked. 

Reuben looked at her as if she’d just grown two heads. “What?! How can you say that!”

“What. It’s true.”

Fay turned away from them, ignoring their bickering as she grabbed a stack of flat boxes and left the dining room to head into the kitchen. She folded it carefully, taped the bottom several times, and then started wrapping the plates already out on the table with bubble wrap. Sebastian followed her after a few minutes with more boxes. Reuben and Mara could still be heard arguing in the living room, and Cora had moved to the porch to label which flower pots would be taken away based on Celine’s handwritten instructions. 

Fay was amused when she saw the boy shake his head to himself. 

“Is it me, or do those two have a thing for each other?” He asked as he started helping her. “They’re like a married couple.”

She smiled in response. “I think so.” 

They were silent for a while as they wrapped up all the plates and glasses, then started putting them in boxes. 

“I think it’s good that you still talk to Archer,” Fay commented. “I know what I said about him being…terrible, but I don’t think he’s a bad person.”

Sebastian glanced at her.  

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Honestly, I still have a hard time wrapping my head around it. Like…why would he even want to hurt my dad?”

Fay frowned. She hoped Sebastian did not get any ideas about looking into it further. The last thing she wanted was for him to get involved in the Sponsor business. 

“Sometimes people hurt others… because it’s all they know.” She said. “Some people are just bad. I don’t think anyone is born that way, but I guess they never get a chance to choose a—a better path.” 

“Maybe.” He didn’t look satisfied by that, and she couldn’t blame him. “But men like him ruin families, and no amount of prison time will change that.”

Fay didn’t say anything. She didn’t think she was supposed to. Offering an apology or condolences would do nothing. It was the cruel, hard truth that a man had gone ahead and destroyed a happy family. 

“Are you okay with not going back to the Academy?” He asked later when they were halfway done with the kitchen. 

Fay nodded. “I think I prefer being home-schooled. I don’t like crowded places.”

“Yeah, I could tell.” He smiled tentatively. “Any plans for the holidays?”

She was going to the island for two weeks. Moma wanted her to be there for her birthday as they had not celebrated it together for years. Fay had mixed feelings about it because she felt she might have to end up defending her choice of staying in Gotham. Lira promised her that they’d keep her birthday celebration to a minimum, and if she felt overwhelmed, they could return earlier. At the very latest, she’d be back by the fifteenth of the month, which should give her plenty of time to work on her Christmas gifts. After that, she wasn’t sure what she’d do. She’d agreed to have dinner at Dana’s house, as well as Helen’s, on different dates. She’d likely go to the museum with Damian, the Christmas market with Cora, or him again. 

“Not much,” She said. “I will just spend time with my family.” There was nothing false about that statement. 

“You must be glad to see them after such a long time.”

Fay didn’t respond. Instead, she turned away, switching her attention to a drawer full of cutlery. “Yes. It’ll be nice.” She replied. 

“Hey,” Sebastian stepped closer to her, looking concerned. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to say anything to upset you.”

She looked up at him. “It’s alright; you did not.” She smiled politely. “It—is your sister coming home for the holidays?” She asked, changing topics. 

He nodded. “Yeah. Our previous home’s landlord will give us back the house, but it won’t happen until summer so we’re staying in another place until then. I’ll go back to school in January, though.”

“Oh.” Her lips pursed. “That must be hard. Changing schools, again.”

“Sort of. I have childhood friends I can hang out with, but no one I know at this school. I am kind of relieved by that. I don’t want people to ask me questions.”

Fay nodded. She understood what that was like as well. 

“People can be terrible about that.”

“Yeah.”

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!” A high-pitched scream erupted from the living room. It was Reuben. “ Get it off of me, get it off of me!”

“Calm down, you idiot, it’s just a moth.”

“It’s—it’s under my shirt---Mara, I can feel it!”

Fay and Sebastian looked at each other, then burst out laughing as the boy in the other room kept squealing while the girl tried to remove the insect.  

“They’re funny,” Fay remarked. 

“Yeah, they are.” 

In retrospect, Fay should have realised that the way Sebastian looked at her was a precursor to something else. Still, obliviousness and self-consciousness made her think that he was staring at her face because she had three awful pimples on her forehead. To his credit, he moved faster than either one of them anticipated and Fay’s eyes widened when she felt his mouth press against hers. It wasn’t unpleasant. His mouth was warm, and his breath smelt of mints. His lips were slightly chapped, but the kiss wasn’t forceful. She supposed it could be labelled as a good kiss, but she had expected to feel something more than just another mouth on hers. There were no butterflies in her stomach, no weakness in her knees, her mind did not go blank because she was lost in how good it felt.  

Perhaps that was why she didn’t end up pulling away immediately. Her mind was stuck on trying to figure out whether all she’d ever heard or read about kisses was a ruse. Later, she’d also realise that not pulling away may have been taken as a sign of encouragement. To her defence, though, Sebastian should have been at least slightly more aware she wasn’t particularly responsive. Or to not misinterpret her slightly opening her mouth as a wish to deepen the kiss. She’d just been taken by surprise when he’d pulled her closer, one hand on her waist. His grip had been light, she could have easily broken out of it, yet his presence had felt out of place, not just because he had suddenly crossed a boundary. 

And oh dear sweet Maysoon was that his tongue--- 

“Oh!” 

Crash!

Sebastian broke the kiss startled, his head snapping towards the entrance where Cora stood, mouth agape. There was a small vase shattered at her feet. Fay started to feel incredibly claustrophobic, so she stepped away, shaking Sebastian’s hold on her a little harsher than she meant to. The realisation dawned on her of what had just happened. He’d kissed her. Her first kiss, which hadn’t held much importance to her, and it still didn’t, but she still found herself feeling underwhelmed by it. Or perhaps overwhelmed? She wasn’t sure. 

“Oh—erm,” The girl laughed nervously. Then, in true Cora fashion, she said the first thing that crossed her mind and as it usually happened, it was also one the worst things she could possibly say. “I guess that’s why they say the French are the best at it huh?”

What. 

They all stared at each other, horrified. The blonde visibly flinched when she realised what she’d said. “I, um, sorry to interrupt but---erm, you said you’re staying at my house tonight?” Fay hadn’t. “My aunt wanted to know.”

Fay recognized the girl was trying to help her out. “Y-yeah. I—I guess I will.”

Thankfully, Reuben came into the room a moment later, eager to detail how large and monstrous the moth that had attacked him was. 

Fay doubted she’d ever left a room that fast before, and that said something. 

Fay brushed her hand against her mouth. It didn’t tingle or leave her with any of the pleasing after-sensation that she thought she was meant to feel. As soon as her mind processed what had happened, she’d entered panic mode. Sebastian was nice and good-looking. She liked him as a person. Maybe she even liked him enough as a boy because she didn’t feel offended that he’d tried to kiss her. Then why didn’t it feel good? Why did it make her feel like she could do without being kissed again? What if something was wrong with her? Maybe it had to do with the fact that she was not entirely human? 

“Are you alright?” Cora asked when she noticed the girl’s disgruntled expression. They moved back to the living room, and they were alone. Reuben and Mara remained oblivious to what had transpired in the kitchen before they came in. 

“I—I think so.”

“Did he---”

“Y-yes.”

“What was it like?” Cora whispered, somewhat conspiratorially. 

Fay looked at her, almost pained. “…alright.”

The blonde grimaced. “Alright? Just alright ?” Her expressions were comical, which made Fay feel at ease. “A kiss shouldn’t be alright. It should be amazing. Especially if it’s your first—wait. Was it your—”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Huh. Guess you beat me to that.” Cora said, sounding not at all upset or envious. “Too much tongue?”

Fay just wanted to crawl under a rock. Or possibly fly so high that she left the earth’s atmosphere. That seemed far enough to escape her embarrassment. 

“I, um, not sure.” 

“How can you not be sure—”

“C-Cora.”

The blond smiled apologetically. “Sorry.” She slung an arm around Fay’s shoulders, then grinned. “Told you he likes you. I mean, it is kind of romantic, right? You saved his life, and put away the guy who---”

Cora .”

The girl’s blue eyes just shone with mischief. However, upon seeing that Fay looked rather unsettled, her amusement faltered. 

“Hey.” Cora nudged her with her elbow to draw her attention. “Do you want to leave? I can say my aunt wants us home earlier.”

That made Fay smile slightly. 

“No. No, it’s okay.” It would be easy to run away. It was Sebastian’s last weekend in Gotham, so once he left, it was unlikely they’d ever see each other again. But Fay didn’t want to leave things like that. It made her feel like a coward. She shouldn’t feel so shaken by a stupid kiss, should she? It wasn’t even necessarily that it had been her first, as much as that she started wondering if it was her that was the problem. 

.

Celine returned early in the evening and offered to cook for everyone, but Cora couldn’t stay as her aunt also planned on cooking that night. By default, Fay also politely declined the invite. It was already dark when Emma pulled up to the house and briefly came in to talk to Celine. While the two women conversed, Fay stepped out onto the porch, pulling her jacket and scarf on. She was just texting Damian that she’d be heading back to the warehouse soon when Sebastian came out. 

“Hey—”

“Hi.”

They both stared at one another. 

“I am sorry.” He said finally, looking away as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “If I overstepped or upset you.” He did, technically overstep. Fay wasn’t sure if she gave him the wrong impression or he was just assertive, but she did not reciprocate his interest. She was curious at most, which is why she still didn't necessarily regret the kiss, but it also left her feeling doubtful of herself. 

“I am not upset,” She said. “I just---I am afraid I don’t---erm, --”

“You’re not into me?” He helped with a sheepish smile. 

 “I am sorry.” It was a genuine apology, yet it still felt like a terrible thing to say. She was relieved, however, to get it off her chest. 

He shook his head. “You don’t have to be,” He looked mildly dejected, but he also seemed understanding. “It’s okay. I am sorry for—you know---the kiss. I should have asked. I thought it was… a moment, but I was wrong.” She wished he would have because it made her wonder if all her kisses would feel that way. 

Fay was not angry with him, however. 

They both ended up sitting down on the porch steps, side by side. Fay felt protected under the layers of her winter clothing, but she still made sure there was at least an arm’s length between them. They didn’t talk for a while, just stared at the quiet street before them which was covered in patches of sleet. It was going to be a rough winter for Gotham, but Fay looked forward to the snow. 

“I am glad we came to Gotham,” Sebastian said suddenly. “It’s an interesting place. The Academy wasn’t too bad, and I met you guys.”

Fay smiled tentatively at that. She knew how he felt. 

“I guess we won’t see each other again. But maybe we can keep in touch?” He tilted his head towards her. “Just as friends.” He added quickly, a reassuring smile gracing his lips. 

She wasn’t sure if that was likely to happen or if it was a good idea given how involved she’d been in the case relating to his father. “I would like that.” 

The door to the house opened. Cora came out, bright orange beanie on her head and jacket already on. Her brows went up high when she saw them sit next to each other. She gave Sebastian a look, then made an ‘ I am watching you’ gesture which the boy could tell was only half-hearted. Fay shook her head to herself in bemusement as she stood up. 

Celine hugged both her and Cora. So did Sebastian, for that matter, although Fay could tell he was careful about not touching her too much. She frowned when he pulled away and under his breath, he said, “Thank you for helping us.” There was something about the way he said it that made Fay wonder if he was referring to that day or the night at the Bronsons’ house. It was just the way he smiled. He didn’t say anything else as he stepped away to stand by his mother’s side, who slung an arm over his shoulders. Celine, for her part, did not look at Fay in any particular manner. Fay knew the woman received an excellent – if not incredible – offer for her restaurant because she was the one who had paid, with Alfred’s help. A new veterinary clinic would be opened where the restaurant used to be. Fay wondered if maybe they could secretly lend the Duponts a hand after they arrived in Paris. She knew Celine wished to open a new restaurant there.

Fay did offer Sebastian her number, which in return caused Reuben and Maya to also ask for it. Ultimately, she ended up being added to a chat room where she was bound to be as quiet as she was in real life, but nonetheless enjoy reading the interactions between the others. Reuben named it ‘Gotham Ghostbusters’, which she found amusing now that she had finally watched the movies. 

Emma dropped her off in the city and from there Fay ended up flying back to the Manor. She’d agreed to have dinner there. 

“What?” Damian clicked his teeth. He’d caught her glance at him at least five times in the past hour, and he’d heard the telltale inhale as if she was about to say something but each time, she’d changed her mind. Fay had been in an odd mood ever since she’d returned to the Manor, constantly spacing out. When Fay didn’t respond, he turned around in his stool to look at her. Her entire face was red. 

“Sebastian kissed me.”

Cold and hot roiled inside of him as if his mind struggled to decide which emotion was most appropriate to experience. He settled on anger because it was familiar, and he was more comfortable with it than the other ones. 

“I was not aware,” He replied, tone carefully neutral. “That someone was courting you.” Then he recalled the conversation recorded in the boys’ locker room, and how the other male students teased Dupont about his apparent infatuation with Fay. She had made no mention of it. Fay could be hyper aware of people’s behaviour towards her, so she would have noticed or suspected, at the very least.

Had she knowingly allowed it to happen? Judging by the way her brows furrowed and how uncomfortable she seemed, that was not the case. That displeased him even further because it meant the boy’s advances had been unwanted. 

“It was not consensual,”

Fay’s mouth opened. “What—yes, it was—I mean—”

“Did you give him permission to touch you?”

Her mouth opened slightly more as she stared at him with wide eyes. The redness had spread to her ears. “Please don’t say it like that ,” She tugged at her collar. “I---he just misinterpreted. He thought I was, um, interested in him but I wasn’t---”

“He misinterpreted.”

She’d heard that tone before. It was generally directed towards a criminal. 

It was a good thing Sebastian was going to leave the country. 

“It was just a-a mis—” He just stared at her unblinkingly. “A mistake. He apologised. I don’t think he meant to---” She rubbed her hands over her face. “Please stop that.”

“What?” 

“It’s—” Fay fidgeted with her sleeves. “I just---.” She sighed, then shook her head to herself. “Nothing. Just leave it.”

He blinked, feeling something tighten in his chest. He didn’t know what she expected from him. To be satisfied that someone had kissed her without her approval? She was obviously uncomfortable with what had happened. He was not going to seek retribution on the Dupont boy if that was what she was worried about. Unless she wanted him to?

“You were afraid to tell me,” He said finally. “Why?”

Fay, who had picked up her book back up and pretended to read it again (it was upside down), glanced over at him. 

“Afraid?” Her head cocked slightly. “I wasn’t afraid.”

He stared at her expectantly. 

“I just don’t know… how I should feel,” Fay said.

She wanted a sounding board, then. His first reaction was to assess and find a solution, but that was not what Fay wanted. She wanted him to listen. Damian didn’t see how that was necessarily useful, but he did understand it was important to her, so he got up from the chair and went to sit beside her. She always did better with opening up when she didn’t feel scrutinised. 

“It wasn’t---he didn’t force it on me,” She muttered. “I am not trying to justify it, but I think it was a mistake. I think he is not doing well learning what Joseph Sr. did to his father, and we were talking about it…” And knowing Fay, she was kind and empathetic, making the boy think there was a deeper meaning to that. Damian resisted clicking his teeth again. “It wasn’t unpleasant but… it felt weird.” She pulled a face. “I don’t know if it’s because of me—”

“It’s not.” He interrupted hotly. “Why do you insist on assuming---”

“But I am not,” Fay said, and she angled herself to him, setting a hand on his arm. “I mean, right after I was but then I thought about it, and I don’t think it’s my fault. It was just really…” She looked away. “Don’t make fun of me, but… I thought it’d feel nicer.”

His brows lifted. 

“You have been considering what it would be like if Dupont kissed you.”

“Huh? No, no. Not him.” Then her eyes widened, cheeks reddening again. “No one! No one in particular. I just—” She started gesturing with her other hand. “I just thought about it. That’s not---you haven’t?” She blurted. 

He snorted. “I have no time to waste with such frivolities.” She threw him a look. “It’s your time, do you as please.” He said dismissively, although he did have to wonder what other types of considerations she was making in that overthinking head of hers. 

“Well, it’s not like I thought about it that much,” Fay defended. “But ever since I’ve attended the Academy, I’ve been thinking a lot about how courting works here and well… about my parents as well.”

“Your parents?”

“Yes.” She smiled shyly, then shrugged. “I think I tend to compare many things to what they did and how they behaved, but I never had a chance to… talk about them. About what they were like when they were my age or whether… being half-human,” She angled away from him. “Well, if being half-human will make any difference.”

“Why would it?”

She shrugged again. “I don’t know. I know it’s silly, but I couldn’t help thinking that maybe it does affect me sometimes.” She sighed. “Many of the students at the Academy seemed so interested in these matters and… ahead ,” She rubbed at her cheek, looking embarrassed. “In Maysoon, I don’t think it’d be that different. Even before I left I felt–behind. I was always interested in travelling and having adventures, then—then my parents died and I didn’t care about anything.” She wasn’t saying it out loud, but Damian suspected she was still comparing herself to Vesa Estaris. 

“Would you prefer conforming?” He asked, brows furrowed and rather scandalised. “For the sake of fitting in with people who don’t know you?” He found the notion repulsive, but his friend seemed to have given it quite a lot of thought. 

She shook her head. 

“No.” She looked at him. “I don’t want to change just because people expect me to. It just made me think about it lately, I suppose. There’s nothing wrong with that.” She said it as a statement, but he could tell from the way she looked at him, that she was also seeking reassurance. 

“No, it isn’t.” He replied. “You are engaging in self-reflection and self-analysis. At times, unnecessarily so but… you should not feel ashamed of it.” It did raise alarm bells in the back of his head that he’d have to examine later on. 

Fay smiled, relaxing visibly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Yes, you would be quite lost.”

“I'll take it back.”

His eyes flitted to her mouth. It made sense now why she’d insisted on brushing her teeth immediately upon her return to the Manor. He was filled with contradictory feelings. Relief and pride, because Fay was independent and strong-willed enough that even if she felt doubtful and self-conscious, she preferred to stay true to herself. There was another emotion, about as pleasant as bile, clashing with the sense of relief and pride he felt, one that he could not dissect and analyse there and then. He needed time alone with his thoughts. 

.

.

.

“Why are you so thin? I thought you said she was eating properly, Lira.” Moma remarked irritably. Fay wasn’t sure whether to find it amusing or maddening how in one world she was viewed as being on the thicker end and in the other, ‘bone and skin’ according to Moma. Of course, the woman did tend to overreact; Fay knew that by Maysoon standards she was within a healthy weight range. 

“Why are you blaming me?” Lira looked offended. “She seems fine to me.”

Fay sighed as the two women started arguing. 

The doors of the study swung open so hard that Fay heard the hinges squeak and watched several cracks appear in the wall. Her aunt Sysa liked to make an entrance, and she was certainly a sight to behold with her long fiery red hair and pale blue eyes. She was a petite woman, perhaps amongst the shortest of Fay’s close female relatives, but what she lacked in height she more than made up for with wit. It had to be one of the reasons why even someone as emotionally constipated as her uncle Aryg would sometimes act openly affectionate around her. That, and he secretly liked being dominated. Or at least that was Lira’s theory which Fay found wildly amusing. Now that she was older, she finally understood the not-so-appropriate connotations behind her aunt’s jibe. That part, she simply refused to think about. 

“Come here.” Sysa pulled her close, slamming Fay’s face into her chest. “Oh, you have gotten so tall.”

“Hi, Aunt Sysa.” Fay returned the hug. As much as she tried to focus on the positives – that she was there, in neutral territory and her family was here, wanting to celebrate their reunion – Fay couldn’t get rid of the nibbling feeling at the back of her head. That maybe they did know more about that night than they told her, that maybe if she asked them what the spider symbol meant they’d know the answer. Damian had told her it was best if she did her own research while there, though, and not tell her family what she remembered for the time being. 

Fay didn’t know whether she should feel guilty or not for using her trip there to gain information. 

.

Aryg wasn’t going to be there, but he had sent her a present which Fay had yet to open. There was a whole room full of them, which Fay had hoped would not happen as she’d told her family that it was not necessary. Moma had said she was being silly, and Sysa had told her it was only natural for the clan to want to send her gifts, especially since they thought she was still abroad on indefinite leave. “Or maybe it’s just guilt because no one told me about Vesa.” She remarked sardonically, surprising both herself and Titoh when he’d found her in the library four days after her arrival, and after he’d pointed out that everyone had gone way overboard with the presents. 

Titoh recovered from his surprise, then snorted with laughter. 

“What?” Fay asked, puzzled because she hadn’t expected that reaction. 

“Nothing,” He shook his head. “It’s just been a while since I’ve heard you being that sarcastic.” Fay hadn’t realised she’d ever been that sarcastic before, but she supposed if anyone would notice, it’d have to be Titoh. He had, after all, been one of the people she used to talk to most back then. Not as much as she did with Damian, she mused, but she wasn’t sure if it was a fair comparison. Yet, she would never think of Damian as a sibling. Family, yes, but not a brother. 

“What are you looking for?” Titoh asked curiously as he stared at the pile of books she’d pulled off the shelves to go through. She had a notebook next to her which she used to keep track of the titles she’d already found as well as any potentially useful information. So far there had been nothing, and she’d been at it for four hours already. There were thousands of books in there and unfortunately, she did not have time to peruse them all during her two-week stay. But it was a start.

Fay frowned and looked up at him from where she sat on the floor. It felt familiar. Titoh found her in the library, surrounded by towers of books, staying away from any activities requiring social interaction. Senah, one of the girls on the island around their age, had invited Fay to the beach where all teenagers planned on going that afternoon to swim. Fay had declined the invite, not only because she dreaded having to manoeuvre her way around questions she knew would be asked of her background and homeland, but also because she wanted to research. 

“I, uh—” Fay had not given it any thought until that moment, but Titoh had no idea that she was trying to find out what had happened in Maysoon. She knew Kaera had told him about the Sponsor, and he did talk to Klaus, so he likely had an idea of what she’d been through in the past two years. But they’d never discussed it before. Their memory of that night, the fuzzy timelines, the things they’d seen and heard. They never exchanged theories on who might have been responsible. She had wanted answers after that night, but he had shut down completely. She had asked him once if he remembered and he had snapped at her, saying he didn’t wish to discuss it because it was pointless. They were gone, and that’s all there was to it. 

Fay floundered. She wasn’t sure whether to tell him about her flashback. Would he care? Or would he tell her to drop it? What if she destroyed the progress they’d made in mending their bond? He had a right to know, though, didn’t he? He may not have had as much time with Evara and Damar as she had, but he had loved them (and vice versa). 

“Fay?” Titoh crouched down before her. “Is, uh, something the matter?” 

She took a deep breath. “Do you… do you ever wonder what happened that night?” She asked, finally. 

There was a moment of silence, and she watched his expression darken. It wasn’t anger, just grief and pain. She knew that look well. 

“Yeah.” He said, finally and made himself more comfortable by sitting down and crossing his legs. “All the time, actually.”

Huh. Alright then. 

Fay closed the book she’d been looking through and placed it between them. It did feel like when they were children, and they’d whisper amongst each other. The psychological safety was no longer intact, however, nor was there trust. With Damian she felt no holdbacks from discussing anything, even topics she struggled with emotionally or found embarrassing. 

“Do you… remember?” She asked tentatively. “I, um, still don’t. And what I do remember doesn’t make sense.”

Titoh nodded in understanding. “It’s the same for myself. I remember being in the botanic garden. There was an explosion I think, and I must have hit my head. Next I remember I am in the old palace and it’s complete chaos. People running around, warriors telling everyone to evacuate and use the tunnels to head to safety. My head was bleeding.” His brows furrowed as he tried to recall what happened after. “It feels unclear after that, but there was this… pressure at the back of my head. Probably the concussion. Moma said that uncle Aryg found me unconscious in the northern wing of the palace.”

“By the towers?” Fay asked, puzzled. “But that’s---”

“On the opposite end of where the botanic gardens were.” Titoh finished. “I don’t remember walking that far.” The old palace had been massive. An architectural hulk that had been erected centuries earlier, which had seen its fair share of destruction. That night, however, over half of the palace had been obliterated, causing the other half to become unstable and crumble down. The last time Fay had seen the place, the area had become a sort of memorial where people constantly brought flowers and gifts for all those who had not been recovered from beneath the rubble. Her uncle had had to order warriors to patrol the area after some families had tried to search for their dead, resulting in them getting injured, or looters trying to scavenge for precious items. 

The botanic garden had not been an addition of her mother’s, but it had become hers in time. A happy place, she’d called it, and that had been the first time Fay had heard that reference. The botanic garden was partially detached from the palace, a grandiose piece of architectural design made of glass imported from abroad, made to last centuries. Her mother had liked to use it to conduct her own botanical research as well as tending to exotic plants and flowers. Her expertise in botany was vast so she’d often received requests from different territory rulers for advice on anything from pestilence destroying crops to the rare plants. The botanic garden had also been a safe space for the five of them, where Evara and Damar would often spend time with Fay and Titoh. The other family members could also access it, but it had been an unspoken rule that the botanic garden belonged to Evara and one should gain permission to go there when they were having family quality time. 

Fay had adored that place. She’d always felt safe there. 

“What do you remember?” Titoh asked hesitantly. It was the first real conversation they had on that topic. Fay wondered if he had anyone to talk to at all. She’d always had Bagheera, then she’d found Damian. Who did Titoh have? When he’d finally realised that those children were not his friends, and how he’d hurt her and she hadn’t been there to apologise, who had he turned to? Their family, who tried to protect them by keeping secrets? 

“I was in the jungle,” Fay said. “I think I was playing with Lilor and Bag.” Lilor was a jungle waif her mother had saved. As she’d been rejected by the other waifs, Lilor had often spent time around them. Last Fay had checked, Lilor was still in Maysoon, safe and alive. “I had this… strange feeling. I think it was the jungle. I—I felt its distress. Then I heard the explosions and saw the smoke. I always dream of seeing… bodies, as well. And a red sky. Of people screaming and blood everywhere. Turning the water red.” She confessed. “I remember running back towards the city, and then it became… unclear, just like you said. I have many nightmares, but I don’t know what is real and what isn’t. Most of them don’t make sense at all.”

Titoh smiled ruefully. “Yes. Me too.” He reached to brush a hand through his white locks. “I keep dreaming of… Damar.” He had called him ‘father’ before as well. Fay wondered if it was easier for him to call them by their names, not that she was judging. She hadn’t even been able to say their names for months on end. Not until she’d met Damian. “I have this dream where he is holding me in his arms, and he has his sword out. I can’t remember what or who he is fighting. He always tells me the same thing.” He paused, looking away. 

Fay didn’t push, although she wanted to know. She rarely ever dreamt of her father in the context of that night, and when she dreamed of her mother, she never could hear the woman. Evara would always turn into that monster, its gaping mouth the abyss. 

“He always tells me to look for you,” Titoh said finally. “And to make sure we don’t lose track of one another.” He smiled humorlessly. “I think he says something else, but the dream always ends there. Perhaps that’s a good thing, because I clearly failed at the first request.”

Fay’s eyes stung. Titoh had carried that memory for a while, if not from the beginning. A part of her was hurt that he hadn’t tried to fulfil the request, no matter if it was an actual memory or not. But the bigger part of her understood. The guilt he must carry for allowing grief to twist him so, to make mistakes that left him perhaps even more alone than before. Hadn’t she felt the same way when she’d realised the bracelets might kill her, leaving Bagheera all alone in that world? Just because she’d wanted to run away from everything. 

“I think we both failed.” 

The boy looked up at her in surprise. 

“I didn’t understand how… hard it was because you already lost other people. I didn’t realise that it’s hard for you to be there, with—us—and with me. I kept, um…” She swallowed. “Chasing after you because I was confused and um, I suppose I expected to feel better with you because you also lost them. But it wasn’t the same. Not the same type of grief.” Even if just as intense. “I understand why you felt like reaching out to others. I know people were giving you a hard time and I thought it was the same thing as mine, but it wasn’t. People were awful to you because you weren’t… related to them, were they not? They didn’t think you suffered as much. They didn’t think of you as a son who lost his parents. Not—not always.” Fay fidgeted with her hands. “I think I saw it, but I didn’t understand. Uncle Aryg and the others do care about both of us, I think, but they still… treat us differently. They always expected me to be like them, and they…”

“They expected me to move on,” Titoh said, without anger. He just sounded tired. “I was… rather invisible.” Whereas Fay had always been the centre of attention, if negative once people realised that she would not fit the mould. “I didn’t understand either.” He admitted. “I was really angry because I would have preferred they didn’t adopt me at all.” Fay stared at him, bewildered. “I never had a family like yours. I suppose not many did.” Titoh smiled faintly again. “I never met my real parents; I don’t even know who they were. What kind of people they were. Mina died when I was little, so I don’t remember much of her, either. Pol was the only family I had, and then he died too. Then I was adopted by heroes . Out of everyone, they adopted me, and I felt fortunate. But---after that night, I suppose there was a time I didn’t feel that way at all. It felt like a curse.” Titoh met her gaze. “They weren’t there so I took it out on you. I know that was selfish and unfair, but that’s how I felt. Just because you didn’t understand… it doesn’t mean I should have behaved like that.”

Silence stretched between them after. Fay reached to brush at her eyes, wiping away the tears threatening to spill onto her cheeks. 

“I should have stopped them,” Titoh added tightly, after a second. “I should have told them to stop, or called for help. I allowed them to be cruel to you. It didn’t make me feel better, just worse. But I never wanted you to hurt in that manner. I---I still dream about it.” He rubbed a hand over his forehead. He didn’t tell her that after she’d left, he had gone ahead and started a fight with the children who’d hurt her. That he had ended up punching the boy who’d cut her back, that he’d ended up in the hospital, which had been why Aryg had ultimately decided it was best if Titoh left Maysoon as well. Another mistake. Titoh didn’t regret hurting the other boy, but it had done nothing to soothe the pain Fay must have felt, or change the fact that he had allowed other people to hurt her. 

“Then the Trials happened, and I wanted to apologise but I didn’t---I was a coward.” He blurted out. “You were gone after, and I was worried that maybe your flux was affected by what happened because I heard Moma talk about the bracelets. When they told me you ran away, I---I kept thinking about the dream. About how Damar would have asked that in real life, and how he would be disappointed we ended up doing the opposite.” He blinked a few times, his eyes wet. Despite looking close to tears as well, Titoh smiled. “When they told me you came to this world, I thought---she did it. You always spoke about this place and how you wanted to see it.”

Fay smiled. 

“It wasn’t like I imagined it would be. Especially because of the bracelets.”

“Yes, but you and Bag were on your own. You had no money and no guards looking after you and no weapons, but you found a way. You---you made friends with the warriors of this world, you have a new home now and you---you can fly again. You didn’t just survive.” Fay was taken back by the admiration in his voice. “When I realised I had the flux, and I could use it in that manner, I wanted to make sure I’ll make the best of it. That I will keep moving forward.” His smile widened. “Just like you did.”

Fay looked away, inhaling sharply. She hadn’t expected to hear Titoh speak of her like that, especially given how they’d left things. But they’d both grown up. They’d changed. Maybe growing apart and making mistakes had been needed, for both to discover they were capable of things they hadn’t thought they would be. 

“How did you find out about your flux?” Fay asked. It wasn’t unheard of for the flux to be latent and manifest at a later stage in life, but it was rare. Fay had never thought Titoh might possess an affinity for it, but then again, they did not have a clear picture of his family tree, either. 

“I went through a phase,” Titoh said. “It was a month or so after you left. I didn’t get any marks, but it felt like my whole body was on fire. I was in the healer’s wing for two weeks and it was… horrendous.” He grimaced. “I was unconscious for the most part, but when it was over, I felt different. I could feel the energy inside of me and I remember you talking about how it felt, it was similar. I couldn’t summon it the way you did, though.” Aryg did not want others to know so he had kept the phasing a secret. Moma was the first who had deduced that Titoh had an affinity for healing, so when they arrived on the island, she had asked Corim to teach him. She was right. Titoh couldn’t put it in words, but he had developed a sixth sense that allowed him to feel when something was not right. 

“There was this injured bird that one of the children on the island brought in. When I touched it, I---I can’t explain it, but I could feel where the injury was coming from. I still need to learn anatomy to understand how to heal and I also need to know how to channel my flux properly, but I am enjoying it. I never thought I could do something like this. Healing others.” It was a complex, difficult profession but Fay was glad he had discovered that gift. 

Something, however, bothered her about the way his flux manifested. “Do you think it has something to do with that night?”

Titoh sighed. “I wondered about that too. I am not certain. Moma and the others have said it is possible the… stress,” Understatement. “Might have been a trigger. I do wonder if Damar and Evara knew, though.” That was a good observation. Had her parents known he might one day develop a strong enough flux to learn the healing arts? 

“Can you—” Fay glanced around the library. They were alone. Even Bagheera wasn’t there, but out wandering the jungle. “Can you keep something just between the two of us? For the time being. I haven’t told Moma or Aunt Lira, and I don’t---I don’t want to discuss it until I understand better what it means.”

Titoh nodded, mildly surprised that she was willing to share something she hadn’t with their family. 

“I think I remembered something from that night,” Fay said. “A few weeks ago, I had a panic attack and I think… I remembered something from that night.” Lowering her voice although there was no one there to hear them, she told him about the flashback she’d had. Every time Fay thought or spoke about what she remembered, specifically that symbol, she was filled with a cold dread. It made her feel paranoid. 

Titoh’s blood drained from his face, turning almost as white as his hair. 

“I think… I saw something too.”

Fay’s heart sank to her stomach. 

“There was a man in the palace. He wasn’t dressed like a warrior, but he also didn’t look like a civilian.” Titoh said shakily. “I can’t remember clearly. I thought---I thought maybe I hallucinated, or I am remembering it incorrectly. I dreamt of him a few times.” He swallowed, his eyes so wide that they could have popped out of their sockets. “Every time I dream of him, I am…worried that he’ll kill me if he sees me, but the dream never lasts long. It doesn’t even make sense because I don’t think I’ve seen him before and I don’t know why I think he’ll hurt me.”

They both fell silent again, muscles stiff and goose bumps making the hair on their limbs stand up. 

“Have—” Fay cleared her throat. “Have you told anyone about this?”

“I, uh, tried. I don’t remember his face clearly; he’s always turned away from me. I am sure it was a man. Dressed in all black but I can’t remember other details. When I was asked whether I remembered anything from that night, I did tell them about the man, but I’ve never really thought about the tattoo having any meaning.” He brushed his hand through his hair again. “I didn’t hear anyone speaking about it. The family, civilians or other warriors.”

Fay looked disturbed. “What if it does mean something? What---if those men had anything to do with what happened?”

“I don’t know,” Titoh said apprehensively. “There are so many theories. But so many people either can’t remember, or they’ve given very different accounts of what happened.”

“Can’t remember? What do you mean they can’t remember?” 

He shrugged. “Well, Maysoon was attacked on the southern side, right? Uncle Aryg said that while the enemy had the element of surprise, there could have been far more casualties. Most of the damage took place in the outer skirts and by the old palace.”

“So Maysoon wasn’t attacked everywhere.”

He nodded. “It gets stranger. I heard people say that Maysoon warriors had taken part in the attack, and they were behaving strangely. How else could someone get into the capital, after all? Maysoon has always been incredibly hard to penetrate because of the jungle protecting it. I asked uncle Aryg about it, but he told me that was not confirmed officially, and I should not speak about it. He didn’t deny that there might have been traitors who helped that night. You know – sympathisers of the old regime? After all, Ranis was corrupt. I also heard that some civilians saw warriors wearing Vontagor colours. Others said that they can’t remember exactly what they were attacked by. Some said it was dragons and warriors, others said there were monsters---not of any type they’ve ever seen. Demon -like, even. It’s been hard to establish who saw what, and what is true and what isn’t. Moma said that it’s not uncommon for such confusion to take place after an attack.” 

“But why?” Fay asked. 

Titoh shrugged. “Maybe to cause tensions? Vontagor is now the number one suspect and there’s talk of the ruler wanting to break the agreement made with the Council, to become independent. If that happens---”

“---it will be a disaster,” Fay whispered. The Council will be undermined, other territory rulers will be tempted to break the peace treaties and more conflicts could arise. The Resistance’s results could be in danger of being undone. 

“Do you know how it all ended?”

“The Maysoon army overwhelmed the attackers. No one would talk about the warriors that were captured or if they were interrogated, but it’s strange, isn’t it? All that destruction and chaos and---no one can tell what happened or who it was exactly.”

“Or why ,” Fay added quietly. 

Titoh sighed. “Yes. I can’t remember what happened to… them. Everything was so… fast that night”

Fay asked him again to keep the conversation between them.

“I will,” He promised. “Will---will you tell me if you find anything else? I know, I probably shouldn’t ask---”

“I will,” She said, cutting him off. “You have a right to know what happened as well.”

They agreed to talk more often, especially while she was off the island. 

“Titoh, go find Fay. Find your sister. Make sure you stay by each other’s side”

.

.

 

Damian Wayne was a maniac. An arrogant, insane, over-the-top, insufferable little shit. 

When Fay had asked her whether Cora would be okay with looking after her plants and pets, the blond girl had been super excited because a , that meant she finally got to see where Fay lived and b, she was finally trusted with that knowledge. When Fay had told her that Damian would take Cora to her home, the girl had been slightly less enthusiastic. She’d never managed to grow comfortable around him because seriously , the dude needed to chill. The few times that Cora had met Damian, he’d come across as abrasive, impatient, and incredibly condescending. He could be downright mean, like when she’d watched him nearly make one of the security guards at the museum cry because he’d dared to check their backpacks, not recognizing who he was. Sure, the security guard had not exactly been nice, calling them ‘brats’, but by the time Damian had been done with him, the man had been ready to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness. 

Huh. Who knew that Gotham’s Boy Wonder was also an asshole? It was certainly not the kind of secret she’d thought she'd learn about a vigilante. Thankfully, Cora did not have to deal with him often because Damian seemed disgusted by the idea of ‘hanging out’ and doing things his friend was more tempted to try out. 

Fay had to be suffering from Stockholm syndrome. Why else would she be friends with someone who kidnapped people off the street and then knocked them out, before bringing them to a warehouse in the middle of nowhere? He didn’t stop there, because he also threatened her with the painful – and perhaps even creative – ways he’d punish her if she dared to tell anyone that she had been to that place. He didn’t even allow her inside the house until she proved she’d memorised all of his ridiculous rules. She would not go on the second floor, she would not wander around the property without permission, she would feed the pets according to an established dietary plan, she would not ask stupid questions. Cora asked what kind of stupid questions and the expression on his face told her she’d just proven a point. 

Was Robin capable of brainwashing people? Maybe.

The warehouse was awesome, though. As was the menagerie of pets. Oh, and that corner of the property that was full of paintings and books! That really did have Fay’s touch all over it.

Cora did as she was told and prepared the pets their food. It was a one-time thing, according to the irritable boy, who was obviously not happy at all that she was there. He reminded her of a wild cat that just had its territory encroached on. One that left her alone for a couple of hours, but not before pointing out that there were cameras everywhere, so he’d know if she broke any of his rules. 

Cora wasn’t sure where the warehouse was, but she thought it was over the river because there was so little noise in that place. It was peaceful, especially with the trees surrounding the property and keeping it hidden. She doubted there were any other people living nearby, but before she’d gone inside the warehouse, she’d spotted smoke in the distance. It came from at least several miles away. Maybe a factory? She didn’t ask. Cora did not trust Damian wouldn’t stab her, turn her into fertiliser, and then tell Fay she’d run away. Okay, maybe that was rather extreme. 

“Oscar, come on,” Cora beckoned the elderly dog as he hid away underneath the coffee table. “I have to give you the medicine. It’s for your arthritis.” Fay had told her that Oscar was a very gentle, calm dog but at that moment, he sneered at her. She couldn’t blame him. She was a stranger, and he had a long history of being mistreated. When she tried to touch his paw, he nearly bit her fingers off. 

She quickly retracted it, a grimace on her face. 

“— TT —are you trying to get yourself bitten, you fool?”

Cora screamed, startled, causing Pip, who was on the sofa, to jump as well and look around alerted. She’d lost track of Hector after feeding him, but Fay’s notes said that was okay because he was rarely ever tempted to go outside, and he was also litter trained. Nada had refused to come near her, but she didn’t turn down the bowl of food Cora put down for her. The blond turned around to find the boy standing behind her. “You—why do you always have to sneak on people like that?!” She pointed at him accusingly. 

The boy’s expression once again told her that she had asked a question he considered stupid. 

“It’s not my fault you have no awareness of your surroundings.” He replied smoothly, then looked at the piece of raw meat in her hand, in which she had shoved one of the prescribed pills. Cora had tried crushing one and mixing it into his food earlier, but the dog refused to eat it. Oscar required injections but Damian told her he’d take care of that. It was for the best as she was scared of needles. 

Cora pouted. Then watched with bewilderment as the pets went to him as if he were some sort of Disney princess. Nada immediately meowed and rubbed herself against his leg, Pip yipped for attention, and Oscar, who had refused to get out from underneath the table for the past hour, slid out and walked over to the boy. Damian crouched down, allowing the cat to jump on his shoulder, and scratched the other two dogs. He wasn’t entirely relaxed but that was the first time Cora had seen him not frowning (entirely, anyway).  

In the end, she watched with continued surprise, as the boy easily coaxed the dog to take his medicine wrapped up in the piece of meat. Oscar stared at him with affection. 

Huh. 

His eyes fell on her cheek, which she instinctively reached to touch with one hand. There was an ugly bruise there. It wasn’t the only one. Her knees were scraped underneath the thick tights she wore, and she had three fingernail imprints on her left arm, which were particularly unsightly. She had to give kudos to Julia’s fake nails for being so tough, though.

“It’s rude to stare,” She remarked. 

“Who hit you?”

She froze. “What? No one did. I just tripped---”

“The injury is not consistent with a fall. Your knees are also injured, you are struggling to sit on them.” Cora gaped slightly. “Plus, you are a pathetic liar.”

She threw him a dirty look. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing.” He replied easily and she believed him. 

When she returned to the Academy for the last week of the semester, however, she found out that Julia Frier would no longer return to school. Her parents had decided to home-school her upon finding out that she’d thrown a party in their absence. It was unclear who’d sent the photos to them. Well, for everyone else it was. Cora knew exactly who was responsible. She did go to the warehouse a second time.

He still knocked her out and listed the rules and threatened her, but Cora no longer thought that Fay suffered from Stockholm syndrome. 

.

.

.

“James Cunningham,” Klaus repeated. “I am not familiar with that name. I wasn’t aware Bernard had any business affairs in Gotham, aside from the Angel and… you.”

Fay’s shoulders sank but she nodded in understanding. She had found the boy on one of the smaller islands sitting by the beach and reading while his paladin played in the water, terrorizing the fish. Klaus looked the most peaceful she’d ever seen him, and when she’d landed by his side, Fay had felt compelled to smile at him. She doubted he had healed from the pain Bernard had caused him, but she’d heard positive things from different people on the island, including Moma who said he was very attentive when she talked to him about the other world. He was also aloof and tended to not interact much with others on the island, but he responded well to Kaera’s training and Moma educating him. He also seemed to tolerate Titoh as the two boys had struck up a tentative friendship. Fay found it darkly amusing considering her complicated history with both. 

After a brief conversation on whether he liked the island and how Waren was doing, Fay asked him if he would be comfortable answering some questions about Bernard. He didn’t say yes, just stared at her expectantly, eyebrows raised. Fay told him what had happened in Gotham, and what they’d found out about James Cunningham. How he’d used natural energy in a different manner to them and, unfortunately, ended up paying the price. It was Bernard’s fault that he’d ended up in that situation, having been taken advantage of. 

“I am sorry,” Fay said when she noticed the way he kept clenching and unclenching his hands in his lap. “For asking. I thought you might want to know as well.” That you’re not the only one. That Bernard really was a terrible person and that it’s not a reflection of who you are. Who you can be. She didn’t say any of that, though, kneeling beside him in the sand. Bagheera was next to her, glaring at Waren who ignored him in favour of diving in the water. Fay could tell the Grymla was happier in that place; it reflected in how much healthier the creature looked from the luscious scales to the added growth it has gone through since she’d last seen Waren. Her partner also looked healthier. Klaus was at least a head taller than her and had gained weight to match his growth spurt, but it was all toned away by constant exercise. His skin was tanned and his hair even lighter than before. Fay was willing to bet he was also ahead of her in training, given Kaera had several sessions a week with him. 

“Titoh told me.” He said after a few minutes of silence, as he watched Waren come back towards the shore. “About the attack on your homeland.”

Fay frowned. “I see.” She didn’t mind. 

“Bernard killed my mother.” He added, a non sequitur. Or so it seemed. It took Fay a moment to understand why he’d mention both of those events. She thought Klaus tried to highlight how they both had lost their parents in a terrible, violent manner. Hers, at the hands of unidentified evil. His, at the hands of someone he had looked up to as a mentor. “He killed her so he could have me.” He said tonelessly. 

“Bernard was a monster,” Fay said, more viciously than intended. “He was a disgusting human being who used others. He offered misleading information because he knew you and—and James couldn’t verify it, and he used that to… manipulate you.” She paused, and tentatively reached to touch his shoulder. His flux was even hotter than hers, like a bright flare that caused heat to travel from her hand all the way to her shoulder. She had grown more sensitive to sensing energies since her phasing, never realising how strong he was until then. She wondered if hers felt the same. “That’s---you are not like him. It’s---not your fault that happened.”

He didn’t flinch from her touching him, and his head tilted slightly as he looked at her with vague irritation. That expression was reminiscent of the old Klaus. 

“You would not say that if you knew what he’s made---no. Convinced me. How I helped him, willingly.”

“I don’t know.” Fay nodded. “But I know that people should not be defined by their mistakes.” He and Damian were more alike than either boy would ever admit. “I—I think it’s alright if you… you ended up caring. You didn’t know who he was. You didn’t know what he really wanted. That doesn’t make you a bad person.” 

“Being this forgiving will get you killed.” 

That also sounded like something Damian would say. 

Fay smiled. “Maybe. But… It's worked well so far.” Her smile widened, as she lowered her hand from his shoulder. “I am not that easy to kill.”

He snorted, turning his head away but she caught the way his lips twitched. 

.

.

Fay’s eyes were so wide they threatened to leave her sockets and fall into her lap. Before that, her head might explode from the amount of blood rushing up to her face as she stared at the women before her. She was not even sure how the conversation had escalated to that point, and she felt conflicted between curiosity and the desire to run away. 

“I think Evara would agree she’s too young.” Lira pointed out as if she hadn’t mercilessly teased Fay after she’d let it slip that she’d had her first kiss with a human boy.  

Sysa scoffed and brushed her hand away dismissively as she lounged in the long velvet seat. With her long fiery red hair and the pale silk of her flowing gown, Sysa looked like a work of art. In Maysoon, there’d be handmaidens gathered around her as they’d talk about all manner of topics from the latest fashion to rumours going around about one another. Fay had always admired the way her aunt so skillfully engaged in those conversations and how she seemed to always be in the know about everything. To someone who did not know her well, Sysa might come across as a spoiled noblewoman who spent her days gossiping and having her needs tended to by servants. Fay knew better. Sysa enjoyed maintaining the appearance of an ignorant, shallow woman that only had her looks to show for. However, she was every bit the politician Aryg was, just as skilled, if not more, in building relationships with other people.   

“We’re just educating her, sharing… best practises. For the future, of course.” Then she winked at Fay, who sunk just a little more into her chair. She knew Sysa could be very blunt and open when she was amongst family, but Fay had never realised that her aunt truly did not shy away from any topic. It was an odd picture given the strict environment Sysa admitted to having grown up in, one where she had constantly been assailed with lectures on etiquette and what was ‘proper’. In fact, Fay had many times heard her lecture others on those very topics and Sysa was never not ‘presentable’, both in the way she behaved and dressed. Maybe the past few years had changed some of her clan members in an unexpected manner? 

Or maybe that ale in her cup was stronger than it looked. 

 

“Oh, come on, darling,” The woman cooed. “Nothing to be embarrassed by. I’ve had the same talk with my daughters, especially my eldest.”

“I---I… erm, I am not,” Fay said meekly. “How are they doing?” Aryg and Sysa had four daughters, including their newest addition. As her cousins were either older or younger than her, Fay never managed to connect deeply with any of them but she has fond memories. Sysa’s eldest, Araluen, has already come of age and Fay had heard that she is being courted by the second-born of a clan from Aeryg. The second oldest daughter, Neema, is three years older than Fay and she recalls the girl often looking after her when Fay was younger. Enara was only ten years old and she had been the youngest until the arrival of Valora. 

“We’ve already talked about the rest of the family, so don’t change the subject.” Fay smiled sheepishly. “Lira is right, though,” Sysa added, a little more seriously. “There’s no rush. And you do not allow others to dictate anything.” 

“Erm,” Fay watched the woman pour herself more ale. She wasn’t sure that was a good idea, although Sysa did not have a human metabolism so she likely burned through it very quickly. 

“You take charge,” Sysa continued. 

Lira eyed her relative. “Araluen took charge, last I checked and you still disapproved.”

Sysa rolled her eyes. “I do not disapprove because she’s the one who initiated the courting. I disapprove because I do not think that man is appreciating it enough.”

Fay did not have much in terms of details other than that Araluen’s love interest was apparently a man who ‘partied too much’ according to her aunt. She preferred not to ask. Knowing Araluen, the girl was bound to do as she pleased anyway. 

Lira grinned wolfishly. 

“Does my brother appreciate it when you—”

“Whatever it is you’re about to ask, I shall not deign you with an answer,” Sysa cut her off firmly, although she did not look upset. Lira just grinned harder. 

Fay looked around for possible exits. 

“A boy kissed you and you didn’t like it,” Sysa commented, switching her attention back on Fay. “Maybe human boys are just terrible at this?”

“Not all of them are,” Lira remarked off-handedly with a smirk.  

Sysa’s brows went up, her head tilting towards the other woman. “Really?” Lira was seated sideways in an armchair, legs slung over one armrest and her back against the other. She also had a cup of ale in her hand. 

“They can be fragile, though.” Lira shrugged. 

Fay just stared, mouth gaping. 

Both of her aunts noticed. 

“What? I thought you wanted to know more about this topic.” Sysa asked. Fay had not asked for that specifically. She had merely brought up how courting worked in that world. “We’re not judging by the way, darling. You may kiss as many boys as you like.” She smiled teasingly.

“I—what---no---I don’t---” Fay took a deep breath and rubbed her hands over her face. Those two would be the death of her.  

“Darling, we are jesting,” Sysa sighed before finishing what was left of the ale in her cup. She leaned forward to place it on the table between herself and Fay, then gestured to the girl to come over to her. 

“Come here, come.” Fay got up and walked over to her aunt, who straightened into a sitting position so they could sit side by side. The redhead slung an arm over the girl’s shoulder, pulling Fay close. 

“Tell me. This human boy who kissed you. Was he not appealing? Or perhaps he just lacked skill?” Sweet Maysoon , why did her aunt have to put it like that ? She was even worse than Damian, and that said something. 

Fay shrugged. “He was, um… fine, I think but… I didn’t like him in that manner.”

“Was it not consensual?” Sysa asked with a more serious face. Fay failed to see the way the amusement faded from Lira’s face as well, and the way the woman’s eyes narrowed. 

“It wasn’t---it wasn’t like that.” Fay defended weakly. “I think… he misinterpreted that I was interested. He didn’t—he wasn’t forceful, and he did apologise afterwards. I didn’t---I didn’t mind it, I suppose.”

“Because you were curious,”

Fay nodded shyly. 

“But you did not enjoy it?”

The girl shrugged one shoulder. “I… it was not unpleasant.”

Sysa raised a brow. “Darling, in this family we do not settle for ‘just not unpleasant’.” She brushed Fay’s hair away from her face. “There’ll be some… trials and errors, but you should aim to be satisfied.”

Fay closed her eyes, feeling light-headed. 

“I, um…”

“I do not mean sexually, although that goes without saying.”

Oh dear.

“Does the other boy do a better job at least?”

If there ever was an ideal moment to be kidnapped or attacked, that would have been it. Fay thought she’d rather take a plunge in a frozen lake again than sitting through a conversation in which her aunt was implying Damian was satisfying her…in that way. 

The hotness in her cheeks spread quickly down her torso and finished in the pit of her stomach like lava dripping into a crater. 

“Sysa,” Lira drew the other woman’s attention, then shook her head at the woman. “Let’s give her a break. We’ve had our fun.”

The redhead blinked. “What? There’s nothing wrong with having more than one suitor.”

Fay bowed forward to hide her face in her hands, before shaking her head to herself.  

“Is this because you’re half-human? Are---is everything working well? Oh, sweet Tora, I have never thought of that. Perhaps we should talk to Moma or ask one of the healers to check?”

Lira sighed. Fay groaned loudly. 

The Estaris, for all their prowess and talent, could be very incognizant creatures. 

(it was no wonder Damian’s behaviour no longer fazed her) 

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That weekend, Fay received some interesting lectures on anatomy from the island’s female healers. It was a decidedly less painful experience than her well-meaning but oblivious aunt trying to teach her about how important it was for a woman to ‘take care of her own needs’. That had been… illuminating. She did end up fainting when she got up from her chair too fast. 

Bagheera was very confused as to why his Fay started spending an inordinate amount in the bathroom. 

Or why she’d experience so many different emotions simultaneously.

It was dizzying. 

Sigh . Other's emotions could be so puzzling at times. 

 

Chapter 66: Of getting off guard and a new birth

Notes:

Next update will be in 1-2 weeks, folks.

Chapter Text

“During adolescence imagination is boundless.
The urge toward self-perfection is at its peak.
And with all their self- absorption and personalized dreams of glory, youth are in pursuit of something larger than personal passions,
some values or ideals to which they might attach their imaginations.”


— Louise J. Kaplan

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It was not that Damian was immune to the onslaught of hormones assailing his body. It was that having control over his body, and by default, other aspects of his life that may impact his physical condition had been deeply ingrained within him since a young age. Travelling around the world with his mother, he’d had the chance to taste the finest foods and wear the finest clothing, while also growing up to maintain a disciplined approach to his diet. His body was a temple for his mind. It wasn’t until Gotham that he suffered the threat of falling into unhealthy patterns thanks to Grayson’s constant desire to get him to try out all manners of high-carb, sugary foods. Brown was no better, having an absurd obsession with pancakes. She was moderately skilled at making them, although he would rather take a blade through his heart than let her know of that. Pennyworth was no saint either, with his offers of hot chocolate but Damian was a little more willing to offer him credit given the man generally served nutritionally balanced dishes and had knowledge of non-Western cooking as well. 

The hormones were a necessary evil, in Damian’s opinion. It was a natural part of his physical development, that stage in his life that would mark the passage from childhood to adulthood. Not that he’d ever seen himself as a child, at least not when it came to becoming an accomplished fighter. He welcomed the newfound appetite because it served as a precursor to building more muscle. He certainly welcomed the growth spurt, because he could push his body in ways he hadn’t before, albeit he would miss the advantages of being smaller than his opponents in most battles (not that it was something he’d ever admit, either). What he did not welcome were the unbecoming and unpredictable moments when his voice cracked during a conversation or how despite being able to grow facial hair, it was not as uneven as he would have liked it. In time, it would be, he was confident of that. After all, he was genetically perfect. 

What he loathed, however, was the way his body had become inclined on betraying him regardless of his mental focus and commitment to discipline. Grayson told him he was already far more in control than most adolescents his age. The boy was inclined to disagree, knowing the number of times he’d found himself having to rely on cold showers, meditation, or exercise to get rid of the unwelcome rush of blood to his crotch. He understood that it was a necessary part of that developmental stage, and on most occasions, he was proud of how well he managed himself.  

Then there were those times when he had no choice but to lose a battle to win the war, particularly when he had no time to meditate or shower. Fortunately, that did not happen often. When he had no choice but to indulge the act of rebellion on his body’s end, Damian did what he did best when confronted with something he would rather not deal with emotionally, because he abhorred the vulnerability and sense of weakness that came with it. He relied on data. He recreated a scientific vision in his mind of what happened to his body because that made him feel far more comfortable than thinking he was fondling himself in his bed or in the shower like any other adolescent who couldn’t control themselves.

He thought about the anatomical implications of what was happening, the part that the central nervous system played. That was not enough to let him be done with what he otherwise turned into a quick, perfunctory action so he allowed his mind to temporarily leave the clinical sphere. He did not fantasise, or so he told himself, but he thought in the abstract. Faceless individuals with just enough physical markers to allow him to reach the vas deferens phase, and he inevitably learned what worked better and by default allow him to fulfill that nagging impulse. He was not so naïve or arrogant to think that he would always be impervious to that side of him, but if there was anything adolescence had taught him so far it was that while his libido was within his range, he had yet to feel sexually attracted to anyone. The magazines Todd had left in his bedroom, no doubt thinking he was very funny for doing so, held no interest to Damian. Neither did any other imagery he had come across in his own research (because failing to prepare was preparing to fail, after all). The stack of glossy pages had ended up in the fireplace. 

He concluded that he was far too superior a being to be so easily distracted by the bodies of others, and when the time came for him to produce an heir, his chosen mate would have to fulfil a very long list of criteria to hold his attention. He could have an heir without becoming entangled in the unnecessary and meddlesome relationships his father has a terrible record with. Bruce certainly represented a learning lesson. At least that had been his initial assessment when he was younger. Gaining a sexual drive did not change the fact that he would rather not have another person close to him, even more so when he was in an inevitably vulnerable state. 

No. Something else had changed. 

He hadn’t realised that until one evening when he found himself having no choice but to soothe his traitorous body’s impulse. He’d tried four times to enter a meditative state, but he had been unable to maintain it. A shower or exercise was out of the question because there was a freshly stitched wound on his left hip. Not a serious injury but cumbersome all the same. He went through the same pattern as before. Almost the same. He struggled that day, and he blamed it on the pent-up stress he experienced because of an argument he’d had with his father during patrol. 

Then it happened. As if his body was betraying him wasn’t enough, his mind decided to form a revolting partnership with it. Because it was his mind that procured those images, it was his mind – the mind that was always so focused and rational and lightyears ahead of others – that decided to abandon all logic. Later, he’d wonder if he’d inhaled something on patrol, or perhaps the blade that had cut his side had been dipped in one of Poison Ivy’s potions. 

All his senses were engaged, as his malfunctioning brain suddenly replaced all the faceless bodies with a very specific and vivid image. Ironically, nothing as explicit as he had previously imagined, yet far more powerful, causing him to lose control in a manner he hadn’t before. It was the scent of patchouli shampoo that now lingered on his pillows, which he would later suspect – and blame – for having sent him careening in that manner. It was the pale skin that was by no means flawless and looked deceptively fragile. It was the feeling of breasts pressing against his back and calloused hands touching him affectionately, if not reverently over his stomach, over the scar left behind by the Heretic. In reality, it never went further than that, but his mind (un)helpfully supplied what it would feel like if the hand hadn’t stopped there. It was the sound of a whisper, hot and tickling against his ear, telling him how beautiful he was inside and out, and how loved he was even if his hands were forever stained. It was the sight of a body moving around in the air, on the ground, under the rain with the skin he knew was hot to touch and soft in some places, scarred in others. With a body that he knew up close, buzzing with energy and refusing to break even if it hadn’t been built to be perfect as his. A body that hosted kindness and love and they were all offered to him because he was hers so that meant she was his to see and explore and---

Damian was not proud of the choked gasp leaving his mouth or the way he ended up a trembling mess afterward, staring horrified at the soiled sheets and his hand which had worked against him (quite literally). The traitorous side of his brain that had gotten him into that situation – having to scrub himself clean until he managed to rip one of his stitches open, shoving the sheets in the washing machine at four o’clock in the morning – receded like a cowardly animal. It had taken him by surprise, forced him to give in to a primal side of his psyche that he thought himself above and then retreated just as quickly. As he sat in the laundry room, blood seeping through his ripped stitches and water dripping from his hair, Damian was filled with repulsion. Disappointment.

He stared at the sheets being rolled around wildly inside the washing machine, being rinsed, scrubbing out the evidence of his shameful weakness. Of the way he had allowed himself to sink so low that he had reduced his friend – her, her, her – to be a source of his own sexual gratification. She shouldn’t have been there, in his mind, like that. He should have stopped, but he couldn’t even do that. He kept spiraling, letting himself become a victim to pleasure. Even at that moment, after twenty minutes of icy water pelting down his skin and with his left hip aching, he could still feel the lingering heat below his navel. The patchouli scent was still in his nose, and there were ghost fingers running over his skin. 

Fay did not deserve to be used in that manner, even just as a memory. She had allowed him to be close to her, she trusted him. She trusted him with her mind and her body and her fears and her hopes and her scars and her anger. She trusted him with her heart, too. If she knew, Fay would be so disgusted. Betrayed. She might not stop caring for him, but she’d never come close to him again. 

That couldn’t happen. Even if keeping her at arm’s length would mitigate further incidents from taking place, he’d be punishing her for his own weakness. 

If Alfred made the connection between the sheets in the washing machine and the ripped stitches, he did not comment on it. 

Damian would never let himself get caught off guard like that again. 

(It was not the last time it happened.)

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Fay shook her head vehemently as soon as her eyes landed on the object she was presented with by her mentor. “No.”

“They are not the same.”

“No.” Her wrists tingled as if to emphasise that her body remembered well what had happened the last time she’d worn seals. Kaera, for her part, looked understanding. Lira looked like she was torn between agreeing with Fay and agreeing with Kaera about Fay being a walking beacon because of her flux. Learning how to suppress and hide the flow of energy within her to maintain a low profile would take months of training which they did not have, but since her phasing, Kaera told her, Fay’s presence was easily detectable from even a mile away. For someone as experienced and sensitive to other energies as Kaera herself, at least. They couldn’t, however, hope that Fay wouldn’t come across someone able to detect her like that in Gotham. What if Bernard had other people he’d found and convinced of fulfilling his agenda, like Klaus and James? It was no longer a possibility they could dismiss easily. 

“Flea,” Lira said. “Kaera knows what she’s doing. She’s not on Ranis’s payroll or one of those inexperienced, traditional morons in Maysoon. Remember, Evara wore them sometimes, no matter how practised she was at masking her energy.”

Fay looked at her aunt, then at Kaera before letting her gaze fall on the table between them. On a piece of dark velvet cloth, there were two rings. Simple bands, silver and customised to fit her fingers. On the side, small seals had been inscribed with precision, although she could tell they were simpler than the ones on the bracelets. Kaera walked her through them, offering her a better understanding of how they differed. Fay could see how no one had been able to tell that the bracelets had been forged incorrectly; the seals could be tweaked to be more powerful in very subtle ways. The ones that had nearly killed Fay were the same type a criminal would wear when incarcerated. They were made to resist their wearer’s attempts to remove them, becoming more punishing the more one tried to force them off. Fay’s flux had been underdeveloped, that’s why the seals had taken such a toll on her health and connection with the natural energies. 

The rings, however, were safe, both women reassured Fay. Not only had Kaera built them out of a material that could be destroyed more easily than the bracelets, but she used seals that truly acted as an inoffensive dam, as opposed to draining and damaging the energy. Fay would barely feel the difference. Her flux would be somewhat muted, but she could remove the rings any time she wanted. “That’s what I was told last time,” Fay mumbled, as she grabbed the rings and inspected them. They could not blame her for feeling paranoid or afraid. 

“Try them.” Kaera encouraged.

“Do you think I’d allow anything to happen to my favourite niece?” Lira smiled, reassuring the girl. 

Fay sighed. With slightly trembling hands she turned the rings around in her palm, studying every single inch. They looked so inoffensive, just like the bracelets had. After a minute or two of deliberation, she slid one of the rings onto her left index finger, fully expecting to feel the tight pressure she had with the bracelets. It never came. She felt the seals activate in response to her energy, but they remained lukewarm. No burning sensation, no electrifying pain, no light-headedness. Her flux did not feel cut off or weak, just… mellow. When she added the second ring, the effect was stronger. Not unpleasant, however. It was as if someone had given her relaxants for the energy within her, keeping it tame. Kaera also told her that the rings would present a mild resistance if Fay tried to summon her flux, but they would not withstand that type of pushback for very long. 

Fay tested them out. She was relieved to find there were no blockers in drawing the energy to her hands, it flowed as it should. She felt the rings warm up, the seals glowing mildly. However, they did nothing beyond that. She repeated the process a few times, with the same result. Fay removed the rings and put them back on her fingers, repeating the gesture at least a dozen times. It was just as easy as it had been the first time. Both women sitting across from her watched without judgement. 

“A—alright.” Fay swallowed, removing the rings one final time and placing them on the velvet cloth. “You can’t feel my flux as well when they’re on?”

I can.” Kaera said. “They are mild compared to ones I’ve had to wear before. Your flux is developing still, and as a result, it is bound to fluctuate more often. The rings won’t interfere with your development, but they will keep your flux hidden so those fluctuations are not easily detectable. Unless you’re dealing with someone experienced.” 

“Cunningham did not have enough awareness of other energies to detect yours. However, since that Bernard fucker seems to have kept himself busy with recruitment over the years, this will help you keep a low profile.” Lira explained. Gotham was also a magnet for trouble as far as Lira observed, so it was best to play it on the safe side. 

“He might have sensed it,” Kaera said. “But he likely did not understand it. From what you’ve told me, this man relied heavily on his life force to make a connection with other natural energies. If he’d been taught properly, he might not have ended up in that situation.” 

Fay leaned back in her chair to reach inside her bag and pull out her notebook. “Can you tell me more about how that works?”

“Well, as you know.” All living creatures possessed energy. Philosophies around it differed from territory to territory. As Fay could attest, that world had its own beliefs and interpretations of the vital force that was a part of living entities. In Fay’s homeworld, the flux might be dated back all the way to the First Tribes, despite the scant physical evidence available. Dragons had long been hailed as the creatures capable of preserving and protecting the natural flow of energy in the world, seen even as guardians capable of interfering whenever they sensed an imbalance. The Duanima, historically, have always had a closer connection with nature due to their animal side. It was still highly debatable how and when humans had first started to inherit the ‘gift’ of the flux, and the uncertainty around the topic stemmed partially from the old regime forbidding research on the topic. After all, the royal families wished to consider themselves as being at the top of the food chain, given their own gifts had come from the dragons themselves. The idea that humans may have been imbued with power as well was a concept they found threatening, leading to many being hunted down on the basis that they might be misusing the power.
Of course, some of these gifted individuals had had their use. Some had pledged their loyalty to the clans and hence had been allowed to climb the ranks, others had been executed for their cooperation. Not everyone inherited the flux in the same manner. Those who were born ‘marked’ were classified as being most powerful and they had also been the most persecuted. Then there were those who exhibited an affinity for using the natural energies but in a more limited manner, like Klaus. Finally, there were also individuals who fell on a spectrum of ‘awareness of natural energies’ which usually were not considered a threat because they were not imbued with energy as the other two classes. 

“You may not have had the opportunity given you grew up at the palace,” Kaera continued. “But the third class of flux users is the most common type. They can connect with the natural energy, but they must establish a connection that the other two classes are already born with. Some can be particularly skilled like James, and others have even gone on to become accomplished warriors, but they are inevitably limited in ways you and Klaus are not. First, to establish a connection they must use their vital force. For you, Klaus, myself, the flux flows strongly within us so I suppose you could say we are our own conductors. People like James, however, must use the only other thing they have. Their own life force. You may already know this, but using one’s life force is very dangerous.” Fay might know, in fact. That night when she’d fought the Angel when she’d broken the seals, Fay had likely tapped into her own life force. “It is the final resort for a flux master. It is what keeps you alive and depending on if you subscribe to that philosophy, it is your own soul that you are using.” 

Men and women like James were also limited by the static character of the ritual. They had to stay in one place, to focus, and to have a seal that they had to study for years before putting it to practice. If one used the wrong seals – ones that might require a bigger sacrifice of their life force than they should give, for example – they could die. Or end up in the terrible state that James had. The natural energy would rebound onto the user with devastating consequences. For individuals like Fay, Klaus, and Kaera, that energy flowed through them. They were born with a direct channel so while it made them more powerful, they faced their own set of risks in trying to master it. 

“Wait,” Fay said, as she recalled something suddenly. “When I was, uh, seven I think, my mother sent me to help out the farmers in one of the villages.” Punishment for behaving in a very entitled manner. At the time, it had taken Fay two weeks to realise that her parents were trying to teach her humility and modesty. Now that she was older, she understood better why. “I—I can’t believe I haven’t realised it until now, but I remember one of the farmers telling me that they have uh…” She rubbed her forehead. “I can’t remember the name.”

“Is’reh,” Kaera said. 

Fay’s brows furrowed. “Yes, I think so. I don’t understand – I’ve been taught about the other two classes, but I don’t remember hearing about the others?”

The flux master smiled ruefully. “They weren’t always recognized for their abilities. For decades they were placed on the lower rung of those capable of using the natural energies. Evara was working on changing that, and Maysoon, to my knowledge, has among the largest number of Is’reh. At least since the Resistance. Many Is’reh do not have a formal education. The knowledge has generally been passed from generation to generation, and if it skipped one, the next Is’reh might have difficulty accessing the information. Becoming warriors is not impossible for them, they would be effective for certain operations only.”

“Like using someone to kill people undetected?” Fay asked. 

“Unfortunately, yes. That would not have gone unnoticed in our world for so long, but yes.” Kaera nodded. “Is’reh often help out in other ways, and in my opinion, they are not inferior because they cannot apply their abilities for battle purposes. There are Is’reh who lend their abilities to agriculture, for example. Maybe you haven’t realised it at the time, or maybe you’ve forgotten, but I am sure at least one of the farmers you’ve helped with would have been an Is’reh.” 

Fay thought she might vaguely remember one such individual, but the memory was fuzzy. Perhaps she hadn’t processed it at the time, and that was why she found James’s ability to control the mist remotely so foreign. He certainly could have used that connection for better purposes. Or any purpose other than killing and terrorizing people, really. Bernard, however, had kept James under his thumb, fulfilling his agenda in exchange for what? Maybe it wasn’t as much what had been promised to him, as it was the false sense of safety and care that Bernard had offered. Like he had with Klaus. 

All that pain, only for Bernard to throw himself to his death. Fay had no issue with considering him a coward, but something about his death bothered her. After all the effort he’d put into becoming the Sponsor, recruiting and brainwashing both James and Klaus, how could he just throw himself off that cliff? Perhaps he’d been so unhinged that he’d genuinely preferred to die and take the ‘secret’ to the dark paths with himself. Yet, something still felt odd about that. A man who had survived being hunted down and presumably injured severely, a man who had spent years determined to find a way back. That was not the type of man who gave up so easily. 

But she had been there. She’d seen it. There had been no one else influencing his decision. 

At least not there with them. 

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Damian would always be a socially anhedonic individual. Highly cerebral, even if there were moments when – and he loathed to admit it – his temper got the better of him. If only the rest of the world weren’t so stupid, so slow, he might be a little more patient. 

Or maybe not. 

Overall, however, he’d always exhibit a preference over limited social interaction, just as he’d never experience a need for building interpersonal relationships. There’d be those that were necessary such as the ones he’d built whilst working on his project at the museum and other business rapports he’d have to build as the Wayne heir. He didn’t work well with others and being part of a team generally felt like a nuisance. He had once concluded that he would also never be involved in any type of relationship that required a level of emotional entanglement that could get him distracted. He had always scoffed at the idea of friendship, felt disgusted with being considered anything but the true – and only worthy – heir to the cowl and the Wayne legacy. 

There were exceptions, however. 

Dick Grayson would always be the best partner he’d ever had. He would be the first true friend Damian has had; he would be the mentor Damian had never wanted but was glad he’d gained. Dick was everything Bruce was not when he failed Damian’s expectations. Not as the Dark Knight, but as his father. Bruce truly had been easier to look up to when he had been dead. Damian wasn’t sure his father would always trust him unconditionally, or if he was even capable of that. He did not contest his father’s love for him, knowing Bruce would go to the end of the world to rescue him from the grasp of death, but love did not equate to trust. His mother had loved him too (deep down, he thought she still did, in her own way). But Damian knew Dick was an exception because of the way his foster brother made him feel. Accepted, not something feral and incorrigible and monstrous. Family. Not by blood, because now he knew that was not necessary for them to be family. Damian also enjoyed knowing that he had gained a place in Dick’s life that the others before him had not. He was the Robin to Dick’s Batman. Both stood out from the original mold, from their predecessors yet fit perfectly with one another. 

There were other exceptions, of course. Alfred Pennyworth, a wise man of vast knowledge who treated him with the patience and humanity Damian’s real grandfather never had. Maya, because she was both like a sister to him and one of the first people who had loudly, genuinely forgiven him for his mistakes. His father’s many human strays, the menagerie of dysfunctional idiots that continuously made him want to murder them. Even they were exceptions because even when he wanted to bury them alive, Damian knew he’d lay down his life for them. Colin, who had become his friend and ally in an unexpectedly easy manner. 

Then there was Fay. The exception that enjoyed pushing the boundaries the others had not dared to, or failed to in their endeavour. The exception that he did not just tolerate or accept, but craved. The exception that he’d inevitably invited into his life the moment he’d indulged his curiosity. The exception that stood out because it was of his own making, not of his mother’s or father’s. He had sought her out, wanting to get into the mind of that stuttering, clumsy orphan girl who wandered around Gotham with her large wolf-like creature, risking her life to help others, thinking she wasn’t worth anything. And what had that earned him? An insidious need to keep her close and be involved in her life, a selfish desire to always have her attention, an addiction to being on the receiving end of her affection. She had been Pandora’s box and he had opened it. But he didn't regret it. Would he be able to close the figurative lid? To break that bond? It was not a scenario he was interested in entertaining. The moment he became invested in her fears and nightmares and traumas, he’d also become privy to the individual buried underneath it all. The one that others had failed to see, or to appreciate. 

Then she’d returned the favour in an unexpectedly effective manner. 

“I see you.”

Damian Wayne would never be like other individuals. He’ll have exceptions though.  If he lowered his guard to let people in, he’d preserve their place there with steadfast loyalty and commitment. He’d expect the same in return. He did not do things in half measures, so he’d never accept others doing the same. Not when it was his trust and his attention they were handling. As a result, he’d always be incredibly selective with the people he kept around himself. 

He hadn’t decided whether Cora Montgomery would be an exception. Fay had, and that was why Damian tolerated the blonde. He trusted Fay because she operated by exceptions as well. He was her exception after all, and it was obvious he was of a particular significance given his place in her life was as important as her paladin’s. But Damian wondered if Fay had properly thought through the criteria upon which she made exceptions. 

He knew Fay also found certain aspects of adolescence cumbersome if the way she’d started cursing when she found her forehead full of pimples one morning was any indication. The time at the Academy seemed to have made her feel more self-conscious about her appearance as well. Unbeknownst to her, he’d caught her several times checking herself in the mirror or looking up information on body changes she must have experienced. It was a good thing then that the case was over, and she did not have to return to the Academy. Fay’s problems with self-esteem did not require the addition of ridiculous beauty expectations that would cause her to feel unnecessarily upset, like when one day she’d suddenly felt uncomfortable when she’d ended up on top of him during a wrestling match because she thought she might be too heavy (she wasn’t). He might have mocked her in the past, but Fay was at a stage where she seemed to take it seriously, so he held back from such comments. 

He did find himself wondering if she had to deal with her body betraying her the way he did. Fay did not shown signs of being interested in pursuing relationships of a romantic nature or even sexual curiosity. Damian thought he’d know, given how much time they spent together and how well he knew her. Would she? As a woman, Fay might choose to pursue all those things that would be low on his list of priorities. That was potentially an issue, something that might affect their bond. The next Dupont might not be some hormonal idiot who decided to try his luck, but someone she willingly allowed into her personal space. Fay was a creature that felt intensely. She did not trust easily, and she had scars, secrets that not many would be open-minded enough to accept. She would practice caution, naturally, but what if she did identify someone she viewed as a suitable candidate for her affections? Then Damian would have to make sure she did not commit a mistake. It was his duty to ensure that anyone courting her was worthy of her time and attention, that they would not hurt her in any manner. 

Yet that did not ease his mind. Emotions had a way of corrupting one’s rational self. What if Fay became infatuated with an individual and refused to listen to Damian’s advice? He might have to resort to measures that would inevitably hurt their relationship. If that was what it took to keep her safe, would he cross that boundary?

 What if it wasn’t enough? It was a low possibility – he’d keep her standards high even if she didn’t – but nonetheless possible, that his friend might one day pursue such a relationship. If that were to make her happy however, could he possibly infringe on that? 

There was an exceptional level of trust and closeness in their bond that could not be broken easily, if at all, so why was he not satisfied with that conclusion? Something continued to niggle at the back of his head, a warning bell of sorts. 

He knew with certainty that he wished to keep her safe; failure to prepare was preparing to fail. 

Damian decided he needed more data to ensure that his friend would not be in a position where she was made uncomfortable or full of doubts like with Dupont. 

Once he had more data, the tight feeling in his chest would surely go away.

.

.

.

Fay bit the inside of her cheek as she eyed the large compendium of bottles and jars and bowls that filled every inch of the shelves lining Moma’s tent. The woman had briefly left her alone to go and grab some leaves from the healer’s hut located just a few feet away. Fay had asked whether it would be possible to have a natural remedy for whenever she experienced menstrual cramps, as her body would generally burn through the over the counter painkillers that Alfred gave her. 

Her gaze kept returning to one glass jar in particular that she’d spotted high up on a shelf, near Moma’s desk. It was full of dark, round pills and as the label on the jar confirmed, they were natural stimulants. 

Fay had seen them before. The pills varied in size at times, or colour, but she knew that was due to either the components or how strong they were meant to be. Black pills, as far as she could remember, were full of powerful natural stimulants made out of a variety of plants from Maysoon and beyond. Full-fledged warriors relied on them in order to be able to travel extensively without stops or, in the past more than in the present, to be able to keep fighting for far longer than usual. She also remembered hearing about how some warriors used them to aid them in training. 

When Moma returned to the hut, Fay asked her if she could have any of those. The woman immediately said no. 

“You’re too young,” She grumbled. “You should not rely on stimulants. Those are for emergencies only.”

Fay nodded. She wholeheartedly believed her caretaker’s word and took her advice to heart. 

Two days later, in the middle of the night, she ended up returning there after experiencing another series of nightmares of dead bodies trying to bury her alive. And people dying. People who were not dead yet. 

She shamefully stole two of the pills. The next morning she was so crippled by guilt that she immediately decided to bring them back and apologise to Moma. 

“I am sorry.” She said, head bowed in shame. “I… I should not have done that.”

The woman stared at her sternly. Then she sighed and took the pills Fay put forward while she continued to bow and wait for the woman. 

“You do not need these,” She said eventually. “One’s will is far more powerful than any pill.”

Fay really wanted to believe that. 

“I will prepare you some that are appropriate for you. Not stimulants, mind you, but they will help with dehydration or exhaustion. And you will listen to my instructions, do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The woman nodded. Fay straightened but didn’t meet her eyes. 

.

.

.

For her fifteenth birthday, Fay was given a large collection of her mother’s songs. She couldn’t bring herself to listen to them that night, or the entire time she was on that island. It had been a long time since she’d heard her mother’s voice, and she found herself feeling wary of the overwhelming onslaught of emotions she was bound to experience. It was not the only memory keepsake she received, and she was grateful for all of them. They all went into a trunk that Fay planned to take back with herself. 

“Aunt Lira,” 

“Hm?”

“Do you think they are really dead?” She’d asked that before, years earlier. 

Lira didn’t say anything for a moment. 

“I… think so, flea.” The woman responded. “But I hope I am wrong.”

Right. They could only hope. 

Fay didn’t, though. Not as much as before. 

Bad things happened to good people, and sometimes that was all there it was to it. The pain and loss would always be there. 

But if she couldn’t hope for her parents to come back, then maybe she could hope she’d at least find answers. 

At what cost, though? 

(Years later, she’d wonder if it would have made any difference if she had chosen to not pursue the truth)

Setting boundaries and keeping his distance for a while were the logical next steps for him to take to mitigate further incidents. At least until he was confident that his body would not rebel against him again, that he would not end up sinking so low as to allow the image of his friend to be perverted in that manner. Fay came back after two weeks, and the first thing she did upon seeing him was to jump into his arms. She smelled of the ocean and the jungle and her skin was sunburnt. She was a little taller and a little softer in some areas. She held onto him as if he was her lifeline, a hand threading through his hair and the other fisting his shirt at the back. 

Setting boundaries and keeping his distance were the logical next step. He could achieve that. 

Fay smiled and rubbed her cheek against his as if he were her paladin. Her legs stayed locked around his waist. In her excitement to hug him, she had foregone all worries about being too heavy. “I am home!” She declared cheerfully. 

Setting boundaries and keeping his distance were the logical next step. 

His arms came around her and his nose brushed against her neck. He inhaled as he sat back on the sofa with her still wrapped around him. He didn’t take the logical next step, and told himself it would be a disservice to their friendship if he had to push her away to feel more disciplined. 

He did it for her. 

(And because she felt like home)

.

.

.

For her fifteenth birthday, although already passed, Damian dragged her to the Batcave and forced her to wear a blindfold. 

When he removed it, she was bewildered by what she saw. She was partially reflected in the glass, but she noticed none of that as she stared at the outfit of the faceless mannequin before her. 

“For… for me?”

“—TT—obviously.” He watched her unfalteringly, gauging her reaction. He deftly tapped a virtual button on his tablet without looking, and the glass swished as it retracted up. Fay instinctively stepped closer and reached to brush a hand over the Kevlar the outfit inside the case was made of. It was a full-body suit, black for the most part, save for the emerald accents by the hips and biceps. Simple, discreet lines adding an aesthetic splash of colour to the outfit. Along with it came knee-high lace-up boots that had a thick platform heel, all in black. There were holsters of the same emerald attached around each of the suit’s legs, midway between knee and hip, supported by a belt around the waist. At the bottom of the case, she saw a utility belt – black with green accents again – that could be attached to the belt. The outfit finished halfway over the neck and there was a small device sewn into the material on the side which she thought might be a voice modulator. The mannequin wore a domino mask and gloves as well, both personalised to match the outfit. 

She recognised the style of the mask because she’d once expressed how much she liked the way they looked after they’d visited Venice and attended the Carnival. The mask before her replicated the Colombina style, made to cover only the upper part of the face around the eyes and part of the nose. It meant ‘little dove’ in Italian, she remembered Damian explaining as he’d walked her through all the masks she saw at the Carnival. The Colombina was usually painted in symbolic colours of gold or silver, but the one before her was black with delicate emerald patterns on it. It had no ribbon or baton, and the mask was endowed with the same protective film screen all the other domino masks she’d ever worn had. No doubt, the mask was equipped with the same high-tech as well. The gloves were solid black save for the same delicate emerald patterns re-appearing on the palms and crawling up around some of the fingers. 

It seemed random until it didn’t. Green, like her energy. Green symbols, like her marks glowing. 

There was one more element to the outfit that stood out, but she had kept it last for her perusal. In the middle of the mannequin’s chest, there was a symbol etched onto a round patch. It was composed of three green interlaced arcs, the line unbroken and never-ending. Overlapping the symbol, large enough to be visible and easily identified but not covering it, was the letter ‘T’. 

“That is a Celtic Triquetra.” Damian piped up when she remained silent, and her brows furrowed as she continued to stare at the symbol. “It is also known as a Trinity Knot. There are many interpretations of the symbol, but I believe one would be of relevance. The Triquetra represents the past, present and future, body, mind, and soul. It also represents the Celtic concept of land, sea, and sky, and therefore the natural elements.” 

Fay blinked. 

“Is that---is that what the T is for?”

“A convenient coincidence, but no.” Fay turned her head towards him, looking puzzled. “It is inefficient and risky for you to be operating without a codename. I had a… suggestion.” Or at least that was how Dick had told him he should present it if Damian wanted Fay to consider it and not feel pressured to accept. Damian agreed, but he had no doubt she'd accept it either way. 

“A name? For—as in a---”

“A vigilante name.” 

Her eyes grew wide again. 

“What… is it?”

He smirked. 

Titania. ” Cora blinked, in surprise. 

Fay couldn’t help smiling like an idiot, because it had been three days and she still found herself saying the name out loud. She liked it. She also felt intimidated by it because it sounded… powerful. A warrior’s name. Fay wasn’t sure if she’d earned such a strong name yet, but it was hers, and she was going to make sure she grew into it. Titania was a warrior of her own making. Not Maysoon's. Not of the Estaris or even her parents’ legacy. It was hers, and hers alone. Titania was a blank slate and Fay would have to decide what type of vigilante she’d be. 

When the blonde kept staring at her with raised brows, it was Fay’s turn to be surprised. “What?” 

“Nothing. It’s---a great name. I didn’t realise you were such a great fan of Shakespeare.”

“Huh?”

“William Shakespeare. One of this world’s greatest writers in the English language---”

“I know who William Shakespeare is.”

They both stared at one another. 

“So… you didn’t take the name from his work?”

Fay’s confusion grew by the minute. “I have read some of his works, but I don’t recall coming across the name.”

“Why did you choose it then?”

“I didn’t. Damian suggested it,” She smiled slightly again. “I really liked it.”

Oh, ” Cora grinned. 

“What?”

“He didn’t tell you what it means?”

Fay started to get worried. “Yes. He told me that it was an appellation given to the daughters of Titans, who are gods from Greek mythology.” And real , as well but Fay had a feeling that wasn’t the point that Cora tried to make. 

“Sneaky fella.”

“I am confused.”

Cora continued to grin widely. “There’s a comedy by William Shakespeare called ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” Then she paused, which she thought was good for building suspense. Fay would have disagreed because she grew more confused by the second. 

“And?”

“Maybe I should just let you read it—”

Cora .”

The blonde giggled. “The play is set in Athens, and consists of several subplots but one of these plots---”

Fay threw her a look that said she knew Cora was still teasing her. 

“Okay, okay.” The blonde conceded. “One of the main characters is Titania.”

“Oh.” That was it? Cora said it was a comedy so that was better than a tragedy. Then why was the girl being so—

“Fay.” Cora said with an almost sense of urgency, looking far too pleased by the entire situation. “A Midsummer Night’s Dream is about a forest full of fairies and Titania is the Queen of Fairies!

Oh. 

Oh. 

Her heart skipped a breath. 

.

.

.

Cora knew that what she said the next time she saw Damian could easily sentence her to a terrible, painful fate, but she thought it was a risk worth taking. 

Soooo ,” She smiled, even if the boy didn’t even bother to look at her when she walked up to him. “You agree Fay is a queen even when she’s not wearing the mask, right?”

.

.

.

As a Christmas present, Fay decided that Damian should have a space all for himself. He, of course, had his bedroom at the Manor and the one at the warehouse, and she was also aware of at least three other locations in the city that he preferred not to share with his family. However, none of those places offered him the peaceful solitude she knew he enjoyed, a private place where he could think by himself. A place that not even she would access (even if she was allowed) unless explicitly told so or if it was necessary. Since he spent more time at the warehouse than at the Manor, but he didn’t use his bedroom there as much, Fay decided that was the perfect location for him to have his private, safe space. 

She asked Dick to help her by keeping Damian distracted for several days. Fay did feel bad when Damian ended up getting dragged to San Francisco to help with a case there, but it also made it easier on her. It would have been difficult to keep the renovations a secret from Damian, especially if it concerned accessing his bedroom at the warehouse and giving it a makeover. Fay kept the entire ‘operation’ under wraps, but she did rope her aunt into helping her out seeing as Lira decided to drop by, relieved she didn’t have to deal with the ‘angry little human boy’ threatening to stab her every five minutes. 

“You’ve always known about this place, haven’t you?” Fay asked, not that surprised when she found the woman lounging on the sofa with no warning at all she was going to be there.

“Absolutely,” Lira smiled, as she amused herself with Pip. She pointedly threw a look around the place. “The others thought you must be out here, starving and ready to barter your soul for some coins.”

Fay frowned. “Seriously.”

“Don’t believe everything they tell you. The Estaris can be dramatic bitches.” Lira lowered the dog to the ground. That seemed to displease him because he tried to jump back on her lap. “With all the emotionless crap they have going on, I think they have to let it out once in a while.”

“Like zoomies.” Fay grinned. 

“What?”

.

She made a mental note of breaking it gently to Damian that her aunt had been there while he was away.  

“Hey,” Lira started, somewhat awkwardly while Fay was floating up in the air, adding the second layer of paint to the ceiling. “You know Sysa meant well that evening, right? But that doesn’t mean you have to worry about none of that now. Or—or later, either.” She was not qualified for that conversation. Or maybe she was, just for the wrong reasons. 

Fay lowered herself to the ground, brush in one hand. Paint dripped on the floor, but she wasn’t bothered. She’d laid two layers of plastic sheet on the wooden floor and Bagheera made sure none of the pets wandered inside the room for the time being. 

“I… I know.” She said. “What brought this on?”

Lira’s throat constricted. She couldn’t talk about it, not with her wide-eyed niece who despite all she’d been through was still far more innocent than Lira had ever been. I was her age, Lira thought, then she pushed that thought away. It had been a long time. Enough that she no longer felt defined by it. It was all in the past, so dredging it up would do no good. Not to Fay. 

She shrugged. “No reason.” She hesitated. “You can come to me. If you want to ask. Not just about that .” Evara would have offered that as well, right? She wouldn’t have forced Fay to open up, but let her know there was a safe space for her, always. “You can come to me.” She repeated. 

Fay stared at her for a moment longer, then she smiled brightly. “I know. Thank you, Aunt Lira.”

Huh. Maybe I am better at this than I thought.

Lira uncrossed her arms and slapped her hands together. 

“Alright, so what am I doing next?”

“I want to… do it on my own if that’s alright,” Fay said gently. “Damian doesn’t like people touching his things and I want to own it. Because it was my idea.”

“Fine by me. I am going to raid your kitchen, then.”

Fay couldn’t help smiling at that. 

That evening, her aunt finally understood what ‘Tinkerbell’ meant. She’d never admit it, but it was a damn good nickname. She also discovered a whole cupboard of delicious black and white cookies that she ended up gorging herself on. 

Her niece was thoroughly amused the entire time. 

.

Fay hovered in the threshold as she watched Damian look around his newly renovated room. She was assailed by a sense of doubt. What if it was better if she hadn’t touched his room, although it was barren and rarely ever used? What if he didn’t like the idea of his private space being dictated by another? What if he didn’t like the layout or the décor or the items she’d bought? He was a rather hard character to please. 

The boy’s face was unreadable as he took in the changes she’d made. The walls had been painted beige and the scent still lingered, but it was not cumbersome. In time, it would go away entirely. On the wall at the end of the room, across from the entrance by the window, at least three different easels of various sizes and makes were situated near the source of natural light. Fay had bought and installed most of the new furniture herself, including the large folding art storage cabinets pushed against the same wall with the window. When he opened them, he found them so full of art supplies, tools, and accessories that he could have opened a small store with them. There was also a glass architecture table not unlike the one in his bedroom at the manor, along with a stool. 

The wall to his left had his single bed, the sliding doors leading to the closet room which she’d left untouched, and another cabinet full of art supplies. To his right, aside from the space where the door of the bathroom was placed, the entire wall was full of shelves that she’d also put there herself. Like most of the furniture in the room, they were a rich rosewood colour that played off well against the beige walls and dark wooden floor. Fay had filled those shelves with books primarily on art, even going as far as to organise them chronologically instead of alphabetically because she knew that was how he kept his books at the Manor. There were over three hundred books on there, all of which she had gone ahead and bought for him, and when Damian perused through them, he found that not all of them had been acquired in the US. Some would have had to be purchased from abroad, with a good part of them being limited editions or of an even rarer nature. 

The exercise equipment he had kept in the past had been removed, which made sense because he had very rarely used it. If he exercised at the warehouse, he had the equipment on the roof. The wall was now full of cabinets that she’d put up, still empty for the better part. When she caught him looking at them, Fay explained that she knew he enjoyed collecting items from his cases or his travels; he could fill those however he wanted. She had intended on obtaining mementos from the places he’d told her he’d travelled when he was young but unfortunately, she hadn’t had the time. In the middle of the room, she’d preserved the presence of his three desks forming an ‘L’ and chair, along with all the equipment he had kept previously. 

“Um,” Fay said as she flew inside the room and drew his attention to one of the art storage units near the windows. He hadn’t opened that, but he assumed it was just as full of things as the other. 

Fay unfolded the unit and turned towards him as he approached her, still silent. 

“This one has art items from my world.” She smiled. “Pigments from Aeryg and Maysoon, brushes from Atlabas, paper from um—well different places.” That was just scratching the surface. Damian could see the shelves had bent slightly underneath the weight of all the gifts she’d brought back from her world. She couldn’t have procured all that in two weeks on the island and he doubted she’d found everything there, so Fay must have arranged to have the art supplies imported. “My family asked what I’d like for my birthday, so I made a list.” Fay smiled sheepishly as she awkwardly waved a hand towards the cabinet. Then she gestured towards the shelves full of books. 

“I brought back books on artists of my world. Art movements, as well. Not just art—there’s philosophy and history and politics. Unfortunately, not all are translated to English, but I could do that for you---" She was rambling because she was nervous, he could tell. She was worried he didn’t like her surprise. 

He grabbed her by the wrist just as she was about to glide past him whilst pointing out that if he didn’t like it, he could always change everything to how he wanted it. Fay stopped and allowed him to pull her closer as if she was a kite until she was only a few inches away. Her feet lowered to the ground; she was shorter than him now, by at least three inches. 

“I will not change it,” Damian said, simply. He didn’t care about the colours or choice in furniture or how she changed the layout. Fay had worked for days on that place, not for aesthetics but because she wanted him to have his own space. He’d given her hers, after all, she’d said when she’d first told him there would be a surprise for him back home, so she tried to give him one in return. He could tell by the band-aids on her fingers and the paint still stuck in her hair that Fay had worked on that room up until the last moment. He had figured she had something to do with Grayson sending him to San Francisco because Fay had asked no questions about the trip. She was a terrible liar. 

He hadn’t expected that.  

Saying thank you felt insufficient. For her, it wouldn’t be, but it would be for him. Especially when she looked at him so earnestly, wishing to make him happy. 

“Get dressed.”

Huh ?”

They went to St. Moritz, Switzerland, with Damian and Bagheera on the back of Goliath and herself flying by the dragon bat’s side. It was a long journey that required several stops, but Fay was delighted the entire time, alternating between soaring through the skies freely or sitting with Damian and Bag on the back of Goliath. 

Fay fell in love with the Alpine resort upon sight. Besides the thick, tall blankets of snow covering everything and the beautiful, bright Christmas decorations, St. Moritz was an incredible blend of contemporary and historical architecture. The Gotham Christmas Market paled in comparison to the boutiques and attractions there, and Fay had ended up lightheaded by how many wonderful places she saw. She tried as many foods as her stomach could possibly allow. She zigzagged from store to kiosk, kiosk to store, struggling to keep her feet planted on the ground because she was that excited. 

Later, Damian watched as his friend turned into an absolute child as she ran around amongst the trees, throwing herself into the snow and rolling around. Bagheera was just as guilty of the childish behaviour, instigating snow fights or plunging himself into the snow. Goliath whined beside him, clearly eager to join in. “Fine.” Damian said. If anyone asked later, Damian would insist that he had not engaged in such immature play fighting. If anyone asked Fay, she’d tell them how Damian had ended up turning an inoffensive snow fight into a full-blown war zone between herself and her paladin, and himself and Goliath. She laughed so hard that evening that the next morning her voice was gone, and she’d gained a cough. 

The next morning, although they had barely slept the night before, they travelled using the highest railway across the Alps. The train passed across over two hundred and fifty bridges, and through at least eighty tunnels. In their private first-class panoramic wagon, Fay saw breath-taking viaducts. She decided then that despite how beautiful the Northern territories in her world were, she preferred that location. Of course, it might also have something to do with the fact that she was there with the two most important people to her. 

Damian did not marvel or stare as much as she did, and despite the occasional protest, he indulged her every request which, truth be told, were hardly any. Fay was just happy to be there. She missed the way he’d stare at her, absorbing the way her eyes would light up and her smile threatened to split her face in two. 

Once they were in Zermatt, they reunited with Goliath who had followed the train high up in the air. The next morning, they’d return to Gotham. Fay had no complaints. If she’d had a choice, she would have stayed there for days, if not weeks, just to keep experiencing those peaceful, happy moments. However, those days had been two of the Greatest she’d had in a while. 

“Are you sure it’s alright that we’re here?” Fay asked as she sat on the sofa next to the boy, showered and changed into her fleece pyjamas. The room was warm and the heat from the fireplace before them was soothing, especially to her sore throat. The chalet was perched up high in the mountains, miles away from the nearest village, although she could make out the ski resort in the distance from her bedroom window. After she’d changed, Fay had wandered around the chalet’s three opulent floors, making a mission of seeing their surroundings from all possible angles, taking pictures along the way. She returned to the living room on the first floor, which had floor-to-ceiling windows and a glass roof, offering her a panoramic view of the enchanting winter scenery. She was reminded of what Gothamites were missing when she caught sight of the clear sky and all its glimmering stars. 

Bagheera was already asleep near the fireplace, snoring loudly. Racing Damian down the mountain while the boy skateboarded his way down had left the paladin spent. Fay herself felt drained, having taken the opportunity to work with her flux as she came down at high speeds. Goliath was resistant to the cold temperatures, but Damian had told him he could hide in the garage if needed, as a snowstorm was due to hit the area that night. 

“Yes,” He tutted. 

He wasn’t really annoyed, Fay knew that. If anything, Damian was in a particularly good mood, and that generally manifested itself not in the boy acting cheerfully or that different from the usual. No, his good mood was marked by the way his shoulders lost their tension, how the frown usually present on his face mellowed, how willing he was to close his eyes and simply lay back on the sofa, as he did right then. 

Spurred by the rush of affection she felt for him, Fay crawled over to him slowly. A panther may relax but that did not make it any less dangerous. Not that she was worried he’d hurt her, but he did tend to react suddenly. 

Which was exactly what happened. Within a few seconds, Fay found herself squished between the sofa and her friend, staring up at him rather than down. That was when she realised that perhaps she’d been counting on it all along. He felt warm and solid, which made her feel safe and protected. Something hot bubbled in the pit of her stomach as she stared back into those green eyes and became very, very aware that their bodies were pressed tightly against one another. Nothing new about the thought that felt good because she’d always liked being close to him, yet something was different about this. Maybe it was the awareness of how strong his hand felt on her hip, or how sharp the line of his jaw was becoming, or how his shoulders felt broad when she instinctively wrapped her arms around them. 

He looked so… calm, the tension gone from between his brows and the half-lidded eyes. And something else. Something she couldn’t name but made her heart flutter and fill her with immeasurable delight. She had seen variations of that expression before, but he still managed to make her feel as if everything else around them was suddenly gone. “I—” She blamed her inability to speak properly on her recovering throat. “Tha—thank you.” She rasped. “For… bringing me here.”

“Hn.’’ He shifted forward and for some reason, her breath caught in her throat. She must have really done a number on herself with all the laughing and talking in the cold weather (although she knew well that she wasn’t as susceptible to cold as other humans). He didn’t---he didn’t do what ? What did she expect? Damian was just changing his position, one of his knees falling between hers and she watched, still holding her breath as he lowered himself slightly to position his head below her sternum. Fay had to remind herself to breathe, and she flinched when she coughed lightly, thinking that might jostle his head hard enough he’d get annoyed and move away. He didn’t. But he did make her mildly self-conscious about her stomach as she suddenly recalled the flat, toned expectations that other girls had at the Academy. She did carry muscle, more so than most girls her age in that world, but the area of her stomach had never been flat. When she bent over, she had folds that she’d heard other girls feel disgusted at the prospect of. Even Cora, who was naturally slim and petite, had once expressed how she knew she shouldn’t worry about such things but felt self-conscious all the same about her stomach and hips. 

It didn’t matter though. Why would it matter? Damian was a friend, family. Even if he found it unattractive – why was that even a consideration? – he would not judge her for it. 

Fay shook her head to herself, pushing the thoughts away and focusing on the great moments of the past two days. His arms fell to her sides and wrapped around her loosely, his right hand resting against her hip. His head was heavy and warm against her, and judging by how lax he’d gone against her, Damian didn’t plan on moving anytime soon. She hoped not, as she left one arm wrapped loosely over his shoulders. The other bent at the elbow so she could slide one hand through his hair, brushing her fingers gently against his scalp in different patterns. Tilting her head to the side, she glanced at her paladin – he was belly up, tongue lolling out and deep in sleep – before looking out the window. It had started to snow. Looking up, she noticed the sky was no longer as clear which meant the snowstorm would arrive earlier rather than later. 

She didn’t care. 

Fay wished there was a way to make sure that moment remained ingrained in her mind forever, down to the smallest detail. The smell of cedar, the heat coming from the fireplace, the relaxed weight of Damian against her, the contentment her paladin unwittingly projected in his sleep, the way she could hear Goliath’s snores because they were so loud and rumbling, they echoed from across the other side of the property. 

(Those were the moments that kept a person’s will alive in the darkest of times.)

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Fay did feel like Santa Claus, or at the very least one of his helpers, as on the twenty-fourth day of the month, she went around Gotham handing gifts to various people. Tickets to Paris for Helen Wilmot and her family, including four whole days at Disneyland. Cruise tickets – oh the irony – for Mack and his family, “Got them on a discount, I promise!”, a set of perfumes for Dana that were actually from Fay’s homeworld but she lied saying she’d bought them abroad. Robby’s gift was not traditional – it came in the form of a phone call from the Paws Planet owner offering him a veterinary apprenticeship with one of the senior veterinary doctors there. He was so happy that he ended up hugging her and swirling her around. Cora received several packages with handmade creams from Moma herself and a silk scarf. 

Fay gifted various items to the members of the Wayne household, including Jason whom she had to track down in a seedy part of the town because she wasn’t sure when he’d next come by the warehouse. She handed him a novel from her world that she’d translated and printed as a hardback along with a blade made of exart. It wasn’t until later when Dick told Jason what he and others received that the latter would realise he might have gotten the best of gifts. Except for Damian, of course. 

He kept the information to himself, but the blade was now on the wall next to his collection of swords, and he ended up reading the book at least twice. 

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Just like on the first New Year’s Eve she had celebrated in that world, Fay spent the evening on the warehouse’s roof with a blanket around herself, watching Gotham City over the River. She’d agreed that Titania would not make her debut for another few months, after one more trip to the island planned for the late months of spring. Until then, she would be training intensively in Gotham. Lately, the other members of the Wayne household took turns sparring with her, like Stephanie. Lira had also told her that she’d support Kaera with training on the island, as it might not be possible for Thelion to visit. Fay didn’t mind, as that was her first opportunity to train with her aunt. 

Bagheera preferred to stay inside, because that year, Gotham was particularly raucous. It seemed one part of the city was busy celebrating the passage into the new year with fireworks while another was plagued by explosions. Alfred reassured her that her support was not needed, but Fay had nearly suited up several times when she kept seeing new rings of smoke rise in the air. 

It was approximately four in the morning when Damian landed on the roof of the warehouse and found her drowsing in her lounge chair. Sensing him, she woke up and walked over to inspect him. A few bruises, a few cuts, but nothing major. He smelt terrible though, which apparently had something to do with a villain calling himself Fishmonger

“Fishmonger.” She repeated, laughter bubbling in her throat. 

Regardless of the state he was in, she peeled his mask off and kissed his cheek. “Happy New Year.” 

“Hn.”

Later, after he’d showered and changed, sitting beside her on the bed while she once again drowsed off, Damian leaned forward and returned the favour. His mouth landed on the corner of her mouth. She was not awake enough to process that, or maybe she didn’t mind. Fay just smiled lazily, then pressed her head against his shoulder. 

“Damian?” Fay asked as she approached the boy sitting at his desk. The rule was that if he left the door open to his newly renovated bedroom, it meant she could go in as she pleased. If it was closed, it meant he needed the space for himself. It rarely ever was closed, but Fay didn’t mind when it was. He also gave her space when she worked her way through old negative patterns of thoughts or bad memories or just felt like being on her own. 

She waited until he looked up at her. His eyes flitted from her face to the heavy wooden box she held in her arms. 

“I, uh… I think I am ready.” She said, knowing she did not need to clarify what she was referring to. He knew what the box contained, and why it had been left untouched since she’d brought it from the island. “Is it alright if you… listen to them with me?” She felt as ready as ever, but she was worried that she might lose her courage. Or she might end up having a bad panic attack. She knew he would say yes, but she felt guilty for still needing him in that manner even if there was no other person she’d choose to listen to her mother’s songs with. 

Of course. Damian didn’t reply but he closed the lid of his laptop and got up from his chair. 

A few minutes later they were sitting in her bedroom, and Fay took out the musical device inside the box. Her family had also given her some of her mother’s jewellery, several blades from her father’s collection, and at least two photo albums containing over two hundred pieces. They’d all been salvaged from the old palace. The musical device was a compact square piece of technology capable of recording and replaying dozens of songs that Fay could also manually select or shuffle through. Much like the communication device they used when they were apart, the musical device also had holographic technology incorporated in it. The holographs in this one were of her mother, singing at different venues. Her family had also included other moments with her mother, be they private or public events. Her father and other family members were bound to appear in those projections, including a younger version of herself and Bagheera. Sysa told her that there were at least a hundred hours’ worth of memories on there, something they’d put together from other salvaged recordings or devices in the old palace. 

They didn’t watch everything that night but despite how it made her feel like crying, Fay also did not have the hard time she thought she would. She sat down, back propped against the headboard with the boy on one side and the paladin on the other as for the first time in three years, she watched a holographic rendition of her mother singing from beginning to end. 

Damian felt compelled to agree that the woman’s voice had been a gift. He could see clearly now why people were so inclined to put her on a pedestal given her talents and her achievements. 

And why Fay would find it so hard to watch those recordings. 

Chapter 67: Of considerations and rumble in the jungle

Notes:

Hi folks, it's getting harder to post on a regular weekly basis due to commitments outside of this work, so please bear with me if there's delays :)
Beta-reader: MoonglowOnWater
Enjoy, as always!

Chapter Text

“Jock! Start The Engine!”

-         Indiana Jones

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Fay kept a journal of her first cases as ‘Titania.’ Damian pointed out that it was sentimental when she told him about it, but she didn’t care. It was not just about remembering or keeping mementoes, but also about documenting how unexpectedly she’d ended up becoming a vigilante in that world. Not that long ago, she’d struggled to find a reason to move forward, having completely given up on ever being able to help people. She was also frightened because Fay could feel the burden that came with being someone others would rely on whenever she put on the mask. It was not all about saving people from burning buildings or finding clues in boxes full of old photographs. It could be a matter of life and death. That thought was enough to make her want to back out more than once, but then she remembered that she wanted to become a better fighter. She wanted to gain experience and get used to situations that might otherwise trigger her panic attacks. She wanted to master her flux.

Because she had people to protect, and she could not bear to lose anyone else.

She was not a vigilante like Robin, however. For the time being, although she donned a mask and now had a codename of her own, Fay did not go on patrol as often as Damian, nor was she involved in a case unless she’d discussed it with her friend. Some debate was generally involved because Damian preferred to send her on cases that did not contain as many ‘uncontrollable factors.’ She learned that was code for ‘cases that I’ve already solved and present a minimal risk.’

She’d allow that if only because she had not developed enough confidence and skills to argue that she might be better off working on more complicated, unpredictable cases.

Fay ended up reading A Midsummer Night’s Dream . She was left with mixed feelings regarding the work, given the contrasting themes of how true love would always triumph, while also being foolish and whimsical. She did not detect many parallels between herself and Titania, aside from the fairy symbolism, but Fay didn’t mind. That only made the identity of Titania even more of a blank slate. It was up to her to make something of it. She did find it comical that the work implied natural order would only be restored when Titania and Oberon reconciled. She certainly felt her world was out of balance when she and Damian did not get along.  

Damian caught her reading it. She looked up at him over the edge of her book, smiling. Secretively because he hadn’t admitted that that was where he’d taken the name from, but now it was obvious, she knew. She didn’t say anything. There was no need.

It did make her wonder about something else.

Fay wondered if Titania would be a vigilante of Gotham only .

That made her think about things that made her feel uncomfortable and heavy-hearted – would she always live in Gotham? If she decided to travel, would Damian go with her? What if she wanted to go back to her world--- so she chose not to think about them at all.

It didn’t matter for now. Gotham was her home for the time being, and she had a family there now as well.  

She had plenty of time to figure out everything else.

(Right?)

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Although Damian was not one for team-ups, he found he had no issue leading a team when himself, Fay, Maya, and Colin ended up working on a case together. Bagheera and Goliath naturally accompanied them, as they found themselves working a case involving a notorious drug dealer using homeless children to push his product onto the streets. The case took them out of Gotham and into three different cities as they took down the network and tracked down its ringleader.

It was not the same as working with Grayson, but it came close.

He might no longer feel the immediate need to step into his father’s shoes, but Damian had not given much thought to a future scenario in which he chose not to be the Dark Knight. That left him with questions. He still wanted to be the world’s greatest detective, and who was better than Batman? Who was greater than the Dark Knight? He would not be his father, that he knew, but he’d still don the mask and carry the burdens and responsibilities that came with it.

There was a niggling sensation in his chest that became stronger whenever he made such considerations. Then he thought about Fay and the path she’d taken, far from her parents’ legacies. The idea of surpassing his father and taking over the mantle still appealed to him.  

Yet.

Wouldn’t the most significant accomplishment be to surpass both of his parents by being more than them and yet something they weren’t?

(that idea appealed to him even more)

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Damian thought about Maya Ducard. Not as a fighter, as he was already familiar with her skills, and she’d also earned his respect as one. Instead, he considered the bond that he had with her. She was also an exception, there was an implicit level of trust, and she was amongst the first people to openly forgive him for his past transgressions, including the death of her father. They had travelled together for several months, inadvertently leading her to witness that part of his journey to redeem himself. He wouldn’t say that journey had ended, but he had successfully gained closure on some matters of his past. Some could not be fixed, and that was his burden to carry. Maya knew that too, and she accepted him just like Fay did. Maya had also taken over the identity of Nobody; she understood the weight of filling one’s parents’ shoes as well as having to reinvent the identity she’d taken.

He also thought about her appeal . Maya was pleasant to look at, and when she was older, she would be bound to draw the attention of others with her symmetrical features, olive skin, and bottle green eyes. Damian observed how Colin kept staring at her, trying and failing to be discreet about it. The redhead had developed some sort of infatuation with the older girl. He pointed out to Colin that he was acting like an idiot because he knew the boy would be prompted to justify himself and, in the process, explain why he looked at Maya the way he did.

“I—you don’t think she noticed, right?” She most likely had. Maya had been trained by her father, after all. “ Aw , man, I don’t want her to think I am some sort of pervert. I just think she’s; you know… really pretty. And a super good fighter.” The boy rubbed a hand over his face, which had turned almost as red as his hair. Damian was silent. He almost asked the boy if he thought Fay was appealing, then he stopped because he needed to understand why he wanted to know. Because he wanted to protect her, he reasoned. Not that Colin would pose a threat to her.

Colin beat him to it.

“Fay is pretty as well. Just in a different way, I guess.” Colin said instead. “I think she’s funny and kind.”

The conversation didn’t sit well with Damian, although he did not disagree with the other boy’s assessment. Colin picked up on it, so he changed topics. Maybe, if they had been regular teenagers, they would have had an easier time discussing that. Damian felt reminded of the recorded conversation in the locker room and his brows furrowed. He didn’t think Colin would ever talk about girls in such a disrespectful manner, but his interest towards Maya and perhaps even Fay stemmed from the same place.

Attraction.

When Maya sled an arm around his shoulders, he didn’t push her away or berate her for it. They talked for over an hour, and he remained engaged. Their conversation finished with her kissing his cheek after playfully congratulating him for finally replacing all his deciduous teeth. Damian realised that he’d never thought he’d be the type of person to share an inside joke with someone else, but he did, and he was not bothered by it all. He didn’t feel anything in particular when Maya was close to him. He cared for her, yes, and he was not annoyed when she ventured into his personal space, but he did not feel eager for her to be near. There was a mutual understanding of how much they allowed themselves into each other’s bubble, just like with Fay.

Except not at all like with Fay.

(he felt her absence)

“Hello.” Later, Fay appeared before him, floating in the air with a grin plastered on her face. He grunted, then told her not to attract any attention by flying too high. Damian pretended he didn’t notice the way his heartbeat elevated. Fay pretended she went away, but he knew what she planned, and he didn’t stop her as she came up behind him a few moments later. She slammed into him, wrapping her arms around his midriff, and placed her chin on his shoulder to blow air into his ear. A shiver ran down his spine, and he experienced stomach palpitations.   

His friend was a childish idiot. He took her gesture as a declaration of war, of course, which is what she must have wanted because she stared at him with eyes full of mischief, green wisps of energy already forming at her fingertips.

He decided, there and then, that he liked the way deviousness looked on her.

(he liked it, even more, when it was because of him)

(he felt everything around her, even emotions he didn’t think he could)

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Their journey began with a rather ironic location - South America, where Fay had first landed on earth.

Damian received an alert on his computer about an interesting match. Using a private server, he had programmed the AI software to detect any information available on Bernard and his known associates, Fay herself (primarily to protect her identity and existence on earth), and her world. For the latter, he’d had to scan several pages from the various books she brought back from the island, and he’d also made a database of keywords.

The AI had detected no matches.

Until that day.

“Tell me what you see,” Damian said with a smirk as he rudely pushed the plate of toast away so he could slide the laptop before her. Fay looked disgruntled by that, as she’d just been about to dig into her grilled ham sandwich. With a sigh, she brought her full attention to the screen and found herself looking at a picture of an oil painting. It depicted a vibrant town with domed buildings, cobbled streets, and spectacular colourful vines covering entire walls. Fay did not recognise the location.

“The city is called Cartagena,” Damian explained when she threw him a puzzled look. He still looked satisfied with himself. “It is a major port on the northern coast of Colombia, in the Caribbean.” His smirk widened as he leaned over to tap a few keys on the laptop. His shoulder pressed against hers, and Fay breathed in his scent. He always smelt good, even when he didn’t wear cologne. Fay felt silly when she caught herself admiring the line of his jaw. It had become more defined. Lately, she’d been finding herself noticing all the manners in which Damian had changed physically, and she chalked it all up to how sometimes she was startled even by her own growth. They had known each other for years now; it was normal to reflect on how much they had both changed.

“The author’s signature,” Damian said as he pointed at the screen. “Look here,” He zoomed in on one corner of the painting.

Fay turned her head and her brows lifted high on her forehead when she realised what she was staring at. The font was different, written in white paint rather than ink, but the name was unmistakable.  

The painting’s author was Aranar Carwhel.

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They stepped foot onto the cobbled streets of Cartagena less than twenty-four hours later. It was daytime, and Fay sat on the terraced balcony of their hotel room, a wide-brimmed pale hat and civilian clothing helping her blend in. With her hair pulled back and sunglasses on, Fay was almost unrecognisable and could comfortably admire the city below. It was only mid-April, but the heat was already in the high twenties Celsius degrees, even at eleven in the morning. She soaked in the change of scenery, realising just how much she’d missed that type of climate, and she took advantage of their impromptu visit to learn about the city. Cartagena was an enthralling place, its historical beauty preserved and alleys forming a complex maze. It reminded her of the villages by the lagoons of South Maysoon, where the architecture was smaller and simpler than in the capital.

Bagheera was not with her, instead of taking advantage of the open space to explore and hunt. Damian had taken off as soon as they’d arrived, something about wanting to assess their location and study their target. Still, since they were several hours from sunset allowing them to don their masks, Fay sat back in one of the wooden chairs, drank guava and breathed in the exotic scents.

We are not here on holiday.’ Damian grumbled into her earpiece. ‘Don’t lower your guard.’

“I know.” She remarked cheerfully. “Where are you?” She checked her watch for the red dot belonging to Bagheera’s tracker. He was approximately twenty-five kilometres away, and judging by the zig-zag way he moved, her paladin must be enjoying himself running through the wilderness. He could not check on hers or Damian’s location as they did, but Damian had been working on a customised tracker for her paladin based on a piece of technology she’d told him existed in her world. Bagheera’s collar could guide him back to her if needed through sets of vibrations that acted as signals. They’d tested the collar several times after Damian had finished programming it, and it had worked as intended. Bagheera also had his keen senses and tracking skills to complement the collar, making the risk of losing one another small.  

Borja Antiques.’ The boy replied curtly, then a moment later added, ‘ There are twenty-three visitors and three staff members, including the owner. We will go after closure as planned.’

Fay couldn’t decide if she was excited or nervous about looking at the painting. She expected it to be another red herring, but it was not something they could ignore. Lira had been called back to Maysoon for an unspecified period of time for an unspecified mission. Fay thought about reaching out to Kaera and Len on the island but she’d rather first take a look at the painting herself. Damian could have easily purchased it and have it delivered to Gotham. However, he felt suspicious about the sudden appearance of the painting, hence his desire to assess the art and antique shop and city where the painting was located.

Borja Antiques had been open since the middle of the twentieth century, and it was overall a successful business that catered to clients outside Colombia as well. The owner had uploaded a picture of the painting several days earlier, after –according to the website- having reframed and appraised it. Aranar Carwhel was an unknown painter, according to the official description, and his work couldn’t have been more than two-to-three decades old. Its value was estimated to be a hundred and twenty dollars only. There was no information about how the previous owner came into possession of such a painting, which prompted Damian to call and impersonate an art dealer. The shop owner told him that a man donated the painting after he’d discovered it was of little value. It had merely been sitting in his attic for years after he’d purchased it at a street market.

At midnight, they broke into the shop. Bagheera waited on the roof, keeping an eye on the streets below, which were bustling with locals and tourists enjoying the city’s nightlife. He may or may not have stolen some pastries on his way back to the hotel, but he hadn’t been seen, so what was the harm? His ears twitched as he picked up on the sounds of his Fay and the boy slipping inside the building through one of the windows facing the garden-turned-café behind the property. 

Fay was not sure she’d stop feeling excited about her suit anytime soon, although she’d put it on at least over a dozen times already. She liked the way it made her feel, armoured with easy access to pouches full of weapons and gadgets. The antique shop stretched over two floors, but it was quite narrow, filled with shelves and display cases featuring all manner of objects. Fay tried not to get distracted as she followed Damian, who lead them to the ground floor where the painting hung on a wall besides many others. The artwork measured thirty inches in length and twenty-two in height, and the city of Cartagena had been captured from a south-eastern angle. When they tried to find out where the author could have possibly stood to get that view, they discovered only one building tall enough, and it was not a residential one. Perhaps ‘Aranar’ had used a picture of the town then - the city was too accurately illustrated to have been painted based on memory alone. Beyond that, the painting did not stand out either in topic or technique and given there were paintings as old as a hundred years in the shop, the one they were looking for seemed almost out of place. Boring, unassuming, the type of painting a tourist might splurge on to have as a keepsake of their visit to the city.

Damian removed the painting from the wall and they returned to the storage room, where they placed it on top of a wooden table to study it. Fay stood by him as he went over it with his flashlight, analysing the brand new wooden frame. The painting itself was beautiful, in her opinion, even if it might not seem special compared to the others in the shop. A coat of varnish had been applied by one of the shop’s restaurateurs, reviving the natural vibrancy of its oil colors. Cartagena’s colorful palette was captured down to the smallest detail, including the many Bougainvillaea flowers that crawled their way up walls and balconies.

“There’s nothing special about the canvas. Commercial oil paints were used, and there’s no identifying stamp.” Damian said, suddenly as he examined the back of the painting while Fay kept it up.

“Hey, Dam—Robin—” He threw her a look. She ignored it since she’d heard him use real names before; he was no saint. “Maybe there’s something about the subject?” She asked.

He grunted and stepped aside. She lowered the painting again so they could look over it. Fay wasn’t sure for how long they were there, but they made a list of things that could present a lead. They kept in mind that the Bible had also appeared to be full of leads, but ultimately held none of the information she’d sought. They checked the perspectives used, the accuracy of proportions and architecture, the iconic locations, flora, and fauna depicted in the distance. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary or placed purposefully in a manner to indicate it was of any interest.

Damian came prepared. Inside Fay’s backpack, he took out a lightweight, portable X-ray system that a subsidiary of Wayne Enterprises had developed years earlier for the medical field. The device could acquire images with just a few taps on the screen, and they’d have the results within minutes. “Aha.” He smirked when the first X-ray image materialised on the screen. “I knew it. There’s something underneath the painting, small, in the left top corner.”

Damian pulled his tablet – Fay wondered what else he’d put into her backpack – and redrew the lines of the original painting’s background onto a blank digital canvas.

“Hm,” He stared at the result for a moment, then stepped around the table to show her his drawing.

The sketch looked nonsensical to Fay, formed of interlocking circles that were drawn roughly, which had to be on purpose, to imitate what Damian saw on the scan. The circles had no discernible pattern, but they seemed to form a rough ‘Y.’

“I think I know what this leads to,” Damian remarked.

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Ciudad Perdida . Colombia’s lost city, hidden deep within the jungle of the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta mountains. Fay learned that the city had been built more than a millennium ago and the only way to reach it was by foot, with tourists taking anywhere from five to eight days to hike to the archaeological site. They ended up taking far less than that, and whilst they could have travelled even quicker by air, Fay thought it might be better to have eyes on the ground. Perhaps there were some hidden clues. She was also rather excited about venturing so deep into a location that still held virgin rainforest, which Damian noted, but he agreed with her suggestion.

The dirt path wove past large banana trees, palm trees, and dangling vines – which Fay could not resist to climb or dangle herself from – and they were faced with sweltering humidity as they took on the forty-seven-kilometre trek. They went through several river crossings, which they used to cool off and camp out a couple of times to eat and rest. Fay chose to roll her cotton trousers up to her knees and removed her long-sleeved shirt, baring her arms and shoulders because of the dark tank top underneath.

It was always obvious that she was comfortable in the wilderness when Fay returned to it. Damian watched her jump from tree to tree, climb on the branches, fly down ravines, all the while adopting a behaviour that didn’t surface as often or as easily in Gotham. She was at ease, unbothered by how she looked or came across, and it made her confident. Her reflexes and attentiveness did not miraculously sharpen when she was in the jungle, but their potential was unleashed because she was not weighed down by anxiety.

It was a good look on her. He could imagine Fay in the fantastical jungles of Maysoon, roaming around and interacting with the wilderness like she was part of it. “It’s going to rain.” She said as she dropped down from one of the vines and floated around him. Bagheera was deeper in the jungle, chasing a parrot. He glanced at the skies. They were clear. But he knew she was right because of the pattern of ants on the jungle floors that he’d observed a few minutes earlier.

He also knew she could feel the weather changing. Damian’s eyes fell on her exposed arms. She was no longer as pale as she used to be thanks to the trips to the island and wearing less layers, at least when she was at the Manor or the warehouse. Her shoulders were turning pink as well, to match her nose and cheeks. They made their biggest stop a few minutes before the torrential downpour began, hiding under the tent he set up. Fay created a second layer of protection from leaves and branches with a dexterity and speed that spoke of her upbringing. Bagheera couldn’t fit into the tent, but he didn’t mind hiding under the canopy of trees and keeping an eye on their surroundings.

Damian knew they could have continued trekking, and even if the next river crossing had been affected by the rain, they could have easily made it over. He was not particularly tired, and from the looks of it, neither was Fay. He watched her spill the contents of her pockets; feathers, leaves, and flowers. She looked as excited as a child in a candy store as she splayed them out before her and pulled out her journal to take notes on each object before she put them in a ziplock silicone bag.

The tent was silent save for the pitter-patter of the rain.

“What?” Fay blinked when she felt him staring.

His face betrayed nothing, and he feigned disinterest although he had been inspecting her closely. He could call her silly for collecting such mundane items, but he found he could not do that. Her curiosity was well-founded, and it was by no means superficial or shallow. Fay was always open to educating herself, regardless of her troubles, and it was a quality he respected (amongst many others).

Fay started telling him about one of the reasons she’d enjoyed the attic, despite the small, constricted space. Damian was certain they’d spoken about it before, but he didn’t interrupt or point that out. “It reminded me of a place I had in the jungle. It was deep in the forest, so people didn’t usually go there. I had built it with my mother. It was high up in the tree, as well; I could see everything, and no one else knew about it except my parents.” She reached to scratch at her temple with the back of her pencil. “I didn’t even tell Titoh about its location because we had other spots we went to although I’m sure he knew I had it. This one was just mine. And Bagheera’s.” She smiled slightly. “I liked that I could go to a place that was off-limits to others. It’s silly, but it felt special, I suppose.”

“Why wasn’t it off-limits for you?” Damian asked. “Logic dictates that if the depths of the jungle are so dangerous that the majority of people are warned of going there, so would an heir to one of the twelve major clans.”

Fay closed her journal and started to put the collected items into the silicone bag. “I never felt unsafe in the jungle. I mean—it was dangerous, and it’s not as if some of the creatures there wouldn’t have hurt me if I trespassed their territory. But I always felt… welcomed. My mother used to say the jungle looks out for those who treat it with respect, and when I was young I thought she meant herself and her ability to control plants.” She sealed the bag carefully. “I don’t think it was just that. The jungle is not just a forest. It is… alive. It is sentient. I could feel it. Sometimes it felt like… I could hear it, as well.”

“Hear it.”

She nodded. “The jungle is imbued with energy. Most people with a strong enough awareness of the flux can tell. I felt it as well. I never felt… alone in the jungle. It was like being in a busy place full of people except there’s… no people.” Ziplock bag and journal put aside, she reached towards the back of her head to untangle the mess that had become of her bun. “I didn’t feel like a human in a jungle.” She admitted softly. “Or a half-human, or an Estaris. I don’t know if I had that much of an easier time connecting with the jungle than others, but I think, sometimes, I did. At least it felt that way.” When she failed to tug her hair free, she threw him a pleading look. He gestured her to move towards him, and she did just that, placing herself closer and with her back turned towards him.  

With deft fingers, Damian worked on disentangling her wet hair from the hairband, although he could have just cut it and been done with it. He squeezed out the excess water, and watched as droplets of water ran down the back of her neck before disappearing into her shirt. The jungle had a special place in her heart. She must miss it more than she showed, regardless of how accustomed she’d become to Gotham. From a rational point of view, one day she’d want to go back to her homeland to revisit those places that she looked back on with such fondness. Fay loved her family, but it was the jungle she spoke of more often, like an old friend she’d had to leave behind, or a godparent that used to make her feel safe.  

“I wish you could see it,” She said as if she had just read his mind. “I think you would like it. There are so many different animals. And dragons and---the trees grow even larger than the giant sequoia.”

Show it to him. He would have to travel to her world first. He was not averse to the idea. Not at all. It seemed fitting that he’d get a chance to see her world after she’d seen his.

(it would be even more fitting if she were the one to show it to him)

He removed the hair tie and her damp hair fell loose. It reached past her shoulder blades and was knotted in places, which he worked his fingers through. Somewhere during, Fay ended up sitting closer to him, back almost pressed against his chest and his knees flanking her. He finished untangling her hair and put it in a braid. Without hesitation, Fay leaned against him and propped her head on his chest.

She was grinning like an idiot, so he pointed that out and smirked when she shuddered because his breath tickled her ear. She didn’t move away, though.

“No reason,” She shrugged. “I am just in a good mood.’’

She fell lightly asleep minutes later, more of a nap than anything else. Damian didn’t go to sleep because he didn’t feel it was a good moment to lower his guard, but he let her rest. Bagheera staying outside and surveying their surroundings was an advantage, but Damian remained alert through the hours of downpour. Fay mumbled something in her native language and shifted slightly against him, falling at an awkward angle, so he reset her against him. When she did it again, he ended up keeping his arm around her waist to keep her in place. Her stomach rose slowly up and down under his palm, and with the other, he brushed a thumb on the skin around the marks of her bicep.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about that place. He was prepared to react if needed, and Fay was not exhausted enough to take long to switch to a fighting mode if necessary. He could lay her down on the floor, which would give him a clearer path of movement, but his instincts told him it was best if he kept her close.

(lately, his instincts never really stopped telling him that)

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The downpour ceased after four hours, and their boots squelched on the wet ground as they packed up and continued their trek. Damian instructed Fay to change into her suit and wear her civilian clothes on top as he did, half an hour later because the jungle had become more treacherous after the rain. Fay might be used to such an environment, but she wasn’t impervious to its threats. Bagheera, for his part, kept closer than before as he shared in Damian’s sentiment that something was off, although he’d failed to hear or smell anything out of the ordinary. It was only early afternoon when they finally made it to the archaeological site, a little over three days after they had left. Travelling at night had given them an advantage, given they were not as put off by the nocturnal threats or lack of visibility as most tourists.

The sun was blaring down on them once again, and in that open space, the kevlar suit made Fay feel slightly constricted. At least she could take advantage of the fact that no one was there to fly around the archaeological site and inspect it. Fay found its history fascinating, as well as the legends it carried. According to a quick search, Fay found that it was believed a capital city had been built by the Tayrona civilization, approximately six hundred years before Machu Picchu. If that place was as much of a red herring as the supposed code in the Bible, she was happy they’d ended up investigating it.  

Fay had tried to contact the island a few times, hoping to speak to Len or Kaera about the painting, but there had been no answer. That wasn’t unusual; she didn’t expect either one of them to stand by the cube. She rarely contacted the island outside her scheduled meetings with Moma and, lately, Titoh as well because most islanders were unaware of her whereabouts. Most assumed she was travelling in her homeworld. Others may have suspected she went beyond the barrier, but no one was so nosy as to inquire, at least as far as Fay knew.

They spent several hours at the site looking around, but came up empty-handed by the time the afternoon rolled around. Fay flew around the place one more time, staring down at the hundreds of terraces that once had housed hundreds of people, hoping they might reveal something they’d missed. Nothing. Ultimately, they left, going down the same hundreds of uneven stone stairs they had taken on the way up there. He didn’t look unhappy they hadn’t found anything, but she could tell he did not enjoy chasing empty leads.

“Tell me more about this place.”

He eyed her from the corner of his eye. Fay was riding on Bagheera’s back, who did not mind at all, especially since he’d grown bigger and stronger. He would have allowed the boy on him too, even if reluctantly, but Damian stubbornly walked, even though Fay knew he had to have a limit as well. They’d taken turns in keeping watch while the other slept during their trek, but she doubted Damian slept as much as he should have, if at all.

“I know what you are doing.”

He liked educating others. Or at least those he found worthy of educating, otherwise he’d just mock the other’s lack of knowledge. Fay naturally fell into the first category, and she knew that. He also knew she knew, which is why he was not surprised she was trying to cheer him up by asking him to share his knowledge with her.

“What?” She smiled sheepishly.

“It was a waste of time,” No, it wasn’t. Regarding their case, yes. Regarding the time spent together? Never. She must have known that as well, because she just grinned at him, not at all offended by his comment.

“Maybe it was just meant to confuse whoever found it, like with the Bible,” She said after a minute. “Bernard spent years trying to decode that thing and found nothing.”

Perhaps.

They made a stop shortly after, in the last hours of sunlight, near a small rivulet to freshen up and eat. Bagheera rolled around in the stream, happily soaking himself in the cold mountain water, and Fay made a mental note to give him a good grooming session once they were back in Gotham. Her paladin had been shedding his coat worse than in the past, but Olena had reassured her that was normal. She glanced over her shoulder where Damian was perched on the ground, scrolling on his tablet. She was tempted to start another water fight like she did a day earlier, but she held back. Damian, for all his protests, would likely engage just like he did last time – and the times before – but she was worried that he hadn’t gotten enough rest.

Her eyes fell on the water trickling before her eyes. Bagheera made a noise of satisfaction as he got up to his feet, then let himself fall again, splashing water onto Fay and causing ripples in the cool liquid.

Ripples.

Fay blinked. Then she got up to her feet, immediately walking over to Damian. “Can I see that sketch again?”

He pulled up the image and handed her the tablet.

“Ripples,” Fay said out loud. “What if the circles are meant to indicate water rippling?”

His eyes narrowed as he mulled that over. “That implies it depicts a water source. There are thousands in this jungle alone.” He took back the tablet, brows furrowing as he stared at the clumsy ‘Y’ formed by the circles. They did match the aerial view of the Ciudad Perdida. Maybe he wasn’t right about the archaeological site, but… he may not have been that far from the mark.

Fay sat down next to him and watched him pull up a map of the area, hundreds if not thousands of blue lines and dots on it indicating sources of both running and still water. He moved the map over the area of Ciudad Perdida. “We’re here,” He said, creating a digital red ‘X’ to mark their location. They were at least fourteen kilometres from the archaeological site. “This is Ciudad Perdida,” He said, adding green lines, inadvertently forming a ‘Y.’

“Hm.”

“What?” Fay asked, her eyes darting between his face and the tablet. “What do you see?”

“Here.” He zoomed in. “The Y is a visual illusion, as the site stretches for longer than that. There were no immediate sources of water anywhere around here,” He said, pointing to the area where they’d come from. He moved his finger to the other side of the screen. “A few kilometres from the other end of Ciudad Perdida, there’s a small pond but direct source of water feeding into it is not marked”

“Maybe the water comes from underground?”

“Or it is an ephemeral source of water.” He said. “The type that appears when it has rained heavily.”

They quickly packed and left back the way they came from, ignoring the growing darkness of the sky.

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The waterfall was temporary, but Damian had been right. The recent torrential downpour had created a steady stream of water falling three metres or so into a natural pool that was approximately nine metres wide in its diameter. Damian shined his flashlight over the waterfall, then down onto the pool of water, looking around. “With the amount of water falling in, this pool should be overflowing.” He ran the bright light over the edge of the pool. It was set deep in the ground, at least sixty centimetres, with a hard formation of rocks and earth lining it. “It’s going elsewhere.”

Fay stared at the body of water with chagrin. It was almost midnight, the moon was high and bright in the sky, taking away some of the day’s heat. Bagheera blended in particularly well, a moving shadow with luminous eyes, his presence putting off the many other predators lurking in the tangled foliage of the jungle. The waterfall disturbed the surface of the pool, causing endless ripples to travel towards its edge, where they dissipated or lived long enough to crash against the rocks.

If the water wasn’t getting higher, it was because it was going somewhere else, like an underground tunnel.

“We’re going to have to swim in there, don’t we?” Fay asked, although she already knew the answer. Water was her favoured element when using the flux, and she was a decent enough swimmer, but Fay was not keen on submerging herself in a pool the colour of coal. She could not trust there wasn’t anything at the bottom waiting to grab onto her or something slithering about, waiting to bite her. In Maysoon, she did not experience such wariness because, despite how dangerous the depths of the ocean could be, she’d always felt comfortable swimming there. She knew which areas to avoid, although there was that one time when she did--- no . It was best not to recall that incident at that moment. Or the fact that she’d almost died in a frozen lake once.

Damian had no issue with it seeing as he promptly jumped in, rebreather mask on, and decided to take a first look. Fay watched worriedly from the edge of the pool as his body disappeared in the water, and he did not resurface for what felt like hours. In reality, it was a minute or two at most, but she was equally relieved when she saw his head pop out.

He took out the small breathing apparatus from his mouth. “Get the spare on, and let’s go. There’s a tunnel at the bottom. Leave the holsters off and your backpack. The space is narrow.”

Tight space and underwater.

Wonderful.

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Bagheera couldn’t go with them. Her paladin could hold his breath long enough, but once Fay saw how narrow the tunnel was, she knew he’d have had no chance of fitting in there. As a result, he was left alone with their backpacks to wait. She did not like it, but her concern over him was temporarily overridden by her increasing anxiety as she found herself having to squeeze through the underground passage. It was tight enough for her to constantly knock against the walls, and she struggled to swim properly, having to push herself along by gripping the walls.

Damian swam in front of her, nearly giving her a heart attack when he went too fast, and she lost sight of him in the murky depths. The rebreather did an excellent job of recycling her exhaled breaths and absorbing the carbon dioxide, but she felt claustrophobic. Fay had to fight not to let panic colour her thoughts as she almost ended up creating scenarios in which her mask stopped working, or the walls caved in, or she ended up losing Damian. She stopped after what felt like lightyears of swimming but had been less than a hundred metres, trying to make sense of her surroundings. How would she even turn around to go back? Fay swallowed. That was a legitimate question. If they reached a dead end or a part of the passage they couldn’t go through, how will they go back? Swimming backwards?

Calm down. I need to calm down.

The sound that formed in her throat when Damian suddenly appeared back in her line of view was swallowed by the water’s natural soundproofing qualities. The bright light of her flashback made him look startling, and she remained frozen on the spot. He made a gesture to her, palm spread going down, calm down, then he grabbed her wrist.

Wait. He had turned around, Fay realised. She was worrying over nothing.

He pulled her after him, helping her break free of her fear-induced paralysis, and she suddenly realised that she might have been shaking because the water was colder than before as well. The kevlar, gloves, and boots did a good job of insulating her, but her face felt cold. Fay’s eyes widened when the narrow tunnel gave way to a large space. It wasn’t particularly deep, stretching one and a half metre at most below her as she started swimming properly, prompting Damian to let go of her. Being able to move her body freely was a relief, even if the lack of visibility in the water made her queasy.

The tunnel had led them to an underground cave. Six metres after leaving the narrow space, Fay and Damian found themselves resurfacing to climb over onto the solid ground. “Whoa.” Comparatively, the rocky womb was not even a quarter of the Batcave’s size as she could make out the walls with her flashlight. It was colder in there, but the humidity was higher, and her nostrils were filled with a musky, earthy scent. Water dripped from the stalactites above their heads, causing small ripples onto the pool they’ve emerged from.

The flat ground below their feet was a narrow piece located at the end of the cave. “Take a look.” Fay turned around to look at the wall where Damian had pointed his flashlight.

“Oh. It’s---”

Runes have been carved into the wall, and while at first, they did not make much sense to her, just a jumbled group of letters, the longer she stared, the more she became positive of what they might mean.

It was a coded message.

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They’d taken over a dozen pictures of the writing on the wall. Damian had also thought it might be worth taking samples from the carved stone while Fay flew around it, inspecting it, just in case there might be other hidden symbols. There were none, so they ultimately embarked on the journey back through the tunnels. Fay had barely made a note of the constricting space this time, far too deep in her thoughts as she started running over the possibilities of what the letters might reveal. She had some ideas about the possible cyphers that could have been used, but she knew she shouldn’t get her hopes up. There was no guarantee the message would offer any useful information.

I understand placing false leads, but why would anyone go to such lengths? It couldn’t have been just because Bernard was looking for them and not that many know about the dark paths, She thought, as she made sure to keep close to Damian this time. Why in this world?

They came out the other end of the tunnel, and Fay was too distracted to notice that Damian had stopped abruptly once he had surfaced. She accidentally bumped into him when she came up and was taken back when she felt him tug her behind him. Fay reached to push away a few strands that had escaped her braid and stuck to her face. She was momentarily disoriented, but a shudder went down her spine.

Something felt wrong.

Then she noticed the shadows lined up around the pool.

At least a dozen men were pointing guns at them.

Somehow, she would have been more surprised if their journey had gone smoothly.

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“What?” Fay said, panting as she landed behind a tree and glanced across at her friend, who was perched on a low branch.

“You’re smiling.”

Fay blinked. “What--? No, I am not.” Damian was not the type to joke, especially while they were being chased through the jungle by armed mercenaries. He couldn’t be serious. Then she realised that yes, she was, in fact, smiling. For the same reason, that excitement trickled through her paladin’s other emotions. That was exactly the type of adventure she’d once thought she’d have when she was older. She and her paladin, travelling and exploring and getting into just the right amount of trouble, making them feel thrilled but not hopeless.

Not that the dozens of men who hellbent on capturing – and possibly torturing and killing – them were something to be taken lightly.

Yet.

She exchanged a look with her paladin by her side, communicating silently with one another by reading each other’s emotions. Then she looked up at Damian with a grin.

“Want to play ‘ catch the fairy’ ?”

Damian blinked behind his mask, momentarily startled by his friend’s playfulness and the unexpected proposal.

He smirked.

“You mean, catch Titania.”

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.

“Anything?” Fay asked as she finished checking the pockets of the men hog-tied on the floor before her. Most of them were out cold, but one or two had tried to put up a fight only to discover the pains of being tied with a constrictor knot. Fay felt rather proud of herself. Now that the adrenaline was finally faltering in her veins, she became increasingly aware of how filthy she was, and that one of the men’s blades had grazed the upper right side of her torso. It was a minor cut, unlikely to require stitches.

“No,” Damian said before knocking the man he’d been interrogating out cold. Paid mercenaries. Generously, according to the bounty that had been put on their head. “But I have my theories.”

Bagheera stretched, then shook his fur, sending mud splattering on them.

Damian glared, Fay was just amused, and the paladin stared at them with a cheerfulness that could easily be read in his eyes and body language. That day, the fairy – Titania – had not been caught. It had been refreshing – and entertaining, even – to watch the mercenaries try and fail. Fay would not let that moment of victory get to her head, but she was not going to feel ashamed for feeling satisfied either.

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The languages of her world could be very complex and difficult. The runic logographic script was primarily used for writing, and the rules were intended to work like an alphabet. In Maysoon, the alphabet was based on phonetics, meaning that, unlike English, the runes acted as units of sounds. With the Resistance’s victory, Maysoon borders were opened, leading to more cultures interacting, mixing, and trading, which led to the language evolving significantly over the last several decades. 

The languages of her world could also be written with an alphabet script that was proposed by the Council to provide accessibility.

“The way some languages are Romanized in this world,” Damian concluded.

Fay nodded. “There’s a long story behind it, but there are also clans who have insisted on having their own exclusive ‘language’. Either a coded variation of the existing standard language that all citizens would be expected to know or an entirely different one. Spoken or otherwise.”  She sighed. “I think it was primarily due to paranoia and competitiveness. Some clans still practice that..”

Damian could see how that’d be useful for a clan to keep their matters private, although it was a testament to Maysoon’s harsh political climate. “Do the Estaris?”

Fay nodded. “Yes. Not as much as we used to, though. I know little of it as my parents preferred using different codes for their secret messages. As far as I know.”

She had been worried that deciphering the runes on the cave wall would be impossibly difficult.

“Hm.” She blinked as she stared at the notes before her. She used the end of her pencil to scratch her temple. “This is… done, I think.”

“You don’t seem satisfied with it.”

Damian brushed against her as he leaned from behind to glance over her shoulder at the notes. She was momentarily distracted by the heady scent of his shower gel. It was not as strong as it was usually, something about wanting to keep a low profile, but with him close like that, she could smell it clearly. He must have taken a hot shower, given the amount of steam that had escaped the bathroom the moment he’d come out. She hadn’t paid much attention, far too focused on figuring the cypher out while eating her roast chicken sandwich and relieved she’d been able to scrub herself clean. They left Colombia as soon as they were out of that jungle, painting and pictures of the cave message in their possession, using Robin’s personalised small aircraft (aptly named Redbird). They made a stop, however, near a small, remote town where they ended up staying at a hotel (a modest one, much to Damian’s disgust, but they had to maintain a low profile given someone was potentially still after them).  

Fay made a noise at the back of her throat. “I would not say it was easy, but it’s just this whole… the way this message was left. If it was meant to be deceptive, why go through so much trouble?” She said as she lifted one of the papers. “See, this is the message as we found it on the wall. On their own, the runes don’t make much sense, and they were written using four different languages. The official ones from the four territories.” She’d had to contact Titoh to help her with a translation by accessing the library on the island. Thankfully, Lima had textbooks and dictionaries that he was able to use. Titoh vowed to keep their discovery a secret for the time being. “Whoever left this message has used rudimentary runes, which haven’t changed much over time.”

“That may have been purposeful, so whoever finds this cannot tell when they were left there.” Damian pointed out.

Fay nodded. “Maybe.” She tilted her head to look at him. “When I spoke to Kaera and Len about these… red herrings, they mentioned there may be a few others, but they were placed out a very long time ago. They never mentioned anything about a painting.”

“Not if they don’t want you to know,” The boy replied. “Or they may not be aware of it.”

There was a moment of silence as Fay pondered what that impromptu scavenger hunt could lead to. Information on the dark paths? A hidden stash of resources from her world? She would have liked to speak to Lira about it, whom she trusted to keep it to herself if the others on the island didn’t know about it, but her aunt was still not available. Fay wasn’t sure what she was up to, but it wouldn’t surprise her if Lira chose to take her time back in their homeworld. She had been spending an inordinate amount of time in Gotham, and Fay did feel guilty the woman was stuck there because of her.

“Let me hear it.”

Fay moved away papers and lifted the one where she’d written her final translation. She couldn’t say with certainty that she hadn’t missed something, given that she was nowhere near as knowledgeable as her parents had been, but she’d been poring over those papers for several hours. It was deciphered to the best of her abilities.

“The gap between the earthly and the divine shall be filled by the man who knows what is sweetest in the world.

That which can gain passage without a single touch shall reveal the hidden reward of a silent worshipper, a watchman of the tall lands reflected.”

Chapter 68: Of conniving shadows

Notes:

A bit earlier than usual, here's the new chapter :) Next update will come next week. Please note that some of the locations described in this chapter may have been fictionalized for the purpose of the story :)

Beta-reader: MoonglowOnWater - Many thanks as always.
I hope you guys enjoy! As always, I am happy to hear from you.

Chapter Text

"The enemy hides in Shadow, Master of the Hunt.
Therefore be as wise as a serpent, having seen the face of the Adversary." 

- Katherine Kurtz, Deborah T. Harri

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“Go to sleep. I will keep watch.”

“No. You go to sleep—”

“— TT —do not test me—”

“You have barely slept in the last week. Not to mention back when we were in Colombia.” It was her fault, too, Fay thought. She shouldn’t have allowed him to sacrifice rest in exchange for her to sleep more even though she could have gone without it. With her current fitness level, Fay was certain her stamina could easily rival his, if not surpass it, especially since her phasing. Kaera had told her the phasing’s benefits would become more noticeable in time and she was right. Fay had become more sensitive to the natural energies but over the last months, she’d also found it easier to control the amount of flux she used in her attacks without diminishing the power behind them. She was still prone to experiencing sensory overload and feeling drained for days after if she overexerted herself, but that did not mean Damian had to function on the minimum amount of sleep required. 

“No.” She said stubbornly as soon as she saw his eyes narrow and a very familiar-looking expression forming on his face. “I don’t want to hear how you only need a few hours or thirty minutes or anything like that. You are tired and—” She drew a breath, knowing that going head-to-head with Damian only resulted in them arguing more and him becoming particularly obstinate. She was just worried about him. “—there’s nothing wrong with that. Please get some rest.”

He clicked his teeth and looked away from her. “We’ll camp out in three kilometres.” 

Fay glared at him as he started walking ahead of her and Bagheera. Stubborn idiot, but didn’t comment as she followed him silently, Bagheera right behind her. 

For well over a week, they’d been travelling the Scottish Highlands to solve the riddle she’d obtained out of the cave message. Before that, they’d spent several days trying to understand where it might lead them. Damian had ultimately proposed that the ‘ gap between the earthly and the divine’ indicated stained glass and the ‘ man who knows what is sweetest in the world’ referred to a biblical story about a man named Samson. The story could be found in the seventh book of the Hebrew Bible and the Christian Old Testament. Both synagogues and churches use stained glass to honour religious stories so unfortunately for them, that did not narrow down their search by much, given the world was full of hundreds of thousands of places of worship. 

The location had to be hidden in the second part of the riddle, Damian reasoned. Remembering a conversation she’d had not too long ago with Daphne about her daughter wishing to move back to the United Kingdom to live in Scotland, Fay had wondered whether the ‘tall lands’ referred to the highlands. She had found it strange that the term ‘tall’ was used in conjunction with ‘lands’ which may have been due to either linguistic differences or on purpose to draw attention. They had not found a better interpretation, and that was how they’d ended up visiting Scotland. They had first crossed off all the synagogues, given the smaller number than the churches, before switching to the Catholic places of worship, as they all fit the image of a ‘silent worshipper’. 

They had found nothing of interest up to that point. Or maybe they were missing something from the riddle, which meant Fay had missed something when she had translated it. In a worst-case scenario, she’d have to wait until her aunt was back in Gotham to ask for her help, which was not actually a bad idea. Fay did find herself wondering several times how she could increase her knowledge on such a topic. Books? They’d only be so useful. Her parents had had the experience and insight one could not obtain from a book. Perhaps Lira could teach her? Or one of the veterans on the island. 

It wouldn’t be the same, of course. 

But there was nothing she could do about that. 

They made a stop on a tall hill, where they had a great view of their surroundings. The attack in the jungle had not been opportunistic, according to her friend, as the men they had taken down were paid mercenaries. Someone was after the painting – which they ultimately took with them – or perhaps after whatever the painting was meant to lead to. That implied that there was someone out there who might also have an idea about her world, maybe a former member of Bernard’s inner circle. 

Damian had a different theory, but he kept it to himself until he had the burden of proof. Their travel from Colombia to Scotland had gone smoothly. It should have been reassuring it, but he found it more suspicious than anything else. Were they being watched? 

After their tent was set up and they settled inside, Damian voiced that thought to Fay, while she took out their food. Bagheera had already eaten, thanks to the abundant presence of salmon rivers and trout lochs. As an empath, he did not enjoy hunting, although he was able to switch off that side to tap into his feral one. Fay always made sure he was well-fed, but there were extenuating circumstances when that wasn’t possible. Trekking and hiking for several days in the highlands, Fay had no way to provide Bagheera with enough nutritional meals. Thankfully, he did not have to resort to robbing unsuspecting farmers of their livestock since he enjoyed eating fish. Fay made sure to pack a good number of apples, knowing how happy they made him, however. 

“I understand why he’d use Cunningham to perpetrate attacks, given how hard it would be for the police to investigate allegations of a deadly mist,” Damian continued as Fay handed him a protein bar. “He used civilians. Not rich civilians. Rather offered them a Faustian deal. A climb to financial success and career fulfilment in exchange for them to sponsor the…Sponsor. Yet, he had no problem providing the Angel with the senwi and the chimaeras, when he’d made an effort to keep the others discreet.” Something had to have changed in the Sponsor’s plans. Something that had made him reckless, that made him want to break his previous rule of maintaining a low profile. Or someone. 

“Maybe he became arrogant,” Fay suggested. “He survived being hunted down by the authorities of my world and had all those resources.” She shed her light waterproof jacket, leaving herself in a cotton long-sleeved shirt and her cargo trousers. She’d tried wearing the kevlar underneath, but it had proven incredibly uncomfortable. “He came across as very… unstable.” She said as she recalled her encounter with Bernard. “He wasn’t just cruel and manipulative. There was something… in his eyes. Dead .” 

“Hm.” Damian finished his protein bar quickly, turned down any further offers of food despite Fay’s disapproving look, then laid down on his back, propping his head on his backpack. Bagheera was seated by the entrance in the tent, which had been zipped shut. It had started raining shortly after they’d set up camp and the weather there was significantly colder. 

Fay tried not to smile too hard as she watched Damian fold one arm under his head. She crawled over to him – she rather enjoyed camping out with him and Bag, actually – and leaned to whisper a ‘thank you’ in his ear before kissing his cheek. There were moments when she experienced so much affection for her friend that just being close to him or hugging him felt insufficient. 

“You’re on guard. Pay attention to your surroundings.” The boy grumbled, not opening his eyes. 

Bagheera rolled his eyes from the other side of the tent, knowing full well the boy’s tone did not match the emotions roiling inside of him. He was used to it by now. His Fay was more honest with what she felt, he preferred that, although the paladin was sometimes startled by the things he felt rolling off both teenagers. 

“On guard, yes.” Fay straightened, crossed her legs, and squared her shoulders after turning around so she could face Bagheera and the exit of the tent. She remained pressed against Damian, for good measure. “I shall guard you and Bagheera with my life.” She declared solemnly, although the playfulness coloured her tonne. 

Damian scoffed but didn’t comment. He opened his eyes slightly and his gaze fell on her back. Fay had wisely decided not to pull out a book and read given how engrossed she was inclined to become when she did that, but she did pull a blanket out of her backpack to place over him. She remained oblivious to him watching her as she tucked him in carefully as if he were a child. He almost pointed out that it was ridiculous, but then he caught sight of the way she smiled. Silly girl. 

They could have crossed off the majority of churches by air, using the -new- Redbird, cutting down their travel to just a couple of days. He preferred not to draw attention, however. If someone was after the same thing they were, they’d also betray their location to their enemy. 

Could the trip have been shorter by foot as well? Perhaps. They didn’t need to camp as much as they did. Yet he felt no rush to return to Gotham, although he didn’t like missing out on his Robin duties. There was a certain freedom in pursuing a task that had nothing to do with that identity, however. 

Fay had been in a good mood ever since the jungle. Carefree, playful if not mischievous, confident. She clearly enjoyed travelling, and likely the thrill of the unexpected scavenger they were on. He knew that if the hunt turned out to be a red herring, Fay was unlikely to be disappointed. 

“What shall you ever do when Fay finally decides that her place is not amongst the outsiders.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder, took in his mellow breath and lax features, and smiled. 

He caught it before she turned away again. 

“If one day, she decides to return to our realm, what then?”

Fay felt his hand move over to her knee which was pressed against his hand, fingers lightly curling around her kneecap. When she glanced at him again, he looked sound asleep, his breathing shallower than before. She smiled lightly and placed her hand on top of his. 

I can protect you, too.  

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Two days later, they were standing before the Catholic Church of St. Mary, in a picturesque location in the Highlands. The Gothic building was completed in the second half of the nineteenth century and overlooked Loch Shiel, altogether making for a spectacular view. April was a mild month by Scottish standards, but the nine degrees Celsius were a far cry from the heat of the jungle. The sun was high in the sky when they finally arrived at the church and Fay felt compelled to admire their surroundings. 

The jungle had felt familiar, an echo of her homeland but the landscapes of the Highlands were mythical. An untamed territory of calming solitude full of rich woodlands, craggy mountains, and deep blue lochs. The large stretches of unspoilt nature reminded her of the forests of Aeryg, which she realised she could not recall as well as she used to. It has been a long time since her last trip there. Firae, the current ruler of Aeryg, had been of her parents’ closest allies according to Evara herself. Aeryg had been the first territory to actively support the Resistance, even before the Maysoon monarchy started losing power. Fay wondered how Firae was faring, given the tensions between the territories after the attack on Maysoon. After that night, Fay had received many presents from the woman along with the reminder that Aeryg is open for her to visit whenever she wished. At the time, Fay hadn’t paid much attention, like with many other things, far too caught up in her grief. Now she wished she had responded to the woman. 

Maybe uncle Aryg could send her a message on my behalf.  

“A silent worshipper, a watchman of tall lands reflected,” Damian said. “This one fits better than most other locations.” The church, a quiet supplicant that watched over the highlands being reflected. It was almost too perfect, really and he would have found it suspicious except it had not been that easy to find the place. If they didn’t find anything useful there, however, they were back to zero. That was the last place of worship with stained glass windows in the Highlands. 

Stained glass was a hallmark of Gothic architecture. He appraised the church’s windows. They were not as large as most churches of the era, but that was understandable given the building was relatively small as well. The area was eerily quiet, with no other visitors but a few moments after they’d arrived, a priest came out of the church and greeted them warmly. Bagheera quickly hid among the trees, lest he alarmed the man. 

Fay was momentarily distracted by the small garden near the church. It was well tended to, a shock of colour amongst the browns and greens, despite the lack of long summers and wet weather. She recognized the thistle and Scots bluebells and bog myrtle, all flora she’d become particularly familiar with in the past week or so. She’d certainly taken enough pictures to create an entire album. 

Several feet away from the garden, where the grove of the trees began, she spotted a handful of flowers that she was not familiar with, bundled near a fallen, rotting branch. The flowers were pale, lacking in leaves, and she found the shapes to be mildly entertaining, resembling a frog.

Using one of the pictures taken of them, Fay ran a search to find out what it was. She was surprised when she read that the white flower was a ghost orchid, native to warmer places such as Florida or Cuba. It was amongst the rarest plants in the United Kingdom, as it no longer thrived in those lands, most likely because of climate change. Conservationists had attempted to preserve and breed ghost orchids, but many attempts had been unsuccessful, leading to the orchid being a rare sight in that country. She took a few more pictures, then left the place alone. It wasn’t easily detectable even if one was drawn to the garden, but she’d ask Damian whether it might be worth alerting a conservationist organisation. 

Said boy was already waiting for her inside. The priest was at the entrance and he greeted her. Fay smiled politely and followed her friend inside after gently declining the priests’ offer to tell her more about the history. The church was modest, but the light filtering through the stained glass created an ethereal atmosphere. A kaleidoscope of colours shone over the wooden benches, and she inhaled the scent of myrrh, which she found soothing. 

That which can gain passage without a single touch, Fay recalled as she admired the colourful glass. It was light. It can go anywhere without touching. 

“Come here.” 

Fay quickened her pace so she could fall by Damian’s side, and she followed his gaze. On the left side of the church, the middle window contained an illustration of a man in green and red robes wrestling a lion. The illustration was contained within a circle at the top of the window, comparatively small and simple to the rest of the biblical scenes represented there. By then, Fay was familiar with the story. Samson had wagered a riddle to thirty Philistine guests which would have been impossible to solve given the riddle had been based on a private experience. ‘ Out of the eater, something to eat; out of the strong, something sweet ’, referred to the honey that he had found and eaten from the carcass of a lion he had killed. Hence, Samson was the man who knew what is sweetest in the world. 

“The hidden reward,” Fay mumbled as she looked around. “We have the silent worshipper. That which can gain passage without touch and what is sweetest. We just have to figure out where the reward is hidden, right?”

Damian nodded. He glanced towards the entrance of the church where the priest was engaged in talking to two newly arrived visitors. Depending on the sun’s position in the sky, the light coming through the windows may fall on different spots of the church. To search all of them, they’d have to come back after closure. Then his eyes fell on the altar. The sun rays fell short of the podium upon which it had been placed but if they’d arrived earlier, the light would have shined right on it. 

Fay caught him smirking. “What?”

“I think I know where the reward is.”

They came back after the church closed, having spent the rest of the day hidden, studying the blueprints and other pictures available of the church, inside and out. 

Bagheera remained outside, as they infiltrated the church dressed in their suits, masks on and hoods shielding their features. The inside of the church was of a considerable grandeur with the nave fully aisled, the altar constituting of a solid marble block placed on a podium. A large rose window was placed high in the gable. There were two rows of wooden benches, eight on each side, and a faded red carpet going from the entrance all the way to the altar. 

Damian moved the linen cloth and candles away from the rectangular structure, and onto the floor. Compared to the altars she’d seen in the other places of worship in the past weeks – and she’d seen quite a few – the one before her was simple, as was the altarpiece with the painted depictions of holy personages, saints, and biblical subjects.  

“The altar is centrally located and therefore the focus of attention in the church. In Gothic architecture, the objective was to have as much light as possible in the interior space, given the divine symbolism behind it.” He remarked in a hushed tone as he went around the altar, studying it. There was no one there at the time. The clergy was located a short walk away from the church which is why they proceeded as quietly as possible. 

Damian ran his hands over the smooth white surface, including the four gold-accented pillars on each corner of the marble block.  

“Are you looking for a secret compartment?” Fay asked. 

“This is a static altar. Or so it seems.” He crouched down before the left side of the altar and Fay moved to stand closer to him when he beckoned her over. “Place your hand here,” He said, brushing his gloved hand over where the marble met the floor. Fay did as she was told. “Can you feel anything? A draft?” 

“No. Not really.” She said. “You think there’s something underneath?”

“We’ve looked everywhere else but here.” He said. They both got up to their feet. Fay moved to stand at the other end of the altar and they both attempted to move the marble structure, to no avail. It was too heavy. Fay could have tried to knock it away using her flux, but it was almost certain she’d cause damage to the altar or the floor. In the end, she’d called Bagheera in and asked him to help them push the altar to the side, which was not, in fact, immobile. The dark panelled wood stared back at them once they successfully shifted the altar’s position. 

Damian ran his fingers over the panels and found one could be removed. Underneath it, they found an approximately half a metre deep hole, almost as wide and long as the wooden panel itself. In there, hiding at the bottom on the cold ground, was a cylindrical device. Damian lifted it up. It resembled a scroll and just barely fit into his palm. The body of the cylinder contained a number combination lock, which resembled a bicycle lock.  

“Four numbers,” Fay murmured as she kneeled beside him. 

“A Cryptex lock,” Damian remarked. “Its design is often attributed to Leonardo da Vinci, but the prototype for this mechanism was conceived long before that in the twelfth century by an Arab engineer called Ismail al-Jazari.” Also known as the ‘father of robotics’, he told her. He had become familiar with the man’s work from the rare and illustrated manuscripts that his mother kept in her collection. 

“…shall reveal the hidden reward,” He muttered, recalling the passage.  

There was a moment of silence, then they ended up speaking at the same time. 

“Samson’s reward.”

 Fay smiled. “Thirty linen garments and thirty sets of clothes, if they solved his riddle.”

“Hm.” He moved each rotating dial until he had 3-0-3-0 and not a second after he was done, they both heard a soft ‘click’ sound. One end of the Cryptex came apart, like a key sliding out. Inside was a thinly rolled piece of paper. Damian placed the Cryptex aside and carefully unfolded the piece of paper. 

“Are those---?”

“Yes.”

Coordinates. 

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.

Two days later…

When Damian turned fifteen years old, he was in the middle of the desert being chased by a group of assassins his grandfather had so generously set after him to see ‘whether his skills are as honed as they used to be’. With him, there was an injured, thirsty, and irate paladin who very much looked forward to sinking his teeth into the men who had taken Fay away. 

Only a couple of hours earlier, they’d been trekking through the dunes of the Egyptian desert where the coordinates had led them. Their suspicion that their travel for the past weeks may have been all in vain was quickly proven true when they ended up in the middle of nowhere. The closest point of civilization was hundreds of kilometres away and due to the paucity of water, they were surrounded by barren lands. Trying to find anything in the sand was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. 

And they had no idea what the needle was meant to be. 

All in all, it felt as if whoever had created the scavenger hunt had decided to have fun at the expense of the one who decided to go on a treasure hunt. 

An idiot. Like them, in that case.  

Damian had counted Ra’s as a potential suspect in the attack in the jungle, but he had not been able to decipher why his grandfather would be interested. He knew with certainty that his grandfather was aware of the other realm as well as the fact that Fay originated from there. When Talia had taken her years earlier, she had told him it had been on his orders. Was this some sort of test again? 

Ra’s wanted them there. If he planted the painting, that’d mean he was aware why the name ‘Aranar Carwhel’ would draw their attention. That seemed improbable. Not even Bernard had been fully aware of what that meant. His grandfather had to be monitoring them earlier than that. Why send the mercenaries but not pursue them further? Did he want to know where they ended up if they followed the leads? 

Her . He wanted Fay, and now he had her. 

Redbird was a pile of bent and melted metal lying abandoned sixty-four kilometres from his and Bagheera’s current position. Between being sent crashing to the ground and the swarm of assassins attacking them, Bagheera’s had injured his hind leg. Fay, on the other hand, had held her own well against their assailants but they’d ended up moving in separate directions, which had worked greatly to their disadvantage. The last time he’d seen her, she had been unconscious and hoisted over the shoulder of one of his grandfather’s henchmen. 

Bagheera growled softly beside him. Damian had stitched up the bleeding wound on the paladin’s leg. He was bound to heal fast, but they were still being hunted down and the scorching temperatures were slowing down Bagheera. 

“We’ll get her back.” He said firmly, brushing a hand atop the beast’s head. 

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.

.

Fay tried not to flinch as she felt the rope cut into her skin, tightening further when she tried to struggle against them. The way she’d been tied made Kaera’s pool training exercise pale in comparison. Not only did the constrictor knots force her to remain very still, but her arms had been tied at her back with the ropes going over her shoulder and chest. Her legs were wrapped from the ankle all the way to her knees as well. There was no escaping them by wriggling or trying to undo them, that was certain, so she’ll have to try to use her flux. 

But even she knew she had to be careful about making her next move given that she had the Demon’s Head standing before her. Albeit entirely human in appearance, he made the hair on the back of her neck stand up and her instincts go haywire. It wasn’t unlike meeting Damian, truth to be told; she’d felt as if she were in the presence of a dangerous predator. Except unlike Damian, Ra’s’s eyes were colder. In retrospect, Bernard may have frightened her at the time she’d been in his captive hold, but the man could not hold a candle to the centuries-old warrior before her. Fay had seen eyes like that before, in her world, on men and women who had lived too long and seen far too much, except as a human, Ra’s longevity would have stood out even there. Damian had told her he was at least five centuries old as a result of having easy access to the Lazarus Pit. She remembered discussing that her world held myths on places capable of rejuvenating others and the history of tributes being offered to the dragons in exchange for an extended lifespan. 

Damian had also made it clear just how dangerous the man before her was, and Fay had heard the admiration that still lingered in his voice. He might no longer see eye to eye with his grandfather but Ra’s indubitably remained one of the most formidable men in the world. Fay had heard stories from the other members of the family as well.

Therefore, she felt justified in feeling very frightened of the man currently standing before her, scrutinising as he laid back in his chair. His green and gold robes made him look like a king, the high collar emphasising his sharp features. His eyes were an electric jade, a shade tad lighter than Damian’s. 

Actually, no. He looked bored. 

Fay wasn’t sure where she was exactly, but she suspected they were still in Egypt. She had been forcefully awoken with salts and found herself in a spacious pale tent with low dropping roofs and rich decorations. She wanted to ask why she was there, what he wanted with her, but the words died in her throat. Her head was pounding, most likely because of dehydration and the harsh landing they’d had with the Redbird. There was no sight of Damian, and she couldn’t feel Bagheera’s flux at all, which worried her. Had they not been taken? That meant they might still be out there in the desert under the scorching sun with no water, food, or modes of transportation. Would Damian be able to contact anyone? Her paladin was bleeding as well, and she desperately hoped that they were together at least. 

“You are a creature of the other realm,” Ra’s remarked as he gave her an unimpressed stare. “Tell me, how do you find this world?”

Fay blinked and had to run the question over her mind a few times, too stunned to respond. 

“It is not a trick question, child.” He said. “Answer me. What do you think of this world? You have seen and lived enough in these lands to have formed an opinion.”

“It is… different,” She responded, unsure. When Talia had taken her years earlier, it had also been on Ra’s’s orders according to Damian. Was that why she was there? Because he still wanted to know how she’d travelled between the worlds? Why wait such a long time? 

“Is it now?” He asked. “Is your world plagued by human corruption? Foolishly willing to repeat the same mistakes over and over again until there’s nothing of value left?” 

She was momentarily confused by what he was referring to. Right. Ra’s Al Ghul strongly believed that humanity had reached an irredeemable point. She would have found it shocking had she not grown up in a world with a history of men worse than him. Individuals who have launched wars and orchestrated bloodshed at the expense of creatures they perceived as inferior. Individuals who had left so much damage in their wake that trauma, fear and paranoia travelled from generation to generation after them, even in an era of peace.

To an extent, she can understand the disgust and fury one would experience upon seeing how far others are willing to go achieve their goals. It was how she felt whenever she recalls the way dragons have been treated in the past, how the thirst for power had led to many species going extinct or becoming endangered. She remembers the heavy tomes full of illustrations and accounts of the Duanima being stripped of rights and seen as unpredictable animals. She grew up surrounded by tales. Daphne had told her stories too, and they had put into perspective the life her parents had lived before they’d become heroes and revolutionaries and symbols of positive change. 

“It can be,” She responded finally. “…there are similarities.” She swallowed. 

“Is that so? Has your world changed?” He challenged. 

Fay’s brows furrowed. “Yes.” That was a naive answer. “And…no.” 

“Rinse and repeat.” He cut her off. “One may temporarily deviate from the path of self-destruction, but that’s an illusion. It causes people to become indulgent.”

“That’s not true---” It was perhaps wiser not to argue with him, but Fay’s mouth was faster than her brain at that moment. 

“Why are you here, then?” He asked. “If your world is a utopia, why would you choose to travel here?”

Fay was starting to get the sense he was purposefully riling her up. 

“I wanted to,” She said. 

“How?”

“I don’t remember.” That had been true when Talia had asked her. It was no longer the case. Which made her wonder if she would come across as convincing as before. 

Not that it helped last time. She still tried to drown me. 

“You are lying.”

“I am not,” She breathed. “I r-really don’t remember.” Disguise the lie within the truth, her father used to say. “I was travelling in search of a way here, but I—I do not remember how I crossed over.” She still didn’t remember the moments leading up to Len sending her and Bagheera to that realm. But now she knew he’d used a portal rather than the dark paths. 

He stared at her. She found herself compelled to hold his gaze as if hypnotised even if it sent a cold shiver down her spine. Her limbs felt stiff, and she had partially lost sensation in her hands which was not good. Fay channelled her flux throughout her body, feeling the hot energy travel from the pit of her stomach to her arms and legs, partially restoring her blood circulation. 

“Tell me what you know about the dark paths,” Her heart dropped. “And do not waste my time, child, or the only thing my grandson will find of you is your head on a pike.”  

Fay licked her lips. Her throat was parched. Her skin stung and throbbed under the rope. Drops of sweat ran down from the nape of her neck down her spine. Locks of hair had escaped her braid and they clung to her face uncomfortably. 

“…how do you know about---”

His eyes narrowed, and Fay fell silent. She could feel her heart pounding in her ears. 

“Nothing… much,” She said. “I heard about them o-only.” True. “I do not know where they are.” True. “Or… or how to find them.” True. 

“Hm. Then you’ve travelled here by other means,”

Fay frowned. Shit, He couldn’t know about the island or the guardians or the portals. 

But hadn’t she just confirmed that? That there was another way? Or did he know already? The implications of someone like him finding out about that place made her nauseous.

Her temples throbbed harder. 

“The Sponsor was not entirely delusional, then.” Her eyes grew wide, as Ra’s continued. “A poor strategist and an even poorer leader. It is no wonder he died so easily.” He said rather casually. “At the hands of the one he’s captured nonetheless.”

“I didn’t…I didn’t kill him; he threw himself off—” Fay’s breath hitched, and her words died in her throat when she realised she’d fallen for his trap. He had been baiting her into revealing what happened to the Sponsor, and that was obvious from the way his lips twitched in a faint smirk. Her anxiety was skyrocketing. She felt like a mouse trapped in a labyrinth and he was manipulating which way she should go. “What do you want from me?” She blurted, a little more hysterical than she meant to. “I don’t know how to find the dark paths.”

“The Bible was a fake, wasn’t it?”

How… how does he know all this?

Damian had told her the League had eyes and ears in the unlikeliest of places and she wasn’t surprised he knew about the Sponsor – given Bernard had felt the need to advertise him to the criminal underworld – but the Bible, too ? Bernard had been incredibly selective about the information he’d offered to Klaus and James Cunningham, although those two had been close to his operations. He may have used that information to manipulate them more easily, but she doubted he would have talked to many about the dark paths. For years he’d kept a low profile, only to resurface as the ‘Sponsor’ and finally kill himself when he thought she had offered him an answer he’s sought for years. 

It had felt… unhinged. Desperate. 

Why?

“How… how do you know about the Bible?” She asked although it was reckless to try and question him. “And—and why do you wish to find the dark paths?”

Unsurprisingly, he did not answer her questions. 

“You have taken a shine to my grandson.” He said as he got up suddenly, emerald robes billowing around him as he moved towards a table to the side of the room full of books. “Death runs in his blood. It always will. Yet he has betrayed me, letting the power and resources he has been offered go to waste to pursue his father’s ideals.”

“He’s helping people,” Fay said fiercely because when it came to defending Damian, she always felt uncannily courageous. 

Ra’s scoffed. “A vigilante is just a man lost in the scramble of his own gratification, locking in one criminal at a time. And what does society do? Release them back out.” Fay’s mouth clenched. While there was truth to his words, she could not see eye to eye with his idea of killing everyone as a solution to the problem. 

“I don’t… believe that’s the only way.” She managed tightly. 

“Have you killed anyone?” 

Fay was silent. 

“Hm. I thought so,” He said, as he turned around to take a book out. “What would you know of death, child?”

She did know of the death of her own doing. She only knew of it at the hands of others. She knew the loss and devastation death left behind.

“Has my grandson told you about his old mentor Kareem?”

Fay looked at him puzzled. “What?”

Ra’s closed the book he rifled through. Two masked assassins stepped into the tent, as if summoned by thought. One of them unsheathed a blade out of a holster on his thigh. Fay’s stomach churned. 

“You should ask him.” The Demon’s Head said calmly as he placed the book back on the shelf and crossed his arms at his back. Still staring at her, he said something in Arabic. The two men moved quickly. Fay made a sound at the back of her throat and tried to move away, but she was on the ground, tied up; she didn’t get very far. She must have looked like a worm trying to wriggle away. Or a very clumsy butterfly, trying to lift herself into the air only to be pulled back down. 

“No—No! Let me go!” She yelled as gloved hands pinned her to the floor on her back. Instinctively she summoned her flux and pulled against the ropes, feeling them tighten in response before they snapped. Her arms freed, she immediately tried to send a gust of air – the only element she could count on in that arid environment – but she struggled with her limbs pinned like that. The assassin who had pulled out the blade earlier brought it above her stomach, then sunk it into her abdomen. She didn’t initially feel the pain, between the adrenaline and energy coursing through her veins, but she did have a very up-close view of the blade piercing through her kevlar. Blood seeped out immediately. 

The two assassins stepped back, just as her green energy started wafting off her like steam. She shook off the remnants of the ropes around her torso and turned around to stand on her knees and hands. The blade had fallen away, scattered to the side and glistening red with her blood, which was also quickly seeping through her suit. The dull ache turned into an intense throbbing and within seconds, the pain started to ramp as if someone had turned up a switch on her nerves. She heard Ra’s bark something at the assassins she couldn’t understand and from the corner of her eye caught sight of one of the assassins approaching her. 

Channelling the energy to her feet, Fay quickly moved back onto her haunches and then jumped. Propelled by the energy, she went flying through the roof and high to the skies. She lost some momentum when the clear sky suddenly swirled around her and she caught a ray of the sun directly in her eyes, disorienting her. Her heart felt like it dropped to her stomach as gravity pulled her down and she ended up falling not unlike Redbird collapsing when it had been destroyed hours earlier. For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, her body rolled across the hot sand. It infiltrated everything – her suit, her hair, and even her mouth. Her back felt hot as she ended up on her stomach, breathless and aching. She heard voices in the distance, quickly approaching her, and gunshots. The assassins were closer than her ears told her they were; she felt a bullet whizz past her shoulder and land in the sand, sending a few grains flying. 

With one hand clutching her bleeding abdomen and the other her head, Fay looked up, ignoring bubbling nausea and dizziness. It was a camp. That’s where she’d been taken and from the looks of it, she’d landed less than a kilometre away. Several assassins were quickly enclosing her in two vehicles, and her eyes widened when she saw the barrels pointing in her direction. She quickly moved, trying to run, and put distance between herself, a fruitless attempt gave her legs were still tied in rope. She hadn’t even realised that. Fay fell back on the ground and made quick work of the ropes, groaning loudly when bending her knees towards her to put pressure on the stab wound. 

 Even with Kaera’s gruelling exercises of making her run on the beach, Fay knew she couldn’t possibly escape the assassins on foot. Ignoring her vertigo, she lifted herself back into the air, dodging and pirouetting and swirling a few times as she had to dodge the sharp shuriken being thrown her way from below. It took her longer than usual to lift herself into the air because the stab wound made her feel light-headed and the pain was distracting, but Fay willed herself to go further up. 

She just had to lose the men after her. Then, if she crashed, at least there was sand to cushion her.

Small blessings, she supposed. 

.

.

Damian ignored the man’s screams as Bagheera flung him around like a rag doll, knowing the paladin would not kill him. Waiting until nightfall had been a successful strategy, and now they had access to the assassin’s water and weapons. With the sun setting, the temperature in the desert plummeted from an average of thirty-eight degrees Celsius to minus two. Most of the heat in the sand radiated into the air and the paladin was particularly grateful as he had found the entire desert experience unpleasant. He was accustomed to high temperatures but unlike in Maysoon, there was no reprieve from the scorching sun. 

Bagheera huffed at the groaning man on the ground, his jaws pulled back in a quiet snarl. The man ultimately fainted. Good. A dozen or so assassins had been knocked out and tied up, and at least half of them were bound to remember how much of a terrifying creature Bagheera could be. The paladin turned to walk over to the boy who was rummaging through his backpack. Fay couldn’t be tracked anymore but Damian thought she was eastbound. His grandfather’s men had aircraft so there was no say how far they’d taken her. The Arabian peninsula? Quite possibly. 

“Here.” The boy pulled out a flask of water. He was thirsty as well, but he knew the paladin was in a worse state. Bagheera opened his mouth and Damian poured the lukewarm liquid until there was nothing left. There was another flask available, half-full so Damian wasn’t worried about himself. “Pennyworth is sending an aircraft for us.” If they had to venture into the demon’s den, they’d need to be better equipped. Damian’s mind was swirling with strategies and amongst those, there were also theories on what his grandfather wanted with Fay. He preferred not to linger on what he could do to her because that would only result in distracting him. What mattered is that he got to her, sooner than later. 

Bagheera’s relief at having his thirst satiated was palpable. His hind leg was healing, slower than usual but he would be fine. He stared at the boy for a moment, then his eyes flitted onto the other flask on the ground. He growled softly. 

“More?” The boy picked it up, unscrewed the lid, and without hesitation tilted it towards the paladin. Bagheera could have drunk more. But it would be at the expense of the boy, who pretended to be unaffected. He snorted loudly, then pushed the flask back towards the boy with his nose. You drink. He was trying to communicate. “Fine. Your choice,” The boy grumbled, but his internal emotions didn’t match the ones he conveyed in his tone. Bagheera could sense his relief as well when Damian finally drank from the flask. 

The dark sky above was glittering with stars. Clearer than in Gotham. His Fay would have loved that. 

They needed to find her as soon as possible---his nostrils flared. 

The breeze carried a scent. 

Very faint. 

But familiar. 

Bagheera blinked, his head tilting as he looked at the vast, quiet desert stretching around them. 

“What’s the matter?”

The paladin straightened. His ears stood up straight like arrows, twitching and his head tilted up, as he sniffed loudly. 

There it was again!

It was blood, heavy and metallic. Sweat, acrid. 

And…. something else. A scent that was entirely unique, and he’d recognize anywhere.  

His Fay’s scent. 

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.

They found her one and a half kilometres east from their position, dragging her feet through the sand and swaying like a man who had stepped off a ship after years at sea. Fay thought she might be hallucinating. Again . She wasn’t sure how long she’d been travelling, but it had felt like years, with the sun glaring down on her. After climbing high to the skies and flying for a while, Fay had lost consciousness. She only remembered the wind rushing in her ears and her stomach churning as she started plummeting to the ground again. The next thing she remembered was waking up in the sand with the skin on her face feeling two sizes too small and the kevlar sticking to her uncomfortably. Her mouth was so dry that it might have as well been replaced by sand. She tried to fly a few more times, but she hadn’t been able to get very high into the air and every few kilometres of gliding, she had to take a break. Fay had lost count of how many times she’d fallen and she was quite sure she must have blacked out at least three times. She would lie if she said she hadn’t fallen prey to a sense of hopelessness when she realised she wasn’t even sure she was heading in the right direction. How would anyone even find her there? The desert stretched on for thousands of miles. Would she even survive? 

The day turned into night, and it had felt like a blip rather than something gradual to her discombobulated mind. The cold temperature was a reprieve, if only for a moment. She was already suffering from blood loss and her body struggled to regulate its temperature. Her hands felt stiff, and she couldn’t stop her teeth from chattering as she dragged her feet through the sand. For a hallucination, she thought as she saw Bagheera’s approach her, it was a good one to have. Oh. Damian was in the hallucination as well. Good. 

Fay sank to her knees, too tired to take another step. Then her body gave out entirely and she fell back, her gaze directing to the sky. There was something peaceful about that barren territory where the stars weren’t dimmed or hidden by pollution or urban architecture. “Fay, hey—” Damian crouched by her side, Bagheera next to him. “Damn it.” With the flashlight in his mouth, he quickly pried her hand away from her side to look at her injury. He used a shuriken to cut into her kevlar and pulled it apart, exposing her abdomen and the better part of her chest. Her skin was colder than usual. 

Her face was pale and clammy, lips dry and cracked. Her eyes fluttered open. “Da—Damian?” Her voice sounded raspy, older than it should. “Are… are you real?”

“I am here,” He replied. “I am real.” 

“B-Bag too?”

The paladin growled in response, and he leaned in to lick her face. 

Damian examined the injury. The injury was in the lateral lower quadrant of her abdomen. A thin blade had been used, deep enough to make her bleed but it had avoided any major organs or arteries. He could not assess how affected her intestines were. He glanced in the direction she came from. Empty. No one was coming after her. Then he exchanged a look with her paladin who had pressed himself close to her, looking concerned. 

“Can you heal her?” He asked. “Partially may work, to avoid long-term damage and buy us time. The aircraft is an hour away, still.”

Bagheera growled softly. He tilted his head to press it against her sternum and Damian felt the buzz of his energy before it became visible, electric blue energy seeping off him into the girl. He could not heal her fully, but he was able to stimulate another’s metabolism into working quicker like he had that night on Halloween with Damian. With Fay, it worked even better as her healing factor was quicker than an average human’s and her flux responded to his. The girl squirmed; face pinched in pain as she moaned slightly. Damian slid a hand under the back of her head, tilting it upward so he could bring the flask to her lips and make her drink without choking. 

The wound on her abdomen closed slightly, muscle and tissue mending before their eyes. It would have to do until they could get out of there. In the Batcave, there was a blood bank that contained bags of plasma that Alfred renewed from her on a regular basis, just in case of emergencies such as that. “Slowly, drink slowly,” He said softly as he pushed her up slightly more and poured water into her parched mouth gradually. She blinked a few times, gaining consciousness and he had to pull the flask away a couple of times to stop her from drinking too fast. 

“…I hate the desert.” She muttered as he cradled her closer, pulling her between his knees to offer his body heat. She was trembling. “There’s… spiders everywhere.”

His lips twitched. Idiot . That was the last thing she should be worrying about. 

“They’re---they’re not coming… are they,” She mumbled, eyes closing again. 

“No. We’re clear for now,” He said, before checking his watch. Thirty-nine minutes until the arrival of the craft. “We’ll be out within the hour.” Hang on. 

She hummed in response. 

Bagheera got closer, sandwiching Fay between his body and Damian’s. She curled a hand into his fur. 

They stayed like that until the Batplane came to extract them. 

Damian was not entirely relieved. As resourceful and determined as Fay could be, if Ra’s really wanted to get his hands on her, he wouldn’t have allowed her to escape so easily. He would have sent more men after her. After all, he’d clearly spent the past several weeks watching their movements, sending mercenaries after them in the jungle and then ambushing them in the desert. For what? To send a message? The injury was deliberately shallower than it could have been. 

In a way, it was more concerning they’d shaken off Ra’s so quickly than it would have been if he’d had to go through the League to get Fay back. 

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'Eth Alth'eban, two days later

The footage of the girl being held down and stabbed was brief but effective. Ra’s watched it replay on the large screen before his eyes before he signalled one of his men to cut it off. The moment when she released herself and flew away had also been captured, but that was of no interest. The whole point of it was to send a message, to demonstrate how easily he could get someone if he wanted to. 

And the message was received. 

The paused footage vanished, and he found himself staring at the man on the other end of the virtual transmission. The darkness of the room he was in shielded his features, but he was seated in a chair just like Ra’s himself. Two dangerous creatures, assessing one another from the safety of their secret locations. 

“Next time, I might cut off a limb. Or two.” He remarked calmly. “Or perhaps, I shall simply slit her throat.”

The man on the screen did not shift. He was still as a statue and with his face hidden, it was impossible to read his body language or facial expression. Ra’s, however, knew he had gotten their attention or that meeting wouldn’t be taking place. 

What is it you want, Ra’s Al Ghul?”

He smirked. 

“Let’s talk about something called the dark paths.”

I have no idea what you are referring to.”

Ra’s was not deterred in the slightest. “You know who I am, so you would not be so unwise to try and insult my intelligence.” Placing his elbows on the arms of the chair, he stapled his fingers before his mouth. “And I would extend the courtesy by not underestimating you. After all, the so-called Sponsor was far more willing to take his own life than being caught by you, did he not?” The man on the screen did not react. “The girl is of interest, as well. Imagine what would happen if she were to rot away in one of my dungeons? That is ought to… inconvenience you.”

There was a moment of silence. 

We shall talk .”

Several feet away, hiding behind one of the pillars supporting the cavernous private study, Talia frowned. Her father had remained very secretive about why he had such an interest in that girl, to the point she’d been left wondering if he was truly curious about her or just trying to rattle her son. 

Now she had her answer. 

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.

Unknown location, several days earlier 

Lira furiously rubbed her hands over her face, not even bothering to curse anymore because by that point it had started feeling redundant. Her eyes burned, primarily from lack of sleep as she stared at the cellphone on the old table before her. She’d responded to her niece, lying that she’d been sent back to Maysoon and hadn’t even bothered to look at the previous messages Fay had sent. Her niece had promised she wasn’t in any imminent danger. Lira hadn’t asked for details and Fay had mentioned something about a painting, but very little of it stuck in her mind. 

All she could think of was the warehouse in Gotham. Fay’s new home, modest and unassuming and a far cry from the luxury she could have had in Maysoon. All Lira could think about was her niece’s weird new lifestyle of allying herself with the warriors of that world and living amongst those humans. About how happy Fay was, how attached she had become to that boy and how that place managed to bring out the best in her, however strange that was.

Then she thought about the fact that Fay counted on her. Her niece counted on her, to be honest when others from their family had lied. Lira was the exiled one, after all, even when she was not, not really. She was the rebel, defiant even before Damar redefined that word by turning his back on the old way. She was the one who didn’t care about politics or being diplomatic and would say things as they were, even if it meant angering the rest of the clan. That’s why, she thought, Damar had wanted her to keep an eye on Lira. Because Fay would need that. He had been right. Then Lira thought about Titoh, as well. How the time on the island had managed to balm his soul and quieten his anger, how his newfound abilities had become a source of happiness and given him something to focus on. How he had found mentorship in Corim and uncanny friendship in Klaus. It wasn’t as if Damar would have expected her to neglect Titoh or that his foster son wouldn’t have needed support. They just needed two different approaches. 

Fay had found help elsewhere, though. She was better set for success in Gotham than she’d been in Maysoon. She was supposed to be safer there. To not have to worry about what she left behind. 

Fuck. 

Lira hadn’t slept in days. 

She was going to have to lie to her niece and nephew. She was going to have to break her promise to always be honest and upfront. 

Damar, you fucking idiot

The door to her left creaked. It was dark in the shabby apartment she was in, its walls full of mold and mice testing their luck by skittering across the floor even with her around. Lira turned to the man who limped out from the small bedroom into the room she was in. He looked significantly better than when she’d found him, and it made her heart wrench. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him in a terrible state, but the sight of him had plunged her back to the time when all she used to see was everyone injured one way or another in their fight for the Resistance. 

“You look like shit,” 

She smiled humorlessly. “Look who's talking, you fucker.”

Baije grinned. 

“Aye, you haven’t changed one bit, Lira.”

Chapter 69: Of electric and unexpected and exciting and puzzling

Notes:

New chapter will either be posted next Friday or Sunday :)
Beta-reader: MoonglowOnWater - Many thanks as always.

Chapter Text

“Growth demands a temporary surrender of security.
It may mean giving up familiar but limiting patterns, safe but unrewarding work, values no longer believed in [..].”
— John C. Maxwell

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Three days later….

“Ah.” Fay grimaced lightly as she peeled off the patch of gauze on her abdomen. She was quite sore in that area but other than that, she was satisfied with her healing progress after three days. The stab wound had closed almost entirely; there was no danger of reopening the wound unless she engaged in significant physical exercise, which she didn’t plan to.

The skin around the wound was still slightly inflamed, but the previous night she’d managed to sleep much better in comparison to the first day back in Gotham. Dressed in a tank top and shorts, she examined her exposed skin. Her marks felt tender but she was no longer sunburnt, although she did manage to get some rather awkward tan lines. She’d inherited her mother’s paler skin but growing up in Maysoon, she’d always be tanned except for the rare monsoon period. 

She threw away the patch of gauze into the bin, before carefully bending at the waist to open the cupboard underneath the marble counter. She grabbed one of the clay pots filled with Moma’s herb paste, an empty clay bowl and a small towel along with new bandages. Fay placed the items on the counter, then straightened. 

She gasped loudly when she caught sight of Damian in the mirror. He was standing on the threshold of her bathroom door, lurking like a ghost. 

A silent, brooding one who had been rather quiet since they’d returned. She knew the appearance of his grandfather must have affected him, regardless of how dismissive or indifferent he acted about it. Truth to be told, the past month had been very strange. Fay looked back on it fondly because she’d gotten the chance to travel that world and learn about several different cultures, but they’d not done so for the sake of entertainment. It had all started with that painting, which was still in their possession but now felt like a mockery, a reminder of how their trip had been a wild goose chase. One that culminated with her getting kidnapped by one of that world's most dangerous criminals. 

Fay turned around to face him. “Hey.” She said. They hadn’t spoken much since their return to Gotham. Fay had decided to go back to the warehouse a day later after Alfred cleared her to leave the medical bay.

She took in Damian’s casual attire, dark slacks, and a green shirt, then his expressionless face. He did not look exhausted, which was somewhat of a relief. He tended to hide his tiredness rather well. 

“Are you alright?” She asked. 

Damian soundlessly got closer to her. “Are you?” He asked lowly. How typical of him to answer with a question, especially to avoid discussing his own state. 

“Yes.” She did not want to push him. “My wound is mostly healed.” 

Green eyes flitted to the clay pot set on the counter. “Your marks are bothering you,”

“Just a tiny bit,” She shrugged. “The worst has passed in the first day and I didn’t even need the salve, just cold showers.” 

He didn’t respond, but his eyes fell on her abdomen pointedly. “May I see?” Fay stared at him for a moment, then rolled her shirt up a few times to expose the area where she’d been stabbed. She’d worn less fabric in front of him before, but she suddenly felt self-conscious. She wondered if he thought anything about the fact that her stomach was not as toned as Stephanie’s. Fay mentally used her as a point of reference, because she was the female vigilante she was closest to. 

Her chest was filled with mixed emotions. On the one hand, she wanted to know what he thought and on the other hand, she didn’t think it mattered because their friendship was not conditional on things such as appearance. She was also inexplicably harried at the idea that he wouldn’t think anything… because he didn’t see her as a girl. Young woman. Woman in the making. Whichever

How would he even look at someone he did like? Physically? Would he have a preference? Damian was opinionated by nature, she finds it hard to believe he wouldn’t at least have some thoughts on the matter. 

On second thought, she didn’t want the answer to that. That line of thought was starting to make her feel anxious and her hands sweat. 

She didn’t want to know how Damian would look at someone he liked more than as a friend. 

And she didn’t want to know why she didn’t want to know. 

Caught in her ruminations, Fay didn’t even notice Damian stepping aside to fill the clay bowl with warm water until she heard the faucet running. She blinked, refocusing and watched him soak the cotton towel before squeezing out the excess water. 

Wordlessly, he brought back the towel to her abdomen, running it gently on the skin around her injury. It never failed to amaze her – or endear her, for that matter – how gentle and patient he could be when he wanted to. She remained still, keeping her shirt up as he finished cleaning her - she hadn’t needed it actually but she didn’t stop him -  and ignoring the way her stomach fluttered when she felt his fingers brush against her skin. She chalked it up to the fact that she tended to be rather ticklish. 

Damian applied the fresh patch of gauze. She lowered her shirt. 

He grabbed the pot with the salve. 

“Turn around,” She turned around and her cheeks reddened when she felt him lift her shirt again. He was careful not to expose her more than required, and she made sure the cotton material didn’t ride up too high. 

There was another towel within her reach if she needed but thankfully, she was wearing a soft, halter-neck bralette which left her back bare for the most part. She stared at him in the reflection as he scooped the light green salve, spreading it slightly over the upper part of his fingers before bringing them over her back. The salve was not cold, but she jumped anyway, and her heart skipped when his other hand instinctively fell on her hip to keep her in place. Her mouth felt dry as she awkwardly kept her arms pressed against her torso. His hand was hot, the grip firm but not painful. 

With him so close behind her, eyes focused on her back as he spread the salve over her marks, it made for a very interesting image. 

She shut her eyes. 

That was a mistake because then her other senses were focused on the sensations on her back. She was being silly, of course, as he’d applied the salve to her marks before. 

What changed? 

(she’d never been in front of a mirror before)

Fay opened her eyes, her breath hitching when she found herself looking into his eyes reflecting in the mirror. He was staring at her. The hand on her hip was still there. The other was splayed on her back, thumb brushing over the fading scars. “Does it hurt?” 

(oh, it was anything but painful)

“N-no.” She said. “It… tickles, a little.”

(liar)

If he could tell she was lying, he didn’t say anything as he finished coating her back in the salve. 

“Hm.” The hand on her hip fell away leaving her feeling oddly cold in that area alone.

Damian carefully lowered her shirt, then instructed her to raise one arm. She went with her left and bit the inside of her cheek when she noticed how shaky her hand was. 

It was the long journey and the sun and the shocking encounter with Ra’s. That had to be it. That’s why she was reacting in that manner. 

(it had to be)

His hands felt soothing as he palmed the salve onto her arm, going around her bicep and then down to her forearm, to get rid of the excess. The salve generally left her with a cooling sensation but it did not seem to have the same effect that day. She felt feverish. Fay wondered if she’d taken out the wrong salve or if that batch had gone wrong. Moma would hit her over the head with her cane if she knew Fay questioned her ability.

Once the left arm was done, she let it fall by her side, then lifted the other one. 

“Did he say anything about why you were taken?” Damian asked. His hot breath fanned over the back of her neck. Fay wouldn’t have taken him for a natural masseur, but his deft fingers felt soothing against her sore muscles as he applied pressure in the right areas. The salve took only seconds to apply as it was easily absorbed in the skin but he took his time. 

“No. He asked me about my world, whether I believe it is as corrupted as this one and so on.” They’d already spoken about her encounter with Ra’s. Twice. Was he worried? There was something she hadn’t told him, though. Fay hadn’t brought up Kareem. She knew Ra’s mentioned him to try and rattle her, or perhaps erode her bond with Damian, but she refused to let him get under her skin.  

When his hands fell away from her arm and he remained silent, Fay looked in the mirror at his reflection. His brows were furrowed. 

Crap. 

Her face was an open book. 

“What are you not telling me?”

There was no way she could get away with lying about it. She didn’t wish to bring it up because it felt like such a personal and painful matter, but Fay did not wish to keep it a secret either. She turned around to face him, pressing against the counter when she found him so close that she had to take a step back to meet his gaze. She’d caught up with his height since the new year had begun, but she had a feeling it would not last long. Fay bit her lower lip for a moment as she thought about how to broach it. 

“I think it might be something… upsetting. He knew that and that’s why he brought it up.” 

He stared at her, in the mirror, expression sharp. 

“I see.” Pause. “Get on the counter.”

Always so demanding. 

Fay did as she was told, however, and pulled herself on top of the marble counter which ended up switching the height difference between them, as she was taller than him by a couple of centimetres.

The marble counter was cold, but she didn’t pay attention to it, as stared at Damian, mildly nervous. He didn’t look angry, but his expression was schooled away into a mask of indifference which she knew to be a ruse. He had gotten much easier to read over the years. Or at least to her, he had.

He scooped more of the salve, smeared it between his hands – once, twice, three times – before his palms pressed on her legs, just above her knees. Her eyes fell to his calloused hands – strong yet elegant, gentle yet lethal if he wanted – as they kneaded her lightly there. He brushed over the marks which went as high as the middle of her thigh, and she suddenly had trouble putting her thoughts in order. The safest word her mind could come up with describing what she felt was nice .  

(and electric and unexpected and exciting and puzzling)

Fay pulled her bottom lip between her teeth as she averted her eyes from watching him smear the salve down from her thighs over her knees and onto her shins. Her heart kept fluttering and she made a mental note of drinking more water; she must still be recovering from the dehydration she had suffered. What else could it be? He’d applied salve on her before, she reminded herself for the third time in the span of a few minutes. There was nothing strange or new about it. 

(yet it felt different)

When he was done with her legs, Damian straightened and stepped closer to her, to stand between her knees. She could feel his gaze boring into her face. “Tell me.” 

Fay reached to scratch her nose, then turned her head and tentatively met his gaze. “I don’t want to bring back bad memories.” She said softly. She swallowed when she saw his eyes flit to her neck and then her exposed collarbone. The only place where she had marks that he hadn’t applied salve on yet. She could anticipate his hand brushing over that area and it sent an unexpected jolt to the pit of her stomach, like a lightning bolt. 

(there was nothing unpleasant or painful about it)

“That’s ridiculous,” He said, meeting her gaze again. “The memories are always there. I have an eidetic ability.”

He knew that was not what she meant, and she knew he knew that. It was not about the memory per se, but the emotions that came attached with it. 

Fay drew in a breath. He wouldn’t let it go until she told him, and she didn’t want to lie to him. 

“He told me to ask you about… one of your teachers. Kareem.” 

If she hadn’t been so close and hadn’t known him so well, Fay would have missed the subtle changes in his posture and expression that indicated she’d touched a nerve. His shoulders rose up ever so slightly, his hands which he had rested back on her knees stiffened. His eyes grew darker as if someone had just turned off a light somewhere in his brain. 

Fay frowned. “I—I don’t need to know. You don’t have to tell me anything---”

“Kareem was my art tutor.” Damian interrupted her, coolly. He didn’t remove his hands from her legs, and she felt his thumb brush over one of the marks on her left thigh. “He taught me both art history and a number of painting techniques. One day, he trespassed upon a private ceremony of my grandfather’s whilst picking up a pigment for one of my paintings. He was not allowed to lay eyes on the citadel of the demon’s head.”

Damian paused, trying, and failing to relax his jaw. He stared at his hands where they lightly cupped her knees and wondered if she’d feel disgusted with him touching her once he told her the second part to that story. They’d talked before, about the Year of Blood and the worldwide missions he has fulfilled. The tombs he’d raided, the ancient civilizations he’d disrespected, the pain he’d caused to reiterate or establish the superiority of the Al Ghuls. He’d also told her about his travels in trying to offer reparations when they’d discussed how he’d met Maya. Nobody’s daughter had forgiven him, both for the death of her father and the mistakes he had made.
Fay never offered her forgiveness because she told him she had nothing to forgive him for. She knew how cruel he’d been, how he’d once revelled in instigating fear and even killing others, but she’d never seen that side of him. She’d never heard the details. 

“The punishment was the loss of his sight. I was given a choice. Spare him or punish him.” He would have paid with his own sight, likely. Maybe Talia wouldn’t have allowed it to happen ultimately, but the damage would have been far worse. He would have looked weak. “He begged for my forgiveness, and I threw acid in his face. He was permanently blinded, of course, and now he sits on one of the League’s islands, doing little else but stare at a painting. The last one he saw me paint.” He felt bile rise back the back of his throat as the silence stretched between them. 

Then he felt her relax, knees parting wider as her arms came around his shoulders to pull him forward towards her. He didn’t even resist, as the side of her face pressed against his. “I love you,” She said simply. His eyes widened but she didn’t catch that as his head slotted in the crook of her neck, his nose brushing against her neck. “I know that I do not fully understand all the… burdens that you carry. All these memories and the things you did. But I like and—and accept who you are,” She said quietly. “With the good and the… not so good. I wish—” Her other hand came between them, and he felt her palm press on his chest, above his heart. “I wish I could take it away.” Her eyes stung. “Not because you’re not strong enough,” She added quickly, knowing he abhorred others being condescending to him although that was not her intention. “But because you shouldn’t have to carry all that. You don’t deserve it. Those were your actions and your choices at the time, and you thought they were the right ones. But you are also all the good choices you’ve made. I know I said I can’t forgive you because I have nothing to forgive you for. And I don’t. If I had been one of the people you’ve hurt, I don’t know where we would stand, and I don’t think… it matters. We are who we are now, and we met the way we did.” She pressed her temple against his, head tilting slightly towards him. “And I am so happy we did.” She smiled shyly. “Because I got to see all of you, not just who you were back then.” 

The tension left his shoulders. Palpitations filled her stomach when his arms cinched around her waist, pulling himself flush against her. The salve he’d put on her limbs was rubbing off on his clothes but neither one cared as they stayed like that for a few minutes. 

He pulled away first, only to tell her to tilt her head back so he could apply the salve to her collarbone. She didn’t think it was needed as her marks there felt fine, but she found herself unable to say no. 

(anticipation building in her chest)

Damian smeared some salve onto the tips of his right fingers before gently brushing against her skin, going left to right. His other arm fell away from her waist, but the hand lingered on her hip. Fay swallowed, feeling self-conscious with her neck exposed like that. 

The salve felt colder than usual, perhaps because she seemed to be running a fever. His fingers tickled her lightly as they moved over her marks and a shiver ran down her spine. When he removed his hand, Fay took that as her cue to lower her head, but he was quicker. She felt something warm and soft press against the column of her throat. She thought she’d imagined it but then she felt it again, in a different spot right at the base of her neck where her pulse was. 

Was that his—? 

Damian pulled away and she had to remind herself to breathe, as she finally straightened her head and met his gaze. Her ears felt as if they were on fire. She remained rooted in her spot when he leaned forward again, and she felt his mouth brush against her cheek next. He lowered it back to her neck again and she felt his breath fan over the junction between her neck and shoulder. 

Fay’s hands tightened around his biceps where’d they fallen while he was applying the salve to her collarbone. Nice did not effectively express how it felt to be pressed against him, to have him press his mouth on her neck or the way his fingers created light patterns on her hip. 

“You said you wished to see Mercher before the museum,” The vibrations in his diaphragm travelled through her body and she had to suppress a shudder. 

“Yes,” She muttered, feeling short of breath. 

He pulled away, tugging her off the counter by one wrist. Fay felt an inexplicable loss, but she didn’t say anything as she followed him out of the bathroom. 

Her friend seemed comforted by her words, and that was all that mattered. 

(and electric and unexpected and exciting and puzzling )

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.

30 th of April 

“…and then we ended up in the desert in a dead end.” Fay finished, as she sat on one of the bean bags in the living room, staring at her aunt. Lira looked like she could have used some sleep, but the woman was as upbeat and receptive as always, so Fay didn’t bring it up. When she asked why Lira had to go to Maysoon, her aunt said that it was to report on Fay’s welfare in that world as well to see if there were any messages to be passed on from Aryg. There weren’t, other than that he hoped both Fay and Titoh were well and thriving in their respective environments. He was pleased with the reports Lira had offered him, especially hearing about her phasing and Titoh’s progress in his studies. Fay had gotten the sense Lira left out many details of her life in Gotham when she talked to Aryg. Probably for the best. 

Lira snorted as she pressed down on the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger. “You are a troublemaker.”

“I am not!” 

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I am not.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am— damn it .” Fay grumbled. “I cannot believe I fell for that.”

Lira chuckled. 

“Where’s this painting, then?”

Fay got up from her seat and walked over to the ever-growing study area on the ground floor, where the books and art pieces hanging from the wall continuously raced one another in conquering more space. She hadn’t told her aunt about her encounter with Ra’s Al Ghul, because then she’d have to talk about Damian’s background, and she wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. It was also a personal matter for Damian, and he did not fully trust her aunt, so telling Lira about his maternal side of the family felt like a violation of his privacy. In time, though, she hoped to be as honest as possible with Lira, seeing as Damian constituted such a large part of her life there. 

I will be here for a long time, too, as well.  

(right?)

She frowned, then shook her head to herself as she walked over to one corner and pulled out the stainless-steel cylinder in which she kept the rolled painting. If the owner of the antique shop in Colombia was heartbroken over the loss of it, he was bound to feel consoled by the generous amount of money that she had paid for several of the artisan crafts objects she’d purchased online. Their trip to Colombia had taught her that it was a country rich in indigenous history and culture, and it delighted her to keep adding items to her collection. A bonus was that it satisfied her natural curiosity and recently, she had started to busy herself by drawing comparisons between the places she saw and learned of in that world and her own homeworld. It was fuel for long discussions between herself and Damian, which admittedly have become more intermittent.

Fay walked back to where her aunt was sitting on the sofa. Bagheera was out on the sun terrace, sprawled with his belly up and sleeping soundly with elderly Oscar next to him and Nada on his chest. Pip had taken a shine to Lira so ever since she’d stopped by an hour earlier, he’d been sitting next to her. The warrior was more than happy to indulge him with ear scratches and belly rubs. 

The girl unscrewed the cap of the holder, placed it on the coffee table, and then carefully took out the painting inside which was rolled several times. They’d examined it at length once back in Gotham and Damian had even gone as far as taking samples of the paint. They found nothing out of the ordinary other than the initial lead. 

She would have taken it to Daphne but given how many hands the painting had been through, Fay didn’t hold hope the woman would be able to get a read . Plus, Daphne had decided to go visit her family in France after her extended stay in Gotham. Fay trusted her far more than she did initially, but she and Damian were still being cautious about what she knew, primarily because his identity remained undisclosed. Lira herself was the only one from her family who knew Robin’s real identity. At times it was hard to keep track of who knew what, but thankfully there were also those who preferred not to ask too many questions. 

She unrolled the painting and plopped down next to her aunt. 

“See?” She said, pointing at one corner. “It’s signed Aranar Carwhel.”

“Hm.” Lira surveyed the painting. 

Looks like he was right. 

“Do you know anything about these items?” Fay pulled out her phone to show the woman a picture of the carved message she found in the cave. “Oh. Here is the message I found in the cave.” 

Lira lowered the painting on the coffee table and then looked at Fay’s phone. “Four different languages. Coded.”

The girl nodded. “I was wondering maybe you could take a look? I think I deciphered it correctly as it led us to that church, but what if I missed something?”

Her aunt nodded. “I am not aware of any other false leads being planted in this world, much less under that moniker. I will ask Kaera and Len.” 

Fay smiled. Lira watched the girl roll the painting back up and then slide it inside the stainless-steel cylinder. It worried her how keen her niece seemed on trying to chase leads like that.. 

“Is this about that night?”

Fay was in the process of sending the picture of the cave message to Lira’s phone. “What?” She asked, looking up. 

Lira cracked her knuckles out of habit. 

“Why are you so interested in chasing this? If it hadn’t been a dead end. What did you think it’ll lead to?” She already knew the answer, but she hoped her niece would feel less inclined to worry about such matters. It was entirely normal that she wanted answers – they all did – but she was happy there, was she not? Just months earlier, Fay had proudly shown Lira her new suit and the moniker she’d been gifted. She had, by all intents and purposes, been initiated as a warrior in that world, and she seemed far more stimulated positively by that environment. 

They wouldn’t want her to get involved. 

“I… I don’t know,” Fay answered with a sombre expression. “I suppose I am curious. If you don’t know about it, and the others on the island don’t know about it, then how did this painting come to be? And why?” The girl leaned back on the sofa, absent-mindedly playing with one of Pip’s floppy ears. She was silent for a moment. “There’s so much mystery around these dark paths, yet it feels like the only ones who knew were my parents. Sometimes I wonder if they even existed. But then why would they tell me about them?” She sighed. “Do you think… maybe, they had something to do with what---what happened?”

Too clever for her own good. 

Lira shook her head. “I highly doubt it. It is possible that the story of the dark paths was embellished—just look at what happens when some end up travelling between realms.” She reached to rub a hand over Fay’s head. “You know what I think? I think you should not worry so much about it. You have this entirely new life here and if you enjoy it, just do that. Enjoy it. It’s not your responsibility to figure anything out. Aryg can deal with the political shit in Maysoon and the Council is monitoring the passages between the worlds.” 

Fay didn’t look convinced, but she nodded. 

“It’s just… frustrating. Titoh told me he can’t remember that night well either and many others have experienced the same issue.” Fay wondered if she should talk to her aunt about the spider symbol. Lira will likely just tell her not to worry, however. 

“It is not uncommon in such events, especially with civilians and children.”

“Moma said the same thing.”

Everyone always says the same thing. 

Lira smirked. “And is that woman ever wrong?”

Fay smiled back. “Maybe. Sometimes.”

“But?”

“We never tell her.”

“Exactly.”

Fay jumped up to her feet. “I am hungry,” She put her arms up above her head, stretching. “Do you want pizza?”

“Does it have those tiny little fish on it again because I am in no way—”

“You mean anchovies and no, they don’t have to. I told you that you will not like them.”

“Blame a woman for being curious. But yes, I’ll eat.”

The girl beamed. “We’ll go collect in Burnside. I will race you, aunt Lira!” Then she ran off towards the entrance to put her shoes on. 

Lira’s smile faded when the girl wasn’t looking. 

And here I was judging Aryg for being a lying bastard. 

.

.

.

2 nd of May

“I am sorry, but they really wanted to do something nice for you,” Fay said apologetically as she stared at her brooding friend. Despite his protests against having a ‘surprise’ party organised by the rest of the family, he’d already eaten two slices of cake and he’d also enjoyed most, if not all the presents he’d received. Fay had known Dick was planning on organising a late celebration given they had been in the desert when Damian had turned fifteen and she felt mildly guilty about not warning him. 

“Hn.”

“Will you go to the Paradise Garden with me?” She asked with a smile, sitting next to him on the sofa. The others were still in the kitchen, chatting and laughing. Bagheera and Titus knew better than to leave early when they had so many people they could persuade into giving them food.

“I promise it’ll just be us. No surprise parties.” He watched her from the corner of his eye. There may be no surprise parties, but she had something planned beyond dinner. He wasn’t expecting a gift for his birthday, he never did, but Fay had always managed to be thoughtful about what she gave him.

“Very well.”

Damian stared at the wide array of Middle Eastern foods that had been placed on the silk-covered table. They are at Paradise Gardens, same place as always. The second floor of the restaurant, private room, near the windows facing the Dion Plaza on the other side of the boulevard. Where they’d first met officially. 

It really was just the two of them. Bagheera had opted to stay back to keep Oscar company, who lately had been having more and more trouble moving due to his arthritis. Fay had also made sure her paladin had a whole basket full of apples which certainly helped.

 “I have to admit,” Fay said as she wrung her hand nervously because she couldn’t tell if he was satisfied or not as he stepped forward and started perusing the food with the same attention of a food critic. “It wasn’t entirely my doing. Dick gave me the idea after he told me there was this restaurant you liked going to, but it is temporarily closed due to renovations. Alfred helped me get in touch with other food providers so really, it’s all thanks to them. All I did was book this room.” She smiled sheepishly. 

Damian straightened and turned to look back at her as she glided over to another table near the main one which contained at least a dozen different dishes. They were hidden by stainless steel domes. “The only thing I added was the food from the island.” Her smile faded. “Well, actually I had to convince Aunt Lira to help with that.” She shrugged, then met his gaze. 

He didn’t say anything, and Fay scratched her cheek, feeling nervous. She glided over to him as he knew she would. “Is this… alright?” She asked hesitantly. 

Damian grabbed her wrist to keep her in place and then leaned forward to bring his mouth close to her ear. “Yes.” She shivered when his breath tickled her ear, and he smirked. When he pulled away, he was unable to stop himself from brushing his mouth down the line of her jaw. So lightly that it made her wonder if she’d imagined it. 

“Will you tell me about them?”

“You ordered food without knowing its origin and cultural significance?”

She gave him a look knowing he wasn’t irate, just mocking her lightly. “Well, I did some research, but I like it when you tell me things.” She liked when he talked to her; the way his accent would change, how he seemed to enunciate most foreign words so well that she’d get a glimpse of what those languages sounded like. She liked it when it was just the two of them and their attention was only on each other. The world could just go on outside and it wouldn’t matter. 

Damian sighed. 

“I suppose I have a responsibility to educate the ignorant---”

“Oh shut up.”

She was grinning though. 

(he didn’t think he’d mind having that for all of his remaining birthdays)

.

.

.

Fay’s brain automatically put aside the moment they’d shared in the bathroom weeks earlier. She didn’t think about it, or the way it made her feel. The image of her friend’s hands on her hips and legs. Deep down, she knew that a friend should not make her feel that way, and even deeper than that she also knew that should she allow her brain to process it, there’d be no coming back. She instinctively settled for other explanations that were just sufficient to ease the constant niggling sensation at the back of her head. 

Damian was her closest friend. Her best friend. With him, she could be vulnerable and voice thoughts she would not to others. She adored Damian as much as she did her paladin. Therefore, it was normal that she’d feel the constant need to show her affection. She ended up telling herself that if she liked putting her hands through his hair or feeling the way his shoulder muscles were corded after training or if had gotten a habit of pressing her nose at his neck to inhale his scent, it was the same as when she cuddled Bagheera. She forced her mind to accept that explanation because the alternative was not acceptable. The alternative felt like a foreign territory full of unexpected dangers, an abyss she’d fall into and never be able to crawl back out of, not without long-lasting consequences. 

She was used to seeing him shirtless. Fay didn’t really baulk at seeing those of the opposite gender in a state of undress. When she was on the island, she’d seen both Klaus and Thelion shirtless and while she’d caught herself silently admiring their physique, Fay did not feel as guilty as she once had but she made sure to never be disrespectful or let her eyes linger. 

One day, however, as she was waiting in Damian’s bedroom, reading a copy of Moby Dick, the boy exited the bathroom wearing just a fresh pair of boxers after his shower. Not a new image, nothing that she’d really given a second thought before, no more than she did with other males she’d seen in a state of undress. She reasoned that it was normal she’d sometimes be caught off guard by how much adolescence was also affecting Damian. He was taller, his shoulders were broader, and he remained lean but the lines of the muscles on his abdomen had become more defined. It’s fine , she told herself because he must notice how much she’d changed from her twelve-year-old self – of course, he would, Damian was highly observant – and wasn’t it beautiful that they got to see each other grow up? 

His boxers were hanging lower than usual and her eyes, against her will, zeroed in on the faint V that that formed down his hips whenever he moved and the fine line of hair starting just below his belly button and going down to his---Fay turned her head away so quickly that she felt something pop in her neck. Heat pooled in her face and she told herself it was because of surprise and natural curiosity because she’d never been quite that close to a half-naked male body before, and it was bound to happen with Damian and there was nothing wrong with that---- “I forgot something in my room. I will be right back.” She was already flying across the room by the time she finished her sentence, nearly forgetting she’d have to open the door to exit and almost slamming into it.

Damian, a small blessing from the universe to her, thought nothing of her reaction, but her mind struggled to let go of the image for the rest of the day. It’s called an Adonis Belt, Cora helpfully told her when Fay casually mentioned that she’d seen several magazines praise that area of the male body as being very attractive to women. It was a mistake to ask, because then she found herself cataloguing various pictures in her mind and comparing them to her friend’s body, and she just barely stopped herself from thinking his is not as pronounced but I like it better. 

Damian could be affectionate. It had taken them a long time and many trials as friends to get where they are, but it filled her with infinite delight that he chose to make her an exception. She liked the way he brushed his fingers against the nape of her neck because he knew it relaxed her when she felt anxious. She liked the way he cradled her between his legs and arms when she woke up from a night terror. She liked the way his breath tickled her ear when he murmured something in Arabic that she didn’t understand but knew was comforting all the same. Sometimes he’d press his mouth against her jaw or her neck when she struggled to bring her heart rate back down. She liked how his hands felt because she knew what they were capable of yet they were so gentle and careful when they were touching her. She liked the way he’d started to place his head on her stomach when they had a moment of peace and solitude. And she told herself that if it felt good when he bit her shoulder or neck during a wrestling match, it was only because she was ticklish and she was always reassured he’d never actually hurt her.

When she couldn’t chalk up the butterflies in her stomach or the way her heart fluttered to the affection and safety that he offered her, Fay blamed adolescence. She no longer felt as embarrassed as she used to by the way her body reacted sometimes, by the newfound interest in exploring her body. She blamed her body for reacting strangely when sometimes his arm brushed against her chest or the way her knees went weak when his hand brushed her thigh. There was nothing inappropriate about it. Damian, for all his bluntness and lack of propriety, never overstepped her physical boundaries if she was uncomfortable or needed space. If he did end up brushing against a spot that made her irrationally light-headed, it was involuntary. 

Yes, she justified everything, and it worked, and there was no reason to look deeper than that. 

It worked until it didn’t. 

.

.

.

5 th of June

Dick, like any normal human being who spent the better part of his life wearing a kevlar suit fighting criminals and helping people, needed a day off. He met up with various members of the family plenty of times, but a day off would be just for him. And Kory. As soon as he’d had a nice, quiet day to himself, eating junk food and watching reruns of tv series from his childhood while Haley slept on his lap.

Or maybe not. 

He found his youngest brother perched on the windowsill seven minutes into the first episode. He  refused to use a door like a normal person. Dick loved Damian, he really did, but he couldn’t help sighing internally as he shoved another spoonful of cereal in his mouth. Damian eyed the bowl in his lap as if it were full of worms. 

“Want some?” Dick asked, knowing full well the boy would say no. Damian had always been more of a Cinnamon Toast Crunch type of person. He’d be caught dead before admitting it though, even when Dick had found him hand deep in one of those boxes. 

“Firstly, those things are an abomination full of sugar, and second, it’s one o’clock in the afternoon,”

“That’s a no, then?” 

The boy tutted, then looked down at Haley who had rushed to the windowsill, propping her one front leg against the wall, and stared at him with begging eyes. Damian dropped his feet to the floor, picked the dog up, and then sat back down on the windowsill. Dick silently took note of the boy’s outfit – dark trousers and a button-up dark green shirt – as he watched Damian scratch Haley’s chin. His younger brother always took particular care in the way he dressed unless he was so caught up in a case, then he’d hardly ever remove his suit. 

Damian was silent, eyes just perusing his apartment although it was the same as last time and there was nothing to analyse there. If it was a mission he came there for, he would have worn his suit, but he was dressed casually. It wasn’t unusual for them to hang out, but Dick had a feeling his brother wasn’t there to watch a movie. 

“Something on your mind, D?” He probed with an air of nonchalance. 

Damian did not miss a beat. 

“You have built a reputation for being a rakehell that does not always select his partners based on immutable mate selection criteria,”

Okay… Dick took a moment to digest that and remember what the word rakehell meant. Right. A philanderer. Had it been anyone else, he might have been offended. With Damian, he had to wonder why the hell his younger brother was bringing up something like that on a sunny Sunday afternoon. 

Fay has just left for the summer, hasn’t she?

A bored Damian could be a very unpredictable Damian. And dangerous. 

Right now, he was just being annoying. 

“Where are you going with this, D?”

"Why Starfire?”

Oh boy. 

Dick grabbed his remote and switched the TV off. He felt like he might be in for a long talk. He knew Damian would always have a more formal way of expressing himself. That was perfectly alright but Dick also knows that whenever the boy got too clinical or stately with his speech, it was because he was trying to broach a subject he wasn’t comfortable with. Or did not have enough information on. Or both. Either that or he just liked being condescending because he knew it would rile others up.  

He knew his brother well. 

Dick  could have asked why the boy was asking, but then they’d end up going nowhere. Plus his interest has been piqued, as he had his suspicions as to why the boy was suddenly curious. 

“Mutual trust, respect. Love.” Incredible sex , but he doubted that was what Damian wanted to hear. “There are ways in which we complement one another, both in weaknesses and strengths. We have known each other since we were teenagers, mask on and off.”

“Hn.” Damian looked inattentive as he ran his hand over the dog’s head. Haley whined happily, tail wagging as she leaned her head against his chest. 

Dick held very still and considered how to proceed. Damian’s curiosity had to have a specific root cause, it wasn’t just whimsy. Something to do with Fay, most likely. Dick knew the two had spent several weeks travelling alone, a journey that had ended with Ra’s stabbing his friend and leaving her to meander the desert. To Fay’s credit, she had seemed to recover quickly, not just in the physical sense. 

“Has Fay arrived safely?” Wherever she went. It remained a mystery although Dick was perhaps the one who knew most about the arrangement Fay had with her family. It did warm his heart to know that Damian trusted him with such information. Dick was afraid their relationship had been dented by his return to the role of Nightwing, a concern that had only deepened when he’d seen how much the boy struggled to work with his own father. When Fay first came into his life, Damian had behaved as if she were a wounded bird that he had to look after, regardless of whether he’d suspected that she was more than she appeared to be. He may not have been able to regain the partnership he’d had with Dick, but he’d gained a constant presence in his life that loved and accepted him. It was hard not to like her, in Dick’s opinion, when she looked at Damian and saw what so many others failed to. Primarily because it was not easy to be around someone like Damian and most people lost patience. He knew Damian also saw more of Fay than they did. 

“Yes,” The boy responded curtly as he got up from the windowsill, the dog still in his arms, and came to sit next to Dick. Not too close, but not as far as he used to years earlier. Actually, back then he probably wouldn’t have sat next to me at all, Dick mused. Haley jumped from Damian’s arms and clambered over to Dick’s lap who smiled in response. “Good girl.”

Dick felt like the ball was in his court, but it came with conditions. He couldn’t ask any direct questions because Damian was bound to withdraw and refuse to discuss the issue altogether, no matter how much more communicative he’d become over the years.

 “What do you mean by ‘immutable mate selection criteria?” He asked, keeping his tone light although he was not sure whether to find it funny or horrifying that he was using those words for what could simply be I did not know you were interested in relationships, tell me more.

The answer was immediate as if Damian was reading off a paper. “Excellent genetic compatibility to ensure the heir will inherit the superior—” He must have realised what he sounded like because he stopped abruptly. His eyes widened for a split second before his expression morphed into something sharp. They both knew what he was thinking, and neither one of them had to say it out loud. 

It sounded like something Ra’s al Ghul would say. Damian has been conceived following a consensual union of his parents, who at the time may have also shared a genuine affection for one another, but it did not change the fact that the combined Al Ghul-Wayne genes made him the heir Ra’s had always desired. “I don’t know,” It’s so quiet that Dick would have missed it if he hadn’t seen Damian’s mouth move. 

“That’s alright,” Dick replied quickly. “You don’t need to have that figured out yet.”

TT . Just because I am fifteen, it does not mean I am not capable of—”

Dick leaned over, bridging the gap between them so he could place a hand on the boy’s shoulder. 

“I know.” He smiled encouragingly. “However, if you look at what you thought on this topic years ago, it used to be vastly different, correct?” The boy just stared at him, brows creasing. “What I am saying is that you’re allowed to change your mind on such matters. Your needs as an individual may change in the future.”

“Are you implying I am going to become the type of man who cannot control himself? Like you?”

Wasn’t it wonderful being the big brother? Then Dick caught the glint in the boy’s eye, and he realised that while Damian might be serious about his statement, he was also purposefully being a little shit. 

“There is nothing wrong with being attracted or acting on that attraction if your partner is reciprocating the interest.” 

Damian looked away from him, expression becoming neutral. 

I think we’re on to something here. 

“I do not…” The boy stopped. Dick watched the line of his jaw become more pronounced, as he grit his teeth. “I do not believe that it… will be of interest to me.” Then quieter. “As it would to others.”

“Okay,” Dick said automatically before his brain had even processed what his brother was trying to say. Because it was okay , no matter what. “At… all?”

“Don’t be stupid, Grayson,” He snapped. Back on the defensive, huh? “I am able to appreciate aesthetics. I understand what drives the common masses to place so much importance on sexual gratification, to the point they are needlessly distracted by its pursuit. Attraction is nothing more than a response of the same brain pathways that produce the emotion of reward, which explains why so many fall into the trap of chasing it continuously.”  Dick didn’t say anything, as he took note of the boy’s stiff shoulders and the way his fingers clenched ever so slightly. He was trying to control the urge to fist his hands. “I… do not feel the need to act on it..” 

A beat of silence. “Okay, cool,” Dick said, just as easily as before. “You do what makes you comfortable.”

“I will,” Damian short of snapped, if only because there was a part of him who expected Dick to have at least been sceptical of his statement; he was prepared to defend himself thoroughly. “I am not… entirely impervious, however.” He added after a moment, looking annoyed. 

Which means —“A friendship requires mutual trust, respect, and understanding of one another,” Dick said. “Those are the same qualities one would look for if they were to... pursue something else.”

Damian’s Adam's apple bobbed up and down and that’s how Dick knew he had struck a nerve. 

“I am aware of that already,” The former assassin replied tightly. 

“Is there anything I can answer?” Dick finally asked, ripping off the metaphorical band-aid. The boy was silent for so long after that it made the older man think he maybe should have been more patient. 

“What if there are differing levels of interest involved?” He said quickly, out all in one breath. 

“Damian—”

“The statistics do not offer a sufficient enough answer,”

Dick was going to need more sugar. And pronto. “ Statistics ?” 

“An Oxford study based on approximately fifteen hundred respondents,with a randomised sample of individuals between the age of eighteen and fifty-four years old, showed that while seventy-six per cent believed a non-platonic relationship would have a higher success rate if it were built on a pre-existing friendship. The same study revealed that only a meagre twenty-nine per cent of such arrangements have resulted in marriage.” Damian’s eyes burned, and he seemed to grow more agitated with each word that left his mouth as if he wished to go ahead and wage war on the men and women behind the study. Or perhaps those who had not been able to make their relationship work, Dick wasn’t sure which one. “Twenty-nine per cent implies that it is a waste of time and energy, and the fifty-one percent who have failed to prevent the deterioration of their relationship, have also---” The boy faltered, then turned his head away again. His nostrils flared and his mouth twisted in a sneer. “They have also failed to preserve their original bond.”

Oh. 

Oh. 

If Damian had gone as far as considering the pros and cons of a friendship moving past platonic boundaries, spent his time reading up on research that would otherwise not interest him, there was nothing hypothetical about what he wanted. Wanted. There was intent buried deep beneath his newfound curiosity. Failure to prepare is preparing to fail taken to an unexpected extreme. 

“The majority of studies show,” Damian added irritably, short of hissing those words out. His shoulders pulled inwards as he crossed his arms over his chest, almost petulantly. “That the addition of a sexual relationship brings short-term satisfaction and long-term irreparable negative consequences. Sixty-seven per cent, to be exact, based on a ten thousand participant study.”

Dick’s brows went up. Just when he thought the conversation couldn’t escalate any further. 

“Is that what you wish?” He asks. “The element of…” He had to use Damian speak. “…gratification?” He needed a drink. 

The boy threw him a look filled with such vitriol that it starkly reminded Dick of ten year old Damian. In a way it also emphasised how far he’d come from then, and it made Dick proud, but he supposed he had never considered before how much more complicated and difficult it would be for Damian to establish certain relationships. He had, perhaps but he hadn’t thought he’d have to have that conversation until several more years in the future. Damian was a highly cerebral individual but beneath that, he was also a growing boy who was trying to unknot years of indoctrination. 

“Of course not,” He spat viciously, and he looked like he wanted to stab Dick for insinuating that. “I would never---” He scoffed. “Tsk. Have you not been listening? I would never go ahead and pursue something like that just for the sake of temporary serotonin overload,”

“But,” Dick hesitated. “It is an element of such a relationship. An important one for many—”

“Obviously,” The boy cut him off. “That is different. It is a… component, not the sole focus.”

Dick thought what Damian was trying to say was that he considered pursuing a relationship beyond that of a friendship, and he was open to all the new experiences that came with it. He was saying it in a very convoluted and sideways manner, but who to better understand than Dick himself?

Maybe Fay, actually. 

He took a moment to go back on the mention of statistics, then to reflect on why the boy was so incensed by those results. 

“Very well, then.” He said. “The numbers say it is not worth the risk, so I guess that’s that.”

Damian gave him a startled look. “I—what?”

Dick shrugged. Haley was half-asleep in his lap, eyes fluttering open every now and then, likely feeling the younger male’s agitation. Dick wondered what Bagheera felt when he was around Damian. The paladin, for all his intelligence, was bound to be confused or startled by how intensely others felt emotions. 

“The numbers don’t lie, right?” Dick said. “A long-lasting friendship requires constant attention and focus, and it is not easy to craft or maintain, especially for us. We live two lives. Twenty-nine per cent is too low a number to endanger a bond of that nature. At times, it is best to make sacrifices, even if it means not obtaining entirely what we want. It is a logical choice.”

Dick ensured he kept a blank expression as he watched emotions flit over the boy’s face so quickly that it was like watching an old film being developed. As expected, Damian didn’t take long to see through Dick’s tactic. He scowled. “Your use of reverse psychology is pathetic.”

“Is it reverse psychology, though?” Dick asked patiently. “You did spend time looking up this data, trying to calculate the success rate of friendships that evolved beyond that.” He noted the way Damian’s hand twitched in his lap, the way the fifteen-year-old’s face became suddenly closed. As if he had just been accused of something terrible, even though their whole conversation had been revolving around exactly what Dick said. The former Robin sighed and brushed a hand through his hair. “What I am trying to say is that you decide how much that matters to you. Do you wish to allow those fifteen hundred people to decide your next steps, or do you wish to draw your own conclusions? There are advantages and disadvantages to both of those decisions. You can go ahead and measure those too.” He reached for the boy’s shoulder again. “As you like to remind me, I have had my fair share of experiences. Both good and bad. I know what it is like to choose someone because of the familiarity behind it, the same way I know what it is like to watch a friendship fall apart and take years to mend.” 

The boy inhaled. 

“I do not have the numbers or the Oxford research at hand. I have my own and other people’s experiences and, in my humble opinion,” Damian scoffed. Dick smiled. “The reality is that there are factors we cannot control. No matter how much we try. We can learn from our mistakes; we can aim to become a better version of ourselves and try to meet the needs of those we care about. But there’ll always be something we don’t know we don’t know, or we cannot exert influence on. With the lives we lead, the probability of being seriously injured or dead is higher than that of civilians. I bet those studies do not include that. The same way they do not include how well people get to know others when they work side by side, risking their lives together and supporting each other through challenging situations that the study responders would never face.” Dick fell silent for several seconds to allow his words to sink into the boy’s mind. Damian’s shoulders and arms relaxed, but he refused to look at Dick, his expression pensive. 

“You are taking a risk with her,” The boy said in a hushed tone, “Even if it means jeopardising everything else.”

“Yes.” A nod. “It has not been a smooth sail, you know. We are not who we used to be when we first met. We had to find who we are and what we want, and we---I made my own fair share of mistakes.” His hand squeezed the boy’s shoulder. It used to be much smaller and bonier. He used to occupy such little space, too. “We grew apart and we grew back closer. Even when we weren’t on the best of terms, we knew we could rely on one another. We’ll always be allies; we’ll always know parts of ourselves. I am pretty sure no research can account for that.”

“You believe the vigilante lifestyle can be an advantage as much as it can be a liability.” At least in the context of pursuing something other than work. A mission. A case. 

“It can be.” Dick removed his hand. “But that is just as true for friendships and family as well, and here we are.

“Hm. Perhaps, your years of philandering are not a complete waste.” 

Thank you. 

Dick just shook his head to himself, bemused yet his heart swelling with affection for his younger sibling. “You’re welcome.”

Later, after Damian ended up staying for most of the afternoon, sharing pizza and watching a movie with him – with the obligatory condescending remarks, of course – Dick felt their earlier discussion could not end without one more thing being said. 

“Is she aware?”

Silence. Damian stopped short of turning the doorknob to exit. Dick had asked him to use the door like any other person which Damian indulged rather easily. He was still feeling grateful. 

“No.”

“Will she be?”

“...I have not decided yet.”

Dick hummed in response. “Alright. There’s time,” Be careful. 

“Hn.” Damian opened the door. “I will not contact you unless there’s an emergency.” Then he was gone, the door closing behind him. 

Dick half-expected Barbara to call him and say there was a meteorite heading for Earth. It would still rank as the second most surprising information of the day. 

Nothing of the sort happened so he put a bag of popcorn in the microwave, then switched his TV back on. 

What a day. 

Chapter 70: Of works in progress and unexpected insights

Notes:

New chapter will either be posted next Friday or Sunday :)
Beta-reader: MoonglowOnWater - Many thanks as always.

Chapter Text

"Love is messy. It's not something that's really clean."

- Matt Dillon 

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Whoa .”

“Yes.”

“You say Aunt Lira doesn’t know about it? Neither do Kaera and Len?”

“Nope.”

“Huh?”

“It’s just how people say no in this world, sometimes. I think Cora has been rubbing off on me.”

“The human civilian girl?”

“Yep.”

“That’s a yes.”

Yep .”

Titoh snorted in amusement and Fay just smiled in return. 

“And cool is for—”

“Something nice. Something you like.”

“But it also refers to something of a low temperature.”

“Yes.”

“That’s very strange.”

Fay nodded sagely. “They have many different colloquialisms.” 

Titoh smiled tentatively. “So do we. Remember how confused you used to be by some of the words I used when I first came to live at the palace?”

Fay contemplated that for a moment. “I suppose. Mother wasn’t formal though.” Her eyes lit up as she remembered something. “People don’t seem to care as much that I swear.”

The other boy was amused. “Because you’re not royalty.” Then his brows furrowed. “Since when do you swear?”

Fay shrugged. 

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“This woman hates me,” Fay said loudly as she stared at the water balloon before her. She was seated on the floor in one of the training spaces that Kaera had created on one of the islands, the one nearest to the main island. Scattered all around her were pieces of colourful plastic. The exercise of the day was focused on balloons filled with water, which Fay was meant to freeze using her flux. All her attempts had been unsuccessful as she struggled to connect with the water element in such a static state. The balloon also acted as a barrier, which was the whole point according to her mentor, who had also made her blow up more than a hundred balloons over the past two days. Kaera had smugly told her that she could always use her flux to fill them with air, which was meant to be the next part of the training exercise once Fay successfully dealt with the water element. Fay had made at least a dozen balloons blow up when she’d inflated them with too much air, discovering in the process that she was still a long way from having precise control over the elements. 

How humbling. 

The sun was high in the sky, radiating gold hot rays, and she was surrounded by the floral aroma of the jungle, a faint breeze soothing her heated skin every now and then. It brought with it the heady scent of the ocean and tempted her to leave her spot to throw herself in the oasis she knew existed only a few kilometres from where she sat. She did not give in, of course, because she’d feel guilty and because Kaera was bound to make her regret it. She did want to succeed as well. With a sigh, she got up to walk over to one of the trees where she’d left her backpack, water canister, and the bag full of spare balloons, all kept cooler by the shade. Fay was startled when she saw a familiar man step out of the green foliage. 

“Huh… Thelion?”

“Hello, Your Majesty.”

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Thelion told her that two months earlier he’d been assigned the commander position of a fresh unit of warriors that worked for Maysoon as a whole, and therefore their missions were prioritised before local clan-based ones. He and his team had primarily been tasked with diplomatic envoys or tracking and identifying insurgent groups. “Sympathisers of the old regime?” Fay asked as she sat next to him under the shade of the tree. 

“Yes and no. Councillor Ranis was tried and sentenced before the Council, but his actions have led to wide-spread paranoia over whether there have been others taking advantage of the current political tensions.” 

Fay pursued her lips. “Is it not strange, Thelion?” She asked. “The way he used the portal technology to send those men after me. I understand he was afraid I might survive and end up figuring out he was responsible, but… it was reckless.”

Thelion nodded. “I agree with you,” He said calmly. “Ranis’s corruption may have gone unnoticed if he had not behaved in such a desperate manner.”

Desperate. Erratic. Self-destructive. The same way Bernard had behaved, as well. 

“Is something troubling you?” He asked politely. 

Fay hesitated for a moment before asking, “Will you be honest with me about something? I understand if you cannot answer due to confidential reasons.”

The blonde’s head tilted to the side. “Naturally. What is it you wish to know?”

“What do you remember of that night, Thelion?” Fay said, watching his face carefully. It was a blank mask, as usual, but his eyes belied the personality behind it. They were always inquisitive, warm, bright. Not quite as intense as Damian’s, but Thelion was also a very observant, intelligent individual. “I still cannot recall well what happened, and Titoh told me he has problems remembering. He told me he’s not the only one.”

Thelion smiled softly. 

“What?”

“Nothing. I had a feeling you might ask.” 

“Oh.”

“It’s quite alright,” He reassured. He placed his hands over his knees as he sat across from her, his legs crossed. “I was in the clan compound at the time of the attack. As you well know, the Orivel clan is situated southeast of the capital. Many active warriors within the compound focused on protecting that area. Myself, I chose to stay behind to guide the children, the elderly, and the injured within a five kilometre radius of the clan to safety. The first report of an attack was shortly after the sun has set and I was informed that a group of approximately fifty rogue warriors have attacked the lagoon area. That’s why the alarm was not set off announcing the city is under attack. I do not know if anyone can be blamed for that, as the rogue warriors had initially been pushed back by the guilds operating in the southern area.” 

Thirty-seven minutes after that initial attack, the sirens went off which is what Fay had heard as well. The fifty rogue warriors turned into a small army and with them, there were dragons. Later, when she’d relayed the information to Damian, Fay decided to use the Roman alphabet to classify the types of dragons that existed in her world as it allows her to offer a simplified version. Seventeen C-class dragons, nine D-class, three B-class, and a shocking, rare A-class one had attacked that night, with the latter representing the most destructive type. Dragons could also be classified based on other criteria such as size and whether they had any special abilities. 

“That is… insane.” Fay breathed. “I remember seeing them in the sky, fighting, but I didn’t think anyone would have that many dragons to attack with. Not unless it’s a clan or the ruler of a territory.”

“Yes. You must also remember that the Council has issued a law that dictates all those who are part of the treaty must not only declare the species of dragons that live on their territory, but also ensure their protection.” 

Fay felt disgruntled. “So… someone broke the law?”

“It is unclear where the dragons came from. Vontagor is the only territory that has been reluctant in declaring all dragons as an endangered species, and is known to encourage breeding programs.”

She frowned. “Which only makes it worse because there’s already plenty of those who think it was the Vontagorians.” She paused. “Were they, Thelion?”

The male warrior sighed. “It has not been proven. I am afraid even I am not privy to what has been discussed regarding this or the information extracted from the captured warriors. What I do know is that regardless of which theory one agrees with, there’s one thing that everyone believes. The attack was sudden, unexpected, and unpredictably devastating. Maysoon’s protection barriers were bypassed with frightening ease and the patrolling teams on the southern border had to be dispatched to the capital.”

Fay’s blood went cold in her veins and dread pooled in her stomach like a heavy stone. “Did—did Ranis have anything to do with it?”

Thelion shook his head. “My understanding is that no, he has not been involved nor been aware of it.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Actually, there is something I find peculiar about Ranis’s case. I was not part of the interrogation process, but your uncle has informed me that Ranis had ties to at least three active political groups opposing the current regime. He had several men and women whom he used for information, but they were low-level members of the military.” 

“What about the bracelets? And the seals—inside of me? Kaera said only someone without vast knowledge and great skill could have pulled it off.” She paused. “There’s not many masters out there that fit description. Not in Maysoon.” 

A healer may have the knowledge, as there are established seals that are known to cause disruptions in the flow of the flux. It is also known that the seals do not always have the same effect on every individual as one’s flux may vary. The seals on the bracelets had represented quite a challenge for Fay, but in reality, it had been more circumstance and ignorance that she ended up in such a weakened state. Had Fay known earlier what was happening to her, perhaps she could have broken out of them before the more serious side effects settled in. 

The seals that were placed inside of he body however were of a very special nature. Rare. There are very few capable of planting seals of such a nature and ensuring they remain undetected. 

Fay eached for her water canister and took a few sips. 

“Uncle Aryg, he---he doesn’t know who’s responsible for the seals? Either one of them? She said Ranis couldn’t have modified the bracelets either. He didn’t have the knowledge.”

“Only in regards to the bracelets.”

“An accomplice?” Fay said. “One of the healers?” But who? 

“There is a suspect. Not a seal expert from Maysoon, but someone outside.” 

“What about the other seals? I still don’t understand how no one realized they were there.” 

“Because they remained dormant, most likely. Your flux is tied in to your emotional state. You went through a difficult time at a stage when your flux was still developing.  It still is, of course. The seals within you were already affecting you as proven by your inability to fly. That may have been a mental block, to begin with, but you would not have known that so it is also possible they were actually dormant to begin with and then they carried on with what your mental block started. Between the… upsetting experiences you have had and the Trials, you have not only dealt with strong emotional responses, but you were also challenged physically.” Thelion paused for a few seconds until she nodded at him again. “I personally believe, and I know Master Kaera would agree, that the seals within stopped being dormant during the Trials when you expelled a considerable amount of energy.”

Fay contemplated that for a few moments. “The bracelets… then responded to the internal seals? A ripple effect.” Her eyes widened as the idea sunk into her brain fully. “That’s why the bracelets had presented themselves as expected to begin with. Why no one had suspected anything. The other seals---they modified the seals on the bracelets?”

“Something of that nature. It is something Master Kaera is still trying to understand herself. Both sets of seals, however, were working in conjunction in affecting your use of the flux. When you broke the bracelets, your flux was no longer obstructed, and you experienced a full recovery from the side effects caused. However, the internal seals were still affecting the development of the energy.”

“In time, they would have caused irreparable damage, as Master Kaera said.”

“Yes.” He smiled. “Fortunately, they have been removed before any such thing happened.”

Fay sighed. “Who do you think was responsible?” She asked, almost pleadingly. “Your… personal opinion, if that’s alright?”

Thelion reached to brush a hand through his long locks, pushing them aside so he could tie his hair back. “I do not believe it was the Vontagorians. Not because they did not have the resources or because there are no tensions that could be a motive, but because of that. Vontagor’s ruler would have known he’d be the first among suspects due to having previously expressed disagreement with the Council’s desire to have an influence on his own country.”

“Is it not also because he would have preferred the previous regime?”

“Not exactly. The Vontagorian Emperor preferred certain aspects of the old regime, that does not necessarily mean he was entirely in favour of it, or that he does not agree with the changes the Resistance has brought. He was on well-known good terms with your parents, particularly with your mother, despite the long-standing rivalry between the Estaris and the royal clan of Vontagor. The Vontagorians may have been reluctant to some of the changes made by the Council, but I do not believe they wish for a large-scale conflict. I have travelled there in my younger years with my father. Regardless of the differences in culture and mentality on certain matters, I believe they are just as relieved to live in a more peaceful era. They have chosen to open their borders in an unprecedented manner, although that territory remains difficult to access.”  

She hummed in affirmation. “I remember my father saying that while he does not see eye to eye with the current ruler, he does respect him.”

“Your mother was also a respected diplomat in Vontagor, especially after her willingness to support several villages dealing with failing crops.” Fay smiled. She remembered that as well, although she did not recall having many details other than her mother spending hours in the botanic garden, researching. 

She reached to scratch at her brow. “I still cannot believe that someone has been able to infiltrate the capital in that manner. Or that they… caused so much confusion.” 

Thelion caught the sliver of fear shining in her eyes, “Your uncle will not stop until the person responsible is captured. There are also many of those who were saddened by what happened, sharing in your struggle.”

“It explains why he’s keeping both Titoh and me away.” Fay frowned. 

“I believe it is more to ensure you are not distracted by the tensions and discussions around it,” Thelion said reassuringly. “Rather than you two not being safe there.”

Fay hummed in agreement. She uncrossed her legs and pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them loosely. 

“Does this world make you happy?” 

Fay looked up at him. “…Yes. I am learning many new things. Earlier this year I travelled to several different countries.” She smiled at that, although the tension coiling inside her wasn’t gone. “I am finally an adventurer, I suppose.” She said with a giggle, knowing he had had to listen to her one too many times when she was younger and kept declaring how she’d become a greater adventurer than even her parents. 

Thelion chuckled. “Indeed, you are.” His head cocked to the side. “There are two worlds that you may explore to your heart’s desire now.”

 “...I suppose so,” Her smile faded slightly. 

“My apologies. I did not mean to imply or assume anything.”

“It’s alright, I know.” She looked down at her lap. “There’s so much I haven’t seen in our world either. I will return one day.” That was a given. Yet, she had never really thought about the when or how . One day, she always thought. 

One day. When Maysoon had had time to heal and her heart did not threaten to break again upon returning. When uncle Aryg finally gave her an answer on what had happened that night. When she could visit her parents’ memorial without feeling like someone carved a hole into her chest. 

One day, she would go back to see the jungle again, and tell it how much she’d missed being there. She’d play with the jungle waifs and fly amongst the titanic trees and let the ancient, sacred energy running through that place make her feel like home. 

One day, she would go back and face everyone who would once again wonder what had become of her. She thought she’d go back as Titania. 

One day, when she felt she could live up to that name and be prouder of who she was regardless of what others thought. 

One day… she’d leave Gotham. Not forever. Or permanently. But… she would. 

What then?

( drip)

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“Titoh?”

“Hm?”

“Do you ever think about leaving?” Fay asked tentatively. “Or what you would like to do long-term?”

Titoh did not miss a beat. “Of course. When I am done with my apprenticeship under Corim, I would like to apply for one of the major healing guilds in Maysoon. I think I will have an advantage even if I will be older than other candidates because Corim is very experienced. If I manage to get into one of these guilds, I might have a chance to study under the greatest in the healing field. I want to complete an apprenticeship under a healer from each territory and travel to all the major---” Titoh stopped when he caught the way Fay was looking at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly gaping. 

He chuckled nervously. “Sorry. I, uh… I suppose I have given it a lot of thought.”

“Yes, you have.” Recovering from her surprise, Fay smiled. “I think it’s really good you have a plan. I am glad.” She glanced at the array of heavy tomes spread over the table before him. It was rare to see him do something other than studying when her brother did not accompany Corim somewhere or spent time in the healer’s huts with Moma. Lira had told her he worked very hard and his passion for the healing arts only seemed stronger each time Fay saw him. She hadn’t seen him that happy in a long time. “I think you are going to be a great healer.”

His cheeks reddened slightly. “I want to be, yes.” He said in a quieter tone, looking humbled. “I want to help people.” He added, eyes flashing with determination. “I don’t know yet what I will specialise in, but I want to learn as much as possible.” 

Fay nodded in understanding. 

“What about you?”

She smiled. “I want to master the flux. To help people as well.” They were alone in the library, save for Bagheera who was hidden underneath the table, where it was cooler. “I was given a warrior’s name.” Titoh’s eyes grew wider. “It’s Titania.”

“Ti-ta-nia?” 

“Yes.” She looked down at her lap, feeling both proud and bashful. “It’s… a strong name. I like it. I don’t think I am ready to call myself a warrior, not a full one.” She glanced back at him as he watched her with interest. “I have been helping people,” She said, almost secretively. “It’s small missions, but I have worked with other warriors as well. It---it feels good. Like I am finally… I am not sure how to put it into words.”

“Like you finally have control over something,”

She nodded fervently. “Exactly. Yes, that’s it.”

Titoh smiled ruefully. “I feel that way as well whenever I use my flux. I know I cannot heal everything and everyone, but I don’t feel… useless anymore.”

They were silent for a few minutes, as they both took satisfaction in the revelation that they were more emotionally aligned than they had been in years. 

“A warrior of this world.” He mused out loud. “I suppose you will be here for a long time. You will visit if Moma and I return to Maysoon, right?”

“I—I think so. I would like to.”

“Do you not want to be a warrior in our world as well?” He asked softly. “Not because the clan wants it, or as an Estaris. There’s a lot to see in our world, too.”

Yes. Thelion had said a similar thing. 

And once again, Fay felt an invisible claw grip her heart. 

“One day.”

Titoh smiled. 

“I am sure we could find a way to bring your human friend if you wish. You could show him our world.” 

Fay’s heart felt as if it was cut out and left to fall freely through her ribcage. 

“I—I su-suppose.”

Would Damian even consider leaving that world to see hers? 

( drip, drip)

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If she were to choose a visual image for what pressure felt like to her, it would be a simple one. A bucket positioned underneath a faucet that was leaking. Drip, drip, drip. In the beginning, no one would pay attention when the first drops hit the floor of the bucket. It was a large container, and the drops of water were leaking intermittently. One would look at the bucket and think it would take ages before water would pool in it. Then, one day, they’d come back to it and realise that the few drops had filled a quarter of the bucket. Still not a concern, because the bucket was large, and the faucet didn’t always drip. The water might evaporate in the meantime if the leakage were fixed. If the reason why the water was there were fixed. 

The bucket offered a dangerous and false sense of there’s time for it later . One would not bother to fix the faucet because what were a few drops falling in the bucket now and then? Nothing. Even if one could see – feel – the bucket fill with water, there’d be time for it later.  

Then one day, the bucket would be so full that it could no longer be moved without spilling its contents. The bucket was so full that one more drop could cause an overflow. 

And if the faucet fully broke, there wouldn’t just be drops of water pouring through. 

The bucket might just break. 

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Following the educational lessons both her aunt Sysa and the healers on the island had given her months earlier, Fay had grown more comfortable with the changes she’d been experiencing. New physical sensations, curiosities, and wanting to fulfil them. It started small with her thinking about the anatomical lessons she was given on the island, then thinking about how normal sexual desire and bodily pleasure were. She’d started doing further research, first out of a desire to keep learning and then because she’d grown increasingly comfortable with the idea of learning her body. It wasn’t an easy feat given she was never truly alone. Bagheera was always with her, and if he wasn’t, then Damian was, or someone else. She wouldn’t say she was bothered, but there had been moments throughout the past year when she’d felt she might not be able to act on her own curiosities out of embarrassment. 

A few weeks earlier, with a secretive giggle, Cora had given her a series of books saying, “I am not usually into these things, but this is really… well, it’s hot .” Fay understood she was using colloquialism and not speaking in the literal sense of the word. Then she really understood why Cora had seemed equal parts embarrassed and excited about those books. It was certainly a different type of fiction. And it was a whole series, five books in total. Cora had cheekily pointed out it was a fantasy series as well, about warriors and wizards, and Fay might like it even more because of that. 

“Huh?”

The blonde just winked. 

Her friend could be wicked. 

But she wasn’t wrong . The first time Fay read the book, she ended up having to stop halfway and wait an additional twenty minutes until her face was no longer red. Between a paladin who could sense her emotions and a friend who tended to come into her room unannounced, Fay was bound to die of embarrassment if she got caught. The avid reader in herself said she could not leave a book unfinished for such a childish reason as being embarrassed by a written sex scene. The plot was decent enough, set in a fantasy world that was not far from hers, and maybe that was the problem. It spoke of a female heroine who embarked on a long journey trying to reclaim her right to the throne, then fell in love with the son of the man who had killed her parents, taking over the kingdom. Cora found it fantastical, but Fay could give her a dozen examples in one minute of monarchies being overthrown by scheming men and women. Wasn’t Evara and Damar’s story the kind that would find its place in a romantic adventure novel, after all? Actually, it did , as there were several novels in her homeworld based on their life. As a child, she had found that enchanting, but now she understood why her mother used to get so angry about authors attempting to write about her life based mostly on hearsay and speculation. 

The explicit scenes did leave her flushing and tingling and covering her face in embarrassment as she sat near the shower cubicle, its faucet turned on maximum because she pretended to be bathing. Fay ended up reading the whole series, cover to cover. Then once again. She connected with the main character in some respects – the loss of parents, the political intrigue, gaining friends during her travels – just as she failed in other respects. Fay did not see herself as a heroine, much less one who was constantly praised for being incredibly beautiful and fiery and bold. But she could fantasise. Suddenly, all the teasing her aunt Sysa had made her suffer no longer felt as such. Fay decided that even if she wasn’t always satisfied with how she looked, even if there were still plenty of moments she compared herself to others, she wanted to own her body. Research turned to reading, reading turned to fantasising, and fantasising turned to exploration. It stopped there because she wasn’t sure how to take it forward, although she understood the… logistics of it. Of what she was meant to feel, and what she was meant to aim at. 

Fay didn’t plan on giving it much thought during her time on the island. She was meant to be there for eight to ten weeks, which would be the longest she’d been away from Gotham. Unlike the first time, however, Fay was certain to adhere to an organised meeting schedule with Damian, and to be transparent when she felt overwhelmed. If she had a bad day, she’d tell him. If she struggled with her training, she told him. She did all that, and their meetings were rarely ever cancelled or rescheduled. 

There were also things she did not talk to him about. Like how on her first full day off after two weeks of intensive training, Fay had been out in the village helping the islanders with the preparations for a bonfire meant to take place that weekend. One of the island’s senior members, Yanar, had asked her if she would be comfortable bringing a crate of tomatoes from the fresh food storage, which was just a rectangular wooden structure. It was only a few streets away from the large building where the buffet would be set for everyone to access. Large trees surrounded it, keeping the building permanently shielded from the sun. She had agreed happily, not thinking twice about why she found the large wooden doors closed but unlocked. Yanar had given her a key saying the doors were likely closed to avoid having animals get inside, but she had simply shrugged and stepped inside. Fay had made her way through rows upon rows of handmade shelves full of baskets, clay containers, and jars filled with food. She liked the way it smelled in there and had taken her time admiring the amount of food the islanders planted, grew, and reaped themselves. 

Light fell inside the building through its rectangular windows placed high on the walls, but Fay had brought her flashlight too, as there were some corners that were darker than others. She had been three rows away from the back of the building, and it was darker the closer she had moved towards the wall. Large barrels containing water, alcohol, or oils had been stacked up against that side of the storage room. Fay hadn’t immediately heard the noise coming from the back of the room, as she’d happily inhaled the rich, earthly scent permeating in the air. She had been in the second to last row, floating mid-air as she’d been about to reach one of the crates of tomatoes on the top shelf when she had heard something. 

Someone is going to catch us,”

“Do you want to stop?”

“…no.”

A giggle. Then the sound of clothes shuffling. 

Fay had been about to call out to announce her presence when she’d been cut off by a feminine moan that had sent the blood rushing straight to her cheeks and ears. Startled, she’d lowered herself to the ground and out of instinct moved her eyes towards a soft source of light that she hadn’t noticed before. It came from the row forming between the shelves behind and the barrels. She’d seen shadows shift and without thinking ended up looking through a gap between two crates. She had recognised the girl immediately. It was Yanar’s eldest daughter, Sora. Fay had talked to her a few times while out in the village or because the girl had come to find Titoh on several occasions. She was preparing to leave the island within the year, wishing to explore and learn about Fay’s homeworld. 

From that angle, Fay had caught sight of both of hers and the male’s profiles. Sora was sitting on one of the barrels, one side of her dress pulled down barring a round small breast which the boy reached to palm rather enthusiastically. The dark material had also been bunched up to her waist exposing her long, shapely legs, spread apart to accommodate the boy. They’d been kissing each other. Fay’s eyes had been so wide they’d been in danger of popping out of her sockets when she had realised the boy’s trousers had been hanging around his hips and the rhythmic swaying of their hips had  not been from trying to pull each other closer. She’d decided at that moment, there and then, that seeing something like that so up close was nothing like imagining it or reading about it or watching accidentally when she clicked on a wrong website. Sora’s moans and the boy’s muffled gasps had snapped her out of it. 

Fay had turned her head away and flown away immediately. As it had been dark and she’d been more focused on getting away than anything else, she’d managed to knock over a tower of empty crates. They’d crashed to the ground with deafening loudness and Fay had frozen, mid-air. The sudden eerie quietness had been telling. There’d been no way they couldn’t have heard. 

Shit, I think someone is here .”

“Did they see us?”

“Shit, what if my father finds out?”

Fay had not waited any longer. She’d quickly glided out the other end of the storage room and slipped through the wooden doors. She’d completely forgotten about the crate of tomatoes or that Yanar had been expecting it. Fay had flown straight back to the residence she was staying and had locked herself in her bedroom, heart-pounding and knees shaking. 

She couldn’t shake the image out of her head. 

(not when she had another similar one, of her sitting on a counter and a boy – her boy with green eyes – placing his mouth on her neck)

.

The bonfire was lit at the beach when the sun was half-hidden behind the horizon line. The orange-gold of the final rays stretched widely across the sky and Fay admired the sight from her position in a tree. From that angle, she could see part of the village, as well as the stairs leading to the portion of the beach where islanders were already gathering. She enjoyed that time of the day when it was neither fully day nor fully night. The weather was still warm and humid, but the salty breeze was more insistent, cooling her skin.   

Two metres tall, the bonfire was like a flower made of flames that opened skyward, spitting orange and red sparks. The stairs that led to the beach converted into a path that zig-zagged its way to the middle of the village, right where the large barn-like structure was used to host the buffet. Fay had told Moma to send her apologies to Yanar about her abrupt decision to leave the other day with the excuse of having felt very nauseous. Moma’s eyes narrowed at her for the briefest moment, and Fay expected the woman to call her out on her lie, but the elderly caretaker just told her to ensure she drank enough liquids and left. Yanar was not offended at all, although he had thanked her for being thoughtful enough to lock the storage room ( she hadn’t). Moma had returned the keys Fay had in her possession. She suspected Sora had her own copy of the keys, which explained why Fay had found the storage room unlocked to begin with. 

Bagheera was out roaming the jungle, the paladin taking advantage of the unbidden freedom he had in that wilderness of the island. Titoh had told her he’d likely not stick around for the bonfire, as Corim was going to give him a test in the coming week and he wanted to prepare as much as possible. Fay had spotted Klaus quietly helping Yanar earlier that day and she already knew Moma helped with the cooking side of things. 

She felt slightly out of place, which she supposed was ironic. That place was a middle point between two worlds, yet Fay felt more nostalgic than at home. She was not quite in the mood for celebrations, but she was bound to suffer the wrath of Moma if she didn’t make herself seen, even if briefly. Fay was sore and she had a constant headache because of the expenditure of energy she experienced during training. She’d much rather go back to her chambers, see if Damian was available to talk or read a book until she fell asleep. 

With a sigh, she removed herself from the tree and flew down to the beach. Fay still received occasional odd looks when people caught her floating in the air which she found amusing enough. She nodded her head and muttered polite greetings to some of the villagers as they passed her by on their way down to the beach. The sky had grown darker, allowing the stars to shine through. She was not hungry but she did fly over to the place where the open buffet was to issue another apology to Yanar, who just told her not to worry and then invited her to eat. Olena was not there, but Fay spotted Faron in a corner of the room. Judging by the way he kept gesturing dramatically with his arms, he had to be telling – or repeating as was his habit – a war story to the two young children standing before him. Fay found him very entertaining, even more so when he started going off on tangents that had nothing to do with what he had originally been speaking about. He reminded her of Mack. Boisterous, slightly cantankerous with just a touch of mischief. Olena, on the other hand, had a more no-nonsense attitude, and Fay had witnessed them bickering plenty of times. There was no romantic relationship between them, but they had known each other for so long that Olena herself admitted she couldn’t remember a time when Faron hadn’t been in her life. That was sweet. 

Fay had not seen Kaera or Len all day. Lira had left as soon as she’d dropped Fay off because apparently, she’d agreed to go on an errand for Aryg despite him being an ‘insufferable bastard’. Fay thought her aunt was distracted lately, and that maybe she needed to have some rest. All Lira had been doing was either keep an eye on Fay in Gotham or travel back to the island to check on Titoh. Did her aunt even have anywhere she wanted to go or to be? Lira didn’t hate being there, Fay knew, but her aunt also didn’t shy away from admitting several times that she preferred their homeworld. 

“What’s the matter, child?” Moma asked, drawing the girl out of her thoughts. Fay had spaced out while standing before one of the long wooden tables teeming with food. 

“Nothing, Moma.” She smiled. “I am just tired. Would it be alright if I went back to my chambers?”

The woman nodded. “Very well.” Then she gestured for Fay to lean forward. She was now taller than the elderly woman. Moma kissed her forehead, which made Fay smile. 

Fay was about to turn away and leave the room when she came face to face with a dark-skinned girl. It was Sora. She wore a yellow sleeveless tunic cinched at her small waist and a pair of dark sandals. Fay knew from the moment their gazes met that the girl knew . Sora did not look angry, just mildly embarrassed as she asked Fay whether they could go somewhere private to speak. Fay caught Moma’s inquisitive look from the corner of her eye, but she ignored it. 

They ended up going to the beach, walking the whole path there in silence. Sora did not look as nervous as Fay felt. She cheerfully greeted every person they came across, the girl obviously was quite popular on the island. The path gave way to a long set of stairs that led to the beach, but rather than going the left towards the bonfire and the small groups of people sitting on the floor around it, eating and chatting, they turned right. 

“Thank you,” Sora said. 

Fay had to look around them for a second, thinking she might be talking to someone else. “I am sorry?” They stopped about a hundred metres away from the fire. Music was being played on guitars and drums and maracas; all instruments built on the island by the inhabitants themselves. Between that and the loud chatter, they ended up having to walk another fifty metres to hear each other better. Sora removed her sandals to walk easier on the sand, while Fay opted to glide by her side which earned her a look from the other girl, a mixture between amusement and admiration. 

“You really are like a bird,” Sora remarked. 

Fay shrugged, not sure how to respond and still surprised by the girl’s earlier words. “Why did you thank me?”

“For not telling anyone what you have seen, especially my father,” Sora said as she walked ahead of Fay to go and sit on the beach, just short of where the fine-combed waves met the sand. The movement of the water was like the hem of a long, flowing gown and Fay inhaled, the scent of salt and algae filling her lungs. She ended up sitting down next to Sora, an arm’s length away, and slid one hand through the cool grains to find a seashell to play with. 

“I am sorry,” She felt compelled to say. “It was not my intention to, uh, see anything.” But she saw plenty . “It’s none of my business so I will not tell anyone.”

Sora scoffed gently. “What you must think of me.”

Fay blinked. “What?” She angled her body towards the girl slightly. “Please—don’t worry about that. I don’t think anything.” She thought a lot of things about what she saw, but judging the girl was hardly part of that. If anything, Fay was startled by how comfortable one must feel to be vulnerable in such a place. It was embarrassing, but a part of her did wonder what it was like. If the sounds Sora made were anything to go by it was an encounter she had taken great pleasure in and the boy she was with had clearly desired her just as much. Fay struggled to reconcile the idea of herself being in that position, she couldn’t imagine allowing someone close to her in that manner. How would she even know how to act? Was it just instinct? 

“Inaru and I were born here.” Fay’s attention zeroed back in on the girl. Sora pulled her knees up to her chest, playing with the sand between her feet. “He is one of my closest friends. I am planning on leaving the island by the end of the year and taking my exams for the Council. I want to see the other world and travel everywhere. I heard Maysoon is a very beautiful place..” She smiled, head tilting. “Titoh has told me so many things about it such as how spectacular the jungle is.”

“It is,” Fay nodded. 

The girl proceeded to offer further information on her background while Fay listened patiently. Sora was eighteen years old. Her great-grandmother had been a former warrior of Aeryg who had been brought to the island after having fallen in love with a Resistance commander. He had died, unfortunately, never getting a chance to meet his son, Yanar himself. Yanar had gone on to work for the Council for almost two decades before returning to the island and becoming a member of the village’s synod. Sora’s parents had also lived on the island albeit they had never felt the need to leave, unlike their daughter. 

“I wish I could have gone earlier, but I did not want to break my parent’s hearts.” Sora admitted wistfully. “It must be incredible though, having seen both worlds already, Lafayette.” 

“Just Fay.”

“Very well, Fay.”

Fay’s official story was that she was a member of a warrior clan of Maysoon, as was the case for Titoh. They were allowed to talk about the attack on Maysoon if it came up, but they tended to avoid talking about the Estaris or who their parents had been. Titoh had an easier time justifying his presence there. He was there to study the healing arts under Corim, which was true. Fay, on the other hand, came and went which was bound to raise questions. As a result, she told people that when she wasn’t on the island, she spent time travelling on the other side of the Veil. There was some knowledge that she’d travelled past the barrier into that world, which was inevitable, but Fay hadn’t suffered any issues because of that. No one, aside from a handful of people, knew about Damian or Gotham or the ties she’d formed there. Only Lira and Titoh knew that she’d accepted the vigilante identity of Titania. Maybe she’d tell Moma as well. She was not sure why she hadn’t done it. When questioned on the places she’d visited and people she’d met out there, beyond the barrier, Fay lied and told them that she was being chaperoned most times. She kept a low profile and tried to blend in as much as possible, but her travels had been short. 

It made her feel guilty because there she was with the freedom to travel both worlds and live on that island whereas the younger, new generations there had never known anything beyond that place. They’d get a chance of course, to leave the island but it was not the same as a childhood where one travelled all the time like Fay’s 

“Is Inaru going as well?” She asked curiously. 

Sora’s smile faltered. “No.” She turned her gaze towards the ocean stretching. The sounds of waves crashing against the shore were lulling and Fay was tempted by the idea of falling asleep on the beach that night. “Inaru does not wish to leave the island, not now. He likes the idea of travelling and exploring, but he is also very happy here. This place is peaceful. There’s rarely ever any conflicts and I suppose… he thinks no amount of beauty from another world is worth finding out how unpredictable the world can be.”

Fay drew her lower lip between her teeth, hesitating to ask the question burning in her mind because she wasn’t sure she wished to know the answer. Sora was perceptive or perhaps Fay was just too easy to read because she seemed to know exactly what the girl was thinking. “I know that it is strange. For us to… do that, even if we’ll end up going separate ways.” She smiled ruefully. Even in the darkness of the night, Fay could make out the sadness in her eyes. “I do love him. He loves me, and he’s asked me to stay. But I---I do not think I would be happy here. Not in the future. I would rather we make the best of it now than end up losing him as a friend.”

Fay didn’t understand. “Will you not? If you’re leaving,” She took a deep breath, hoping it would alleviate the weight she felt on her chest. It did not. “I understand why you are leaving, but you’re not just friends, are you? You’re more than… that?” She hated how she sounded. Ignorant. Inexperienced. Naïve. “I am sorry. I uh, I don’t know… much about these things.”

Sora chuckled. “That is no problem,” She shrugged. “Both Inaru and I are going to follow our dreams. Right now, that means we’ll have to take different paths.” Her expression grew sombre again. “I would like for him to come with me, but I am sure he would also prefer for me to stay.” The older girl dug up a seashell of her own and lifted it up to her eye level, propping her wrists against her knees. “I love him more than as a friend. I feel comfortable with him, and I trust him. He’s… my home. This place will always be my home. However, I also want to find out who I am beyond this place. I want to know if I can be a warrior or something else. Maybe one day, he’ll decide to come too.”

Fay felt a sudden sense of defiance filling her veins, but she had no idea at whom or what she should be directing it. Sora? No, the girl was simply pursuing her dreams. Inaru? He was simply happier there. Neither one of them could be blamed for their choices. Fay herself agreed with Sora’s decision, which was no surprise, seeing as she herself had run to a whole new world in search of herself, although she still loved her home. She felt incensed, though. Something didn’t sit well with her about the sacrifices they were about to make. One happiness in exchange for another. How was that fair? 

“You look upset,” Sora said, concerned. “Have I said something wrong?”

Yes. No. Maybe. 

“N-no.” Fay shook her head, then inhaled deeply and exhaled. “It must be hard for you. For both of you.” She muttered and lifted her head to meet the girl’s gaze. “If you have known each other for so long and you’re, um, more than just friends.”

“Yes, it is. Especially since we really like each other,” She winked. Fay felt her cheeks burn. “But he’ll always be my friend. Even if we’re apart.”

Would he, really? 

“I see.” 

Sora chucked the seashell and it landed in the water with a resounding ‘pluck’.  

“Can you tell me more about Maysoon? Or other places you’ve been to? If you’d like, of course.”

Fay had a feeling Sora was trying to change the subject as much as she was curious about the other world. She couldn’t blame her. She didn’t ask why Sora preferred to keep her relationship with Inaru a secret. She supposed it was easier that way, because people wouldn’t ask questions and they wouldn’t have to be reminded of what they’d inadvertently lose. Fay spent another hour or so on the beach, telling her stories of her homeland. 

When she was finally back in her chambers, she found she could not sleep. 

.

.

.

Bagheera was a mix between the Albora and Ceros species. The Albora was a species native to the forests of Aeryg, wolf-like in appearance and known for their high intelligence, as well as their role as guardians of those lands. They had never been used as paladins, perceived as sacred by the villagers to the point that many would go as far as bringing offerings to them in exchange for their protection and help. The Ceros was a species that had been bred by many Maysoon clans due to their incredible ability to establish telepathic connections with members of their pack and later, the warriors they’d serve. Incredibly agile and with a constitution more reminiscent of a large feline, the Ceros species gained a reputation for being a top-tier paladin, both due to their natural killing instincts and their loyalty. The species had served wildly different roles in their respective territories, with one being hailed as an ancient, sacred creature to be respected and even venerated, and the other to serve by the side of a warrior. 

Many laws had been changed regarding paladins with the aim of having a more ethical approach to the role they played in society. For one, unless it took place naturally or was required to avoid extinction, the practice of breeding was frowned upon. Experimentation of any kind was illegal. If a warrior clan wished to continue having paladins, they had to ensure they abided by strict ethical regulations, including not forcibly assigning any creature to someone. That law had sparked discourse across the entirety of Maysoon. There were those who believed it was imperative to ‘break’ a creature to make sure they remained loyal to their warrior. Others believed such a practice was barbaric, for a true partnership should be rooted in the mutual respect between a paladin and a warrior. Respect could not be developed if one was deemed a weapon to another. Those attitudes had varied across her homeland, but with the implementation of new laws, no citizen regardless of whether they were a first-generation warrior or a member of the former royal clans could remove a creature from its natural habitat unless they’d formed a tentative bond. The choice had to be mutual. 

Or unless there were extenuating circumstances, such as in Bagheera’s case. 

When Fay had been four years old, a group of breeders had been disbanded after being caught operating illegally on the borders of Maysoon. The men and women involved had also been conducting genetic experiments and subsequently charged with kidnapping a member of a protected species. The union between a young Albora female kidnapped from the forest and a male Ceros had led to the birth of several pups, most of which had unfortunately died. Whilst the two species were very distantly related, the Albora and Ceros were not known to be capable of producing viable offspring with one another. The breeders had tried to override the biological and genetic obstacles and they would have been completely unsuccessful had it not been for Bagheera surviving the odds stacked against him. He’d had a younger sibling with whom he had been rescued and brought into the care of professionals in Maysoon. The young female pup had been put down a week later to curb her suffering. Bagheera had been quite sick himself, and the consensus had been that he would not be able to make it past a few months due to having been born prematurely and with a weak body. Neither the Albora nor the Ceros packs would have accepted him. 

Fay remembered seeing him for the first time, even if the memory was distant. Her mother had proposed to take him to the wilderness in hopes the jungle would bless him. Bagheera had been so small that her four-year-old hands could have held him perfectly, and he had barely weighed anything. He had cried most of the time and struggled to open his eyes, let alone move around. He had been just a small mass of black fur, projecting his pain onto anyone who touched him. Her mother had given him to the jungle waifs, who had tried to heal him, but also believed his survival would depend entirely on his will and fortune. She had then brought him back saying they would wait before deciding whether to end his suffering or not. Fay had ended up visiting him every day, stricken by the prospect of something so small dying. If she recalled correctly, that might have been the first time she had come across that concept, and although she hadn’t really understood it, Fay had really hoped the creature would survive. 

Bagheera had defied all odds, despite the scares he had given them. Fay had fed him and bathed him and spent time with him, and week after week, he had gotten stronger. He had been small and fragile and a late bloomer, but the more time had passed, the more he had turned around for the better. They were never apart from that moment. Bagheera was an odd creature, both Albora, and Ceros, yet neither one fully. He had the dark fur of most Ceros, longer and thicker like the lupine Alboras, which was where he’d gotten the colour of his eyes. He was built thicker than an Albora with a muscular, deep chested body and strong limbs. His skull was akin to that of a lupine however, with a muzzle longer than a Ceros. The speed, keen sense of scent and smell, the hunting abilities were a combination of skills he had gotten from his parents. What made him stand out, besides his mixed genes, were his empathic abilities. He had never developed telepathic abilities like his Ceros brethren, yet his emotional intelligence was akin to that of a human, which had become clear early on. Bagheera would easily get overwhelmed by others’ emotions and end up projecting uncontrollably, which startled many. Even Fay would be taken by surprise occasionally. 

In time, however, she got used to it. It became second nature. Spending so much time with her and other people, Bagheera had gained a keen sense of understanding of emotions beyond that of his species and, thanks to his intelligence, quickly learned how to communicate by controlling what he allowed others to feel. Fay had not thought of him as her paladin back in the early days. She hadn’t really understood the concept of it back then. Bagheera was family. Bagheera was a brother, much to the amusement of her parents when she’d made that declaration. Bagheera was her friend. Then later, he had also become her paladin on top of all those roles. In exchange, she was his family too. His pack because he had no other. Some of the Ceros living freely in the jungles had tentatively let him in, but his empathic abilities put him at odds at times. He struggled to communicate the way the other Ceros did. Instead, he had adopted her as much as she’d adopted him. He’d taken a shine to other jungle creatures and they of him. 

“My, it is no wonder he loves you so much,” Olena said with a kind smile as she watched the paladin affectionately brush his nose over Fay’s ear, tickling the girl and making her grin. “He imprinted on you.”

Fay wrapped her arms around her paladin’s head who happily placed it in her lap while she scratched at his ears. “But… isn’t imprinting temporary?”

“Traditionally speaking, yes. It’s a rapid learning phase in which a young animal’s social preferences are narrowed to an object or a single person,” Olena said. “However, different species have different ways of imprinting. In the past, many warrior clans believed that if their paladin imprints on them when they’re young it would be easier to train them and have them be loyal. That did not always work, as you’d expect, especially with independent species. I think Bagheera has inherited his intelligence from the Albora; not that the Ceros are dumb animals by any means. They have a… more visual way of communicating if you will, due to the telepathic link they can form. Bagheera has had to learn the complexity of emotions and use them as a language the same way a human child would. The same way you have.” 

Fay nodded. The paladin’s eyes rolled back in contentment as she scratched a particular spot at the base of his ears. 

“You are very fortunate to have formed such a bond. Both of you,” Olena remarked. “Many warriors can say they have a great partnership with their paladins, but one built on a foundation of pre-existing trust and respect is always greater.”

Fay smiled. “I know a hybrid like Bag is rare, but do you think he’ll grow as large as an Albora?” She asked curiously. “He can change shape like an Albora already, but he grew up at a different rate than either an Albora or a Ceros.” Alboras were known to be large creatures capable of changing their shape to appear less threatening, an ability that was believed to have developed following their contact with villagers. Ceros, on the other hand, generally measured between 120 and 150 centimetres in height and could grow to a length of over three metres, roughly the size of a lion. Bagheera was on his way to matching that size.

“Bagheera’s biology and genes appear to be a mirror of his parents.’ He cannot form a telepathic link, yet he can feel and project emotions, which is a result of the intelligence Alboras are known for.” Olena said. She was sitting on a plush chair before Fay, who chose to sit on the ground amongst the cushions. They were in Olena’s private tent, which was set on the outskirts of the village, formed of several different sections. Fay liked the sight of piles of books that filled the section they were in, which seemed to be a study of sorts. “When did you say his shapeshifting ability first manifested?”

“Uh, I was eight so… almost eight years ago,” Fay said. It’s been almost four since that night, too. “He got into trouble with a Kanoki dragon.” D-class, small, and not particularly aggressive unless their territory was trespassed upon, which is what they had done that day whilst playing. “One of the Kanoki pinned him down and he just shapeshifted all of a sudden, becoming twice the size he was.”

“Hm.” Olena raised a long, spindly hand to her face, where she brushed it against her chin. “He was in danger, and he reacted. The threat triggered his shapeshifting, or perhaps it was the adrenaline.” He hadn’t been able to shift between the two forms easily in the beginning. The second time around had been after weeks of attempting it unsuccessfully. Her father had helped her with training him, but the battle form as they’d come to call it took a toll on him and it had taken months of him being able to maintain the other form for more than a few seconds and later, minutes. 

“He can now maintain it for about thirty minutes unless he is fighting. In which case it’s reduced to anywhere between ten to fifteen minutes.” Fay nodded. “I’ll focus on that with him this summer if you don’t mind.” 

Fay glanced at her paladin. “Sound good?”

“Rgggh.”

Olena smiled. 

“May I also give you some advice?”

Fay looked up at her. “Of course.”

“Your bond with him is clearly very important to the both of you, in more ways than having a battle partner that you can trust,” Olena remarked. “You have both influenced one another growing up. Bagheera has gained an impressive understanding of the world around him and emotions, and I believe you may also be quite finely attuned to them because of him.”

“Finely… attuned?” Fay blinked. “I suppose. I can be… emotional.”

 “No, child.” Olena shook her head. “That’s different. Moma tells me that you were prone to be overwhelmed by being around people when young. Has that changed?”

Fay shrugged. “I don’t like crowds. Since my phasing, I also feel energies more… intensely.”

“That also plays a part, of course. However, I believe that spending time so close to an empath, you may have inadvertently become quite… susceptible to others’ emotions. For example, if Bagheera dislikes a new person you’re encountering, he may do so because he sensed they may have malicious intent, or they are dishonest. You are used to reading your paladin’s emotional state and he instinctively projects freely around you. By default, you might get an insight into another’s emotional status indirectly.” 

Fay’s head tilted to the side. “Yes. I have relied on Bag to tell me if he believed others are a threat.” Particularly Damian, once upon a time. “But I don’t like doing that with everyone. Just when I feel… unsafe, or if the other person is hard to read. Mother used to tell me it’s best if I don’t grow dependent on him to read others.”

Olena nodded. “That is the point I was trying to reach. It’s good Evara has already thought of it,” She absent-mindedly rubbed a hand against one aching knee. “Warriors who have had a Ceros as a paladin have tended to grow dependent on it. I don’t think that’s the case with you, but it is something to keep in mind.”

“Because I will be worse at reading people when Bag is not around?”

“Not necessarily. In some ways, you might be better, in time.” Olena shrugged one shoulder. “However, you both need to be able to function independently as well as you are functioning with each other.”

That gave Fay pause. “…spend more time apart?” She frowned. So did Bag, for that matter. 

“Sometimes,” Olena said. “You are on your way to becoming an adult, and so is Bagheera. You’ll find that you may both need space. Bagheera may feel the need to explore and possibly hunt more often, give in to those primal instincts that are as invaluable to his survival as his intelligence. You may need to have your space as a person to figure out your emotions and your needs independently. Does that make sense?” The girl nodded. “Good. For the next month, I shall take Bagheera deep into the island to train while you’re busy with Kaera. When he returns, you will spar against one another. Kaera and I have something planned for that. Bagheera will not share his emotions and you will not go easy on him. You two may not grow up in an era where you are required to survive and fight constantly, but you must explore aspects of each other. You’ve never fought each other, but that doesn’t mean you may not come across enemies who are like you.”

Fay and Bagheera exchanged a look. 

“Alright.” 

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.

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The first month on the island was dedicated to the element of water. 

Kaera gave her three tasks. The first one was to learn how to change the state of water to obey her in unnatural ways, such as being able to step and walk on a liquid surface. It took her a whole week before she was finally able to stand atop the water in the pool where she had also trained during her first summer there. The next day, Kaera took her to the beach and said she’d have to learn how to do the same with liquid that was not static. “Bear in mind that in a fight, you wouldn’t have hours or even minutes to focus. It needs to come as naturally as flying.” Kaera remarked smugly after watching Fay fall into the water for the hundredth time, the waves pushing her back onto the shore. 

It was a work in progress.

The second task was swimming. Not for leisure, not that she expected that, but she did have to wear weights again. This time, Kaera took her out on a boat and then threw her off it, pointing out that Fay should use the natural movement of the waves to her advantage. Her trainer was not entirely insane. She did tie a rope to Fay’s waist that she could use to pull on if she felt unsafe or overwhelmed. 

A work in progress.

Whilst she could not complete her task entirely, Fay discovered that she could now do things with air and water she couldn’t before. Like creating a bubble of air around her head that she had yet to learn to maintain for longer than a couple of minutes. It was not good as a rebreather device, but rather a temporary solution. Fay also learned she could be faster in water if she wanted to, using the flux to propel herself through the liquid. It did not come as naturally as flying. It was a mental exercise that left her drained after flapping her limbs around like an idiot. 

A work in progress.

The third task was something she was familiar with, an exercise she’d had to do back in Maysoon as well.
The conversion of water from one state to another. Kaera made her defrost a fish. It was harder than she’d expected, because she’d end up thawing the fish too quickly, rendering it overly dehydrated, leaving it inedible. 

A work in progress.

.

.

.

The second month on the island was dedicated to the element of earth. It was one of the most physically strenuous parts of her summer. Fay did not have an affinity for it, even less so when it came to the flora, as her mother did. The exercises started small, with Kaera giving her tasks that combined the element of earth with others Fay was more comfortable with. The first week, Fay spent trying to break down and reshape items made from clay. The second week, Kaera stopped going easy on her. She had boulders swinging down at Fay. Kaera had her buried up to the neck in the ground to teach her how to connect with the element better. Kaera would penalise her if she used any other elements to defend herself in a sparring session with her or Thelion. 

Pressure worked. The pressure made Fay stop overthinking and rely on her instincts, but the earth element remained a challenge. 

A work in progress.

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.

.

The third month started with fire. Kaera made Fay and Klaus train together for two weeks. To learn from each other. Fay was taken aback by the progress the other boy had made, even if he had only mastered the one element. That motivated her, but fire remained an element she was afraid to use. She was not sure how Klaus did it. He carried anger too, she knew he did, yet he was not afraid to let it translate into the fire. 

“You’re being a coward,” The boy said irritably. 

“Why don’t you go ahead and fly?” Fay snapped back. “ It’s easy, just do it .” She mimicked his earlier words, frustratedly throwing her hands in the air. They were full of blisters, as were many other spots on her body courtesy of Klaus and her own inability to take control of the element. Fay sensed that her clothes were not the only thing that got singed already. 

“And here I thought you’ve become braver, moved on from that trembling little girl that got herself kidnapped.”

The skin under her eye twitched. “You’re in no position to judge given that little girl defeated you.” When she saw his smirk fade, Fay grinned. She’d never mock him for what happened after, how he’d ended up risking his life for a man who had no qualms about abandoning him, but she wasn’t about to let him push her around either.

They glared at each other. 

Kaera rolled her eyes. 

“From the beginning, let’s go.”

By the end of the month, Fay was not doing much better than at the beginning. 

The relationship between her and Klaus improved, though. Klaus learned how bothersome the marks on her skin could be, and she learned that fire didn’t always come easy to him, judging by the scars littering his body. 

Chapter 71: Of forbidden territory, perils of adulthood and the exception

Notes:

New chapter will either be posted next Friday or Sunday :)
Beta-reader: MoonglowOnWater - Many thanks as always.

Chapter Text

"Even with the best intentions, growing apart might just be an inevitable part of growing up." 

- Megan McCafferty 

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Fay shut her eyes closed, her forehead leaning against the wooden door of one of the bathroom drawer cupboards. She was not in a comfortable position, not really, with her bare knees pressing against the cold floor, her shoulders pulled inwards, and her torso angled towards her knees. Her right palm landed against the wooden surface, propping her up while the left one dove between the apex of her thighs. All previous hesitation and uncertainty had been abandoned, encouraged by the sensations unfurling in the pit of her stomach as her fingers continued their exploratory journey. She did feel embarrassment at finding herself in that position, kneeling on the bathroom floor and completely giving in to the burgeoning frenzy. Any sense of shame or guilt was buried deep, however. She was alone in her chambers and she felt as if she had finally managed to find and turn on a switch within herself taking her from thought to instinct. Sweat pooled at the back of her neck, and she could feel beads trickle down her neck, stopped only by the light cotton material of her sleeveless tunic. 

It had all started with a dream. Or rather a memory. The memory of two bodies moving against each other in a poorly lit room, of a male hand reaching to palm an exposed breast, and long bare legs wrapping around said male’s waist. It hadn’t been her first dream of nature, but it had been by far the most intense yet. She had woken up feeling as if she’d stood in the sun for too long again, nightdress soaked in sweat, hair sticking to her face and throat parched. Her heart had beat so quickly that she had momentarily feared it would jump out of her ribcage and into her lap. It had been too late to go back to sleep, the sun had already been rising, so she’d decided to shower. As cold as possible, in hopes the ache between her legs and the constant heat burbling in her stomach would be chased away. 

It was useless. Fay couldn’t clear her mind. She was experiencing a rare moment in which she was completely alone. Bagheera had often slept out in the jungle, although he was never too far from her chambers. Moma was not bound to come in and see if she’d woken up for at least another hour, and Fay was too keyed up to go training. And part of her did want to take advantage of the privacy she had. 

She’d never managed to go further than simply stoking the metaphorical fire, for various reasons. Lack of time, or privacy, or the fire dying down before she could experience any of those incredible sensations she’d been told she might. Many times, she’d also struggled to fantasise about it, unable to imagine what she’d be doing in a scenario of that kind, lacking the confidence, knowledge, or experience to even consider more than abstract situations. It took her a while to decide whom she would even imagine, she found the process so frustrating that she’d end up thinking there might be something wrong with her. In the end, she always imagined herself through the eyes of the heroine from the fictional series Cora had given her. It was easier that way because it was like having a manual of what she was meant to say and do. 

Fay kept the series hidden when at the warehouse. It was her secret. She hadn’t thought she might need it or even have time for it, but Fay had ended up bringing one of those books with her on the island. So, fresh out of the shower and hidden in her bathroom – because it still felt safer in there – Fay had ended up sitting on the floor, rereading some of those passages that made blood hum in her veins and her breaths grow shallower.  

It hadn’t been long before she’d ended up on that floor, brain unfocused and hands trembling. There was a passage in the book that she retained like a sponge, and it replayed in her mind, repeatedly. Coincidentally, the female heroine was sitting on a cot when her love interest – a handsome fair prince who, judging by the description given, reminded her of Thelion – walked in. Fay was not as interested in the confessions of love as in the part where the prince ended up expressing his desire. She both saw herself in that place and she didn’t, but there was enough detail to almost imagine the sensations solicited. 

It wasn’t all imagination. Even if she didn’t realise that her mind knew

Fay felt something building inside of her, and she didn’t even realise it when she ended up gently grinding her hips, to match the motion of the fictional scenario playing in her hand, her free hand sliding over her chest in tandem with the imaginary one. She didn’t imagine Thelion, not because he was not attractive, but because it didn’t feel right. It was just a faceless, fabricated male. The pulsing between her damp thighs was incremental, like waves joining others to turn into something bigger and bigger. 

She was so lost in it that she did not realise when her fantasy deviated from the book. She was not just an abstract version of the female heroine. She could see herself sitting on that cot, feeling the warmth radiating from the body caged by her legs. She looked down at herself and rather than seeing the pale hands of the prince, she saw brown ones. They were on her knees, easing them apart and all she did was watch, finding the motion lurid as it sent sparks of friction and pleasure down her spine. There was a hot mouth on her neck making its way down to her collarbone where her marks stretched down and then down further, her chest pressing against the others. The hand on her knee climbed up her thigh, higher and higher until--- until ---Her mind blended in that image with the sensations elicited by her stroking hand, no longer able to tell the difference between the two. 

Fay couldn’t help the choked gasp that escaped her throat as something snapped inside of her, like a wave crashing against a cliffside, making her see white spots even with her eyelids closed. For a few precious seconds, nothing existed around her but the ecstasy that burst inside of her, making her muscles stiffen and her thighs close, trapping her hand between them. 

Fay ended up leaning onto one side because her calves had turned numb, and she could not trust her arms to support her. She felt drained yet simultaneously blissfully relaxed, as she stared unseeingly around herself. A few beads of sweat dripped down the side of her throat and it was obvious she would need another shower, but she didn’t care. For several minutes, she simply did not care. It had taken her months to finally get to that moment and more than one occasion of feeling inadequate, but now she understood . Not everything, no but that part, yes. She hadn’t even known she was capable of experiencing that, but she did and it was exciting and powerful and liberating. 

As soon as the rush of hormones leaving her tingling and relaxed and euphoric wore off, Fay was struck by a thought so terrible that all the walls made of denial and rationalisation failed to stop. 

She had been fantasising about her best friend. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

(drip) 

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Fay was not particularly good at compartmentalising her emotions, not like Damian, but she was good at lying to herself. Her solution for what had happened in the bathroom was to grasp onto an explanation that was rooted in truth, but was not quite the entire truth. Fay tethered on the edge of a panic attack for three days. Even Kaera noticed how unfocused she was during training. She might be a demanding trainer, but she was not cruel. Kaera misinterpreted her anxious state, because how could she possibly know, and ordered her to take two days of rest. 

It was a terrible solution and Fay found herself having to recall several coping mechanisms that she hadn’t used in months or years. Anything to keep her mind from wandering to the whys behind what had happened, and what they meant. She couldn’t. She just couldn’t deal with that, so she started lying to herself. She’d been in a vulnerable and unprecedented position, and therefore her mind had gotten confused. When that failed to be convincing enough for her anxiety to fade, Fay skirted around the truth but never quite plunged into it. It was Damian. Her best friend. Her boy with green eyes was brilliant and beautiful and obnoxious and arrogant and kind and generous and safe. He was one of the deepest connections she had formed since the death of her parents and perhaps one of the most important ones she’d ever had. He made her feel protected and understood and seen

Her mind had glitched and thrown him in that fantasy because she didn’t have any other experience to go off on. She could go ahead and read all the books in the world. She could listen to others’ accounts of what it meant to feel desire and be desired in that manner, but she didn’t know. Not yet. One day. That was why her mind had settled for the next thing available, and that was her friend. 

That was it. She went with that because it felt plausible, and it managed to take the weight off her heart. She had never thought about Damian that way. She would never do such a thing. He was Damian. Her friend. Found family. It was embarrassing and shameful and unfair towards him. But when her mind was tired after a particularly heavy training session or she was about to join the land of dreams and all her defences were down or she was on a call with her friend, telling him about her day, thoughts intruded at the back of her head. Quiet but never silent, only half-formed but intrusive. 

(what would it feel like if he really---)

(did he ever think about others---)

(what would he like if he--)

(what would he sound like—would it be like Inaru?)

(who would it be with?)

(drip, drip, drip)

Twelve weeks, three days, and seventeen hours. That’s how long she had been gone. 

When Fay had left, Gotham had experienced the first days of the temperature climbing past twenty degrees Celsius. When she came back, autumn made its presence in the air. The leaves just started to turn cold and the wind carried the aroma of rain-drenched soil. Damian waited for her on the compound that had once served as Angel’s base. Underneath his feet was the abandoned bunker the police had sealed off, and a new fence had been planted around the area with signs prohibiting access. 

It was the longest they’d been apart. Unlike last time, they had communicated on a regular basis to bridge the inadvertent gap between them. If he had to choose, he would not have her leave for such long periods of time. However, he could function just as well while she was away, and it wasn’t as if they did not hear or see each other. 

Damian had had time to think. To reflect, to ponder, to weigh and quantify, and to analyse. It still aggravated him that there were questions he could not answer, scenarios he had to accept as possible. They were very unlikely scenarios, but being who he was, Damian did not shy away from considering them and filing them away in a mental cabinet, regardless of the sour taste they left in his mouth. 

The conversation with Dick had left him with much to reflect on. Then, as was her habit, Stephanie had decided she couldn’t mind her own business one day, three weeks after Fay had left. Leave it to her to interrupt what was otherwise an acceptable moment of peace and jeopardise the privilege he’d offered her to sit next to him and use his art supplies. He made a mental note to tell Fay to stop telling Stephanie and others they could just drop by whenever they wished. The blonde vigilante had not been allowed on the upper flowers, but she did water the plants as Fay had asked so Damian did not kick her out. Not for lack of trying, though. 

Stephanie had been on the floor, doodling while he worked on a piece focusing on human anatomy. He liked challenging himself in that manner; studying a picture of an organ or a scientific illustration before recreating it himself based only on his memory. It was also helpful on the field as it allowed him to visualise muscles and tissue and veins very clearly, should the need arise. 

 “Sooooo,” She drawled in that insufferable way of hers. Purposefully, because she knew how much it irritated him. “How long have you and Fay been necking each other?” 

Damian’s first thought was that Dick had blabbered to her, and he immediately felt betrayed. That conversation should have stayed between the two of them, was that not implicit? Then he realised that no, Dick would never cross that kind of boundary (he was one of the few Damian trusted he wouldn’t). Which left him with nothing. “You have a talent for blabbering nonsense, Brown.” He replied acidly, as he reached for a blue pastel pencil from the case next to him to start working on the finished sketch of a human heart. 

“Fay and I went shopping before she left to-,” Stephanie said casually. “-you know that place that is super-secret and no one knows about but you.” Her tone was playful, not accusing. Damian remained silent, not taking his eyes off the paper, seemingly inattentive. “There was a hickey on her neck.” Stephanie made a sound as if she loudly contemplated something. “There was also one on your shoulder that day. Strange, hm?”

“Is there a point to this inane conversation?” He asked coolly. 

Stephanie didn’t respond. Damian clicked his teeth in annoyance when he had to draw his eyes away from the sketchbook to look at her. He was surprised when he saw that all notes of playfulness had left her expression. Stephanie did not look angry or disappointed, simply pensive. Knowing, even, as if she had already made her point and he’d missed it. “ What ?”

“Can I give you some advice—”

“No.”

“Too bad, you get it anyway,” He could stab her with the pencil. It was very tempting, especially when the blonde placed her sketchbook aside, got up, and then plopped down next to him with such enthusiasm it made the sofa bounce slightly. His pencils clattered in their case, a couple rolling off the seat onto the ground. Pip did not hesitate to jump at them from underneath the coffee table and start chewing on one. 

“I would demand you reimburse that but we both know you can’t afford it,” 

“Stop being a git,” Stephanie said. “I am serious.”

“That would require acting maturely, which you are not capable of.”

Azure eyes narrowed, and she glared at him, leaning against the sofa on her left side so she could face him. She smelled of vanilla. 

“You can take it or leave it,” She said, “But… just be careful, okay?”

Excuse me ?”

“Just let me finish,” She rolled her eyes. “Fay adores you. I mean, really really adores you. You are obviously important to her, and not just because she is an alien trying to find her way in this world. She is clearly important to you. I think that’s… amazing, and I am glad you two are friends, D. I like her as well. She’s going to stay here for a while, won’t she? Which means you two are going to grow up together---” Damian scowled at her, clearly exhibiting his impatience. “--- look . Girls and boys can be friends. They can be whatever they want. You two don’t exactly have a traditional friendship and that’s fine, but---”

What are you going on about?” Damian snapped. 

“Hormones, you twit.” Stephanie snapped back. “Do you really want to tell me that you’re unaffected?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business, but I am certainly not like all those primitives you have been hanging out with.”

“Low blow, D, but okay.” Stephanie sighed, then decided to reel back her own temper because they could both go on antagonising each other for hours. She met his gaze. “People can dictate the terms of their relationships, but don’t you think it may get confusing if you two end up behaving in a manner that’s… more than just friends?”

“That is a preposterous assumption. I am not—”

“What about Fay?”

Damian fell silent, startled. Recovering a second later, “You are being overly dramatic based on an observation which you lack context for. You do not know anything, Brown.”

“D, I am not judging.”

A scoff. “It seems to me you are,” 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come off that way,” She conceded in a softer tone. “All I am saying is that if, at any point, there’s something… more going on, it is important that you are both aware of it. Otherwise, it can end up in two people being misaligned. About where they are and what they want and so on. I don’t want that to happen, that’s it.” 

Damian hadn’t told Stephanie, but he had ultimately acknowledged the point she had tried to make. He and Fay did have an unconventional friendship. For one, there was the matter of who they were and their unusual backgrounds. Then there was the matter of how they’d met plus the series of events that had led them to build the strong rapport they had in present times. They would never be normal , as individuals or otherwise . If one asked Damian, he’d say that he would not have it otherwise as he believed their bond was better . It was rooted in a mutual level of trust and respect that very few experienced in their life, after all. 

They also shared an unusually high level of intimacy for friends, some of which came with knowing each other’s civilian and vigilante identities. Then there was the other side of it, that which fell under the label of exception for him. They had seen each other in states of undress. They had seen each other sweat and bleed and court death. Fay had seen him in moments of vulnerability that very few others had. He had seen how deeply her scars ran, physical and otherwise, and the mental battle she had to win to grow stronger. He might even say there was little to nothing they had not seen of each other, and he’d made exceptions for her he’d never made before. Allowed himself to sleep around her, let her reach to him when felt emotionally flayed, gave in to almost every request she made, dedicated time and effort and attention to ensure her needs were met even before she became aware of them. 

Fay had said he was hers, for she saw him as he was, the good and the darkness that he was not sure he’d ever be rid of. He was hers to protect and love and fight for, and she had proven that time and time again. She was his for the same reasons, and with the same level of commitment. It was a vow; one he took seriously. 

Brown did, however, make a point as much as he hated to admit it. Fay was more, and not just in the sense of someone that had rightfully gained his loyalty and care. Her presence in his moments of sexual indulgence had not been a one-time event. She was always there, first as an unexpected intruder, then as a vision seemingly intent to shame him for having such little self-restraint. As if it wasn’t enough that he had to deal with such troublesome incidents in his moments of privacy, over the months since it had first happened, he’d become keenly aware of her in ways he hadn’t before. Clinical observations or analyses born out of concern for her health were joined by moments in which he found himself appraising her as a woman-in-the-making. The way her sports bra had filled out even more over the last year, how it added movement to her chest when she moved around, or the way her chest felt when she pressed against him in her sleep. She did not always wear something under her shirt, probably because she still preferred overly large garments hiding her figure. It was well within her rights, but it didn’t stop him from observing. 

During training, Fay had grown comfortable wearing fewer layers and would often strip to a pair of knee-length tights and a sleeveless shirt. He’d become aware of the defined muscles on her calf, how strong her thighs looked, or the curved shape of her rear. Fay was not willowy in her figure or naturally slim as Stephanie, but she carried both fat and muscle effectively. She was both soft and hard. There were parts of her body that were silk and others that were scarred or becoming more calloused. He knew that because he’d found himself running his hand over those contrasting areas of her skin. His fingers would wander to the back of her neck or her elbows or her knees. Her body was deceptively human, but he had seen her use her flux countless times, and each time he was reminded that she was also an otherworldly creature. He liked the way the marks moved on her body, indifferent to whether they came across corded muscle or areas of softness. He liked watching the way she moved her hands like a conductor, directing the natural forces around her and making them act on her desire. She was most devastating when she was angry, like a scorned nymph. 

He had been cataloguing all of that, day by day, week by week. There was an incremental quality to those observations. He wanted to see more. He wanted to be even closer than that. And he took all that she offered because Fay adored him and he was her exception in many ways as well and they, only they, knew how deeply that bond ran. No one could dictate or change anything. That was their prerogative. 

Unless. 

Unless there was a misalignment , as Stephanie had put it. Damian tasted bile as he thought that he might only have convinced himself into thinking he had successfully compartmentalised himself. He thought about that day in the bathroom following their return from the desert; he had not held back from putting his mouth on her neck. How he sometimes pressed his lips there when she pressed close against him in her sleep or how most of their ground fighting sessions began with him biting her there. The number of times he’d wondered how she would react if he just ran his mouth over her collarbone. If it would feel good and if she’d feel it more intensely because of her marks. He thought about the way Fay was comfortable eliminating any distance between themselves and he looked forward to feeling her pressed against him. He thought about the way he liked applying the salve to her limbs because it made her feel better and because he liked the way his hands felt on her. 

(and more than once, he’d wondered what it’d be like if he put his mouth on all on those places as well)

Damian felt nauseous. Not because of Fay but because of himself. Fay was his friend, but he had thought about her being more than that and he’d inadvertently behaved as if she already were. What did Fay think of all this? What if she had not made the same considerations? Then she’d perceive all those moments differently. Just her and her friend , and their moments of physical affection. It was worse than fantasising about her. He might have pushed boundaries that he should not have, boundaries that she’d allowed him to cross because she trusted him and did not think twice about him staring at her in any other way than platonic. 

That realisation did little to change his previous decision. The one he’d made a few days after the discussion with Dick. 

He wanted more , but he needed to do better. That’s why he did what he did best (or rather one of the things he excelled at). 

He planned . It would take time and patience and he should start by disciplining himself more effectively. 

A shadow passed above his head, temporarily blocking the weak rays of the sun. He looked up, arms automatically lifting skyward even before his green eyes zeroed in on the figure free-falling towards him. She didn’t allow gravity to pull her down, instead of controlling her descent so that she ended up floating like a feather. 

Right into his arms. Long hair billowed around her head like a crown and she smiled brightly as her waist slotted between his waiting hands. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and her legs around his waist. She smelled of the ocean and exotic flowers and home . Her body was warm, and her skin tanned, and he could feel the energy buzzing within her. 

“I am back,” She whispered in his ear. 

“Obviously.”

Fay was the exception. 

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Fay had grown taller. Damian’s voice had grown deeper. Her arms and legs carried more muscle than before. His legs are longer, she catches herself staring at them. There was less baby fat in her face, making her jaw sharper. He had started shaving his face every few days due to the fine dark hair that had started sprouting over the summer. Her hair was longer. His too, and there were raven locks falling over his forehead that she liked to brush away. She had grown faster in combat. His abdomen had become more defined. Her hips were wider. He could feel the power in her hands, stronger than before. It was electrifying. His hands were bigger than hers and she liked putting hers through his. He liked the way her hand fit into his, something destructive wrapped in a soft package. His back felt broader when she embraced him from behind. Her breasts had grown bigger. His arms were thicker, but he remained lean taking more after Talia than Bruce. 

Her lips were objectively neither thin nor plump. But they look tempting all the same. 

She's not sure when she started finding his mouth so fascinating. 

They carry on. 

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“I was not aware your kind could sweat.”

“Fuck off.”

“You’re in my apartment. You fuck off.”

“Kick me out, then.” A challenge Daphne couldn’t take on. Perhaps in the past. 

The two women regarded each other with withering looks. They were both relics of an era gone by, both having lived almost the same number of years and they had seen far too much, even for their kind. Daphne recalled Lira when she was just a brat that barely reached her shoulders, not that much older than her sister. The anger she’d seen in those young eyes had faded but it was not gone entirely. It probably never would be. Then again, if there was something that they had in common, it was the anger. An emotion many had used to allow them to carry on. “If you have nothing to live for, live to spite others”, Daphne thought, a motto that had been popular in the early resistance. 

“If you’re so restless, do you think you could vacuum the place?” Daphne asked. 

Lira ignored her as she stopped pacing around the kitchen agitatedly, going through the cupboards, and sat down in an armchair across from her, one knee bouncing fervently. Daphne had found the Estaris warrior sitting on her kitchen island with a bottle of whisky – her whisky – half-empty. She wondered what the point of her drinking was. Compared to the ales and wines in Maysoon, even her very fine bottle of Edinburgh scotch was bound to disappoint in both strength and taste. 

Decades after leaving her old life behind, Daphne didn’t think she’d end up having to play therapist to all the people she’d left behind. The only one she didn’t mind was Fay, whom Daphne found lovely. Fay felt different from the Estaris, even Damar himself at times. There was something joyful in her heart that she had not been robbed of completely, regardless of what she’d been through. A sense of joviality and curiosity and wonder that the Dragonborn – at least older generations – had been stripped off without even having been given the chance to fight for it. Fay did. Daphne had known her long enough to see how much the girl had changed and how far she’d come. She made for an interesting conversationalist most days, and Daphne had never admitted it, but she rather enjoyed talking to someone who had a hybrid sort of experience, as they both had lived across two worlds. 

“Fay has returned, hasn’t she?” Daphne asks. “How was her training?”

Lira’s eyes – molten silver – lifted to Daphne’s face. Her face hardened. “Why are you here?”

“I believe I have mentioned that this is my apartment.”

A flash of darkness crossed the woman’s eyes, stretching beyond the pupil. Any other person could have chalked it to be an illusion or a trick of the light. 

Daphne knew better. “I was not afraid of those eyes before, what makes you think I will be now?” 

“I can always report your presence here.

Daphne stared at her coldly. “You would break Damar’s promise?”

“Damar is dead.” There was a sharp finality to that sentence that gave the psychologist pause. Lira, as viciously effective as she could be in the field, had never been ruthless simply because she could. Something must have happened for her to be prepared to make a decision that would surely put her at odds with Fay as well. 

Daphne sighed. “Let’s stop playing this game, shall we? I am not sure what you want from me.”

“The truth,” Lira said simply, head tilting back in a manner Daphne had seen before. It was a way of looking down at others, except Lira was not condescending. She assessed her with the same intensity as a predator. Which she was. “I understand staying after Fay sought you out. Out of surprise, or out of curiosity. Fay wanted answers and you willingly gave them, but she’s no longer coming here because of that. She is also clearly safe. Yet, despite many decades of having spent your life like a hermit, have chosen to relocate to Gotham almost fully.

“Fay is a very good conversationalist,” Daphne said, truthfully.

Lira smiled, humorlessly. “She is,” Her lips fell back in a flat line. “I will do anything to keep her safe. Including breaking a promise Damar made some odd years ago. Things changed the moment he died.”

“I am sure,” Daphne replied swiftly. “And I can assure you that I am here to see to Fay’s best interests, not otherwise. Even if it is just an occasional visit to hear a psychologist’s insight or tales of the old days.”

“How generous of you,” Lira said. “What are you hiding?”

“What are you?” Daphne said with raised brows. “Why are you here, Lira, knowing that Fay is safe? The girl has chosen to permanently move here. Are you going to be watching from the shadows forever?”

“If I must,” Lira said, honestly. “It’s not like I have anything else going on. You do . You have a family. Grandchildren.”

And you don’t?

Daphne did not voice it. It was best not to open that can of worms, not even if she could have used it to steer the conversation to a darker place. When she thought about the Estaris, Lira was the clan member that Daphne had the least history with. She held no grudge. Once upon a time, she would have thought that all Estaris deserved to be treated with mistrust. 

The psychologist sighed. “Do you know when Damar last visited this world?”

Lira’s eyes narrowed at the sudden change in topic, “To my knowledge, twenty years ago. Give or take.”

Daphne nodded. “He came to see me. One last time. He asked me whether I would do him a favour. When I asked him what it was, he just said he needed to know I would agree. He did not specify what the favour would be, and I thought he was just being Damar. You know your brother. He could be cryptical when he wished to be.” She reached to take the pins out of her hair as her scalp ached. It had been a long journey from England, even in the business class. “He told me that if and when the day comes, I will understand what the favour is and if it’s still possible, to help.”

Lira leaned forward, elbows on her angles as she stared at Daphne with a startled look. There was no physical sign to indicate the woman might be lying. 

“When Fay first found me, I did not know who she was. She and that brat kidnapped and interrogated me,” Daphne snorted at the memory. “I had a read of one of the cards she gave me. That’s when I realised who she is and so I came here. Fay didn’t even know I existed. I assumed Damar had instructed her to come and find me, but she had no knowledge. I still have no idea what exactly the mysterious favour was supposed to be.”

“Fay would not have been born when he last came here,”

“I am aware,” Daphne said as she pushed a hand through her hair, loosening it around her shoulders. “Fay knows.” Lira blinked in surprise. “Do not be too cross with her. I believe in the beginning she was afraid of jeopardising my life here, as well as her presence. Now, I think she might have just forgotten.” Daphne smiled ruefully. “What do you make of that ?”

Lira was silent, expression contemplative. 

“Is that all?”

“Yes, yes,” Daphne said exasperatedly. “I was honest when I said I do enjoy my time with Fay. It’s not as if I had a social life back in England and I generally only see my family for the holidays.”

Lira didn’t respond, her face growing darker by the minute. 

“What do you know?” Daphne asked sharply. 

Lira met her gaze. “It is wiser if you do not find out.”

“Says the woman who threatened to expose me.”

Lira hesitated, a frown forming on her face. 

“...I may have an idea what the favour is about.”

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The Gotham Museum complex was meant to have a new addition before winter; a botanical garden would take up three-quarters of the empty campus space next to the Science building. It was rumoured to be a revival of another garden that had once existed a few kilometres away from the complex. The Wayne Botanical Garden was opened in the eighties by Thomas and Martha Wayne. Unfortunately, it had over time suffered damage from criminal activity, which had led to the structure becoming unstable and visitors being forbidden from entering. The flora inside struggled to recover, and all plans to have the place renovated had consistently been put on the backburner. 

Until now. 

Damian told her that he had created the draft of the botanical garden himself over the summer, and had pitched the idea to the museum stakeholders in late July. Construction had started two weeks before Fay had returned from the island and in a best-case scenario, the botanical garden was going to be unveiled in five weeks’ time. The garden would be open to the public, but also have a scientific foundation with the aim of becoming a conservation centre for rare and threatened plants. That would not happen immediately, though, since while the garden would be compliant with policies on sustainability and ethical research, there were concerns that Gotham may be too dangerous to house plants on the brink of extinction. For the beginning, the botanical garden would just offer research programs to university students and a beautiful location for the Gothamites to spend their time at. 

“Is there anything I can help with?” Fay asked excitedly, already feeling nostalgic at the idea of running errands for Helen. 

Damian’s lips twitched. “Wilmot may require some assistance. However, the new project is receiving wider publicity than before, so it is imperative you keep a low profile.”

Fay shrugged. “Alright,” She pressed against him, her chest to his back as she leaned forward in her stool behind him. Fay propped her cheek between his shoulder blades, arms wrapped around his midriff. His steady breaths relaxed her. She’d woken up feeling anxious after having a puzzling dream in which she had stood among the rubble. It had been night, yet she’d had to squint because there had been something bright before her eyes. She was not sure if she could call it a nightmare since none of the terrifying elements she usually dreamt about had been there. No screams or dead bodies or shadows chasing her. Yet she had woken up with her heart lodged in her throat, feeling so emotionally overloaded that she’d had to throw up. 

Damian hadn’t been at the warehouse, and she hadn’t told him about the dream because she wasn’t sure there was anything to tell. Bagheera had calmed her down, she’d cleaned everything and then taken a shower. The anxiety lingered, however, keeping her on edge, which she found ironic. Fay had grown accustomed to no longer feeling constantly anxious, and when she did experience periods like that now, she struggled to cope. She sighed and turned her head so she could press her nose into Damian. One of her hands absent-mindedly brushed against his stomach and his muscles there contracted. It felt nice, and she instinctively ran her hand over the area by his ribs, then abdominals. 

Then she realised what she was doing, and she froze. Her mind raced and tripped over itself trying to answer questions she hadn’t bothered with before because suddenly she couldn’t remember whether she’d done that in the past, or if it was alright because something had changed and she couldn’t think about what had changed because then she’d have to think about that day on the island and---“I forgot,” She squeaked out, quickly removing her arms from his midriff and leaning away from him. “I promised I would call Dana. She—she invited me to dinner this weekend.” Then she got up from the stool and glided out of the room, feeling incredibly ashamed and confused and slightly nauseous again. 

Damian frowned as he stared in the direction she’d taken off to, hand stiffly holding the pencil. Irritation coursed through his veins, at himself. He shifted in the chair, refusing to acknowledge the phantom feeling of her hand down his stomach because if he did, there was no way he would not visualise it going over his torso, exploratively .   

He was better than that. 

There was a plan in place and he must not deviate from it. 

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Daphne was taken aback when Fay came to visit her with a bag full of fruits from the island, saying she thought the woman might feel ‘nostalgic’ about eating them. She just stared at the girl, startled, and she misinterpreted the look and apologised. “I am sorry. I should have thought of it sooner.” She bowed her head slightly. “I also put in some of Moma’s salve for arthritis.” 

“What?” Daphne asked, blinking. 

Fay’s cheeks reddened. “I, uh, noticed that you always rub your wrists, and you pop your hands. It—It looks painful,” She smiled sheepishly. “I am sorry if I made the wrong assumption. I hope this is alright.”

Daphne dumbly accepted the bag – it was heavy – and opened it to glance inside at the carefully wrapped food items and pots of salve. She remembered Moma very well. Even back then, the woman had had a long-standing reputation for being one of the greatest herbalists in the country. She had also been one of the very few humans who were openly accepted at the court, having gained much respect for having treated clan members successfully. Daphne recalled her sister hoping that she would be able to obtain one of the coveted apprenticeships under Moma. She was known for being incredibly selective about whom she trained, although she often took part in training new healers. That never happened, of course. Her sister was dead. Just like her other sister. 

“Daphne?”

“Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “You should have not concerned yourself at all,” Realising how cold that last part came out, Daphne smiled at Fay. “You are right. I do get painful joints. Old injuries. I may heal faster than humans in this world, but I have had my fair share of brushes with death.” She was suddenly tempted to lean forward and kiss the girl’s forehead, but she didn’t. It was an unspoken rule that Daphne should not touch her, and that was alright. God knows how much friction her abilities had caused in the past with others for she couldn’t help what she saw of other people. “That is very thoughtful of you.”

Fay smiled. 

“Would you like to stay for tea?” The girl nodded. “We haven’t been able to speak before I left, but I believe there was something about a painting you wished to tell me.”

Daphne prepared chamomile tea for herself and linden for the girl, and they both sat down in the living room across from each other. Not unlike she and Lira had, several days earlier. Daphne frowned at her cup as she remembered the conversation, but kept an ear open as Fay recounted her travels across the world at the beginning of that year. The painting seemingly signed by Aranar Carwhel, the message in the cave, the travels to the Highlands, and the coordinates found under the altar. It had been a dead-end after that. 

The psychologist schooled her expression into one of curiosity. “That is very… odd,” She took a sip of her tea. “Although I cannot say I am that surprised.”

“You’re not?”

Daphne shook her head. “Aranar Carwhel was never meant to become a whole identity. Just a red herring, for one-time use. However, the success of the rebels in taking the warriors by surprise and liberating the village was shocking at the time. Something on that scale had never happened before and even worse, the rumours of it spread fast.” She smiled, tight-lipped. “Aranar Carwhel became a person after that. A collective of people’s hope and defiance and rising anger.”

Fay nodded. “But how would that painting get there? It looks like someone purposefully left those leads. For what?” Her face scrunched up. “To make people chase something that doesn’t exist?”

“Why not?” Daphne said. “Once the Resistance started replicating the portal technology, we know that they’ve started crossing the Veil. First out of a need, then later because it was convenient and a strategy that kept many of their operations secret. However, the island couldn’t always have been used. Not in the beginning.”

“Because of the Seekers. Whoever knew about the Seekers and their work would have known about the island.” Daphne nodded. “Because the island represents a node of some kind between the worlds?”  Fay’s brows furrowed as she thought about that. “But no one knows why?”

Daphne took another sip of her tea, then exhaled. “There is still much we do not know about the Veil or why the two worlds appear as two sides of the same coin.”

“Hm,” Fay’s lips pursed. Realising she forgot to drink her tea, she raised the cup to her lips and drank several large gulps. She liked it with honey and lemon. “The Resistance members would have arrived in other locations, then? Does that mean they had safehouses or similar?”

The psychologist strategically hid her hesitation with another sip of her tea. 

“Possibly. I lost contact around the time they started considering such travels. I suspect that once the Resistance grew in power and took dominion of the island, those safe houses were abandoned or destroyed. Fewer chances for others to stumble onto them,” 

Fay’s eyes widened. “Maybe that’s how Bernard managed to collect all those items.”

Daphne didn’t comment, watching the teenager draw up her legs beneath her and run her hand over her chin as she got lost in her thoughts. 

“Kaera and Len have never mentioned…” Fay muttered absent-mindedly. “I wonder if aunt Lira knows.”

“Based on other’s accounts, maybe,” Brown eyes met silver. “But at the time those operations took place, your aunt was still operating as a warrior in Maysoon. As did your father.” It was a diplomatic way of saying; your family was still caught in the old regime and not exactly allies.  

Fay looked inclined to agree. “I suppose so.” Perhaps Faron and Olena know something . Fay made a mental note to ask Titoh to talk to them. They had agreed to keep in touch on a regular basis now that things were going significantly better between them. “What about the dark paths?”

Daphne’s side of the mouth twitched. “What about them?”

“I know you cannot remember, but you said you were involved in the research of them. Do you think maybe that’s when the Resistance started using the dark paths? You were amongst the first, right?”

That gave the psychologist pause and she made a show of trying to remember, which was not entirely fake. The truth was she did not remember the last days leading to her arrival in that world. Daphne recalled the other group leaders expressing uncertainty of the information they had on the dark paths, but for years she couldn’t recall why. Now, she had a better idea. 

Daphne placed her cup on the small plate on the round table beside her armchair. 

“I do have to wonder if it was the dark paths they actually used,” She said genuinely. “I don’t know what I don’t know, but I recall the news of these dark paths were met with scepticism. Based in myth, primarily, something passed down by word.” Her brows furrowed and her mouth twisted slightly. “It would have taken more than that for the others to take it seriously, but I cannot remember what it was.”

“They wiped your memories. Were you not afraid that you, um, might forget more than just that part?”

Daphne chuckled. “It would have been a blessing in many ways. I’ve lived a long life and there were more unhappy parts.” Fay frowned. “However, the life I built here has managed to balance some of that. “

“It must have been terrifying to wake up here.”

“You would know,” Daphne said amusedly. 

Fay smiled back in return. “Yes, but I had Bag. I had my parents’ stories, and I knew English.”

Daphne pulled a face. “Oh god, do not remind me. I had found this language to be so confusing. Henry was a saint for having so much patience. Hannah, as well.” Fay’s smile faded slightly. “When I arrived in this world, all I had on me were the clothes on my back and a letter I had written to myself. Playing around with one’s memory is a dangerous thing to do, and there are no guarantees. It is not exactly science if it could be called that at all. I knew there might be a risk of me remembering less, which is why I wrote a letter briefly detailing who I really am, and to not be scared of my abilities.” Fay couldn’t imagine that. Waking up in that world, completely alone, without knowing the language either or any clue of anything. She wondered what it would have been like if she and Damian had met under those circumstances. Would he have taken her in and educated her as Henry did with Daphne? Probably. If she ever made it alive to Gotham, that is. 

“How did you first meet your former companion?” Fay asked curiously. 

Something flitted across the woman’s eyes. “Bruno.” She replied simply. “He was studying business; I was studying psychology when we first met.”

“Oh.” Fay hesitated before, “How did he find out?”  

“He was a smart man,” Daphne said. “Perceptive. He noticed that I sometimes knew things about others that I couldn’t have known. I liked to keep to myself and I did not make many friends in my first years of university. It was hard pretending to be just a regular human girl when I’ve already lived decades, but I came to enjoy this world. When I wasn’t studying, I was working.” That sounded familiar to Fay. “He was popular. Handsome, rich, eloquent. I think he’s always been drawn to things others couldn’t understand and I was, in a way, exactly that. Hannah had taken a shine to one of his friends and by then, I had grown quite protective of her. I could tell better than her when someone had… nefarious intentions. One day she came home, crying hysterically. I found out that the boy she liked had touched her without consent. She got away, but he had cleverly decided to spread false information about her character.”

Fay’s face hardened. 

“However, I could not prove it. None of his victims wanted to come forward, except my sister. So, I went after him as a warrior, not as Daphne. Back then, I had not quite fully grown into my new identity. Let’s just say that he sang like a canary when I was done with him.” Her lips twitched. “Bruno saw me. He confronted me about it, nagged me for weeks. We didn’t get along very well in the beginning. I had become quite prejudiced in regards to people like him. People who have grown up having everything they wanted and never had to work too hard for it. But he was charming. He paid attention, and not just to my looks or how strange I seemed compared to others.” 

They had become friends, then fallen in love. Daphne had ended up telling him the truth, or parts of it. His family had disapproved of her as she was not only an orphan by all intents and purposes, but also far too exotic as they had liked to put it. Bruno had defied them and defended her, and been supportive of her decision to study psychology. Daphne had had her share of experiences with men, but she had never been in a long-term relationship, much less in an environment where she did not have to worry about being captured or attacked. Everything had been new. He’d taken her around the world and never seemed deterred by the fact that she was essentially an alien. “I do think there was a part of him that cared, but the bigger part was fascination. I confused that with love. I was safe, free to pursue dreams I didn’t even think I could have.” Daphne continued. When he had proposed to her, it had felt like a natural step at the time. Then his interest in her world had become something more. It had no longer been mere curiosity; he’d become focused on understanding how her world could exist beyond a veil to the point he’d even started consulting physicists. Daphne had become increasingly bothered by it. She had cut off her ties with the world, and she did not wish to end up being discovered by the Seekers. She’d told him that, and for a while, he had seemed to respect her choice. Then he’d become entangled in dangerous affairs, forcing her to act less like Daphne and more like her old self, which she despised. 

“We grew apart,” Daphne sighed. “I suppose I should have seen it coming. Some things are better kept secret.”

“You mean about who you were and where you came from?”

“Yes. I thought, with Bruno, that I would be able to retain some parts of the old self. The ones I liked. But I think very few would be ready to accept that. How do you tell someone you’ve spent decades being a warrior? Killing, as well.” Daphne said. “When I met my husband, I made the choice of being just Daphne. If I wanted to leave behind the other world, I had to compromise. Of course, I think he always suspected as well but he never asked. He didn’t care to ask because he liked who I was.”

“But… he didn’t know who you were before?”

“No. It didn’t matter. He made me happy, I made him happy. We had a great family. In comparison, with Bruno, it felt like I had to constantly revisit my past.” 

Fay nodded. “I see.”

“People grow apart,” Daphne said. “Our priorities change. I wished to be part only of this world, Bruno wanted to chase adventure and excitement. I do not think he meant to hurt me on purpose, but by the time our engagement broke off, we were different people.” Dread settled in Fay’s stomach. She felt sad, like when Sora had talked about her relationship with Inaru. It was not fair that someone’s love for another could be insufficient to keep together or make two people see each other as they used to. That would never happen with her and Damian, of course. They would always be in each other’s lives, no matter what. 

“One day, you’ll understand better,” Daphne added suddenly. 

“What?” Her heart fluttered. 

“Once you are older, you are bound to have different goals and interests. That is normal. Adulthood brings a new set of challenges and self-questioning that cannot always be predicted.” Daphne smiled reassuringly, but it did not make Fay feel better. “With your genes, I expect you will live longer than a human, even one like myself. You are but at the start of your journey.”

(drip, drip, drip)

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In her second week back in Gotham, Fay didn’t see much of Damian. It was not unusual. He was busier than usual as, on top of working on two cases simultaneously, he was also involved heavily at the Gotham Museum. She visits Cora on a Saturday. The girl had spent the better part of her summer at a camp, which she had enjoyed tremendously. Cora was meant to start her junior year the next Monday and Fay had agreed to accompany her in town to complete errands for her return to school. She stayed for lunch at the girl’s house, and they ended up ordering enough food to feed four of them since they had to account for Bagheera’s appetite as well. 

“How is your father?” Fay asked as she chucked the bone of a chicken wing into an empty box beside her left knee. 

Cora reached for her large cup of coke and took several sips before answering. “He’s doing really well. My dad, aunt Emma, and I went out for dinner before I left for camp. It was back at the end of June when you had already left.” She leaned forward to grab a small paper bag full of French fries. “He has a new job, working at an office downtown. It pays well, he has health insurance and he said he might be able to move to a bigger place by the end of the year. That way I can go and stay there whenever I want.”

Fay smiled. “That’s great, Cora,” She reached for another fried chicken wing. “Will your aunt have full custody still?”

Cora nodded. “Yes. I am only two years away from being an adult, legally speaking, so there’s no point in going to court again. I don’t want them to worry about that.” She plopped a few more fries into her mouth. “Plus, they seem to get along well. I like living with my aunt, and my father can focus on his job since aunt Emma works mostly from home these days.” Not that day, however. Emma was in the office the whole day and Cora told Fay she was welcome to stay as the woman was bound to get back very late. Bagheera was certainly relieved by that, as he could walk around freely. 

“I am going to go wash my hands before we go,” Fay said as she stared at her greasy, sauce-soaked fingers with disgust. 

“’kay.”

Fay got off the bed and exited the bedroom to head into the bathroom down the hall. She washed her hands twice before she was satisfied, then returned to Cora’s room. The girl was still sprawled on her stomach on one side of the bed, surrounded by a dozen or so containers of food and countless napkins. Bagheera had claimed the space between the bed and the TV. He was currently on his third beef burrito. If the delivery man thought it was strange how much food two teenage girls had ordered, he hadn’t shown it. 

“Ready?” Fay asked when she returned to the room. 

The girl was up and in the process of tying her shoelaces. “Yep!”

Helen Wilmot wiped at the perspiration gathering on one brow and smiled as the two girls approached her. Seeing Fay delighted her every time, and each time she’d react in the same manner. Give the girl a bear hug, tell her how much she’d grown, and then pat her head. 

“Hello, girls,” She said. “Thank you for helping out.” The museum was almost always busy, but with the advent of cooler weather and increased spells of rain, Gothamites felt more inclined to visit. How could they not? The museum was educational, entertaining, and even had an additional covered terrace where people could sit and eat all manner of international foods. Helen had been promoted to the position of Heritage Manager, which was second only to Rochester’s own position. She and her family had been able to change houses and move to the suburbs where they lived in a larger house with plenty of green space for her twins. Helen’s husband had started a bakery following what had originally been a hobby he’d taken up after his accident and later became a true passion of his. Fay had given his number to Dana who said she’d meet with the man to see if they could collaborate on a charity event together. That would increase the bakery’s clientele while also serving a greater purpose, so it was a win-win. 

There was not much they could get involved in, given the museum had teams of professionals for the construction works. However, Helen had told Fay she had been wanting to organise a storage room on the upper floor where the offices were. The idea had struck her months earlier when she’d ended up scavenging through the old boxes for some photos that Damian had requested. Cora and Fay exchanged a knowing look at that, but neither commented. Their task for the afternoon was to dive into the room and start cataloguing everything they found. 

“Are you sure this is no bother, duckie?” Helen asked as she opened the door, switched the lights on, and turned around.

“It’s alright,” Fay smiled. 

“I like helping,” Cora nodded, reassuring. 

“Oh dear, you two are such sweet girls,” She allowed them to enter, handed the keys to Fay, and then stepped out. “You have a walkie-talkie, you remember how to use it, don’t you?” Fay nodded. “Good. Let me know if there’s anything you need.”

The room was on the same floor as Rochester’s office, albeit at the opposite end across from the bathrooms. The storage area was painted in the same beige as the rest of the walls with heavy-duty shelves lining the walls. They were bursting with boxes, office supplies, posters, and even old staff uniforms. Large plastic boxes on wheels had also been left lying haphazardly across the floor. As Helen had warned them, the room was like a time machine, containing items as old as forty years. Fay and Cora cleared a spot next to the door and used a box full of old fliers to prop up the laptop that Helen had handed them. It belonged to the museum, and they were meant to record everything on an Excel file. With their backpacks leaning against the same box, they started to check the shelves in a counter-clock direction. Half an hour into their task they decided that it was better to first write everything on a piece of paper before logging the information on the computer. 

“Told you it was a good idea to bring snacks,” Cora said. “It looks like we’ll be in here for a while.”

Chapter 72: Of botanic gardens and epiphanies

Notes:

A big 'oh' moment in this chapter, folks ;)

New chapter will either be posted next Friday or Sunday :)
Beta-reader: MoonglowOnWater - Many thanks as always.

Your comments are welcome, as always!

Ages
Fay: almost 16
Damian: 15 1/2

Chapter Text

"It's crazy, because I don't even know when you became so important to me. It's like watching a snowstorm.
You see the flakes falling, but you don't realize they're adding up. Then suddenly, your whole lawn is covered. 
all these little things have added up, and you're my snowstorm, baby.''

- Unknown (?)

 

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17 th of September 

“Are you… staying?” Fay asked as she watched him kick his shoes off and pull himself in a sitting position on the bed. 

He gave her a look that said what do you think. 

Fay stared at him, itching to get closer. She hadn’t felt that hesitant in a while and she couldn’t explain why. He was her friend; they’d been close plenty of times before and she’d already decided what had happened that day was a fluke. Ultimately, she moved closer to him and placed her head on his shoulder, her hand sliding around his bicep. 

“Is something wrong?”

She frowned. “No. I just… miss you,” She mumbled. 

“You’ve been back three weeks.”

“So? Can’t I miss my friend?”

“You’re a sentimental idiot.”

He moved the arm she was leaning against, making her move away, her heart feeling as if it was being pinched. It didn’t last long, though, because he wasn’t trying to push her away but pull her closer by wrapping the arm around her shoulders. The tension left her completely when she placed her head on his shoulder, slotting it beneath his chin. His arm caged her in against him. One of her arms was slung over his torso, hand falling over his hip and there her fingers sank into the soft material of his sweatshirt. 

“I have been absent,” He remarked quietly. He had. She could count on the fingers of her hand how many times they’d had a chance to spend time together for more than a couple of hours since she’d returned. He had barely come to the warehouse, too caught in his cases. Fay had gone over to the Manor on a few occasions because it was easier that way but even then, she had ended up giving him space, noticing how busy he appeared to be. She wouldn’t say he was stressed but he had a way of shutting out the world whenever he had a case that was more challenging than usual. 

Fay smiled, breathing in his scent. “That’s alright,” Nothing else mattered right then. “Please make sure you get enough rest.” She closed her eyes when she felt his other hand slide under her hair, fingers running patterns over the nape of her neck.  

“You shall die of worry before you die of anything else,” He remarked without any heat. 

Fay gently rubbed her cheek against him, squashing the sudden urge she had to tilt her head and bury her face in his neck. His skin was surprisingly soft there. 

“If it means you’re taking care of yourself, that’s fine by me.”

“That’s idiotic.”

She just grinned.

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21 st of September

Sitting next to him, Fay stared at his hand, which gripped the edge of the sketchbook. It was slightly bigger than hers now. His fingers were neither thin nor fat, but they were long and just the tiniest bit more slender than hers. His nails were perfectly trimmed and clean, and while his callouses could have been considered a flaw, Fay liked them. They were a reminder of the hard work he’d put into becoming who he was. Fay’s eyes moved up his forearm where she noticed the line of a prominent vein going from the back of his palm all the way to his elbow. It looked rather---Fay felt his stare and looked up instinctively. He noticed she was staring, and one fine, dark brow lifted as he stared at her questioningly. 

“I—nothing,” She said with a stiff shrug. “Will, uh, you tell me a story?” Fay asked, interrupting her thoughts and speaking a little louder than necessary. “You haven’t told me one in a while,” She added in a lower tone, ignoring the way her cheeks tingled. 

It had been almost three weeks since she’d returned, yet Fay couldn’t shake off the longing she’d felt while away. Maybe it was because they hadn’t had that much time for another. She didn’t blame him. If anything, she often worried that he took on too much and she was not sure how to alleviate his burdens. They’d had one sparring session, three days after she’d returned but it had been cut short when his father had told him there was a development in a case. 

She had not put on the Titania suit since before the summer. Fay wouldn’t say she experienced a burning need to go on patrol, but she felt like she should be doing more. Most days she was torn between the comfort of her current routine and the fact that she’d made a commitment by accepting that suit. She wanted to be independent, but she also knew she could not recklessly take on cases she wasn’t ready for. How would she know when she was ready? There was a remark that Titoh had made when she’d last spoken with him a couple of days earlier, about how ‘do the guilds of warriors there expect you to pledge their loyalty?’ . Of course, her brother did not have a full understanding of how the vigilantes worked and that there were no official guilds, but the question had stirred something at the back of her mind that made her feel uncomfortable. She knew she was welcome there and she knew that Bruce, despite his reluctance and his disapproval at Damian wishing to keep secrets from him, wouldn’t have allowed her to be there if he thought her a threat. That was clear to her after such a long time of living in Gotham. She was free to go as she pleased. She wasn’t ready to go yet, she still had to get better but what would happen then---Fay shook her head, not liking the direction her thoughts were going. She was overthinking things. 

(drip, drip, drip) 

Damian was about to point out that she hadn’t won any fight to earn new stories when he caught the frown marring her face. He’d caught her looking melancholic several times since she’d returned. He wondered if three months away had led her to become attached to the island. 

“I shall tell you one story.”

“Just one?”  

“You have grown greedy. Clearly, I have spoiled you.”

“What--? No, you haven’t. I got a sprained wrist trying to get more stories last time!”

“The deal was that you would have to win the sparring match. Did you think I’d go easy on you?”

“Tyrant.”

“That is not how you convince a tyrant to indulge you.”

Fay grabbed his hand and brought it over to her, pressing her cheek against his knuckles. “Please? You are the best friend ever—"

“Using such tactics is pointless.”

“Fine.” 

She bit down. Hard.

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The last week of September ended up being dominated by rumours of the youngest Wayne being involved romantically with the sixteen-year-old daughter of a French American socialite. It all started with a photo of the two at an evening philanthropic event that they had both attended with their respective families. Fay had known Damian had been contrite about going because he’d complained several times in the days leading up to it. Alfred had made it final that he had to attend along with the rest of the family as they had an unspoken obligation to make public appearances now and then to maintain their public identity.

Fay could not say she envied him. She had quietly admired them as she’d sat in one of the living room’s armchairs reading a copy of A man called Ove. Tim had been on his phone. Damian’s back had been turned to her with Dick standing before him, working on his tie. The former Robin had caught her staring curiously and he winked at her, which made her smile. 

Damian turned around. “Don’t look so smug.”

“I am not,” She was feeling a little smug. It was a relief she did not have to worry about such a responsibility. “I think you all look great.” She said politely as she looked at them before her eyes went back to Damian. He was a scrupulously well-groomed individual and she’d seen him in a suit before, but she was not sure she’d ever thought of him as dashing until then. The dark, finely pressed custom-made suit seemed to emphasise how much he’d grown, how very much he was on the cusp of being a full-fledged man. She imagined him wearing fashion from her world and she was a tiny bit envious of how much better he’d probably carry himself even in the more elaborate outfits that she used to abhor. 

The media was in a frenzy over the Waynes’ collective attendance which was to an extent justifiable, given their sporadic appearances in public. They made for a striking family, as well, between their looks and their wealth with just enough mystery to have the Gothamites consider them something like royalty.  

He did remind me of a prince when we first met. And he… kind of used to be one, too. 

The tabloids were full of speculation and the photo had been printed in several different magazines. 

Damian had been captured from an angle that did not clearly show his face. Both of his hands were holding the girl’s wrists. The girl was certainly a sight in the strapless dark dress that finished just short of touching the floor, a modest but flattering slit on the side. Her blond hair had been pulled back in an elaborate braid and she wore gold dangling earrings, matching her bracelets. Her arms were lifted straight, hands on his shoulders. 

To Fay it looked like an awkward moment, rather than a ‘romantic’ one as many rushed to label it. She knew the truth of what had happened even before the photo had been published, given Damian had come back home looking murderous. It appeared the girl – Annabelle, was it? – had lunged herself at him trying to get him to dance, or perhaps to purposefully put them in the spotlight because she’d also chosen to be very loud about it. Damian had instinctively grabbed her to stop her from touching him and that was when the picture had been taken. The fact that he had threatened her to never come near him seemed to have gone past the heads of many. 

“I am sorry,” Fay said as she reached for his tie, which he had undone but not removed completely. She stared at it curiously. She had no idea how to tie one, it was not a clothing item that she’d ever seen in her world. “I am glad I’ll never worry about that,” She muttered absent-mindedly as she played with the ends, wondering if she could remember how Dick tied it. “Being ugly has its advantages.”

His hands came up and stopped around her wrists, stopping her from fiddling with his tie. It was rather ironic the position they were in, resembling the unfortunate photograph, but Fay knew he’d never push her away. It was probably for the best because she’d ended up tying a knot that looked more suitable to strangle him than anything else. She looked up at him, “I don’t think I ever told you, but we don’t have these---” She stopped when she saw the sharp look he was throwing her. “W-what? Did I—” She glanced at the tie then back at him. “Did I ruin it?”

“Is that how you truly perceive yourself?”

“What? Oh,” Fay frowned. “I wasn’t being serious—” His eyes narrowed. Fay sighed. “I don’t know. Not as much as before. It was hard in Maysoon because people had a way of… glamorising them. I know that better now, but if I went back, I doubt much has changed.”

“And?” He asked irritably, which was at odds with the way he kept brushing thumbs over her wrists. “Why are you still allowing them to impact you? They don’t know anything about you.”

She shrugged. She really didn’t know what to say to that. 

Damian, for one, looked like he wanted to say something, but their conversation was cut short when Dick walked in. The older man took in how close Fay and Damian were, only a few centimetres between them. He didn’t let it translate on his face, but his and Damian’s gazes met – a silent message going between them – as he ended up showing Fay how to do a proper tie knot. 

The tabloids were not ready to let go of the story for several days and Fay ended up hearing the wildest of speculations about her friend, including one claiming he planned to elope. It was both amusing and concerning. 

Fay turned off the TV when she came across a channel that showed the photo again. 

She stared at the perfectly made grilled sandwich. Her appetite was suddenly gone, her stomach feeling rebellious. Cold anxiety filled her chest and travelled outward to her limbs, like a sickness spreading, and she ended up leaning against the marble counter, shoulders pulled in and head bowed. She didn’t throw up; she didn’t have a panic attack, but it felt like she was just on the cusp of both and that was even worse. Bagheera sensed her distress and immediately came over to her, pressing against her legs. His comforting presence grounded her, as always, and Fay took a few deep breaths, pushing away the plate with the sandwich because she was worried the sight of it would push her over the edge. 

(one day, it might not be a false story---)

(one day, maybe he will---)

( drip, drip, drip )

.

.

.

29 th of September

“You’ve been spacing out a lot, lately,” Dana remarked, playfully poking Fay’s shoulder. The girl jerked in surprise, further proving that she had indeed been lost in her thoughts. Fay had been gone for the entirety of summer, travelling. Various places, she said cryptically, and Dana knew better than to ask. When she came back, Fay was taller, her hair longer, and her face sharper. Sometimes it felt like Fay was growing up too fast, going from girl to young woman overnight. Then again, she’d felt the same way about Robby. Her son was now in college, working a full-time job that would undoubtedly fast-track him to his dream job and he was in a serious relationship. With the girl he’d had a crush on since he was eleven, none other than Emily Sanders herself. Dana wished his father were there to see him, certain he’d agree what a great individual their son was growing up to be. 

“Oh, sorry,” Fay said. “I need to stop doing that,” She bemused loudly.

Dana smiled lazily. “Anything on your mind?” 

Fay shook her head. She wasn’t convincing but Dana knew she had a way of internalising things. Fay talked when she was ready to. Or when it got too much to keep inside, which wasn’t healthy, but she appeared to have gotten better at preventing that. 

“You are technically a junior this year, huh?” Dana said instead. “Can’t believe it.”

It took Fay a moment to catch on to what the woman was saying. Ah, yes. Dana still thought she was being home-schooled. It wasn’t wrong per se because Fay did study for several hours each week. 

“Yes,” Fay nodded. 

“Have you started thinking about what you’d like to do when you graduate?” Dana asked casually. It was late in the evening and they both sat down on chairs, watching the large industrial oven clean itself, water and foam splashing against the glass screen. Fay had volunteered to help with the second half of the day as Dana was several staff members short because of the flu making its rounds. Now it was just the two of them, sitting quietly and waiting for the oven to finish its cleaning program so Dana could lock up and head home. Bagheera had stayed at the warehouse as Oskar had been feeling unwell lately and the paladin was protective of him. 

“What do you mean?” Fay asked. “You mean… university?” She knew that was what most students her age thought about, at least based on what she’d heard and observed. Cora was two years away from graduating but she had already made a list of colleges she would like to attend, although she hadn’t fully decided what it was she’d study. Stephanie had told her that the whole process of the college application and acceptance was a very stressful period in most teenagers’ lives, especially when it came to obtaining funding or a place in a renowned institution. 

“Yes and no,” Dana shrugged. “You still have time to think about a college, I am not saying you should rush into or worry about it. Just curious if you had any ideas. Robby has been obsessed with becoming a veterinary doctor since he was young and used to watch Steve Irwin’s documentaries. Myself? I had some ideas, but nothing came out of them. I don’t think I would have enjoyed going for a traditional degree.”

“I---” Fay stopped. What did she have planned? Nothing so specific as attending a university, although that might be an idea. Then what? Would she get a job? It didn’t seem practical given how careful she’d have to be constantly, but wasn’t that what all vigilantes did? Stephanie was studying, working, and doing vigilante work. Tim, as well. She had no idea what Jason did in his spare time. Dick generally had his hands full with affairs in Blüdhaven and when he was not there, he was back in San Francisco at the Titans’ Academy. She didn’t think she’d ever have to worry about money, and she saw no point in taking on a job amongst the civilians if she didn’t need one. Unless it was something she would enjoy, if on a temporary basis. 

She had plenty of options, didn’t she? First and foremost, she would have to focus on being a master of the flux. That would take time because her training was not limited just by the brief stays on the island. Kaera had told her she would have more resources in their homeworld, old masters that would be useful to visit. Maybe one day. Then she’d come back. She always did. How could she not? It was Gotham. It was her home now. It was where Damian was. And Dana and Cora and everyone else. 

She could go to university. Why not? She liked learning. She didn’t like being among so many people, but she wouldn’t have to live on campus. Or socialise. She was also Titania, now. Maybe it would be a good idea to reconsider Starfire’s invite to train in San Francisco? Dick had reminded her just recently that the offer was still open. She’d certainly learn much about what it was like to be a warrior in that world. The Titans were heroes – superheroes – though. It was a more fitting name for the work they did. They did not go to war or instigate it. By that definition, she was not really a warrior herself. What was she waging war against? Crime. War, though, implied violence and killing. But she could choose what being a warrior meant to her, what code she’d operate by and what her aims were. 

And beyond that ? She’d get a degree and she’d keep training and she could go train in San Francisco and she’d become a full-fledged vigilante capable of going on patrol alone or as an equal

“With your genes, I expect you will live longer than a human, even one like myself. You are but at the start of your journey.”

She could travel and learn as much as possible about that world. 

She’d always come back to Gotham. Because that was where Damian was, and Damian was there because that’s where Robin was, and Robin was there because that’s where Batman was. 

There was no doubt she’d always come back. 

But. 

But. 

(how long before that is all it will be---)

(there’ll be less time spent at the warehouse, less time sitting on the bed reading side by side, and fewer visits to the museum---)

(look how much things have already changed---)

(they’ll just keep---) 

Fay drew in a breath. 

“I don’t know.” She responded softly. 

Dana shrugged. “Alright,” She said in understanding. “There’s time.”

There was time. 

Yes. There was. There was no point in thinking about what she’d have when she could enjoy what she’d gained. 

(right?)

( drip, drip, drip, drip, drip)

.

.

.

3 rd of October

He took her to watch the Swan Lake ballet. He was benched because his ribs were bruised, she found later when they both stood on the roof of the theatre after the play was over. That prompted her to berate him for being so reckless. He rolled his eyes, and she felt guilty because he went out of his way to surprise her in that manner despite his discomfort. Fay’s heart swelled with affection in such a manner that a hug felt insufficient, which was why she ended up cupping his face and kissing his cheek. “Thank you,” She murmured. “…you know I would be just as happy if we stayed in and watched it on TV, right?” She asked, then kissed his other cheek, then his forehead. 

“Have you no appreciation for the finer arts?” He grumbled, although his eyes remained fixed on her. Fay pulled her head back, her hands moving to his shoulders because she was worried about leaning her weight on him. 

No ,” She said with half-hearted annoyance, “I just don’t mind where we are.”

He smirked, and she found herself admiring the way his thick, dark lashes framed those bright eyes of his. 

“Be careful,” He warned, his hands placed lightly on her waist. She had her coat on and she was disappointed how little she could feel of him. “I might hold you to that,”

“Don’t be a tyrant.”

(one day, he’ll surprise another like that---)

(what will become of their friend---)

.

.

.

5th of October 

She was fast asleep by the time he was done with patrol and heard him come into her room. Fay opened her eyes and turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. She could barely make out his figure in the dark. 

“Are you hurt?”

“No.” He slid into the bed next to her and her nose was filled with the combined scent of synthetics, gunpowder, and sweat. Did he come there directly after his patrol shift? His arms came around her, heavy and warm, caging her against his chest as he settled behind her. Fay grabbed his hand and pulled it higher, cradling it between hers against her chest. It was not injured as far as she could tell. Alfred and Bruce wouldn’t have allowed him to wander off if he was bleeding anywhere but something had happened. She didn’t ask, but she felt his head settling between her shoulder blades. Was that how it felt when she pressed herself against him in that manner? 

Anxiety bubbled up inside her and she couldn’t explain it. She liked it when they were like that. She liked how safe she felt when he held her. She liked it when his guard came down and he showed affection. 

(one day, will he show that to someone el--)

(that means there’ll be--)

(one day, he might not come to her first---)

.

.

.

8 th of October

“Holy guacamole, really ?”

 Fay rubbed at her red cheeks and nodded. “Mh-hm.”

Pause. “He must have been really good at it if she---”

“Please, don’t.” Cora giggled. “I am—I am trying really hard to forget it.”

“Not doing a very good job, it seems. You seem to remember a lot of details—” Fay stared at her horrified and Cora raised her hands in a placating manner. “I am just pulling your leg.”

Fay sighed and wrapped her arms around her knees, which were pulled up against her chest. Cora was sitting next to her on the bed, her legs drawn up under her. There was a large bowl of popcorn between them, along with many packets of sweets strewn about the bed because Cora insisted they could not have a movie marathon without the appropriate fuel. They were watching the Jurassic Park trilogy, which Fay found very entertaining. “Are dragons that big?” Cora had asked surreptitiously, as if they were in the cinema and someone would shush them. Fay had smiled. “They come in different sizes. Like in that other movie we watched last time---”

“How to train your Dragon?” 

“Yes.”

Cora had hummed. “I remember now. You’re right.” She was full of questions and sometimes she asked the same one more than once, but Fay enjoyed answering them. They never talked about the Estaris specifically, or her parents, or the attack that night which made it easier. Halfway through the second movie, Cora had pointed out that she’d forgotten to tell Fay she’d caught Mara and Reuben making out behind the sports centre. Fay was not particularly surprised. Then Cora had pointed out that she’d been rather traumatised to see the other two teenagers paw at each other, which had in turn prompted Fay to tell her about how she’d accidentally walked in on a couple in the place she went away for training. For Cora’s own safety, Fay did not tell her it was an island or where it was roughly located, allowing the girl to carry on with the assumption that it was somewhere in the Amazon. 

They had a good giggle over it.

“There’s a girl in senior named Denise whom I heard is dating a college sophomore,” Cora said, voice lowering and instinctively leaning towards Fay. “Last week, before last period, I realised I forgot my chemistry book in the lab. You know, the one on the ground floor?” Fay nodded. “Anyways, I walked in and noticed one of the windows was open.” Cora’s face grew steadily redder, and she pulled her knees up as well, looking at Fay with a mixture of giddiness and embarrassment. “He wasn’t dressed in our uniform, so I think, maybe, he used the window? But she was on the desk, and he was um,” Cora placed her hands on her cheeks. “He was kneeling on the floor,” She blurted in one breath, words barely tangible. 

Fay’s head cocked to the side as she visualised the girl sitting on the desk and the boy kneeling. That did not look right, too odd an angle not to mention the distance between their----in that position, his head was more likely to be aligned with--- “Oh.” Fay’s eyes widened. “ Oh .” 

Cora nodded her head quickly. “I know, right?” She said through the hand covering her mouth. Technically, Fay didn’t know . Neither did Cora. The image was clear in her mind now, and she could feel the heat on her cheeks spread quickly down her body. Her ears felt as if someone had rubbed spices onto her skin. 

“Did—did they see you?” she stammered, half horrified and half intrigued. 

Cora shook her head. “They were at the back of the class, where the teacher’ s desk is, and I didn’t flip the lights on. It wasn’t that dark. The door wasn’t locked either.” She said, eyebrows lifting high on her brow. “They could have gotten caught. She could have easily been expelled or worse, someone could post pics online.”

Fay scratched at her head feeling genuinely baffled. “I, um… maybe that’s the point of it?” She asked. “The thrill.” She didn’t get it but then again, she was not sexually active. Still, Fay wasn’t sure she’d ever engage in something like that in a public space. 

Cora pulled a face. “She sounded like she liked it. Very, very —”

“Stop,” Fay said, but she couldn’t help smiling even if she felt very awkward. It was refreshing to know Cora had the same curiosities, even if they provoked highly mixed feelings, and the blonde’s mischievous antics were funny. 

She wondered if Damian had anyone to talk to about such things.  

“You know, Annabelle goes to our school. She transferred this year,” Cora said as she let herself fall back against the pillows. “People kept asking questions about the photo that came out. It was aaaaall everyone talked about.” She rolled her eyes. “She told people that she’s the one who turned Damian down.”

Fay played with the tips of her braid. She hadn’t cut her hair since the beginning of the year. Should she? Her hair was soft, and thicker than it used to be. Not as great as her mother’s had been, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t like hers. “It doesn’t matter,” She said. “People have stopped talking about it and they’d probably find something or someone new to focus on.” Cora had a projector in her room which filled it with a kaleidoscope of blues and greens moving around the room. It was meant to be an imitation of the Aurora Borealis. Fay had seen the real one, which was truly a breathtaking sight, but she found the projector lights soothing as well. Her world had better technology in that respect, however. That would be a nice gift. Maybe I will ask Lira to bring me things from Maysoon if she has time. 

“…isn’t it?”

“Huh?” Fay tilted her head and glanced at Cora. The girl yawned as she pulled herself underneath the covers. It was well past midnight and she had school the next day. 

“I said, I can’t even imagine that guy dating anyone. I know you two are close friends, but the guy is so intense.” Cora muttered. “Make sure he doesn’t drug and kidnap anyone, okay? That will not sit well with his date.” She said, half-heartedly. 

“…I will.” Would she? Was she meant to? As in it being something that would happen in the near future? 

“G’night.”

“Good night, Cora.”

Fay never slept too deeply when she was at Cora’s because she was worried she might end up frightening the girl with her nightmares. She also chose to bring her sleeping bag and cuddle next to Bagheera on the floor, which she rather enjoyed because it reminded her of when they used to sleep huddled in the attic. 

That night, she couldn’t sleep a wink, her heart beating too fast. Bagheera himself was unable to sleep well because of her trepidation. 

Damian… courting someone?  

( drip, drip, drip )

.

.

.

14 th of October

The new botanical garden was not as large as the one founded by Martha Wayne. Instead it served as an extension of it. It was square and took up two-thirds of the football-sized campus stretching parallel to the Science Museum building. The roof curved to the sky to form a large dome which would have perhaps made it look like a cathedral, had it not been for the fact the botanical garden’s structure was made of steel and glass. The floor-to-ceiling windows were endowed with electro-chromatic technology which could adjust the opacity of the glass as needed. They were sensitive both to light and heat, and thanks to the smart technology behind them, the windows had been programmed to independently change their opacity based on the needs of the flora inside the building. 

It was no different with the dome albeit that side of the building was also perhaps one of its greatest highlights. Hexagon-shaped panels formed the dome, growing smaller and higher in number the closer they were to the haunch. The same software that changed the opacity had also been programmed to mimic the effect of stained glass when the sun was high in the sky. Fay was the first non-staff member to lay her eyes on that place even before the large tent keeping the garden hidden was to be removed. It was night so she could not witness the full effect of the shafts of lights converting to a kaleidoscope of colours, but she could see the picture clearly when Damian explained to her how the dome was special compared to the other garden. Just like the Martha Wayne Botanical Garden, that smaller one would also be used to showcase developments from Wayne Biotech, but the museum garden would be primarily a place for visitors to admire the incredible flowers and plants and trees filling that place. There were benches and fountains and narrow wooden paths leading people to walkabouts going around the garden and through the flora. 

Fay breathed in the intoxicating fragrance as soon as they were inside. The air was cooler or warmer depending on which section they were in, the urban noise coming from the boulevards and streets were muffled by the thick glass and the air was purified, which felt like balm to her lungs. It was dark and quiet and if she closed her eyes and focused, she could feel the vibrations of energies around her. She lifted herself off the floor and flew around the enclosed garden, mentally cataloguing each plant that she recognised and all those she didn’t yet. No matter. She’d learn about all of them. 

Fay returned to the ground, to the middle of the room where there was a large round space with several benches. Damian stood in the middle, hands crossed behind his back, watching her as she slowed her descent down and planted her feet on the floor. 

Fay smiled. “This is amazing ,” Her head turned around as she let her eyes dart all over the place before finally settling on the dome. “That is going to be incredible. I hope there’ll be at least another sunny day just to see it.” Her head lowered and she met his gaze. “It’ll be like the Paradise Garden except even more incredible. I think I like this one better.”

Damian’s lips curled up, his eyes never leaving her face. “Yes, I am quite pleased with it myself.”

Fay glided over to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “I know I shouldn’t be encouraging your ego,” He raised a brow. “But this was a brilliant idea.” Her smile widened. “People will definitely be tempted to come and pay a visit here, especially when they have so much to see inside or after they’ve eaten at the food court.” He uncrossed his hands and one of his arms snaked around her waist, cementing her against him. “Good job,” She said teasingly, patting his cheek in a playful manner. 

He clicked his teeth while she found herself admiring his face. She was not sure she’d ever get bored of that. It was dark in the garden, and it was peaceful, and they were alone. Her paladin was exploring the building using one of the paths leading to the elevated view and she’d spotted him earlier looking over the garden as if he were a lion in a jungle. In Maysoon, he would have been ranking high on the food chain. That thought made her think about what it would be like if they were back home. And if Damian was with her. There was so much beauty in her homeland she’d like to show him, the history, and the culture, with its good and its bad and its myths and its curses and its excitement and its danger. 

“Good job,” He repeated, mouth curling lightly in a sneer. He was not actually angry because his brows were relaxed, and she felt no tension in his arms. “How ungrateful,” He remarked.

Fay rolled her eyes as she smiled lazily. “Fine,” She conceded. “Thank you for putting this together.” She said honestly. 

“Hardly sufficient.”

She looked at him, scandalised. “What---I said thank you. You know I like it,” With her free hand she poked his right cheek with her index finger. “What would you like?”

What he would like. 

He stared at her unblinkingly, his other hand coming up to stop her offending digit. He trapped her hand within his. Their faces were close, she could feel his breath fanning lightly over her face and it had to be the lack of lights in that place because his eyes looked darker than usual. 

Fay’s head cocked to the side, stomach fluttering. “What?”

His head tilted away, and he looked over her shoulder. 

“I am going out on patrol in an hour. We should go.”

Fay blinked, startled by his sudden change in demeanor. 

“I—alright.” His arm fell away from her waist but the hand she had used to touch his face remained in his grasp as they walked back towards the exit. 

Fay stared down at where their hands were joined.  

(one day, someone else---)

(drip, drip)

.

.

.

15 th of October

Fay tried to stifle the giggle bubbling at the back of her throat. Mack grinned as he surreptitiously pulled out his phone to film, and Dana was both amused and exasperated. Robby hadn’t noticed their presence or the looks they were throwing him, far too busy waltzing around the soup kitchen holding a mop in place of an imaginary partner. Or rather, a mop in place of Emily. The radio was on loud playing a romantic classical song. 

“Should we tell him?” Fay whispered, leaning towards Mack. She was standing between him and Dana. 

“Oh no. I want to capture the entire performance.” The chef replied. 

Robby waltzed across the entire kitchen, his back turned to them before he made a turn around the large worktable in the middle of the room and came back towards them. The song came to an end just as he stepped closer to the door leading to the canteen where they were all standing. It wasn’t until he dramatically bent at the waist to dip the mop, face flushed, and lips pulled back in a large smile that he realised there were eyes on him. 

He looked up. 

“Oh shit!” He squeaked and immediately let go of the mop, to straighten up. 

Mack laughed raucously as he stopped recording. Robby seemed to realise that he’d been filmed. “Mack—delete that video!” 

The chef shook his head. “Not a chance, boy.”

“You kind of walked into that one, sweetheart,” Dana said, with a smile. 

Mom --!” The boy groaned. “I can’t believe you all just stood there and watched. Even you Fay?!”

Fay giggled. “I am sorry.” Feeling slightly bad for Robby, she added, “I think you are a very good dancer, Robby.”

The boy just groaned louder, before he and Mack moved over to the canteen. Fay could hear Robby begging the older man to delete the video even after the door closed behind them. Dana shook her head to herself as she went to pick up the mop and then retrieved the bucket of dirty soapy water abandoned in a corner. “Out of all the things to take from his father,” The woman grumbled half-heartedly. 

Fay turned the radio off and then opened the backdoor for Dana so she could go and pour the dirty water into the sewer in the alleyway. 

“He liked to dance?” She asked curiously, head tilting to the side. 

“Yes,” Dana said as she gave the bucket a couple of shakes to ensure all the water was out before walking back towards the entrance. “He was hopelessly romantic. A complete sap.” She rolled her eyes, but she was nonetheless smiling. “He used to leave me Twizzlers in the locker because he knew I liked them, or he’d make all manner of mixtapes. He was like a damn crow, always finding shiny things or trinkets. I still have a whole box full of them.”

Fay smiled. “That sounds really… thoughtful.” They stepped back inside the kitchen. “A locker? You knew each other in school?”

“He was a year older but lived several blocks away, in a better neighbourhood,” Dana said as she tucked the bucket and the mop in a corner of the room. “All the girls used to think he was so cool because he had a leather jacket, he skipped classes and he liked to smoke. He did have great hair,” She admitted, as she leaned her back against the worktable. Fay lingered by the closed back door. “But otherwise, I thought he was very obnoxious. We didn’t talk much for the first years of high school, but we did have detention once. Me, because I backtalked at my teacher for being a sexist idiot, and he because he was caught smoking. He wasn’t anything like I thought he would be. He was funny, carefree, and completely rebellious.” He had started seeking her out after that and they’d become friends. Just that. Friends. Dana hadn’t had many because by then she’d grown determined to get an education and escape her current lifestyle so when she hadn’t been studying, she’d been hustling for money. Her father had been a terrible man. Alcoholic, selfish, not caring much whether she was taken care of or not. She had gotten in the habit of hiding any money put aside because he’d stolen it before. Most of her days had been spent with her grandmother-figure because she’d felt safe there and the woman had guided her in making better decisions. She and Robert, however, had not started dating until several years later. 

“…why?” Fay asked curiously. “If, um, that’s alright to ask.”

Dana smiled at her to indicate it was. She shrugged. “I started liking him more than as a friend, but I didn’t really have time for that. I wanted to get out of that neighbourhood and out of Gotham, preferably, and I didn’t want anyone to stand in the way of that. However, he was a little shit who liked to ruin my plans,” Her eyes glittered with playfulness. And something sad, beyond that. “He kissed me in Senior year and told me that he likes me. He had gone for the whole thing – flowers, candlelit dinner. On the roof of my block, but still.”

“Oh.” Fay blinked. “But you left for military school after. He… waited for you?”

“He did.” 

Fay smiled. “I don’t think that makes him a sap,” She said. “I think he just really loved you.”

“I know he did,” Dana nodded, face growing more sombre. “He would write me letters. Drive to pick me up and drop me off every weekend I was off even though he was tired from work and his studies. He’d send me flowers. Others used to say that he’s trying too hard or that maybe he’s trying to compensate because he’s cheating on me. But you know what? I don’t think I ever doubted him. It’s very strange to have someone you can count on all the time when you grew up in a household like mine.”

“That does sound like something Robby would do as well,” Fay remarked. “He always looks so happy when he talks about Emily.” Dana sighed at that, and Fay giggled. She knew the woman wasn’t bothered by Robby and Emily dating, but she’d spent one too many hours listening to her son sputtering – rather awful but well-intentioned – poems about his girlfriend. 

“I have never had much growing up, so I was pragmatic. Strict with myself. Survival mode, he would call it.” Dana added after a moment. “He, on the other hand, treated life as if it was the most beautiful thing even when it wasn’t. It was annoying at times. I used to think it was because he didn’t understand how hard life could be for some, but he did. He was just kind.”

“Hm.” Fay nodded, stepped closer and hopped up on the worktable to stand next to the woman. “I am sorry that he’s not around anymore.”

“Me too.” Dana reached to brush a hand on top of her head. “Were your parents romantic?”

Fay thought about that. “I think so. Yes. My father was… a subtle man. I don’t think my mother was romantic. She had a hard childhood, as well.” She glanced at no point on the floor. “She could get really angry sometimes. Not with me. Just in general. She would get very upset with people who were unfair or cruel, and I think it was because she met a lot of bad people. She didn’t treat people that way though. My father always used to tap her on the wrist. Three times.” Fay emphasised the gesture with her index and middle finger pressed together and tapped against her wrist. “My mother said that when he did that she always knew if she allowed the bad things to get to her too much. My father didn’t get upset very easily. He was very calm. I don’t think I ever heard him raise his voice. But mother said that people who hide how they feel generally feel even worse on the inside, but she knows when he does, so she always tells him.” Fay shrugged. “They didn’t always talk either. I used to think they could read each other’s minds.”

Dana smiled. “It sounds like they had a beautiful relationship.”

Fay nodded, as she started to swing her legs back and forth. “…I am not sure I ever want that.”

“Why not?” Dana asked. 

“It sounds… painful,” Fay said. “I also think that what my parents had is… not that common, maybe.” 

“Well, yes. It can be painful,” Dana agreed.  “And yes, not many romantic relationships last these days. I was lucky, myself, I think. It was… gut-wrenching to lose Robert. It still is.” The woman pulled herself on the worktable to sit next to Fay. “But if I had to choose between never having met him and my current situation, I take the second. After all, I would have never known what it feels like to be loved like that.”

Fay didn’t comment, absent-mindedly staring at the red laces of her dark boots. 

“What does it feel like?” She asked curiously. “To be in love?” She looked at Dana. 

“You never talked to your parents about it?” 

Fay shrugged. “Mother compared it to riding a dragon.” Dana chuckled, not realising Fay was being literal. “Father said it was the equivalent of a library, where you have knowledge of every book present in there but still find something new in them.”

“Lord, your father was definitely a romantic, deep down.”

Fay smiled. “I suppose he was.”

Dana hummed. “I think many people confuse being in love with truly loving another person. Of course, loving another person truly doesn’t have to be romantic.”

“I am confused.”

“Most of us are,” Dana grinned. “I used to think Robert was just being a teenage boy. Hormonal, wanting to get in my pants although he had prettier girls after him because I was immune to his charm. Mostly, anyway. I think there’s infatuation where you’re attracted to a person. You want them because they’re good-looking or an attribute they have like a nice car or a talent or the way they make you feel. I had plenty of crushes like that. Infatuation is passion. It’s something that makes you feel giddy and it maybe you know… more physical than anything else.” Fay nodded, cheeks reddening. “Being in love can be good, and it can turn into something more. But loving someone means that you accept the good with the bad. I think your parents had that, for example. They knew the bad and good and they accepted it, supported each other. It’s someone that’s always your first choice when there’s both good and bad happening around you and vice versa. It’s a lot of work, too.” Dana met her gaze. “I don’t believe people need to complement each other. You don’t need this person, but you want them in your life, even when you don’t like each other every now and then or there are challenges. Does that make sense?”

Fay nodded, heart, beating faster although she couldn’t explain why. 

“Robert first proposed to me when we graduated. Gram-gram told me I should wait until I was back from college. She used to say that it can take little to fall in love, but it takes continuous effort to keep true love. People change and grow, and they can grow apart, too. She told me that if Robert and I still saw each other the same, then it didn’t matter if we got married. We didn’t. We had our difficult moments, you know. But we could always talk to each other.” She reached for Fay’s shoulder and tapped two fingers against that spot. “That there, the gesture your parents had, that is a thousand times more powerful than flowers and chocolate. Robert and I used to call pause if we felt we were letting emotions rule our heads and we might say something we regretted. When we calmed down, we’d talk about it.” 

Fay smiled. 

“Does that make sense?”

“Yes. I think it does.”

“Good. At least I haven’t aged for nothing.”

“You’re not that old.”

“Tell that to my back in the morning.”

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21 st of October 

The inauguration of the Gotham Museum Botanical Garden took place on the third Friday of October. It was a semi-exclusive event and museum membership holders had the chance to attend if they paid a small fee which would go to a charity of their choice. The large events room on the ground floor was being used again. There were also signs guiding people from the main event across the building and out of the museum to the botanic garden. A long wooden lit-up stoa connected the main building to the newest construction.  

Damian was not the only Wayne to attend that night. His foster siblings and Bruce himself surprised the boy when earlier that day they revealed they’d come, too. Damian texted her, sounding very cross about it but Fay knew better. He was happy his father was attending and wanted to see the product of his work. He always enjoyed it when Dick was around, no matter what he said. She doubted he was bothered by Tim as much as he said, too, because she knew the other boy had been genuinely impressed with the effort Damian had put into the museum. 

Fay had been told she could have attended as well, but she declined. She couldn’t freely interact with Damian and the others without drawing attention and that was the last thing she wanted. Lately, she’d also been experiencing low moods which she suspected had something to do with how often she’d been thinking about her parents. The last week alone, she’d also barely seen Damian who had become increasingly busy with his cases. 

The tv series she ended up watching was a period drama about the lives of eight siblings trying to build their life and status in London high society. Although she was embarrassed by the abundance of sex scenes, the characters and story end up being captivating enough she starts watching the episodes back-to-back. I don’t think courting in my world is that much different. At least in the past, or between the old clans. 

Fay spaced out after the third episode, as she was left to ponder the intricacies of a romantic relationship and the inevitable sexual component to it. Dana was right. Her parents had likely not gotten where they were as life partners without going through many challenges, not just because of who they were but as a couple. She wondered what they had been like younger, really were like, not just stories from the mouths of others. How had her mother realised she loved her father when she admitted that she had to overcome her prejudices towards him? How had her father, who had always been so calm and detached, realised he loved Evara? How had they confessed it? She thought they might have told her, but she couldn’t remember. Or maybe it was a story someone had told her? Or an embellished tale? Had they been in love with other people before? Maybe. Fay could only picture them with each other, but she knew that was naïve. 

If it were love like her parents’, Fay didn’t think she’d want to miss out on it, but would she ever have what they’d had? How could it even work for her? How would she get to know the other person? How would she tell the hypothetical boy about her marks? Would she pass them off as tattoos? But that would mean lying. Would she really want to have a relationship of that kind with someone who thought she was just a normal human girl? According to Daphne, yes. But Fay wasn’t like Daphne. She didn’t want to cut all ties with the former world and become someone entirely new, even if in some ways that was what she had done. How would she even know how to react to someone making advances to her when she still struggled to talk to people? Who would even like her in that manner? Desire her. It felt like a powerful word. It was a powerful emotion that she didn’t think she fully grasped, and she was intrigued and anticipatory but also rather terrified of. How would she go about telling the person who she was? About who her parents were, who her clan was? If it was someone from her homeworld, how would she explain why she’d run away or how she’d grown attached to this place? How would she even meet someone from her homeworld when she didn’t plan on returning there anytime soon? She could, but then what? What if she fell in love with someone but they didn’t love her back or they got tired? 

She turned off the TV, as she no longer paid attention and her head hurt. She hadn’t had much of an appetite lately. 

What would it be like, though? 

She was not sure she’d like to do those things with someone she didn’t love. Or someone she knew well and trusted, but that would still be strange, she thought. She understood the concept of casual sex, she was not that ignorant, but she was not comfortable with the idea of it. Fay got drained rapidly by being around too many people, how would she even know what to say to—to initiate such things? Or would it be the other person? 

Oh Sweet Maysoon. 

Fay shook her head to herself. No. She had an easier time imagining those things with someone she might be in love with. She was not sure how she and the other person would get where her parents had been. It seems so complicated. An unexplored territory. What would they be like? When she had been younger, she’d liked Thelion because he was good-looking and had a nice smile that he always gave to her when he saw her. She thought she’d still notice that in someone else the way she’d noticed it with Thelion. Fay had no feelings for him, but he was certainly handsome. Would someone so handsome like her? 

That’s perhaps not that important. She’d like to have what her parents had had, and whilst they’d both been very attractive people, Fay knew that was not why they had fallen in love with each other. Or the only reason, anyway. She thought she’d like someone to look at her the way her father had looked at her mother. Someone who saw her and only her and would defend her, but also believe in her. Someone who was alright with the fact that she could be emotional and an overthinker and she still had Bad Days and panic attacks. Someone who would know her so well they’d know when to tap on her wrist. Someone who’d like her even if she was not like her parents and who’d like her even when she was difficult. Someone who’d make her feel safe and protected. Someone who thought those things about her and wanted to try them out with her in the same way those characters did on the screen before her. 

It was just a fantasy, she thought, as slid deeper underneath the weighted duvet. But what was wrong with imagining? 

Sebastian’s kiss had not been bad or unpleasant. Just unexpected. Not the right person. The right person would feel right, or so she hoped. The right person would make her want to kiss them all the time, touch them all the time, be close to them and feel all that in return even on the ‘days they don’t like each other’ like Dana said. The right person would make her feel less scared and more curious, she decided, because they wouldn’t judge her or make her feel unwanted. The right person would be someone she knew just as well as they knew her. Fay didn’t see herself being able to put up with someone courting her from the get-go. The pressure would be too much. She liked the way her parents had ended up falling in love after witnessing each other’s good and bad. She liked the way Dana spoke about being friends with Robert. She’d want that. Would she really be so lucky to ever have it? Fay thought she could do just fine without it. She wouldn’t need it, as Dana said, but want it. 

The right person would be home. 

The right person would be---

Fay was startled out of her thoughts by the door of her bedroom opening slowly. She looked up expecting to see Bagheera but instead, she found herself staring at Damian. There was a furious pounding in her chest. Her heart had seemingly turned into a wrecking ball, swinging against her rib cage. Suddenly her lungs seemed to forget to breathe on their own and she had to take a deep breath to ease the tightness in her chest. 

The right person would be like---

Was she having a panic attack? It felt like one, yet it also didn’t. She didn’t feel cold as she usually did when she had one. Rather the blood rushed to her limbs, pulsing hot. Her vision was clear which was somehow worse because suddenly she couldn’t bear to look at her friend and she had to avert her eyes.  

The right one would be exactly like Da—

(they’d make her feel like he did)

(safeandloveandprotectedandfirstchoiceand seen )

“Fay.” 

The mattress dipped and her nose was invaded by the scent of petrichor and cologne. His hand landed on her back, and it travelled up to the nape of her neck under her low ponytail. It was colder than usual, his fingers icy against her heated skin and it grounded her to reality as if she’d been floating in the air like an aimless balloon and someone had just tied an anchor to her. She’d spent the entire evening – and the entire past week – thinking about her parents’ relationship and her future and relationships. The person in her mind – the one that she imagined she’d have a relationship with like her parents had had even if she was doubtful of ever being so fortunate – had been hypothetical. Not entirely faceless but not definitive either. 

Her mind had suddenly shifted that abstract image with something very specific and very detailed. Just like that day on the island except worse because now the image was ingrained – etched, burned, sculpted – into her mind. Like one of those canvases that had numbers on them, and one knew already what image they’d reveal if they were painted in according to the instructions, but they didn’t truly see it until the work was completed. Her brain had done just that, replacing the imaginary and the hypothetical with something real and concrete and startlingly right. Damian fit. Like a piece of a puzzle that remained unclear until it was placed in. 

No—it’s—this is wrong.

It’s---why would I even think that? 

It’s Damian—he’s my friend---he---

“Breathe.” His breath was warm against her ear, tickling. His other hand was on her chest, not touching her inappropriately by any means as it was placed just below her collarbone. It was cold, yet, contradictorily and confusingly, the touch sent a jolt to her core that made her hands grip harder. She’d latched onto the duvet, she realised, body leaning towards her crossed legs and shoulders pulled inwards. 

(the hand above her heart was the one she’d imagined that day on the island, going lower---)

It was a mistake. She was not sure why she’d suddenly replaced the hypothetical with Damian. She was not sure why it made her feel as if she were burning from the inside out and why it didn’t hurt. Fay scrambled to justify it, to rationalise it, and it was hard because she was also very aware of how close his face was and where his hand was and how she could just turn her head and their mouth would be---Fay pulled herself away from him, one hand reaching to her collar to shake it. She was sweating

“I, uh… need to—to wash my face.” She mumbled, her mouth parched. 

Thankfully, it was her paladin who led her to the bathroom. Fay hadn’t even realised he had come into her room. Once in there, she clumsily reached for the cold-water faucet and cupped her hands underneath it. She splashed herself several times, flooding the sink and spilling water onto the floor. It soaked the collar of her pyjama shirt, and she felt a few drops drip down her chest. When her face finally felt cooled off, Fay turned the faucet and pressed her hands on the edge of the marble counter to support herself. She took a few deep breaths to steady herself. The knot in her chest loosened but the heat in her blood persisted, as did the palpitations in her stomach. 

It was not Damian, she forcibly told herself. It was not really him. 

It would be someone like him. Why wouldn’t it be? Damian was her closest friend, a confidante, family. He helped her overcome the shame and guilt she allowed others to make her feel for their mistakes. He pushed her to believe in herself, to feel like she had a right to do more than just exist in that limbo she used to be in. He was a difficult individual and sometimes he drove her up the wall and sometimes he still left her baffled. But he was her boy with green eyes and of course , she’d find herself measuring others against him. Fay had compared her relationship with Cora to him, after all. She’d even compared how comfortable she felt around Damian compared to Sebastian. 

That was it. 

(no it was not)

“Are you alright,” He was next to her again, silent, and solid, always there for her. Just like Bag. 

(it was different than with her paladin)

“Y-yes,” She breathed out, shakily. “Sorry. I—I am not sure what happened.”

“Your sleeping patterns have been irregular in the past week.” He remarked as he handed her a towel so she could wipe her face and hands. “Have you experienced an increase in nightmares?”

“What?” She looked at him. Under the bright light of the bathroom, she finally took in his current state. His hair was flattened against his head, wet raven locks sticking over his forehead and ears. His suit was damp, his tie missing, and his white shirt untucked. “How---” She blinked. “Sh—shouldn’t you be at the inauguration? It’s---” She felt disoriented. “—didn’t you have a speech to give?”

“Tch. Wilmot is more than capable of dealing with it.” He scoffed. “I am tired of entertaining the sycophants and philistines.”

Oh. “…but you worked so hard on it. Your father and—and the others were attending.” She blinked. “I… I know this was important to you.”

His expression was unreadable as his eyes flitted over her face. “You wouldn’t have been bothered by anyone.”

“I… what?”

“Pennyworth told me you turned down the invite to the inauguration. That you were worried about the media and attention.”

Fay blinked rapidly. He… was bothered she hadn’t attended? 

“I don’t… deal well with events like this.” She said finally. “I’ve gotten better at dealing with my anxiety but… it’s been a while since I’ve been in that sort of situation. I didn’t want to end up… ruining your night because I felt uncomfortable or because I wanted to leave.” Shame trickled through. She could have tried, she realised. Fay hadn’t even considered he would have cared if she was there, because he didn’t like those events himself. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to be insensitive. I should have been there… to, um, to support you.”

“You weren’t,” He said curtly. “I understand why such a place would not appeal to you.” 

But he was there. That should have made a difference. Fay had only thought about how Fay Kipling couldn’t be seen with Damian, not how Damian might have wanted his friend to be there, regardless. 

“I… thought it’d be enough if your family were there. And having Fay Kipling might have… caused issues.” She shrugged. “That is not an excuse. I could have stayed with Helen and her husband.” 

“Hn.”

Fay’s heart kept pounding in her ribcage. 

“I am proud of you, you know.” She murmured. “I think you’re amazing.”

Of course, it’d have to be someone like Damian. Because she adored him and she’d have to adore the other person at least that much. 

Damian scoffed. “I know.” He reached to her neck and pulled her closer, his head leaning towards her. He only leaned his forehead against hers, however, and Fay was left wondering why she had felt anticipatory. “You’re a part of it, too.” His family. 

Fay smiled tiredly. 

“You should… get changed.” She commented softly, her hands brushing over his suit. “You don’t need to go out on patrol, do you?”

“No.” He blinked, pulling his head away. 

They both walked out of the bedroom. 

“How did you know I haven’t slept well?” Fay asked as she sat down as soon as she could, not trusting her legs. She watched him remove his jacket and fold it carefully. 

“You have been answering my texts at intervals that suggest you have been sleeping odd hours.” He remarked calmly.

“I could have just been… busy.”

“You haven’t been training. Montgomery has been busy with the Academy. Helping Mercher would have hardly exhausted you given your current stamina and physical fitness.” He started unbuttoning his shirt. Fay looked away, although she’d seen him shirtless many times before. Suddenly, it didn’t sit well with her to look. “You keep your phone next to you and generally answer within ten to twenty minutes. Several times, it has taken you between five to six hours to respond yet your location showed you at the warehouse. You procrastinate when you study so it wouldn’t have been that. You do get absorbed in reading but that many hours without checking your phone? Unlikely.”

“You checked my location… every time because you were worried something happened?”

“Because you have a penchant for getting kidnapped.” He responded simply. 

She pulled a face. He smirked and disappeared into her walk-in wardrobe. 

He’s been doing that while handling his cases and the project at the museum? 

He’s checking on me even when he’s that busy? 

Wait. He knows how quickly I respond to my texts? Had it been anyone else, she would have found that very worrisome. 

A minute later, he emerged wearing one of her t-shirts – which in fairness, had been his before she’d stolen it – and a pair of dark shorts. He had his own wardrobe in his bedroom room, but Fay also had at least two drawers of his clothes that she’d ended up with after borrowing them or he’d left. He rubbed his hair with a towel. After chucking the wet cloth away, he came to sit next to her on the bed.  

“Go to sleep before you have another panic attack. Your heart rate is still too high.” He remarked gruffly, as he laid on his back and closed his eyes. Fay was on her side facing him. 

“I…” She wasn’t sure what to say. 

It would have to be someone like Damian. Because he’d raised the bar and she had gained enough self-respect to know she shouldn’t settle for anything less than the safety and care he showed her. 

Someone like Damian, but not him. 

It couldn’t be Damian because he was her friend, her family. 

(but how could anyone ever measure up to him---)

(she was no longer capable of imagining anyone but---)

“Good night,” 

“Hn.” 

Fay turned away, feeling the earlier sense of panic build back up in her chest. A few minutes later, she felt him get closer, fingers lightly playing with the tips of her hair. 

It took her a long time to fall asleep. She doubted he’d allowed himself to rest before she did.

( dripdripdripdripdripdripdrip)

Chapter 73: Of temptations and misunderstandings

Notes:

Beta-reader: MoonglowOnWater - Many thanks as always.

Couldn't resist with a lil bit of cliche misunderstanding. Promise it's all building up to a great moment which will take place sooner than later.

Chapter Text

When we first met, I had no idea you would be so important to me .”

Unknown 

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.

.

For the first two weeks of November, Fay didn’t see Damian at all. The case he’d been working on since before she’d returned Gotham had turned out to be of a larger scale than initially predicted, and his second case had inevitably become connected. Fay didn’t know all the details of what he was working on, but she knew it involved a death pool set up by a man named Gerald Whitman, who had been targeting several individuals he believed to be responsible for the death of his brother years ago. Gerald was a criminal himself, and a very wealthy man at that, who had been arrested on charges of money laundering, drug trafficking, and blood sports but had never successfully been charged. That very same man had moved his business to Gotham and put his name forward to the next mayor candidacy. 

It had been a topic of great debate for weeks. Fay had heard Mack furiously express his disgust at a man like Gerald possibly becoming the new mayor. He wouldn’t be the first corrupt man or criminal to hold such a position of power in Gotham and there was widespread fear of what would become of the city if Gerald were to be successful. Fay would have liked to discuss Gerald with her uncle, to get Aryg’s insight on how men like Gerald managed to retain support. Her uncle would probably know exactly how to handle himself against an opponent like Gerald. 

It was not the first time that Fay and Damian had gone without talking or seeing each other for more than a couple of days. She did miss him, of course, but she knew how important it was for him to have his space when he was so caught up in a case. She admired his razor-sharp focus and respected his temporary need to prioritise work over their time together. He had a duty as Robin. There was a part of her, however, that wondered if she should have put up more of a fight to get involved. She didn’t want to be in his way, but she also didn’t wish to be perennially the one waiting on the sidelines. Not anymore. It was a case that belonged to Batman and Robin first, before the other vigilantes became involved over the first months of autumn. She didn’t think she was one of them. Not that she hadn’t been welcomed by the others or that Titania was not an ally. Fay supposed that between her inexperience and her background, it would be a while before she’d finally be able to operate independently and confidently stand her ground about helping them. She felt she had done enough to prove she could be trusted, but not enough to be respected as a vigilante. She wasn’t offended by that thought. Titania was still largely a blank slate. 

An old, familiar sense of anxiety settled in her veins in the past several weeks nevertheless. Fay tried to keep herself busy – training, helping Dana, meeting with Cora, studying, talking to Titoh, reading – but it did nothing to chase away the niggling sensation at the back of her head. She was afraid to explore its origins. Deep down she knew the anxiety came from different places, but she didn’t think anything good would come out of allowing a certain train of thoughts to pass freely in her mind. 

Damian did permeate her thoughts. Of course he did. Fay consistently told herself that her odd reaction the night of the inauguration had been a result of being caught off-guard. Just like that day on the island. Damian was so deeply ingrained in her life that it was only normal for her brain to envision him in place of the hypothetical boy or man she’d be in love with. She cared about him deeply and he was brilliant, fiercely loyal, committed, and reliable. He didn’t love easily but when he did, he did so in the same manner he did everything. With the aim of being excellent and all the passion a human being could muster. Why shouldn’t she use her best friend as a point of reference? That explanation started cracking apart at its seams when she found herself alone and trying to recreate those sensations she’d felt that day on the island. Damian lurked in the corner of her mind, and she blamed her hormones and how heightened her senses were in those moments and how close they were as friends. Fay stopped herself, always, because she felt ashamed. 

She loved that they were so close that he allowed and reciprocated physical affection, in his own ways. Fay knew, after almost four years, how hard that was for him still and how fortunate she was to have earned such affection. His trust had not been easy to obtain. Fay felt like she betrayed him whenever she thought about him in such an inappropriate manner. She constantly had to fight to stop thoughts on how he’d look if he were in love with someone, on what it would be like to be on the receiving end of that. She had to stop because otherwise, she couldn’t make sense of the way her heart fluttered and the way heat pooled in her navel; she’d have to explore the dark, ugly emotion forming in her chest when she realised that him falling in love with someone would mean adding a third person to their close-knit group, one that would inevitably change everything. 

It didn’t matter, she told herself. Damian was hers and she was his to trust and protect and care for. Because they were family. That would never change. They’d been through so much already and their bond had only grown stronger. Sure, they’d been more distanced from one another lately, but he’d had cases and she… she had… waited. Waited until the case was over. Waited until she was a better fighter. Waited until… until what? 

“With your genes, I expect you will live longer than a human, even one like myself. You are but at the start of your journey.”

Fay frowned, then shook her head. 

I am overthinking this. There was no rush. 

She found out she was wrong in the worst of ways. 

.

18 th of November

Gerald Whitman was in prison. ‘Batman and Robin did it!’ the newspapers cried. They had proven how deeply the man’s corruption and thirst for power ran, and they had done it in style , one anchorwoman had pointed out on Channel 6. Fay didn’t disagree; the photos that had emerged of the cargo ships being seized by the police while the two vigilantes watched had emphasised their role in ensuring Gerald faced justice. She also knew that Damian had added three more ribs to the ones he’d bruised previously, as well as a mild concussion. Not the worst injuries he’d ever had, but Alfred had him sanctioned off any patrol duty for four weeks.

Bagheera thought it’d be funny to offer the boy a lollipop when the boy looked visibly annoyed by the butler’s orders. Fay was confused. Bruce was definitely amused, which was a rare sight. 

Damian was not. 

Later, she went to his room with a box of imported Turkish delight and placed his head on her lap, to run her fingers through his hair. He made sure to point out how he did not need to be treated like a child, yet she half-expected his eyes to roll back when she started scraping her fingers against his scalp, careful to avoid the tender area where he’d hit his head. 

“You’re such a prince,” She grumbled, with a shake of her head. 

“This Turkish delight is not---” said he as he popped another piece in his mouth. Half of the box was already gone. 

“Yes, it is.” She retorted heatedly. “I asked Alfred to help me order it. I know it’s authentic.” She may have eaten a box herself. Or two. Nobody had to know except the butler and her paladin. 

“Hn.”

A spoiled, obnoxious prince. Assailed by a sudden wave of affection, Fay leaned forward and placed her mouth on his forehead where he had a small scrape. “I am glad the case ended well,” She remarked, then leaned to place another light kiss on his left cheek, where a small bruise had formed right below his eye. His skin was soft, and he smelt of anti-septic and shower gel and she had missed him. Fay ended up dotting her mouth all over his face, unaware of how that must’ve looked or felt, or the fact that the boy stilled suddenly, staring at her curiously. Her mouth went down from one cheek to his jaw and chin, then climbed back up on his other cheek before moving to his nose. One of her hands had landed on his neck, stroking the skin there absent-mindedly and she was completely lost in the action. It felt good doing that, and she wanted him to feel that as well, but she completely lost control of herself, she’d realise later, because her mouth ended up in places it hadn’t before. The corner of his mouth – his lips looked soft – and near his ear – she felt like teasingly biting his earlobe – and then on his neck, against a shallow cut just under his chin which she was able to reach because she’d also instinctively tilted his head back with the hand still in his hair. The column of his neck was startlingly tantalising. She wanted to run her mouth all over it, to nip the soft skin and run her tongue over it afterward. 

Just like in those books ---Fay froze, eyes going wide. 

What—what was she doing? 

Her mouth was on his Adam apple, and she was well on her way to his collarbone. Fay immediately removed her lips and lifted her head, stomach turning into a sickly pit and her face burning with shame. “S-sorry.” She stammered, removing her hand that had trailed down on his chest as well. What is wrong with me? No matter how close they were, that was inappropriate. 

Fay refused to meet his eyes, scared of what she might see there or what he might see in hers

“You—”

Knock! Knock!

“I ordered pizza!” Dick called cheerfully. 

Fay removed her hand from his hair, forcing a smile to her face. “I am going to get us some, so you, uh, don’t need to move around.” She gently manoeuvred his head off her lap and onto the pillow, careful not to look at his face, and then ran out of the room. When she came back to the room, Damian was already asleep, likely knocked out by the number of sleepless nights he’d had in the past two weeks and Alfred’s mild sedatives. She nearly leaned in to kiss his forehead again out of habit, but she held back. Instead, she pulled the blanket higher to his shoulders, wished him a good night, and walked back out, leaving Titus to keep him company. 

.

Three days passed. They didn’t talk about that evening. Damian asked no questions and Fay desperately tried to keep it out of her thoughts. It was easier than expected, primarily because she ended up going back to the warehouse with the excuse of needing to finish the reading list Lima had given her. Fay did anything but that, too distracted because she kept recalling what she’d done. Then she thought about a thousand other moments she’d shared with her friend, and she was left wondering whether perhaps she’d unwittingly been affectionate in an inappropriate manner. 

Damian told her he’d come by the warehouse once he was done wrapping up some minor loose strings on the Whitman case from the cave. He told her they’d go to the museum to see the new exhibit and the botanical garden, which had been decorated in line with the Christmas season. Fay insisted that he should be resting instead, as they could go later. Surprisingly, he hadn’t pushed back. Fay decided to go see Dana that afternoon, but ended up helping Mack with his food truck until late in the evening. Fay was on her way back towards the bridge with her paladin in tow, traversing the city using roofs and quiet streets to keep a low profile. 

There was an oak tree she’d been stopping by lately, a lonely thing that stubbornly survived the loss of his brethren to the small factories built around it. It was not a pleasant area to be, with several bars down the street which seemed to be in a strange rivalry, sparking constant fights between its clients. Fay had witnessed at least three such violent arguments break out of the six visits she’d made in the past weeks. In the oak tree lived a squirrel. An Eastern Grey. Bagheera had sniffed the little creature out on their first walk down that street, hiding on a branch. Fay had had no food with her that day, but she made sure to carry a bag of peanuts in shells from thereon and had made a habit of stopping twice a week by the oak tree. The squirrel had become less shy, even as far as coming to pick the nuts from her hand or approaching Bagheera to study him. 

The days had grown shorter. The sky had darkened considerably although it was only twenty past four in the afternoon. Fay wrapped the scarf around her neck tighter, feeling the icy hand of the late autumn wind press against the exposed parts of her skin. She was crouched down by the tree, watching the squirrel climb onto the head of her paladin and start breaking apart the shell of the peanut. Her paladin grumbled when a few pieces fell on his muzzle and she smiled, amused. 

From the corner of her eye, she caught something moving in the air, between the taller buildings a couple of streets away. She would have recognized the flash of the yellow cape anywhere. 

Damian was out as Robin? Already

Alfred and his father wouldn’t have allowed him to go out so easily. He hadn’t had enough time to heal. Which meant Damian could have snuck out, but what for? The case was closed. Instinctively, Fay followed him, pulling her hood up and the scarf higher to cover her mouth, just in case someone saw her fly between the buildings. Bagheera stayed back. 

Damian went to an old paint factory three blocks down from where she’d been. The building was defunct from the looks of it; the ground floor windows had been boarded up and the entrance doors sealed with thick chains. Graffiti adorned the neglected brick walls. Fay frowned as she stood on the roof of an apartment block that was several stories higher than the former factory but still offered her a good view of her friend. By the time she’d found him, Fay realized he wasn’t alone. Out of reflex, she ducked because people on the street might see and become alerted. She was dressed like a civilian, after all. 

Fay only had a vague idea of the masked figure talking to Damian. A girl who went by the name of Redclaw. Damian had told her they’d had to deal with her as part of the Gerald Whitman case because the girl had a personal vendetta against him. Fay hadn’t thought much of it. 

Until then. 

Because, a few seconds within arriving there, Fay witnessed the girl step closer to her friend, place her hands on his shoulders, and lean in to kiss him. Damian’s hands lifted to her elbows, but he didn’t push her back immediately. As if he were hesitant. Those four seconds – Fay had counted – had been four seconds longer than she’d have expected him to tolerate such contact which meant that---which meant that… he was allowing it. He hadn’t tried to push her away, draw his sword or switch to a defensive posture. Fay couldn’t see his face, but she’d seen enough . She turned around so suddenly she nearly gave herself whiplash and fell to the ground, back pressed against the ledge. 

Damian---he---that girl---

She had to get away.  

---she was----she was----

(dripdripdripdripdripdrip)

She couldn’t breathe properly. She was no longer standing on the edge of the abyss, but falling into it. When had she even last had such a powerful, crippling panic attack? Weeks? No, months. 

-he came here---he came here for her—

---and they were---they are----she---

Fay pushed herself away from the edge of the building and ended up stumbling like a newborn calf. She shouldn’t be walking in that state, but she couldn’t be there. 

--she---she was kissing him, and he came here to meet her and he---he----

Running away wouldn’t expel that image from her mind, but she had to get away. Her chest was tight as a knot and the world swayed around her. Fay blindly let herself off the roof when she reached the other end and just barely saved herself from plummeting to the ground. She hit her arm and leg against an old air conditioner unit which she nearly ripped out of the wall with her. 

--I can’t---I can’t be here---I don’t want him to know I saw---

Fay ran all the way back to the oak tree, with an urgency to get away she hadn’t felt in years. She was disoriented by the time she reunited with her paladin, as if someone had drugged her, rendering the world around her fuzzy and unstable. “Let’s---let’s go---” Damian, he---he likes someone like that--- Where? Where should they go? The warehouse? No. She couldn’t. She felt that place would only make her feel worse and she couldn’t quite place the reason for that. He is here with her and I---I am--- The Manor was obviously out of question. Dana would ask too many questions. Daphne’s didn’t feel like a safe enough place, even if she didn’t distrust the woman. 

Fay settled on going to Cora’s house, startling the girl when she landed on her balcony, hyperventilating and cheeks wet. It wasn’t raining. Fay hadn’t even realised she’d started crying. She didn’t even know why she felt the way she did, but there was an ache in her chest she couldn’t shake off and seemed to grow deeper the longer her thoughts circled around what she had witnessed. 

“Hey, are you okay—” 

Fay flew inside. “I think---I think I am going to be sick---”

Cora’s eyes widened, and thinking quickly, jumped to reach for the paper bin she kept in her room. She just barely managed to push it into Fay’s arms before the girl doubled over and threw up. “Oh god—okay, okay—” Cora said, watching the brunette sink to her knees, with the bin before her. She made a small retching sound before she threw up again. 

The blonde opened the door to her bedroom, checked the hall. She could hear her aunt talking from her home office on the other side of the apartment, probably on a Zoom work call. Cora rushed to the bathroom next to her room, which was hers as Emma had one adjacent to the master bedroom. She took the bottle of Pepto Bismol and then quickly rushed back to her bedroom, locking the door behind her. Fay looked like she’d finished emptying the contents of her stomach. Her eyes were puffy and her cheeks red, but the rest of her face was deathly pale, making her look like a vampire with blush. 

“I am sorry…” Fay panted, pawing at her scarf to undo it because she was still struggling to breathe. 

“It’s alright,” Cora said, crouching beside her. “Are you okay? Do—are you injured? Do you want me to call Damia—”

No .”

Cora blinked in surprise. Fay looked away. “Sorry. I just, um, felt unwell all—all of a sudden. I—you were close.” Fay pressed the sleeve of her jacket to her mouth and tried to stand up. “I shouldn’t have bothered you; I am sorry.”

“Don’t be silly,” Cora whisper-shouted, still wary her aunt might hear them, as she grabbed the girl by the hem of her jacket to stop her from leaving. “You’re clearly still sick. Why don’t you stay for a few minutes? It’s not like I was looking forward to going back to my algebra homework.” She said with a roll of her eyes. 

“I, uh, okay.”

“Where’s Bag?”

“Downstairs.” 

“Cool. My aunt is working late, so she’ll be in that office for a while. I will sneak in Bag, you---you just rest.”

Fay nodded. 

“Why is there a squirrel on Bag’s head?”

“…I have no idea,” Fay said tiredly, a hot cup of chamomile tea between her hands as she leaned back against the bed, sitting on the floor. “Animals warm up to him easily because of his empath abilities.” Said squirrel was staring at them curiously, small paws pulled back against its chest. When Cora tried to reach towards him, the small creature quickly scurried away to hide behind the paladin. Bagheera, for his part, was sitting on the floor, watching Fay with concern. He could feel the turmoil of emotions she was experiencing. “I didn’t even realise the squirrel was still with us.” Fay added, quietly. 

“Hm.” Cora played with a curly lock, as she sat between the other girl and Bagheera, legs crossed before her. “You don’t have to tell me what happened but… are you alright?”  She asked tentatively. “I’ve never seen you that… agitated. Or crying. Not since that night we met, I think. That doesn’t count though.”

Fay smiled but was lifeless. “I had a panic attack.”

“Oh. You haven’t had one in a while, huh?”

“Mh-hm.”

Cora’s head cocked to the side. “Does it just come on?”

No. No, it doesn’t. 

“Sometimes,” Fay said, with a short nod. When she saw the other girl frown, she felt compelled to add, “Thank you.”

Cora smiled. “Anytime!”

Fay glanced at the wall clock above Cora’s door. She’d been there for well over an hour now, she should probably return to the warehouse. Fay didn’t feel calm though. The panic attack had gone away but her mind was bursting with thoughts threatening to escape through the paper-thin barriers she’d temporarily put up. The ache in her chest persisted. 

“Do you want to stay?” Cora asked. When Fay looked hesitant, the girl threw her a half-hearted glare. “ No , you won’t be a bother. I can tell Aunt Emma you dropped by; she doesn’t mind anyway.” 

“I---alright. Thank you, Cora.”

Cora had provided her with a spare toothbrush, which Fay was immensely grateful for. She turned down the shower, not because she didn’t feel like having one but because Fay feared she’d end up crying again. She also didn’t think it would be appropriate to spend the usual thirty to forty-five minutes there after she’d barged into Cora’s bedroom and vomited into her bin. 

Fay sighed loudly as she stared at the sink, watching the water swirl away. Seeing Damian with someone else had triggered her panic attack, and there was no way of rationalising that away. She hadn’t even seen the kiss up-close. Had it been a kiss? Yes. It had certainly looked that way. It didn’t matter though. She shouldn’t have been privy to that. Fay hadn’t meant to spy on her friend. Why wouldn’t he tell her about it, though? Seeing him with someone else bothered her, plain and simple. In those fifteen seconds that it had taken for the panic attack to render her to a trembling, crying mess, all the half-formed thoughts she had been squishing in the back of her mind had spilled forward. 

She had considered it before, that one-day Damian might potentially be interested in someone. It had been something abstract, however. Something that would happen later , just like she’d figure out later whether she’d like being courted by someone. If Damian fell in love with someone, what would that even be like? Intense. Peculiar. It was Damian, so it’d be convoluted and something cemented and long-term. Fay had no idea what his relationship with Redclaw was, or whether they’d become that close over the time they’d spent working together. Would it be such a ridiculous thing if it did happen? No. Damian had always given her the impression that he was not interested in pursuing ‘entanglements’ of that nature, so maybe that was why she’d felt blindsided. But Damian also used to think that friendships were a useless bond to have, and he now had several. He used to think that family meant only those tied by blood, but now he’d accepted each and every one of his siblings to an extent or another into his heart. What was there to say he wouldn’t change his mind about other types of love? And he should, she thought, because he deserved to experience that, too. He deserved to be loved in more than one way. 

Everything would change, though. 

They were very close as friends. She knew that. Fay was not so naïve to not know that the amount of time they spent together, the way they invaded each other’s personal space, the way they talked about the darker thoughts in their heads as much as about others, was something they’d not want with their significant others one day. They’d remain friends, of course, but then, so had Baije and Evara, and they had grown up together. They had been family. Yet when her mother and father had become a family, they had each other to turn to first. Fay didn’t think she wouldn’t be able to rely on Damian anymore if he were to have someone else in his life as if not more important than a friend. But she would lose parts of him. Wasn’t that what growing up was? Maybe that was what Daphne had referred to. Growing up and growing apart. 

She wouldn’t be his first choice, anymore. Not that he didn’t actively choose others around him. Damian only kept those he wanted close. It was as simple as that. It probably wouldn’t be her that he came to after a hard mission. It wouldn’t be her to comfort him if he had his own version of a Bad Day. Probably not. She’d likely not be around him as much, but how could she? The other would have his attention and company. At least half of it. 

That was already too much. 

Fay wiped her hands over her face as new tears escaped her eyes. She was being selfish, thinking of how she’d be affected instead of thinking that he’d have added happiness. One more person to love him and see him. If that were to happen, Fay would not fight it. But she’d be heartbroken, she realised, and a friend who was just a friend wouldn’t feel that way. It was not just fear they might grow apart, or they wouldn’t have as much time together. If her heart had stopped there, she could have tried to justify it as her not wanting to grow apart from him. The image of him being with someone else already hurt her. If that were truly to happen, what would she do? Nothing. She would do nothing because he was her friend and she had vowed to protect him, even if it meant accepting something that caused her to feel pain. That much was at least clear. 

Having no choice but to admit all that, to herself at least, Fay saw no point in trying to stop the other thoughts. That day on the island, he’d come up in her mind because he had felt right. He came up in her mind because there was a part of her that had been wondering – albeit in recent times only – what it would be like if he were the one she could explore with. He felt right because he was safe and she adored him, that was what she had told herself. That was no less true. A few nights earlier, however, he had also come up in her mind when she’d been thinking about what type of person she’d fall in love with. 

Someone like Damian. 

There was no one like Damian. She didn’t want to find someone like him. It wouldn’t be fair to the other, would it? She wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter. An irrational sense of defiance filled her at the idea of trying to seek someone who was not Damian but like him. He couldn’t be replaced. She might like someone else, she might make new bonds – as she had with Cora – but she didn’t do it to gather copies or almost copies of people. She didn’t want to seek anybody at all, she thought. She was mature enough to understand that she might one day fall in love with someone unexpectedly. It had been that way for her parents, hadn’t it? She didn’t have to think about that yet. She didn’t have to seek it out. 

The problem was, Fay didn’t want anyone else. If she really thought about what her future held, she didn’t even care that much about falling in love. But she wanted Damian. To stay in her life, to be her friend as he was now. And she decided that if there was anyone she might want in other ways, it’d be him. He felt frighteningly right in that new, unexplored part of her heart, as if he’d already carved a space for himself into it without her realising. 

She wouldn’t mind having everything with him, from him. Fay wasn’t even sure what everything entailed, there were still so many unknowns, but with Damian, she’d always felt braver, after all. 

She bowed forward and closed her eyes. 

“…shit.”

What am I going to do? 

.

.

It was obvious to Damian Wayne that there was a stark difference between being enamoured with someone and acting on it. For many, the line was not as well defined as the one he had set for himself. That was why, in his opinion, people ended up behaving in an unseemly manner, pursuing all that would satisfy their desires, sexual or otherwise. Of course, if one looked only for the gratification of their primal needs, he could see why one might not care to make long-term plans with another. 

That was not the case for him, however. Despite the repeated incidents in the privacy of his bedroom or bathroom, Damian did not succumb to the hormonal onslaught he faced in other aspects of his life. He recognised that Fay appealed to him in more ways than one. He could acknowledge that he had found himself, on more than one occasion, making note of her physical attributes. More so, since that first time, she had infiltrated his mind during a vulnerable moment. It was not something that ranked high on the list of things he found commendable of his friend, not because he was not attracted to her, but because that attraction was a consequence, rather than the wick to the emotions spurring in his chest. He had grown more comfortable with admitting that to himself over the summer. It was a matter of fact, now. But Damian could be patient. He did not feel an immediate need to act on his sexual attraction, not when he wished to make sure that she reciprocated it. 

He wondered if she’d ever considered him in that manner. It was difficult to gauge whether she had considered him beyond as a friend or acknowledged an attraction of her own given the intimacy they already shared. Fay had been upfront about considering him physically appealing, but he doubted she’d meant it in a non-platonic manner. She genuinely admired him, inside and out, but even if she did think about him in slightly less platonic ways, that did not mean she was interested in being more than friends. It made sense, though. They were compatible in more ways than one. They trusted and respected each other, knew each other in-depth and there was little they would not risk for one another. Again, those characteristics could very well remain attributed to a strictly platonic relationship, but they also represented a strong foundation for something more.  

He did not wish to jeopardise their current bond. He would not be so impulsive to endanger something that was important to both already. He wanted more , but he could not settle for less than what they had. It would take time. Weeks? Months? Years, even. They were young. Damian didn’t necessarily care about that. He did not deal with anything in half-measures. His feelings for her were not temporary, he’d had several months to establish that. If there was anyone he would like and feel comfortable pursuing something more with, it was Fay. 

That meant he had to think about the long-term implications. Dick was right. There were things that he could not control, as aggravating as that might be. Damian’s long-standing notion of being sexually involved with someone for the sake of producing an heir also no longer held weight. That was something that Damian, the ruler, would have thought about. Someone who hadn’t learned what it was like to have friends, who had found family and a different home. He wasn’t sure he even particularly cared about it. That was one aspect of his future he shall be pragmatic about. 

He would have to be pragmatic about Fay as well. As things currently stood, their rapport was strong and unshaken. Any significant developments – courting her, for example – inevitably must be reflected for the consequences they may have. First and foremost, he had to ensure Fay reciprocated his interest. He did not wish for her to be uncomfortable or feel taken off-guard, because that would shatter the trust she had in him. Stephanie had made a valid point that he had to proceed carefully in how he’d expressed his endearment of her. He knew there was a different underlying component to his gestures of keeping her close and happy, but Fay did not. He could not distance himself, either. Fay would feel something was off immediately, and he didn’t want to, anyway. He had to think of ways to broach the subject of a non-platonic pursuit. 

First, he decided he wanted to know how she felt about the topic in general. Fay had never struck him as being romantic, but he knew she looked up to her parents and the loving relationship they’d had. Surely, she must have contemplated whether she’d want to pursue something of that nature. He hadn’t had the time to do that given his attention had been primarily on his Robin responsibilities. Once he found out where she stood on the matter, Damian would decide when and how he’d approach a discussion around whether she’d considered them being more than friends. If he decided that was appropriate as well. Perhaps a better strategy would be to gradually express his interest in her? Hm. She already admitted to being more curious about experimenting, but he did not want her to think he was acting out of a misguided adolescent itch. If she were to only want that? No, that was unlikely. He’d be tempted to entertain it, but he’d be settling for only one part of what he wanted. If she did not fully reciprocate, he could not act. He would not push her. 

Damian did not enjoy neglecting her. Fay was an independent creature. As much comfort as she found in his presence, he knew she was also one to like keeping herself busy. Involved. Contributing. It was why she kept helping Mercher at the Soul Bowl, why she felt dejected about not being able to ease his workload. She was more restless than one would give her credit for. Not him, because he knew her. He had seen how much she enjoyed travelling and exploring, how happy it made her. It did also bring into consideration the fact that one day, she wouldn’t be satisfied with spending most of her time in Gotham. Would he? Once upon a time, he had thought the answer to that was an indubitable yes. 

He wondered if it was restlessness that had caused her to feel disgruntled recently. She hadn’t had a panic attack in months yet that evening of the inauguration, he had caught her right in the midst of one. Had it been because she felt upset about not attending the event? No. That had been her choice. Would she have preferred if he had insisted? Maybe. He didn’t think she would have enjoyed it. He did not wish her to attend out of obligation. He had been pleased by his father’s presence. Dick, as well. Tim, he hadn’t cared much but Damian had accepted the boy’s compliments for his work. He would have preferred having her present there as well. Part of the museum’s success was owed to her. She had convinced him of Helen’s ability to do her job – risked her life to give the woman a chance – and it was her collection of museum memories from the Gothamites that had earned Gotham Museum some very generous sales. The botanical garden had been, in part, for her too. 

Whilst at the inauguration, Damian had found himself envisioning what it’d be like if the media were to become aware of Fay Kipling and her place in his life. It would not be practical or safe, but there was a part of him, selfish and prideful, that would enjoy it if the world knew. No one would ever understand the bond they shared, or who they really were, but they’d trip over themselves with ridiculous, wild speculations, trying and failing to get close. Then he thought about the frenzy that would ensue in her homeland if she were to return with an outsider. Her uncle was bound to have a conniption. It was an amusing thought, and not entirely without its appeal. And within the realm of possibility. Fay had felt guilty about not attending but he hadn’t thought her selfish. Her saying she was proud of him was infinitely more satisfying to hear than any of the sycophants at the museum. Not that he needed the praise, but he’d always take hers as much as he’d take the ones from Dick. 

The case of Gerald Whitman had demanded all of his attention, again. It had been a satisfying win. Gerald was not the most dangerous Damian ever dealt with, but he had been clever enough to slip from the hands of the law for the longest time. His candidacy to mayorship had been twofold. On one hand, the man had genuinely wanted the power and influence that came with the position. On the other hand, he had thought he could use it to make his affairs look more legitimate. At the core, Gerald had been rather predictable, but he had managed to cause enough pain to others. 

One such person was Erin Davis, also known as Redclaw. The sixteen-year-old was Gerald’s niece, from her mother’s side, who had been the man’s younger sister. Gerald had controlled his sister’s life for the better part of her life, an attitude he had copied from an equally narcissistic and manipulative father. He’d tried to have his sister marry a man he had arranged for her, but the woman – Charlotte – had ended up running away. She had assumed a new identity and lived in a small, remote town, away from everything she’d known but at peace. There, she’d met a man who had been a former member of the League of Shadows. They had fallen in love and had Erin and her younger sister, Phoebe, four years apart. Gerald, as it turned out, had come across another man that Damian was familiar with. Joseph Bronson. Damian found that they had closed a business affair three years earlier. Legitimate. However, two weeks after it had taken place, Gerald had regained his sister. She was dead. He’d spun a story about how the man who had killed her had also been the one who had ‘brainwashed and abused her’ for years before killing himself after committing the atrocious act. He had gained custody of the youngest daughter, but it had remained unclear where Erin was. There was no evidence of foul play, and the authorities had ruled it a murder-suicide. Damian knew better. If Bronson had been involved, then Cunningham must have been involved, and to an extent, Bernard as well. It made sense. Bernard could have used Gerald’s connections and sources to gain weapons and men. Later, Gerald would also confess to having had ties to the Sponsor when Damian interrogated him. 

Erin, trained by her father in martial arts from a young age, had decided to put her skills to use and exact her revenge on her uncle. She had seen the mist kill her parents. She knew her father would have never harmed Charlotte no matter who he used to be in another life. Erin had escaped her uncle that night and travelled to a safe house she knew her father kept. Old habits die hard, after all. For three years, she had prepared and prepared before tracking her uncle to Gotham. Robin had tracked her infiltrating the man’s house, incapacitating his guards, and threatening him with a blade. It made Damian sick to his stomach how Whitman had ended up thanking him for stopping her and nearly getting her caught by the police, which had been unintentional. 

Revenge, not justice. Damian understood Redclaw’s desire to go after him; there was a part of him that felt he was robbing her of something she had earned. Gerald had killed her parents out of a disturbing obsession and had taken away her sister, who was young and impressionable, trying to influence her to his side. Damian had watched Redclaw try to convince the girl to come with her, who had refused, scared and confused because to her, her uncle was just the good man who had been spoiling and taking care of her after she’d lost her parents. 

Batman threatened Redclaw he would not tolerate her killing Gerald. They would help her obtain justice. Erin had refused. Damian had been the one to talk her out of it. He had to wonder if his father had seen that case as a test for him as well, whether Bruce wanted to see if Damian could talk someone else out of ideas he had shared not too long ago. He had succeeded, however, partly because Erin, for all her training, had been injured when Gerald had paid mercenaries to track her down, knowing she was still in Gotham. She’d agreed to let them help her. Erin wanted her uncle to pay for what he did, and she wanted her younger sister back. She was not a criminal. She was not evil. She was a child whose life had been turned upside down by the greed of others and was now left making sense of it. Damian found himself drawing parallels between her and Fay. 

Fay had never sought revenge, but she had wanted answers. She still did. He wondered what she would do if she could pursue those who had orchestrated the attack on Maysoon? Damian did not think murder would be her first choice. But she would want the culprits to pay for it. She wouldn’t hide her anger or pain and she’d let them know it. Fay was not a killer, but she was not forgiving. She shouldn’t be, he thought, except he’d never doubt Fay’s ability to weigh the wrong and right of an action before taking it. Even at her most emotional, Fay tended to place her needs second. It was a dangerous thing to do, but she had him – and Bagheera – to ensure that she did not jeopardise herself at the expense of others. 

The two weeks leading to the capture of Gerald had been intense primarily because while he knew any setbacks suffered would not stop them from taking down the man, Erin had disagreed. She was afraid that the more time her younger sister spent with her uncle, the harder it would be to break her free from his manipulations afterwards. Phoebe was only twelve, and Erin had failed to get through to the girl, whom Gerald had made think that her older sister had abandoned her. Damian had been the one to get through to the child in the end. Fay didn’t know it, but she had played a part in it. He had talked to the twelve-year-old, after infiltrating her – heavily guarded, ha! – room. He’d pointed out to the little girl how he knew someone, once, that had had to go away and abandon everything familiar to them to come back braver and stronger later. They hadn’t left because they didn’t love their family, but because the loss they’d suffered made it difficult. “Your sister couldn’t be with you because she wasn’t ready,” Yes and no. Erin would have seen through Gerald. He would have made her suffer. If she had taken Phoebe, she wouldn’t have been able to keep both safe. “She lost her parents, too, right? You know how she feels.”

That had given the child pause. It was Phoebe who had then revealed a piece of information that had helped them wrap the case quicker when she’d pointed out that she’d never seen her uncle without his necklace. A USB disguised as a pendant. Following Gerald’s arrest, Damian had helped Erin access funds that her former assassin father had kept as an emergency reserve. He’d also proposed the girl become emancipated to gain custody of her younger sister who had inadvertently been placed in the care of the system. The Whitman family had some distant relatives, but they had refused to step up and accept the responsibility. 

Redclaw had wished to bid him goodbye the previous night. She expected to be emancipated within months but in the meantime, she and her sister had been placed in a foster home with a couple that was kind and attentive. She had given testimony of having watched her uncle kill her parents and that he had kept her away from her sister. Gerald was facing many, many decades in prison with the amount of evidence against him. Ironically, he’d be reunited with his old friend, Bronson. 

As a thank you, Erin had agreed to tell him everything she could remember about the night her parents were murdered. She had also told him that in her research on her uncle, she had come across rumours of the Sponsor but by then, he had already been dead as far she’d heard. She didn’t know much beyond that and had assumed it had been a metahuman that had led the mist attack. Damian didn’t bother to correct her. 

“She told me the story you told her,” The girl mentioned. “Thank you.” 

“I spoke no lies.”

“The other person… are they special?” 

He was silent for a moment. “Hn.” 

Erin smiled. “I thought they might be.” She reached to him, lightly placing her hands on his shoulder, and leaning forward. “I hope they know how special you are,” She whispered, before placing her mouth against his cheek, closer to his mouth than one normally would. 

Damian saw it coming. The girl had expressed her interest in him a couple of days earlier while they had been going over the details of what she’d tell the authorities. He had turned her down. She had not insisted. He had a selfish reason to allow her to step into his personal bubble and it had nothing to do with him wanting to reciprocate the flirting. It was an empirical way to gain irrefutable – further and final – evidence that his interest lay elsewhere, with someone else. Someone who didn’t set him on edge when she touched him as Erin did, someone who didn’t trigger his instinct to pull out his sword and attack which he suppressed because, for all her boldness, Redclaw was not an enemy. He also didn’t think her interest ran deeper than the persona she was presented with. It had been Robin who had talked her out of revenge, it had been Robin who had helped her gain justice and reunite with her sister. 

He wasn’t just Robin. And he didn’t care to show her anything beyond what she saw. Damian pushed her away, hands on her elbows because that way he could block her arms. He didn’t think she’d attack him, but she’d crossed a boundary and he had automatically switched to a fighting state. 

“Don’t worry,” Erin said with a wink. “That was the first and last time. I doubt we’ll cross paths again.” The foster family lived in New York and once Erin emancipated and gained custody of her sister, she planned on taking Phoebe to a safe place. 

“I don’t really care,” It was the truth. “Don’t kill anyone and we won’t have to.”

Erin smiled. 

“Thank you, Robin.” She said genuinely. 

That part, he did like. He had helped someone. He had pulled them away from a path they would have ended up regretting. Damian stayed on the roof and watched her disappear jump onto the adjacent building before descending a fire staircase and disappearing onto the streets. 

“Hn.” 

He pulled out his phone and texted Fay to tell her he’d come by after all. The painkillers were wearing off, causing each breath to make him feel as if he had pins and needles sticking in his chest, but he hadn’t seen her in two weeks. She was bound to fuss over him and be upset that he’d decided to go out before being fully healed, but he thought she’d enjoy hearing that Erin and Phoebe were reunited. He hadn’t had a chance to tell her about that part of the case, just that he was working with a rookie vigilante. 

She didn’t answer. He didn’t think anything of it as he headed back towards the warehouse. 

Damian had not forgotten what had happened a few days earlier. Fay had clearly been as surprised by her actions as he had, albeit he had felt none of the mortification she did. He hadn’t lied when he’d said he did not enjoy being consoled like a child, but Fay was not condescending in her actions. If she insisted on him placing her head on her lap, it was because she genuinely wished to show him affection. He was constantly torn between feeling infuriated at how easily he’d give in and how voracious he felt with the attention offered. His mother had used to do that for him, too, when he was younger. Keep his head on her legs while she stroked his hair and sang him a lullaby in Mandarin. He had felt safe and loved, but with Fay, there were none of the contradicting emotions he felt when he thought about Talia. There was no lingering sense of longing, because Fay was there, and she’d always be there, and she made it easy being in his mind. 

He’s not sure what possessed her to behave in that manner but he had, not for one second, thought to stop her. Her mouth was soft and light and tentative, and such a gesture shouldn’t carry so much power, but it did. It had filled him with a rush of adrenaline, causing heat to bloom everywhere in his body and threaten to burn away the painkillers Alfred had given him. It was the idea of it as well, not just the sensation. The idea that she was purposefully touching him in that manner, and didn’t seem satisfied with just the usual chaste kiss on his cheek. When she’d tugged on his hair, he had purposefully allowed himself to be malleable in her hands, tilting his head back because he wanted to know – wanted to feel – how much further she’d go. Did she enjoy doing that? She’d hardly need to ask him to return the favour if she wanted. When her mouth had landed on his throat, everything around him had dulled out until he had been aware of nothing anymore but her presence. Blood had rushed between the apex of his thighs so quickly that his light-headedness had no longer had anything to do with his concussion. Her hands were gentle and soft, against his neck and he had anticipated she might move it lower, down to his chest. 

She hadn’t. Fay had pulled away suddenly, looking embarrassed. Then she’d taken the first opportunity to exit, nearly running out of the room as soon as she’d gotten up. A blessing in disguise, because Damian would have rather flayed himself than let her become aware of the burgeoning hardness in his joggers. He had to think about several unpleasant things to make sure the blood was once again proportionally distributed in his body. What was that from her? Curiosity? Or had she’d just figured she’d gone too far in her affections and felt uncomfortable? She had to have given it some thought. Would she do it again? He wanted her to. Not if she did not do it for the same reasons he did, though. That would complicate things. Misaligned interests, as Brown had said.

Fay couldn’t have been impervious to what happened, though. When he arrived at the warehouse, however, out of breath, with a pounding headache and ribs that felt as if they’d turned into shards of glass scraping against his insides, Damian found it empty. Checking his phone, he noticed she hadn’t responded. The tracker in her phone showed her at a familiar address. Montgomery. 

“— TT —” He had half a mind to tell her to come back, but he didn’t. Damian Wayne was not needy. They’d see each other the next day and likely spent the next few weeks together. Father was bound to be furious about him leaving the Manor, which would not help with getting Damian back out on patrol. However, Bruce would not forbid him from being at the warehouse. If anything, Bruce would count on Fay’s protectiveness to ensure Damian focused on his recovery. 

“Come on, boy.” Damian helped the elderly mastiff onto the bed where Pip and Nada had already settled. Hector was scurrying about the room, playing with the wide array of toys Fay kept for him everywhere. Oskar sighed loudly as he settled on the bed. “Better, hm?” Damian muttered, patting the dog’s head. After a brief shower, he’d changed his bandages and settled on the bed himself. He refused to take any further painkillers. They clouded his mind. 

The pain also kept his mind from wandering. 

His friend looked terrible. Her eyes were inflamed, tiny blood vessels erupted, colouring her sclera with splotches of red. There were dark bags under her eyes, and she’d glided in through the front door like a miserable-looking ghost. Fay stared at him in surprise when she found him on the bed, surrounded by the other pets, reading a book. Damian closed the book and raised into a sitting position, ignoring the throbbing pain in his side. “What happened?”

She averted her eyes. “I think… I am having a bad day, that’s all.” Then she told him she wanted to take a shower and disappeared into the bathroom. 

Bagheera remained standing on the threshold, his emotions muted but the concern in his eyes obvious. 

There was a squirrel on his head. The newest addition to the house, it seemed. 

Chapter 74: Of internal turmoil and straw that broke the fairy’s back

Notes:

Beta-reader: MoonglowOnWater - Many thanks as always.

Chapter Text

“Under the surface

I hide my nerves, and it worsens, I worry something is gonna hurt us

Under the surface

The ship doesn't swerve as it heard how big the iceberg is

Under the surface

I think about my purpose, can I somehow preserve this?

Line up the dominoes

A light wind blows

You try to stop it from tumbling

But on and on it goes”

 

.

.

.

“Rghhhh.” Surprise. 

Fay nodded. 

“Rggh.” Disgust. 

She stared at him exasperatedly. ”Bag, don’t be like that.”

“Rghghh?” Uncertain. 

“I---I am—I am pretty sure. I think.” She rubbed her hands over her face. “I don’t know anymore.”

Bagheera stared at her. 

“It’s not easy, so don’t give me that look. Bag,” Fay placed her hands on each side of his face, eyes burning again. “What am I going to do?” She whispered meekly. 

The paladin stared at her for a moment, his emotions becoming more subtle than before as he pulled away and walked over to the wide array of sound buttons placed on the floor near her desk. Fay had originally gotten those for Pip, but the dog had no patience to learn. On the other hand, Nada had very cleverly learned which button was for ‘snacks’ and had started abusing it, forcing Fay to remove it. Bagheera rarely used it, mostly out of pride because they were dog buttons, but she caught him more than once playing with them, enthusiastic about being able to ‘speak’. That was how five buttons had turned into fifty-two over the space of a week, many of which were personalised, such as ‘danger’, ‘kidnap’, ‘concern’.

Disappear. Damian .”

Fay surreptitiously glanced over to the entrance, worried Damian might come back any minute. She could faintly hear his voice coming from downstairs. Dick had come by. 

“We’re not making Damian disappear.” She muttered. “Don’t be mean.”

Yes .”

“No.” She half-heartedly glared at him. “Don’t make me take the buttons away.”

Bagheera huffed, then walked back towards her, mischief projecting from him. 

Fay smiled tiredly. “I know you’re trying to cheer me up,” She muttered, reaching to rub his head. “And I know you don’t actually want him to disappear.” She leaned forward from where she was sitting on the bed and pressed her forehead against his large head. “I am confused. And I am also… not confused.” Her eyes stung, but no new tears formed. She had run out in the forty-five-minute shower she took, apparently. Or maybe she was just dehydrated. “Where’s the squirrel?”

Her paladin walked back to the buttons. “ Outside .”

Fay nodded. That seemed fair. The squirrel may have been used to being in the city amongst humans, but it wasn’t a domesticated animal. The creature was bound to enjoy the grove of trees around the warehouse and could come back for food. He clearly liked Bagheera, so Fay expected to see the squirrel come and go as it pleased. She made a mental note of setting up a feeder outside. 

A knock at the door made her turn around. Dick was standing at the entrance, smiling. “Hey, kiddo. I heard you’re not feeling too hot.”

Fay smiled, but it did not come as easily to her as it usually did. “Yeah,” She sighed. “Bad day.” One which wasn’t bound to go away anytime soon. 

“I brought takeaway,” He said as he watched her get up from the bed and walk over to him. In her baggy clothes and with the pale, tired features, Fay reminded him of the way she used to look years earlier. “And groceries.”

The girl grimaced. “I am sorry. You didn’t need to do that.” She sighed again. “He asked you, didn’t he?”

Dick chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. He’s lucky I am meeting with Jaybird today.” Fay’s lips curled at that. She hadn’t seen Jason in a while. He had come by a week after she’d returned from the island, but hadn’t paid any visits since then. “You both need to get some rest, it seems to me.”

“Mh-hm,” Fay nodded. “Is Jason alright?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t he be?”

She shrugged. “I haven’t seen him in a while. I thought, maybe… he was injured.” 

Dick smiled widely. “He’s not an easy one to take down, so don’t worry,” He would tease the other man about it, though. Dick knew Jason had somewhat of a soft spot for children in general, but he’d taken a real shine to Tinkerbell. He supposed they all had, to one extent or another, to the point where it was hard to consider Fay as being separate from their family. Not when Damian clearly considered her in that manner. And more, he thought. He wondered what his youngest brother intended to do about it. 

“Have a nice day,” Fay smiled, when he brushed a hand on top of her head. 

“Why are you still here, Grayson?” Damian asked as he came up the stairs, carrying the bags full of takeaway food. Dick made a show of looking wounded. The boy held no pity. “I will kick you out.” He wanted to be alone with Fay. Dick glanced from the corner of his eyes at the girl, noticing the way she averted her eyes to the floor, shoulders growing tense. Did anything happen between them? Damian had given no indication that that was the case. Damian’s mood was generally affected if something happened between him and Fay, even with how secretive he could be. Dick was also generally the first to know, which was both a blessing and a curse, at times. 

“Alright, alright,” He smiled. “Make sure you let those ribs heal, D, or I will help Alfred tie you up.”

“Tch. As if.”

Fay ate her chicken burrito slowly and quietly, back pressed against the pillows and knees pulled up, supporting her elbows. When she was done, she slid back underneath the covers. Damian was sitting next to her, both Nada and Pip staring at him with begging looks. He pointed out to the pets, as if they were people, that begging was undignified, but indulged them anyway. He didn’t ask her questions because he thought it was a Bad Day and he knew questions would not help. Time did. Fay hadn’t lied about her low mood or the exhaustion she felt, both physical and mental, but it wasn’t exactly a Bad Day. Her eyes kept going back to her friend and then she’d keep averting them because it made her chest ache. What was she going to do? 

“Redclaw requested a meeting yesterday evening,” Damian said. Fay tugged the duvet higher over her shoulders, fearing he’d read her body language. “I don’t believe I’ve had a chance to tell you the whole story.”

She swallowed, stomach feeling heavier than before. “The, um… whole story?”

He told her. By the end of it, Fay had almost completely sunk underneath the duvet, trying to hide the mortification she felt. I just assumed… how could I do that? Why would I do that? Her mind had gone straight to a scenario that clearly had been out of the realm of possibility, at least that evening. Fay felt tricked. By her own mind, of course. It was as if her brain had punished her for trying to rationalise all the new emotions in the past several months in a ‘let me show you.’ Or maybe she was going crazy. Her brain was her, not a separate entity. Fay had interpreted what she saw – despite being far away and not having all the details – because it was a fear that had been bubbling in the depths of her heart for a while. 

And now it didn’t matter that she’d misinterpreted. All the conclusions she’d come to after were still the same. 

“…I am—I am glad that you helped them,” Fay said tightly. Her voice sounded far away. Damian had noticed – of course, he had – because she felt his gaze on her. Fay wanted to tell him that she saw him, by mistake but then she’d have to explain why she took off and why she went to Cora, or worse, he might figure out there was a correlation between what she thought she saw and her current state. If there was anyone who’d figure it out, it’d be him. Damian packed away the empty containers, shoved them inside the bin she kept under the desk, and covered it with a book because any one of the pets, except maybe Oskar, might feel tempted to go through the scraps. 

He couldn’t lay down properly as the force exerted in a regular position caused his ribs to ache even worse. Damian had three pillows behind his back, keeping him upright and one on each side, to support his arms. Bagheera had healed him as much as he could, cutting Damian’s recovery time from five to approximately two weeks. The boy was left with a bruised abdomen and a general throbbing, but he could breathe easier, and that morning had even exercised lightly. Damian was always left with residual energy, a tiny bit of flux that felt cool and refreshing whenever the paladin healed him. 

“Come here,”

Fay hesitated before she gently moved over to him. She couldn’t lay her head on his torso, so she ended up on his lap, placing a pillow there to cushion her head. She faced away from him, which he would have preferred if she hadn’t, but he didn’t ask her to turn around. He slid a hand through her hair. She’d washed it earlier that morning, it felt soft to the touch, more so than usual. Oskar was snoring lightly at the foot of the bed, with Pip curled near his head. Nada preferred to sleep closer to Damian. Bagheera was on the floor, not fully asleep because he could feel Fay’s turmoil still, although she had calmed down considerably from the previous evening. She never wanted that to change, she thought. Those moments of peace and quiet, surrounded by pets and books while outside an icy gale stripped what was left of leaves on trees, the wind wailing. 

She’d get over it, she told herself. It was not a question of if , it was a must. Fay couldn’t be selfish. She already had so much of Damian, she couldn’t hope he’d give her more. Would he? Probably not. When talking about Redclaw’s advances on him, he remarked again how he was completely disinterested in such matters, and he wouldn’t waste his time. If he changed his idea one day, that was that. Was it? What about her? 

I don’t want things to change. Yet… why can’t I stop thinking about what it’d be like if….

Deft fingers brushed against the tape of her neck, then at the back of her skull and towards her ear. Fay relaxed. She never wanted that to stop, either. She was happy with what they had. She could keep being happy with what they had. 

I… am being greedy.

It was enough, she thought. One day, she might have to worry about sharing that, but not right then. 

(drip,dripdripripdripdripdrip)

.

.

.

It was difficult not to think about more. The last two weeks of November, they had spent most of the time together at the warehouse. They trained together. Fay finally had a chance to discuss in detail the tests Kaera had put her through, how she and Klaus mutually respected each other more. Her mood lifted each day, and he never asked what had triggered her bad day, but she knew. She could never not know. Fay found it easy to ignore it the first few days. They were back to normal. Discussing books and her world and talking about the homework she had from Lima and his cases. They went to the museum on the fourth day, and later they went to that restaurant she had wanted to try. They brushed against each other, and Fay would put her hands through his hair or kiss his cheek as she normally did. He’d snark and she’d smile, he’d criticise the food as if he were a critic and she’d giggle, calling him a prince. Why would she want anything to change, she’d tell herself? It was enough. 

Then the waitress came around and asked them if they’d like to have the special dessert of the day, to which Fay said yes because it was chocolate-based, and she’d never turn that down. “Okay-dokey,” The girl replied cheerfully as she jotted down on the notepad. “And what would the boyfriend like---?” She asked, smiling, turning to look at Damian. Fay blinked rapidly. It wasn’t the first time someone had assumed that was the nature of their rapport, but it was the first time she felt her heart race like that because of it. Damian didn’t look up from his phone. “I’ll have the strawberry cheesecake.” The waitress wasn’t deterred by his attitude, just wrote down his order and told them she’d come back later. He didn’t correct the waitress. Had he ever done that before? Fay couldn’t remember. Damian didn’t really care what others thought. Her cheeks felt hot even ten minutes later when the waitress brought around the chocolate gateau. 

“Why does it bother you?”

“Wut?” Fay said, fork still in her mouth. 

“That she insinuated we are together here in a different capacity.” Damian didn’t look interested in his cake, phone abandoned and his full attention on her. 

(if that was how he looked at her now, what would he look like if---)

Fay removed the fork, chewed the cake, and swallowed it. “It doesn’t,”

“You feel embarrassed.”

And something else, but he didn’t know that. Even she wasn’t sure what that something else was. 

“I—uh, no. I just—does it not annoy you?” She deflected. “That people assume?”

“Fools only ever assume. This isn’t the first or last time,” He replied curtly, before his eyes flitted to her fork. He watched, with daunting interest, as she brought it back to her mouth. “Would you prefer they did not?” She shrugged, using her full mouth as an excuse not to reply. The answer was no. She didn’t care what strangers thought, but it did make her think again. Wonder. She thought she’d gotten over that. Damian pushed his plate away, clearly not satisfied with his dessert although it looked delicious in her opinion, and watched her scoop up another piece of hers. Before she could bring the fork to her mouth, however, he grabbed her wrist and moved her hand towards him. Fay watched the fork disappear into his mouth. He didn’t let go of her wrist even after he wiped clean the fork and she needed a few seconds to process why she’d found the action distracting. “You could have just ordered gateau,” She muttered. 

“I can just have yours,” He smirked. Fay’s heart felt like it did a backflip. “Do friends not share? I believe that was a lecture you were quite keen on giving me recently.”

“That’s because you refused to share your fries,” Fay said pointedly. 

“That seems like a problem on your end. You ought to take what you want,” Fay pouted and lunged for his plate of strawberry cheesecake, but he pushed it out of the way. “Too slow.”

Fay pulled her plate closer to her and she leaned back. “That is mean. We can’t just take what we want.”

“Why not?” 

Well, he was in an awfully good mood. Damian had his own brand of playfulness, she’d learned in time, often manifesting in battles of wits she didn’t think she always kept up with. 

He’d probably like someone who would, though. 

Stop. 

“Because what we want… could be too selfish,” Fay mumbled. “Or it might hurt others.” 

“Hm.” His eyes glittered, like jewels. He didn’t comment. “It depends.”  

Fay was very, very confused. 

.

He made it hard not to think of things. No.  

No, it wasn’t his fault. It was hers, and those inappropriate thoughts that kept sneaking inside her mind. Damian wasn’t behaving in any different manner. It wasn’t his fault that she’d suddenly started wondering what it’d be like if she bit his neck instead of his cheek, or how an electric bolt of something startlingly good ran down her spine when they ended up wrestling on the floor. He had started it, but she wasn’t going to go down easily, even if he was still recovering, although she made sure not to hit him in the torso or put pressure there. She was suddenly more aware of where his hands touched her in those moments. When his hand gripped the back of her one thigh, right below her ass. When one another pinned her hands up and his weight pressed into her. When she felt his lean waist between her knees. How strangely appealing the corded muscles between his shoulder blades were, which had become more defined, how the veins on his forearms became pronounced when he was tense. She ended up winning because was so mortified by her own thoughts, she’d wanted to get away as soon as possible. Damian pointed out she’d cheated because the rule was not to use her flux and she had frozen his limbs. 

Fay was tempted to point out that it was a miracle she’d converted the water particles to ice when she felt so feverish on the inside. She didn’t.

.

When his eyes were closed and Fay reached to his face, as she usually did, brushing her fingers over his features, her eyes kept moving back to his mouth. Damian was a prodigious individual. Quick learner. He would become good at kissing very quickly and he’d have all the confidence in the world to back it up. Fay removed her hand and pulled away, uncomfortable she’d ended up thinking about whether he’d ever thought about kissing someone (or her). 

.

Fay adored Damian. He was her boy with green eyes and she was certain she had never meant it in any way other than she cared about him. Simple as that. He was important to her. A happy place. A safe, caring space. When her parents had died, her world had grown very, very small in terms of where she could feel safe even at her worst. Bagheera had been the only one who’d kept her world from closing in on herself permanently. Then Damian had come along, demanding, arrogant and obnoxious, winding himself into her world through the cracks in the walls she’d put up around herself, even when she had been afraid. Even though she hadn’t thought she deserved it. How could she not love him? What they had was enough. She was happy. Happier than she thought she’d ever get to be again. That was not a lie. 

Why did she have to want more? 

It’d pass. It had to. 

(dripdripdripdripdripdrip)

.

Something was off about Fay, Damian could tell. It was in the small gestures. The way she wouldn’t maintain eye contact and averted her eyes, the way she’d tense up at times when he touched her, and how agitated she’d become when he had pinned her down during their last light sparring. If he laid down on the bed next to her, she’d started to turn away from him or put distance between them. She didn’t seem bothered if he pulled her closer, but there was something off about her responsiveness. 

His mind went back to the conversation with Stephanie. Could that be it? Fay was growing uncomfortable with the level of physical contact between them. That didn’t seem plausible. Not after the way she’d touched him that evening at the Manor. Had that made her more uncomfortable than she let on? Was that why she had looked embarrassed suddenly by someone making assumptions about their relationship? 

Damian’s mouth filled with a sour taste. 

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3 rd of December

Right ,” Titoh looked excited. “ The painting you told me about. The one that was signed by Aranar Carwhel. Or whoever is using that name .”

“Yes. What about it?”

There were flowers in it? I can’t remember what they were called but you said they’re local---”

Fay shut her eyes, brows furrowing as she tried to recall the name. “Yes, yeah. Uh… bu—boun—no, that’s not it---boug--bougainvillaea. I think that’s it. Bougainvillaea .” 

Titoh nodded, face lighting up. “ What if they weren’t ?”

Fay opened her eyes. “What? What do you mean?”

The hologram of the boy captured his figure vividly but the chair and table he was seated on were only projected faintly. It looked like he was in the library. Fay watched him lean towards a pile of books to his left and grab one from the middle of the stack. A few papers flew in the air and off the desk, which he ignored. 

I was in the Hall of Remembrance looking through the old books there. Corim asked me to write a paper on how I could combine a group of lesser-known plants to make use of their healing properties. If I’d been in Maysoon, I would have probably had a look at mot—Evara’s old journals but… hm. You know .” She did. Much of her mother’s research had been lost in the attack, burned down or buried under rubble when the palace was destroyed. “ Then I realised there are so many books from decades ago that the library might contain some rare ones. Maybe some of Evara’s. She and Damar have come to this place before, after all .”

Fay’s eyes grew wider. “And are they?” She asked in surprise. “Something of mother’s?” 

Titoh shook his head, “ Not… exactly ,” He gestured with his index finger, “ I found this journal. Multiple journals actually, decades old, and they don’t have an author. Look —” The journal was thick, its cloth covers worn out and the pages inside thin and yellowed out. When Titoh rifled through it, bringing the journal closer to his cube, Fay spotted all the rich drawings and notes that filled the pages. Handwritten notes, seemingly all by the same hand, and the colour of the ink varied from blue to green to red. It reminded her of the way Bernard’s Bible had looked, full of scribbles and words encircled and sentences underlined. The text had been written in the runic language of Maysoon. She did not recognize all the botanical terms, although she knew plenty from her mother. Titoh was right, however. The journal looked very old, and he had to touch it in a delicate manner because the covers were threatening to fall off and the pages looked beaten down. The entire journal looked like it had lived long past its due date. 

I found about a dozen in the same handwriting. They were all hidden in an old chest, ignored. Corim told me that they are likely journals brought over by Resistance members a long time ago .” He paused. “ It doesn’t look like--like her handwriting. Does it ?” He opened the journal again and turned it towards her.

Fay shook her head. “No.” It had been a while, but she’d recognize her mother’s handwriting still. Evara’s handwriting had been neither hideous nor beautiful. There’s one thing she was average at, Fay thought in dark amusement. “It doesn’t seem so.” A part of her hoped she’d find herself staring at an old journal of her mother’s. There had to be some left in Maysoon, if not salvaged original works, then certainly copies. 

Hm. ” Titoh scratched at his temple. “ There’s one more thing ,” He lowered the journal momentarily so he could flip the pages, appearing to look for something specific. He stopped three-quarters in and lifted the journal again. Fay’s eyes widened when she saw the flower sketch on the right page, taking up the better part of it. They looked exactly like the bougainvillaea she’d seen covering entire walls in Colombia, the petals colored in red. Her eyes narrowed. “ The Bougainvillea? I think I have seen it in red in Colombia as well ,” She pulled her phone and did a quick search which confirmed what she already knew. “Yep. There’s pink, magenta, purple, red, orange, white, or yellow.”

What colour were they in the painting ?”

“Most of those.”

“Were the colours grouped together? For example, red and yellow, and white and purple?”

Fay blinked. “As a matter of fact… yes. Exactly like that. How did you---?”

The boy opened the journal again, on a page filled with sketches of flowers. One of the scribbles, small enough to fit in her palm, in the upper corner of the left page resembled the shape of the Bougainvillea plant. The sketch was not colored, but Titoh gestured for her to wait as he reached for something out of her line of sight. A moment later, he was holding a large, thick tome with dark leather covers. It also looked old, albeit conserved in a much better state. The title was written in the Maysoon language. It was an encyclopaedia on botany. Not one Fay was familiar with, but she was reminded of the hundreds – if not thousands – that her mother had kept in her collection. Studying a plant in detail allowed her to understand how to apply her flux effectively, Evara used to say. The tome, opened three quarters in, was turned around so Fay could see what it was that caught Titoh’s face. 

“No way,” She instinctively leaned forward. “Is that…?” The same three simple waxy flowers, dozens of them on a long thorny vine, except they were not uniformly colored. Each flower had a set of two colours. One handful had red petals with yellow striations. Another handful was white with purple splotches as if someone had dripped ink on them. “They’re the same… but not the same?”

Titoh nodded as he lowered the tome and pulled it back towards him. “ They’re called Passion Flowers, here. According to the encyclopaedia, research on them dates to at least a century back. They grow in a handful of villages, sunny places in Aeryg, Maysoon, and Atlabas. There are several hundred varieties, and they can be brewed. It can be used to help with gastrointestinal issues and mild coughs.”

“Maybe it was the Seekers?” Fay theorised. “They would have brought back seeds, amongst other things they thought would be useful here.”

The boy shrugged. “Possibly. It can’t be a coincidence, though, can it?”

Maybe not, although the two worlds shared plenty in common in matters of flora and fauna. 

“The journal names them Passion Flowers. It’s on this island though, maybe it didn’t belong to a Resistance member but a Seeker.” Titoh glanced to the side with a contemplative look. “I found several chests full of items which appear to be from beyond the barrier.”

“I’ve seen those too.” The Seekers were quite the trinket collectors. Or the Guardians were. Or both. 

“I asked Corim about it,” Titoh added. “ He said that Passion Flowers are not well known as they are generally used for remedies within smaller areas. They’re not easy plants to raise and there are alternatives that are both more effective and easier to produce and transport. He also said that sometimes these flowers were used to guide rebels in knowing which places were safe to hide. Amongst many others, depending on location.”

Hmm ,” Fay’s lips pursued. “ I wonder if that’s meant to be a clue. A hidden place .”

“Or perhaps we’re reading into it too much.” Titoh sighed. “ There were no flowers in the second or third place you’ve been, anyway.”

“No, I am afraid there weren’t---” Fay stopped. Wait a second. That wasn’t true. “Wait. Just a second, Titoh.” Fay took a minute to untangle herself from the fort she’d buried herself in and went over to her desk where her laptop was. The camera she had with her when they went travelling earlier that year had been irreparably damaged, but she had luckily saved the MicroSD with all the pictures she’s taken in Colombia and Scotland. 

Opening the lid of her laptop, Fay quickly went to her gallery where she had dozens of different albums, the number growing with each year. In the ‘Highlands’ folder, she quickly swiped through over hundred-odd pictures before she arrived at the one that she wanted. 

The ghost orchid. 

Fay zoomed onto one of the photos and then turned her laptop around toward Titoh. “This is the ghost orchid.” She told him how the flowers were out of view and the priest there told her the ghost orchid is incredibly rare in that part of her world. Fay had made a note of researching it but between the subsequent travels and the three-month trip to the island, she had completely forgotten. 

Titoh stared at it for a moment. “It does not look familiar, but I can check. Give me a few minutes.”

Fay waited. This was good. It was a good distraction. She hadn’t thought about Damian once. 

But she also didn’t want to not think about him. 

She resisted rolling her eyes at the conundrum she was facing. 

Oh! ” Titoh exclaimed as he stopped rifling through the stack of journals he’d pulled to his side. He raised one up, which was thicker than the first one but in an even worse shape. “ Is this it?” He asked, turning the journal around, a few pages threatening to fly out from the deteriorated binding. Fay stared at the sketch, which occupied the better part of the page to her right. A short stem with flat cord-like green roots constituted the bulk of the plant, with the flowers perched on spikes. The lower petals were drawn as two long, lateral tendrils twisted slightly downward, which made the overall flower resemble a jumping frog. 

“Yes,” Fay said, feeling baffled. “Did you find any information on it?” 

He nodded and pulled back another leather-tome, smaller and thinner than the first. Fay couldn’t make out the title as the white-haired boy kept it down to rifle through it. “ Here it is .” He tilted the encyclopaedia again and she was rewarded with a far more detailed, coloured version of the sketch in the journal. The same plant, but instead of white, the petals were colored a bright crimson. The measurements also seemed to vary compared to the orchids she’d seen in Scotland. The ones from her world were bigger, at least twice the size. “ Huh. It can be found in Vontagor. The official explanation on its origins is that it was exported to those lands by a nomadic tribe, most likely from Maysoon or the sunnier parts of Atlabas, but there’s also a myth about a desert dragon bleeding on it. The orchid is considered an indicator of sources of water nearby or under the ground.” Titoh found an illustration a couple of pages later and he turned the tome around to show it to her. It was a painting of a four-legged, winged serpentine dragon with a head that resembled a bird rather than a reptile with its curved beak. The dragon was lying on its side, the ground beneath him pooling in crimson with vines growing out of it on top, sprouting the familiar frog-shaped orchids. 

“Huh.” Fay scratched her forehead. “A desert dragon. I wonder if that’s meant to be a lead.” 

You say the lands you’ve travelled were barren?”

“There was just sand where the coordinates led us.” Fay sighed. “I haven’t shown aunt Lira the ghost orchid. I wonder if she knows about this myth, given how much she travels.” 

She might. Can you also tell her that Moma is wondering when she’ll be back? Lira is thinking of going to Maysoon for a few months.”

Fay blinked. “Tell her? What do you mean? She has gone back to Maysoon after she brought me back from the island.”

Titoh looked equally confused. “ No… I don’t think so. I haven’t seen her and Moma would have known anyway. I thought Lira stayed with you.”

Fay’s brows furrowed. She exchanged a look with her paladin before returning her attention to Titoh. “Maybe… maybe I misunderstood but… I haven’t seen her at all since then.” Throughout the summer, Fay had seen little of her aunt as well. She hadn’t really thought of it as Lira was restless by nature and Fay knew she sometimes trained the other teenagers on the island. “I will text her.” If she was in Gotham, why wouldn’t she let Fay know? 

You don’t know where she’s staying?”

“Not really. Part of the agreement was that she won’t stay in the city, but she’s known where I live for months. I think she lives somewhere on the outskirts of the city, but I have never seen her place.”

Titoh hummed in acknowledgment. “ She’s pretty secretive. You know how she used to come and go in Maysoon as well.”

Fay nodded. “I am going to look. We always meet in the same place when I leave for the island.” 

The boy nodded. He asked if she’d keep him posted and she agreed. 

It felt nice. The two of them researching and working together like that. 

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.

.

By the time Fay was done talking to Titoh it was late in the evening, and she knew Damian planned on going to Blüdhaven to see Dick. Fay decided to do some research of her own, which made her feel nostalgic of the hours she used to spend at the café near the soup kitchen researching Europe. Unlike then she now had a faster computer and a whole AI to help her with finding information. It didn’t take her long to learn that Egypt had its own mythology on dragons. One in particular drew her attention. The dragon named Akhekh, whose description was almost identical to the one in the story Titoh told her about. Serpentine body, four legs, wings, and a bird’s head. According to Egyptian mythology, the dragon resided in the fertile lands near the Nile Valley, and was related to Seth, the personification of darkness and evil. 

Fay found no information on the ghost orchid in that part of the world. She did find that Akhekh had likely served as inspiration for some famous mythological creatures of Europe, such as the Griffin. Fay also found two Greek mythologies centred around dragons, Typhon and Python, respectively, which bore resemblance to the Akhekh. I wonder if the orchid is meant to lead to one of these places. Yet, it seems so far-fetched. Whoever left the painting and the subsequent clues had knowledge of both worlds, that much was certain. 

Could her parents have anything to do with it? But why ? She shook her head to herself and glanced at her wristwatch. It was twenty past ten. Fay felt restless, and she couldn’t get through Lira, whose number appeared to have been disconnected. Perhaps she’d changed phones again? Her aunt tended to lose or break her phone often, and as a result, used it for very little aside from communications with Fay. She used to meet with her aunt regularly and they never had a reason to talk outside that. After Lira had revealed she knew about the warehouse, the woman had dropped by on several occasions (much to the ire of Damian). What if something happened to her? She found the idea ludicrous given Lira’s abilities and experience. Then she realised she used to think the same of her parents and clearly, she had been wrong--That thought made her feel nauseous, so Fay got up from the bed and decided to get dressed. 

“Shall we have a look, Bag?” 

“Rgghhh.”

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.

Fay pulled the large cashmere scarf out of her backpack and wrapped it loosely around her neck; she’d started to feel rather cold after two hours on the outskirts of Gotham County. The wind had grown stronger and colder, muffling the sounds of the forest and sending leaves dancing in the air. There were hardly any patches of ground that didn’t squelch underneath her boots; there had been a thunderstorm the previous night. Fay came across a couple of old trees that had found their demise at the hand of lighting bolts if the scorch marks on the bark were any indication. They travelled to the area where Lira generally picked them up to leave for the island, an open space at the edge of Gotham County. There were farms and factories within a thirty-kilometre radius, but Fay doubted her aunt resided anywhere there. 

Taking advantage of the largely quiet, remote area, Fay and Bag walked back towards Gotham until they found themselves near the site of Angel’s former compound. Seventy kilometres away from Gotham City Island. Huh. Could have she come here? Last she’d checked, the unfinished military compound had been cleaned by the authorities and sealed off to prevent further access. Lira would have been vaguely aware of it from Fay’s story on her encounter with the Angel, but the girl never suspected her aunt might have gone there given the hatch leading underground had been filled with cement. 

When they arrived there, the first thing they noticed was that the fence which had once delineated the former military property was gone. A good part of it had been damaged in the fight that night, and Fay could make out the remnants of trees that had been toppled over along with small debris that had never been collected, such as scraps of metal. The building from which the chimaeras had emerged was a half-demolished carcass and threatened to be engulfed by weeds. The entire area, in fact, had been reclaimed by nature with the ground covered in a swathe of auburn and gold leaves. In spring and summer, the place likely resembled a former criminal compound even less, what with all the vegetation that had grown there. She could make out the craters she had caused, and stared at them for a minute, musing on how if someone had told her old self – the Fay from that night - she’d end up where she did, she would have probably laughed hysterically. So much has changed. 

They walked over to where the hatch used to be, nearly missing it because of a rotten wooden log that had been rolled on top of it. Near that, she spotted a fallen white and red sign, rusted along the edges and bent out of shape, prohibiting access. When they moved the log away to get a better look, all they found was a square portion of cement covering where the heavy metal hatch should have been. It was untouched.  

A few minutes into their perusal, Bagheera’s head tilted up when the breeze coming from behind them brought over a scent that piqued his interest. Fay noticed him turn around, nostrils flaring as he tried to understand the direction the scent was coming from. He led her off the compound, into the opposite direction she and the other children had escaped from that night, towards the borders of the county albeit not quite where they’d come from either. 

Fay pulled out her tablet. She did not have the blueprint of the bunker at hand, but earlier she’d opened a geographical map of the area. When her paladin stopped, four or five kilometres later, Fay realised they’d stopped near a former sewer system that used to go all the way to the centre of the city and had been put out of commission following an explosion which had led to the better part of it caving in. Other sewer systems had been built to replace it. Her paladin stopped before the round entrance of the canal. The continuous rains in November had formed a small, steady stream of water that was dark with mud. Piles of leaves, litter, and debris filled the floor at the entrance and when Fay pointed the flashlight of her phone down the tunnel, she noticed it went on for perhaps a hundred metres before splitting into two directions. 

“Is that where you’re getting the scent?”

“Rgghh.” Her paladin blinked twice. Yes. 

“Aunt Lira?” She asked, with brows furrowed. What would her aunt be doing in there? Could she really be in danger? 

Uncertainty wafted off her paladin. 

Fay pulled out her domino mask and kept it at hand, just in case. She hadn’t put on her suit because she didn’t think she’d need it, but she always carried her mask and a blade on her. Fay also activated both hers and Bagheera’s trackers, just in case. Although several months had passed since their brush with Ra’s al Ghul, Damian remained wary of his grandfather’s interest in her and how easily he had let her go. 

.

She was starting to regret coming there. It was dark and humid and the rats skittering away from them sounded louder than they should have, setting her on edge. Out of solidarity for her paladin, she walked rather than flew, immensely grateful for the sturdy, waterproof material of her boots. Bagheera was going to need a bath when they got out of there. The tunnel shrunk thirty metres in, and Fay had to bow slightly to fit, all while staying away from the thick layer of calcite buildup on the walls and floors. Bagheera stopped where the tunnel split into two, before turning left. 

Fay felt her watch buzz. She reached to one ear where the transmitter was and tapped it twice. 

Are you actively trying to get yourself killed?”

She sighed. A tad overdramatic, her friend. “Of course not. I was just looking for my aunt and Bagheera caught a scent.”

“Do not go into the sewers until I’ve reached you.’’

Fay smiled sheepishly although he couldn’t see it. 

“You’ve already gone in, haven’t you.”

“Yes. I have.” The tunnel curved another sixty metres in, and they turned right. I am not defenceless. Irritation suddenly pulsed in her veins, because while she understood why Damian was overprotective, she also felt they were going through the same old pattern of him relying more on his contingency plans than her improved ability to defend herself. “If I need help, I will let you know.” Then she shut off the comms. Fay inhaled behind her scarf, feeling mildly guilty. She was not sure where her anger came from, she appreciated that he looked out for her, and she did have a track record of ending up in dangerous situations. A part of her, she supposed, was still stung by how little he’d kept her in the loop with the Whitman and Redclaw case. She didn’t expect him to worry about reporting back to her, but was it always going to be like that? When he had a case, she’d have to stand by and wait around until it’s done? He’ll always be Robin, though, and… one day, he’ll take over his father’s role. 

If I wanted to visit my home… he won’t be able to come, will he? 

(drip,dripdripdripdripdripdrip)

They walked for approximately twenty-five minutes, the tunnel winding left and right underneath the ground and when she’d checked her own tracker, Fay realised they were heading in the direction of the bunker. A sound caught Bagheera’s attention and he stopped. Fay stared at him confusedly, snapping out of her reverie, but then she heard it as well. The tunnel came to end approximately thirty metres ahead of them. They slowed down as they approached the wall there, which looked damaged as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. Maybe that was exactly what had happened, she thought upon seeing the uneven opening that had been carved out, and the pieces of cement. The hole had been covered with a wooden panel. 

The sound coming from behind the panel was intermittent. It sounded like a voice talking and laughing with music in the background. A laugh that sounded incredibly familiar, yet also very distant. It had been years since she’d last heard it. Fay’s heart plummeted to her stomach as she approached the wooden panel and heard the voice again. 

‘Fay, please stop fighting with Titoh.’

A gasp left her throat, body jerking away from the panel as if she’d just been electrocuted. Fay’s eyes filled with tears, and she had to raise a hand to her mouth because of the sob that rapidly formed in the back of her throat. It was her mother’s voice. It couldn’t be, though. How could it? 

‘But mother, he’s saying that the story is stupid—’

‘Because it is!’

No. It couldn’t be her mother. It was, but it wasn’t. Her voice – her younger self’s – voice was on there and Fay would have probably not recognized it without the other two, but she did recognise Titoh’s. Bagheera whined softly next to her and brushed a paw against the wooden panel, shifting it backward. With trembling hands, Fay pocketed her phone and helped him push back the panel, nearly causing the heavy wood to fall back and crash against the floor. She flew after it, lifting herself in the air, and caught the panel before it could hit the floor. It was perhaps ten centimetres thick, one-hundred-eighty centimetres high, and at least ninety centimetres in width.  

Bagheera stepped in after her. The walls around them were flat, forming a small square antechamber with a tall ceiling. It looked like the bunker’s walls. Looking up, she was greeted with a metallic door that starkly reminded her of the one she’d seen before, years earlier when she had been held captive. A rush of adrenaline propelled her forward and she pressed on the handle of the door to open it. She knew her mother wasn’t there, yet she could not stop the sudden elation that surged through her, as if expecting Evara to be waiting for her on the other side of the door. 

She wasn’t.

A long corridor awaited her instead, which would have been dark had it not been for the lights at the other end casting dramatic shadows. The sounds were louder, she could hear her mother’s voice as clear as if she had been there, and Fay glided down the corridor without hesitation, uncaring if it was a trap or not. They exited into a large round space with several floor lanterns left on the ground to illuminate the room. There were three doors. One ahead of her, one to her left and one to her right. The sound was coming from her right. The temperature was warmer in there and an unexpected whiff of food reached her nose. With a heart drumming in her ribcage, Fay opened the door to her right and found a second corridor, albeit smaller. Even before she reached its end, she was able to make out the soft, warm fairy lights hanging from the ceilings and the pieces of furniture that should not be in there. 

With Bagheera by her side, Fay froze just short of exiting the corridor, eyes wide with disbelief as they glued to the woman walking across the room. 

“Mo---mother?” Fay choked. “Mom!” 

Evara didn’t even look at her as she walked from one end of the room to the other, barefoot, dressed in a pair of dark trousers with a silky green shirt cinched at her waist with a belt. Auburn hair, thick and wavy, tumbled down her back all the way to her hipbones and she held a book in her hands. She looked up, into Fay’s direction, and smiled. 

“Mother—” Fay nearly stepped towards her, ready to fling herself into the woman’s arms. 

Then she realised where the woman was looking. It wasn’t her face. A smaller version of Fay – no older than seven or eight – appeared out of nowhere, a phantasm turned real, and ran over to Evara, to wrap her small arms around the woman’s waist. A moment later, a younger version of Titoh appeared from behind the woman, pouting while a small Bagheera stood between the two children, looking up at the woman curiously. 

It wasn’t real. 

Of course, it’s not real. 

I already knew that. 

It was a hologram. 

Fay sunk to her knees, vision blurring with tears, the breath knocked out of her chest by the shattering sense of disappointment that filled her. Bagheera stepped forward in the middle of the room to the small cube that was glowing brightly as if it were a lightbulb and slapped it with his paw. The image of her mother and her younger self flickered wildly, and the voices became distorted. The paladin repeated the gesture, albeit more forcefully, sending the cube rolling away several metres. The hologram vanished and a deafening silence filled the room. Fay could feel blood rush in her ears, but, encouraged by her paladin, she stood back up, taking deep breaths. 

I really thought…

She glanced at the cube where it’d been knocked off. It was a memory cube. How did that even get there? 

This is the bunker, definitely. Someone has accessed it through the old sewer. 

Who? 

It couldn’t be Lira. She’d---why wouldn’t she tell me? 

Something also smelled burnt. 

Fay brushed a hand over her face and tugged off the scarf because she was struggling to breathe. She felt sweaty yet cold at the same time, and she realised that she’d been so enraptured by the hologram – and the hope she was looking at her real mother – that she had missed out on the details of the room. It was roughly the size of the previous one but with only one door, to her left, which was closed. There was an old sofa pushed against the wall across from her. Battery fairy lights taped to the ceiling and a light sphere placed on a stack of books near the sofa. An old round table with two mismatched chairs was covered in papers and books. Books from her world, she realised as she approached the table. 

And journals. A whole stack of them, leather-bound with titles and brief descriptions etched into the spines in gold. Fay nearly knocked herself against the table in her rush to grab one of the journals, wondering if it was another illusion or wishful thinking on her end. However, opening the front cover, her eyes immediately landed on the signature at the bottom of the page, above a red stamp of a sigil that could have only belonged to only one person. 

Evara Estaris. 

“This is impossible—” Fay abandoned that journal and started going through the others, one by one with increasing agitation. They all carried her mother’s signature, and whilst falsification of the signature and sigil was possible, why would anyone do that? Why would anyone bring fakes there? 

Originals. These are the originals. 

How---?

Heavy footsteps echoing from the passage beyond the closed door caught her paladin’s attention. He assumed a protective stance between her and the door, fur rising on his back. Fay lowered the journal on the table and turned to face the door, watching the handle going down and hearing the metal of the door creak and squeak as it was swung open. The burning scent she felt earlier wafted in with renewed strength – burnt food? -- and she noticed wisps of smoke rise from behind the person to the ceiling. 

“Oi, Lira, ye back already?”  

That voice. It can’t be…

A cold, tingling sensation spread from her head down to her torso and legs, rendering her frozen to the spot. Her stomach turned to a sickly pit and she felt something prickle at the back of her neck. 

The large, bald man was without doubt not a hologram. 

“B-Baije?” The word barely left her mouth, more of a whimper than a fully formed sound. 

“Lafayette?” Baije’s eyes widened. “In the name of bloody Tora, it is you! And---Bagheera!”

She fainted. 

.

.

.

“She is not going to talk to me again.”

“Don’t be dramatic, of course, she will. Yer her favourite aunt.”

“I won’t be after this. Why the fuck were you not standing guard?”

“I was baking—”

“Why the fuck were you baking? This isn’t a retreat---”

“I have you told many times. Cooking relaxes me—”

Two individuals arguing loudly near her was not helping the pounding in her head. She cracked her eyes open, her right hand reaching to her head, and she moved into a sitting position, slowly because she felt disoriented. Was she sitting down? Why was she sitting down? Oh. Did she faint? Oh, yes. She did. Because moments after watching a gut-wrenching hologram of her mother, Fay had come face to face with her godfather whom she hadn’t seen in years. Because he’d been missing. 

Except it appeared he’d been closer than she’d thought. 

Fay blinked a few times until her vision cleared, and she found herself staring at both Baije and Lira, standing in the middle of the room – same room as before – staring at her.  “ Com’ere, to old Baije !” The man grinned, raising his arms to invite a hug. Fay didn’t need him to insist. She flew off the sofa and into his arms. Even though she had grown quite a bit since she’d last seen him, the man still managed to make her feel like a small child. She felt dwarfed in his large, muscled arms and her arms just barely came around his wide shoulders. 

Oh Baije, I missed you .” She cried. “ I thought something happened to you---I looked for you and no one could tell me where you were and---”

He patted her back. “ There, there, young lady. Ol’ Baije is alive ‘n well, no need to worry .” He let her go and Fay lowered herself to the ground. She had barely reached past his elbow the last time she’d stood next to him. Now the top of her head was almost past his shoulder. Baije was not a particularly tall man and people often underestimated him when he was, in reality, a very dangerous man. Half-Duanima, half-human. 

Cannot believe me eyes ,” Baije said as he cupped Fay’s cheeks with large, calloused hands. “ Yer a young lady, ha!”

Bagheera, who had been quietly observing from the side, approached Fay to slide his head under one of her hands. Even he knew that what was about to follow was bound to shake his Fay emotionally again. “ Schtop ---” Fay giggled and removed his hands from her face. Her smile faded slowly when her eyes fell on Lira who was standing to her right, trying and failing to look not as nervous as she clearly was. 

Aunt Lira ,” Fay frowned, as the circumstances of her happy reunion with Baije struck her again. Her aunt knew Baije was alive and well and from the looks of it, living in the bunker, yet she hadn’t told Fay about it. “ I don’t understand ,” Her eyes flitted to the table behind Baije. The journals were still there. Journals which had been written and touched by her mother, the likes of which Fay didn’t think she’d see anytime soon again. Not in such a perfect condition. How was that even possible? 

Lira grimaced. “I know it’s very confusing, flea but---it’s complicated.”

Complicated. Obviously. 

“How… how long have you been here?” She asked. Lira pursued her lips and looked like she was struggling to offer an answer. Fay averted her eyes to Baije who sighed loudly as he rubbed a hand over his bald head. “How long ?” Fay asked again, unconsciously raising her voice. She found it hard to feel guilty given the emotional whiplash she was facing. “ Aunt Lira.” Fay pressed when she still got no response. 

The woman sighed, then shook her head to herself. “Fuck, alright. It’s too late anyway.” She muttered under her breath, before straightening. “Baije has been here since the beginning of summer.” She said sharply, crossing her arms over her chest. “He is suffering from partial amnesia and we have been trying to figure out what your parents have hidden in this world.”

Fay felt light-headed. 

“I—what—” She stammered. “What—what do you mean my parents hid?”

Baije cleared his throat, drawing her attention. “It’s a long story, lass. Perhaps we should---”

Fay shook her head. “No. No .” A wave of helpless anger simmered inside of her. “Tell me. Right now.”  In retrospect, her godfather had made a good point about taking a breather and calmly bringing her up to date. Lira went ahead and satisfied her demand to tell her what was going on but Fay’s mind struggled to process it, capturing only bits of what she was being told. 

(dripdripdripipdripdripdrip)

Her parents may have left answers to what happened that night in that world. 

(dripdripdripipdripdripdrip)

Prominent former members of the Resistance were missing. Some were dead.


(dripdripdripipdripdripdrip)

Aryg knew. Her uncle knew.  

(dripdripdripipdripdripdrip)

Baije had no memory. A letter telling him only to trust certain people. 

(dripdripdripipdripdripdrip)

Baije and Lira had figured out what the flowers meant. Her parents had left behind a safe house. Mount Parnassus, something about a Greek mythological story that her parents had used because the painting had been left by them, as had been all the other clues. 

(dripdripdripipdripdripdrip)

“Flea, I am sorry---I really didn’t want to hide this from you. Or lie to you. There’s still so much we don’t know---"

“I… I need to go.” 

“What---”

“Lafayette—”

“B-Bag, um, let’s-let’s go.” 

Fay flew past her aunt, down the corridor she’d come from, ignoring both Lira and Baije calling her back. 

(Crack)

Chapter 75: Of buckets breaking and agreements

Notes:

Beta-reader: MoonglowOnWater - Many thanks as always.

I hope you enjoy this new chapter. The next update will likely not be until next Sunday. As usual, your comments are more than welcome!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“The question, love, is whether you want me enough to take the risk.”

― Lisa Kleypas

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Did---Did she just hang up on him? Damian sneered at nothing before scoffing. “Idiot,” 

“What did you do?” 

The boy spun around, eyes flashing. “What did I do? How dare you---"

“D,” Dick raised a hand in a placating manner because the boy was bound to go from zero to one hundred, and he did not want to spend his evening arguing with his younger sibling. “Chill. I am teasing you. What’s the matter?”

“— TT —” Damian crossed his arms over his chest. He offered a curt summary of his conversation with Fay. “She’s being unreasonable.” He said, in conclusion. Dick sat down next to him with a large bowl of popcorn in his arms. When he didn’t comment, he could feel the boy’s eyes boring in the side of his face. Haley just stared at them, cheerfully. “You don’t agree.”

“You’re both right,” Dick said, finally. “You want to keep her safe which is understandable given we don’t know what Ra’s wanted with her or why he is interested in her world. He knows she lives here, and it’s better to be cautious.” 

But ?” Damian glared. 

The older man sighed. “I couldn’t help but notice that Fay has been… off, lately. I know she still experiences panic attacks and those can take a toll on her, but she’s been spacing out often. Alfred noticed as well. He said she almost cut her fingers while helping him in the kitchen the other day. Fay is quiet and introspective, but I think we can both agree she’s usually not that clumsy. I’ve sparred with her, seen her train. She can be very focused when she needs to be.” 

Damian’s irritation melted away and he frowned. 

“Is something going on?” Dick asked, glancing at him. 

The teenager’s jaw tightened. “I… am not certain,” He admitted lowly. “She’s been behaving oddly.”

“You mean that she’s distracted?”

“It bothers her when I am… close,” Damian said sharply yet also somewhat hesitantly, the words leaving his mouth quickly. “She’s also embarrassed by people assuming we are in a relationship.” He sneered again. “As if it matters what others think.”

Dick paused. That was indeed odd. He’d seen how comfortable Fay can be with Damian, never showing any hesitation to step into his private bubble which not many could say they did so successfully, or as often as she did. It was not a privilege she’d earned quickly or easily, but Dick thought she was aware of that, just as much as she seemed to understand when it was best to give Damian his space. It went both ways, of course, because Fay had taken a long time to grow comfortable around Damian and the others. Dick remembered a time when the girl refused to meet anyone’s eyes and rarely ever stepped too far away from Bagheera, wanting to make herself as little as possible. It made him wonder about her family, who Damian had the most insight in. And Jason, apparently, although his other sibling was rather secretive himself. 

“Hm. Have you spoken to her about it?”

“What would you have me say?” The boy asked irritably.

Definitely not that you’ve been researching statistics on relationships and marriages, that’s for sure , Dick thought. “Has this started at any particular point? Was it after what happened in Egypt?”

“No. She has not been… significantly rattled by that,” Damian said coolly. If anything, Fay had wanted – succeeded – to comfort him . He wasn’t sure whether to be worried or proud of the resilience she’d been demonstrating in the face of danger. Ra’s should not be underestimated. “She was happy. Travelling, that is. She misses her homeworld.” 

“I see,” Dick said carefully. “You believe she may be thinking of returning?”

“Possibly. If not now, in the future, she will.”

Where does that leave him? Dick could already imagine it. Damian would ultimately not be able to stop it, nor would he if Fay truly wished to go back to her homeworld. He would be pained by it, but he’d also lock away his emotions and bury that part of him that would inevitably continue to feel the loss. Would Fay really leave, though? She adored Damian. Those two, in their own strange, dysfunctional ways, had found ways of encouraging each other to be better. Dick had gotten to know the girl well enough to predict she would contemplate at length her departure and not without taking into consideration whether Damian would go with her. “Gotham will still be here, you know,” Dick said suddenly, not needing to add any more detail than that because Damian was intelligent enough to pick up the things unsaid. Your home will still be here if you wanted to leave. 

“I never said I wanted to leave,”

But you’ve been thinking about it, “It’s up to you. There was a time I used to think I would only ever be Robin.”

“You and I are not the same,” Damian grumbled. “I will be taking over the cowl when the day comes,” Once upon a time, he used to sound more convincing. Ten-year-old Damian used to declare he was ready to take over his father’s duty in the city. Thirteen-year-old Damian had grown wise enough to know that there were things even he had not gotten a chance to learn within the League. Almost-sixteen-years old Damian was an adult in the making who was starting to question whether the shoes he’d always wanted to fill were truly the ones he wanted. Dick knew it couldn’t have been easy for him, to constantly find new things he had to question that he previously believed in firmly, but he was glad Damian was going through that process. Fay had played a part in that as well, with her story of defying her family’s expectations although she had been afraid and lost. Dick wondered if Damian had already talked to her about the conundrum he was facing. 

“Alright, D,” Dick said, knowing better than to lock horns with him on the matter. Damian was already reconsidering his previous beliefs, there was no need to lay it out to him why he should. “I am here if you need a sounding board.”

“Hn.”

The boy’s watch lit up, and he uncrossed his arms to glance at the screen. His brows furrowed. 

“Something happened?”

The response came in the shape of Damian jumping off the sofa and walking over to the window at a brisk pace. He pulled his hood up. “I’ll take a raincheck, Grayson.” Green eyes flitted across the room, at the closed door leading to the apartment’s only bedroom, before he grunted and pulled one leg over the windowsill. 

“Alright—” The boy was already gone. 

Haley took advantage of Damian being gone and jumped up on the sofa, eyeing the bowl of popcorn with interest. 

“I think,” Dick said, looking at his dog although his words weren’t directed at him. “I am going to start setting up an appointment system.” 

The door to his bedroom opened and Jason emerged, holding his helmet under one arm. “You have the most boring bedroom I’ve ever seen.” He sauntered closer, picked up Haley, and plopped down on the sofa, which creaked slightly under the added weight. “No wonder your girlfriend doesn’t want to come by.” The small dog started wagging her tail, head craning forward as she tried to lick Jason’s face. “Sorry, girl. No licking until the seventh date.”

Dick shook his head. “What are you doing here? Other than rifling through my personal belongings.”

“It’s adorable you think you are interesting enough that I’d rifle through your personal belongings.” Jason scoffed as he scratched Haley’s head. “What? I can’t come by to visit my dear big bro?”

“You never do when I ask,”

“Being needy is not very appealing, Dickie.” Jason remarked. “Plus, it seemed you were busy. Baby bat drama?”

Dick hummed. “More or less,” He eyed the younger man from the corner of his eyes. “Steph told me you have your own shelf in the fridge at the warehouse?” 

“What can I say? I am getting the favourite ’s treatment.” Jason smirked. “So, what are we watching?”

.

.

.

Damian had seen Fay be emotional in numerous ways. He’d seen her heartbroken and grieving, he’d seen her frightened and hopeless, he’d seen her frustrated and even angry. The current state she was in was simultaneously new and a combination of all the other emotions he’d seen her exhibit in moments of pressure. For one, he’d never seen her get so agitated that she’d feel compelled to chuck several plates on the floor. On purpose. When he’d arrived at the warehouse, he found the other pets huddled all the way to the other side of the room, clearly knowing better than to approach at that moment. Bagheera himself looked rather lost as he stood a few metres away from the girl, dozens and dozens of pieces of glass and ceramic between them. 

There was water spraying in the air from a leak in the faucet, no doubt caused by her flux which had to be reacting in conjunction with her emotional state. Fay had chucked her jacket, hat, and scarf away on the kitchen island, the backpack abandoned on the counter behind her. Her hair was in disarray and her face was red, damp with sweat. She was sitting on a stool at the kitchen island, head supported by her hands as she stared at nothing. She seemed unmindful of the water that had started to drip onto the floor, shoulders shaking and chest moving up and down rapidly. It didn’t look like a panic attack, not the way it usually presented itself. Her eyes were red, but she wasn’t crying. 

“What happened?”

He’d half-expected her to burst into tears. She didn’t. 

Fay just shook her head. “I… I thought she was there. I thought---I thought she was really there.” She inhaled sharply. “It was just a memory box but I… she looked real.” It didn’t take a genius to figure out that she was more than likely referring to Evara, although he still lacked context. He approached the kitchen island, pushing away larger pieces of ceramic with his foot. 

“In the sewers,” He probed. Fay did something she hadn’t done before, at least not in a very long time, and jumped off her seat, to get away from him when she noticed he was approaching her. His eyes narrowed. Was she rejecting his presence or simply feeling vulnerable? He didn’t like it when others trespassed his personal bubble in general but particularly when he was angry. Except for a handful of people, if even that. She was an exception. 

They weren’t the same though. Fay did not generally mind being comforted. Not by him. 

“My aunt lied---she---she has been in Gotham all along and---and Baije is with her,” Fay said, anger flashing across her eyes. “They’ve been in there---in the bunker- for months. I---apparently my parents have left something in this world, something that might offer answers about that night and—and they’ve been looking for it and they know what the flowers meant, and she never told me.” She took a deep breath. “She lied to me.”

Baije. The dark-skinned man he’d seen in one of the pictures she’d shown him. Her godfather. A family member, on her mother’s side, albeit not by blood. 

The bunker? 

I see. The sewers were used to access it as opposed to the original entrance. 

Fay’s breaths shortened again, eyes growing watery. He stepped towards her, glass shards cracking under his feet. She glided away from him, around the other side of the island even before he was within an arm’s length. This time, he couldn’t help himself. “Why are you doing that?” He asked lowly, staring at her. She was refusing to meet his eyes, one hand tugging insistently at the collar of her shirt and the other kept close to her chest. 

“…Daphne was right,” She whispered suddenly, eyes growing wider as she stared at a point between the floor and the marble counter of the island. “Everything’s going to change. It’s just going to keep changing and we’re… we’re just going to grow apart.”

Damian blinked, genuinely surprised. “What the hell are you talking about?” 

“…I, nothing.” Fay shook her head. “I just—I can’t—” Her eyes moved back and forth, horizontally, like a pendulum. Fay looked incredibly stressed. Damian stepped around the island, slower than before and as he’d expected, she’d glided backward, to maintain the distance between them. He ignored the tightness in his chest because there had to be a reason why she was behaving in that manner. They’d just have to get over it and regain the balance they’d previously had. 

“This isn’t just about your aunt,” Damian said, pointedly looking around the floor. “I know you’ve been holding back on something. What is it?”

Fay shook her head again, tight-lipped and shoulders tensing visibly. 

“Fay.” He said firmly. “I see you.”

She jerked as if electrocuted and her head tilted, eyes finally meeting his. Tears welled up in her eyes. “I--I don’t know if I can talk about it,” She breathed. 

“There’s nothing you can tell me that I will be phased by.” You can tell me anything. “Whatever this is---”

“I can’t ,” Fay stressed. “Not—not this. I---I don’t know how---how I am supposed to feel or what I am supposed to do---”

“Tell me.” 

A few tears escaped the corners of her eyes, running down her cheeks. Bagheera watched her with visible concern. “We’re—we’re not always going to be friends, are we?” She asked, voice wet. “Not—not like this. It’ll change. Even---even if we’ll---keep talking and---” She faltered again, looking visibly pained. He had no idea where she was getting such ridiculous thoughts, but it was obvious they’d been in her mind for a while. 

And then she suddenly talked, as if someone had removed a cork inside her head or maybe her heart, given how much emotion she seemed to expand. 

“I am just so—so fucking tired of my stupid brain!” Well, the cursing was new. 

 Once that was out, everything else came tumbling out just like that day on the island when she’d confronted her uncle. Fay was like a broken faucet that could not be stopped and would not be stopped. She found herself flying back and forth, gesturing wilder and wilder with her hands the more the thoughts that have been tormenting her came pouring out of her mouth. The bucket was broken and there was no way to contain the water inside anymore. 

She was aware of how loud she was or how borderline unhinged she came across, but it felt good to finally just express herself, regardless of how chaotic she was behaving. “This is absolutely ridiculous!” She shouted. “I came here to get away from them and I still can’t do that because it feels like there’s no damn place they haven’t been! And now---now I find out that all those answers to that night might be here and Baije is here, and Lira---Lira is lying to me---they all are! I wish they never found out where I was, but how am I supposed to just ignore that there’s something going on?!” 

Later, she would not remember how she’d switched from that to yelling about how frustrated she felt because every time she thought about what her future would look like, all she could see was how they’d inevitably grow apart. She hadn’t even realised how much that had been bothering her. What would she be doing? Go to university? Sure, but then what? Could she really be Titania when she was still so behind? Had she been in Maysoon, she would have already been assigned to a guild and gone on missions, but she was not even sure she would have wanted that. Dana had told her it was alright if she didn’t know, but Moma and everyone else on the island kept asking her what her long-term plans were because everyone else seemed to have an idea, even Titoh. She missed the jungle, but she was too much of a coward to consider returning yet because then she’d have to deal with her clan and all the expectations and everyone’s questioning. She thought she’d be able to figure out on her own what she’d do, just as Fay, but it didn’t feel like she’d ever be able to do that because her parents’ legacy would always cling to her. 

“Even Sora knows what she’ll do, and she never even left that island!” She said, rather scandalised. Sora and Inaru love each other and are in love with each other, and they decided to part ways—“---just like that! Who does that? Why do people have to do that? Daphne—” Told her that if she wanted to be happy in that world, Fay might have to completely sacrifice her previous identity. Compromise. Fay understood Daphne’s circumstances were different and Bruno had ended up treating her unfairly, but that was not the case with her and Damian. “ Who the hell has sex in a food storage room?!” She was definitely going off on a tangent there. “That----how can they just stop doing that if they enjoy it and want each other in that way, to just go their separate ways even if they love each other? Why can’t they just make it work? I would never just leave you, that’s insane ---but I saw you with Redclaw and---and I didn’t mean to—I only followed you because I was worried, and I knew you were injured, and I thought you were going to get in a dangerous situation. But then---” 

Fay failed to notice that in her rant, her flux was reacting, drawing the elements out. The roll of paper towel caught on fire. The faucet in the kitchen sink burst as well, sending water all over the cupboards and walls. The windows vibrated as she instinctively redirected the gusts of wind outside towards the warehouse. The pipes running above their heads trembled.  

“---I just---I thought---” She had misinterpreted, which was embarrassing and awful, but she’d also had a panic attack and ended up thinking about how one day she might not be misinterpreting and how that would affect them. Even though she knew they’d always be close and she could always count on him, things would change if he fell in love with someone or if she did, although that was unlikely because she’d already thought about who she could possibly like that way and she couldn’t think of anyone but him. Fay had no idea what it meant, but it was constantly on her mind and it made her feel like a terrible friend because she was happy with what she had, and yet she also wanted more, which was greedy and selfish and---but what was she supposed to do if that happened? She knew their friendship was not like others. She didn’t want that to change but she kept thinking about more and she realised that was not possible, but if he ended up having more with someone else, their friendship would have to change. “---if I want to go back to my homeworld, you won’t be able to come with me because you’re also Robin and you want---you have plans and that’s okay because I want you to fulfil all of your dreams. But I don’t want to go without you, but I will have to if you-----then I can keep coming back but every time I do that, it’ll be different. My mother and Baije are –were family too, but they grew apart. They didn’t see each other as often—” Fay coughed a few times, her throat starting to feel the effects of the cold air earlier and the shouting. “---and I know it’s not the same, but my father was my mother’s… person, and she was his---and if you have your person, then I---” She would have to leave because he’d always be her person like Bagheera was her paladin, and she felt awful because none of that had happened, but she couldn’t stop worrying it would. 

Fay stopped, inhaling sharply although it did nothing to ease the burning in her lungs. They were working in overdrive to fill her with air, yet she felt she was already drowning in it. When she saw the way Damian stared at her, Fay’s stomach clenched uncomfortably as she realised that in her rant, she had completely given up on having a filter. Brain replaying over the words that had come out of her mouth, Fay couldn’t find a coherent string to them, but she was certain that she’d ended up blurting out things she would have preferred taking to the grave. Things she hadn’t even known she’d finished figuring out. Yet they had come tumbling out of her mouth, her traitorous heart prepared to confess them when her mind hadn’t been. 

And judging by how much longer it took him to school his features into hiding his surprise, there was not a word that has not escaped his attention.  

Oh no. 

No, no, no

Her world felt upside down, and she desperately wished it was all just a twisted dream. She’d open her eyes, and they’d be back to their usual selves. 

Why… why is this happening to me? 

It’s not… it’s not fair. 

“You—” He started, brows furrowing. You have feelings for me. 

“Forget it,” Fay said quickly, feeling hysterical. “Forget I—I said anything.” It was Damian, though. He did not just forget . “I didn’t---I shouldn’t have said that---I didn’t—I didn’t mean it.”

And for the second time that day, she gave in to her flight instinct, flying up to the second-floor mezzanine to rush into her bedroom. Fay slammed the door behind her, locked it, and without thinking about it twice, she created a layer of thick ice all around the door. She stepped back, staring at it with horror as if she expected a monster to burst through at any moment. 

It would have been preferable, she thought, rather than meeting her friend’s eyes again or hearing what he had to say in response. 

Fay sank down to her knees, pressed against the bed and she shoved her face against the duvet, which she’d gathered closer to her head. 

She screamed, with as much energy as she had left, the shrill sound muffled by the down duvet. Her flux responded in kind, green energy flaring around her like wisps of smoke. The vase with flowers sitting on the table near the baywindow cracked violently, water seeping through quickly. The shelves trembled, and the glass doors of the displays vibrated as if shaken by an earthquake. 

What have I done? 

.

.

.

Damian didn’t go after her. He didn’t move from his spot immediately either, his brain picking apart and dissecting the erratic speech his friend had just given him. He had never seen her quite that incensed, and she’d made a rather compelling sight, with the way green energy had swirled around her and her whole body seemingly engaged in emphasising the turmoil she felt. Bagheera whined softly, drawing his attention and the paladin stared at him expectantly. He hadn’t followed Fay either, which spoke volumes about how much the girl required the space at that moment. Behind Bagheera, across the side of the room, Pip and Oskar were watching from the sofa while Nada had hidden underneath the table. The fireplace was on. It hadn’t been before. 

Damian grunted, and he moved over to the counter to move the roll of paper towel into the sink. The fire hadn’t spread, ironically thanks to the amount of water that had escaped the faucets. He switched the pipes off a moment later to stop the kitchen from being flooded. Grabbing one of the brooms in the closet underneath the stairs, Damian started brushing all the pieces of glass and ceramic to ensure the other pets wouldn’t get injured if they ventured into that side of the room. Bagheera quietly helped, carefully seeking out the bigger pieces before bringing them over to the bin the boy pulled out to discard them. 

Damian was tempted to go to her room. She was distressed and likely crying. She would have to rely on a cold shower to calm herself, but she wouldn’t be able to sleep, which meant she would only feel worse. He didn’t. Not because he did not wish to comfort her, but because Fay would not be inclined to have him around just yet. It was obvious she had held growing concerns from him because she’d been worried they’d affect their relationship if she expressed them. 

In her vent out, she might have lost a good part of her usual eloquence and articulation, but Damian had heard her anyway. Loud and clear. Fay had feelings for him. They went beyond the unconditional love she held for him as her friend and found family. She had admitted she’d been contemplating wanting to pursue more but she didn’t seem to have considered a scenario in which he might reciprocate. She’d had a panic attack because she’d assumed he and Redclaw were involved. Foolish idiot. Even if he had accepted the advances of another, Damian would have not kept it a secret. Not from Fay. He trusted her ability to judge other people’s characters and he would have likely sought her insight, even if he usually did as he pleased. He wouldn’t have needed her approval, but he would have preferred it because Fay was a constant in his life, and she would have given him a selfless answer. That much was clear. Fay had considered needing to leave and put distance between them if he ended up courting someone because… she couldn’t bear to see it. 

The idiot had not once considered that she wouldn’t need to do that. Damian held no interest in anyone but her. Even if he did, he would not be so fickle to neglect their bond. There was merit to her concerns, however. Fay had considered the long-term implications of her travelling for longer and further than just the Bermuda Triangle. She wanted to keep discovering herself outside of her parents’ legacy and she justifiably felt caged in by the shadow they kept casting on her even after their deaths. Her stay had grown more complicated since her clan’s involvement and clearly, there was a lot more that she’d been kept in the dark about. Fay would not be able to simply ignore the opportunity of finding out what had happened that night in Maysoon. Damian wouldn’t, either. 

But she was afraid they would not be able to stay by each other’s side because of his commitments in Gotham. That was not irrational, although he believed she should have talked to him about it. If there was anyone beyond Dick and Alfred that he’d discuss the matter of his long-term plans with, it would be her. Father, as well, to an extent. Bruce had made it clear before that he did not expect Damian to be like his predecessors, nor did he expect him to take over the cowl, but if he didn’t do that, who would he be? 

His own person. Alfred had once told him that it was his choices that made him who he was, outside of both Talia and Bruce. Dick was the perfect example of a man who had chosen to escape the shadow of a paternal figure, but his circumstances had still been different than Damian’s. Dick had had a different life before Batman, a loving family. He had always had alternatives he was aware of. Damian, on the other hand, had believed his life could only go one way for the first decade of his life. Then, within months, he’d had his entire childhood and future put in question. Fay was more like Dick, in that respect, because she’d always been told she had choices, she’d always been free to decide who she wanted to be. But she did know what it was like to simultaneously want to fulfil a legacy and want to break free of it. 

Fay stayed in Gotham because of him and other people she’d grown close to. She’d made a home there. One day, she’d choose to brave the world past that city because of course she would. Fay had been willing to traverse worlds before and regardless of her reasons at the time, she’d not remain a creature of just one place. Why should she? If she chose to leave, would he go? Gotham would still be there, Dick had said. 

Bagheera straightened, his head turning towards the entrance to the warehouse, ears twitching. Damian sensed the arrival of their new guest as well, even before the doors swung open. “Fay---” Lira stepped in, her clothes drenched because it had started pouring outside. She looked around, taking in the apprehensive pets huddled in the living room, then the mess in the kitchen. The boy and paladin standing by a bin, the scent of smoke, the water pooling on the counters and the floor. The residue of energy permeating in the air. She could feel her niece’s presence upstairs. 

The boy’s expression turned thunderous. 

“Explain,” He snarled. “ Now .”

.

.

.

5 th of December 

Fay stared into her paladin’s pale eyes as they laid side by side, facing each other, nose to nose. 

“Maybe we should run away,” She whispered. 

Her paladin rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, I know,” Fay mumbled. “I was just saying.” She leaned forward to press her face in his fur. “Do you think time travel is possible?”

“Rghhh.” Confused. 

Fair enough. 

Fay wondered if never leaving that room was an option. She had her own bathroom so she’ll never be unclean or thirsty, and Bagheera could bring her meals as he’d been doing for the past two days. Not that she’d been eating much to begin with, her appetite coming and going as it pleased. Lira had tried to speak to her, several times, but Fay didn’t respond or let her in. The woman respected that choice because she didn’t attempt to come in either. Neither did Damian, for that matter. He hadn’t come by at all. 

Fay was tortured by what he could possibly think. Was he angry? Shocked? Disappointed? Repulsed? Did he think it was best if they started distancing each other from that moment given what she’d said? Could they just ignore what she’d said and move past it? Maybe. They had to try. Their friendship was too strong not to try, right? 

Bagheera shifted away from her and got up to walk over to the mat full of buttons near her desk. Then he stared at her insistently. 

“What?”

Talk. Damian.’’

Fay shook her head, instinctively pulling the duvet higher up. “No---not yet.”

Talk .”

“No.”

Talk. Talk. Talk. Talk.”

“Stop that.” Fay glared at her paladin. He huffed at her, annoyed, then walked away. She watched him pass by her bed, heading towards the door. Fay initially thought he was only going to leave but as she turned around to look at him, she noticed the shadows underneath the door. Was that—oh. Her sneaky, sneaky paladin. Fay let out an undignified sound that she wasn’t proud of and then promptly pulled the duvet over her head, cocooning herself inside. It was a childish way to avoid the problem at hand, but she had no courage to face her friend. 

Damian stepped in. The carpet at the entrance was soaked. There were water stains on the wall, right around the frame of the door, from the ice she’d put up two days before. She didn’t bother to recreate it as she must have realised that she would have the space she wanted. He had thought about coming into her bedroom earlier, but he knew that it’d be easier to get through to her if she had time to work through her thoughts. He also needed some time to work on how he’d approach her about her concerns as there were several ways the conversation could go. He had a preference, of course, for how it should all go but he’d adapt and be patient if needed. If she needed that. 

“That has never worked before,” He remarked to the bundle under the blanket. “What makes you think it’ll work now?”

She didn’t answer. 

Damian closed the door behind him and walked over to the bed. He calmly removed his shoes before getting on the bed, shamelessly climbing over her, which earned first a surprised squeak then a stammered “ Wh—what---what are you doing ?” yet she refused to remove the blanket. He straddled her at an angle that must have been very odd for her, seeing as she was turned to the side with her knees pulled up. 

“Am I heavy?”

“…um, y-yes .”

“Good.” He made sure not to press against her too hard and cause her discomfort. 

He leaned forward, to support himself with his hands on the pillows, approximately on each side of her head. “You are a ridiculous creature,” He brushed his nose against her head which he could make out, feeling his way down from her temple to the jaw and then to her ear. “To think that I would be gallivanting around Gotham to pursue trivial encounters with someone I don’t even trust and quite frankly, found barely tolerable at best.” He pulled his head away and tugged the duvet blanket away from her face. Her eyes squeezed shut, barely giving him a glimpse of those brown eyes. Her face was flushed both due to feeling very warm under that blanket and the circumstances of their conversation. His lips twitched upwards, eyes taking in her features closely from how messy her hair was down to her mouth. Her lips looked chapped. It took away nothing from the fact that he still wanted to kiss her. That she’d been at least thinking about what it’d be like if they crossed a boundary certainly had its appeal. 

He leaned forward this time, able to press his mouth directly against her right tragus. “Incredibly foolish for worrying that I would so easily turn my back on a bond. For what? Infatuation? Sexual pursuits?” She flinched, the redness from her cheeks quickly spreading to her ears. He found it oddly endearing. “You’ve been worried I would prioritise someone else,” He mused. “Worried you will not have my—” He brushed his nose against her earlobe. “—attention.” She made a small, meek sound, turning her head away. Her hands came out from under the blanket to cover her head. “Please stop,” She murmured. He didn’t allow her to cover herself, grabbing her wrists in a firm but not painful grip and pinned them away, on each side of her head.

“No,” He said firmly. “You have had quite a lot to say. I listened. Now it’s your turn,” 

She couldn’t argue with that, but she refused to open her eyes. Fay pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, unaware of how his eyes zeroed in on that gesture. 

“What was that ridiculous thing you said?” He said, leaning to brush her mouth over her left cheek. Soft, slightly damp. He could taste salt. “Ah, yes. The boy with green eyes. Yours , as a matter of fact.” She radiated heat and he could feel the buzz of her flux in her hands. “I am aware you had meant it in a platonic manner at the time; clearly that has changed.” She shuddered when his mouth moved lower towards her jaw. “Your concerns of how that may affect our bond are not invalid. However, you surely recall I made it clear that you are not an acceptable loss.” She swallowed again, eyes fluttering. “What part was unclear about that?” 

“I—I do…understand,” She whispered, voice raspy.

“Hm, I don’t think you do.” He lifted his head. “I did not just mean as a result of injury or death.”

She looked away, to the side, eyes opening halfway. They looked inflamed and wet. 

“Do you truly think I would have pushed you away for something like this?”

She cleared her throat lightly. “… no. I… don’t know. I did not wish things to change.”

“Why would they?”

Her brows furrowed, head tilting towards him but stubbornly keeping her eyes to his collar. “Because… how could they not?” She whispered. “It’s—I am not sure of how—of how I feel or what it means but…” She blinked slowly. Fay looked exhausted; she had likely slept very little in the past two days. “…it felt wrong ,” She said finally. “Like… I would be ruining my happy—my happy place.”

“You would rather not feel this way,” He frowned. 

“No---I, no. I don’t know. It’s… selfish.” She closed her eyes again, although that seemed more out of a desire to rest her eyes. “I don’t know what… more is.” She looked embarrassed. “Not entirely.” She mumbled. “I thought about my parents and what they had--- never mind . I just---it felt selfish asking when you---you’ve already given me so much. I am not talking about---an identity or the travelling or this place or… the suit. I—I am grateful for all those and they do make me happy, but I---” She inhaled deeply. “I mean your trust. And… your care, as well.”

He started chuckling, the sound incredibly startling, making her open her eyes and look at him bewildered. 

“Why---why are you laughing?” She asked, horrified. 

“You, obviously.” He snorted. “You---you would castigate yourself in this manner, believing yourself to be a selfish, greedy individual. Yet not once have you considered I would be?” He smirked widely as his eyes met hers. “You have known me for this long, what I am capable of doing to get what I want. You are aware of my past and yet you believe you would be the self-serving one?” He scoffed, looking genuinely amused.  

Fay was starting to think he’d lost his mind. “I---what?” That was not how she’d imagined the conversation would go. She flexed her hands, finding them firmly pinned under his still. 

“What makes you think I’d be more tolerant of anyone jeopardising your attention?” Towards me. 

“...What?”

“---you’re an idiot.” He clicked his teeth. Her mouth opened slightly in shock. “You haven’t considered the alternative.”

“A-a-alternative?”

“Obviously.”

Obviously. 

She waited, but he didn’t continue. Was he making fun of her?  Damian rolled his eyes – he rolled his eyes! – and leaned forward to press his mouth onto her forehead. Unlike when she did it to him, he didn’t separate the chaste kisses from one another, but dragged his mouth against her skin lightly. A trail down to the side of her face, to her cheek, her jaw, her chin. He came back up on the other side as well, before lifting his head and looking at her, their noses bumping slightly against one another. She stared at him like a deer caught in the headlights. 

“You—” She blinked rapidly, buffering. 

“I agree. There are risks. Uncontrollable factors.” He murmured. “We can both agree that there are long-term plans that must be defined. Your ties to your homeworld and the Titania identity to begin with. Then there’s the matter of your aunt and the information she’s been withholding. Me, I still wish to take over my father’s role, yes. A wise man once told me that it is my choices that define me, regardless of my parents’ legacies. I make me.” True, he had not yet pondered what or who he’d be as someone completely untied from his parents’ paths, but Damian knew he was on a better path than he’d been years earlier. “It is our choices that define who we are. Inside, or to ourselves. I believe you have said that many times.”

She nodded, hesitantly. 

“Every problem has a solution.” He said, with a sharp finality. “Whatever it is that distresses you, we will identify the solution.”

Fay stared at him. “Just… like that?” 

“Yes.”

She shook her head. “It’s not---I don’t think it’s that simple.”

“Simple? There’s nothing simple about you and I,” He scoffed. 

“…I am confused,” She replied honestly. 

He sighed. “I have been… making the same considerations as you.” Pause. “About more .” 

Fay’s mouth opened and closed a few times. “I---” He has been thinking about themselves being more than friends? Really ? “But—but you said you’re not interested in such things. You---you wanted to have that couple kicked out the other week at the museum just because they were being affectionate!”

He sneered. “I did not work on putting Gotham Museums on the map of greatest American museums for idiots to be exchanging fluids in front of---"

“And you always told me about how—how— entanglements or—or whatever, are beneath you and how you would consider only a practical partnership for the sake of having an heir---” Which was weird, but her friend had his idiosyncrasies, and she knew better than to take all of Damian’s lectures at face value. However, he did seem very adamant about not being interested in a non-platonic relationship and he’d always come across as uncomfortable, if not repulsed, by the idea of something more… physical. “I thought you don’t care about those things.”

“But you thought I would be having such relations with a hypothetical individual in the future.”

“Well… yes. Po-possibly.” 

“You believe me capable of changing my ideas should the appropriate person pique my interest.”

“Yes.” She looked affronted. “You—you shouldn’t have to think about just having an heir or---something weird like that. I mean, it shouldn’t—it shouldn’t be the sole reason.”

“I see. In your opinion then I should freely go ahead and pursue a relationship of that nature if I believe the person is worthy of that level of attention long-term---”

“I… uh, that’s a very intimidating way of putting it but as long as they feel the same--- oh .”               

He looked at her with a mildly disappointed look. “Seriously? It took you that long?”

“You---you’re being confusing!” Fay protested. “You just came in here and are holding me hostage---”

“---you’re being dramatic---”

“---and you keep saying all these things and I---it’s going a bit fast, and I am struggling---”

“---clearly---”

“---you’re giving me a lot of information---”

“---says you who has destroyed the plumbing again because you’ve been jealous of someone who doesn’t even exist---”

“—je—jealous---what are you---“ Fay froze, the words catching in her throat when she felt his mouth brush against hers. It was such a brief and light touch that she would have thought she’d imagined it, except the electric jolt that travelled straight down to her navel was proof that she hadn’t. He pulled away just enough for their eyes to meet, but their mouths remained just centimetres apart. Their breaths were mingling, and she could smell something sugary. Had he eaten cinnamon? 

“You always have to ruin my plans with your stubbornness and overthinking,” He accused. 

“Your plan?” Her eyes flitted to his mouth, and she swallowed. She felt sweat forming at the back of her neck. She was burning again, and it had nothing to do with the flux. 

“I was not going to make you aware of my… interest,” He murmured then kissed the corner of her mouth. If it felt that good when he did just that , how much better would it feel if he---“I did not wish to add any pressure, but you seem to have taken care of that,” He mocked lightly. “I have no expectations about you. If you need time, then---” He kissed the other corner of her mouth. “—that is what you’ll have.”

He released her hands, and she pulled her arms into herself. Fay was momentarily at a loss of words, light-headed due to lack of food, sleep, and how unpredictable Damian continued to be. He just stared at her, calmly with his hands supporting him on each side of her head. 

“What… about data?” She asked. “The risks?”

“Some matters require a pragmatic approach.”

“…I,” She stared at his face. “We’ll figure it out… together?” 

“Haven’t we always?” Then, because he was Damian and he couldn’t resist. “Although, there’s only one brains of operations clearly.”

Fay paid no attention to his jab, mind trying to process everything. She understood, in essence, what he was trying to tell her, but she had also been wholly unprepared to hear such words after sweeks of agonizing over the worst possible scenarios. In the past, whenever she’d decided to follow her instincts as opposed to allowing her fears to dictate her decisions, Fay had discovered it was the right choice. If she had never gone into that building, she’d have never met him as Robin and he wouldn’t have had a reason to investigate her. That was but one of many other examples where following her heart had triumphed over giving in to her anxiety. It may not always be the wise way to approach a situation, but at that moment, she couldn’t ignore how loud her emotions were. 

Fay didn’t even realise she’d grabbed a fistful of his shirt and tugged him down until she felt his mouth press against hers. It was nowhere near as explorative as Sebastian’s had been, just their lips pressing together in something that was neither soft nor rough. She had no idea how to go further than that and he didn’t push her, both satisfied with the simple contact. 

If she had to compare that undemanding, gentle kiss with Sebastian’s, which had been filled with urgency and at least some passion on his end, Fay would have said that was not possible. She hadn’t really felt anything when Sebastian had kissed her except some curiosity, surprise, and the tiniest bit of self-doubt. With Damian, it felt like the entire world around them had gone silent, as if someone had pressed a mute button. The weight on her chest loosened like a string coming undone, and the constant niggle at the back of her head was wiped away. Damian reciprocated her interest and the kiss finally seemed to make that click in her mind. He wanted more . With her . He had considered the same long-term implications she had, if not more because he was Damian, and knowing him, he probably had searched entire papers full of statistics. 

Excitement trickled through her veins, diluting the fear. They could confide in each other, even on that matter. They’d find a solution, just like he said, even for something like that. 

He pulled away. The green of his irises was halfway swallowed by his blown pupils. 

“We are in agreement, then,” He murmured. His voice was tighter than before, no longer as unaffected.

Because of her.

She nodded, sliding her arms around his shoulders.

“Is it alright if… we just take a few minutes?” She asked. “Before we deal with… everything else.”

He hummed in agreement, and with one hand pushed the duvet off her, which she was grateful for as she was having trouble breathing and she’d started sweating. Damian laid down by her side. She placed her head on his shoulder, as his arm came around her back and his hand rested lightly on her waist. The world around her had regained its balance. Mostly.

Fay swung her arm over his chest and closed her eyes.

She was asleep within seconds.

.

.

.

When she woke up, it was late afternoon and the drizzle from earlier had shifted into a storm with gale-force winds. She shifted slightly, trying to regain sensation into her right arm, which was under the pillow. The other was slung over an arm curved around her waist, heavy and warm against her. A dark, calloused hand was holding her forearm, thumb brushing on the skin around the mark there. Damian’s chest was pressed to hers, his knees bent to slot against hers. She felt more relaxed than she had in weeks, between the strange comforting wails of the wind outside and his presence. It felt surreal when she remembered how their discussion had ended, with them kissing. They had reached an agreement, he’d said. An agreement to work together through the fact that they both thought about having more with each other and what that meant. More. As in what Sora and Inaru had, but without ever having to grow apart? Fay’s cheeks burned, as the drowsiness melted away completely at that thought.

“Da—” She cleared her throat. “Damian?”

“Hm.”

She turned around slowly, sliding one knee between his and the other leg over his as she faced him. The arm on her waist didn’t leave her, the hand shifting to press against her lower back. Fay’s face came close to his, noses nearly touching, and she took note of his half-lidded eyes and relaxed features. Had he fallen asleep as well? “Hi.” She said softly. She felt his hand slide under the hem of her shirt, fingers brushing against her skin, but not going further than that. Fay pushed herself closer, interlocking their legs further, careful not to accidentally knee him. Staring at his face, she felt incredibly tempted to press her mouth all over it like she had last time.

“That night at the Manor,” Fay paused, wondering what possessed her to even mention it. It was hardly a priority on their list of topics to discuss. “When you were injured last time, when I---” She swallowed, suddenly feeling too embarrassed to finish her sentence. When I kissed your face. She felt her ears start to burn and with her hair pulled up, she was willing to bet he could see how red they’d become even in the dimly lit room. “Did it bother you?” She said instead, because she knew he would know exactly what she was referring to.

“What’s that?”

The skin under her eye twitched. He was doing it on purpose, playing the ignorant card.

Tyrant.

“You know exactly what.”

“Enlighten me.”

“You-you’re being very…annoying right now.”

“You’re acting coy for someone who takes away her friend’s first kiss. That was rather bold of you, I must say.”

She nearly combusted, there, and then.

“What---I---no---I---” He smiled lazily. Not a smirk. Not a full-fledged smile, either but it made his eyes brighter and softened his features. It set out fireworks in her stomach. They were anything but unpleasant. “You—you don’t care about such things.”

“I didn’t say I did,” He said coolly and she felt his hand move higher on her back, fingers brushing over the expanse of skin, going from soft to scarred, from scarred to the areas where her marks are and he can feel the low, faint thrum of energy. Belatedly, he realized he was able to do that because she wasn’t wearing anything else under the shirt. It made for an interesting deduction. “It is merely a fact.” Even more so when she arched slightly, out of reflex but nonetheless seeking the touch instinctively. The motion, as small and unconscious as it was, sent a jolt right to his navel. 

“I—I am not—not being coy. Coy means when someone is pretending to be---”

Her words died in her throat when his head moved towards her, and she felt his mouth brush over the line of her jaw.

“No.” He muttered simply, and she swore she felt his tongue brush against her skin when he spoke. “N-no?” She blinked, mind going blank again. It had always felt good to have that level of proximity with him but she was not sure when she’d started feeling it so intensely. Then again, he’d never quite touched her in that manner, either. Or maybe she hadn’t noticed before because she hadn’t regarded him as she did now. 

“Do you think that I would have allowed it if I had been bothered by it?” He asked, his voice so close to her ear that it made her shudder.

Fay needed a moment to remember what they were talking about. Ah, yes.

“No,” She said. “But… it didn’t feel right.”

He stopped suddenly, pulling away until their faces were aligned again. His smile was gone, and his brows had furrowed slightly. “It did not feel right.” He repeated, brows furrowing. “You were uncomfortable?” That made no sense. She initiated it. 

“I—what? No, no.” Definitely not, even if it was new and slightly overwhelming. “I didn’t mean it in that way. I meant…” Her eyes lowered to his collar. “I know we are close, anyway, but… it felt like I overstepped.” She reached to scratch at her nose. “I know that sounds ridiculous, but it did feel like I was taking advantage.”

He scoffed, then chuckled darkly. 

“Is that why you stopped and ran away like an idiot?”

“Ran away--?” She sputtered, meeting his gaze again out of instinct. “What do you mean stop? Of course, I stopped.”

“Hm. Why?”

“…w-what?” She gaped slightly.

He looked as if they were discussing day-to-day topics when in fact, they were not. “Had you not, we would have avoided weeks of erroneous impressions that we want different things.” There it was again, that word. Want. “I am curious. What were your intentions ?”

“I-i-intentions? I didn’t have any--” He smirked. Fay scowled. “You’re making fun of me, aren’t you,”

“Maybe,” His face turned serious although he lacked the general frown that permeated his expression. “I do take my intentions seriously, as you should.”

Fay swallowed again. He stared at her unblinkingly, expecting. “I… I know.” She nodded. She was not fully sure of the extent of his intentions but she found she was less nervous and more anticipative at the prospect of finding out. “I know.” She repeated, softly.

“I will not rush you,” He added, quietly.

Her lips twitched, as she reached to touch his cheek. “I—I am not worried about that,” She finds herself admitting. “I suppose it all feels… foreign. Yet also familiar. I know it sounds silly---”

“It doesn’t,” He interrupted. “Do you wish… to have more time? To reflect.”

That gave her pause. It took her no less than three seconds to answer, certain of her answer based on her instincts alone. “No.” She said simply, her hand moving to his hair. “I, um, still have things that I am worried about but…” Her eyes flitted all over his face. His mouth, nose, cheekbones, fine dark brows, and then his eyes. “…it feels right.” She smiled shyly. “I don’t think….I want to change my mind.”

Excellent.

“Good,”

He leaned forward and her heart skipped a beat, but his mouth barely managed to brush against hers when her stomach made the most undignified of sounds. She was quite certain she’d rival Bagheera when he was hungry.

Damian pulled away, looking ready to make a snarky remark.

“Please, don’t,” She groaned as she hid her face in his shirt. “Give me a break.” 

 .

.

.

Damian told her that Lira would be back in a few days to talk. Fay was surprised by that as she had assumed her aunt would want to speak to her immediately, but Damian aptly pointed out that it was best if she had some space. They had several things to discuss, after all. “D-discuss?” Fay asked nervously as she brushed a hand through her hair. She’d taken a long bath which had left her feeling very refreshed. She also felt considerably better given she’d had a generous early dinner. “I thought…we already did.” The confusion lingered, though. She found it hard to focus now that she knew what kissing should actually feel like and that, apparently, she could it again. And again. And not lose her friend. 

Much to her mortification, Damian pulled out a list. A list. A4 paper. Printed words, which means he had to type it first. “I have noted down all your concerns.”

Fay blinked rapidly, as she hesitantly moved from the threshold of the bathroom to sit next to him on the bed. She’d changed into a pair of shorts and a soft oversized sweatshirt, after a long, hot shower. “Noted down my concerns?” She repeated. It sounded as if she was making a complaint and he was the one in charge of inputting it on the system. If only Gotham Council was as effective as he was, she mused darkly. 

“Yes. You have made over a dozen points, several of which depend on what our relationship will be like long-term.”

“Damian---”

“Let’s start with you worrying about travelling outside of Gotham.”

“Wait a second—”

“You’ve mentioned that—”

Damian.” She placed her hand on his, a little more forcefully than needed, crumpling the paper in his hand. He has been carrying that in his pocket? For how long? Maniac. “Please, stop.” She said firmly. He did and looked at her with a frown. “Can---can we not do it this way?” She asked with a pleading expression. “I know this is the way you… work through things. You were also very, um, attentive clearly,” Perhaps a little too attentive. How did he even get all that from her erratic outburst? “But---can we just talk? We can use the list as talking points but---” Her lips curled in a sheepish smile. “You kind of sound as if you’re one of those council members lodging a complaint.”

He looked disgruntled by that. “I—that was not my intention.”

“I know,” Fay smiled wider and gently removed the paper out of his hand, placing it on the bed. “I… I said a lot of things. Honestly, I don’t remember how much I said,” She sighed. “I acted crazy, but it just felt---” She gestured with her hands. “—as if the walls were closing in on me. I haven’t felt that way in years.” He didn’t say anything, but Damian angled his body towards her, pulling one leg underneath him.

“I didn’t even realise I was bothered by so many things. I just thought… I’ll worry about them later. I know I’ve been overthinking things and that some of the, um, concerns I had have perhaps been… irrational, but every time I feel like my life has settled, something comes up. I like that Kaera is training me, that Titoh and I are on better terms, and that I saw some of my family members, but it also used to be… much easier before. Lira keeps saying that I managed to break away from my clan, but it doesn’t feel that way sometimes. It feels like no matter where I am, my parents will just… follow me.” She played with the tips of her hair. “Sometimes… I really feel like I could resent them. Especially after what Lira and Baije told me… although I didn’t get everything and not much about it makes sense.” Fay turned around to face him, crossing her legs. “Titoh will go back to our world. He has a very specific plan for his apprenticeship as a healer. Klaus is thinking of going with him because they get along, it seems. Sora—” She pursued her lips, feeling her cheeks redden again.

“The one you witnessed having sex in a food storage room?”

Fay made a pained noise as she bowed her head and rubbed her hands over her face. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“It has clearly been bothering you.”

“It—it hasn’t been bothering me,” She sighed loudly. “It was very embarrassing. It’s not like I meant to see that,” She shook her head. “It’s just… Sora and Inaru—erm, that’s the boy she, um, anyway. She asked me to keep it a secret and I agreed because it was none of my business anyway. But then she also told me how they’re spending all that time together because they’ll have to part ways once she leaves the island. He doesn’t want to, he likes his life on the island, but Sora has… dreams beyond that.”

Fay paused, hands still covering her face, aware of how warm her cheeks felt.

“I see,” He said and through her fingers, she watched him shift to sit fully on the bed, parting his legs. He grabbed her by her legs, uncrossing them, and pulled her closer until she was caged in by his limbs. Fay lowered her hands from her face in the process but stubbornly kept her eyes on his collar. “You’ve compared our relationship to theirs.” He remarked quietly.

She shrugged. “No… yes. Maybe. A tiny bit. They grew up together and they’re very close. Family. They’re—” She fiddled with the hem of her sleeves. “—even more than that, yet it’s not enough for them to–” She cleared her throat. “If they stay together, one will be miserable because it’s not what they want. If they choose their goals, then…” She glanced at his neck, struck again by the temptation to place her mouth there. She looked away, to her legs which he had manoeuvred over his hips lightly. Fay wasn’t sure if they’d ever been in that position before,  but it felt… intimate. She wasn’t sitting on his lap, but she’d have to shift very little to do so.

“I know it’s naive.” She sighed. “Sometimes, people grow apart. They must make… tough choices. If Sora stays on the island, she’ll never find who she is or pursue any of her dreams.” She shrugged one shoulder, causing the loose material of her sweatshirt to slide over it, exposing her skin there. Fay did not see Damian’s eyes zeroing in on that spot. “I am not saying I am like Sora. I don’t---I don’t want to go back to my world. Now . Maybe---one day. A few weeks ago, Dana asked me what my plans are. Obviously, she doesn’t know everything, but she asked me if I had college choices. I don’t think I would mind doing that –going to university. Choosing a specific subject. Maybe history or archaeology,” She smiled tentatively. “But then what ? I don’t need a job for money, and it wouldn’t be… feasible. Or easy for someone like me. Do I just continue with what I am doing now? I don’t mind it but—” Her head tilted up, and she looked at his shoulder where she spotted a strand of her hair stuck to his shirt. She carefully moved the strand away to let it fall on the floor. 

“I am happy with what I have here, but… everyone keeps saying that’ll change. Maybe it will. My parents must have wanted different things when they were my age. I wanted different things not too long ago. Daphne talked to me about her and Bruno. How he took advantage of her revealing to him who she really was, and he ended up making it difficult for her to move on from that life.” After, she quickly added, “That’s not us! Obviously. But then she told me how—in order to have a full life here and to be Daphne, she had to completely cut ties with her—with her old self, I suppose.”

Fay paused for a moment. “I can’t do that. I don’t want to live in my parents’ shadows, or the clan’s, but Maysoon is my home. One of my homes. When I think about never going back, it makes me anxious even if I don’t think I’ll do that any—anytime soon.” She swallowed as she fidgeted with her hands. She finally raised her head to meet his attentive gaze. 

Her eyes prickled. “She said I am at the beginning of a very long life and she’s… right. I—I am half-human, even if I generally consider myself as more human than anything else. Humans live longer in my world. I---I will live longer than—than humans in this world and probably even than the ones in mine because of—of my father’s side..” The ache in her chest was back.

Damian’s hand reached for her exposed shoulder, lightly tracing her skin just above the hem of the shirt. He could see the tail end part of the marks on her collarbone. “You’re concerned that you will outlive me,” He said, somewhat amusedly.

Fay leaned forward, to prop her forehead against his chest. “I’ve been thinking about my parents lately,” She mumbled. “More often than usual. About the—about the type of relationship they had. How much they’ve been through. I realised that… there are many things I don’t know about them. They dealt with so much,” She inhaled deeply, soothed by his chest and his mellow heartbeat. “I… just,” She shrugged again. “…I know things can’t stay a hundred percent the same. Change can be good. Meeting you and everything that happened after was a big change, but it was a good one. But lately, I have been wondering if the good things in my life will also change. If I will just…” She paused, for a sharp intake of air. “…lose everything again.” She exhaled. “I don’t think I’d… survive that.”

“You won’t have to,” He said simply, pushing her hair away from her shoulders to her back and placing his hand over the nape of her neck.

“No one can promise they won’t die,” Fay muttered. “Not even my parents.”

“True,” He conceded. “One can mitigate the risks, even when living the life of a vigilante. Do you truly wish to live your life as if what-ifs are imminent, rather than trying to prepare for them, no matter how unlikely they may be?”

“…No.” She absent-mindedly ran her hand over his torso in a light trail down to his abdomen, then back up. “But I am afraid,” She admitted. “Sometimes it feels like anything good that I have will somehow be followed by something bad. As if there’s… a price for it.”

“Hm.” His other hand was on her back, and she felt her hair being tugged lightly. “I understand,” He said after a minute of silence. “Why you would feel that way. It makes sense that you were so reticent in discussing this.” Fay closed her eyes, relaxing against him. “Has it truly bothered you that much?” He asked, in a lower voice than before. “Seeing me… with someone else?”

Fay pressed her face deeper into him, which was an answer enough. “I…” She swallowed. “Yes.” She breathed out, “I had---I had already been confused before that. I was just, um, surprised. I know you’d tell me if—if something was going on but… I jumped to the wrong conclusions.”

“Your bad day,” He started, but didn’t continue, leaving the rest unsaid.

She nodded against him. “…yeah.”

“You idiot,” He huffed.

“Yeah,” She smiled despite herself.

“That’s why you were behaving abnormally.”

“What?” She opened her eyes.

“At the restaurant. You also appeared uncomfortable with our proximity.” He pointed out. “It was because you were concerned that you were the one taking advantage.”

He noticed that? 

Of course, he did. 

He was worried about it? 

“Mh-hm,” She played with the hem of his shirt as silence stretched between them. It was all out in the open now, but it felt easier than she thought it would. “I, um, I’ve been thinking about whether I’ll… like someone in the future. Not just as a friend. What they’d be like. What---” She hesitated and could have burrowed herself into him if she could if only to escape her embarrassment. “---what it would be like.” She said quickly, all words out in a rush. She stopped there, courage faltering as she thought, was she really saying that . Even though he’d told her he wanted more as well, they were still in foreign territory.

Fay squeaked when she felt his teeth brush over the top of her ear. “And?”

She bit hard on her lower lip, deliberating. Her hands gripped his shirt tightly, as she mumbled out her response.

“Say that louder.” He nipped at her ear, making her pull in on herself slightly.

He could hear just fine, she was certain. He was just being a tyrant. “…I could only imagine you,” She repeated louder than before, nearly eating her syllables in how quickly she let the words out.

“Speak properly—”

Fay pulled away and kicked him in the chest with the heel of her hand, annoyed. “Stop pretending as if you didn’t hear it. Why do you have to be such a tyrant--- The words died in her throat when she felt his mouth press against the corner of her mouth. Fay’s breath hitched as she stilled completely and looked at him, his face barely a few centimetres away from hers. 

“I am not interested in pursuing anyone,” He remarked, and the raspy quality of his voice sent a shiver down her spine. His mouth brushed against hers. “ Else .”

“Oh,” Her throat felt parched again. “That’s—” Thinking required far more effort than usual. “…good.”

Good ?” His nose brushed against her cheek as his lips went over her chin and then jaw. Softly, like a butterfly brushing against her skin. 

“Excellent?”

He smirked. “Excellent.” He kissed her cheek, simple and chaste, and pulled away. She nearly asked why he didn’t kiss her properly but she held back. The last twenty-four hours had been a rollercoaster and just being near him like that dulled all her thoughts. There’s time . They had all the time in the world because they were… what were they? It doesn’t matter. They just were. On the same page. In agreement. 

She felt reassured. Happy. Relieved.

Spurred by those thoughts, Fay reached to run her hands through his hair and kissed him back on the cheek. He looked satisfied by that. 

“Can we go to the museum?” She asked.

“Do you still need to ask?”

She grinned.

If that was how it felt to have more, she thought she’d be a little more courageous in pursuing it. 

Notes:

An announcement I'd like to make:

It is possible that in the near future, I may go into a very brief hiatus to give me the chance to write out the story in advance. There'll be a lot of different elements and plots involved, including more moments with Batfam, Gothamites and so on.
If I do go into hiatus, it'll likely only be for a couple of weeks.

Chapter 76: Of unexplored territories and sweet sixteens 

Notes:

Beta-reader: MoonglowOnWater - Many thanks as always!!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"Maybe a relationship is just two idiots who don't know a damn thing, 
except for the fact that they're willing to figure it out together."

- Unknown

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6 th of December, 16:45  

“I still wish to be the world’s greatest detective and surpass my father,” Damian said, watching her as she stretched, arms lifting and back arching. The t-shirt she wore rode up, revealing a sliver of skin, the cotton material pulling itself taut over her chest, allowing him to make out the shape of her bra. Fay was oblivious to his attention as she lowered her arms and plopped down on the sofa next to him.

She had been paying attention to him, however, because he caught the emotions flickering in her eyes as she looked at him. “Yes, I know.” She responded simply, but he could tell she had more to say than that.

“Spit it out,” He said bluntly, but without heat.

Fay hesitated before she sat more comfortably on the sofa, turning to the side and pulling her feet up, knees to her chest.

“…I understand why you want to surpass him.” She said, finally. “But---I don’t think you need to be Batman to do that.”

“Because Batman will always belong to Gotham?” If he took on the mantle of his father, there’d always be compromise involved. Batman was a symbol. A legacy tightly tied to Gotham, even if Batman’s influence stretched far beyond. “That’s true,” She conceded. “But that’s not why I think that.” She moved closer, slinging her legs over his lap and leaning forward to him, hands loosely over her thighs. “I know we’re not the same people, and our parents…are---were---different. But you’ve told me in the past that you don’t want to be something that your mother wants. Or that your father. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be Batman---he’s a great warrior. One of the greatest, right? He’s to this world what my father was to the Estaris, what both of my parents were as part of the Resistance.”

She inhaled slowly as he watched her carefully. “Make your own path. That’s what you told me before. That I can choose who I want to be.”

Fay had said it herself, too, even when she’d thought she didn’t deserve it. That she didn’t want to be – to exist- only in the context of who her parents were, to live in their shadow. “Yes.” He said, hands brushing absent-mindedly over her legs.

“If that’s what would make you happy, and what you really want, then---” She smiled. “—I think you’ll achieve that. You’ll be better than your father is. It doesn’t matter to me if you are or not---but I want you to be whoever you want. Just like you---you always told me I could just be Fay Kipling and that identity was all mine, and how you gave me Titania and that’s also all mine, although I don’t know what---what I fully want still. Or what type of warrior I’ll be, or if I’ll even be one at all. But I do know I---I want to find out. I wish I was more like them. I still do. I wish I’ll be more like them in the future, even if I don’t want to be them or take their place. Maybe that’ll change but---” She reached to scratch at her cheek, realising she was deviating from the message she wanted to express. “—I want you to choose who you want to be. Not to make anyone proud, or because you’re someone’s---son. You said that a long time ago, right? You decide your own path.”

“Is that truly how you perceive me?”

Her smile widened, cheeks flushing slightly. “Of course.” She replied. She liked the way his hands, warm and firm, felt on her legs especially since they were sore. “But---but I guess it doesn’t matter how I see it either. It’s---it’s all about what you want. I don’t---I don’t want you to not be something just because...” Her smile faltered. “…because I am afraid. And anxious about the future.” She swallowed. Damian was one of the most defiant, independent souls she’d ever met. Asking him to compromise for someone else at the expense of his own potential and dreams was akin to caging a dragon, in her mind. Suddenly, she understood a lot better why Inaru preferred heartbreak over holding someone else back. Fay doubted she had the strength to make such a decision – walk away – but she’d certainly never expected it from Damian.

“I don’t want to stand in your way,” Fay said. “If you really want to be Batman, then I---I will always support you.”

His lips curled. “I could be a different Batman as well. The world’s greatest detective, but not like my father.” He’d stopped wanting to be exactly like his father a long time ago. Or too much, for that matter. He still admired his father’s intellect and achievements, but he was not an easy man to look up to. 

“Yes.” She replied easily, her faith in him unwavering.

Would his father be disappointed if he knew Damian considered adopting an adult vigilante identity of his own? Would he care? Damian didn’t doubt that his father loved him, but that did not mean Bruce would let him take on the mantle. He would still aim to surpass his father, regardless. Damian might no longer feel the burning desire to prove himself to be accepted, but it was a point of pride for him to one day become greater than Batman himself. In a way, that’d be even more of a challenge. A new legend to surpass an existing one. Did it matter? But what else could he aspire to? Damian did not want to settle for just being one of Gotham’s many vigilantes, even if he found the role satisfying to an extent. He did not wish to be an assassin. To be like Nobody. Using his intellect and abilities to affect the world on a large scale---whilst an echo of his mother’s dreams for him, he didn’t have to do it her way .

Under a new identity, everything he chose would be his, and his alone. Not dictated by whom he shared a bloodline with. And he wasn’t alone. He didn’t need to be.

“Perhaps,” Fay said suddenly. “You… don’t have to decide now, no more than I do?” She asked tentatively. “There’s nothing wrong with being Robin for a bit longer, is it?” Extending her hand to his head, she playfully tugged on one lock of hair near his ear. One of his hands left her legs and wrapped around her wrist as his head tilted towards hers. “Don’t you feel like you have… um,” She paused, thinking for the right word. “…gone past that?”

That gave him pause.

“At times.” His eyes lowered to her hand which he brought away from his head. “I was far better equipped than any of my predecessors to begin with, so I’ve always been ahead in many ways.” It was just a fact. Damian did have genetic advantages, and he had been trained from a far earlier age than the others.

“But you had to learn… other things, right?”

Yes, he did. He’d had to relearn almost everything he’d believed to be right. He’d learned to work with others and allow them to have his back. He’d learned that partnerships did not have to be a liability. He’d learned that family did not have to be exclusive to blood relations. He’d learned that friendships, as selective as he still was with them, were not the meaningless baggage he’d believed them to be. He’d learned that loving others made him vulnerable and required lowering his guard for others, but that that was worth it. He’d learned that being seen could be powerful, especially when the other person liked what they saw . He’d learned that others sometimes believed in him more than he did himself.

And he’d learned that he had no problem with making exceptions for some people.

Just a few.

“Hm.” He moved her hand towards his mouth, turning it around so her wrist faced up. “Yes. You are right.” He took in the faint lines of her veins, and the small scars that were a permanent reminder of the ordeal she had gone through. Of how far she’d come, as well.

“I am?” She blinked, then grinned. Her cheeks were tinged pink as she watched him brush his mouth over her skin. “Could you say that again so I can record it?”

His smirk was hidden as he moved his lips from her wrist to her forearm where one of her marks was. He licked that spot. Fay immediately tensed and he glanced at her, taking in the wide eyes and flushed cheeks. “Does that hurt?”

She swallowed. “No.” She shook her head. “It’s just, um… sensitive,” She looked away. “After training. They always are.” They had not gotten the chance to spar properly since her return from the island. The previous day, Damian had left for patrol as usual, and returned in the early hours of the morning, falling asleep beside her. Earlier that day, Fay had asked him whether they could have a sparring match because she felt it could help her blow off steam, and because she hadn’t had a chance to show him her progress. He was never one to refuse such an offer, especially where it concerned watching her fight. He liked it. She had significantly improved in hand-to-hand combat since he’d first met her. Fay had grown more comfortable using force and relying on her instincts; Kaera was an effective trainer, it seemed. Damian would never admit it, but she had taken him by surprise at least once during their sparring session, although he had managed to recover in time.

Her marks felt tender after the intense sparring session they had, which had been several hours long. Not enough to warrant the salve, she had said, unaware that he may have anticipated helping her with it. He didn’t say anything, as his eyes went up to her arm, at the two rings of marks around her bicep. Then her collarbones, which were partially exposed. The top had a modest cut, but it was thin, and he could visually trace the outline of her bra even in that relaxed position. Fay wore a regular bra, as opposed to the sports one she’d stripped down to earlier during their sparring match. He could make out the shape of the cup and the area in which the band dug slightly into her skin. He wondered if she would have worn it at all if it hadn’t been for him. Fay had gone without additional support in the past, wearing oversized tops instead and he hadn’t thought much of it, even after his observations had become less clinical.

He looked up to her face again, meeting her eyes. Fay stared at him with a mixture of interest and uncertainty.

He wanted to do a lot more than press his mouth to her wrist. Impulses and desires that he used to look down on, and then subsequently suppressed when they’d overpower him in a vulnerable moment. He no longer had to do that, but he would not rush into anything. He would not rush her. She’d certainly resolved the part of his plan where he wished to gauge her thoughts on relationships of a non-platonic nature because she has clearly been ruminating on it at length. She’d contemplated it enough to know that he was the one she’d rather pursue, a thought she was still getting accustomed to, it seemed. Fay no longer pulled away from him and she was more open with her affection, all of which pleased him greatly, but they also found themselves in unexplored territory.

Damian lowered her arm. “We should discuss parameters.”

“Parameters?” She blinked, unfolding the leg under herself, and pulling her left knee up. Her right leg settled over his lap.

 “On… more .” He replied, using the same term she had used previously. His other hand came up one of her thighs, and he squeezed gently. He liked how strong her limbs felt, fat and muscle and otherworldly energy partnered with each other to make for something so potentially dangerous. Yet, also something rather appealing.  

 “Oh.” Fay’s eyes darted around the room, looking bashful. “…Do we?”

“When you were reading through that British study,” Damian asked. “What were the factors that contributed to the relationships failing?”

Fay’s eyes narrowed slightly as she tried to recall. Damian continued to scrutinise her, taking in her soft hair, which she’d let loose after she washed it earlier. His eyes darted to her red cheeks, then to her mouth before moving down to the column of her neck.

“Trust issues, erm, social circles, long-term priorities, communication---” Fay listed off. “—financial and religious---”

Damian scoffed. “I don’t think any of those would be a challenge.”

“Well… I suppose we could be better at, erm, communicating.”

“Yes, you are terrible at it.”

“Me? Just me ?” She glared at him. “That’s mean. Take it back.”

“No.” He smirked, and without warning, moved one of her legs to his other side and shifted towards her, so he could push her back on the sofa. Fay grunted loudly, out of surprise, and looked up at him incredulously. “What else?” He asked as he pressed himself flush against her, his arms snaking under her shoulders and giving her no choice but to wrap hers around his shoulders to be more comfortable. Not that she minded, although she was rather taken back. “We’re communicating right now,” He pointed out dryly as he dipped his head to press his nose against her right cheek.

“…abuse, erm, addictions, cheating and lack of commitment---” She shivered when she felt his mouth brush against the juncture between her neck and shoulder. Her chest went up and down, up, and down beneath him, her knees brushing against his hips. He didn’t lean his entire weight on her, but he could feel her breasts press against his chest. Had it always felt that good? 

He scoffed, the puff of air tickling her neck. “Clearly, the first and second do not apply.” Although, while he’d never see himself as one capable of being addicted, he could understand the draw of it. “The third is ridiculous. If I stopped having an interest in you, I’d tell you, especially considering our existing friendship. You already know---” His mouth moved up her neck to her jaw. “---how committed I am as an individual.” She swallowed. Her eyes looked darker than before, the redness in her cheeks had spread to her ears. Fay tilted her head to meet his eyes as one of her hands made its way through his hair, gently scraping against his scalp. 

“You’re not worried… I would?”

“Would you now?”

Her eyes widened. “No. Of course not.” 

Damian moved his mouth to her ear, over her earlobe. “You’d never have a reason.” He nipped the skin there and she gasped quietly, instinctively wrapping her arms harder around him and pulling him down on her. Her right knee was slotted between his and if she shifted it in the slightest, she would have ended up brushing against his---“What… else?” He asked tightly. They’d been in that position before, yet it had never affected him in that manner. Perhaps it was the knowledge that she might want to affect him, and she might be equally affected, that made blood rush down to his navel. 

“I, erm, I don’t think there was anything else,” Fay said, her voice assuming a suspiciously high pitch. He looked up at her, but she determinedly looked away. Of course, he knew exactly what other factors the Oxford study had listed. “I—I think we covered everything.” He nipped at her cheek, earning a small sound of protest as she tried to move her head away. “You’re lying,” He muttered, breath fanning over her face. “What else ?”  

“Well…” She swallowed, then her tongue darted out to lick her lips. His eyes zeroed in on it immediately. “Wait.” Green eyes met brown again. Her brows furrowed, and some of her embarrassment was replaced with suspicion. “Did you read it as well?” She asked tentatively. He just stared at her, expression neutral, and watched, almost greedily, every micro-expression she made. “You did .” Incredulity was followed by a speck of indignation and then morphed into annoyance. “Of course, you did, because I did what you would do---” He pressed his mouth against hers, swallowing the rest of the sentence. A kiss was, at its most clinical, just contact between two different sets of lips. The kiss they’d had the previous day had been more symbolic than anything else, a conclusion to their discussion. Like signing a contract. 

The second one was nothing like it. The second one made the world around them go silent, and everything else fade into the background. The second one made him realise why Dick was always so goddamn wrapped up in Kori when she was in town. Damian thought it was due to a sense of neediness. Sentimentalism. Being a victim to the more primal side of his brain. And it was still all that, but it was also the sudden hyper-awareness he experienced. The sheer enthusiasm with which she responded back, the way her hand tightened in his hair and the other in his shirt with a sense of urgency, the slight arch of her body into his although they were already as close as they could be. Neither one of them had any experience in that department, but it didn’t matter. They figured out far more difficult situations and they both wanted the same thing. Damian had never been one to enjoy wasting his time without doing something productive. But kissing her? He could do that. For minutes. Hours. 

Her stomach was filled with fireworks, not butterflies, because that was the only word that could accurately describe what she felt . The kiss was soft and hot and breathy, and although it sparked a back and forth , it didn’t feel like a battle as much as a dance. Her mind blanked, rationality taking second place to the sensations flooding her body and the only coherent thought she could string together was that she hoped it didn’t end too soon. Or ever, really. Damian’s arm slid out from under her right arm and his hand settled on the side of her face, tilting her head to the side to deepen the kiss. Fay lost track of time and space afterwards, just gave in to the impulses and her inhibitions melted away. He pulled back, and she raised her head almost immediately to press her mouth on his again even though she was out of breath. Her skin felt feverish, her flux was running wild even though she wasn’t uncomfortable or in pain. There was a vortex of heady sensations growing in her stomach and it made her core ache, and none of those sensations were new, she realised. She had felt that way before, months earlier, on the island, that day in the bathroom when she had been kneeling on the floor, trying to chase that metaphorical wave. 

Damian left her mouth and dipped his head to her neck. Her lips tingled, and they parted slightly as she instinctively tilted her head back to grant him access. At that moment she understood a bit better why Sora and Inaru were willing to chase each other despite the inevitable heartbreak. Why they snuck around the island to do things that friends didn’t. Her mind slipped her another thought through the haze that clouded it. If she and Damian were no longer just friends, if they both wanted more and that more started with a kiss, did that mean they’d---“ Ah .” Her mouth parted in surprise when he bit her neck. It felt different than it used to. She’d always known that he’d never truly hurt her even if he was merciless this time. The bite was laced with an unexpected mixture of pain and pleasure, and left her with a mark. 

She opened her eyes – when had she closed them? – and caught sight of Damian’s expression just briefly. The green of his irises was swallowed by his blown pupils and his cheeks were flushed.. He was just as affected as she was. His mouth came over hers again, and just when she thought the heat pooling in her stomach couldn’t get worse, she felt his tongue brush against hers. It was electric and addictive and delicious and it made the kiss with Sebastian seem all the duller. Did that moment with him even deserve to be labelled as a kiss? It didn’t feel like it. Fay’s leg moved out from between his knees, instead settling against his hip to match her other one. His hips were on hers now, and she had the sudden epiphany that the dampness she felt between her legs was not due to the perspiration. 

Something hard pressed against her and her mind helpfully supplied an accompanying image to the white-hot jolt she felt between the apex of her thighs. Hips on hips in that storage room, moving against each other, and in the fantasy that had rendered her boneless and breathless that day in the bathroom. Except those hips were now real. Using instructions rooted in something she’d only read about as opposed to actual experience, her body operated of its own accord, and she ground herself against Damian. Deep at the back of her mind, she knew what the hardness represented but, at that moment, all she could think of was the friction and how it caused delightful spasms with ease that she’d never managed to elicit before. 

Sweet Maysoon , if that was how it felt with clothes on and just a brief movement then how would---Damian moved against her, accidentally - or was it? - pressing against a particular spot that made her dig her hand into his shoulder and her knees cage him in tighter. He did it again, then again and again and she could feel the tension building up in her stomach. His mouth left hers and pressed against her neck, leaving her with rapid, shallow breaths escaping her lips. Fay felt both overwhelmed and like chasing for more, and she tugged on his hair when he ground into her again, making her wonder how many more times it was going to take for her to--- “Da---Damian…” IloveyouIlikethisdonnotstopIcannotbelievewearethisfeelsogood-

Damian froze, body going completely still above her. Fay’s eyes opened and she found herself staring at the tall ceiling and the mezzanine. The realisation of what they were doing – of what she had been doing – hit her like a train and all the heat in her body left her, replaced with icy horror. Her arms loosened around him, leaving his hair and shoulder as he pulled away from her. “I---I, uh---” Her eyes stung, and she wasn’t sure if that was a logical reaction, but she suddenly felt like crying. 

His steely expression felt like a punch to the gut. “That…” His voice was hoarse. “…shouldn’t have happened.” He got up into a sitting position, leaving her to feel alarmingly cold and missing something, and he brushed a hand through his hair. “I must get ready for patrol.” He said almost robotically, no longer looking at her. 

Then he got up and left. 

Fay remained on the sofa, brain trying to process what had just happened. 

She still felt like crying. 

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He had walked back to his room as calmly as possible, although his movements felt rather out of place due to the tightness in his trousers and the aggravating friction each step caused. It felt nothing like it did when he was pressed against her---Damian slammed the door to his bedroom and by the time his clothes were off and he was in the shower cubicle, the pressure in his navel had become almost painful. Meditation and cold water were moot at that point, although he tried the latter anyway if only because he was stubborn. 

He doubled over himself, a palm pressed against the cold shower wall to hold himself up and the other wrapped around himself. The low grunts leaving his throat were muffled by the running water, and he wasn’t sure what was worse. Keeping his eyes open and watching his hips flex with sharp snaps, while he ran his hand up and down in a movement he tried to stop from being too frantic, if only out of dignity? Or closing his eyes for his eidetic memory to quickly recall how soft and warm and pliable she felt under him? How the spot between her thighs radiated heat and how her breasts felt pressed against him, and how her tongue met his with equal fervour. His body decided for him in the end, and he pressed his forehead against the tiles, eyes shut as he came undone within seconds. 

Damian didn’t emerge from the bathroom until forty-five minutes later, feeling infuriatingly weak in the knees and light-headed. He heard the door to her bedroom close, and he frowned as he sat on the edge of his bed. He had to leave. He had lost control of himself. He had rutted against her like an animal, not even twenty-four hours after promising her that he wouldn’t rush her, that they’d figure out their next steps gradually. He scowled at nothing, except maybe himself, for his lack of self-control and having treated her in that manner. Damian didn’t regret kissing her, and she had clearly reciprocated, but he’d then jumped a few steps, he felt. They hadn’t discussed those parameters. Even if they had, he hadn’t planned on revealing how much more he wanted until later. When she didn’t still seem so unsure and apprehensive of their future, and definitely after she’d settled the matter of her parents’ secrets. If he couldn’t trust himself to hold back until she was ready from just a kiss, how was he going to be a fit… partner? 

He put on his suit. It was early, not even seven in the afternoon but he told himself there was always something to investigate in Gotham. That was why he was leaving earlier. Not because he wasn’t sure how to approach the fact that he’d gotten an erection and dry-humped her after their second kiss. He walked up to her bedroom. Her door was closed. She rarely ever kept it that way. Damian raised his hand to knock at it – he couldn’t leave like that; he wasn’t a coward – but then he heard the faint sound of water. She was in the bathroom. 

He took that as an opportunity to not knock at all and instead texted her to let her know that he was going. 

It was a pathetic move. 

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7 th of December, 3:00AM 

He needed to talk to her, and sooner rather than later, so he came straight to the warehouse after patrol. It had been a quiet night, but he’d taken his frustration out on every single criminal he could find, even the pettiest of them. His father had told him to cool it, but he hadn’t commented further. 

He found her in the bedroom, exiting her walk-in wardrobe just as he stepped in. The door was wide open, although he had a feeling it wasn’t for his benefit if the way her face fell when she saw him was any indication. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun at the back of her head, and she’d changed into an oversized shirt and a pair of shorts, leaving her legs exposed. Her eyes were slightly red. Had she been crying? 

Damian peeled off his mask. “We need to talk---”

“I am sorry.”

He blinked in surprise, taken aback. 

Fay’s face flushed, and she stood there, across the room from him, looking mildly uncomfortable. Embarrassed. “I… that was, I think that maybe... that was inappropriate.” She stammered. “I didn’t---I didn’t realise it would---” She swallowed, then averted her eyes. “…feel that way.” She added quietly. “But I shouldn’t have… acted like that. We haven’t----” she reached to rub at one cheek looking like she wanted to bolt out of that room. “---talked about that .” 

Huh. 

Did she think of herself as… responsible? 

Sigh . Idiot. 

Damian stepped closer. His utility belt and cape had already been removed and left out in the hall. “You… have done nothing wrong.” He said tightly. “I am the one who—” She looked up at him. Damian exhaled, somewhat irritably. “Sexual compatibility and intimacy.” He said bluntly. Her eyes widened slightly. “Those are the other major factors in the study.”

They stared at one another for a few seconds, but it felt longer than that. 

“…you did read it.” She said slowly, although she didn’t look upset by that. 

“Like you said,” He swallowed, mouth feeling parched. “It’s what I would do when I lack information.” 

Fay nodded, and she stepped closer to sit on the edge of the bed. She looked queasy which made his stomach churn in return. Was she disgusted? “And we’re not…?” No. Fay looked at him with a pinched expression, as if he had just told her something painful. “Is that why you… pulled away?” Her eyes became wet. “I mean, I didn’t mean to overstep—”

“Fay.” He walked over to the bed, stopping before her. “Stop. What are you on about?”

Fay wrapped her arms around herself, looking self-conscious. The movement also pushed her breasts forward, and he noted that she was no longer wearing a bra, as he was able to see the outline of the rounded flesh there. Damian was wondering if he’d opened Pandora’s box when he’d acknowledged his attraction to her, because he doubted he’d ever be able to not notice her. 

“…w-well, we talked about mo-more…” She mumbled. “…but doesn’t more include… include what you just said…” She bowed her head. “…but I haven’t thought about what it really means until today and it’s a bit… in-intimidating, and I am not sure if I am---but…” She brought her hands up to rub her face before she left them there. “It just felt good, and I thought… Ithoughtitdidforyoutoo .” She said in a rush, more of a breath than an actual sentence. “But I think, maybe, it all went too fast, and I---I didn’t know it could.” Damian felt blood rush to his cheeks. She had liked it. Then… when she’d ground against him, that hadn’t been by accident? It had been purposeful. Fay thought she was the one who had behaved inappropriately. She thought he had rejected her. 

Damian stepped towards her, pulling her hands away from her face. “Look at me.” She did so hesitantly, and he leaned forward towards her face. He pressed a gloved thumb to her chin, parting her mouth gently before pressing his on it. Her breath hitched, lips parting further when his tongue brushed against hers. She moaned softly, and he decided there was power in being able to elicit that reaction. It pleased him immensely, the admission that she experienced the same feelings he did, for him as much as he did for her. 

He pulled away and looked at her flushed face and hazy eyes. “Do you truly think that I was… unaffected?” He murmured. “Or that I walked away because I did not… want that?” She shook her head, and he sat down next to her on the bed. His head hurt, and he knew why but he wanted them to clear the tension away before he addressed it. “I wouldn’t have felt—” He clicked his teeth. “Aroused.” There. There it was. “If I didn’t find you appealing.”

Fay looked down. “I get that, but… I didn’t know what to think.” She said quietly. “I, um, I should have stopped, too, but you---you kind of just left, Damian.” She continued, although not reproachfully. “I know this is… new and su-sudden, but if you do that then... it’s hard for me not to wonder if I did something wrong.” Communication, of course. Fay wasn’t excellent at it if the way she allowed her emotions to bubble and her mind to overthink was any indication, but she’d always been more open about how she felt compared to him.

“…I left because I did not—trust myself.” He replied through gritted teeth. Damian looked as if it were physically painful for him to admit that. “Self-control and discipline are imperative to one’s character,” He added. “And I have not demonstrated that.” 

Damian tilted his head to look at her. Fay stared at him with a mixture of curiosity and incredulity. “You were right when you mentioned that I have never demonstrated a particular interest in sexual gratification.” Her cheeks grew darker. “I have given this matter… considerable attention.” He looked away and worked on removing his other glove, letting it fall onto the floor next to the other. “I am not… impervious.” He remembered saying the same thing to Dick. “My… libido is perfectly fine for the current stage in my physical development.” There. Clinical words put him in a neutral territory, where he could detach from the emotions more easily. “I simply have not had a desire to act upon it.” He could feel her eyes on his face. “Except…” You. You’re always the exception. “Now.” And the past several tormenting months. 

He glanced at her when she didn’t reply. She looked contemplative. “So… you don’t like it when you feel that way?” She asked. “Because it makes you feel out of control. Because it’s not… something you experience towards other people?” She looked bashful. “Just, erm, me?”

“An oversimplification, but yes.” His lips twitched. “I have always maintained discipline over my body. I believed…. I would not end up at the whim of biological changes if I maintain a balance.” He sighed. “I did, however. Today.” And whenever she invaded the forefront of his imaginative brain. 

“...alright.” She said, finally. “I didn’t see it that way, you know? That you… lost control.” She murmured. “I felt in a similar way. And that’s—normal, right? It doesn’t matter if you don’t feel the same with other… people.” She reached for one of his hands. “After all, we, um, both agreed we feel the same.” 

He was silent for so long she thought he might not answer.

“Your… confession has changed things, yes.” He admitted. He felt as if he stood at a canyon’s edge, at the bottom of which laid all the thoughts and actions he’d stifled for weeks, if not months, awaiting him.“This is not a matter of gratification. Only. It—it will never be.” 

“Oh.” She licked her lips as she digested his words. “That’s----that’s alright.” She said it so easily that it almost felt like a trap. “I… feel that way too. This isn’t just about—well, erm, gr-gratification.” Albeit it was an impersonal term, somehow she found it just as difficult to say it as if she were to use a different term. Fay smiled shyly, then exhaled, shoulders sinking. “Last year, after the case at the Academy, when I went to the island, remember that my aunt came to visit me? Aunt Sysa. I told her about the case, just in general, and I told her about Sebastian kissing me and how I… didn’t really really like it.”

He stared at her curiously. “You were still concerned.”

She shrugged. “I just… wondered if maybe I am missing something. I was curious.” She said, then shook her head, looking rueful. “I love my aunts, but they can be quite… annoying. Aunt Sysa started talking about how important it is to—” She stopped abruptly, hesitating. Fay looked as if she was having an internal conflict. “---to not depend on others to, um… to feel good.” She finally said, looking away down at the floor, finding it very interesting all of a sudden, her cheeks growing darker. “Then I heard some stories—” Her eyes widened comically. “—that I really don’t want to talk about. I had a meeting with the healers the next day, and it was---” Her lips curled in a pained smile.. “—I am glad I did, even if it was embarrassing. I thought maybe because I am only half-human that…” She shrugged. “…well, as my aunt put it, not everything is working correctly.” 

He stared at her. “You’re worried that your mixed bloodline will cause you to experience—”

“Don’t!” She squeaked out. “It’s—it’s all good. Everything is um—-fine.” Fay cleared her throat. “Anyway, I felt a----lot more comfortable with the topic.” She admitted. “Ever since then, I suppose I have been thinking a lot more about… that.”

There was another moment of silence. 

“Sexual intercourse.”

Fay felt slightly faint. Damian was the type of person who ripped the band-aid off without counting to three. “…I---” She shifted on the bed, feeling very much like crawling under the duvet for the rest of her life. “…more---or less.” 

“That doesn’t make sense.” 

She threw him a mortified look. “I am not sure you’re the authority on this.” He scowled slightly but didn’t comment. They both knew she was right. “…in the abstract, I think.” She said. “As I told you, I’ve been thinking more about what it’d be like if… if I had what my parents did.” She reached to rub at one shoulder absent-mindedly. “They were, um… passionate. I am not referring just to the---um.” She said, head bowed in embarrassment. “Then, I saw… Sora and Inaru. She told me about their—their relationship and…” She shrugged. “…honestly, I didn’t like the idea of anyone being that---that close to me. Not in that manner. Not—not yet. I don’t know. I think… it would take me a long time to be comfortable. I… thought about others.”

He tried not to look too invested in that part. “Others.” He repeated coolly. 

Fay drew in a sharp breath, wondering if she should bring it up at all. It was three am, however, and she was apparently discussing sexual urges with her friend who was also more than just a friend. 

Maybe she was dreaming. Or having a sort-of-nightmare. 

“Thelion. And---and Klaus.” 

“Klaus.” He repeated, with no small amount of venom. Thelion, he could understand. She seemed to have nursed an infantile crush on him in the past, and was now perhaps left with a sense of nostalgia. Damian wasn’t necessarily happy about it, but he had also thought about and dismissed Maya’s appeal. And even Colin’s. “You’ve considered an attraction to Klaus.” 

He realised at that moment that, while he had expected Fay would one day ponder such things, he hadn’t planned what he would do if he weren’t central to such thoughts. 

Fay nudged him gently with her elbow. “Don’t be mean.” She said softly. “He’s not that bad. I think… we’re friends now. He can be nice, too. And he’s talented.” 

Damian sneered at that. Friends. He’d tried to kill her. Damian wasn’t quite as willing to offer Klaus the benefit of the doubt. 

“I don’t like him like that ,” Fay added, embarrassed. “I mean he’s---he’s good looking and---so is Thelion—” She watched Damian’s expression turn blank, as if he was a statue. He was hiding his emotions, which couldn’t be a good sign at that moment. “I don’t like anyone like that.” She paused. “Except you.” She added softly, more of a mumble and if he didn’t have such a good hearing, he might not have caught it. 

He exhaled, tried to make it look natural as opposed to him releasing his breath. He hadn’t realised his breathing had become shallower and a tightness had formed in his chest. “I understand. It makes sense.” He said. “That you’ve made such considerations.” He was rather annoyed that he’d missed her internal debate. To her credit, she’d managed to be rather discreet. And they had been apart for several months. 

Fay leaned against him and hid her face on his shoulder. “It’s… all very---overwhelming,” She murmured. “And a bit scary,” She added. “But…” 

“But?”

“It’s a little less all that when I… I think about you.” 

He ran his tongue over his teeth. “Earlier today, you didn’t wish me… to stop?” 

Fay raised her head. “I—I don’t know.” She said honestly. “I don’t think I, um, ready for---for everything. But I didn’t feel scared.” She reached for one of his hands. They were clammy, most likely from having worn the gloves for hours on end. “I guess I lost, erm, control as well. If you’re… unaccustomed and I am unaccustomed as well, then maybe we could… go slow?” She asked. 

He angled himself towards her, draping an arm over her shoulders. “Slow.” Slow to learn each other in ways they hadn’t before. Slow, to give him – them – all the empirical data they needed to be compatible. Slow, because he wanted to explore everything unexplored with as much commitment as he did anything else in his life. And because she clearly wanted it too. Slow had been his initial plan - to gauge her interest, to understand how she might respond to the idea of their relationship developing further, because he was not interested in just addressing a metaphorical itch and she wasn’t someone who deserved that. 

They’d simply fast tracked past all that. Slow from thereon was a good idea. The canyon was there, waiting for him, and he wanted to take his time exploring it. 

 “Agreed.”

Her eyes flickered to his mouth. 

“Is it still alright if we…” 

He smirked, which was all the affirmation she needed before shyly leaning forward to press her lips against his. It was a bit clumsy and awkward because she was still unsure about the logistics of it, but he met her halfway, threading his hand through her hair and deepening the kiss. If that was how it felt at the top of the canyon…

Fay’s brows furrowed when her hand brushed against the back of his head, and she came across a wet spot. Pulling away, she opened her eyes and looked at her hand to find her fingers slick with blood.  

You’re hurt?!”

He scowled, nearly flinching from her scream. And she said he had a way of ruining moments. “- TT -. It’s hardly—”

Fay hit him in the chest, hard . “You’re bleeding!” 

Damian rolled his eyes. “Our conversation didn’t take so long---”

“What is wrong with you ?!” Fay pulled away, with a huff and angrily gestured towards the bathroom. “Damian, move. I need to look at that.” 

He raised a brow, his smirk widening at her sudden authoritarian attitude. 

“Happy Birthday.”

That threw her off, because she stared at him incredulously, blinking rapidly. Buffering. 

 “ Damian .” 

.

“I want a three-tier chocolate cake with hazelnuts for this.”

“Demanding, are we?”

“You’re a maniac.” 

“Clearly, it did not bother you when your tongue was in my— mphfk! ” The water from the bathroom faucet suddenly changed direction, against gravity and splashed him in the face before resuming its natural course. “ Wench. ” He threw her a menacing look in the mirror, which she ignored as she inspected her work. The laceration on his scalp was just at the back of his head, towards the upper left. It only required four stitches and it was thankfully, not too deep but she was nevertheless worried.  

“Idiot,” She grumbled, as she stepped towards the counter to organise the things she’d taken out of the medical bag. “Can’t believe you were just sitting and talking with a wound like that.” 

He clicked his teeth. “I’ve had worse injuries. You’re fretting over nothing.” 

Fay placed the bag inside one of the cupboards and when she returned her attention to Damian, she noticed he had already removed his vest and was working on his base layer. She wasn’t embarrassed by his state of undress, but she did frown when she noticed light bruising around his left shoulder. She didn’t comment, however. It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten injured, nor would it be the last. She would always worry over his well-being, but she supposed she felt a little more anxious about him being hurt because it tied into her fear of losing him. 

“I’ll, uh, bring you some clothes.” She said before exiting the bathroom. There was no point for him to go shower in his room, and in fact, by the time she returned to her bathroom with a spare change of clothes, she heard the shower already running. With reddened cheeks, she opened the door just enough to place the clothes on the floor, keeping her eyes closed all the while. Damian was very comfortable in his own skin, but the last thing her nerves needed was to get a full eyeful of his anatomy. 

Although, wouldn’t she in the future? The thought took her by surprise, and she pulled the bathroom door close more harshly than needed, making it slam. Her whole face felt hot again, and she shook her head. She wasn’t ready to contemplate a scenario in which they both saw each other in that state, although it wasn’t necessarily frightening. Everything had moved fast in the past few days. She’d gone from feeling guilty about thinking of her friend as beyond that to kissing him and wanting to do it again and again. She’d gone from worrying about her future to committing to… well, was it a relationship they were now having? It sounded so… mature. It made her both apprehensive and excited. 

All that she knew for certain was that she did not want her and Damian to grow apart. And that the boundaries they’d been crossing in the past forty-eight hours had not filled her with a sense of wrong, no matter how new and unknown things were. 

Fay turned the heat on because the temperature outside steadily approaching below zero, and then she quickly went downstairs to check on the pets. The warehouse was incredibly well insulated and between that and the heated floors, she didn’t worry about the cold seeping through. However, she wanted to make sure Oscar and the others were comfortable. Bagheera was very resistant to the cold, but he took his seat on the sofa. 

“Rghhh?” He raised his head and gave her a sleepy look. 

Fay kissed his head. “It’s all good. I just wanted to check on you.” He growled softly and his head fell back down. 

She headed back upstairs. Damian had already armed the alarm system. 

He wasn’t out of the bathroom, but the water was no longer running. Fay suddenly felt a bit bashful, and her stomach was filled with butterflies, so she crawled in the bed, sliding under the duvet. She glanced at the clock. It was close to four am. 

It was her birthday. She’d turned sixteen. In a few months’ time, it would be five years since her parents had died, and four since she’d lived in that world. In a day’s time, she’d talk to her aunt and Baije about her parents. There was no way the information they’d tell her wouldn’t change things again. Fay had been preoccupied with Damian in the past days, but the matter of her parents leaving potential clues to what had happened that night in Maysoon was at the back of her mind. Constantly. She felt guilty for ignoring her godfather and aunt for so many days. But Damian had been right. She had needed to get her thoughts in order first, to address the frustration and concern she felt regarding her place in that world. It had helped, certainly, but she was afraid of what she’d learn about her parents. 

The door to the bathroom opened and Damian came out, wearing the grey sweatpants she’d left for him and the sleeveless dark top. She’d left that and a t-shirt, unsure which one he preferred. Damian scowled lightly as he ran a dry towel through his hair, squeezing the excess water out as much as possible. Fay offered to blow dry it for him. It took some coaxing and pointing out that it wouldn’t benefit his injury if the area stayed wet, but he ultimately sat on the bed while she positioned herself behind him, on her knees. On a gentle setting, she gently dried his hair, careful not to linger with the heat where his stitches were. 

Fay giggled when his hair ended up pointing in all directions, looking as if he had just been electrocuted. His hair had become wavier over the summer, and he always styled it back, but she liked it when it was like that. Out of place, and a little wild and natural. He didn’t say anything or move as she ran her hands through it, indulging herself for several minutes before styling it back, careful not to touch his stitches. 

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and leaned against him, resting her chin on his good shoulder. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For making it easier. The past few days.” She mumbled tiredly. “I just know whatever aunt Lira is going to tell me is going to make me anxious. But I feel… better prepared now.” Because if she was reassured he’d be by her side, she felt like there was little she couldn’t overcome. 

Damian turned around to face her, making her loosen her arms around him, but she didn’t completely remove them. He reached behind him and with a few tugs, he removed the soft scrunchie keeping her hair tied, letting the soft locks fall. He didn’t care how she wore her hair, but he enjoyed running her hands through the locks. A frivolous activity, perhaps, but it pleased her as well, and her contentment was a priority of his. “You were crying.” He remarked quietly, glancing down at her neck. There was a purple mark the size of a dollar coin on the left side. He’d put it there. And he felt like adding many others, especially when he knew that pleased her as well.

 “Was it because of---” 

“Oh, no.” she shook her head. “I mean, I did feel a bit overwhelmed earlier and---and worried. But that’s not why.” She leaned her head against his hand when he pressed it against the side of her face. “I fell asleep. And I dreamt of that man again.” Her expression darkened slightly. “The one with the spider on his hand. Many of my nightmares feel real at times… but this one is always so vivid. I wonder if maybe it truly is a memory.” She pressed her mouth against his wrist. He wondered if she could feel his pulse quicken. “…sometimes I don’t know if I really want to find out if it is a memory or not. Because if it is….” She sighed, her warm breath fanning down his forearm. “…then I am not sure if anything good will come out of it.” 

“Your aunt hasn’t mentioned anything in that regard,” Damian remarked. “Unless she was omitting information again.”

Fay smiled ruefully. “We’ll find out soon enough.” 

“Tomorrow.” He said firmly. 

“Aw, do you care about my birthday that much?” Fay asked teasingly. “You sentimental fool .”

He scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous,” She just grinned harder and he looked away, maintaining a scowl that was entirely fake, but his pride knew better than to look her in the eye when she was playful like that. It made him want to be impulsive. “I simply do not intend on changing my plans just because of the ridiculous timing she has. And like you’ve said, the past few days have been helpful for your own emotional stability. “

“Plans?” Fay asked, leaning towards him with an earned look. “What plans?”

He smirked. Damian didn’t respond and instead, he leaned forward to kiss her again. Fay responded in kind, but unlike earlier that day, when they’d both been assailed by a sense of urgency, the kiss was more one of comfort. Languorous. Fay leaned back against the pillows and Damian moved to lay down next to her. With an arm around her waist, he pulled her closer. 

“Pause.” He brushed his nose against her cheek. 

“Hm?” 

“If you want to stop. Say pause .” He murmured, before pressing his forehead against hers. “I will. Always. It doesn’t matter the reason.”

Fay nodded. “Okay.” Her eyes fell on his bruised shoulder, and slowly, she dipped her head towards it. Tentative. She didn’t want to overstep, but now that she knew he liked it when she did things like that, Fay wanted to keep doing them. She liked it too, of course, but it delighted her to know that she could make him feel that way. Fay pressed her mouth gently against his shoulder, just where the bruise began near his bursa. He smelt of jasmine and cherry blossoms because he’d used her shower gel. Fay thought about offering to apply some of her salves to his bruises, but she didn’t want to move, and she already knew he’d say no. 

“Pause?” She asked with uncertainty, lifting her mouth. The arm she was sitting on was between them, her hand pressed lightly against his sternum. The other was draped around him. 

“No.” A beat. “...do you?” 

She swallowed. “...no.” 

A shiver ran down his spine. 

Fay pressed her mouth all over the bruise, even on the area where the cotton covered his skin. Gently, lightly. She could feel his actual scent stronger in that area, so she pressed her lips against his neck. He was in the same position as earlier, and it had felt good when he’d kissed her there, but she wasn’t sure if she should do the same. She was tempted to nip the skin in the manner he did. She didn’t. It was rather frightening how the idea of kissing him had been abstract and guilt-ridden before, but now she couldn’t stop thinking about it.  

Slow was better for the time being. 

“I see you.” She exhaled, then closed her eyes, her head tucked under his chin and face pressed in his collarbone. 

Damian didn’t respond verbally but his arm left her waist and wrapped around her shoulders, hand slipping through her hair at the back of her head. 

He inhaled deeply.

.

.

7 th of December

Damian’s scowl lost much of its puissance throughout the afternoon, although he was still irritated that his plans for the day had changed despite the care he’d taken in crafting them. He’d planned Fay’s birthday weeks earlier, but he had reevaluated his ideas on how she might want to spend her day after her outburst that evening. He hated to admit it, even if just to himself, but he had been uncertain – albeit temporarily – of whether their rapport would be fully mended before the seventh of that month. In the end, the situation had progressed even better than he had wanted despite them remaining in unexplored territory. At least as far it concerned their mutual desire to have more than a friendship.

Fay did not care much for birthday celebrations, primarily because they made her nostalgic of her childhood and in return, reminded her that there were people she wouldn’t get to celebrate that day with. She no longer perceived herself as worthless or unimportant, but she had always had a humility that Damian never would. If he didn’t like celebrating his birthday, it was because they reminded him of a different era – both good and bad – and because he could not care less about such festivities. Of course, over the years he had failed to get away from such observances, first due to Dick’s aggravating insistence that his birthday should be celebrated. Fay was almost as bad as him. Almost, because while she always seemed so happy he was alive and there, she tried not to become an accomplice to any social events that she knew he disliked taking part in.

He did understand, however. Wanting to make someone happy. Damian had understood that even before Fay had become part of his life, but with her, there was always the knowledge that she considered a quiet day at the warehouse in his presence a fine birthday. Anything beyond that was a bonus, and Damian had never been one to settle for anything but excellence. How could he now, after he’d admitted that he wanted her by his side in different – new - ways as well?

He had wanted to take Fay to New York to see a Broadway play. Not his first choice in terms of activity or venue, but he knew she’d been looking it up. He had seen the flyers and open browser pages on her laptop, because she’d grown fascinated with the Wicked novel and the story it originated from, one she was familiar with. Fay enjoyed reading stories of characters navigating new worlds. She’d once told him that she’d found comfort in Alice in Wonderland because it made her feel less alone in how confused and perennially out of place she’d felt during her first months in that world. It was amongst the first books she had gotten after they’d left the Amazon. Damian had already taken her to see the play version of the novel and she’s seen the other adaptations, as with many other stories from that world. She has also seen the Wizard of Oz, which had delighted her.

“A girl who ends up in a different world by strange means and has a dog.” She said with a bright smile. “That’s Bag and me.” She said firmly, ignoring when he rolled his eyes. “Although I suppose I was more like the cowardly lion back then.” She mused, with a touch of dark humour. She’d been exhibiting that more and more recently. He didn’t mind it. On the contrary.

“Tch. And I was what? Your good witch who paved your road with gold?” He asked sardonically.

She eyed him. “I was going to say you’re the Tin Man.” He scoffed. Her eyes glinted with mischief, as she casually turned back in her seat, returning her attention to her waffles. Alfred was puttering about the kitchen, but he was paying attention to the conversation judging by the slight curl of his lips. “Given how short you were back then, I suppose you were more of a munchkin.” She grinned. “You’re my munchkin.”

Damian had been extra mean during training that day. Fay regretted nothing.

She loved Wicked for different reasons. Damian hadn’t been interested in reading the novel, but she’d talked to him about it enough that he ended up doing exactly that although he never told her. He hadn’t expected the work to be the political, social, and ethical commentary it turned out to be. He knew Fay was bound to be very stimulated to discuss it further once they saw its Broadway adaptation, and she would undoubtedly have been elated. Alas, they didn’t go. The performance, a VIP package, was cancelled last minute. He had also made a reservation at a restaurant that they were not going to attend given how the afternoon was going.

That morning, Damian woke up before Fay, as that was usually the case, and trained for two hours, before showering. Fay slept deeply until noon, which he suspected was a lingering effect of the weeks spent internalising her frustrations. As soon as she was awake, he told her to get changed because they were going to the Manor. At that point, he already knew the Broadway show was no longer an option, so he didn’t tell her about it. “It’s a surprise party, isn’t it?” She asked after she came downstairs, dressed in a pair of jeans and a loose green button-up shirt. He found he felt no desire to hold back from his internal observation that the outfit flattered her.

“Yes.” He saw no point in lying. “What took you so long?” He asked, impatiently.

She chucked one of the pillows on the sofa at him. He easily caught it.

“Titoh called me,” Fay said with a smile. “He and Moma and a few others wished me a happy birthday. Even Klaus, apparently.”

And the entire afternoon, she only seemed happy. Slightly overwhelmed when she realised the others had gone out of their way to celebrate her birthday and flustered for the first hour. She relaxed after that and grew more and more at ease with each minute that passed. Damian knew that out of everyone present, she was closest to Dick and Stephanie. Excluding Damian and Bag, of course. But she and Tim had also had ‘conversations’ apparently, which had resulted in the two talking more often than Damian did with the other man. Damian couldn’t see why she’d like being around Drake, but she was happy, and he found it hard to find fault in that. Barbara had arranged training sessions for Fay in the past, and so the latter looked at her more as a mentor than a friend. Jason wasn’t present, unsurprisingly. Damian suspected he’d have a present for her, however. If anything, he should have, given how much food he ate at the warehouse, Damian thought.

Surprisingly, his father attended. Not just a drop-in visit. He was there from the beginning and stayed throughout the animated brunch, the cake cutting, and the terrible happy birthday ritual that had Fay look like she wanted to crawl under the table. He didn’t sing, nor did Damian, but his presence there pleased him.

He caught Fay looking at him curiously from across the room, where she’d been watching a rather intense match of foosball between Tim and Stephanie. She immediately grinned at him, eyes shining and face brightening. He didn’t react outwardly, although he felt something warm bloom in his chest and trickle down to his navel. No one was aware of the... developments between the two. The others certainly wouldn’t read it off him, but Fay had also been unusually discreet. She didn’t look at him differently, the affection she showed him had always been there. They didn’t talk much throughout the day and the only time they were within each other’s orbit was when they sat at the table. It was not out of the ordinary. He did wonder, however, what she’d do if he kissed her there and then. The inclination was there. He didn’t care what the others thought, but he was bound to be pestered with questions he didn’t want to waste his time with. Fay was also bound to feel embarrassed and anxious.

Hm.

The present opening stage of the day was a long affair, if only because Fay had ended up with well over twenty gifts. Amongst those, Dana Mercher and her son, Mack, Colin, and Cora had also contributed. Maya had sent a gift as well, to Damian, which he had placed with the rest. Helen had hers delivered to the Manor after he told her that Fay was away ‘travelling’ with her family. As far as everybody else that attended the brunch, Fay had been stuck at the warehouse for the past week due to feeling unwell. Damian could tell Dick suspected otherwise because Fay had gotten ‘sick’ right after that evening when she’d decided to explore the old drainage system on the borders of the county. The former Robin didn’t ask questions, but Damian noticed the way Dick surreptitiously scrutinised Fay during the day. It wasn’t a look that spoke of suspicion, but more of concern.

The intimate party finished shortly after Fay learned that her present from Bruce was a car. A high-tech, high-end, customised car, just for her.

“She gets to drive before you do.” Stephanie pointed out with a smirk. “You better be extra nice if you want a lift.”

“I already know how to drive.” Damian scoffed.

“You’re not allowed to, pipsqueak.”

“I am taller than you, Brown.”

“By half an inch. How long did that take you again?”

The others watched with a mixture of apprehension and amusement.

“Just ask. When you feel comfortable,” Bruce said, looking wary at the other two’s behaviour, but his expression was softer than usual. 

Fay nodded. Truth be told, Jason had already shown her how to hotwire a car earlier that year. He’d also let her try driving. It had made her feel nervous and claustrophobic, but it had been a useful lesson. Fay had asked him if he could teach her once she was old enough, but he had not given her a concrete answer. She suspected he would. But she didn’t mind learning from the others as well. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Thank you.”

It had been a very, very good day.

But.

But.

At the end of the party, when everyone started leaving, one by one, either because they had patrol or other commitments, Fay pulled Damian aside.

“I am going to the bunker.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why? We agreed for tomorrow—”

“This is—not that. I don’t want to talk to them about my parents. Yet.” She whispered although they were out in the hall with only Bagheera by her side to hear them. “I---they’re alone. I—I am not.” She said, which was a poor explanation for the persistent nagging guilt at the back of her head. But it was Damian, and she didn’t need to go into further detail, because he quickly pieced together what she meant.

He exhaled. “Very well.”

“I will go to the warehouse afterwards.”

.

.

.

Baije and Lira stared at her with a mixture of surprise, affection, and penitence. Fay stared back, red-faced and eyes wet, smiling tentatively.

“Um, I am sorry for ignoring you.” She said tentatively, then felt compelled to bow as she presented the box with the berry pie inside. Alfred had prepared so much food – several dishes consisting of her favourites – that he didn’t even bat an eye when she asked him if she could take the berry pie. “I understand---I understand this is not easy for you either.”

“Oh, come here, you---”

Baije pulled her into a bear hug. Fay giggled when the box with the pie was nearly crushed. Lira didn’t give her any respite, immediately wrapping her arms around Fay and pressing her cheek against the hers.

“I am sorry, flea.” She said. “I really didn’t mean for you to find out like that. Everything’s just fucked.”

The niggling sensation at the back of Fay’s head was gone.

.

.

.

20:37

Fay and Bagheera returned to the warehouse without any rush despite the late hour. As she’d found out at the bunker, Baije had been stress-cooking ever since Fay had last been there, which meant there was an insane amount of food around. He had also baked for her birthday, although he had been very critical about not having the ‘right’ ingredients or tools as he would have in their world. Much to Lira’s exasperation and Fay’s amusement, Baije has kept himself busy ‘experimenting’ with the resources available. Lira complained about having to make regular, unnecessary trips into town to buy things that should have lasted them for longer than they did. Fay had ended up eating some of the pastries Baije had baked, and had a slice of the berry pie herself which Baije commended for its taste and ‘elite technique’.

As a result, both she and Bagheera had decided to walk for several miles to alleviate the sense of fullness and nausea. She had also enjoyed the quiet and just being with her paladin for a while after how eventful the past week had been. At the bunker, they hadn’t had the talk that had been hanging over everyone’s head. Instead, they had reminisced over the olden times when Fay had been younger, and the attack of Maysoon hadn’t taken away her parents and many others yet. Fay had told Baije about her adventures there, although Lira had filled him in on most of them, and she had talked about the home she’d built there. He had seemed genuinely satisfied. And proud. “Aye, that’s the nomad blood from your mother.” He’d said playfully, and she’d smiled widely.

For a few hours, they had pretended that their reunion was just that. A gathering amongst some members of their family, choosing not to discuss those whom they’d never see again. Baije hadn’t talked about his hardships following the attack on Maysoon, Lira hadn’t brought up the clan or the situation in Maysoon. Fay had not dared to ask about the holograms she had come across several days earlier, or how many other objects and clues her parents had left behind. She was curious, of course, and a part of her was filled with trepidation at getting answers – finally – but she had also wanted to preserve that day as it was. It was a Good Day.

No. It had been an excellent day. Fay had not expected that that was how her birthday would go after the emotionally draining weeks she’d had leading up to it. There were many reasons why she still felt anxious and uncertain, but she felt much calmer. Reassured. No matter how jarring the idea of her parents leaving a mystery behind was, she could always think back on Damian’s words and feel soothed.

She found Damian there, heart skittering at the sight of him on the sofa, with Nada on his lap.

Fay removed her shoes and left them by the entrance. The doors shut behind her and she heard the tell-tale sound of the alarm switching on. She shivered as she removed her light jacket and hung it from the standing hook near the door. She eyed the numerous gift bags that had been left on the kitchen island, causing her to smile as she recalled what each one contained. It was very humbling.

She floated over to the seating area. Nada immediately moved away, which was a wise move because Fay let herself fall on top of Damian. Not hard enough to hurt him, but enough to make him jostle and scowl at her, although he made no attempt to push her aside. With a knee on each side of his waist, she quickly shoved her hands under him and pressed her nose against his neck. The flux kept her from freezing, but she had been dressed too lightly for the weather was colder than usual.

It took her a moment to realise that, perhaps, that position was no longer appropriate. She had never really thought twice about showing him affection before, unless it concerned his mood and whether he seemed like he preferred his space instead. Fay was not naïve enough to not understand that they’d been far closer than what might be ‘appropriate’ for a while, and that was something that Fay had realised after she’d become more familiar with the societal norms of that world. She hadn’t cared that they didn’t ascribe to them. If she sought him out, it hadn’t been because of the attraction that she was still wrapping her mind around or to… instigate anything, as Damian had the day before. That had never happened before, to either one of them. Maybe they’d both held back for a while, but Fay was certain this was a recent phenomenon from both sides.

Her mind went back to the heat that had pooled in her belly. How very obviously affected Damian had been as well, which was in a way, relief to her, and to an extent also made her feel unexpectedly pleased. 

“Is---is this alright?” She muttered, stilling herself. She felt one of his hands brush over her right thigh, the other over her back. It felt nice when he did that, but his touch was light and almost tentative. Was that another consequence?

Damian didn’t reply immediately. “Why wouldn’t it be?” He asked coolly. Or he attempted to. Fay knew him well enough to detect the changes in the inflection of his tone because she pulled away, straightening to look at him. She inadvertently made it worse, pressing down on him. He suddenly wondered if she’d ever been in that position before – very rarely – and then he asked himself if he’d ever reclaim self-discipline over his body when she was around. He hadn’t, thankfully, developed an erection as the day before, but if she kept shifting around on top of him like that---Fay realised what she was doing, glancing down with a mortified look before she looked away. With one hand on the back of the sofa, she tried to move away, mumbling an apology but he stopped her, hands on her hips. It made for a very compelling view.

But he didn’t want her to pull away. Fay was bound to grow self-conscious and rethink her every movement around him. They’d already admitted to their feelings, so it was ridiculous to try to deny it. Even if he had yet to become accustomed to the precipitous urge of giving in, wholly and wholeheartedly. What would happen if he did? Not yet, the more rational side of him said. It was too early. Even if Fay faced a similar internal conflict, she had also admitted to feeling overwhelmed and uncertain still. Not about her feelings, but how they’d impact their bond.

“You’ll know if it’s an issue.” Realising the double entendre of that phrase, he added, “We’ve agreed to call it out, remember?”

She relaxed visibly and nodded. “Alright.”

He tugged her down towards him, hand threading through her hair at the back of her head. He found her weight on top of him pleasing; he found it even more pleasing when Fay cupped his face and pressed her mouth against his. Slow and tentative, because practice had yet to make her perfect at it. As soon as he responded, Fay relaxed fully, and she slid one hand through his hair.

It was dangerously addictive, he found, the newfound level of closeness. Even more so than before. There was a primal satisfaction in seeing how affected she was by him, from the flushed cheeks and glazed expression, to the soft moans he elicited when he left her mouth alone temporarily to kiss her neck. He had been tempted to push down the hem of her shirt to uncover her marks but he refrained. For the time being. 

How vexing. To want someone like that. 

How exhilarating . To be wanted like that, as well. 

Fay smiled at him, eyes full of affection and lips swollen, her expression causing him to feel feverish all over. She cupped his face, thumbs running gentle patterns over his face. Inspecting. There was something reverent about the way she touched him that made him feel oddly filled with a sense of power. 

“I take it your visit has---” He started, lowly, pausing only to lick his lips which caused her eyes to fall back on his mouth. The taste of berries lingered in his mouth. “—gone well.”

Fay hummed, and nodded. “Yes,” She replied, slightly breathlessly. “I am glad I went. I guess… I felt guilty.”

“Guilty?”

“Baije woke up and found out that my mother… was dead. He can’t remember things and he’s in this world, and my aunt Lira… she’s keeping many secrets for me. From my uncle and people on the island.” Fay explained. “I felt… selfish, I suppose. Today was a good day. I have a new home and new people who care about me but---” She shook her head. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what I would do if that happened to me. Again, but worse. Wake up and find out that you and Bag and the others---” She swallowed. “---are gone and I don’t remember anything. That I didn’t even get a chance to do anything.” Fay readjusted slightly on top of him, so her legs were aligned with his and she didn’t have to support her weight anymore. “I used to think that the worst that could happen already did. But that’s not true. There are others who have it just as bad or worse and they----they didn’t as get lucky as I did.”

Damian’s brows lifted slightly. “Lucky? As if you had it easy.” She didn’t, no matter how much he liked to aggravate her by pointing out he had been ‘spoiling’ her too much. Perhaps it was his eidetic memory, or perhaps it was the impression she’d left on him at the time, but Damian could still recall very accurately how small and fragile she used to be. How he could feel her bones underneath her skin with no fat or muscle to protect her. How fearful she used to be, prone to suffer panic attacks from certain words or topics.

“No. I didn’t.” Fay paused, momentarily distracted by how good it felt to be that close to him. His scent was soothing. “…I just felt oblivious, I suppose. I am not the only one who was affected by what happened that night. Maybe it was easy not to think of it because other people, like my uncle, are good at hiding it. With Titoh—people didn’t even pay attention to him. Because he wasn’t the biological son, and because he was better at hiding how he felt. But he was suffering just as much as I was. Baije doesn’t show it much either, not the way I did. But hearing about it---I guess I realised that while I managed to find, erm, a new home and new people to be around---others haven’t. They---” She smiled ruefully. “---still have more baptisms of fire and they’re alone. It’s terrifying, Damian, the fact that someone like Baije had to wake up and find out my mother is dead. She was his family. And now, he’s in this world, hiding and living… a life that he shouldn’t have to anymore.”

 Damian’s hands moved over the expanse of her back, brushing against the fading scars and the marks underneath her shirt. He always knew exactly where they were even if he couldn’t see them. Fay placed her head on his chest, listening to his mellow breaths.

“You always care more about others than yourself.” He murmured quietly, his expression softening slightly. “Nothing that you have now,” He said suddenly, quietly as his hands fell low on her back where the hem of her shirt was. “Is undeserved.” Lifting it slightly, he tentatively brushed his fingers over her skin and when she didn’t show any signs of being uncomfortable with that gesture, he slid his hand fully under her shirt. Her skin was returning to its usual warmth, but the area around her marks was close to feverish, as always. He brushed his thumb around one mark, its location and shape perfectly clear in his mind.

She shifted slightly, and he stopped.

“It’s okay.”  She mumbled, a second later. “…I like it.”

They stayed like that for several minutes, his hand exploring her back. The strap of her bra blocked his path from being able to brush his hand over all her skin, but he focused on the light indentation the material caused her. Damian had half a mind to undo it when his finger found the small metallic clasp, if only because he doubted she felt particularly comfortable wearing such a thing. There was something inherently suggestive about it. He removed his hand and instead moved it over one of the marks down her spine.

Fay’s head lifted, looking as if a thought struck her before she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. He raised a brow at her.

“I am sorry we didn’t get to do what you planned.” She said. “You didn’t need to, but I would have liked it all the same if it was just us for the day.” She smiled sheepishly. “I knew something was wrong. I heard Alfred saying a car won’t be needed for New York and that he called to make a cancellation at a restaurant. I googled it,” She shrugged. “It was very close to Broadway, so I figured it out from there. It was Wicked, wasn’t it?”  

He was amused. “Eavesdropping, are we?”

“It wasn’t intentional,” She said. “But I knew there was a reason why you were brooding.”

“TT. I do not brood—”

She giggled. “You are the king of brooding.” She brushed her nose against his chin. “It’s alright. It was a very good day. I am happy.” Closing her eyes, she sighed happily. “I didn’t think I’d have this many people care about me. In this world. Just as Fay.”

He knew how she felt.

“You don’t have my present yet.”

Opening her eyes, she tilted her head to look at him. “What do you mean? We just talked---”

Damian scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. That was merely the… entrée, if you will.”

She just stared at him confused. “You don’t have to give---” She stopped when he glared at her. Fay smiled. “Fine. What is it?”

Damian instructed her to straighten up and close her eyes, his hands falling away from her and leaving her with cold spots where he had touched her. Fay shut her eyes, lips curled as she waited, listening to the sound of clothes shuffling. He moved under her, his torso lifting towards her and a few seconds later, she felt her hair being pushed to one side. Something was draped around her neck, hanging heavier in the front, long enough to fall between the valley of her breasts. It was a necklace, she realised, as he clasped it at the back of her head, the cold material settling against her skin. She reached to touch the pendant that hung from it with one hand, while the other tried to brush against the necklace.

“You can open your eyes.”

She did even before he finished the sentence, immediately glancing down. “Oh.” She lifted the pendant. It was round, barely big enough to fit into her palm but lighter than she would have assumed for its size. Made of tungsten, Damian explained, an incredibly durable metal. It was custom made, painted in gold, and could be opened like a pocket watch, which it strongly resembled. Inside, there was a music box that started playing if she pressed on the pusher button located near the pendant and bow. She did exactly that, holding her breath as the small mechanism inside the pendant whirred to life, generating a soft melody. She wasn’t familiar with it, but it reminded her of one of her mother’s lullabies. Calm, soothing. Easily transporting her to lazy, peaceful afternoons spent in trees away from the scorching sun. Or ones spent on that sofa, surrounded by pets and Bagheera by her side, reading a book while Damian tapped away incessantly on his laptop.

“…I’ve not heard this one before.” She murmured when the lullaby was over, turning the pendant around in her hands and studying it with open admiration.

Damian watched her intently. “You couldn’t have.”

It took her a moment to piece together what he meant. Fay lifted her eyes to his. “You---you created it?” Her heart fluttered, warmth filling her chest. He didn’t respond, just stared at her expectantly. “It’s---it’s beautiful.” She said. “Thank you.” Still clutching onto the pendant, Fay leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, which was easier than before. “Thank you.” She repeated in his ear.

“You may use it for panic attacks.” He pointed out, loosely returning the embrace. “The tungsten should hold against your flux even when it’s volatile.”

It wasn’t the only reason, but he couldn’t bring himself to say the others out loud. Perhaps there was no need. Fay understood. If she didn’t then, she would eventually.

(Sometimes he liked to gaze at the shuriken that he’d kept on his mantle for years now)

(Sometimes, he grabbed it on the rare occasion he was at the Manor alone and woke up from his own nightmares)

“Thank you.”

“You already said that.”

“…for everything.”

He frowned.

“I swear if you dare use my shirt as your tissue again—”

It happened once. She’d sneezed on him. She hadn’t meant to. It was very embarrassing.

Fay inhaled, then exhaled. “I am not.” She didn’t sound like she was crying. Her grip on him tightened, face pressed against his neck

“It’s not time for patrol, yet right?” She murmured. “Can we just stay like this for now?”

He didn’t have patrol for that evening. Bruce’s doing, not his.

“I have spoiled you.” He sighed but laid back all the same and, on his side, manoeuvred her to stay between him and the sofa. Bagheera settled at the end, sprawling himself with Pip tucked near his tail. Oskar moved closer, and Nada compromised to sit near Damian’s head. Fay removed her arms from around his neck, and opened the pendant again, before pressing the pusher to restart the lullaby.  

“This is a core memory,” Fay muttered sleepily.  

“Has all the sugar you’ve consumed today affected your brain?”

“No.” She smiled, all the same as she placed her head under his chin.  

Cora would have understood the reference.

.

.

.

Jason did give her a birthday gift. Not directly. She found the present on the kitchen island the next morning, wrapped with a simple red string. Fay grinned when she realised what it was, recalling a conversation they had months earlier, while they were visiting a records store. She hadn’t known what mixtapes were and he had explained, while they were going through a pile of records, her pointing out those artists that she may have heard about from her mother and him appraising Evara’s tastes. 

A mixtape full of classic rock songs.

Her mother would have loved it.

Her mother would have loved everything that Fay had built there.

She’d have been proud too.

Fay certainly was.

Notes:

This chapter wraps up a new arc, which has focused primarily on the feelings Damian and Fay have for each other. I have decided I will go on a brief hiatus starting this week and will be back posting on the 24th of April at the very latest. I am also planning on writing a series of one-shots of 'What ifs' which will be focused on AU's for Providence characters but there's no ETA for that (sooner than later).

On a separate note, you may have noticed the rating was changed to E (Explicit). This is both due to darker themes, potentially graphic scenes and sexual situations coming in the future. RuniRuna will also be supporting me when writing future...ahem, spicier stuff, as I am not particularly good at it. MoonglowOnWater will continue to be my BetaReader, as well, and I want to make sure there's plenty of time to review chapters before posting :)

Chapter 77: Of lost history and invisible enemies

Notes:

Hello~ everyone, and thank you for being so patient. I know I was meant to return by 17th, but life got in the way and as such, I had to extend my hiatus. The good news is that I did make progress on the fic by several chapters. I cannot promise that the updates will always be weekly but I will make sure to keep everyone posted.

Many, many thanks to MoonglowOnWater for supporting with the editing and proof-reading!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"Many hidden truths are often unobserved, not invisible."

- Matthew A. Petti 

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Even with the electricity switched back on, the bunker was a cold, drafty thing, and regardless of all of Baije’s stress-induced cooking, a musty scent of mildew and concrete lingered in the air. Fay’s guilt at not having thought about how uncomfortable using that place as a hiding spot had to be was assuaged when she noticed how resourceful her aunt and godfather had been. Of course, they’d be fine on their own , she silently berated herself. Both Baije and Lira had lived through worse, they were more than capable of surviving on their own. 

An electric fan had been placed near the rickety old table they had all converged around for the long-awaited discussion. Damian refused to sit on the spare foldable chair next to Fay but as her nerves were already starting to give her heartburn, she decided she’d feel better if she wasn’t standing. It didn’t help much, but at least she could hide her hands under the table, where she constantly switched between wringing them and playing with the sleeves of her wool cardigan. 

The journals were nowhere in sight, and neither were the memory boxes. Fay wondered if that was for her sake. 

Probably. 

“The dark paths are passageways through the Veil.” Lira started, preferring not to waste any more time. She had attentively kept an eye on Fay ever since they had arrived at the bunker. Fay was clearly nervous about being there, and she must have been anticipating that meeting, but she was much more composed than Lira expected had her to be. 

“Like the portals.”

For an answer that she had expected to hear for years, it was rather underwhelming. Especially when it was something she already knew

Maybe she was getting ahead of herself.  

“Yes, and no. The portals require a connection from one world to another, via runes. It requires technology and energy. The dark paths, however, are----”

“Holes, fer a lack o’ better word. That is if ye interpret the Veil in the literal sense.” Baije interrupted. 

Fay stared, wide-eyed and heart hammering inside her ribcage. Damian, who was leaning against the wall behind her, showed no changes in his expression, half-shielded by the domino mask. Surprisingly, it had been Lira’s idea for him to wear it. She was aware of who he was, not that his identity as Damian Wayne meant much to her, but she thought it wiser to keep the pool of people who knew to a minimum. Not that he intended on revealing his identity, either. 

Fay was relieved to see that Baije didn’t feel bothered by his presence there the same way Aryg had. Lira must have told him that Damian was an ally, regardless of how much they antagonised each other. 

“The two worlds are not separated fully by the Veil, then,” Damian remarked, crossing his arms over his chest. He had not bothered to don the full Robin suit but instead went for an all-black simple one reminiscent of his days in the League. Fay told him she had found it rather nostalgic, as she was reminded of the days when they had first travelled together, to London. 

There was a moment of silence during which Baije shot Lira a look. The woman pursed her lips. Clearly, they were having their own wordless conversation. 

“What?” Fay asked, experiencing a mixture of apprehension and frustration. “Just---tell me, please. We agreed on no more lies.” 

Baije looked back at her and sighed, reaching to brush a hand at the back of his hand. 

“Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? To start with, let's call this world, A, 'n our world B, for now.”

A mention of the dark paths had first been found in journals belonging to a man named Berin, explained Baije. No last name. There was little to no information on who he had been, leading to various speculations on his profession. His own journals indicated that he considered himself somewhat of an explorer, albeit he had worked in various professions. Born several centuries earlier, he had documented his travels to another world that he referred to as a ‘ sister realm’. At the time of his alleged travels, their world – world B – had not made use, yet, of portals and as a result, Berin was not taken seriously. If it weren’t for his journals, history would have forgotten him altogether. 

“Who found these journals?’’

“Getting there just in a moment, flea.”

“It is about t’ get more complicated, I am afraid.”

The portal technology had begun its development approximately two hundred years ago, around the time of the first rebellious skirmishes attributed to the Resistance groups happened. World B had been no stranger to civil wars, rogue warriors, or rebel civilians, but Aranar’s activities had still changed everything. As the Resistance gained traction, the ruling class had begun experimenting more and more with teleportation technology. For decades, it had failed to be the game-changing strategy many had hoped for, as the portals generated had not met the vision aimed. Using a portal required large amounts of energy and resources, and it did not make for a very discreet tool, especially once word came out that some territories such as Vontagor, had made advances in that field, forcing their allies and rivals alike to keep a close eye on any developments. It also drove political rivalries to run deeper, with various territories actively trying to get ahead of each other or sabotage one another. 

“There were Seekers, however,” Fay said, but it came out more uncertainly than she had expected. 

“We could say Berin was amongst the first, actually.”

A hundred questions piled up on the tip of her tongue, but Fay swallowed them to let Baije continue. 

The first wave of Resistance members had come across Berin’s journals. Not all of them, and not complete books either. Pages. Pieces of paper damaged and worn by time that they tried to put together like puzzle pieces. Enough to bring to the attention of the Resistance members the idea of another world. One of the leaders of the time, Gathas, believed they were worth investigating, and started a search for the missing journals. 

“Daphne Barlow was one of them, wasn’t she? One of the people looking into it.” Fay glanced at Lira. “She said she worked with the first group of rebels.” 

Her aunt nodded. “Gathas was one of the elder rebels from her group.” 

“Huh.” Fay made a mental note to ask Daphne about it. She had never mentioned Berin or his journals. Was it because she couldn’t remember that information or because she’d left it out on purpose? Fay hoped it wasn’t the latter. She had thought they were past that. 

The hunt for the journals did not take days or months, but years. The idea of dark paths would have been received with skepticism by other rebel leaders and as a result, Gathas had kept it to himself for years, until he came into the possession of more of Berin’s work. Believing in Berin’s words meant believing in a barrier between two worlds, and that there were hidden passageways through said barrier. 

“Was the concept of Veil foreign at the time?” Damian asked. 

“Yes, and no,” Lira replied for the second time that day. “According to the White Sage or Prophet of Worlds, the idea of a barrier or veil separating our world from others was not out of place. However, most legends spoke of how the prophet had come to our world – world B- due to extenuating circumstances. Whether it was to run away from an apocalypse or to find a utopia, our world thought itself a haven.” And therefore, what reason would one have to search beyond it? The idea of travelling through that barrier was foreign. 

“Gathas and a… number of people, including Daphne, began researching the dark paths,” Fay said tentatively, trying to put together two and two. “They, uh, found a way to travel through the veil as Berin did---no. Wait. They were attacked, weren’t they? And Daphne chose to travel through although it was dangerous?”

When neither Baije and Lira commented, Fay sighed. “…let me guess. It’s more complicated than that?”

Baije smiled ruefully. 

Lira sighed, as she shook her head to herself. “How’s that phrase in this world? Let’s cut the chase ,” She said, sounding impatient. And perhaps, rather agitated. Her silver gaze moved from Baije to Fay. “The two worlds aren’t as separate as most people think they are.” The woman leaned over the table and grabbed a sheet of paper. Lira then took a pen out of the back of her pocket which looked like it was trying its best not to fall apart, and quickly scribbled two circles beside each other. 

“Berin was not just trying to be creative with his words. Sister realms, as in they may have been tied together. Sides of the same coin, even, if you prefer that metaphor. Glued to each other, rather than separated—” Sharply, she cut a line between the two circles. “—by a veil. The barrier has---weak spots if you will.” She placed random dots along the line, big enough to cross over onto both circles. “Those are your dark paths.”

“Clearly, Fay did not inherit her artistic inclinations from you,” Damian drawled, as he straightened and stepped away from the wall to approach the table. He sat down next to Fay. Lira threw him a withering look but the other two chose to ignore him. Baije, because he had lived enough to find the boy more amusing than aggravating, and Fay because she was still processing her aunt’s words. 

“We don’t know how Berin found them—” Lira started again, her eyes moving over to Fay, and the girl looked up at her. 

“How did my parents?”

Baije reached over to her, placing a chunky arm on her leg. Fay hadn’t even realised she’d started bouncing it. The gesture felt comforting though, and she felt some of the tension in her shoulders melt away.

“Yer mother grew up in a period when people like her---like you—” Baije said, patiently in a soft tone. “—lived in hiding, or never developed their abilities properly. Some—as you know—allied themselves with the old regime.”

“For survival.”

Her godfather looked sympathetic. “True. Some did because they were lured in by the prospect of honing their flux skills. Well, with what’ver training was available. Yer mother had the opportunity to do the same, y’know?” Fay stared at him surprised. “She was tempted once or twice.” 

“Oh. I didn’t know.” It was certainly not something history books spoke of, not any she knew. Evara hadn’t told her either. 

Then again, there was a lot that she didn’t know about her parents. At ten years old, she used to think she understood everything about her parents. At sixteen, she wondered if she even knew half of it. 

“Yer mother wanted to find out more about her abilities. Where they came from, what their purpose was.” Baije continued. “We joined the Resistance when we was about---well, yer mother was only slightly older than you now. Seventeen or so,” He said. “There’s a long story in how we ended up doin’ that, but that’s for another day,” He winked at her, smiling although it didn’t reach his eyes. Fay understood perfectly why. “Yer mother started researchin’ everythin’ ‘n anythin’ on flux, which wasn’t a lot, ‘cause commonfolk barely knew of it. Older generations feared talking of it if they did know tales. The rich and powerful folk didn’t make it public either, but some knew.”

“Because the ruling families had been hiding or destroying anything on it?”

“Somewhat. At the time, we believed so, but later we found that it may not have been the dragonborn who caused this loss of knowledge. They only carried out the attacks.”

Fay’s head hurt. She was tempted to grab a piece of paper herself and put down the information being thrown at her, but her hands were shaking. 

“But why?” Fay asked. “If it wasn’t the dragonborn, then who was it? I thought many of those born with the flux were hunted down because they, uh, undermined the idea that dragonborn are the most powerful, or the only ones gifted by the dragons.”

Lira nodded. “That’s true to an extent.” She inhaled, before bluntly adding, “The flux masters were capable of tracking down dark paths and using them.”

Baije gave the woman an exasperated look that would have been funny had it not been for the circumstances it happened in.  

Fay’s mouth parted in shock. “…track them?”

She was momentarily ignored as her aunt and godfather started bickering.  

Oi ,” Baije grumbled. “Who is telling the story here? You or me? You brat.”

Lira rolled her eyes. “It’s not my fault you’re taking a thousand years to respond—”

“That is how ye tell a story. There’s an introduction and a middle and end. Storytelling is an important tool in conveying---”

Excuse me!” Both Lira and Baije looked at Fay, who only looked slightly apologetic for shouting. “Can—can we just please carry on? You can… argue later.”

Lira grumbled something under her breath but fell silent, arms crossed over her chest. Baije turned to look at Fay. 

“As I was going to reveal —” He said, emphasising his words and throwing Lira a look that she ignored. “---yer mother discovered that flux masters knew far more about the Veil than anyone expected when we came across an ancient location. I believe she’s told you stories on that?”

Fay nodded and quickly recounted the story out loud, for Damian’s benefit, because she wasn’t sure if she’d told him that tale before. In her travels of youth, her mother had come across the ruins of a destroyed city. Obtaining the information that led her to that forgotten location included infiltrating a high society event where she ended up stealing from the library of a scholar of royal patronage. “It’s also when my parents first met,” Fay said, with amusement tinged by the bitterness that she wouldn’t hear that story from them again. It had been the first of several encounters or near-encounters between her parents before their paths had become permanently intertwined. To most who knew of that story it seemed almost romantic, but her parents didn’t recall it in that manner. 

Lira’s frown vanished upon hearing Fay tell the story, a rueful smile replacing it, but she didn’t comment. 

Baije nodded. “It took months of searching, but when we finally found that place---” He sighed. Evara had been heartbroken when she had come across those ruins. She had never been optimistic but part of her had hoped that she’d find a little more than the remnants of a town that appeared to have been prosperous and populous. Amongst those ruins, however, she found a clue---left behind for her eyes. Or rather the eyes of a flux master. A location hidden in a riddle that she found buried beneath the rubble, hidden by ancient magic. It indicated the flux masters had not limited themselves to mastering the natural energies, or perhaps they’d had allies. The message had responded to her flux. After arduous weeks of trying to decode it, she had found it to be short and rather cryptic, but Evara became convinced that it implied flux masters had found a way to travel through the barrier to a safer, better world. 

“This is a side o' yer mother you may not be familiar wit', but she became somewhat… consumed by it. Especially when, later, we heard rumours o' the rebels trying to find Berin’s journals.” 

Her mother had always come across as a fiercely determined individual, as someone who refused to believe anything was too hard to achieve, but she couldn’t imagine the woman as obsessive. Then again, that had happened decades earlier, when Evara had been around her age. 

According to Baije, Evara hadn’t fully understood the role the flux masters had played in relation to the dark paths, or even what had happened to them until she had travelled to world A. She had tracked down the location left at the temple, but they were early. They hadn’t understood that at the time, nor conceived the idea of a pathway through the barrier opening at specific intervals of time. It wasn’t until a few years later that the passage opened. Something flickered across Baije’s eyes, rooted in anguish and anger, which made Fay’s stomach twist because she wasn’t accustomed to seeing it in her godfather’s face, a man who had always been high-spirited. Her instincts told her that it had nothing to do with nostalgia, or a feeling of loss at having to talk about his and Evara’s pasts, because he completely skipped the part of how her mother had become aware of the passage’s opening. 

Instead, he jumped to the part where her mother travelled between the two worlds. 

“How---” She hesitated, wondering if she should ask him. The dark emotion in her godfather’s eyes had vanished, but she still felt that he had reservations about it. Lira’s face had gone blank as well. “---what are they like, exactly? The dark paths. Are they just portals?”

Baije reached to scratch his chin, brushing his fingers over his beard. “Aye, they’re a form of that. One of the main differences, besides the fact that they are not as purposeful as modern travel between the realms, is that they’re also more… how do you translate circumspect, flea?”

“Discreet?” 

The man nodded. “That’s it. They just appear in various places. Some are open only for a few minutes, others for hours. Very few last more than a day, as far as I know.” He explained. “The one yer mother found was on the borders of Maysoon. Here’s the thing about dark paths, flea---they ain’t exactly visible.”

Fay stared at him confused. 

“Well, they don’t use just technology--- never mind. Not important now. You already know that.” He waved a hand dismissively. “The dark paths are---I’d not say invisible, but they are hard to track. It’s energy, flea. Only those with an affinity towards energies can track them.”

Fay felt a burning sensation rise in her throat. Acid reflux, again. She wished she had eaten a bigger breakfast.  

“A flux master is one who wields energies,” Damian said dryly, as a matter of fact. “They had knowledge of the barrier and dark paths because they could track them down. Were they also able to exert influence over them?”

Baije nodded. “Somewhat. We’ll get to that in a moment, son.” Damian bristled at the last word, but Baije paid no attention. His gaze moved back to Fay who looked contemplative, brows furrowed, and mouth set in a tight line. “Yer mother went through.”

“Just… her?” 

Baije frowned and looked away, leaning back in his chair. “I—uh, it’s complicated. We---had encountered some trouble and ended up splitting paths. Temporarily.” He chuckled humorlessly. “For seven years.” When her mother had returned, she had been in her early twenties albeit by that point, she had also stopped aging at the same pace as humans of the realm she’d made a home of for several years. She had travelled and trained extensively, and dedicated much of her attention to discovering what had happened to her ancestors. 

Yer ancestors.” He amended. 

Evara had made both allies and enemies in that world in her search for answers, and had ultimately come across a man named Lydo. A flux master. The only descendant of a group of masters that had escaped the persecutions centuries earlier. They had hidden and protected the art of mastering the flux, and simultaneously, continued their work as guardians. 

“Guardians.” Fay blinked. “Like the people on the island? Is that how they viewed themselves?” They were talking about her ancestors. Her mother’s people and therefore, her people as well. 

Fay felt an ache build between her shoulder blades because of how stiff her body was, but she was unable to relax. 

“The flux masters had used these pathways to travel between the worlds in the past, but primarily they would ensure that they are not misused. How they came to be still… what’s the word? Fuzzy. Ol’ Lydo had been told stories of the flux masters being gifted by the ancient dragons before even the dragonborn existed.” He shrugged. “Yer mother convinced ol’ Lydo to train her. Wasn’t easy.”

“…that’s where she learned all the techniques that Master Kaera knows.”

Lira nodded at her. “The old man was a hard-ass from what I’ve heard.” She mentioned. “Terrified to get involved in the beginning, though.” 

“Terrified?” Damian’s eyes narrowed. 

The flux masters hadn’t been safe after they’d travelled to that world, either. 

“They were… hunted.” 

“By whom?”

“Initially, it was assumed that by warriors back then,” Baije said. “The masters split up, hiding knowledge, and blendin’ in this world. Ol’ Lydo’s grandfather was the only one left from the… originals, so to put it. When he died, ol’ Lydo took over in protecting the knowledge but the secrets on the dark paths were partially lost already. The flux masters that came here first were worried it might fall in the wrong hands.” 

Lydo became determined to step into his grandfather’s shoes and continued his training. He tried to put together the lost knowledge.  

“…until his family died.” His husband, Mark, a human of that world, and two children. One was six, and the other nine.  

Fay frowned, eyes stinging as she imagined the heartbreak Lydo must have faced. She assumed it was not that far from what she had experienced when she’d lost her parents. “They were… killed?” She swallowed. “By the same people who had hunted his grandfather and other masters that came here?” 

But how did they come to this world? 

Her godfather grunted in assent, and he looked at her with a somber look. “He became a—a—” He waved his hand as if he was attempting to catch the missing word from the air. “—a loner. That’s why it was hard for yer mother to find him. Even harder to convince him to train her.”

“How would the alleged hunting party have traveled here? At the time, the portal technology would have been non-existent, or at an elementary, non-functional stage.” Damian asked, giving voice to Fay’s own curiosity. 

“Main theory was that there were flux masters who had chosen to side with the ruling clans. It wasn’t unheard of.” Baije said. “Except…” He paused and reached to rub a hand over his head. “Not all flux masters are able to track the dark paths down. It was not a common ability and was usually acquired by ol’ masters after decades of training. Or those who were particularly…” He looked like he struggled for the word again. 

“Sensitive?” Fay tried. “To energies.”

He nodded. “And powerful.”

“Those who worked against the old elite, then, wouldn’t have had the opportunity to gain the knowledge or expertise. Not as comprehensively as the old generations, and if the current ineffective curriculum in Maysoon is anything to go by.” Damian deducted. “You said that was the main theory. What’s the actual truth?”

Baije fixed the boy with a long stare, looking bemused at his perceptiveness. “Truth? We had no idea. For decades.” 

When Evara had returned to her homeworld, she brought Lydo along with her. While they were still lacking in answers, she had more certainties about the past than before. One was that the barrier between the worlds existed, as did the world on the other side. By default, it also made Berin’s claims of having travelled between the worlds no longer just a work of fiction. Two, the dark paths were real, but they seemed to operate by their own set of rules which weren’t entirely clear at that time. However, Evara knew that they appeared to open at certain intervals, and only for a certain amount of time. No pathway coincided with the other, and they did not all lead to the same location in either of the worlds. 

When her mother had returned with Lydo, it had been unclear how many pathways existed and what their pattern was. It was unknown how they came to be and what caused the holes in the Veil to manifest. Berin appears to have found his way through the barrier by sheer luck. 

“Had those born with the flux not been culled,” Damian noted, “Then no one may have found about the dark paths.” Then with a smirk, as a thought struck him, he added, “They are the ones who began bringing knowledge from this world to yours, didn’t they? Long before the Seekers did.”

Fay blinked in surprise, and she glanced at him then at her relatives. She hadn’t even thought of that, but he made a very good point. “R-right. Because the portal technology has been functional only in recent times.” She paused. “But you said that there were those who were interested in the dark paths? Otherwise, my mother would not have found missing pages from Berin’s journal with that researcher.”

“Both of ye are right,” Baije nodded. 

The Veil, the other world, the dark paths. For many, they were tales of fiction used as entertainment, but for some – especially the ones that lived long enough to know better – they represented an opportunity to gain an upper hand in the quest for additional power and influence. Maybe, for the few, it had been simply a topic of dark fascination. 

“Did the Estaris clan believe in all that?” Fay asked, looking at Lira. “Father always gave me the impression that… not many believed.”

Lira’s mouth twisted slightly. “The clan was divided into branches. More numerous and far more delineated than now. The clan was also bigger, of course, but it was primarily to---segregate, I suppose. Although the clan made a show of forbidding unions between Estaris clan members and others outside of powerful, old lineages, there were plenty of those who did have partners of a—lesser status, if you will.” 

Fay was not surprised to hear. History books didn’t put it quite as bluntly as her aunt did, but she remembered her tutors comparing contemporary clan relationships to the ones in the past. 

“The main branch belonged... well. To Damar, and everyone else.” Lira said. “That side of our clan still maintains influence, as you’re aware. However, other branches are no longer seen as having the potential of---” She scowled. “---diluting the bloodline. Decades ago, Vesa would have never been allowed to be put up as a contender, because her great-grandfather had chosen to marry a commoner. He was a well-respected enough warrior to not be disowned or executed for it, but it was frowned upon.” Lira uncrossed her arms. 

And it all came down from her grandmother and great-uncle, Fay thought. They had not only chosen to continue with the harsh regime their predecessors had started, but they had also crafted it to be even more despotic. Maysoon had used to be prosperous for a reason, after all, and not just in wealth or powerful warrior lineages. Fay had never felt a connection to her deceased mad relatives. As a child, she had found it hard to process that she was related to them, or that her father had been born to such creatures. Perhaps it was because she had inherited her mother’s abilities, as opposed to the Evnei

“The old crone was not big on sharing, however,” Lira said, pulling Fay away from her thoughts. “Aryg and the others had their suspicions as to why she had such an interest in driving forward technology around portals. Or why she became interested in Bernin’s journals later and the work that the rebels did. Daphne, being one of them.” 

“My father helped Daphne, didn’t he? After she defected.” Fay said although she knew the answer. “While she was working for the rebels. Is that how he became so interested in this world?”

“He’d been interested in the tales for years since he was younger. There was material from this world that your dear ol’ psycho grandmother had hunted down for, in hopes she might find answers. The others and I were not really kept in the loop, but he was the favorite.” She said with a shrug. “Defecting Maysoon was not the first time he went away from Maysoon for a while. First happened when he came of age. When he came back, he was changed. I think the old hag thought that he might become interested in this world for the same she was, but she was wrong. He didn’t care about using knowledge on the Veil or this world to make the clan stronger. I don’t think he even cared, to begin with, beyond a desire to see this world for himself.” 

The previous ruler – Fay’s own paternal grandmother – had been the catalyst to her own downfall by thinking Damar would follow in her footsteps. She certainly had not anticipated he’d be responsible for the schism that took place. 

“The schism?” Damian repeated. 

Fay nodded. “The clan became divided after my father began openly disagreeing with my—my grandmother’s regime. Several members of the clan began favoring him, and later when he defected, they followed.” 

Lira snorted. “The old hag was really unhappy when her favorite son began defying and questioning her methods,” she said, with clear satisfaction at what happened. “Not many followed him, but it certainly… caused other clans to become more vocal. It became clear at that time that not everyone shared the vision of the Estaris for Maysoon. It would be years, however, before the clan leaders would openly defy the monarchy.” 

“What happened after they returned?” Fay asked, looking at Baije. “My mother and Master Lydo, I mean. She had told me about him, but she had never mentioned that’s how they met. Or that he lived in this world.”

Baije shrugged. 

“Nothin’ much, for years after. Yer mother became very involved with the Resistance. We both did. Both of yer parents though later became concerned that if word of the dark paths comes out, more and more folk would want to find them. Especially the nasty ones.” 

“And potentially invade this world.” Damian pointed out. 

Baije nodded. “Daphne and her group, however, they—they were gone. Killed in that ambush,” He remarked. “They’d also destroyed the research they’d made on Berin. Yer father tried to find out whether Daphne remembered anything, but she came up empty.” Baije explained. “Damar honored her request to keep her presence here a secret. Even when the island was repurposed, and the guardians came into place.”

Fay shook her head to herself, and she threw Lira a look that was borderline accusing. “So, they’re not keeping an eye only on people who may misuse portal technology.”

Lira looked unashamed. “Yes.” She nodded. “Len does not have the flux, but Kaera does, and she’s an excellent master at that. They’re the only ones aware that your parents used them, and that they researched their origin and cause. Olena and Faron have heard of the dark paths, but they do not know just how heavily your parents were involved in it.” 

“But Master Kaera told me she has no idea what they are.”

“Well, flea, she lied, alright?” Lira sighed and mustered an apologetic look. “Partially. Kaera has not actually traveled using the dark paths before and whatever knowledge she has on them is limited. She knows Evara has studied them, and that she and Damar had been adamant about keeping information on them a secret. Even the Council is skeptical about them, with maybe, the exception of a few. Close allies and such.” 

“I am… confused. So, my parents began researching them more after the Resistance won?” Fay licked her lips. Her throat felt parched. Her hands and feet felt cold, but she thought that was more due to nerves. “But they didn’t share everything with you. Now, you believe they left clues on the dark paths in this world, and they have something to do with what happened-what happened that night.” It didn’t make sense. Whoever attacked Maysoon did so because they wanted to obtain her parent’s information on the dark paths? It seemed like an extreme option. If the enemy had been powerful enough to win against her parents – as nauseating that concept remained to her – then they would have at least predicted her parents wouldn’t have easily handed over the secrets? 

Lira frowned. “I suppose by Resistance winning you mean the moment the old hag was forced, and Maysoon changed its ruling system. However, flea, you have to keep in mind that many other changes had to take place before and after too, each bringing different conflicts and threats. Truthfully, no battle quite as big as that one but still.” She leaned forward and exchanged a look with Baije. “Your parents found other dark pathways while they were helping drive these changes. When they realized there were more than they thought there’d be, they decided to have the people on the island ask as guardians. With the portal technology being developed into what it is today, all the more reason.” 

“They were concerned,” Baije took over, drawing Fay and Damian’s attention to him. “They no longer believed that the flux masters that came in this world were hunted by warriors. It wasn’t plausible as yer friend here pointed out.” He said. “They told me that maybe there’s other people there – dangerous ones – who are actively searching for the dark paths.” He paused, his face darkening as he leaned forward, his voice lowering. “I ain’t talking about the same people who were curious because they wanted to use knowledge from this world, or they wanted to travel here to satisfy their curiosity.”

Fay stilled, heart, hammering in her chest, in anticipation of an answer she realized she wasn’t fully ready to hear. 

“The Veil is made of energy, yes?” He said. “How it came to be, and who put it there---that’s what yer parents were looking into. And they believed that others were doing the same, for the purpose of finding ways to---” He looked at Lira for help. 

“To harvest its power.” The woman said, picking up immediately on his struggle to find the right word. “If the Veil isn’t stable, if the flux masters were capable of tracking it down, what else don’t we know? Has it always been there? What if someone could manipulate it?”

Fay swallowed, the conclusion forming in her head, but she found she had no strength to voice it. Damian did it for her. “They could affect both worlds and no one would see it coming.” He said coolly. “Open dark pathways that are bigger and last longer than any technology ever could. Or find ways to destabilize one world or another, or both.” 

“...ha-harvest its power,” Fay mumbled, finally after taking a sharp intake of air. Bagheera came around the table, and placed himself beside her, nudging her arm. She instinctively slung an arm over him, finding comfort in the calm vibrations of his flux and his warm fur. “Did—did they find out who they are?”

Baije sighed loudly. “Not exactly. Whoever was responsible for the---culling,” He said using Damian’s earlier word. “They were either gone or very good at hiding. For a long time, all they had was theories and potential suspects.” He leaned towards her. “Yer parents, though, went out of their way to ensure that no one else found out about them.” 

Fay blinked rapidly. That day just kept throwing her curveballs, it seems. 

“It was them, then?” She asked, tightly. “Whoever these people are, that they are trying to—to use the Veil for---their own agenda. They are the ones attacked by Maysoon?”

“That, we don’t know,” Baije said. “It’s a theory. One that not many are aware of, right now. There are still---inconsistencies around who did what that night, flea. There’s also the matter of the evidence pointing to Vontagor.”

Fay inhaled and exhaled. Pins and needles filled her chest. She felt light-headed. “What about the—the others? You said some of the Resistance members were dead. And that others were hiding.” Her brows furrowed. “You can’t remember anything, either but you left a letter with the people you can trust?”

Baije looked somewhat sheepish. “My last memory was of being in Aeryg. The last I saw yer parents, was a few months earlier and yer mother told me that they had new information around the dark paths. They—” He frowned, pausing. “They believed that the enemy was closer than we’d have liked.”

“What does that mean?” Fay blinked. “You—you mean it was someone you knew?”

“Possibly,” He sighed. “She didn’t say.”

Fay looked at Lira. “They didn’t tell you anything, either?”

“I knew they were worried about something, but I didn’t know it was this,” Lira said, with a hard look. “I didn’t think much of it at the time,” Her mouth twisted as she looked away. “But I suppose there were signs they were looking into something that was causing them to be apprehensive.”

“Signs?” Fay couldn’t recall her parents acting oddly, and if they ever left to travel on longer trips – weeks as opposed to days – she hadn’t thought twice. They’d done that before when they couldn’t take her or Titoh with them. It certainly frustrated or made her sad at times, but she didn’t find it suspicious. 

Lira hesitated, her face pinching in a grimace. “He liked being a cryptic fuck, your father, alright? He mentioned that if something happened, it’s best if you and Titoh went to the island. And that I should always be looking in from outside.”

“What?”

“He wanted you to remain skeptical of Maysoon.” Damian said. “He didn’t think it was safe either?”

Lira shook her head. “No. I don’t think it was Maysoon itself. I think it was more than he wasn’t sure where the enemy was, or how many of them were they.” When she caught Fay’s pale face, she quickly added, “They had enemies, flea. Like most of us, except they were also quite the public figures. I thought he meant idiots like Ranis or other sympathizers of the old regime. You have no idea how many of those tried to screw up the progress we’ve made, and how close they’ve come on multiple occasions.”

“Heh, sometimes they did succeed,” Baije said with a huff. “It wasn’t a straight line, it certainly wasn’t, changing things. Implementing the Council was easy, making it work and getting people to put aside their differences and ol’ grudges. Far harder than that one. But they all had one thing in common. No more bloodshed and so on.”

Fay felt something warm and firm grip her left upper thigh. Damian’s hand. He was stilling her leg, which she hadn’t realized she had started bouncing again. He didn’t remove his hand when she stopped, however. “…but they couldn’t have known, right?” she whispered, feeling ashamed just for asking. “What, um, happened.”

“Nah,” Lira said firmly. “They would have done something.” 

Baije looked somber. “Lira’s right. What happened is confusing and…terrible, but they’d have tried to find a way to prevent it.” His eyes flitted to where Damian had placed his hand on her leg, mildly curious but didn’t comment. “It breaks my heart to say this flea, but---it’s possible they didn’t know until it was too late. But they were smart enough to make sure they protected what they knew.” 

Fay nodded, although she wasn’t comforted by those words. “What happened to the others? I tried to contact them, you know. Mena and Olenor and Vled---and even you Baije. No one really responded. I received, uh,” She didn’t want to sound as dismissive as she did, but she also did not feel guilty. “…condolences. And presents. Uncle Aryg kept saying that they may be busy, or trying to find out what happened---” She glanced at Lira. “That wasn’t true, either, was it?” She asked tiredly. “That’s another reason why he was so willing to let me stay here and why Titoh is on the island still. Because the others were, um… hunted?”

“Hunted would imply we’d know for certain there was a hunter.”

“But you believe there is.”

“Yes.” Lira said. “I do.” She said bluntly. “I personally think that—given your parents research, the way that attack too place, the constant misdirection and contradicting information we have – that there are people out there hunting those who may have had knowledge of it.”

“Did they?” Damian asked. “The ones who were killed.”

“Not to the extent I do, or that Kaera and Len do.” Baije said. “Three are dead. You may know two of them, flea, personally. One is Eleric, and the other is Jangar.”

That gave her pause. “I think so, yes. I have some memory of them. Eleric is—was—from Atlabas, wasn’t he? He was part of the council. And I remember Jangar coming to my birthday party.” She smiled sadly. “Who is the third one?”

“Yei. I don’t think you’ve met him. Old man, a former farmer and one of the few initial rebels who took action in Nothern Maysoon.” Baije explained. “He knew about Berin’s journals, although he hadn’t been involved in the research the way Gathas did. Eleric was an old friend and ally of your father, amongst the few who were aware of his initial travels to this world. Jangar, on the other hand, had been to the island. He knew of it.” 

Fay frowned. 

“They all had potential information of interest. Especially the last one.” Damian pointed out. “Has there been attempt on your head?”

Baije shook his head. “Maybe? Perhaps that’s how I lost my memories. I woke up with a memory gap of weeks, if not months, well after the attack place.”

Fay leaned her leg against Damian’s. “But if you wrote a letter, then… you expected it, right?” she asked. 

The look on her godfather’s face told her he was quite as lost on that topic as she was. 

“Alright. You don’t know what my parents left here, though?” She asked. “What about where you found the journals?”

“You were right,” Lira said, taking over after she noticed Baije’s shoulders slunk and the weariness etch on his face. “The flowers had a meaning.” 

As Fay herself had learned, the dragon in the Vontagorian stories who supposedly bled over the orchid turning it crimson shared many similarities with the Akheh, from Egyptian mythology. Lira and Baije, however, were not aware of this, as they completely skipped the part about making the connection between the tales of their world and the ones of Ancient Egypt. 

Instead, they had another clue. 

“You’d have to be quite knowledgeable of Vontagorian history, but centuries earlier, a warrior clan leader who had managed to conquer several territories, had written in his memoirs that he considered Vontagor to be the center of the world. He had not meant it quite literally, but it became part of his vision, as he desperately wanted to unify all the various cities and tribes under one rule. His.”

Fay was momentarily confused, and it wasn’t until Damian spoke that she remembered what the connection was.

“For the Ancient Greeks, Delphi was the site of omphalo s, meaning the ‘navel of the world’,” He said, clearly more than eager to show his knowledge on the topic. It was a symbol of unity as well. Python-” Fay’s eyes widened in recognition, and she looked at Damian. “-was a serpent dragon, but he’s been represented in the medieval-style dragon.”

“Which was inspired by Akheh as well,” Fay continued, with wide eyes. She turned her gaze on her aunt and godfather. “Mount Parnassus is located near Delphi. But how did you know something was hidden---wait, where exactly was it hidden?”

“I think it’s best if you see with your own eyes.”

“…hm?”

Lira grinned. It didn’t quite reach her eyes, but it was genuine. 

Fay hadn’t realised how much colder her aunt came across when she wasn’t her usual cheerful self. 

Or maybe, that she may be putting on a bigger act than she expected, just like Baije. 

 

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The Corycian Cave. Located eleven kilometers north of Delphi, the cave is a popular tourist attraction and had, in the past, been used as a refuge by the local population from foreign invasions. Lira had spent weeks exploring that area after she found no clues in Delphi. According to Greek mythology, the dragon Typhon imprisoned Zeus in that cave after one of their battles. 

The cave was made up of several different caverns, with two central ones situated near the entrance and the others accessible via a series of narrow tunnels. The remaining four chambers were smaller and interconnected, capable of causing confusion amongst those who visit them. The chambers were filled with stalactites and stalagmites formed out of limestone, and the air was damp and cold. The large excavation of the cave had been made several decades earlier, and led to the discovery of a wealth of artifacts left behind by worshippers from olden times. 

At one point, Evara and Damar had likely visited it themselves. Because at the deepest point of the cave, several hundred meters away from its entrance and seven chambers inside the mountain, they had hidden a clue, not unlike the one in Peru. This one was not quite as obvious, a message written on the wall, complicated enough to appear as a plausible clue. 

Instead, the clue was found within the presence of the rare anthodites, which, as Fay learned quickly, were cave formations composed of long needle-like clusters that strongly resemble flowers. The adhondites were very rare, generally encountered in limestone caves in Virginia. It was, in fact, peculiar to find them on that side of the world, but the gypsum flowers were mineral deposits formed by flowing, dripping, or seeping water which the Corycian Cave is certainly no stranger to if the stalagmites and stalactites were any indications. 

It wasn’t until several decades earlier that the presence of the anthodites had been documented, and it wasn’t until 1965 that the term anthodite had first been documented. To those who explored and researched the cave, the presence of the small clusters of gypsum flowers was peculiar and fascinating, but it certainly raised no suspicion that they may have been stimulated into growing in a much quicker time span as opposed to the millennia that speleothems required. There was no proof to indicate otherwise, and if their location had gone undiscovered for such a long period of time, it had been attributed simply to the fact that the cluster was small, hidden in the deepest parts of the cave and tucked away in the dark ceiling. 

No one appeared to have given much thought to the quill-like crystals on the innermost part of that chamber.

And most definitely, no one would have suspected that behind that wall there was a whole other passage leading to an ancient aqueduct buried deep within the mountain. 

Or that said passage could be opened only by using heat. 

Lira had found that out the hard way, after several attempts at figuring out whether the gypsum flowers led somewhere or not. While not a flux master, she was sensitive enough to other energies after years of being an excellent tracker to sense the residual energy. A familiar one, at that. 

Brute force would not have worked. She could have destabilized the entire cave. Lira had spent several days returning there in the evening when most tourists didn’t dare visit, trying to figure a way to activate whatever seal had been placed there. Both Evara and Damar had dabbled in the magical arts, if only for research purposes and to understand its ties to the ancient dragons, so Lira didn’t put it past them to have used a ritual rooted in magic instead.  

In the end, the answer had been the desert that Fay and Damian had initially believed to be a dead end. 

Or rather, heat. Enough to mimic the dry, barren conditions of a desert. 

Even if an unsuspecting human would have, somehow, made it past the tunnel, they would have encountered hundreds of meters of maze-like passages the deeper they went into the mountain. Had they made it to the aqueduct, the chances of them realizing that, amongst the undiscovered artifacts and vessels, there was one item that didn’t quite belong. 

A very special key. 

Notes:

Fun facts:

Baije and his nickname for Fay ('flea) have been inspired by the Into the Badlands, which I absolutely loved as a tv series (shame it's been canceled). If anyone has a chance to see it, I definitely recommend it.

The Corycian Cave in Greece - I did take liberties in terms of how it looks like on the inside, making up the multiple chambers. To my knowledge, gypsum flowers can't be found in this cave either. At this point, really, it's only the name and the location that match IRL, but the rest is fictionalized.

This chapter and the next will be heavily focused around the underlying mystery of this fic - the attack on Maysoon. There's plenty of action, adventure and more developments between characters coming up, especially Fay and Damian exploring the new stage in their relationship.

Chapter 78: Of the unknown and invisible enemies

Notes:

Next update - hopefully - 15th of May.

Many, many thanks to MoonglowOnWater for supporting with the editing and proof-reading!

Chapter Text

'When in doubt, go to the library.'

- Hermione Granger

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Much to their confusion, Baije got up from his chair and told them to follow him, which they did. Lira winked at Fay when the girl glanced at her, puzzled. “I think you’re going to like this.” The woman said, as she allowed them to go first through the door to their left and stepped in right after Bagheera. Baije led them further into the bunker, past several other rooms with closed doors. Fay experienced a strong sense of déjà vu, as she faintly remembered being led through another similar corridor by Angel’s men.

The air got progressively colder as they moved towards the unused chambers and, although the neon lights above their heads helped them navigate the underground settlement, all walls looked the same. The bunker’s overall architecture did not have a particular shape, looking more like a ramified branch – four in total, all spreading into different directions and some intersecting – all meeting at the same point. A long corridor shaped like an askew L where she and all the other kidnapped students had been held years ago. That was also where the main entrance was located, through the manhole that was now sealed and surrounded by moss.

The wall that had been kicked down to gain access from the old water drain system led to the innermost of branches, with the room they’d been in the whole day located halfway through. Baije led them east of the bunker, and Fay counted three different doors they went through, including the final one which allowed me to step through into a very small room. With the wooden pallets tucked against the wall, on the right, and the heavy tomes – her mother’s journals were there as well, she thought with a quickening pulse – they all barely fit in the room.

Baije stopped before the door and pulled out something from under his top. A silver, thin necklace from which a key was hanging. He removed the necklace and handed it to Fay. The key was lighter than she’d expected given it was bigger than an average one. It had an intricately detailed hexagon-shaped bow and a long blade. And it was, surprisingly, made of wood.

Her flux coiled under her skin and a shiver ran down her spine as she felt a vibration coming from the key. It didn’t move, no. The vibration came from within it, and it was not visible, but she could feel it just as one could feel water running through their fingers without looking at it. An electrifying sensation shot up her arm and she shuddered.

“There’s---energy?” She asked curiously and looked up at Baije. “I haven’t felt something like this before. It feels...” It felt the way she sometimes did when she was deep within the jungle of Maysoon, where there was nothing but untamed wilderness surrounding her. Where her flux rushed through her freely, and if she closed her eyes and steadied her breath, it was almost as if she was one with the natural energies around her. “What is it made of?” She asked, brows furrowed. It was clearly wood, but it wasn’t any wood.

“Well, if the legend is anything to go by – and given the key is very much real then it’s safe to go by it – that’s wood from an elder tree,” Lira remarked from across the room, where she had stopped in the threshold, leaning against the door. Bagheera stepped closer to Fay and tilted his head towards her hands, sniffing the key. His ears bowed back, and he whined.

Fay looked at him. “You can feel it too?”

“It’s magic,” Baije said.

Fay looked at him in surprise. “Magic?” No wonder the energy felt different than what she was accustomed to.

“As a result of using this elder tree?” Damian asked as he took the key from Fay’s hand to look at it.

“Elder trees is… an umbrella term, I guess,” Fay explained. “It refers to ancient trees that still exist across our world, as old as several millennia. They’re very rare nowadays, as many have been destroyed to exploit their unique properties. Some believe the ancient trees contain the souls of dragons and they can offer all manner of benefits. It varies from territory to territory, but the general agreement is that the wood from these trees is perfect for weapons.”

Damian grunted and handed back the key to Fay. She held her hand out to Baije, but he refused to take it. He smiled and stepped aside, gesturing towards the door. “Do the honors,”

Fay wasn’t sure if her hand was shaking with anxiety or anticipation, but she stepped towards the door and placed the key inside the lock. It was too small for what was meant to go in there, but Baije told her not to worry about that, and just turn it to the left. She did, but there was no telltale sound of the lock turning.

She let go of it, confused when nothing happened. Two, or three seconds must have passed before she felt the rush of energy burst from the key, first invisible to the eye, then marked by an electric blue colour. She stepped back instinctively because the energy felt foreign, and powerful, and old, making her instinctively summon the flux to her hands as her flight or fight instinct was triggered.

The metallic door, plain and rusting, was now filled with filaments of lights forming an elaborate design contained within a hexagon barely contained by the frame. Fay was not familiar with the symbols; they did not look like any of the languages she was familiar with, or any runes she’d studied before. The energy was electric, like a live wire, and she was forced to take another step back because it felt as if she was about to get electrocuted despite the two metre distance she already kept. Goosebumps formed on her skin, and her marks tingled rather than ached. There was nothing malicious per se about the energy, but she couldn’t recall the last time she’d felt anything so potent. She would have chalked it to her increased sensitivity to energies ever since her last phasing and the continuous steady progress with Kaera, but Fay could not deny the bygone quality of the energy.

Was this magic, a powerful version of it? Fay did not have much experience with it, although magical arts were not uncommon in Maysoon.

Baije pressed down on the door handle. The heavy metal squeaked and screeched, indicating that its state had not been altered despite the blue symbols ramifying themselves over it. A soft, warm glow emanated from the room beyond, along with the distinct scent of furfural and lignin, a sweet and almond-like fragrance. There were floral undertones to the air that wafted in from the other room, neither too cold nor warm.

Baije stepped through turned to face them with a smile. “Best part of the day, hm?”

Fay blindly followed him, her mind tripping over itself as it tried to make sense of the impossible changes in scent and temperature, and architecture. She was no longer in the bunker; she couldn’t be, because a room like that did not exist there.

It couldn’t exist.

For one, the ceiling was much higher. Several hundred metres higher, when it should have been very low if not on the same level as the surface. Except it clearly didn’t, the ceiling instead finishing with a dome whose fading illustrations were covered by plants that grew from the cracks within the walls. Secondly, the room was simply cavernous, longer, and wider than even the warehouse itself and Fay found it difficult to make out the end of it, due to how richly decorated it was. There were pillars, titanic in size, which may have once served to hold the structure in place but now were eaten away by time and the elements. Three on each side of the room, with four out of six pillars appearing incomplete, having crumbled at different stages.

Yet, the room – or perhaps she should call it a pantheon – looked like it did not struggle to exist, for it was already doing the impossible by being there.

Two eyes no longer felt sufficient for what lay before her. Was it a treasure trove they’d stumbled into? There weren’t any mountains of gold and jewels, but books and artefacts and weapons. The space was completely open but divided into sections, with stairs to her left leading to two different mezzanines and the ones to her right climbing almost all the way to the ceiling, offering access to shelves full of books.

Fay felt light-headed and it wasn’t only due to the disbelief and awe she experienced. It was the various energies she could feel in that place, pulling her in, drawing her to different sections. Some felt the opposite, like a warning not to push against it or to keep her distance, and her marks throbbed under her clothes.

Her parents had been there. Her parents had left all that there. They had created that place…?

“It was always beneath our feet,” Damian remarked loudly.

Fay turned to look at him, swaying slightly. “What?”

“There’s---this is an old temple. Egyptian.” He said, as he stared pointedly at the pillars. It wasn’t often that she saw him taken aback, and it wasn’t quite as obvious as her own shock, but she could tell he had not expected their day to end in that manner. “We were in the right place. Weren’t we?” He turned to look at Baije, who was waiting patiently to the side.

Bagheera was cautiously inspecting his surroundings, his emotions wafting off of him wildly. Surprise. Confusion. Recognition. Yes, she could feel it too. The lingering, vibrant energy of her mother’s flux. Her scent.

Fay’s eyes stung.

“More or less,” Lira remarked. “It’s unclear how deep we are under the desert.”

Damian scoffed, but his smirk belied his own curiosity. He looked up, brows furrowing. “The stability of this place. I take it there are other forces at work keeping it the way it is?”

Lira stepped in, stopping near both Fay and Damian.

“I am not an expert, but this place is a masterpiece.”

.

.

.

The key was one of three, and they featured in a popular legend that few had given credibility to. According to the legend, the former ruler of a citadel in the south of Aeryg had lost six out of his seven children to sickness. His last remaining son was very sickly as well, and he could barely leave the room, which led him to live a sheltered life. His father wished for him to have the chance to see the wider world, and so he searched for ways to achieve that. Ultimately, he had heard that one of the forest tribes specialised in mystical arts and they might be able to help his son. The key was made of wood from four corners of the world, according to the legend, and blessed by the tribe leader.

The ruler’s son was then able to travel to other places of the world without leaving his room.

“I guess… it doesn’t sound impossible,” Fay said.

Damian grunted. “It sounds fantastical, a children’s bedtime story.”

Baije shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe they left an explanation here somewhere.”

“Maybe.” Fay looked around. “…they must have used it to travel all over this world.”

.

.

.

12th of December

Her eyes hurt, for several different reasons. For one, she had found it difficult not to tear up the more engrossed she became in what was nothing short of a knowledge trove. And a regular trove, for that matter, given the amount of valuable and rare artefacts. Seeing all that and knowing all those objects had passed through her parents’ hands pulled at her heartstrings. She kept thinking about how her parents might have acquired them, the adventures they must have gone through, the dangers they’d faced. What they had been thinking as they’d put that place together, filling it up like dragons creating a horde (no pun, intended, that was for her father’s draconic ties). The place felt like an insane version of a memoir. There was more information in there about what her parents had researched, the places they’d seen, and the knowledge they’d acquired than Fay had ever gotten a chance to learn from themselves. Would they have shown her that place had they been alive? Would that place even exist if it hadn’t been for their concerns regarding the Veil and the dark paths?

Maybe it was the grief brought back to the surface, but she swore she could feel them stronger in some corners of the room than in others. Or rather, the residues of their presence. She could feel faint sparks of her mother’s cool but vibrant energy amongst her journals, in the terrariums, in the walls surrounding her, most likely due to the many wards keeping that place hidden and protected. How had she even done that? Fay hadn’t even known that the flux could be used in such a manner. Maybe she would have learned about it had her mother been alive, or had she stayed in Maysoon. Lira said that it wasn’t just the flux they were sensing, but magic as well. Fay caught whiffs of their scents everywhere. Her mind was flooded with memories of a simpler, happier time. She recognised their writing in various notes, in journals, and scribbles on maps. She came across blades that her father had no doubt used in battle before, including at least two of his swords, one she swore she’d seen before when she was young. She came across some of his sketchbooks and unfinished paintings, and after almost a week, she had not one through even a quarter of what was in there.

Fay did not get much sleep, which also contributed to the puffiness around her eyes, and her headache. Her neck felt stiff. She couldn’t sleep. Not when there was so much to read through, so much to learn and unpack and discover. Her anxiety would skyrocket every now and then, the panic building at the back of her head as she realised that this would change everything because now she was suddenly a hundred steps closer to understanding what had happened that night, when before she’d felt a hundred behind.

Damian could not help much, seeing as most of the material was in languages he did not know. While she spent her days in that cavernous room, he helped the others turn the bunker into an actual safe house, as he’d put it. Of course, ‘helping’ was a stretch, given that he simply set out to work, whether Baije or Lira liked it or not. He bickered with the latter on a constant basis, but Baije was more malleable, difficult to upset, so he hardly took to heart the boy’s abrasiveness. Damian seemed inclined to be more civil with him than he was with Lira, answering questions about that world. Baije seemed to like him, and as a very talkative person, Fay heard him tell Damian all manner of stories and offer him information on the items. Damian listened, which spoke volumes in her opinion.

Fay inhaled sharply, the scent of pressed flowers from the journal she was perusing suddenly making her feel nauseous.

There was a bubbling sense of anger underneath all the emotions. It made her want to cry and scream, it made her want to punch something. Fay just wasn’t sure who she was angry with. Her parents. Whoever it was that had attacked Maysoon, and may or may not have had something to do with her parents putting together that place. Her clan for being so goddamn secretive and treating her as if she were made of glass even after she’d proven she wasn’t. All of that, really, to an extent or another.

Something caught her eye and Fay looked up. From behind the end of the row to her left side, a hand chucked a cloth on the floor, landing a few metres away from Fay.

“What… are you doing?” Fay asked confusedly.

Lira leaned forward from behind the shelf, with a smile, to peek at her. “Isn’t that what humans do when they call a truce? Throw clothes?”

She was a bit angry with her aunt too, but the woman made it hard to hold onto it. Fay tried and failed not to smile. “It’s meant to be a white flag.” She said. “And I don’t think you’re meant to chuck it at people.”

Lira stepped out fully into her view, and she stared at the cloth on the floor with a sort of grimace. “Oh. It did sound pretty odd to me,” She muttered, then shrugged. Then she stared at Fay with a determined look as she gestured toward herself. “Would you prefer to punch me?”

Fay shook her head. “No.” She smiled tiredly. “How is throwing the white flag weirder than that?”

Lira shrugged. “Yeah, but throwing a punch leaves no room for misinterpretation.” Fay opened her mouth, then thought against it. She’d both heard and seen people do that before – settle an argument with a fight. Not one that’d lead to serious injury or death, but she knew it was something that guilds – especially more traditional ones – still practiced. She supposed it was her world’s equivalent of a duel in the other one. It was a matter of honor, to allow people to get even.

Her aunt came closer and sat down before her, the playfulness gone in favour of something more serious. “I am sorry.” She said. “There’s just so much shit we don’t know, and we have no idea who we’re fighting and after all those years we spent trying to make things better… what happened that night shook a lot of people.”

Fay nodded but remained silent for a few seconds. “Titoh needs to know about this, too.” She said. “He—he has a right.”

“Yes, he does.” Lira said. “And we will. But we need to be careful, flea, okay? I am serious.”

“I know.” She looked down at the journal in her lap. “…I didn’t think I’d see these again. Most of the ones at the palace were lost or got damaged.”

Lira leaned forward and took the journal to look at it. “Yeah, I had a feeling she might keep a stash somewhere. I wouldn’t be surprised if this wasn’t the only place they kept stuff.”

At that point, neither was Fay.

“Do you---” Fay swallowed. An icy claw gripped her heart just at the thought of it, but, “They couldn’t have known, right?” She whispered, feeling horrible for even asking. “About the attack.”

Lira’s response was immediate. “No.” She said, confidently as one would about the sky being blue. “Absolutely not. They would have done everything to prevent it.” The tightness in Fay’s chest loosened. Shame trickled through. She did not doubt her parents’ ethics at all, because a scenario in which they would have known about an upcoming attack and not done anything was impossible. It simply was. Fay didn’t doubt they would have warned others about an imminent attack. She was just afraid. If her parents couldn’t defeat whatever or whoever took them down, how would anyone else?  

“Don’t feel bad about it,” Lira said. “They weren’t infallible, you know. It’s alright to think about the worst even if you don’t believe it.”

“Y-yeah, I guess.” Fay played with the pendant necklace around her neck. “…what if it’s not Vontagor? What if it’s… someone no one knows about?” The enemy could be anywhere, then.

Lira’s lack of uncertainty gave her some comfort. “Then we’ll find and eliminate them.”

.

.

.

14 th of December

Damian did not like not knowing something. It did not happen often that he found himself in a situation where his pre-existing knowledge or abilities weren’t sufficient to make up for gaps in information. Granted, he was dealing with knowledge that was not from his world, although from what he’d found out so far, it might very well concern his realm. What was most aggravating however was that he could not ameliorate Fay’s state of mind. The crying spells, the grief-stricken expression, and constant puzzlement he’d anticipated from the moment Lira had told him that she’d kept information from Fay, yet not as much as her parents had.

He was not surprised to see irritation bubble up under the other emotions, either. Fay was increasingly frustrated, even if the wealth of items in that place were not as unfamiliar or mysterious as they were to him. No, she was just angry. With her parents, most likely, for putting her in that position. Maybe some lingering frustration with her godfather and aunt for not telling her sooner of their discoveries after Fay had spent months trying to figure out the puzzle. She barely slept and ate, only because others reminded her. Or because Bagheera would drag her away from the tomes.

Damian himself, if he wasn’t on patrol, was there at the bunker. There was always more he could do to that place to make it safer, but for the time being, it’d do. He didn’t want his father to get alerted to state of art technology being rerouted heavily to a place that was meant to be sealed. Not yet anyway. He detested standing around with nothing to do. He hated, even more, the idea that he might end up being in her way – as preposterous and unprecedented an idea as that was for him.

Her godfather was far more perceptive than he let on, underneath that veneer of joviality. He asked Damian if he wanted to help do an inventory of the weapons. The boy saw through his attempt at giving him something to do, but neither one acknowledged his gesture. Damian ended up finding out interesting information about some of the blades there and their history.

When Damian finally stepped down from one of the mezzanines, he found Fay leaning against a display case, sitting on the floor. The past week alone seemed to have aged her, between the dark lines under her eyes and the continuous frown on her face. In her hands, there was a journal. One of her mother’s. Whatever content was in it, she was not actually reading it but instead, she appeared to be spacing out.

He couldn’t help with her perusal – yet he planned on learning – but he was nothing if not resourceful.

“Let’s go.”

She jumped, startled, and looked up at him. “What?”

“We’re going.”

“No—no, I can’t. I am not---”

“Done? You won’t be done anytime soon. Weeks, months.” He said firmly and crouched down before her. He gently pried the journal out of her hands, closing it. “Your exhaustion will make you clumsy. Do you really wish to end up doing double the work because you realised you were too tired the first time around?

A flash of irritation. She could be stubborn.  

“You always say that it’s important to remain completely focused when you have an important case.” She protested.

He expected that. “Correct,” He admitted. “And there’s also always you, idiot, who keeps pestering about drinking and eating and ensuring I sleep, is it not?” He smirked when she scowled at him. “You ought to follow your own advice. Or do you prefer being a hypocrite?”

She pouted. “But what if—”

“There’s no evidence of imminent danger. I’ve secured the bunker already and I am confident it is thirteen times safer than before.”

She faltered, as she thought about taking a hot shower and eating something if only to alleviate her headache. Damian reached to her face, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “You’re going, or I will knock you out.” He threatened, a contrast to the gentle way he touched her. “You know I will.”

Fay glared at him, but when he got up to his feet, she allowed him to pull her up after him.

.

With her belly full and after forty-five minutes of near-scorching water pelting down on her skin, Fay felt more relaxed than she had in well over a week. Her eyes felt raw still, and the headache lingered, but the loud storm of thoughts in her head had quietened down significantly. When she came out of the bathroom, dressed in a pair of drawstring shorts and a soft, oversized shirt, Fay checked her phone. She instantly felt guilty as she realised how much she’d been blanking out people that she cared about and hadn’t seen in well over two weeks almost. Cora, who understood something was going on but still texted her to ask if she was alright. Dana, who was used to Fay disappearing all the time but asked her if she was still interested in helping with the annual program of preparing and sending out care packages to the poorer areas. Right. Fay had forgotten she’d said yes. Dana had texted her two days earlier to let her know it was perfectly alright if she couldn’t.

Fay spent twenty minutes sending out apologies and rescheduling plans. She very nearly told the others that she’d be unavailable for at least a few more weeks, as she was travelling, then she realised that was exactly what she didn’t want to happen. For things to change. For her to grow distant from others, for others to stop trying to include her in their lives because she’d always say no. She told Cora they could see each other over the next weekend, and then she told Dana that she’d still help, albeit maybe not as much as she’d thought she would.

The door to her bedroom opened just as she sent her final message – to Stephanie – about the shopping Fay had promised to help her with for Christmas. Damian walked in, himself freshly showered after they had dinner. He was barefoot, with a pair of joggers and a t-shirt on.

She smiled at him, her earlier irritation with him gone as he approached her. “Are you going to---” His mouth swallowed the rest of her sentence and Fay barely registered the small noise that formed at the back of her throat, far too distracted by him pulling her flush against him. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and his hands quickly left her hips to move around her. Fay slung her arms around his shoulders.

Damian pulled away briefly, one of his hands coming up her sides and over her arm, pushing the hem of her shirt up enough so he could brush his fingers across the marks around her bicep. “Open your mouth,” That simple command should not have made her feel as if she were back under that shower, but it did. Fay did as she was told, fireworks going off in her stomach again when she felt his tongue brush against hers.

Her mind went blank after that, body boneless as they ended up laying back on the bed. Once her initial surprise over his vehement actions passed, Fay’s own instincts and enthusiasm kicked in. At any other moment, she’d have found the idea embarrassing and herself not brave enough, but her hands slid under his t-shirt so she could run her hands over his back. She liked the way the muscles felt there, and he seemed to like it given the small, almost inaudible sound he made. If his mouth hadn’t been so close to her ear, she would have missed it. She was not sure how long they kissed, but at one point, he left her mouth and busied himself with her neck, leaving her feeling as if she were buzzed. He nipped at her throat several times, just hard enough that she felt a pinch of pain, but it was quickly swallowed by the heady sensations that followed. She didn’t realise his hands had slipped under her shirt until she felt calloused, warm skin brushing over her stomach. She giggled when he passed over the areas, she found ticklish and her breath caught in her throat when he made his way up to her ribs, stopping short of her breasts. Somewhere at the back of her mind, she thought that her breasts probably didn’t look as appealing as they usually did in the few but very detailed romantic books she’d read if gravity has its say. The blood rushed in her ears, as she wondered whether he’d move his hands higher. Would it feel better than when she did it? He didn’t however, hands instead settling for running patterns on her sides.

By the time he moved away to lay on his side, Fay was breathless, and her face felt as if she’d rubbed spices on it. There was also an addictive rush of adrenaline in her body, making her feel… euphoric. The anxiety that had been permeating her thoughts was gone and she stared hazily at the ceiling as she tried to regain her breath. Her neck felt sore in at least three places, and her lips were hot and swollen.

“Feeling better, I take it,” Damian remarked smugly as he propped his head on one hand.

Fay turned her head to look at him, pleased to see his cheeks were slightly flushed and his lips looked affected as well. “What?” She asked. He just smirked, eyes dark as they left her face and moved down to her neck then her chest. Fay realised, with some mortification, that it was suddenly obvious how she felt about their making-out sessions. The material of the shirt felt very thin suddenly. And the dampness she felt between her legs had nothing to do with the shower she’d taken earlier. She shifted slightly, feeling self-conscious not as much about what she knew was a perfectly normal reaction, but the way he looked at her. Unguarded and… heatedly.

She shivered and turned to her side, squeezing her thighs. His eyes flitted to her legs, then back to her face. Fay swallowed, wondering if he could tell. That thought led to another thought which was that she might be able to tell exactly how affected he was, but she didn’t dare lower her eyes past his torso. Trying to distract herself before she completely all sense, Fay mulled over his words. Feeling better? Well, he had a point. She hadn’t been doing too well – who would have, given the circumstances?

“…you were trying to make me feel better?” She asked breathlessly.

His brows raised. “I kissed you because I wanted to.” He said simply, unabashedly before something haughty infused his expression. “And because you wanted me to.”

Fay opened her mouth to protest, then she realised she had no convincing argument because although she didn’t loudly ask him to kiss her, she did want him to. She sort of always did, even if in the past week her mind has been preoccupied. It wasn’t as if thoughts of him hadn’t slipped through those centered around her parents and Maysoon.

“I am sorry,” She mumbled, as she pulled herself closer to feel the heat of his body and breathe in his scent. “I got carried over.”

“You were focused. As I would have if I’d been in your position.”

The heat pooling in her stomach wasn’t going away. How could it be when he was just there, within her reach, looking at her like that and not having a problem if she did too? It was borderline madness.

“Yes but---when I was new to this world, you taught me.” She said. “I mean, you were a tyrant about it and very, very obnoxious,” She smiled. “But it also helped me.”

He ignored the opportunity to punish her for the insults in favor of something far more tempting.

“You’re going to teach me?”

Her smile widened and she tilted her head back. “Yes, of course, I will.”

“Yes, I can see why it’d be advantageous to have a genius support you in this endeavor.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And you owe me.”

“I—what?”

“By your own logic, as soon as I’ve had confirmation of your ignorance around this world---”

“— ignorance ? You’re such a jerk---”

“– Although we could argue I did that long before that,”

“—oh, get over yourself---”

“---I have ensured that you are set up for success and not merely surviving in this world.”

“You tormented me! With homework---”

“I was educating you, and you ought to be grateful, given other deviant interlopers would not have been treated that well--”

“Says he who was laying around like a multi-coloured pancake in a burning building—”

Multi-coloured pancake…? That didn’t even make sense.

Idiot. She really had to learn better insults.  

“---you would have a lost a handout of no reason but simply idiotic stubbornness---”

“---and I removed a parasite out of you, by the way, so you’re welcome---”

“---Remind me again, how many times did you get yourself kidnapped?”

“--and I helped myself, thank you very much! I figured out Angel’s plan, I got out of that lake on my own and I was able to tell the Bible was fake---”

She had, hadn’t she? Always getting up.

“---Egypt doesn’t count, because the whole thing was… strange---”

Strange was not the word he’d go for, given she had been taken, and he’d had no visibility or control over her safety. “Of course, it does, you idiot.” He said, voice lowering and before she could protest, his hand shot up to cup her chin. She fell silent, and he took that opportunity to part her mouth gently just as he leaned in to kiss her again. When she responded, with fervor that filled him with satisfaction, he pulled her closer.

“Do you want to?” She asked, and for an irrational split second, he wondered if she meant something else. “To learn about my world?”

He brushed his mouth over her jaw. She tilted her head, giving him access to her neck. It was dangerously moreish. “…only a fool would turn down an opportunity to learn something that is bound to be both of use and an advantage against possible enemies.” He licked her earlobe and she shuddered, making his lips curl again. He never thought he’d consider laying about in a bed, engaging in such physical affection relaxation, much less one that left him content but here he was. “And as your chosen suitor, should you not ensure I know your world as well as you know mine?”

Her face turned red again.

He smirked. There was certainly some opportunity for torment given she had something new to be flustered about.

.

.

.

15 th of December

“So, you just yelled at him you liked him and then you made out?”

“I—what---that’s not---” Fay’s brows furrowed. “—That’s all you got from what I said?”

“No, but is it wrong?”

“Well, yes—not exactly---”

“French kiss or no French kiss?”

Cora !”

“…”

“…”

“That good, huh?”

“…y-yes.”

Cora reached to pat her on the shoulder in a congratulatory manner. “Well done, my friend, well done.”

Fay’s whole face burned. “You’re terrible.”

Cora grinned, then shrugged. “It makes sense now, why you’ve been MIA. I thought maybe you got injured.”

Fay smiled apologetically. “Sorry, it was… a lot. The last few weeks,” She said. “I found out something else. About my parents.” She said, with a frown. “I can’t give you all the details, I don’t know if it’s safe but… let’s just say that they had more secrets than I thought they would.”

Cora leaned towards her, adopting a secretive tone although it was just the two of them in her bedroom. “…it has something to do with what happened in Maysoon? You know, the---erm, attack, was it?” Fay hesitated. She wanted to tell her, she really did, but she was worried about disclosing information to the other girl. What if, in the long-term, it put her in danger? Wasn’t their friendship a risk itself? Fay had never given it thought before. She had to be more careful for Cora’s sake.

“We don’t know,” She responded honestly, ultimately. “There are more questions than answers.”

“Hm. It’s okay if you can’t tell me,” Cora said leaning back. “I get it.”

Still, Fay felt guilty all the same. “…how is your father?” She asked. They’d already talked about Cora’s aunt, whose romance with a man named Matt appeared to be going incredibly well. They were going on dates on regular basis and according to Cora, her aunt was very happy. Fay hadn’t heard much on Clive Montgomery, however, except that he had a steady job and he met Cora every Sunday for a father-daughter day.

“He’s alright,” Cora said, with a smile. It didn’t reach her eyes, Fay noted. “He said work is going really well, and that he might be looking at a promotion. I might go stay with him for Christmas. I bet aunt Emma would like having some quality time with this Matt guy.”

“Did you meet him?”

She nodded. “He’s pretty good-looking, and he is good at cooking.” She said with a shrug. “As long as she’s happy.”

Fay smiled. “I can check his background.” Damian absolutely rubbed off on her.

Cora grinned. “Nah, it’s cool. But if he breaks my aunt’s heart, maybe you and Bag can scare him a little.”

“It’s a deal.”

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“This is…it?”

Baije looked almost sheepish. “Don’t look I had much time to write it.” 

“Because you were in danger?” Wait. “Right. You can’t remember.”

Fay frowned, as she stared at the piece of parchment in her hands. It was slightly smaller than an A4 standard paper, bearing the marks of constant folding in four. The tanned skin was yellowed, stained and damaged in at least three parts. It was unclear whether Baije had simply grabbed the first thing he could write on before he lost his memories, maybe expecting what’d happen or he just couldn’t remember how that thing got to that state. 

There were no hidden messages, no invisible text, no codes they must decipher. Just a few sentences, and a list of names, written in a rushed manner that sustained the theory that Baije realized he’ll lose his memories and he needed to give himself an advantage. Unless the parchment was intended for someone else. 

Fay isn’t sure which theory is more ominous. The first implies that the enemy was after him, and not only they have an ability to wipe memories but they’re also clearly ‘cleaning house’ in terms of those who worked with her parents in researching the dark paths. Or perhaps, Baije did it himself. It had been his first assumption. Manipulating memories is not an exact science, he could not have filtered out the things he wanted to keep from those he didn’t but a written message could. 

Damian glanced over her shoulder. “What does the first part say?” He asked. 

“Instructions. Fer meself from, well, meself. That 'tis about the dark paths, 'n I must find what Evara 'n Damar knew.” 

Fay looked at the list of names. “ ‘Find and warn them: Lira, Aryg, Kaera, Len, Tendra, Nabir, Talfas.” There were at least seventeen more names with question marks next to them. Two more had dead next to them. Three had unknown. 

Tendra was the current ruler of Aeryg, she explained to Damian. Nabir, was the former leader of a Northern faction. Talfas, she found it familiar but couldn’t remember exactly. Baije told them Talfas is a flux master, who was left in charge to finding and collecting others who are born with it. 

He was perhaps one of the most important people yet to find. 

Fay’s mind went back to what they spoke about, on flux masters being hunted down even in that world. 

She is not a master yet. 

But if the enemy is out there, she qualifies as a person of interest due to who her parents are, and now because she knows about the trove. 

 

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17 th of December

There was something fascinating and magnificent about having a room that could be accessed by a magic, ancient key from virtually anywhere in the world with the prerequisite only to have a door to open. For one, the location and the many, many wards and spells keeping it hidden and protected meant that they had an incredibly safe – if not the safest – place to be. Secondly, it contained a wealth of knowledge from both worlds that her parents had amassed.

Damian, being the highly critical individual that he was, pointed out quickly that the room could very well become a prison in a worst-case scenario, if not a death trap. If one of them were to get stuck in there without a key, there’d be no way out because the door they’d come through wouldn’t lead anywhere else but to a corridor with other smaller rooms. However, the library – as they’d come to call it for the moment, for lack of a better word – appeared to have been designed like a box with no points of entry or exit. Trapped in there, they’d likely starve eventually – not as quick as if they were open to the elements or in a cell. Likewise, if the seals and wards of the library were to be compromised, they would likely not be able to salvage anything within the room due to both a lack of knowledge on how to replace them and insufficient time to act. The positive news, however, was that it seemed not even advanced technology could detect the presence of the library, which meant they were either very far underground or potentially cloaked. A negative of that was that if they were to lose the key, they’d have little to no possibility of accessing that place or finding it.

There was one more great advantage that hadn’t been obvious to them until recently.

The library could very well serve as a mode of transportation. Sort of. If one were to stay behind in the library purposefully and wait until the key was used again, they could travel anywhere without moving from that place.

“What happens if we lock ourselves in?” Damian asked.

They had no empirical date, so they tested it out. Fay would have lied if she’d said she wasn’t nervous at the prospect of someone getting stuck in the library and finding out the key couldn’t be used from the other side. It didn’t make sense for her parents to leave behind a potential trap, but what if they had?

Damian wouldn’t have minded volunteering, but Baije pointed out that if he were to get trapped, the knowledge in that place would be useless to him. The boy grunted, knowing the man had a point, but his pride did not allow him to acknowledge that out loud. Everyone agreed that it would not be Fay, although she had put her hand up. She didn’t even try to protest much between Damian and Lira’s vehement no and Baije pointing out he likely had the best chance to understand most of the material there, and therefore found a possible way out. Lira had also offered.

“Got a promise to hold, last time I checked, huh?” Baije remarked, before stepping inside the library.

Fay glanced at Lira. “A promise?”

Lira just shrugged. “Who knows? I make a lot of promises when I had too much ale.” Fay frowned, but she didn’t press. It wasn’t the right moment. She wanted to say that Lira didn’t have to drink much to say such things, but then she realised that she didn’t know what her aunt did all the time when she was away from Maysoon.

“Here goes nothing,” Baije announced, looking far too relaxed for the potential risk he was running. The key was in his right hand. Fay tried to mask her anxiety, suddenly feeling like committing his face to her memory. Don’t let us be wrong about this. Please. She was not sure who she was asking, seeing as she’d never been religious. The primordial forces, perhaps.

Lira smiled playfully as she placed a hand on the edge of the door. “You can always eat the books if you’re hungry.” Then she closed the door, the heavy metal screeching before locking into place automatically with a resounding thud. She stepped back, and they all stood in line watching the seals on the doors as they began glowing, as they retreated from outside-in, in reverse. Then they vanished altogether, and as Lira checked a couple of minutes later, when she opened the door, there was nothing behind it except a very small room that could have potentially been designed to serve as storage space. 

She closed it back, and they waited.

One minute passed. Then five. Then ten minutes. Fay’s hands began feeling very clammy and she kept shifting her weight from foot to foot. Damian was waiting on the side, arms crossed over his chest while Lira looked calm, from where she’d sat down on a couple of stacked crates.

They would not abandon him, Fay thought. They wouldn’t. If it came down to it, they’d dig everywhere and they’d use technology from both worlds, or Lira could travel back to their homeworld and obtain information. With the library being connected to a water source, Baije wouldn’t die of thirst, and they’d have weeks before starvation caused him to---Fay shuddered. So caught up in trying to seek potential solutions to a worst-case scenario, she ignored the prickle at the back of her head. Then Bagheera whined, gaining all their attention as he stared sharply at the door, ears perked up.

They all straightened. Fay felt the prickle of energy again, this time stronger before the glowing marks reappeared. She exhaled in relief, the tightness in her chest dissipating as a minute later, the door opened and Baije emerged from the library, with a grin that reached his eyes for the first time since they had reunited.

“Missed me?”

Lira scoffed, but Fay noticed her shoulders relax as well. “So what? Does that mean that the door will always open in the last place it was opened from?”

That was a good idea. And potentially a disadvantage.

“If the bunker is not safe anymore,” Fay said, mouth dry. “Then you can’t come back. Anytime soon.”

“Or at all.” Damian piped up from her left. “You would not have intel whether it’s safe to return, and you’d become trapped all the same.”

Baije nodded in assent. There were a few moments of silence as everyone mulled that over.

Fay hummed, as she reached to tighten the hair tie holding her hair up in a ponytail. “What if it works like the portals? The key, I mean.”

“Ye mean have designated places where to open doors from?” Baije asked. “Hm. Not a bad idea, but we already know the key opens any door. Unless there was a way to manipulate it in a way that it only opened what we wanted.”

“A skeleton key,” Damian muttered to himself.

Then, both he and Lira spoke at the same time, seemingly struck by the same thought.

“What if it memorises places where it’s been used already?”

“What about other doors it’s already been used?”

Then they exchanged looks, appearing rather annoyed they both had the same line of thinking. Fay sighed at their antics.

Baije was merely intrigued.

“The key is clearly connected to this place. Any door from outside will lead to it. But if you’re using it from the other side, it won’t lead you anywhere.” Damian continued, one arm crossed over his chest and a hand pressed over his chin in thought. “If the key can remember to lead whoever has it back to the library, what’s to say it cannot lead to other doors it’s been used for?”

Lira didn’t look entirely convinced. “But we’d have to know where the other doors have been.”

“Maybe we have to wish for it?” Fay suggested.

Baije shrugged. “Won’t know until we tried it?”

.

No. Simply wishing for the key to lead them to a different destination would not work, and if that had been the answer, there were enough of them with sufficient conviction to will the magic. Lira had been right – they had no idea where her parents had been during their travels in that world, but they did come up with some potential places.

The island, for one.

“Haven’t been there in a while,” Baije said.

“I remember enough, but examining doors was not my priority,” Damian remarked gruffly.

Which left Fay and Lira to recall a door – preferably one that’d not take them to a public space – from the island. Although she’d spent hours in the island’s library or Remembrance Hall, she couldn’t clearly recall the doors. It was, truth be told, an architectural element that anyone would take for granted unless something about them stood out. Like the doors to the chambers she’d claimed as hers while she was there. Tall and embellished, reminding her of the ones at the palace because of how imposing they could come across.

“Try it out,” Lira encouraged, handing her the key.

Fay nodded and stepped towards the closed door. They were inside the library, standing before a dark, mahogany door that was short but wide. It had a rough, sculpted quality to it and stood out against the remnants of ancient architecture, but like other parts of that place, her parents seemed to have made their own modifications. Fay had stared at that door at length in the past days, trying to imagine her mother standing in that same place, using her flux to create the door and perhaps the rooms beyond it as well. Damian had inspected them as well, and pointed out that not only did the architecture not match the rest of the structure, but different materials had been used. The ceilings were lower as well, and there were four more rooms in total. One appeared to have served as a sleeping place if the wide cot was anything to go by – her parents had stayed there, breathed the same air she did, stepping exactly where she did – and another, as a sort of kitchen – her parents had spent days there, together, just with each other – but the last two were larger, stocked up with all manner of supplies. 

She shook her head, catching herself getting distracted, and placed the key in the lock, but didn’t let go as she closed her eyes and tried to recall the doors to her island chamber as clearly as possible. She tried to imagine the doorknob, the floral decorations, and the small areas where the paint was chipping, primarily due to Bagheera scratching it with his claws whenever he pushed them open. The magic of the key felt neither warm nor cold, just… electrifying. Old. It made her feel on edge, and she let go of the key because her marks felt tense and her flux began coiling under her skin.

Baije placed a large, heavy hand on her shoulder, and they all watched the marks manifest on the wooden door as it had on the one in the bunker. When the magic no longer shifted, but remained a stable, vibrating source of energy, Lira stepped towards it and pulled it open by the curved D-shaped handle painted in a lighter colour.

She did not hesitate to open it all the way.

Immediately, a draft of air pregnant with the smell of salt and exotic flowers greeted them.

“Well, fuck.” Lira said.

.

Titoh stared. And stared some more. That morning he’d fallen asleep in a terribly reckless place, in a small clearing in the outer jungle. The sun had moved on the sky, and he’d woken up with a face that felt too tight and a pounding headache. Titoh had needed to drink a whole litre of water before he was able to stand up without swaying.

Heading quickly inside the residence, he decided he’d have a cold bath and apply a generous layer of Moma’s incredible salve to soothe his burns. Sweet Maysoon, he hadn’t even burned evenly. His chambers were just down the hall from the ones Fay used when she was there, and he passed by them daily. They were kept clean, but otherwise, no one went inside.

Therefore he found it very alarming when he heard voices coming from inside.

And one that sounded very familiar.

This is incredible---I can’t believe it worked.”

He stopped, dead in his tracks, and glanced over his shoulder towards the tall doors. No. He was imagining things. The heat had gotten to him (it wouldn’t be the first time).

“On Helrtin’s beard, flea, well done!”

That voice. It was so familiar.

“Eh, aunt Lira, what’s the matt---”

“There’s someone outside the door.”

Titoh blinked. Fay was there? But how and when and why hadn’t anyone told him? He walked to the doors and pulled them open. Several pairs of eyes stared back at him. Behind them, one of the white doors was open. Beyond them, the bed was gone along with everything else. The whole room was gone, and for a moment his brain tripped on itself trying to make sense of why the architecture looked so different past that door.

His mouth opened but nothing came out, and his eyes fell back on the unexpected guests. Fay. The human boy, taller and older than when Titoh had last seen but unmistakably him. Lira herself.

And… “Baije?” He whispered, resisting the urge to rub his eyes.

Baije grinned, extending his arms as he stepped forward, looking like he wanted to hug the poor boy.

“Titoh, my dear boy, look at you—”

The boy’s pale eyes rolled back. He collapsed to the ground with a thud

“Oh! Titoh!” Fay quickly rushed to him, along with Baije.

Lira grimaced.

“If he asks, we caught him, alright?”

 

Chapter 79: Of the unknown and invisible enemies II

Notes:

Many, many thanks to MoonglowOnWater for supporting with the editing and proof-reading!

Chapter Text

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“Are you… alright?”

“No.”

Fair enough. 

“I mean—what?” Titoh gestured his arms, towards the items surrounding them. Then his gaze fell on Baije, who just smiled at him. Titoh stared at him in disbelief, before he sat back down on the chair. “I think I am feeling ill again.”

“I can knock you out if you want.”

Sigh. “Da—Robin.” 

“Are all outsiders dickheads like you—"

Ah !” Fay raised her hands, glaring at both boys. “No fighting!” Titoh and Damian continued to glare at each other. 

“Titoh.” She threw her brother a stern look, who frowned at her then looked away, guilty. “Sorry, Fay.”  

Tch, I don’t need you to defend me---”

She whirled on the other boy. “Stop antagonizing him.”

“— TT —”

Baije and Lira watched them with bemused looks. 

“Remind you of someone else?”

“Aye.”

.

“This is incredible,” Kaera said, looking around. “In the Resistance, safe houses and secret stashes were not at all uncommon. If anything, they usually made the difference between living another day or getting captured but this is---”

Len smiled. “Something else.” His smile faded as he turned to look at the rest of the group. “Perhaps it’s best if few people know about this.”

Lira nodded. “I know we can count on you to keep a secret,” She said. “At most, Moma should be informed.” Fay frowned at everyone. Seeing them all gathered there reminded her of the times her parents would invite friends and allies over for special events. It was the biggest reunion she’d been at since before they’d died, and it was disconcerting that those were the circumstances under which they had to meet. 

“Does Aryg know about this?” Kaera asked, stepping back from where she’d been looking at the stacks of journals Fay had left on a table. She had always been a composed woman, almost stoic, but at that moment, she had a softer look about her. Melancholic, almost. Both Baije and Lira shook their heads. The two siblings exchanged a look. 

Len then glanced over at Damian, who was standing by Fay’s side with his arms crossed over his chest. “Obviously, I do not question your presence or intentions here,” He started in a placating manner. Damian caught on to what the other man was trying to get at quickly. “You won’t have a reason to in the future, either.” He said curtly. He would not tolerate anyone treating him with suspicion just because he was not from the other world, but Len was not being unreasonable, either, wanting confirmation that Damian was an ally. 

“We should discuss the next steps,” Kaera said. 

Fay swallowed. 

Is this what it feels like preparing for an unknown battle? 

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Moma brushed a hand over the top of Titoh’s head in a comforting manner, spindly fingers sliding through the white locks. The healer-in-training looked infinitely better than he had earlier that morning, thanks to the concoction Moma had made him drink, which helped with his heatstroke symptoms. His cheeks and neck were still quite red, but the clear salve he’d applied was working on taking away the heat.

Fay smiled lightly, finding it adorable how soothed he suddenly looked. She was seated only a few metres away from him, with Bagheera sitting back on his haunches and pressed against her left side. Damian was on a chair next to her, arms crossed and scrutinising everyone in the room. She wondered if he felt odd being there. She certainly didn’t perceive him in that manner, but she remembered how affected he had felt the last time they had both there when he’d gotten it into his head that he was an intruder. Fay felt tempted to reach out to him, but it would draw attention and lead to questions, and neither one of them liked that. She wasn’t ashamed of it; she just didn’t think it was the right moment to broach that topic, given they were all trying to figure out what to do next. 

They’d decided to have the meeting in the trove itself, which was as safe a place as any to conduct a confidential meeting. With the door closed, they were isolated from the rest of the world, located hundreds if not thousands of metres under the sand. There was something claustrophobic about that image; Fay tried not to think about it. 

A circle was formed, broken only by the blackboard sitting across from where Fay was, with the rough timeline they’d compiled in chalk still on it. Len had looked at it and thought it was a good idea if they kept adding to it, hence why he’d left it in view of everyone. Len, Kaera, and Lira stood to Fay’s left. To her right, past Moma standing behind Titoh, Baije sat on a chair himself. There were several other people they had considered, such as Corim and even Klaus. However, given how many unanswered questions they still had, they had decided to keep the circle as it was and review the issue down the line. It wasn’t necessarily a matter of trust, as much as it was one of keeping that place’s location on a need-to-know basis. 

Fay stayed quiet for most of the discussion. She didn’t have much to contribute that the others haven’t said already, and she was also still in awe. Len, Kaera, Lira, and Baije. They were all veterans of an era Fay had never lived in, yet still managed to heavily influence the world she had been born into. They all had seen and heard and fought more than she could wrap her head around, and they were as heroic as her parents had been. She could imagine the audience being greater, with her parents in the room, all discussing and strategizing the next steps of the Resistance. Maybe at the time to them, it wouldn’t have come across that way, but to her, it seemed legendary. 

Years later, she’d perhaps look at that moment and think the same. That she’d been at the centre of a very important discussion that had long-reaching effects on later events. Of course, that’d imply that something was bound to happen soon. Something dangerous and on a large scale and capable of disturbing their current lifestyles. There was nothing legendary about that meeting. It felt ominous instead. 

They discussed the events of that night, which left her nauseous and cold, and they discussed her parents’ research into the dark paths, to understand if anyone in that room could see a bigger connection between the two. There was no evidence, just assumptions, and theories, some more plausible than others. The individuals in that room had known her parents for far longer than she and Titoh had. They had watched both Evara and Damar fight and bleed and sweat. There was a sense of kinship that Fay and Titoh couldn’t possibly have, not only because they’d lost their parents so soon, but because they’d never fought side by side. 

Fay wasn’t surprised that they knew things about her parents – parts of their characters she hadn’t seen, ideas and goals she hadn’t had a chance to hear about, concerns that they had skillfully hidden away – but she couldn’t ignore the cutting sense of loss that enveloped her heart during that meeting. Even if they hadn’t died, she would not have been able to catch up with whoever they’d been before she was born. With them dead, she’d always continue to chase pieces of them, trying to put them together to understand who they had been and why they had done what they had done. 

“As Baije told you, they were concerned about someone looking into the dark paths,” Kaera said as she leaned back against a table. “It all started with trying to understand the Veil itself. We knew that the old tribes of flux masters had a wealth of knowledge on it, far more than even Master Lydo did. The information was all over the place. Even historical accounts of why our ancestors were killed are not very clear. A general perception – including my own as a child – was that the leaders of the ruling territories considered our kind a threat due to our abilities. And it’s very plausible, right? After all, there have been wars waged against Duanimas and other Dragonborn clans.”

Baije shook his head at that, and he glanced at the younger members of the audience. “Propaganda was so successful in some parts that people began fearing people like yer mother.”

Kaera nodded, and she glanced at Len who smiled at her fondly. “I was around six when my flux started becoming erratic.” She said. “Our father was terrified. If our uncle hadn’t taken us away, the village we lived in would have ultimately reported me.”

“They would have killed you?” Fay asked. 

“Not necessarily,” Lira said, who spoke from personal experience as being one of those individuals tasked with perpetuating the philosophy of the old regime. Fay couldn’t see her do that. The image didn’t fit in her head with the one of her outspoken, rebellious, defiant aunt. But they all had, at one point, to a certain extent. Even her father. “Anyone could be persuaded to swear their allegiance.” She paused. “The younger, the better.” She added bluntly. 

“Years later, when your mother became a full-fledged Resistance member, she also started seeking out others who may have the flux. For protection, for learning. If they’d ally themselves, that’d be a bonus.” Kaera continued. “I was one of them. The mission of the Resistance was a priority for years, of course, but once Maysoon became decentralised and other territories wanted a peace agreement, we were able to---” She smiled ruefully. “---well I wouldn’t say relax.” 

As they discovered, it was also a matter of rewritten history.

“In trying to trace back the history of flux masters before their demise. Master Lydo’s predecessor had told him of a time when – our kind if you will – were actually respected members of society,” explained Kaera. 

“Long story short; we found accounts of rulers, centuries ago, considering flux masters great men and women of knowledge. Even Dragonborn clans.”

Baije scoffed. “Someone went out of their way to destroy that.”

“Putting it simply, yes.” Kaera agreed. “We found evidence of the flux masters being perceived as guardians. It wasn’t clear immediately what they were guardians of as much of the information we found was gradual and we had to put it together like a puzzle.”

“Guardians of the Veil,” Fay said, glancing at Baije. “Right?”

Kaera nodded. “Exactly. The biggest puzzle, however, was to figure out why our ancestors lost their role. Why their knowledge was buried.”

“Wasn’t it the authorities of the time? The same ones who destroyed those temples?”

“By someone who is interested in the dark paths,” Fay said. “Who may have also been involved in what… happened that night.”

The man with the spider. Except he didn’t feel or sound like a man in her memories. Fay was not sure what was more frightening. That she had come across one of the orchestrators of the attack and couldn’t remember it, or that her forgotten memories might represent a clue. Did she even want to remember?

“How did they do that?” Damian asked. “Manipulate society? If the flux masters were seen in a positive light, the people must have been truly gullible or—”

“—or we’re talking about an enemy that’s very crafty.” 

Damian clicked his teeth. “One that may or may not be alive, or their descendants are. These are all just theories, though?”

“More or less,” Kaera said. “The destruction of the guardians’ reputation was not sudden but gradual. It first started in Atlabas, then it spread to other territories.” 

“And… then it finished with them being killed?” Fay asked. “It seems… extreme.”

“Not if the enemy was within a position to drive these perceptions,” Len said. “You must understand that even at the time, not everyone saw the Veil as something real. Certainly not as a power to be harvested. To hear that there are men and women who can exert influence on such a thing, someone could capitulate on the wariness of others.”

“It is also true that some of the persecutions conducted felt… irrational. Unnatural, even.”

Fay frowned. Damian uncrossed his arms. “But again, it’s unknown who it is. Or how many .” 

Both Len and Kaera shook their heads. 

“Why would they destroy it?” Titoh asked, drawing everyone’s eyes onto him. “If this faceless, dangerous enemy was interested in… using the Veil, in one way or another, wouldn’t the flux masters’ knowledge be useful? Destroying it sounds like self-sabotage.”

“Not if the flux masters were a threat,” Len said. “The flux masters were guardians. They studied and understood their power, the Veil, and the dark paths, but there’s no reason to think they wanted to do anything else besides use their ability to keep others safe. They travelled to---” He gestured towards Damian. “—your world, and they brought back knowledge.”

“So, we have this enemy that we know nothing about, that was able to cause flux masters to go nearly extinct because they were interested in the dark paths for their own purposes, and now they may also be responsible for what---what happened?” Titoh repeated, in disbelief. “What did they do for the last several centuries? And why would they need to attack Maysoon?”

That was a good point. 

“Because the flux masters had contingency plans in place, right?” Fay asked unsurely, looking at her brother, then at the others. “Master Lydo was the only one left, and he was hiding in this world. But the ones that came here, after the attacks, they were trying to… maybe keep something secret?”

“And they were also hunted down, which means the enemy was in this world. At least at the time.” Damian noted. 

Several heads around the room nodded. Finally, it felt like they were all caught up. Fay felt for Titoh who had to receive the same amount of information she did, but unlike her, he did not have a couple of weeks to process it. She made a mental note to check on him once they were done there. Len and Kaera went through the same details that Baije did, even offering more context for Damian’s sake as well. Fay appreciated that because she wanted him to feel included. 

Lira got up from her chair and pulled the blackboard forward by a few metres. On the left-hand side of the board, under an underlined FACTS they had written down the information they were certain of. Verified or evidenced , as Damian had put it. In the middle, they had a rough timeline of the events, including the approximate date when the temple was destroyed. On the right hand, they had an additional section with the title also underlined: SUSPECTS. Vontagor was first on the list. Ranis was second. 

“Well,” Kaera sighed. “We can cut Ranis down, and put a question mark, instead.”

“Why?” Fay asked. 

“He’s dead,” Len said. “Ranis committed suicide in his cell, a couple of weeks ago.”

Fay’s mouth dropped. Titoh looked disgruntled. “How? Isn’t our prison one of the most secure?”

“He banged his head against the wall until his skull cracked,” Kaera said bluntly, with a look that said she found that fact rather disturbing as well. “The guards found him alive, but he could not be saved.”

Fay shuddered as her mind conjured the image of someone repeatedly slamming their head against the wall. “Suicide?” She asked doubtfully. “It sounds….” She trailed off. 

“More like he was convinced,” Damian said. “But he was useless, was he not? He did not have information on who got to him.” He leaned his hands on the edge of the chair, between his legs. “Someone’s cutting loose ends. Just like they did before.”

Lira scowled. “Let’s just say it like it is. The enemy is closer than we want, and they may be in places we consider safe.” 

Silence fell upon the room. 

“Even… the Council?” Titoh asked with a dark expression. 

The veterans in the room were all frowning. 

“Yes. It is possible.” Moma spoke, for the first time since she had been brought in there. Everyone turned to her. She had a steely expression on, not at all shaken by the conversation or the implications of Lira’s statement. 

“The spider.” Everyone turned to Fay, who was looking at the board warily. She looked up at her aunt, who was in her direct line of vision then she glanced tentatively at Titoh. “I… think Titoh and I came across one of them. That night.”

“What?” Lira’s eyes narrowed.

Titoh nodded. “A man with a spider symbol. I thought it was just… a bad dream or something.”

“I thought I was hallucinating. I was attacked by a flux master using mist – I, uh I told you about him –“ She said to her aunt. “—and I had this… flashback? A man with a spider on his hand. It wasn’t a tattoo. It looked more like a scar.”

Both Len and Kaera were staring at her with curious looks. 

“That’s it?” Baije asked. 

“Sort of. I think I was in the… old palace, and this man—he didn’t look human – called my name. It didn’t feel like a memory, but it also felt very… vivid.” 

“I couldn’t describe him if I had to. Damar was also there. I always assumed it was just a nightmare.”

Lira raised her hands. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“Because it didn’t seem real?” Fay asked. “And no one else said anything about a spider.”

“And,” Titoh crossed his arms over his chest. “None of you was exactly honest, were you?”

Len sighed, cutting off Lira before she could say anything. “He’s right.” He met the woman’s gaze. “They both are.” He then looked at Fay. “We do not know anything of any spider. But—” His lips pressed into a thin line. “—your parents did suspect that other people were involved in the research of the dark paths as well. At the time, it seemed like a group just trying to find ways to traverse the barriers.” 

Kaera nodded in agreement. “Most of them had an unhealthy interest, at most. A few, your parents told me, they had to hunt down because their interests were… less inoffensive.”

“They were fucking creeps, not masterminds capable of attacking Maysoon. They certainly would not have had the power. Plus, Damar and Evara took care of them.” 

“Lira is correct,” Baije said. “It couldn’t have been those folks. No, our real enemy would be smarter. Discreet.”

Damian shifted in his chair. “They could have framed the Vontagorians as a suspect.”

“Exactly.” The weapons master said. “I said it before, ‘n I’ll say it again, far too convenient Vontagor was dragged into this. They may not be warm people, but they’re not stupid enough to leave their warriors behind.”

“The current ruler of Vontagor respects the changes, even if he does not agree. Master Evara was liked there as well.”

Lira nodded. “I travelled to Vontagor after the attack and people were not rejoicing as others think.”

“Maybe they want to cause a conflict?” Fay asked. “Whoever… did this.” This. Blowing up their lives. Leaving them with irreparable holes in their hearts and a head-wrenching mystery. 

“Who would benefit if a war started between Vontagor and Maysoon?” Damian asked.

Lira scoffed. Kaera looked thoughtful. “See… that’s not as obvious as one would think. Not everyone is happy, but to launch such an attack? It’s extreme.”

“As extreme as vilifying the flux masters,” Moma remarked. 

Fay was starting to feel quite nauseous. “What---what do we now?” She asked. “We can’t accuse anyone without evidence, and would---anyone even believe all this?”

“We would only fuel paranoia, which may be exactly what they want,” Len said. “Baije, you have a number of other people on that list?”

The man in question nodded. “Aye ‘n I am goin’ to try and find them. Not just that—everyone that was a close ally. It’s time to regroup.”

Titoh frowned. “You’re going back?” He asked in surprise. “That’s not safe, is it?”

Baije smiled ruefully. “Don’t worry about me, boy. Ol’ Baije never lived a safe life.” He said reassuringly. 

“I’ll talk to Aryg,” Lira said.

“No.” Everyone looked at Moma. “I shall.” She said. “If I travel back, it won’t be as suspicious. I am overdue for a return as it is. You ought to stay here.” 

“Moma is right,” Kaera said. “Right now, the island – and this place – are some of the safest places to be. They must remain that way both for the sake of making progress and for the sake of yours, the islanders, and ours.” 

“I agree. You don’t have to go alone, Baije.” Len said. “I will go with you, at least until we find others and we establish another safehouse.” 

Fay caught Kaera throwing her brother a doubtful look, but she didn’t express her concern. 

“The key should stay here,” Baije said. “It would have been best if ye weren’t all involved—” He said, giving a sweeping look to Fay, Damian, and Titoh. “—but here ye are. If anyone knew you were in Gotham, or that we had the key, they’d have made a move.” 

Or they’re waiting in the shadows, Fay wanted to mention but she thought it was best not to. The others would have considered it anyway and there was enough ominous talk as it was. 

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“What is it?” Damian asked when he noticed her staring at him with an aggrieved expression. They were in her chambers on the island, having a few moments to themselves before they were due to go back to Gotham. Baije had said he’d hold onto the key until he left, and they’d agreed to meet daily at the bunker, where he’d open the library. Fay thought it was only fair for Titoh to get a chance to look around and talk to Baije. He was his godfather too. 

“Your father, Dick, Jason. Stephanie. They don’t know everything.” She remarked, lowering her gaze to the floor, still looking troubled. “They don’t even know who I really am.” 

Damian stepped away from the balcony. One of the Vilkas had jumped on the railing, approaching him curiously. True to his nature, Damian couldn’t resist offering it attention and soon enough, he found himself with a handful of the exotic monkey in his arms. Fay found it very endearing. 

“And vice versa,” Damian noted as he stepped past the threshold of her bedroom. The monkey jumped out of his arms, chittering, and approached Fay. It extended a limb to her, in a crude handshake and she took it with a faint smile. Satisfied, the creature jumped away to inspect the top of the wardrobe. 

“I know.” She said distantly. “Maybe we should tell them? Not—not about you if you don’t want to. But---” she shook her head. “---my parents had all these secrets, Damian. If there’s someone out there, looking for the dark paths, and they could do all those things, wouldn’t it be best if we let your family know?”

Damian sat down next to her. He removed his mask, faint marks left around his eyes. 

“You’re concerned that they may be in danger.” 

“I think we’re all in danger.” Fay corrected. “But we know it. What if---what if they end up in danger because of me---”

His eyes flashed at her. “It will not be because of you. You’re not responsible for any of it---”

“Wouldn’t you feel the same?” Fay asked. “If you were me.”

He fell silent, frowning. 

Fay swallowed. “This is… about your father, isn’t it?” She murmured, leaning slightly against him and snaking her arm under his. “About how he’ll react?”

“I am not afraid of my father,” Damian said stubbornly although they both knew that was not what she had been referring to. “My father has a duty as a member of the Justice League. He would not treat you as an enemy, but he would consider the worst-case scenarios. Which would be your world representing a risk for this, and as we’ve just been confirmed, that may be very well the case.” He sighed. “His interference right now is not necessary. However, I will consider discussing it with Grayson. We must first understand what and if your parents truly left clues in this world, and if so then, having additional eyes and ears would not be… unwise.”

Fay smiled, despite herself. “Aw, so you don’t mind teamw-- mph .” His mouth felt hot against hers, and like balm against a sore wound. Fay sagged against him, the tightness in her chest loosening for the first time that entire day, and she reached to thread a hand in his hair. She felt his hand trail up her arm, from her wrist to her exposed shoulder – the contrast of weather between the island and Gotham was dizzying – before it settled over her neck. 

“In due time,” Damian murmured against her mouth when they pulled away. “They’ll know.”

Fay stared at him with some uncertainty. Not about him, just in general, with the situation they’d been presented with. “…alright.” 

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20 th of December

“It’s, erm…”

“Yes?”

“It’s very… different. From Maysoon.”

Fay smiled. “Yes, it is.” 

Titoh looked at her with a comically uncertain look. “And you… like it.”

“It took some getting used to it.” She admitted with a small shrug but couldn’t stop grinning at the sight of her brother awkwardly sitting on the sofa. Pip had been somewhat hesitant, taking his time to sniff him out for a few minutes before he settled in the boy’s lap. Nada wasn’t quite as impressed, staring at him with a judging look from a few metres away. Oskar, who had lately been spending his time sleeping more and more, had left his bed to approach him curiously. 

“Huh.” Titoh glanced over his shoulder at all the shelves dominating a quarter of that floor. He smiled. “That---that doesn’t surprise me at all.” Then his eyes roved over the Christmas decorations that Fay had taken out the day before. She had been restless, and she did enjoy decorating the place. Plus, she and Cora had gone on a bit of a rampage at the Christmas Market. “Is that the—” He said, eyes falling on the Christmas tree in a corner, near the entrance to the sunroom. 

Fay hummed. “The Christmas tree.” 

He smiled. “Well, you really did it huh?” He said, looking back at her. 

“What’s that?”

“Live the life people do here.” He said. “You always used to say you were curious about it.”

 “I guess I did.” 

She wished she could introduce him to Dana. 

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21 st of December 

“Oh. You’re like… the Snow Queen---erm prince? Or Legolas. How good are you with a bow and arrow?”

“What?”

Fay giggled. Damian rolled his eyes. Titoh was just very, very confused. “Who is---Le-goo-las?” He looked for help from his sister, who just looked amused. “Is he---is he a healer of this world?”

“Legolas.” Cora corrected patiently, staring at him with wide blue eyes. Titoh’s cheeks had been stained red ever since he’d seen her, and she’d offered her hand for him to shake. For that matter, he also hadn’t stopped staring at her. “He’s a--- never mind. You guys probably do have Elves, and it’d be weird to talk of fictional ones. Maybe they don’t even look like the ones Tolkien wrote about, and in that case, my comparison would be very offensive---”

“Montgomery, you are doing a terrible job at representing the men and women of this world with your constant verbal vomit,” Damian remarked dryly. 

Cora turned her head to throw him a withering look. “Not as much as you do, short stuff .” It was true. Cora had gone through quite the growth spurt over the summer, and she was a few centimetres taller than Damian. She found it endlessly hilarious. Damian did not. Fay did too, but tried to keep it to herself. Mostly. Sometimes, when he annoyed her, she liked to point out that his obnoxiousness stunted his growth, and one day, he’d have to ask Cora for help with reaching a cupboard. If Fay didn’t catch up first. 

Titoh smiled, and he looked at Fay. “I like her better.”

“What?” Cora blinked, eyes going wide upon hearing the foreign language. 

Damian’s eyes narrowed at Titoh, mouth twisting in a sneer. The white-haired boy’s smile faded considerably when he took in the murderous aura rolling off Damian. 

Fay sighed loudly. 

Boys. 

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24 th of December 

Martha and Thomas Wayne stared back at her. Fay has been looking at the painting for at least fifteen minutes, switching back and forth between admiring it and spacing out. She’d seen it countless times before, as most of the other paintings at the manor, but it wasn’t until that day that she realised that the late Wayne matriarch’s smile had been inherited by his son and grandson. Granted, Damian did not smile often, but Fay had been lucky to see it enough times to catch the faint resemblance. A kind smile, she thought. The type that made one’s eyes shine and their entire countenance shift. She’d once told Damian that he was more likely to catch others off guard if he smiled at them the way he did at her, which he had found ridiculous. It was fine by her. She didn’t mind having exclusive views. 

“I used to stare at them like that.” 

Fay jumped slightly, and she looked away to the entrance to see Bruce standing there. He was dressed leisurely, in dark trousers and a red Christmas jumper. For a man who was so taciturn and serious, he really did seem to enjoy Christmas, and that was always clear with how the Manor came alive at that time of the year, with colourful decorations and lights appearing everywhere. 

“S-sorry.” She said bashfully, cheeks tingling. 

Bruce approached her, and he came to stand beside her, his eyes falling on the portrait. “What for?” Before she could respond, “They remind you of your parents.”

He caught her there. She wasn’t entirely surprised. Fay nodded. “There’s… many paintings of them. In Maysoon.” And statues.

“When my parents died, their death was still being reported daily for six months after. Then, several more months on each date of the same month.”

Fay frowned, as she mulled that over. “…people used to give me flowers. And presents. And they’d---start crying around me.” She said quietly. “I know they were sad, but…”

“You hated them.”

She nodded. Bruce’s lips curled slightly. 

Fay hesitated before voicing her words, but she felt emboldened by the unexpected common ground she’d found with the older man. Perhaps not unexpected, but they didn’t talk often and when they did, it wasn’t about their shared trauma of being orphaned at a young age. She did enjoy his intermittent teaching, as disciplined and demanding as it could be. Master Kaera’s gruelling training had made her rather immune. 

“I am sorry.”

Bruce looked at her, eyebrows raised. 

“You---and the others have been treating me… like I am one of you.” She said carefully. “I know more than I probably should about you, things that could put you at risk but---but you don’t know everything about my world, or even me.” 

“Hn.”

She blinked, wondering if that’s all he was going to say on the matter, and she glanced at him unsure. He had gone back to staring at the painting. 

“You’re right. You do pose a certain liability. You and Damian may keep it to yourselves, but Gotham is my city. I know that you have not just lived here, nor are you able to fully detach from your homeland. A lack of information makes it more difficult to prepare for the worst because we do not know what we don’t know.” 

Fay lowered her eyes to the floor, feeling guilty and wondering if she’d opened a can of worms she shouldn’t have. Damian steadfastly refused to broach the topic, but she’d just spent an entire dinner sitting at a table full of people who had made her feel at home. How could she sit there, smiling and talking and eating their food and exchanging presents, knowing that in the future their worlds might clash? Perhaps not in an obvious manner, but if someone – maybe the men with the spiders on their skin – were out there, searching for the dark paths, wouldn’t that concern them as well? 

“There are variables that can be accounted for, but mitigation is never fully guaranteed. Failing to prepare is preparing to fail, but one must also be capable of creating a plan even in the event of failure because that cannot always be prevented. Even by the best of fighters.” He continued suddenly. “Do you know the one variable that even failure cannot change?”

Fay shook her head. “Family.” She looked back at him, in surprise. “Friends. Allies.”

She opened her mouth to comment, but words failed her momentarily. 

“The reason why that’s an invariable element of strength is because of the characters of the people who are our friends, family, and allies. The principles they stand for. Their moral code, their willingness to lay down their lives for others, regardless of the differences between them.” He said. “Then, even the worst-case scenario is not set in stone. It is what you do that defines you, not who you were born as.”

She was as silent as she mulled that over. A few seconds later, she felt a heavy, large hand land on her shoulder. 

“Shall we see if Alfred has any apples left before either that paladin of yours or Titus tries to steal the last of them?”

Fay smiled. 

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29 th of December 

Fay sniffed, reaching up to wipe at her face. It was a moot point because her face was already splotched, and her eyes inflamed. Jason sighed internally. Oh, man . Out of all nights for the baby bat to be stuck giving chase to a group of criminals trying to escape in an aircraft. 

“Hey, uh---” He gave up on trying to offer words of comfort, and instead he placed a gloved hand on the girl’s head as he crouched beside her on the floor. He remembered a time when the top of her head barely reached past his elbow, and she had been a tiny thing with big sad eyes. Now she was just a grown-up thing with big sad eyes, it seemed. One that immediately leaned against him. Bagheera whined from her other side, his sadness palpable which perhaps didn’t help with the girl’s own emotional state. They were likely feeding into each other. 

Oskar’s limp, lifeless body was covered with a sheet. Fay had been bawling, clutching her paladin when he’d come in, sobbing so loudly that he had instinctively reached for his guns. There was no intruder, however, and she wasn’t injured, at least not physically. From what he’d managed to understand from her garbled words, Oskar had sat down next to her while she was reading and died in his sleep. Peacefully. It had been his time, in Jason’s opinion. The dog had lived longer than the average of his breed, and he’d lived a good life ever since he had been taken in. Better than most dogs. 

Damn the kid for making him sentimental, because Jason ended up thinking about his childhood dog, and his not-as-peaceful death. Rascal had been run over by a car, and the vet had had to put him down because the surgeries would have cost thousands of dollars they had not had. 

Then her favourite aunt arrived, body language indicating she’d been just as prepared to cut down potential intruders as her eyes surveyed the open space before they fell on them, across the room. It was the first time Jason hadn’t worn his helmet, and he didn’t even bother to reach for it. That was why he insisted on wearing a domino mask as well. 

The woman was not interested in him, though, her eyes narrowing as she took in Fay’s upset state, then the dead dog. He heard her mutter something in a language he didn’t know but had heard Fay speak before when she’d entertained him on occasion. From the way, the auntie’s shoulders sank slightly, and she frowned, Jason was willing to bet that it was something the along lines of fuck. 

Damn right. 

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“Hm.” Lira looked not at all surprised by the broken faucet in the kitchen. 

“That normal for all kids in your world?” Jason asked casually. He wondered if Damian had a plumber on a fast dial or if he just fixed it himself. He had to, given how gung-ho he was about keeping Tinkerbell safe. 

They hadn’t spoken at all for the past thirty minutes. Fay had fallen asleep against Jason, curled up, and he had ultimately carried her upstairs. He had shaken his head, amusedly, at the number of things she kept in that place. His eyes had fallen on the painting hanging left of the entrance. Fay, he’d recognised immediately, and it didn’t take a detective to know the man and woman were her parents. Jason could see the resemblance. Pretty mom, great smile. It had the same brightness as her daughter’s. Fay was too old in that painting for it to have been painted when they had been alive. Jason hadn’t needed to look at the signature on the back to know who had done it, either. 

Bagheera had jumped on the bed and curled up around Fay, cocooning her in his large, furry limbs. “Atta boy,” Jason had said, patting the beasts’ stomach before he left, closing the door behind him. 

“Some of them.” She responded vaguely as she opened the cupboards underneath the sink to turn off the water. “At least it’s not fire.” She mumbled more to herself than to him. Straightening, she closed the cupboards. “Where’s the brat?”

Jason shrugged. “What makes you think I know?”

“Aren’t you all like—” She waved her hand. “—part of the same guild?”

“We don’t call them that way here.” He said. Fay had used that term herself before. “We have more of a freelancer sort of thing going on.”

“Is that why you’re wearing the symbol?” She asked, turning around and giving a pointed look to the red bat symbol on his chest. “Do you have to pray to bats as part of your allegiance?”

He was ninety-nine per cent she was being purposefully ignorant to get under his skin, even if she asked the question in a very serious tone. 

“Pray, eat, sacrifice.” He said. “The bat-fetish comes with the exclusive access.” 

“Ah.” Her face was blank, but her eyes shined with amusement. “How human, to want to pretend to be something else than being human.”

“Is that your personal experience or alien presumptions?”

She smiled at him, and it wasn’t entirely warm, but her eyes were like molten silver, and she had a faint, single dimple on her left cheek. The favourite aunt was quite attractive. Just an observation, of course. 

“Is that your ignorance asking or just curiosity?”

And she was rather very witty, as well. 

Jason was almost disappointed when their conversation was cut short by Damian storming in, his suit damaged in at least three places, and a bruise blooming on his chin. “What happened?” He snarled at them both, and before any of them could respond, his eyes moved over to the other side of the room. Pip had refused to go upstairs, preferring to stay by Oskar’s side, whining quietly. 

The boy fell silent as he stepped closer to the limp body and crouched by it. 

“She’s asleep,” Lira said loudly, for him to hear from the other side. 

Jason grabbed his helmet. “Well, this has been nice and all, but I reached my limit of deaths per night.”

Lira watched his motorcycle turning away and leaving a few moments later before she turned her attention to the boy. He had removed the sheet slightly, brushing a hand over the dog’s head. 

“I can bury him in the backyard.” She remarked. 

His head shook. “No.” He wasn’t crying, but he sounded far more subdued than usual. “She wants to have him cremated.” 

“Alright,” Lira said. “I’d keep her away from all---that’s going on. For a few days. Just a suggestion.”

“Hn.”

.

Damian brushed his fingers over her flushed cheeks. Her eyelashes were clumped together, still damp. Her nose was red, and her bottom lip chapped. After showering and getting changed, Damian laid down beside her, facing her. Bagheera was still awake, back-to-back with Fay, and Damian could sense his lingering dejection. The paladin didn’t even bat an eye at the apple he left by his head. 

Fay stirred, and her eyes fluttered open. Her eyes were wet. She moved forward to press her face into his neck, as he threaded his hand in her hair. 

“Damian?”

“Hm.”

“I think… I watched her die.” 

His insides went cold, muscles seizing. “What?” He murmured. 

“…I—I can’t remember still...it's more of a feeling, but… I think I was there. When my mother died.” 

Chapter 80: Of shining bright

Notes:

Hi everyone, my apologies for the late post but life got in the way. It is possible that updates will be slightly more irregular but will try to keep it below two weeks.

Many, many thanks to MoonglowOnWater for supporting with the editing and proof-reading!

Chapter Text

 “She never seemed shattered; to me, she was a breath-taking mosaic of the battles she’s won.”

– Matt Baker

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17 th of January 

The extravagantly decorated sabre in his hands was a work of art as much as it was a deadly item. The blade was Iranian, seventeenth-century at the earliest, with a white jade grip. The scabbard was made of gold, with studded gems – emeralds – and gilt-brass mounts that spoke of incredible craftsmanship. A larger emerald stone near the top of the scabbard marked the location of a secret compartment containing a gold coin inside, marked with a symbol that at once made Damian’s insides roil hot and cold. 

It was the mark of the Demon’s Head. 

Brows furrowing, Damian averted his gaze from the blade in his hands to the large rectangular chest where he’d found it, shoved in a corner, underneath other boxes and crates. The sabre, in its scabbard, had been wrapped in a piece of dark, thick canvas and left inside the chest amongst other objects, wrapped up carefully. Putting the scabbard away, he started inspecting the other objects, his frown deepening with each one. He found two other blades, just as masterfully crafted as the sabre, and he had no doubt about their origin. There were clothing items as well – including a fine, blue pashmina shawl, silver and gold Tulle bi telli , and all manners of other trinkets, including an Egyptian snake-design bracelet made of gold. Fay’s parents possibly having travelled to the Middle East was no surprise, nor was the fact that they’d taken souvenirs. The entire place was full of them, and he had already estimated there were literary works in at least nineteen languages in there.

But the scabbard. That was not an item that could be obtained so easily. A blade so beautifully made would not have been given to any member of the League either, and it was very unlikely someone would have stolen it only to later sell it. Who would dare steal from the Demon’s Head, anyway? It didn’t make sense that Evara and Damar would have. Not unless they had wanted to bring attention to themselves and make a powerful enemy. 

No. That wasn’t it. There was a story behind that blade. 

And he could sit there and come up with theories of the how, when, and why. 

Or he could seek out a direct source. 

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“My son.” Talia didn’t look up from the elaborate Gonfu ceremonial tea set before her, nor had she batted an eye when three seconds earlier, the guards waiting by the entrance had toppled to the ground, unconscious. “To what do I owe the visit? If you’re here about your grandfather’s kidnapping of your friend, I’d say you are horrifically late on that.” 

Damian landed on the ground quietly, moving as swiftly as a shadow was meant to, and he rose to his full height, standing on the other side of the table. “I know there’s a connection between the Al Ghuls and the other world.” He said bluntly, eyes quickly taking in his mother’s relaxed pose. She looked as impeccable as she always did, danger and experience wrapped up in a beautiful package. She was growing her hair again, letting it reach past her elbows. Her hands were perfectly manicured. When he had been younger, he recalled admiring them, for they had always been softer than he’d expected them to be. Talia took great care in how she looked and dressed, but vanity was not necessarily a trait he’d attribute to her. Elegance was natural to her, as was a blade through a man’s neck. 

“You’ve grown taller.” She noted, leaning back in her chair after setting down the cup and completely avoiding his question. 

He clicked his teeth. “I have no time to play games.” 

“Yet you have time to travel across the world to seek me out.” She replied calmly. “Have you finally grown bo---”

“Evara and Damar Estaris.” 

Damian watched her mother’s expression with the attentiveness of an eagle. Even the most controlled of people had micro-expressions they could not control. Involuntary movements of the muscles happening in a fraction of a second, difficult to notice with the naked eye. He knew his mother well, though, and the domino mask covering his eyes had a built-in high-speed camera. 

“You know them or of them.” He said confidently, if not a little self-satisfied. “Grandfather does, too. It has never been about your disapproval of who I surround myself with, mother. It was about Fay, and who she is. Who her parents were.”

Talia’s face was a blank mask as she stared at him, unimpressed. “You’ve come all this way to let me know of this theory? And it took you years to form it?” Her mouth twisted slightly as she raised her cup. Before taking another sip, she added, “I thought you wanted to surpass your father as a detective.”

She was deflecting. Not that she couldn’t make such observations otherwise, but Damian was certain she was purposefully trying to rile him up. To distract him.

“What do you want with her?” He asked irritably. “And her world.”

“Why don’t you tell me?” Talia challenged. “Seeing as you’re the one interrupting my teatime.” 

Damian’s hands curled into fists by his sides; he quickly loosened them because his mother would undoubtedly notice. “Who are you working with?” He asked. “It’s obvious someone else is involved in this matter, mother. That faux pas grandfather committed in the desert was never about her. It was about sending a message. Had it been meant to intimidate me, or her, she would not have walked away with a purposefully superficial wound. Who were you sending a message to?” He snarled. 

Talia’s eyes narrowed at him. “Perhaps you forget, Damian, but you have relinquished the right to make any demands from me. Unless you’re here to supplicate for your---”

Never .”

She did not falter. “Well, then. I think your visit is over. It was good to see you, my son.” Her eyes flitted over him, and her lips curled. “You may be on your way to becoming a man, my little Icarus, but you have yet to become wise as to when and where you should seek answers.” 

Damian considered challenging her to a fight. His mother was many things, but she would honour a wager if she were to lose. A part of him looked forward to it because it had been years since he’d gone against her, and she was one of the most dangerous individuals in that world. 

He didn’t. 

“How predictable, Talia . Never looking out for anyone’s interests but your own.”

Talia frowned at his back as she watched him disappear off the balcony to her left. “Oh, habibi, you could not be more wrong.”

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“I thought something happened to you!” 

TT. I was gone for only four days---”

Teeth grinding together. “Without a single word.”

“I very clearly told the beast that I’ll be back.”

“How does that make it better? Bagheera can’t talk. I thought you were kidnapped--”

“I think you have a monopoly on that—" 

Damian.”   

It was inappropriate and foolish and absurd, especially since she looked like she wanted to punch him, but he found her mouth oddly attractive. And as there was no reason to hold back, he didn’t. Damian backed her into a shelf, placed his hands on her waist, and kissed her. It was ridiculous to long for that after only four days, and he’d rather be burned alive than admit to it, but alas, there he was. 

And it was a very efficient way of distracting her. 

Anger melted into surprise before she stubbornly refused to reciprocate. She didn’t push him away either, although he purposefully left his guard down, and he smirked against her mouth. She smelt of moss and salt and paper, having spent most of her time between the trove and the jungle, and underneath that, he detected the gardenia and freesia of one of her favourite perfumes. Her skin was warmer than usual, almost scorching, and her cheeks were splotched, red from both the sun and anger. 

Damian pulled away. “Oh, ye of little faith.” He mocked as he brushed his mouth against her cheek and jaw.  

She glared at him, but he could make out the concern underlying her ire. He had not meant to worry her, but his mother could be difficult to track down, and he had not wanted to squander that opportunity. Fay had also been busy training, almost every day when she hadn’t spent hours scouring her parents’ trove. He wanted more information before he gave her another thing to worry about. 

“Apologise.” She muttered.

“No.’’   

Her lips parted, no doubt to protest his refusal to apologise, and he dipped his head back to hers immediately. Fay made a small sound at the back of her throat that sent shivers down his spine, and he questioned his sanity, if not his ability or genius, because why would he find something so frivolous so addictive? Finally was the word that crossed his mind when he felt her relax against him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, hands threading into his hair. His tongue brushed against hers, tasting something sweet and citrusy, which was no surprise given she ate more fruits than a frugivore animal. 

Once she was breathless and all her ire had vanished, he pressed his face into the crook of her neck. It was alright, he told himself, wanting all that closeness and having it, because it was her . Because it was them . The world had no right, nor need to know who they were with each other in those moments, especially when they saw each other clearly. 

“Don’t do that again,” Fay murmured as she placed her head on his shoulder. “I don’t… mind you leaving, even if you prefer going alone but---just tell me.” She added. “Don’t just be gone.” 

Like her parents. 

Damian gently nipped her neck, the soft skin there inviting. “Hm.” I did not mean to worry you. 

.

Fay frowned as she balanced the sabre in her hands. It really was beautiful. “Well… my mother was technically a thief.” She said uneasily. “But it is strange. Do you really think she knew your mother and grandfather?”

Damian eyed the blade. “Possibly. It could have been a brief encounter. She would not have obtained such a piece but from a high-ranking member of the League.” He highlighted. “Your parents spent several years in this world when they first travelled. It is not outside the realm of possibility that they knew of the League, and it would certainly explain their continued interest.”

That gave Fay pause. “…you think there’s someone else?” 

Clever girl. 

“Think about it. Mother may have put on a show of trying to intimidate you all those years ago, but I always found it odd how she went about it. It was a test, as we’ve theorised before. Then, for months on end, there was no other sign of her or my grandfather being involved. That doesn’t mean they weren’t watching.”

Fay nodded. “They were when we were doing the scavenger hunt from the painting. We never found out whether they were already watching or whether they knew about painting before we did.”

“Unless my grandfather knew from someone else.” Damian brushed his knuckles against his chin. “He is not one to partner with just about anyone, however.”

Fay lowered the sabre back into the box, eyes lingering on the other items in there. “Unless… they have a common goal?” She looked up. “Your grandfather is interested in… saving this world from ecological disaster.” A noble goal, even if the way he’d gone about it so far had not always been ethical or legal. “Our enemy, whose identity we don’t know, or how dangerous they are, and who may or may not be… the ones who killed my parents, want to learn the secrets of the dark paths. I doubt it’s for any good reason.” She said dryly. Closing the box, she leaned back on it, a thoughtful look on her face. “What if it’s… about the flux?”

Damian stopped pacing and looked at her with a raised brow. “Of course, it is about the flux, given this mysterious individual or group’s interest in the old masters.”

“No, I meant your grandfather,” Fay said. “Mastering the flux essentially means mastering the natural elements. Maybe Ra’s wants information on this because he thinks he could use it for his own… goals?” She scratched at her nose. 

Damian grunted. “Poison Ivy was once a contender in my grandfather’s plans.”

“She… she has abilities quite similar to my mother’s, right?”

“To an extent. I don’t believe it is the flux that she controls, but her abilities are equally powerful, granting her supernatural control over plant life.” He said. “Perhaps your mother drew the attention of the League during her initial travels. All we have are assumptions, however.” He glanced around the room. “We’ve yet to make progress in here as well.” 

Fay nodded. “Titoh and I started working on a record of everything in here.” 

“Good. Let’s also set up a new board – we should try and recreate a timeline of your parents’ travels in this world. That ought to give us more insight.”

She got up from the box. “Yeah. I will go buy more supplies.” Electronic equipment didn’t work very well in that place, likely because of the energies keeping that place hidden and preserved. As a result, they had to do everything the old-fashioned way. In some ways, it was perhaps safer, but it was also quite time-consuming. 

“It is a puzzle,” Damian said. “And every puzzle will eventually come together with enough patience and attention to detail.”

She wondered if he really believed in that. 

.

.

.

3 rd of February 

Damian had inherited the best of his parents’ genes, from their innate physical appeal to their intellect and propensity to be extraordinary polymaths. He was as skilled with a brush as he was with a sword, and as natural with a violin bow as he was with an archery one. He had first sat behind the wheel of a car at age five. He had learned the main concepts of aviation by age nine. History, art, foreign languages, geography, politics. They were all topics drummed into his head from the moment he had been able to read and write, and that had happened precociously, as expected. All that didn’t even include the experience he’d gained in his short, yet incredibly eventful life. He had fought dragon bats when he had been only nine and in the same year, he’d faced a temple guardian that had been several millennia old. He had become Robin. He’d fought against the Talons. He’d died and come back to life. He was no stranger to the occult or mystical arts, or to the supernatural, or the alien, or the improbable and impossible. 

He did not like settling. A compromise was an exception, and exceptions were rare. He had never demonstrated clemency when it came to his own development. What had changed were his priorities, after he’d chosen to stay in Gotham and continue carrying the mantle of Robin. His focus had changed from himself to others, and his goals had felt displaced when he’d realised he no longer saw eye to eye with his mother. The goals had become altogether blurred when he’d realised how much easier it was to look up to his father when he had been dead. But Robin was a cause, and it had been there – fixed and real and offering a different type of challenge than anything before – so he had taken it. Fay had become a permanent fixture in his life, as had several other individuals, and they became his cause. To protect them, to be loyal to them, to ensure they were happy and safe. 

And to an extent, Fay’s cause had become his, the bigger and bigger an exception she had become. The Sponsor. The mysterious clues. Now a secret enemy that might be a threat to both worlds. They all fell within his scope as Robin as much as they were his responsibility because he wanted her by his side, and him by hers. Fay often told him how grateful she was for him. He had never put it quite like that before, but he was grateful for her. She’d been his fixed point as much as he’d been to her, and he could tell himself he didn’t need it, but he couldn’t tell himself that he was not voraciously satisfied to have it. 

 Fay had grown into the potential that had taken him by surprise when he’d seen it all those years ago. He’d watched her go through those baptisms of fire, as she called them, and come out on the other side successfully. For every two steps back, she worked hard to take three forward. She had to wrestle with an atrocious sense of self-worth and the words of people realms away in her head, and she had to understand what she wanted and who she was on her own. Even when she struggled to find reasons to be alive, when her survivor’s guilt gnawed on her, Fay never quite failed to operate with kindness and selflessness. It might just be his eidetic memory, but Damian vividly remembered that Halloween. Out of all her moments of vulnerability he’d been privy to, that one would always stand out in his mind. She’d said she felt inspired by him, and not because of a title or a display of his prodigious skills. He had wanted to repay her efforts – as reckless as they might have been – of trying to help another. He had been kind to her, she’d said and in return, she’d shone brightly. 

He had made it a priority to keep her safe. He had to remain sharp and alert, he’d had to step up his game in terms of monitoring and time management, and simultaneously keep honing his own skills. There were people counting on him, and he could not afford to grow complacent. With Fay, there was also a far bigger emotional investment. The time they’d spent together, the hobbies they shared, their hours-long discussions, the physical closeness, the affection, and the implicit promises of being there for each other in ways that had been new to both. It had taken him a long time to grow accustomed to and accept the vulnerability that came with each of those. And then he’d learned it was not a weakness, but a strength if he wished it to be. Dick had taught him that, first. With Fay, Damian had simply taken the lesson to another level. 

In return, she had grown stronger too. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. She was more comfortable with her anger, and no longer ashamed of the parts of her that were not as selfless or forgiving. She would stand her ground and burn her own path if someone tried to block her, and she’d tirelessly worked on no longer allowing others to put her down for what she wasn’t.  

Damian, although he acknowledged her progress and growing independence and cleverness and kindness and resourcefulness and her heart , had always seen himself as someone who inadvertently had to make sure he’d be there, on the frontline of any danger, to shield her. He didn’t want her to be helpless or hopeless or dependent on others. Neither did she. He’d made a vow, though and he’d stand by it, particularly now that there was more. More to give and more to take and more to lose and more to protect. It was an implicit duty – and a pleasure, really – that he continued to be the person that she’d decided to have more with. He’d always had exceptionally high standards, and they’d always included him and his place in another’s life. 

It wasn’t until that day that Damian had been confronted with the possibility he hadn't considered. A black swan . It had taken him by surprise and ended up changing his perspective. In hindsight, he could have and should have expected it, because the data had always been before his eyes, but he had not accounted for it properly on a long-term basis. 

It was the realisation that he might not have seen just how bright Fay truly had come to shine, inadvertently perceiving it in a dimmed manner. 

And that for the first time in his life… he might have fallen behind. 

.

It was a pleasant day on the island. The consistent rain at the beginning of the month had gone, replaced by clear skies and the temperatures reaching the low twenties Celsius. A breeze thick with ocean and soil scents swept over the island regularly, moving grains of sand and loose leaves. Damian had spent most of his time in the trove, taking charge of the items that belonged to his world and cataloguing them. A rather mundane task, but he could appreciate Fay’s parents’ versatile taste. They’d held arts and culture in truly high regard. Weaponry too. 

In the afternoon, Fay would train with Kaera, and in the evening they’d return to Gotham, leaving the key with Baije or Lira. Each morning, they’d meet back at the bunker. On some days, he had chosen to stay behind to work on a case or to train, but otherwise, Damian had become quite closely acquainted with the island. They had not made any progress in obtaining more information on the Maysoon attack, the dark paths, or the research Evara and Damar had been involved in. The trove was beginning to feel like a red lobster. But so had the desert, previously, and as such, they carried on. 

In the evening, they barely talked. Fay was usually left drained, if not near the point of unconsciousness by her trainer. In the early hours of the morning, when he’d be done with patrol, Damian would always check on her. Sometimes she’d be awake, stubbornly wanting to know if he came back in one piece. Other times, she’d be so out of it that an earthquake would not disturb her. He’d train if patrol was uneventful and ultimately, he’d end up laying down beside her. If she didn’t hog the whole bed. She had the most chaotic and ridiculous way of splaying her limbs out across a bed that should have been big enough to fit three of her. 

That day was going to be different. 

Fay was going to fight, and it was not going to be just a sparring session. Kaera wanted to test her and Klaus, and she was not going to make it easy. 

“…there’s going to be a crowd,” Fay mumbled to herself as she played with the end of her braid. “Not as big as at the Trials, though.” She added. 

Damian looked up from the old tome he was perusing. He couldn’t understand the language, but the illustrations were of rather impressive quality and detail. He was learning, though. He would learn. 

“Don’t mind them.” He said simply. “Your focus will be on your opponents. What is the structure proposed? One-on-one matches.”

Fay shook her head. “Not exactly. Master Kaera said she will try to mimic the Trials. Klaus and I will have to collect several flags, and whoever gets them first finishes. Or, well, who is left standing with all of them, anyway.” She flicked her braid over her shoulder – she’s been keeping her hair longer – and looked up at him. “But there’ll be traps and Master Kaera will definitely find ways to make it more difficult than just us racing for it.”

“Hm.” He closed the book. “We’ve had exercises like that before.”

She nodded. “Thelion and Len will be taking part, as well.” She smiled ruefully. “She’ll really make it difficult.” 

“I will be---”

Ah! ” Fay slapped her hands over her ears. “No. I don’t want to know if you’re there—” Obviously he will. They both know that. “—or where you’ll be seated. You’ll distract me.”

“One of the main points of this is to ignore distractions, idiot.” 

She removed a hand and waved it at him dismissively. “Just---we’re not talking about it. I am---” She shook her head. “I am not going to get myself worked up over it. I will just go there and do everything I can.” She shrugged. “And I will just have to get better when I lose.”

He suppressed a smirk. Years earlier she would have backed down and accepted failure even before giving it a try. 

Later, he’d feel ashamed because he had not questioned her assessment at all.  

When she lost, not if .  

.

The challenge was going to take place on one of the smaller islands, east of the main one with a makeshift arena set up in a deep valley with cliffs on one side and the jungle on the other. Most of the islanders had gathered for the event on the cliff overlooking the valley, which Kaera had modified to resemble an amphitheatre, albeit a rough version of it, for other past events. Stairs carved into the cliffside and covered with wooden planks allowed easier access to the valley below, which was approximately one hundred fifty metres long and almost sixty metres wide. The flora immediately surrounding the valley was lush with tall trees that towered over the open space, offering very little visibility into the wilderness beyond. The location was only a mile away from the beach left of the spectator area. To the right, the island remained largely virgin, terrain as beautiful as it was treacherous sloping into tall hills and low-level mountains, including a small volcano that had not been active in well over three centuries. 

Kaera waited in the middle of the field. She was dressed simply, in a light-weight cotton two-piece outfit – a white short-sleeved tunic and a pair of dark trousers – with her short hair styled back. Fay told Damian that she was not only dangerous because of her ability to control matter with such ease, but also how difficult it was to penetrate her defences. 

Damian sat down near the front rows on the thick branch of a titanic tree that had grown pressed closely against the cliff. Below him, a few metres away, Titoh had taken a seat under the partial shade that the tree offered, with Moma and Lira seated next to him. Baije was nowhere to be seen, as they had kept his presence on the island under wraps, but Damian was certain the man was going to find a way to watch the fight. He had expressed enthusiasm at seeing how much Fay had developed since she had been a child. Bagheera and Waren were not going to take part in the challenge. Both paladins were rather unhappy about it, but Kaera had made a good point about wanting to test her apprentices independently from them. Bagheera had clambered onto the branch next to Damian, sighing every several minutes, his dissatisfaction intermittently slipping through his otherwise masked emotions. Waren, on the other hand, had chosen to sit near Titoh, busying herself with a large bone. 

Damian had given up on his mask in favour of a pair of sunglasses because they were far more practical and less prone to attract attention than a mask. He did catch a few curious looks from nearby islanders, primarily a handful of girls and younger residents whom he had watched lean towards each other and whisper while casting furtive looks in his direction. His place in the tree blocked their full visibility of him, and the dark clothes allowed him to blend in with the shadows. Len had gone ahead and highlighted that he was a guest on the island when he was asked, without going into detail about which world Damian belonged to or why he was there. 

Tilting his head, he eyed the elderly figures of Olena and Faron taking a seat one row behind Moma and Len. Damian hadn’t met them directly, but Fay had told him enough that he recognised them immediately. 

High-pitched giggles and awed gasps erupted when Thelion Orivel appeared in the field, all long lean limbs, golden hair, and azure eyes. He was dressed in a pair of black trousers which he’d bandaged tightly from the shins to his ankles, and his dark blue sleeveless shirt was tucked in, a silvery armour vest on top of it. A tight belt was connected to the holster pouches attached to each thigh, brown and made of leather. His wavy, blond hair – which seemed to have a fan base of its own – was tied back at the back of his head in a short ponytail. 

“There’s Klaus!”

“Oh---and Fay!”

Damian’s gaze moved back towards the field. Fay had floated out of the jungle and landed near Kaera, and Klaus joined them a few moments later after coming down the steep steps on the other side of the amphitheatre. 

Fay and Klaus each had been given a scarf, red in colour. Kaera had a white one, which she’d tied around her neck. Len and Thelion would be the ‘hunters’, in that they’d attack Fay and Klaus and try to get their scarves. If they succeeded and the teenagers didn’t get it back within three hours, the latter would fail the assignment. If the three hours ran out with Fay and Klaus keeping their scarves, Thelion and Len would yield. No one in possession of a scarf would be allowed to keep it anywhere but on their own person. Fay and Klaus would also have the second part of the challenge to complete, which was to get the white scarf from Kaera. There was no time limit on that, they could keep fighting until they either succeeded or yielded. 

Using a megaphone for the audience, Len went over the rules while Thelion handed both Fay and Klaus the red scarves. The challenge would start in ten minutes, at eleven o’clock. 

“Thelion is to go after Fay,” Lira remarked, leaning back, and crossing her arms. 

Titoh looked up at that. “…that’s good, right? Thelion would never hurt Fay.”

“That doesn’t mean he’ll go easy either,” Moma said, astutely. “As he shouldn’t.”

Fay wouldn’t want that either, Damian knew. If Thelion was truly the prodigious warrior she hailed him to be, she’d have her work cut out for her. The second assignment was more difficult to begin with, and she’d already be tired upon arriving at that stage. There was no hiding or evading with the second part. 

Damian had a very good view of the arena from there, but he was too far to make out Fay’s expression. Rising his pair of binoculars up, he directed his attention to where she was standing beside Klaus. She was dressed differently from when he’d last seen her that morning, with a leather dark vest cut off just above her navel and a pair of knee-length shorts. She’d opted for her Titania boots and utility belt with an additional holster around her right thigh. Her hair was tightly braided back, out of her face and her head was tilted down as she finished wrapping her hands in gauze before pulling on her fingerless gloves. She did not appear as nervous as she’d said she felt. She did frown, however, when she looked up and towards the audience, giving it a sweeping glance. Then she took a deep breath, lowered her hands, and crossed them behind her back, which was her default stance when she was switching to a patient mode. She must have done her warm-up before. He thought as he took in her flushed cheeks, although that could have been for any number of reasons, including anxiety and embarrassment. Her eyes moved away. A few seconds later, she smiled at Thelion, whose back was turned towards Damian, but the blonde warrior made a gesture he was familiar with. Fay had done it with him before, whenever he’d been busy with longer cases, and she told him it was just a way of telling someone good fortune. 

Klaus was dressed similarly to her, in a pair of dark trousers and a sleeveless vest, with holsters attached to his thighs. The boy’s face was set in an expression that was more bored than anything else.

Damian lowered his binoculars and glanced at his watch. 

10:59. 

Thelion and Len stepped away, positioning themselves near Kaera, while Fay and Klaus stayed where they were. She was allowed to use her flight ability, but the rules stated clearly that she could not use it to avoid a confrontation with her pursuer. If she spent more than three minutes above the jungle, she’d be disqualified. Damian thought it was a fair one. That way, she wouldn’t depend on it and instead treat it as an integral part of fighting rather than a solution. Fay had expected it as well, so he knew it did not come as a surprise for her. That was going to disadvantage her, however, especially if Thelion was as fast as she said he was. Faster than Damian , too, a notion he had scoffed at, but he knew it was likely not an exaggeration. Thelion was not human, not like Fay or Damian. He had supernatural instincts, strength, and speed. If he decided to tap into the Evnei , Fay was in danger of losing immediately so she had to focus on keeping him away. Thelion also knew her, how she thought and how she fought; he’d predict some of her moves. 

The odds were not in her favour. 

11:00

Len raised the megaphone to his mouth. “GO!”  

Both Fay and Klaus quickly took off in opposite directions into the jungle.  

Thelion disappeared with the discreteness and speed of a shadow. 

He was fast. 

Damian’s lips pressed into a thin line. 

It didn’t matter. She’d learn, regardless. She always did, and she was stubborn.   

.

12:59

The first challenge turned out to be rather uneventful as the participants took the battle to the jungle and it was difficult to understand what was happening. Not even ten minutes into the first hour, thick rings of blackened smoke rose into the air, two miles east of the arena. It was only the beginning. Damian counted seven explosions, and at least three of them were major enough to cause several trees to topple in the distance and the scent of burnt wood to travel towards the valley, accompanied by wisps of smoke. A trail of flames quickly ate its way through a patch of green on a hill that was at least nine kilometres away which gave everyone an idea of how far the participants had gone. Once or twice, Damian spotted Fay rise above the canopy of trees, for no more than thirty seconds before she disappeared in the jungle again, like a dolphin who had just temporarily resurfaced. 

Bagheera shifted restlessly before he decided to climb higher, nostrils flaring and ears twitching. He could likely sense both Klaus and Fay’s energies, and Damian could tell whenever she got closer because the paladin kept tensing, growling softly as concern wafted off him. 

“Is she bleeding?” He asked the beast, as it came back down on the branch Damian was perched on. 

The lupine creature blinked. 

Yes. 

He could sense the scent of her blood then, and while Bagheera’s keen nose had an admirable range, it couldn’t have been just a scratch or minor injury that she was suffering from. 

Come on, Fay. 

Keep going. 

.

.

.

14:07

Waren sensed Klaus coming out of the jungle before anyone else did. The large beast stood up, purring loudly as its crimson eyes moved west of the jungle. A few moments later, Klaus came walking out from the lush evergreen trees. Limping. He had lost his shirt and his trousers were burned in several places, with the left exposed from the knee down. The dark tatters of the shirt had been wrapped around his calf, but he was clearly injured extensively if the dark red streaks of blood and his reduced mobility were any indications. Bruises were littered across his chest, and there was a gash on his cheek deep enough to have caused rivulets of red to drip down his chin and neck. 

But he was there, and the three hours were only seconds away from expiring. The red scarf was in one of his hands, dirty and tattered but nonetheless in his possession. Kaera, who had sat down and appeared to have been meditating the entire time, looked up at him. She pulled herself up, unrushed and calm, but she smiled at Klaus in recognition. 

There was no sign of Fay. 

14:08

Chatter filled the audience, an amalgamation of surprised gasps, enthusiastic praises, and confusing questions. Klaus made it, that was incredible, of course, it was because he’d held his own against Len, a tenured and well-respected former member of the Resistance. The outsider had made it, and he had to be truly talented, but of course, he was, because Kaera had taken him under her wing and trained him. Even before those whispers finished, new ones mixed in, feeding into the fervour and curiosity and awe that characterised everyone’s reactions. Where was Fay? Where was she? Had she not made it? How could she not make it when Klaus had? Was she not of Maysoon? Was she not trained by Kaera? Perhaps it was no surprise. She had gone against Thelion. 

Damian glanced down. Lira was frowning, and Titoh looked torn between being relieved at seeing Klaus and worried that Fay hadn’t re-emerged. His eyes kept darting around the field, towards the jungle. Bagheera whined, his concern flowing freely off him as he paced back and forth down the branch, making it tremble under Damian’s body. 

“Can you sense her?”

The beast snorted, irritable. 

No

14:12

Thelion and Len emerged from the jungle and stood at the top of the amphitheatre. They were both dirty, their clothes tattered. Len’s left arm was in a makeshift cast, but it did not appear broken as much as it was burned, judging by the red blistered skin. Various cuts in his clothes revealed bruises blooming across his limbs and torso. His hair was in disarray, and his good arm was slung over Thelion’s shoulder, who was supporting him lightly. 

Thelion was not untouched himself. He had lost his armour vest, and there was a hole in his top as if something hot had punched him there, singing the material in the process. Blood had dried over his chin and neck, but his nose looked only mildly bruised. Rapid healing. He healed faster than even Fay. 

Damian’s eyes zeroed in on the man’s clothes. There were dark splotches in places where he did not appear to be injured. 

Because it wasn’t his blood. 

His fists clenched, teeth grinding together. It was a challenge. Thelion had to have taken it seriously. He would not have purposefully hurt Fay.

But if he did---

“I don’t understand---where is Fay?” Titoh asked loudly, standing up. He looked down from the top of the cliff to Lira who also stood up, now looking concerned. 

“I will go find her.” She said. 

Moma nodded. “Take Corim with you, he’ll heal her---” 

14:13

Kaera raised the megaphone to her mouth and announced that since Klaus was in possession of the red scarf at the end of the three hours, he would go against her next. Turning to the boy, who had stopped several metres away, brows furrowed and mouth downturned, she asked him if he’d like to give up on the second stage. Being the supporting mentor she was, she pointed out there was no shame if he did, as he’d made her proud either way. A challenge was a challenge, but she did not want him to further his injuries uselessly. 

Klaus refused, as he bent down to tie the red scarf around his injured leg. Kaera stared at him for a few seconds, before nodding. She chucked the megaphone away.

 

14:15

Bagheera whined, ears straightening atop his head like antennas as his head tilted back. His nostrils flared. Damian’s head turned to him in surprise. “What do you---” The paladin suddenly jumped off the branch onto the ground below, startling several attendees and making Titoh squeak in surprise. His sudden appearance caused a domino effect as the guests’ attention reverted to him, and then they followed his insistent gaze to the sky where the sun was shining brightly. Fur stood up along his spine as he roared loudly, drawing even the gazes of the two participants below in the valley. 

Damian stood up, binoculars in his hands as he directed them to the sky. His pulse heightened when he realised what he was looking at. 

There she is.

14:16

There she was. Coming down from the sky, so high up that it was no surprise it took so long for most audience members to see her and realise they were, in fact, not looking at a bird making its rounds above their heads. She was moving downwards at a speed that gravity alone could not explain. 

Fay was attacking, and she came down like a celestial creature made of green energy. It happened so quickly that no one managed to process it until she’d already completed her descent. Her fist, glowing so brightly that looked more like a ball of energy than clenched digits, came swinging down, and her cry resonated through the valley. 

The energy force she brought with her struck the ground like lightning, powerful and unforgiving. A tidal wave at least three stories high burst free from the point of collision, like a bubble bursting, freeing the trapped air inside and causing everyone in the audience to immediately become alarmed. The lowest row towered sixty metres over the valley, but the sudden winds blew dust, leaves, and other light debris up, forcing people to shield their eyes or move out of the way. The cliff trembled, and loud, echoing cracks briefly registered in everyone’s ears before they felt, rather than saw trees toppling to the ground. Even the tree Damian was in, large enough to rival the youngest of sequoias, shook beneath him, and the leaves on the lowest branches were stripped away. 

“What happened---?”

“Was that---?”

“It was. There she is!”

“I can’t see her!”

“Was that the flux?”

Damian removed his sunglasses as he dropped down from the branch where Titoh was. There was a small cut on his cheek, and he was coughing, having ingested some of the dust in the air. Lira looked unaffected, and Moma had shielded one of the younger children, a boy around eight with a mop of dark hair and blue eyes, pulling her shawl over him. 

There was a moment when the audience fell completely silent when the dust cleared and they were able to get a clear view of what had happened. 

And the silence was immediately followed by collective astonishment. 

The bark of trees within the vicinity of the impact had been stripped of their bark. Two had fallen over into the field, bringing down along with the vines, like telephone poles that had been knocked down. That was not the most shocking part of the sight that lay before their eyes. 

It was the crater, about nine metres deep and six wide, where Kaera had been standing just seconds earlier. Cracks slithered out from the perimeter of the crater, of various sizes and depths, which explained why they all felt the ground shake beneath their feet. It had been not just the impression of an earthquake. The ground had been, quite literally, punched open. 

Fay was in the middle of the crater, slowly pulling herself to a standing position, hair billowing freely and marks glowing brightly against her skin. She was missing her utility belt and the vest, stripped down to a sports bra and shorts. The marks were spread over her skin, moving around down her limbs and torso like ink in water. Green energy rotated around her in a counter-clock rotation, forming a light vortex that would not have been as clear if it weren’t for the debris being drawn in. The red scarf was tied around her forehead, keeping her hair back, and the right side of her face was smeared in blood. There was a bandage, dirty and splotched with blood tied around her midriff, clearly hiding a deep wound on her left hip. Another deep cut on her left shoulder, noticeably swollen as well. 

She was not looking at the audience, expression determined, and eyes focused to her right. Kaera had successfully dodged the attack and landed several hundred metres away, but it was obvious from the sudden change in her countenance and body language that she was no longer as relaxed as before. She had adopted a fighting stance, her own flux crackling intermittently at her fingers like bolts of electricity. Klaus had rolled away even further, and he got up to his feet, eyes darting between the two women. 

“You are late---”

Fay moved, clearly not caring to listen, charging at Kaera with a speed that Damian wasn’t sure he’d witnessed before. 

When----

Kaera did not give her a chance to come so close to landing a blow again – Fay was not holding back at all, that hit could have caused serious damage --- and quickly transformed the soil beneath her feet into a barrier. Fay’s green fist went through it, and there was a split second when everyone held their breath as they watched her hand come through the other side of the barrier, fingertips reaching for the white scarf around the woman’s neck. 

That was as far as she got, however, before Kaera leaned her weight on her left foot, swirled, and brought her right knee up, kicking Fay straight into the stomach, taking advantage of her guard lowering. The girl went flying across the field like a ragdoll, rolling in on herself several times before she managed to regain control and right herself up in the air. Fay fell to the ground right after, crouching down again as she clutched a hand to her stomach and coughed. Crimson droplets ran out of her mouth, onto her chin. She stood up a few seconds later, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Fay swayed slightly but she repositioned herself in a fighting stance, energy gathering back at her fingertips. The message was clear. 

She was not going to stop. Klaus remained where he was, halfway between Fay and Kaera. The flux master grinned, as she nodded in silent agreement with her apprentices refusing to put a stop to the fight. She raised her hands, the energy wafting off her causing her tunic to flutter. 

“Come.” 

And off they went. 

14:37 

Kaera might have been taken by surprise by Fay’s unexpected choice of attack, but she had quickly proven why she was a master in the past twenty minutes. Fay and Klaus were struggling to make headway, and they were growing more tired by the second whereas their trainer looked like she was barely breaking a sweat. She had hardly moved from her position, her defence worthy of its reputation. Klaus's fire attacks had singed the edge of her tunic, and that had perhaps been more luck than a result of a successful attack, although it wasn’t for lack of trying. His versatility in the use of fire had increased drastically since Damian had last seen him fight, and he was capable of far more devastating attacks, one after another, although it seemed to take a toll on him, forcing him to retreat to regain his bearings. 

Fay moved more than he did due to her ability to fly, which gave her the advantage of being able to attack quickly from different angles, but she was struggling just as much to get through the physical barriers that Kaera was continuously raising to protect herself. Thanks to the temperate weather, Fay did not struggle with using the hydrogen present in the air as she might have during the height of summer. She did, however, struggle with converting the water into ice. Any attempts of using ice were quickly crushed by Kaera as if Fay was merely throwing paper balls at her and not icicles as long as a metre. In the past five minutes alone, she and Klaus had not been able to get closer than thirty metres to the woman. 

And the teacher had no intention of going easy on them. They refused to yield despite the increasing number of pauses between their next attacks. Most enemies would not wait for them to regain their breaths and just stand there until they tired themselves out. 

So she didn’t. Without further preamble, Kaera decided to move against them by transforming the matter around her to change the landscape entirely. The whole floor of the valley became a living, treacherous thing trying to capture the two teenagers who had to quickly switch to defence. Spikes erupted from the ground and Klaus was forced to roll away when his injured leg gave out under him. Fay lifted herself into the air, safe only temporarily before Kaera launched a rapid, sequential attack of blocks of earth towards her as if they were darts and Fay the target. The girl in question managed to duck and dodge, but the intensity of the attack brought her down within minutes, a boulder knocking her to the side so roughly that she ended up crashing into the face of the cliff. Fay landed on her side. She struggled to get back up, limbs giving out under her and the wet cough intensifying. 

Everyone was staring. Down at her. To the side, where Klaus was kneeling on his good leg, and looking much more pallid than before. 

“Get up!” Titoh yelled suddenly, as he shot out of his seat and leaned over the railing, his voice echoing through the valley. “Fay, Klaus, get up and fight!” 

Several other voices joined in, shouting out words of encouragement to both her and Klaus. Damian had moved to another branch to get a better view of her, his hands clutching the bark of the tree tightly. He could make out her figure, she was on her hands and knees, head bowed. Get up. Get up, come on . Her hand lifted to place itself against the rocky wall and slowly, unsteadily, she used it to pull herself up. The freehand came up to her mouth, presumably to wipe it, but he couldn’t see as her back was turned to him. The scars on her back were partially exposed, as were the marks which had stopped moving and glowing. Generally not a good sign. If she overused her flux, she was most certainly going to suffer after-effects. 

But she’d made it that far. She’d made it. His Fay had. 

Fay started walking and people cheered. After a few steps, she floated to where Klaus was and she offered him her hand, which he accepted. For a moment, it looked like they were going to bow out gracefully. They had put up a good fight, both successfully completing the first part of the challenge, which was not to be underestimated. It wasn’t as if anyone expected two trainees to win against an experienced master like Kaera, but their determination had to count for something. 

But they didn’t. 

Fay turned away from Klaus to face Kaera across the other side. Damian’s chest tightened. She was going to fight, and she was going to go over her limit, which was a testament to her will but---but she’d also risk serious injury. Even in their sparring sessions, they always stopped when they reached a similar point. It wasn’t the League. One was not fighting to the brink of death, there was no shame in stopping there, no losses if they made progress still. His ten-year-old self would have said she was right to keep going until her body gave up because it would be ridiculous not to. 

But he could not stop her either. It was her choice. 

And so, he watched her charge at Kaera. Slower, and running as opposed to flying, fists clenched, and mind made up even if it was moot because she was tired and injured and Kaera truly was---A two metres tall and three-and-a-half metres wide wall of earth materialised out of the ground, natural sentries between keeping intruders from getting too close to Kaera. 

Green energy rolled off Fay like a waterfall, sudden and gushing out like a broken faucet eliciting endless gasps of awe, including a very loud ‘ what the fuck’ from Lira who approached the railing, looking taken aback herself. Fay’s flux was not weaker than before, it grew stronger with each step, and she punched her way through the barrier with an ease that no one had expected – not even he. The ground moved again and Fay was the hammer smashing her way through the walls with renewed energy. It didn’t make sense, how was she still fighting at the same level she had been almost half an hour earlier? 

She was----dodging, ducking, somersaulting, swiping through the air---

Ninety metres. 

She was----all limbs moving through the air, moving all over the field like a wingless sprite---

Seventy-five. 

She was----getting closer and closer, slaying her way through every obstacle, zig-zagging across the field like a pinball that was quick and destructive and unstoppable—

Thirty-six. 

She was---- a fighter that did not obey gravity and moved with an agility that was no longer human---

Thirty-three. 

She was---unrestrained, without any doubt or fear, a force of nature---

Thirty. 

She fought like a warrior. 

Fay stopped, one foot sliding backwards, her weight leaning on her right knee, bent forward. Energy swirled wildly around her, concentrated around her hands. Palms up, she swung her arms forward as if pushing against a great weight, the energy gushing off her. The audience felt the flux reverberate through the air, the force making the ground shake. The air felt rarefied suddenly, and Damian’s eyes widened when he realised that no, they were not lacking oxygen, but she was drawing it in and---

Kaera raised several barriers to protect herself, but they were rendered useless, as if they were made of paper, instead of hundreds of kilos of soil. The rainforest behind her was blown over, bushes and younger trees uprooting themselves, as the flora in the vicinity of the attack was torn away by the winds or flattened down. The master was forced to move for the first time in almost an hour, jumping to the side to protect herself. 

And that’s when the fire came, large swathes of seething balls of red and orange. Kaera, crouched on one knee, summoned a wall before herself but it was the distraction Fay needed. She came flying in with no hesitation, her shin aimed at the woman’s head. Kaera raised her arms protectively, but that was about all she managed to achieve before she was sent flying through her own wall of earth and several hundred metres down the field. 

Klaus and Fay attacked her in a manner that would have been vicious had she not done the same just minutes earlier. Kaera was forced to keep moving, no longer able to stay in place with the synchronised attacks coming her way and neither teenager allowing her to gain too much space. 

The crowd in the amphitheatre went wild. Titoh was gradually turning crimson from all the shouting, and even Moma had gotten up to approach the railing and get a better look. The islanders sitting on the higher rows moved down, crowding in the ones in the front half as they watched with bated breath. 

As did Damian for that matter. 

Particularly when Kaera and Fay engaged in hand-to-hand combat. He was aware that she’d been learning to infuse her energy into martial arts, to empower her attacks. He had thought she had not held back when they’d sparred last, and she’d shown him just how destructive her hands could be if they landed on him. But he’d never seen her fight at such a speed or with such precision. She was… ferocious. Ruthless, even. He thought he’d already seen her at her most fierce, at the highest level of effort she could put into a fight, but watching her move on that field, he realised that… she was much further ahead than he’d given her credit. Than she’d shown him. 

She shone brighter than he had confidently believed she did. 

And by gods, she was a sight. 

There was something incredibly raw about the way she kept going as if she’d lost all sense of self-preservation and control, operating on fury and adrenaline. Kaera did not hold back either, but Fay kept getting back up almost single-mindedly, causing a preposterous thought to form in his head. 

Had she been holding back? Against him?  

Fay repeated her earlier move of pushing her hands forward. The force expelled was not as powerful, but she landed a hit directly on her trainer, straight in the woman’s chest. Kaera stumbled back, but she didn’t fall, flipping back a few times before settling into a crouching position. The front of her tunic was ripped open, and the material singed. A testament to the damage Fay had done with that blow. 

Kaera doubled down, however, and pushed back on the two teenagers, sending them both backward, forcing them to put distance between themselves and her, or risk being hurt by her spears made of soil and foliage. Fay landed to the side, knees buckling under her. Klaus remained up on his feet, a few metres away. His head tilted to her, and he said something that no one could really hear. Damian did not get a chance to read his lips because whatever he said to Fay was short. 

They did not get a chance to make another move because Kaera made hers first, using the vines of a nearby fallen tree to lock Klaus in place. He tried to burn his way through the lianas, but soil solidified them in place, cocooning around him until only his head was sticking out of a large mound that became his prison. 

Fay was not incapacitated because she was already on the ground, coughing up blood.  

“That’s enough!” Kaera called loudly, her voice carrying over to the seated islanders. “The match is over.” 

In response, Fay slammed her hands into the ground, digging them into the earth as if they were meant to be rooted there. Green energy cascaded down her arms to her hands and underground, spreading quickly like an oil stain. The audience could make out the glow through the cracks in the ground. She released Klaus, the mound of soil and vines falling apart. Moments later, his own flux erupted, sending a heatwave from within the prison holding him in place. 

Thirty metres behind Kaera, in the crater Fay had caused earlier, water started emerging from the ground. Then, in what would be the final play of that match, several geysers ejected turbulently out of the ground, accompanied by steam. It was being summoned and controlled by the combined efforts of both Fay and Klaus. The former had caused it to erupt to the surface, likely drawn from a source deep beneath the earth and the latter was using the heat as a weapon, sending the seething vapour towards Kaera. 

Then the air turned cold as if everyone had just stepped into a large freezer and when the steam faded, there was a collective gasp in the audience. 

Kaera was trapped, her arms and legs locked in large blocks of ice. 

The white scarf was in Klaus' hand.  

It was over. 

And Fay was unconscious, on the ground, her marks bleeding.

Chapter 81: Of catching up to each other

Notes:

Hey folks, I am sorry to say that next update won't be for another couple of weeks to give me a chance to write further chapters in advance (either the 17th or 19th of June). However, the high-school/no vigilante AU to Providence is halfway done and I will start posting that soon.

Thank you, comments are welcome as always. Many, many thanks to MoonglowOnWater for supporting with the editing and proof-reading! God knows this chapters would be of a poorer quality if it wasn't for their support!

Chapter Text

"Always two, there are. No more. No less. A Master and an apprentice."

- Master Yoda

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Damian only left the tent when Moma announced that they’d have to undress Fay completely to address all her marks. He nearly protested, as if he would ever even think to ogle her in such a state, but he didn’t, because it wasn’t about him, in the end. It was about what was best for Fay, and both Moma and Corim knew how to heal individuals like her. 

He stepped out of the tent she had been brought into, trying and failing to relax his jaw. He had not even gotten a chance to properly see her. As soon as it had become clear what kind of state Fay was in, Klaus had removed the ice on Kaera and they’d both rushed to her side. Lira had been first to arrive, with Len and Corim right behind her. Damian caught sight of her blistered hands and how raw her skin looked around the marks, which had receded to their original state. She was not in danger of losing her life, and with the experienced healers on the island, she was bound to recover quicker than usual. 

Damian wanted to be angry. He was angry, and in the first hour of waiting by that tent, he told himself it was because of her. Because she had gone ahead and pushed herself so hard as if she had truly been battling for her life. But he found it hard to hold onto that anger when in his mind he could still see her fighting the way she had. She had been… brilliant . Fay had stepped up her game, and if the way the islanders had talked about it after the match was any indication, no one even cared that she hadn’t gotten the scarf. She had held everyone’s attention in the palm of her hand, and she hadn’t even cared about it—he knew her well enough that he was certain it had not been about putting on a show. It had been about vindication, of her own pride, of what had happened during her last Trials, of proving that all those parts of herself that others had used to discredit her – her mixed lineage, her emotional volatility – would not hold her back. 

And although he’d always known her potential, he hadn’t anticipated just how much closer she’d gotten to unlocking it. Had he truly been so blind to her progress? No. No . He had not underestimated her. It was him. He was at fault. Damian had grown complacent with himself. That thought made his stomach churn and bile rise up his throat. A part of him found the notion preposterous. Damian followed a strict regimen, mentally and physically, even if ever since he had taken on the mantle of Robin, he had also made allowances for other elements in his life. Friends. Family. Her. His ten-year-old self would have sneered at it – and the instinct was still there at that moment, in his almost-sixteen-year body – and said that it was all their fault. All these people that he’d allowed in – into his life, into his heart and mind, into his circle of trust – because they’d distracted him and set him on a path towards weakness. 

But it was not true. Of course it wasn’t. Logic said it wasn’t, and he prided himself on being a creature of logic even if logic didn’t correspond to his pride. 

Fay was one of the most emotionally invested creatures he had ever known. She would sweat and bleed for others more often than for herself, and she found strength in her own ways – even if she didn’t do it the way he had been told was the most effective way to. She was like Dick, always willing to share everything she was and had, even if it came at her expense. She was kind and selfless and sometimes still allowed her self-consciousness to blacken her perception of her own progress. She still struggled with her anxieties and fears, and she constantly worried she'd lose everything again. She was atrocious at compartmentalising her emotions, but she also resourceful and creative, and sharp as a whip when she forgot her fears. She was nothing a soldier should be, not the soldier he had been raised to be, the one who was effective and ruthless and excellent. 

And yet. Yet. That day, on the field, Fay had been an opponent that most in the audience would loathe to ever cross paths with. And he? He saw all parts of her – all those different parts that he knew, respected, and loved – come together in a way that left him questioning himself, not as much as her. Fay was truly determined to fulfil her promise to become capable of defending those that she loved. He had only caught glimpses, it seemed, of the amount of progress she’d made on that island. She’d played herself down. Damian hated that he could not tell whether it had been purposeful or not.  

“Hey.” 

Damian didn’t look up at the white-haired boy, but he grunted in acknowledgment. His sunglasses were off. It didn’t matter. The healer’s hut only had Moma and Corim in it, and everyone else had gone to the village to complete their day. Klaus had blacked out not long after the match had ended, and he was currently resting in another tent after Corim had looked him over. Waren was keeping him company. Bagheera was in Fay’s tent, having refused to leave altogether, just standing in a corner with his concern suppressed as he watched Moma and Corim work on Fay. 

“She’ll be fine.” Titoh said. “Corim is very used to tending to Fay, he’ll heal her quickly.”

At that, Damian did look up, fixing the other boy with a quizzical look. “She’s been in this state before?”

Titoh looked pensive by that, then shook his head. “Not this bad. I mean---I’ve never seen her fight like that before, or for so long.” He said. “However, sometimes—” He grimaced. “---she does take things a bit too far.” 

“What?”

The other teenager could have taken the opportunity to mock him for not knowing. Damian’s pride certainly felt the sting anyway. Titoh didn’t do anything like that, despite the past animosity between them. Instead, he looked hesitant as he glanced towards the tent a few feet away from him. The only noise they could hear came from the two healers moving around and Moma’s quiet but swift instructions to Corim. 

“…I think she takes a lot of malyer. It’s a plant that has stimulant properties, often used for long journeys or by warriors along with other stimulants for extensive training or fighting.” Titoh explained quietly. “It’s very useful for maintaining high levels of energy and to avoid fatigue. I saw her brew it once. Not the only plant either – Fay doesn’t study them the way I do, but it was impossible not to learn some things given moth---Evara’s specialty.”

Damian frowned. Fay had not told him anything about that. 

“She… she trains more than Master Kaera expects, you know,” Titoh added a few seconds later. They both stared ahead of themselves, at the other tents surrounding them on that flat hill. “I saw her train hours before she is supposed to, and when Thelion is here, she always asks him to be ruthless with her. To use his Evnei, because if she were back home in Maysoon, her – our – cousins would not hold back just because she’s half-human. She doesn’t… always wait for her injuries to heal, either. Moma had to knock her out a few times this summer because she didn’t want to rest.”

Damian’s hands clenched by his side. He knew she worked hard. He could hear it in her voice, could see it in the bruises that littered her body and the bags under her eyes sometimes. If he’d been part of the League still, he would have been proud. He would have praised the borderline masochistic approach to progress, the way she challenged her body even when it broke down with fatigue. He felt disgusted at the part of him that did feel proud of how determined she was to become more powerful. The bigger part of him, however, felt incensed. With himself. 

Had his progress stagnated? Had he miscalculated how prepared he was to be there for her, by her side, if she needed it? He had. Because Fay was moving in leaps and bounds to shape herself into a warrior of her own making. He had long decided that he would not be reactive – it had never been his nature anyway – to the threats they were to face, but had he been as proactive as he could have been? Clearly, she had.  And Damian Wayne was not going to fall behind, especially when he’d made a commitment to others as well. To her. 

That just wouldn’t do. 

He looked up at the boy. Titoh must have felt his stare because he met his gaze. “What?”

“Tell me. Who is the best fighter on this island?”

“...eh?”

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“Train me.”

Out of all things Lira had expected to hear that day – and from this individual especially – it was not that. She straightened from where she’d been rummaging through the few of the hundreds of potted plants that Moma kept in a large greenhouse. The woman had asked her to collect several different plants to create a fresh batch of salve for both Fay and Klaus. The warrior straightened to her feet, and she looked behind her and around the greenhouse. It was empty of course, but she hoped the kid got the hint of how weird he was being. Maybe it was a joke. Damian did not strike her as one who had a sense of humour, though. Then again, hers was usually quite inappropriate and morbid, so who was she to talk? 

“Um…” She pondered it visibly. “No.”

The boy bristled. “Why not?”

Lira was starting to think that her niece had absolutely inherited the madness from all their ancestors (and living members, too). Or she just had a bad taste in boys (because there was definitely something going on between the two). Lira might or might not be responsible for that one, unfortunately. Oops. 

“…because you’re a very obnoxious human boy,” Lira said as she turned away from him, to face a low wooden table. She chucked a long green stem with small violet buds inside a basket that was already half-full of other cuts of flowers and plants. “And you know, one day you might break my niece’s heart, and I might want to kill you, and it’d be rather awkward if I killed my apprentice, hm?”

Kudos to the kid for not batting an eye at that. He had to know she wasn’t fully, entirely just joking about it, right? Right. Lira had grown far more reluctant to kill over recent decades, and contrary to what many still believed of her, she did not necessarily enjoy it. There were exceptions of course, but she’d always stand by those even if it left her ledger drenched in blood. Admittedly, the boy before her didn’t really fit any category she’d gladly revert to old habits for. 

“Because I am an outsider,” Damian said. “Is that it?”

Persistent. No wonder he managed to tickle Daphne in all the wrong ways. Damian had the arrogant and bold countenance of most nobles in Maysoon. 

“No,” Lira said truthfully. “I don’t really care about that. If I did, I would have made sure Fay has nothing to do with you.” Even if it had made her unhappy. If she had been in danger, or at risk, Lira would have done the unpleasant and terrible. “Why are you asking me?”

“You are the best fighter on this island, are you not?” Damian asked. “One of the best warriors in Maysoon. Allegedly .”

Lira scoffed in amusement. “What makes you think, then, that I would take you on as my apprentice? You know nothing of what it means to be a warrior in the other world, you are too young and too human---”

“Don’t patronise me,” Damian hissed, crossing his arms over his chest. “You do not know what I am capable of.”

Lira walked away, deeper into the greenhouse to look for the Rutoria Rutoris plant. Damian made no noise, but she knew he was following. “I don’t take on apprentices.” She said calmly, eyes searching over the wide array of plants. “I am not a trainer; I am not a mentor. Quite frankly, I never considered being one either.” 

“How will you ever know if you don’t try?” 

“Is this about what happened today?” Lira shot back. “Worried that Fay will kick your ass in the future?” Because, damn, her niece had decided to just go ahead and take everyone by surprise that day. Lira knew she’d been making progress, Kaera was quite proud of her, but the way she had gone at it that day? It betrayed years of Fay working to overcome the embarrassment and failure she’d experienced at the Trials. Lira was both proud and worried because there was a rage in her niece that kept resurfacing intermittently, making her both more effective and self-destructive. That’s why she hadn’t wanted Fay to get involved in trying to find out what had happened that night. She’d only be reminded of what she’d lost, of what she had to live up to. 

“Tch.” Damian scowled at her. “I will fight you.” Lira looked up at that, eyebrows raised, more amused than shocked. “What? You’d not honour a fair request? Or are you worried?” 

Really bad taste in boys. Oh, Fay. 

Lira was tempted to say yes. Humble the brat a little. She would not hurt a child on purpose, but he was asking for it and he wasn’t a civilian. 

“No.” She said simply. “I am not wasting my time, and you’re not as smart as you think if you think you can bait me that easily.” She spotted the Rutoria Rutoris to her left, on top of a shelf that was slightly above her eye level, a stemless succulent plant that was dark green with yellow striations, spreading by offsets. The leaves were thick and fleshy, full of a sticky, gelatinous substance that could be used to treat burns. “Look, kid. Fay trusts you. She clearly adores you, as well. It’s true, you haven’t proven yourself unworthy of the level of faith she has in you, but that doesn’t mean you get to demand even more access to our world than you already have. I am several decades old. I killed and I kill and I will always kill. Fay is different, and thank fuck she is, but don’t think for a second that you have the stomach to deal with learning everything about the clan or our world. Don’t bite off more than you can chew, isn’t that the expression you use here?”

There were a few moments of silence. He didn’t leave but she could sense that he was seething. His heart was beating slightly faster, and the adrenaline was rushing through his veins, judging by the way he was tensed on the spot, as if trying to stop himself from moving. Not to walk away, but to attack her. The kid was practically vibrating with anger. She had struck a chord, that was certain, but Lira hadn’t done it to be ruthless. She didn’t think anyone should get too involved in the clan, not even Fay, much less an outsider who was bound to be just as traumatised by what he might find out. Lira had not been allowed such distance, and for the longest time, she hadn’t been given the choice to leave or stay – even when she’d thought she had – and she’d vowed that the least she could do for anyone was to help them avoid being pulled in by the darkness that would always stain the older generations of the Estaris clan. 

“The first time I killed someone I was five years old.” Lira blinked, and her hands slowed down in cutting several of the succulent stems. “I was in the triple digits by the time I was ten. I know well over a hundred ways to kill someone else, and I have because it is what I was raised to be. A killer. It’s all I was and what I can be again, and it would be easy, but I choose not to be.” She stopped altogether but she didn’t look at him. “I know monsters. I’ve been told I have an excellent potential to be one, and I even relished in being one. I was raised by some of the most dangerous people in this world, and that was before I came to Gotham, to be the partner of the greatest detective. I died, and I came back to life. I’ve dealt with far more in my short, human life than most individuals do in this world. If you don’t want to train me, fine. But don’t stand in my damn way either, because I will learn everything there is to learn one way or another.”

Then he turned and walked away, making sure to punctuate his departure by leaving the door to the greenhouse to slam loudly. 

Lira glanced towards the exit. 

Flea, just how much have you not been telling us? 

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She’d recognise their presence even when her brain was addled by exhaustion and sedatives. Fay’s body had been numbed down by the generous amounts of salve that’d been applied to her skin, but she still experienced a prickling sensation around her marks. She also couldn’t see clearly, her left eye shut because of the swollen skin, and her body felt stiff, perhaps from how strained her muscles were, or how many layers of bandages she had on, or both. 

Bagheera was curled up at the edge of the bed, his heavy head draped over her feet. It was slightly too warm under his fur and natural body heat, but she didn’t want him to move. Damian was sitting beside her, legs crossed and a book in his hand. She didn’t pay attention to it, far too relieved at seeing him. She was incredibly exhausted, but she also felt rather overwhelmed by her emotions. She hadn’t won the second stage, had she? Her memory of the last moments of the battle was fuzzy because by then she had operated on autopilot. She and Klaus had had it planned out, and she recalled feeling wary she might not be able to pull it off given the state she was in. 

She might have gone too far. 

“Da---Dami---”

Book abandoned in his lap, Damian reached over to the table next to her head and retrieved a glass of water. There was a straw in it, which he pushed between her lips. The cold liquid was refreshing to her parched throat. He didn’t take it away until she’d drank at least three-quarters of it, but he did warn her to go slow twice. 

She met his gaze. Fay wasn’t sure what to say, or if she even had the strength to say it. She couldn’t read his expression. Was he disappointed? Angry? “…can you---” She stopped, feeling too shy to ask. She just wanted him closer. She wanted it to be just him and her and Bagheera, and nothing else. She felt unexpectedly vulnerable. 

Damian didn’t need her to ask, though. Carefully, he moved closer to her until she was able to reposition her head over his lap, with a pillow beneath her to keep her comfortable. Bagheera moved as well, allowing her to swing her legs over his, which felt nice as they felt very sore. Fay blearily stared at the dark material of his tunic, watching it shift slightly with each mellow breath he took. One of his hands threaded through her hair, the other resting on her hip. Lightly at first, then she felt his fingers brush against a sliver of skin that wasn’t covered by the bandages, just beneath the hem of her cotton shorts. 

She hummed at the pleasant sensation of his fingers on her scalp, and they stayed like that for several minutes, quiet. 

“…Damian,”

“Are you uncomfortable?”

Her chest was flooded with something warm. “No,” she mumbled, then shifted her head slightly against the pillow. “…I didn’t win.”

Yes, you did. 

“Your trainer lost her scarf.”

“…but, um, Klaus got it. Not me.”

He wouldn’t have without her help, they both knew that. But Damian also knew that she would have liked to be the one to do it, that she didn’t want to black out. 

“The scarf was irrelevant.” He said quietly, looking down at her. No one even cared about the scarf anymore, you idiot. “Not to mention that you contributed significantly more to the fight.” Klaus would have never gotten his hands on the scarf if it weren’t for her. 

“…really?”

Truly, did she not see it? How could she not? She’d been….

“Yes.”

Fay tilted her head slightly, to look at him. “Was I… good? Even if I didn’t win.”

“No. You weren’t good.” He paused, brushing his thumb over her earlobe as he leaned his head towards it, pressing his mouth there. “You were excellent.”

The flush on her cheeks, the way her eyes shined at the praise. It was a sight he committed to his mind. 

“Really?”

“Would I say such a thing if I did not mean it?”

Her eyelids dropped slightly, her expression growing drowsy even as she rotated her body so she could stare up at him. “Really… really?”

Damian rolled his eyes. “You ridiculous girl.” He leaned forward, brushing his mouth over her forehead, then down to her nose before stopping over her mouth, where he brushed his lips lightly over hers. She smelt strongly of antiseptic and medicinal herbs, and underneath that, he could make out the metallic taste of blood. He was far too familiar with it not to sense it, but he did not care. 

Fay looked close to falling asleep, lulled by the hand in her hair. His other hand had settled over her stomach, careful not to press against her injury. 

“Fay.”

“Hm.” Her eyes were closed now, and her head fell slightly to the side as her muscles went lax. 

Damian pressed his mouth against her ear and murmured something quietly. Her mouth curled, but she didn’t respond, already far too gone in the land of dreams. 

You were glorious. 

Standing outside of the tent, silent as a shadow, Lira smiled ruefully. 

Her niece did not have such a bad taste in boys, after all.  

The next day…

“I will give you one chance. One. You show me what you can do, and I’ll decide whether I’ll train you.”

“Fine---”

“And I need the whole story.”

“Excuse me?”

“That little tale about what you’ve done in the past. I take it Fay is aware of it?”

“Obviously.”

“Then tell me.”

“Why? So, you can use it—”

“Spare me, kid. We both have information on each other that we could use to screw each other over. And we won’t because one thing we have in common is wanting to keep her safe.” 

As if he was going to tell her everything. “ TT. ” 

“Deal?”

“When you start my training---”

“If—”

When .” Little shit. 

They stared each other down, with equally unfaltering wills for a few moments. 

“Fine.”

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.

.

Moma might be old, and her sight might be faltering, but she was neither naïve nor stupid. A natural talent she’d had decades to hone, she was very good at reading other individuals and being able to tell what cloth they were made of just by observing them. People had a way of revealing their true selves when they thought others weren’t looking, and it took incredible skill for one to maintain the façade they wanted others to believe in. Moma had served a clan full of such people since she had been a young girl. Wearing masks was what most people did. 

Fay was not very good at it. She clearly adored the outsider boy as much as her paladin, but it was not the same type of love. Not anymore. Something had changed. And the boy? Well. He didn’t exactly wear a mask. He was impatient and arrogant, and if the way he had challenged Aryg years earlier was any indication, he also tended to underestimate others. Oh, to be young and foolishly cocky. Some outgrew that. Others didn’t. But he did not hide. In many ways, his emotions were as obvious as Fay’s. Moma had caught enough of their interactions over the past weeks to have come to some interesting conclusions. 

But perhaps the most important one was that the boy was just as attached to Fay as she was to him. At first glance, he did not seem anywhere near as invested as she did. He was proud and blunt and not in a habit of offering the polite modicum of respect one would before establishing whether any further was warranted. There was anger in him that Moma recognised because she’d seen it in far too many other, often even younger individuals than himself, and she knew what it could do. 

At first glance. Maybe even second, and third. Because a glance was not sufficient. It was too fleeting. 

Attention had to be paid elsewhere. To the way he always ensured he knew her position, to the lingering, scrutinising stares he gave her. Assessing. The follow-up he’d do if he determined she was uncomfortable or in need of something, like shoving a bottle of water in her hands when she didn’t ask for one. Taking the book out of her hand and replacing it with his plate of food. The way he’d protest when she asked him if he could redo her braid, only for him to do it anyway, his fingers linger on the nape of her neck, gently pressing, making her relax and smile. The way he flicked her hand when she was spacing out, lost in a dark memory or another as her face became sombre and her eyes distant. How, although he seemed cold and vocally complained about her invading his space, he relaxed visibly when Fay leaned against him. How he always stared when she smiled at him, talking about one topic or another, teaching him, not just paying attention but absorbing every moment. 

He was very much taken with her, in his own way, hidden from others but clearly never from her, because Fay would not act the way she did, with such familiarity, if she didn’t think it’d be welcomed. Fay had always been sensitive. The two youngsters had their own language, and it was not obvious, but it was neither new nor unprecedented. Not for Moma. Fay’s parents had behaved similarly, after all. 

Would it last, she wondered? Perhaps. They’d find out. 

She was not surprised, though, when Lira told her that he had asked her to train him. Or that the woman had ended up accepting despite how ridiculous she found the request, and how obnoxious she thought the boy. 

Moma stepped into the tent. 

Fay was recovering quickly, but she needed her sleep. It was not alarming that on the second day after the fight, she was sleeping for long stretches of time. The boy was seated on one side of the bed, changing the bandages on one of her hands. 

“Lira tells me you want to learn.”

He didn’t look up. “Yes, so?” Despite the abrasiveness, his hand movements were careful. Light. 

Moma ignored it as she turned away to head back out. “Come see me when you’re done with the fight.” She said simply. “Then, we’ll see how much you can learn.”

He was not going anywhere anytime soon. 

It was time to test his mettle. 

.

.

.

8 th of February 

Fay splashed water over her face, using a drinking fountain located high up on the hill the village was built on. She could make out the beach and ocean from there, but right then all she wanted was to have a moment of quiet. She could make out how hot her skin was, and it wasn’t due to her body running at a higher temperature than usual while she was recovering. It had been a very eventful morning, and she was starting to regret leaving her chambers. She’d been sleeping constantly for the past several days, only waking up for a few hours at a time if her body called for it or if she was thirsty. The day before Corim had made her move around the room and complete light rounds of callisthenics. Physically, she was almost fully healed save for the odd bruise and cut. The soreness was only halfway gone, and she was not out of woods with her sensorial overload, although the worst was over. She hadn’t seen Damian at all, but she was certain she hadn’t just dreamt of him laying down next to her. 

Bagheera had accompanied her into the village, and while she’d expected others to stare, Fay had not realised she’d end up receiving the attention she received. The youngest of the islanders, a group of children ranging from seven to thirteen, had her cornered, asking questions and letting her know how incredible the fight had been. She shook hands with three different people, and another two complimented her on her fighting skills. Faron looked absolutely entertained that she’d managed to make such bold and yet effective moves against Kaera. Moma told her she’d done well, right before she pinched Fay’s ear painfully and chastised her for worrying her. 

Titoh, thankfully, picked up on how overwhelmed she was and caused a diversion to let her get away from what was becoming a bit of a crowd around herself. Apparently, Klaus has had to put up with a similar situation and the boy was now tactically avoiding interactions with everyone. 

Bagheera nudged her shoulder with his nose, drawing her attention to him. She smiled and turned to face him, still crouching before the oasis, and she pressed her head against his. Her hands reached to scratch his ears. “What did you think, hm?” She asked. “Did you think I did alright, Bag? I didn’t get the flag, but I don’t mind Klaus did.” 

He made a sound that resembled a deep grumbling, his satisfaction obvious. 

“Oh, I didn’t think I’d make it, you know.” She said. “Thelion was really hard to get away from.” And she doubted he had fought at full capacity. “You and I really need to train more on tracking and hunting.”

Rgghhh .”

She kissed his muzzle before rising to her feet. “Let’s go back. I think I really want to take a shower.” Moma’s salves were very effective, but they tended to leave her feeling greasy and itchy. Between that and her heated skin, Fay felt like taking a long bath. She hadn’t really had a chance to be with her own thoughts. 

And a part of her was worried at the prospect of seeing Kaera. Her trainer had to have realised by then that Fay’s stamina that day hadn’t been entirely natural, but she’d also made use of a special brew to help her keep going. Was it cheating? Maybe. In a real battle, would it matter? Probably not. But she hadn’t wanted to lose. Fay wasn’t entirely disappointed, truth be told, she had gone further than she’d thought she could. That last move had certainly been reckless, her flux had felt so weak that for the first time since she wore the bracelets, Fay couldn’t feel it properly anymore. A terrible sensation, short-lived thankfully. 

Fay and Bagheera returned to her chambers, as discreetly as possible, using the balcony as opposed to the front door. It was empty. Her paladin made himself comfortable on her bed while she went into the bathroom, enthusiastic at the prospect of using the bathing pool. There was a cabinet full of soaps and oils and salts, and another that had towels, body brushes, and fresh gauze. Slowly, because she was still sore, Fay removed her tunic and trousers, before getting rid of the bandages around her biceps, thighs, and midriff. She had no open wounds but there were a fair few bruises littered across her body that had yet to heal completely, and the skin around her marks was quite tender, more sensitive than painful. 

In her bralette and underwear, Fay grabbed a ceramic bowl full of salts, another box full of soap flakes that she liked because they foamed easily and the scent was pleasant, a soft sponge, and some towels. In retrospect, she should have realised that she could have taken it slower, and that she was still recovering. The bout of light-headedness hit her out of nowhere, just as she turned away from the cabinets with her arms full. One of the towels slipped from her arms, and her foot got caught in it. Embarrassingly enough, that was all it took to send her tumbling down on her knees. 

The items in her arms fell out and clattered on the marble floor noisily, sliding away from her. Fay groaned loudly, the fall jostling her whole body and causing pain to flare up in all those places that weren’t fully healed. The doors to the bathroom opened, and she assumed it was Bagheera, “I—I am fine Bag.” She said with a grimace, eyes closed as she reached to her right shoulder. A sharp sensation travelled down her spine as if a large needle was being pressed into her back, and it made it difficult for her to inhale without making it worse. Corim had said that she was bound to feel the after-effects of her exertion for a while, but she hadn’t thought it’d be this bad. Kaera had certainly not gone slow on her. Fay wondered if Klaus was faring better. 

A warm, calloused hand pressed on her back, startling her. Opening her eyes and looking up, she found herself staring back at eyes like chips of emerald. Her heart felt as if it flipped on itself, relief and happiness quickly chasing away the faltering pain. Embarrassment soon caught up when she realised she was wearing a thin-strapped bralette that did little in terms of covering her and a pair of plain underpants. She had preferred to wrap a layer of gauze around her chest that morning, rather than wear a bra, the idea of wearing something so tight unpleasant. 

“Do you want me to call the healer?”

She shook her head, face burning, remembering that it wasn’t the first time talking after the fight but feeling fuzzy on the details of the first evening. He had called her something. Excellent. But there’d been something else. She couldn’t remember fully. It had to have been a dream.  

“…hi.” She said dumbly, then her eyes took in his outfit. Or lack thereof. Damian was wearing only a pair of shorts, leaving his torso bare, which wasn’t what took her by surprise. The bruises did, however. As did the raw state of his knuckles and his dishevelled hair. He was filthy, too. “What happened?” She asked, suddenly alarmed, hands reaching to his shoulders. “Why are you—”

“I am fine,” He brushed a few strands of hair out of her face. “I have been training with your aunt.”

Fay blinked. “I---really?” Just how much she’s missed? “Since… when?”

He smirked. “Not long.” He kept his eyes above her shoulder level, as he tugged her up after him. Fay was confused, but also embarrassed. She wasn’t sure what to say. 

Then she said the worst thing she could have said. 

“Do you want to bathe?”

He naturally wasted no opportunity to make it worse. 

“Propositioning me? My, you have been making quite a few bold choices lately.” 

Fay could have combusted there and then. “I--- what!— no— no , I was not---” He smirked. She raised a hand to slap him hard in the chest, face in flames, but he caught it. Fay squeaked when he tugged her forward until she was close enough for their bodies to brush against each other. 

“I know, you idiot.” 

She really, really hoped he did not look down. The bralette was not doing anything to hide the way his proximity made her feel. Or his voice. Or his eyes. Or his touch. Or his scent---well, not maybe that, right then. 

“You stink.” She said vindictively. 

He scoffed. “I would be cleaning myself already if I didn’t have to make sure you didn’t break your neck.” He let go of her hand. “Try not to drown.” He said in a lightly mocking tone before he turned to walk away. She stopped him, hand grabbing his wrist. 

“I—I meant it.” She said shyly. “Do you want to use my bath? It’s already ready, and I don’t need it immediately---”

He stopped, looking at the pool for a moment. Fay had poured enough soap into it that there was a thick layer of bubbles on top of the water. They’d washed together before – when they had travelled the year before – but they’d never been fully naked when doing so. Or one of them had kept watch while the other was washing. The bathing pool was quite large and with the bubbles between them, they would not be able to make out each other’s bodies properly. 

“No.” He said. “I’ll need more than just a soak. Go ahead.” 

She nodded, then watched him leave the room, letting the door close behind him. Fay rubbed at her red cheeks, glanced down at herself then shook her head, mortified. She was alone, and she knew he wouldn’t just barge back in unless he had a good reason, but she was still quick in removing her underwear and getting inside the pool. 

The pool had an uneven floor with the deepest points towards the middle. There was also a long bench going around the perimeter, which could be used as a step if needed. When she sat down on it, the water reached her collarbones and she leaned back, relaxing in the warm water. The salts, which tinted the water green, would strip away the greasiness of the salve and leave her feeling clean.

Fay had ended up emptying the pool when the water went cold and refilled it with hot water. She was completely lax, eyes drooping when she heard a knock on the door. She looked up, just as it opened, and Damian was standing there, looking away from her into a corner. He looked scrubbed clean himself and was dressed in a clean pair of linen shirts and trousers. His hair was wet, brushed back. 

“Need help?” 

Logically she knew he was not proposing anything more than she had earlier, but her heart stuttered all the same, and heat that had nothing to do with the water pooled in her stomach. Fay’s eyes opened fully, first thinking no , because there was genuinely nothing she needed from him, then remembering that she needed to wash her hair. Moma had cleaned it somewhat while she’d been resting, but she needed a good scrub. 

Fay bit the inside of her lip. She could do it on her own, but the idea of his fingers massaging her scalp was very tempting. There was a lingering pressure underneath her scalp that had yet to go away. “My hair---” She said. “If… you want to?” She said, then feeling guilty because she intended on taking advantage of the offer, “Just… my head kinda hurts.” And he knew how much she liked it when he used pressure points to alleviate that. 

He nodded curtly, stepped in, and walked towards the pool. Fay was very grateful for the tinted water and bubbles, but she pulled her knees up all the same. She felt shy at the idea of him seeing her fully naked, although he probably would, at one point, right? She looked away, pushing those thoughts away for the moment. 

She heard shuffling and him stepping around behind her, feeling him step near the edge. “I’ll sit behind you.” He warned before he sat down and pulled himself closer, each leg on her side and in the water. His knees brushed against her arms, and she realised the shuffling she’d heard earlier was him rolling his pants up. Then his hands reached to her wet hair, tugging her head back against him. 

“Is this… alright?”

She hummed in affirmation. There was slight discomfort as he worked on detangling her locks but as soon as his fingers started moving her scalp, Fay was in nirvana. Her head fell back against one of his legs, eyes closing. Oh. That was nice. Really, really nice, especially when one of his hands went down the nape of her neck, then behind her ear. 

“…running away from the islanders, I hear.” He remarked lowly, sending a shiver down her spine. 

Fay opened her eyes slightly. “Hm. It was… overwhelming.” She admitted, raising her hand out of the water to flick a particularly large bubble floating towards her. 

“They were expecting you to lose.” 

“I did lose.”

“Hm. In terms of you having to be the one to collect the white scarf, yes.” He said. “However, I can assure you they were not paying attention to that.” His mouth felt closer when he spoke next. “They were too distracted. You destroyed your trainer’s defences, a master of flux. Not for long, and with difficulty, but that was not something anyone counted on. I doubt your teacher did either.”

Fay shifted slightly to press her side against the pool and stretch one leg down the bench. The knee she kept up brushed against his foot. She brought one arm over her chest, the hand busying itself with poking his knee playfully. “You thought I was going to lose, too.” It wasn’t an accusation. Fay hadn’t thought she’d win, either. She had managed to finally land a hit on Kaera near the end, but she’d never had a chance of taking the woman down. Not without Klaus, and not without overexerting herself to that degree.  

“Yes. I did.” He replied because it was the truth and he’d not lie to her. He would not sugarcoat it, either. “Actually,” He said, tilting her head back so she could look up at him. The other hand slid down her jaw, cupping her there, fingers splaying down her neck. “I did… not foresee you’ll last that long, or that you’d fight that hard.”

Fay stared back at him. “Is that… good?”

He rolled his eyes. “What do you think?” She smiled. “I already told you what I thought.”

“…you could say it again?” She proposed tentatively. 

“Fishing for compliments? Fame has gone to your head.”

She giggled, the sound making his torso feel warm as if he’d just downed a shot of alcohol. He felt her nose brush against the inside of his thigh, near his knee. Not necessarily far from a compromising place, but still pretty neutral territory. Or it should have been. The bubbles were fading, and even with the tinted water, he could make out the outline of her legs, the way she inevitably pushed her breasts up by pressing her arm against them. Damian redirected his eyes to her hair and focused on lathering it with the soap flakes in the container he left near him. 

“…walk me through the challenge. From the beginning.” He said, after clearing his throat. Battle was a neutral subject. It was. Even if he still had a vivid image stuck in his mind of how she’d looked when fighting, in that unrestrained and dangerous and destructive manner, filling him with all kinds of emotions that tested his self-control. 

Fay turned her face away, leaning her temple back against his knee as she told him how she’d realised she’d need to keep a few tricks up her sleeve. First, she’d suspected that Thelion would be the one to challenge her in the first stage, and in a way, that was good because she had never really sparred with Len before. Thelion was not predictable, but she’d started thinking of him as any other predator in the jungle. She’d planned on using her flux as little as possible, but Thelion was fast, and his senses were sharper than hers, making it difficult for her to keep getting away. She’d set up traps, like she’d learned from Damian, which had helped in the first hour. With two down, though, she had been almost out of gadgets, and she’d had to face him twice. Fay had asked him not to go easy on her, and he hadn’t, but she’d struggled with his speed more than his attacks. She’d decided she wanted to at least pass the first stage, so she’d used her flux. 

“...I am not sure if it counts as cheating,” Fay said. “But I used some of the journals in the library.”

While exploring the trove, Fay had come across her mother’s botanical journals, most of which were not useful to her as she did not have the range of power Evara had when it came to using her flux to manipulate flora. However, amongst those journals, there were also those that spoke of the hybrids her mother had come across or created herself. Some could quicken the healing rate, others helped with poisoning, and so on. There was one on the properties of malyen, which Moma grew on the island in her greenhouse, and was native to Atlabas. It had natural stimulant properties, not unlike coffee, and Fay had drunk teas made from it during the summer to help her train longer. She’d discovered that if she prepared the malyen in a certain manner, combined with several specific ingredients, she could create what was effectively a high-energy, protein ball that’d kick in immediately. She could have asked Moma, but truth be told, there was a chance she’d have said no. The recipe did state that too much of it could cause one to crash of exhaustion after. 

She’d also re-created the smoke bombs she’d once used when going after thieves, but used some of the seeds in the collection left behind by her mother. She’d asked Titoh about them, and he’d told her that if they burned, the seeds would release a scent capable of confounding the senses. Thelion had not been slowed down by it as much as she’d have liked, but it had given her an opportunity to retrieve her scarf after he had taken it from her. Fay had ended up coming across Klaus during the first stage, and she’d convinced him they needed to work together if they both were to pass to the second stage. He had been the one who told her about the underground water, which ran hot because of the hot springs on that island. She’d given him the malyen as well.

The idea had been that they’d make Kaera think they were close to yielding, although their exhaustion hadn’t been entirely fake. She wouldn’t have known about their comeback. As the malyen only offered a short window of energy, they had to make the best of it. Fay would get her guards down; Klaus would attack her. Fire was more volatile, and harder to protect against, forcing her to retreat.

“You attacked her as well. Repeatedly.” He corrected, as he worked his way down the length of her hair, the seafoam-colored soap squelching between his fingers. He watched a thin trail of bubbles slide down the side of her face over the length of her neck. With light fingers, he reached to wipe it away, brushing against the soft, wet skin there. She hummed, pleased, and craned her neck back, no doubt not even realizing how responsive she was being. It was a matter of trust. He brought his hand back up to her head, pushing her soapy hair behind her ear. 

“Yes, I---” She hesitated. “---I got lost in it.” She said finally. “I felt that if I stopped, she’d---she’d get the upper hand and I didn’t want to. It felt… good, to keep going. Well, not at the end because I was really tired but----” She paused again, turning her face deeper into his knee until he could feel her nose and even the flutter of her eyelashes. When she spoke next, her breath tickled his skin there. “It’s really silly,” She said shyly. “But I kept imagining that if I were back in Maysoon, if I had to do the Trials again, I---I would not have stopped. I would have done everything I should have last time.” She scoffed lightly. “…I think I got angry, too. Because I kept remembering my old teachers, and how they never seemed satisfied, but it was their fault too because they didn’t try to train me differently.”

His lips twitched. “You’ve not told me about any of it. Your strategies.” He wasn’t angry, but he was surprised she hadn’t spoken to him about it. 

Fay raised her head and looked up at him. His trousers were starting to get drenched, wet with water and soap, but he didn’t care. The sight of her like that, however, was bound to fuel his brain with new ways to betray him when he was alone with his thoughts and nothing else to keep his focus on. “Well,” Fay said, looking sheepishly. Her cheeks were red. “I did want to, but---I didn’t want to count on you. I know you would have probably given me some good advice, and maybe I would have had an easier time but… I can’t always do that, can I? I can’t depend on you or Bag all the time.” She wrinkled her nose. “And I was also worried if I told you, I’ll know what’s wrong with my plans and I’ll doubt myself, and I’ll worry. I wanted to do it on my own.”

If he lifted her up, she’d have to shift away from the cover of water and fading bubbles so he could kiss her properly. He’d get a full view of her breasts and the soapy water running down her skin, and as tempting as that was, it wasn’t why they were there. She’d trusted him to be near her in that manner, and he enjoyed it far too much to jeopardise it. Slow. There was time. She was still unsure, and he was still getting accustomed, although he felt that was being addressed ever more quickly. 

Damian instead cupped her jaw and leaned forward to press his mouth to her forehead. He was proud of her. Truly. “How’s your headache?” He asked instead, the hand at the back of her head traveling down her neck and over her shoulder before he dipped it in the water to rinse off the soap. Fay’s cheeks had gone darker. “It’s---it’s much better.”

He smirked. “ Excellent.” And watched the redness spread to her ears. “You can rinse now.” He pulled himself out of the pool and turned his back to her before grabbing a towel to wipe himself down. He heard the water splash behind him, just as he stepped through the door. 

If this was a new habit they’d be adopting, he was absolutely fine with it. 

Chapter 82: Of wounded souls

Notes:

Thank you for all your patience. I hope you will all enjoy chapter 82.

I am afraid I have both good news and bad news. The bad news is that I require another brief hiatus. Due to commitments outside of writing, I am struggling to write as much as I used to. When I write a new chapter, I usually need to re-read it a couple of days after with 'fresh' eyes, and then my Beta-reader MoonglowOnWater does their magic, by editing all my horrible mistakes. As my chapters are always approx 10K, this is pretty time-consuming.

I am in no way abandoning this story. There's so much that I am planning on writing about in future chapters, especially after a recent brainstorming session with my Beta-reader. But I do need time to make sure I don't put out chapters just for the sake of publishing them.

The good news is that the AU high school/no vigilante is around 30 chapters written already. I won't post everything at once, but it'll definitely be something I'll start posting very soon. There's just some editing that needs to be completed. To put it simply, this other fic will have a lot of the characters you know in Providence, but in a different universe (A 'what if' sort of situation). I really want to explore Batfam in a world where they never became vigilantes and a fully human Fay Kipling.

Thank you for your patience in advance. Comments, as always, are welcomed. I estimate I will be back out of the hiatus by mid-July at the earliest.

Please note that the rating is E, for both explicit scenes and graphic violence.

A/N 07.07.2022 - this work is on a brief hiatus. This is to give me the opportunity to work out the plot ahead of more than just a couple of chapters, given its complexity and number of characters. Thank you all for your patience.

A/N 18.09.2022 - Providence will return on 31st of October :)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40117629/chapters/100473438

Chapter Text

“Every person has a story; every person has a wound that he or she seeks to heal.”
― Kilroy J. Oldster

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17 th of April

Fay was concerned. Not exactly a new state for her, and it was not on the same level as the apprehension she felt whenever the subject of the attack on Maysoon was brought up. No, her immediate area of concern was Damian himself. As much as he liked calling her that, he really could be an idiot himself. An idiot who consistently trained to the point of black-out exhaustion, barely allowing his body to recover. And as she found out that morning, he had not been fully transparent about just how much he’d taken on over the past two months. 

Fay herself had been quite busy, between the trove and her own training, and holding onto some of the routines she had in Gotham, such as visiting Dana and hanging out with Cora. Sometimes she felt fortunate for how she was able to spend so much time on the island without traveling, not in the traditional sense. She liked being able to set a routine of training and studying that was even more comprehensive than before, to spend time with Titoh and Moma, to spend time in the jungle. She was happy that Damian had gone ahead and carved out a space for himself there as well, in his own way. Lira now trained him regularly, and just a few weeks earlier, he’d started sparring with Len. Klaus, too, but Kaera had to supervise that one because of the lingering animosity between the two. His presence on the island was kept largely under wraps, more of a rumour than something established amongst the islanders. 

Damian didn’t just train on the island, though. He’d also go on patrol as Robin. She had tried to convince him, several times, to cut back on that if there was no need for him to offer back-up. Or to cut back on the training with Lira, which Fay didn’t have much insight into, but she knew was incredibly strenuous. The constant bruises spoke to that clearly. 

Their routine had become a hybrid of sorts, between what they’d had before and their new commitments. Fay slept in her chambers on the island two or three nights of the week, but otherwise, she’d return to Gotham. The warehouse was her home too, and it offered a different sense of peace. It was something she had created for herself, together with Bag and Damian and their pets (who had also gotten accustomed to travelling back and forth). Damian sometimes would leave either before or after she did, and they’d normally have a few hours together in the early hours of the morning. He’d almost always come back to the warehouse after patrol, shower, and then crash beside her on the bed. Sometimes they’d talk briefly, or rather he’d ask her about her day, or they’d kiss, slowly and lazily, for a while. Quite often, they’d both be too tired. It wasn’t an issue per se. Knowing he was safe and beside her was soothing. 

But it was definitely a change from what had been a largely unchanged routine for months, years even. Some days, she’d be assailed by an irrational sense of panic – oh god, everything’s changing , and she couldn’t even stop it and it was exactly what she’d feared might happen – and other days, she thought she was comfortable with the new status quo. Damian had always been one to keep pushing himself, and she could hardly judge him when she’d found herself doing the same. However, his last patrol shift as Robin had left him with a deep-enough cut to warrant four stitches, and much to her aggravation, he’d gone to training that morning. Fay hadn’t known, or she would have asked her aunt to cut it short, annoyed with the boy’s stubbornness. 

“What’s upsetting you, child?” Moma asked while Fay sat in her tent, perched on a plush pillow. 

Fay blinked, startled out of her thoughts, and looked at the woman. “I am just annoyed.” She grumbled. “When I push myself too hard, he gets tyrannical---” And with that, she ended up venting out for several minutes, realising in the process that she’d been, perhaps, far more frustrated than she’d realised.

Moma had listened, patiently, while she crushed some leaves using one of her large pestle and mortar, then added oils and other herbs to the paste. Then, to Fay’s surprise, she revealed that Damian had not just been training. He’d also been taking language lessons from Moma herself, and he’d asked her how to use some of the plants. Before Baije had left, a few days after the anniversary, Damian had also gone to him for weapons training. He’d been studying, too. Moma had been assigning him homework. 

“What---he didn’t tell me---why didn’t you tell me?!” Fay asked, getting up, hands gesturing wildly. “I---I could be showing him all that---I thought, I’d be the one to---” She didn’t know how to feel about it, but no positive emotion formed in her chest. 

“You have your own training.” Moma pointed out. “You and Titoh have only just managed to get through half of that place.”

“But---but---” That’s not how they did things. Did they? 

Moma chucked a seed at her forehead. It barely hurt, but Fay looked at her, taken aback. “Have you wondered, child, that perhaps he does things for the same reason you’ve been going through my plants without my permission?”

Fay’s cheeks reddened. “Well---I didn’t---it was just the one plant and---” The woman’s expression became stern, and Fay faltered. “Sorry.” She’d stopped taking the tea after the match. Kaera had told her she’d been crafty about using the recipe from her mother’s book, but it was dangerous to experiment without guidance from someone experienced. Fay ended up having to run several dozen laps for it. 

“Talk to him.” Moma said. “And stop moping. You’ll get my plants to wilt.”

Fay pouted. “That’s just mean.” Then under her breath, “No wonder he came to you.”

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.

.

The entire day, she’d tried and failed to track down both Damian and Lira. She would have waited on the island, but she knew she had a better chance of getting a hold of him before patrol. Except the damn maniac had eluded her completely because he’d gone straight to patrol afterward. That he was with Dick made her feel better, but it also reminded her that ever since Bruce had left for his mysterious Justice League mission, Damian had been even less reluctant about taking breaks as Robin. She knew he enjoyed his partnership with Dick, but the older man had to have noticed that Damian was exhausted, right? She had wanted to talk to Dick, but she felt that might be somewhat of a betrayal. She’d also have to explain why, where, and how Damian had been otherwise engaged, although she got the sense that most of the family members suspected something was going on. 

She stayed awake. Pacing. Talking out loud to herself, which slightly exasperated – and worried – Bagheera. Fay didn’t think there was anything wrong with him wanting to train and learn. She took issue with the fact that he hadn’t told her about it, and perhaps, a large part of her frustration was also due to how little progress they’d made in the trove. And how she and Damian hadn’t really spent any time together or talked for hours like they used to, or went to the museum. Just a few months earlier they’d agreed to work together on that matter, but just like that, they’d been thrown a curveball and already, they seem to be misaligned again. No. Perhaps that was too harsh. She just didn’t like the lack of communication. 

Why was he pushing himself so hard? It wasn’t just his tendency to insist on incredibly high standards for himself. She planned on finding out. It was four am, and he’d been in his room for an hour, so Fay went over to his door to knock. She found it open. Peering inside, she noticed his gloves and boots and other parts of his suit abandoned in a pile. 

There was blood on them. Too much blood. 

“Damian?” She looked up, alarmed, towards his bathroom door, her frustration replaced by concern. She heard shuffling in the bathroom and a tightly wound, “ I’m fine.”

He didn’t sound fine. Fay walked over immediately, not even thinking twice before she pushed the bathroom door open fully and stepped inside. She expected to see him on the ground, or just barely standing, with some god-awful gaping, bleeding wound or several, gritting his teeth while he stitched himself up instead of seeking help – again. She didn’t expect him to be stark naked – in retrospect, why hadn’t she – with a towel around his shoulders, and his---his---Her brain unhelpfully provided her with the worst thought ever, oh, it looks nicer than the ones on the internet-- Fay screamed, then out of instinct, turned to walk back out except the door was in her way, and she ended up smacking her face against it. “Ow!” 

Her nose started bleeding. 

Then Bagheera barged in, alarmed, and accidentally knocked her over on her ass. 

If only lightning would strike her there and then. 

She was pouting and it was childish, but she didn’t care, as she sat cross-legged with a towel pressed against her nose, facing away from the door to her bedroom. When Damian walked in, hopefully fully dressed, he reached out from behind her to look at her nose, but she batted him off and told him she was too annoyed. It wasn’t a lie, but she was also very embarrassed. That was not how she had planned on them seeing each other undressed one day; then she realised that implied she’d planned to see him naked at all, and a part of her kind of wanted to and it made sense, right? , given they were no longer just friends, but it was all so very confusing and happening at a very wrong moment. 

“How are you annoyed?” Damian asked. “You’re the one who barged in my bathroom after I told you I am fine.”

Fay scowled underneath the towel. “How are you fine,” She asked tightly, “When your suit is full of blood? I am sorry for being concerned.” Okay, so maybe she was being a little more irritable than usual. The day had opened with her having swollen, tender breasts and cramps striking her at odd times. She did not get them often, but when she did, her uterus liked to make up for lost time, apparently. Fay had forgotten to ask Moma to prepare her something for it. 

“If I was in need of aid, I would have gone to Pennyworth to examine it instead of coming here.” She could feel him roll his eyes even when she couldn’t see him. She knew him that well. “Also, there’s no need to be embarrassed. I have no issue with you seeing me naked.” Of course, he didn’t. This time she rolled her eyes. 

Fay was first to admit that perhaps, she was feeling more hormonal than she usually did that time of the month, but she was also genuinely annoyed. She didn’t want to be, because it made her feel needy , but she also thought she was justified in feeling concerned about him, because why wouldn’t she? He would, too, if their roles were swapped. Maybe she was needy and ridiculous because she wanted them to spend more time together, and perhaps that was selfish because they had bigger problems on their hands. She didn’t deal well with change, and she was aware of that, but she couldn’t stop herself from feeling that way, either. The uncertainty of what or who they were after did not help, a constant shadow lingering in the back of her mind. 

A hand landed on her shoulder. “What’s going on?” Damian asked, seriously as he sat down next to her. 

Fay inhaled, then lowered the towel before looking up when he nudged her to turn towards him. Then her eyes landed on his face. His very battered face. She hadn’t even noticed the bruises and cuts earlier, far too distracted by the… rest of him, but now that she thought about it, his torso and arms had been littered with bruises as well, some of which she could make out under the hem of his top. 

And just like that, her ire returned. “Moma told me.”

He stared at her, scrutinising, no doubt able to make out her annoyance and put together why she felt that way. “You’re angry because I haven’t told you about the lessons.” He deduced, then sighed. “Why didn’t you say so?”

The skin under her eye twitched. 

“Because… I shouldn’t have to find out that way.” She said, oddly calm. She didn’t feel like crying either. She was just plain frustrated. Exhausted, in some ways. 

Damian frowned. “…it is not a secret, nor did I intend it to be one if that’s what you think.” He said, then reached for her neck but she jerked away. It bothered him, she could tell from the way his eyes narrowed and the corner of his mouth twitched. “What is your problem?” He lowered his hand, pulling away from her entirely, automatically going on defence. 

“What is your problem?” Fay shot back hotly. “Have you seen the way you look? When was the last time you slept or had a day off?”

He snorted. “That’s what this is about? That I am training too much---”

Fay stood up. “You’re not just training too much.” She said through gritted teeth. “You’re---” Far away from me. “---you’re not even listening, even though you keep getting injured. That’s just not---”

“It’s not what?” He countered, getting up. “Wise? How hypocritical.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “What---what are you talking about?”

“How much did you get injured in the past, while on the island?” He said hotly. “How much haven’t you told me about? Let’s start with the part where you’ve been relying on stimulants to keep yourself awake.”

She gaped at him. While she hadn’t told him about the malyer plant, it wasn’t as if the plant was dangerous. Certainly not as much as coffee, which he did drink when he was tired, even if he didn’t enjoy it, so really, why was he criticising her? “It’s not the same thing,” She said through gritted teeth. 

Their argument only escalated from that point on. She ended up reaching the conclusion he was being rather vindictive, and unnecessarily harsh, seeing as their circumstances were different. She always had to work twice as hard to see results. She’d never be as naturally gifted as he, or Thelion, if she wanted to compare herself to a full-blooded Dragonborn, and she’d never have the natural control her mother had had over the flux. He thought she was downplaying her efforts, which was not an insult, nor a hurtful thing to say, at least until he implied that she’d been holding back in their sparring. Deep down she knew part of it came from a place of frustration and fatigue as much as her emotions did, but at that moment, she was too galvanised to care. 

“I will never choose the easy path---”

Fay let out a sound of frustration. “I am not asking you to, you jerk!” She shouted. “But it would be nice if we actually talked about it, rather than me having to worry you’ll get yourself killed.”

He scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. He was exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes had rarely ever been so accentuated. “Because you’re worrying over nothing, although I am who I’ve always been---” It was a weak argument, and they both knew it. 

“Because we’re supposed to find solutions together. Because everything is changing, and I get it that it is inevitable, but it’s much harder when we’re not even talking! If you want to train, that’s fine, Damian, but you can’t just tell me that nothing is going on!”  

His eyes widened fractionally, then he frowned. He opened his mouth to say something, but she beat him to it as she turned away to walk away. 

 “I am leaving.” She declared, before angrily storming away. “ Alone.” She clarified when Bag got up to follow her. His ears lowered in disappointment, and then his head turned towards Damian. He growled irritably at the boy. 

“— TT - shut up.”

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.

Jason was not sure he’d ever seen someone eat ice cream so aggressively before. He could hear the spoon hitting her teeth, and it had to hurt, but she was far too focused on eating her way through the tub of Phish Food. He took note of her tanned skin and the lighter roots – an auburn shade – and her battered hands. She’d been training. In a very sunny location, from the looks of it. Definitely not Gotham. 

“That box might need some seasoning if you want to eat it too.” He said dryly, as she kept poking at the bottom of the tub with her spoon. 

When he’d found her hanging out in his safehouse, he hadn’t expected her to also eat all his ice cream. Then again, he supposed it was fair given he did that whenever he was at the warehouse. 

“Trouble in paradise?”

She glared at him. Oh. Getting feisty.  

Also, yes. Definitely trouble with baby-bat. He was no expert in relationships, definitely not the weird kind they had, and Jason couldn’t say he was eager to have to offer advice either, but he plopped down on the sofa next to her. “Should I expect Junior to barge in? Because I had a long night, kid, and if I don’t get my beauty sleep, I get cranky.” That made her mouth twitch, and her frown melt away. Progress. “And seeing as you ate all my ice cream, cranky and guns don’t get along. I might shoot baby-bat.” 

She grunted and lowered the tub with the spoon inside. Damn. The kid had cleaned it out completely. 

“I don’t like change.” She mumbled, finally. “How do… how do I stop not liking change?”

Not the question he expected. 

“Not all changes are bad.” He shrugged. “Some changes are inevitable. Necessary. Depends. Are we talking about the yesterday-I-liked-vanilla-ice-cream-and-now-I-am-addicted-to-phish food type of change? Or I-like-shooting-people-now sort? Because both could give you a headache.”

Fay threw him an odd look – which was fair – but she didn’t respond immediately. 

“…everything changed when my parents died.” Oh boy. “It took months or… um, years for things to feel---” Her nose wrinkled. “---normal.” 

“Were they ever normal?” Her brows went up. “Seems to me like your family is pretty dysfunctional if you felt the need to run away to another world.”

She seemed to consider that. 

“…I ran away because I humiliated myself.” She said. “And everyone… compared me to my parents.” 

That last part, he could empathise with. “Big shoes to fill?”

She nodded, eyes lowering. “I thought… it’d be easier. In this world. It was . But my parents are…” She paused. “…everywhere.” She shrugged one shoulder. “It’s really… annoying sometimes.”

Yeah. He got that too. 

“Look, Tinkerbell, something is clearly going on. And I am not talking about you perched on my sofa and raiding my food like a gremlin.” He said bluntly, but without any heat, as he reached to ruffle her hair. She used to be much smaller and thinner, and he’d say fragile too, at least in appearance. “Do I think yours and Damian’s sneaking about is going to come to bite you in the ass? Probably. But I am not judging. I get why baby-bat is doing it. I don’t give pep talks as good as Dickie, but here’s an observation.” She looked at him. “You can fight change altogether or you can make sure you find the advantages of it. Focus on that. If that’s not good enough, then find ways to make the change work for you. If that’s not possible, well. Then they’ll just change again, anyway.”

That gave Fay pause. “That’s… not bad advice.”

“You’re welcome.”

That made her smile. 

“I am going to sleep. The sofa is a pull-out. Don’t touch my guns.”

She didn’t stay. 

But she took the tub of Chocolate Fudge from the freezer with her. 

When she returned to the warehouse, the sun had started rising from behind the horizon line, pushing away the moon and the accompanying darkness. Bagheera greeted her at the door, but he made it clear what he thought of her taking off like that without him. She offered him apples, in exchange. She was forgiven quickly. 

The pressure in her lower stomach returned, and she was dying to take off her bra because her chest felt sore. The ice cream had helped with her mood, but she also had a headache. With some hesitance, Fay walked back up to her room, expecting to find Damian sitting on her bed, arms crossed and annoyed that she’d taken off. She was only half right. He was sitting on her bed, one leg pulled underneath him and his arms crossed. 

But he was also asleep. Actually asleep, not just resting his eyes, despite his stiff shoulders and odd position. It looked like his body had given up but hadn’t fully won over his stubbornness, and the fact that he did not wake up as soon as she stepped inside was a testament to how sleep-deprived he must have been. With a frown, Fay floated over to him slowly. She gently called his name, because she knew even in his sleep, he could be on edge, ready to strike and that way, he’d recognize her. His eyes opened, halfway and he looked up at her, arms unfolding. 

Fay’s eyes stung. It had been a silly fight. Exhaustion, the potential threat of an invisible enemy, and the mystery of the dark paths had distracted them both. Damian’s hands settled on her hips, and he pulled her closer, pressing his face against her stomach. She carded one hand through his hair, the other settling on his back. 

“If you missed me, idiot, you could have just said so.” He muttered gruffly, his hot breath making her abdomen clench. She’d left only in her t-shirt and cotton joggers, having forgotten that although it was spring, the weather in Gotham wasn’t as warm as on the island. “Didn’t we discuss that we both want the same thing?”

Fay stared down at the top of his head. One of his hands travelled around to her back and tugged her shirt up so it could make its way across her back. 

“…it’s not easy to say that when,” She murmured. “You’re so focused on something else.” Then, realising how that sounded, she quickly added, “That’s not a bad thing. I—I am not angry that you want to train and learn. I just---we’ll do things independently, but I don’t want us not to talk about it. I am sorry. If I overreacted.”

He moved suddenly, leaning back to lay down on the bed, pulling her after him. Fay landed on top of him, which she wouldn’t have minded but it caused her breasts to jostle, and they were tender as it is. Damian must have noticed her grimace because he rolled them to the side until he was the one hovering on top of her. “What’s the matter?” He asked, eyes wider than before. 

“Heh, nothing.” She said embarrassedly. “My erm---” She sighed. “My period. It makes my chest hurt badly sometimes.” 

The hand on her back trailed upwards, fingers brushing against the band of her bra. “Do you want this---” She nodded. She lifted her upper body, and he reached over the clasp to undo it. Fay bit back a sigh of relief when she felt the pressure around her ribs and over her shoulders give out, as the bra’s hold loosened. She reached under the sleeves of her t-shirt and pulled the straps out and over her hands. Her eyes met Damian’s, which were a little darker than usual and she smiled sheepishly. He gently removed the bra from under her shirt, and then chucked it away. The gesture was suggestive, but she just leaned back against the pillow, relieved with the newfound freedom. 

Fay reached up to cup Damian’s face, thumbs brushing over his cheek. 

“You were right,” He muttered, closing his eyes. “There is a reason behind it all.”

She nodded. “We… can talk about it later.” She suggested. “Please just get some sleep.”

He grunted, then laid on his side, cradling her close to him. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and head; her knees interlocked with his. His hand stayed on her back, under her shirt, tracing the faint indentation left by her bra and she felt his mouth brush against her collarbone, just above her marks. Fay didn’t fall asleep immediately, brushing her hand again and again through his hair while her other one massaged his back. She didn’t see his skin there, but she was willing to bet he was bruised there, too. 

That. 

They could not lose that, no matter what. 

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.

.

“You said you have to work twice as hard to see the progress you want.”

Fay nodded, although she wasn’t sure where he was going with it. It was early afternoon, and he was awake before her, but he looked infinitely better than before. Fay was glad that he’d made no move to leave, and instead, she woke up to him nipping at her neck and his hands on her hips. 

“Hm, yes?” She said sleepily and rather distracted by him mouthing at her neck. 

“You are.” He pulled away. “Progressing. Don’t doubt that.” He said firmly, meeting her gaze. “I saw you. Everyone did.” He dipped his head towards her but didn’t kiss her. “You know what I realised?” He breathed. “That I have stagnated.” Her brows furrowed, a protest forming in her throat, but he beat her to it. “Not in my role as Robin. As an individual.” He added, and she closed her mouth, watching him intently. 

Damian pressed his forehead against hers. “With my mother, I was continuously challenged. More and more, each day. When I came here, I felt---it was too easy. Because of my father, Grayson, and the others. They did things differently.” He pressed himself flush against her, arms wrapping around her. “I vowed that I’ll keep you safe and that I’ll ensure you get to live the life you want here without worrying about anything else. That life includes me.” His mouth brushed against hers, eliciting a spine-tingling sensation. “As mine… includes you.” He added quietly, lifting his head slightly. “You’ve made a promise, to ensure you grow stronger to keep others safe?” She nodded. “That is not any different from my vow. The difference is that I foolishly believed I was still challenging myself sufficiently.”

She exhaled, reaching to touch his cheek. “I understand,” She said. “And I don’t want you to do things my way, but I’ll always worry about you if I see you like this—” She brushed her thumb over a bruise on his cheek. “—the same you would about me.”

“You mean like the time you overexerted your flux that you started coughing blood then blacked out?”

Touché .

Fay looked away, guilty. “We… do it for the same reasons.” She mumbled, conceding. “Is it---is it selfish if I don’t want us to get lost in it though? I want to get stronger. I want you to… achieve that if that’s what you want.” She frowned, eyes wandering to his collar, which she’d taken to play with. “Sometimes it feels like I can’t do anything my parents have done. It sounds silly, but this place is mine. Ours. You and Bagheera and Dana and Cora. Not part of my parent’s secret plans.”

He smiled, lightly. “I know. What that feels like.” He pressed his mouth against the corner of her mouth. “Need me, if you must.” He murmured. “I will never deny you.”

Fay’s face flushed. “Don’t---don’t say it like that.” 

“Like what?”

“You know… how.”

“Being shy after you ogled my body—”

I did not ogle you !” She squealed, immediately. He grinned like the devil, and it was unfairly appealing to the eye given he was tormenting her as well. 

Damian caught her hand when she tried to slap him in the shoulder and pinned it next to her head. “I told you. I don’t care if you look.”

“Please stop.”

“I am not teasing you.”

“Yes, you are.”

“If you say so.” He kissed her again, quickly. “However, I will look, when you’ll allow me---"

Fay nearly kneed him, but he blocked the movement. “You’re horrible.” She sputtered. “And also, when?”

“When.” The amusement faded, and he fixed her with a curious look. “Only when you’ll feel comfortable and not a moment sooner.”

Her embarrassment melted away, somewhat. “…oh.” She looked away. “But---” Then she stopped. 

“Or never, if that’s what you truly---”

“No. No.” She smiled despite herself. Damian had his own brand of thoughtfulness. “Not never.” She said shyly. “I just---” With her free hand, she reached to scratch at her nose. “What if, erm, well---I—”

“Just get it out.”

“…I don’t think I can.”

He stared at her for a moment, then snorted lightly. “Are you worried I’ll be disappointed?” 

That was one very blunt way of putting it.

“I don’t know.” She said in a small voice. “I suppose so. Sometimes, I don’t even know how to… see myself about this.”

He cupped her face, forcing her to look at him, although his grip wasn’t painful. “Don’t.” He murmured. “Don’t measure yourself in that manner.” He parted her mouth gently and leaned forward. “But if you do, I will prove you wrong.”

“What---” He brushed his tongue against hers, and all thoughts in her brain simply flew away. 

That day, they went to the museum. 

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25 th of April 

“And you can’t tell me where he is.”

Fay shook her head. 

“But you’re going to that place as well.”

She nodded. 

Dick’s brows went up, the expression on his face clearly indicating that was not a good enough explanation. Fay sighed and she sat down on the chair, pulling herself closer to the Batcomputer where he was. 

“I am sorry.” She said genuinely. “I know… I know that we’re keeping things from you.” She inhaled. “I can’t tell you where this place is, but… it has to do with my parents.” 

“Okay.” Dick said patiently. “What about them?”

Fay hesitated. She and Damian had discussed telling Dick about her parents’ travels to that world and the dark paths, but they hadn’t had a chance to do so yet. Lira had prepared a challenge for Damian after he’d insisted on one, and while Fay was in Gotham at that moment, he was somewhere in the jungle. On his birthday . To his credit, the challenge had started two days earlier and he had asked Lira to make sure it was ‘stimulating’ enough. He and her aunt had a rather strange arrangement in place, one that apparently included Damian telling Lira some things about his past. 

“I was meant to have this talk with Damian here,” She mumbled, then sighed again. “We don’t have that much information, but I think my parents may have left something behind. In this world. That may give us answers about what happened in Maysoon.”

“The attack.” She nodded. “Are you in danger?” 

Fay shrugged, then on a second thought shook her head. “No. We’re just… researching. And training. I have been teaching Damian about my world.” All that was true, she just couldn’t tell him where or how, or with whom. Not yet. Dick could be trusted with the existence of the island, though, right? Jason, Tim, Stephanie, Barbara. They would all understand and keep it a secret if they found out. 

Dick looked like he had just realised something. “I see. It explains why Damian has been tired.”

She grimaced. “I talked to him about it.”

“And he listened?” Dick said amusedly. 

“Well, not exactly.” She smiled. “But I’ll make sure he gets some rest. Then we’ll… tell you more.”

Dick extended a hand. She grabbed it. 

Although he smiled, she knew he was serious when he said, “I’ll hold you to that.” 

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Lira had been born into a world that held no love or pity for her. Her mother would have likely killed her if it hadn’t become obvious that Lira had inherited the Evnei. Even a mongrel could have its use, she’d say, because although she wasn’t pure-blooded, Lira could still be useful. Ironically, the very thing that had kept her alive was what she’d hoped many times would kill her. 

She had not been acknowledged officially as a member of the family for years, and even then, she hadn’t been allowed to attend public events. She had been a dirty secret, a weapon. Meant to be first a soldier, then a killer. A daughter scored very lowly on that list, if at all. A woman, when it benefited her missions. Destined to define herself only by how deadly she could be, how useful she was to her mother’s crazed ambitions. A tool did not have opinions, preferences or hobbies. A tool did not hope or dream or educate itself outside of its purpose. 

Damar had never treated her as a tool. Aryg had struggled to figure out whether he liked being one because of the validation he received and his willingness to admit that he’d never be more than that to their mother. He hadn’t treated her cruelly, but he hadn’t shown her the kindness Damar had either. 

Damar had taught her how to read for enjoyment. He’d told her stories that had nothing to do with enemy intel or fighting strategies. He’d never taken advantage of her abilities just because he could. 

How could someone like that have come out of something as wretched as their mother? How could Damar be related to someone as monstrous as her? Because she had been a monster, and she had been so good at it that for years she’d believed her mother about everything.

Because of Damar, she’d regained the ability to feel . It didn’t make her any less of a monster, but the pain made her feel human, as excruciating as it was. The pain was both her salvation and punishment. Damar had taught her that there’d always be another path, even for someone like her. 

Evara had taught her that the world was worth fighting for. The Resistance had shown her that monsters like her mother could and should be stopped, even if it was an arduous and near-impossible task, because the world could be better. She could be better. She could take all those things that had made her a perfect monster and be a flawed being fighting for the right causes, instead. 

It could not wipe away all the blood she’d shed, all the men and women she had killed, and all the times she had used the void in her heart to ignore others’ suffering. 

But then she looked at children like Fay and Titoh and even Aryg’s own offspring, and thought, even monsters could be useful to good people, because look at them smile and grow up in a world I never thought possible. Would some of their goodness rub off on her? Not to absolve her of her past, but enough to give her the right to no longer see herself as a terrible, terrible creature? 

Lira always wondered if Fay could sense it. Did she realise how much of a monster her favourite aunt was? Did she realise her ledger was drenched in blood? Did she know

Fay was the kind of creature Lira’s mother would have sent her to strike down, as she had time and time before. If Fay truly knew about the lines they all had crossed, would her human side ever forgive them? They probably didn’t deserve it. 

Look at her. Look at them both, Fay and Titoh. They thrived outside of the clan. They had found their strength and moved forward. Only one of them was related to Damar, but they had both inherited that unfailing ability to be more than what the world told them to be. 

Perhaps Fay did know, deep down. She saw people for who they could be, not just who they had been. She’d found people who did the same with her, clearly. 

“Hey, aunt Lira.” 

Fay wrapped her arms around her waist and hugged her. She’d never know how it made Lira want to cry. The old monster in her screamed and writhed, because monsters did not hug and they did not deserve hugs and what if she infected Fay with her cursed self? 

Lira returned the hug. 

“What’s with the hugs first thing in the morning?” She jokes. “Did you hit your head that hard?”

“No,” Fay mutters. She was bandaged in four different places, and her hands were more gauze than flesh and muscle. “I just needed a hug.” She paused. “I wish they were here to see me fight.”

Yes. They would have been impressed. Proud. 

“I am glad you’re here, aunt Lira.”

The monster was shut down and gagged. 

“Yeah, me too, kiddo. Me too.”

“Damian.” It was the first time she’d ever referred to the boy by his name. 

The brat opened his eyes from where he’d been meditating in the sand. 

“Tomorrow, at five o’clock. You will follow my instructions. I am only giving you one chance.” No, she wouldn’t. She hadn’t been given just one chance. 

A monster recognised another monster. 

And so did wounded souls. 

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If Corim thought it strange that the boy that had come to the island years earlier was now training there, he did not express it and instead treated the boy’s injuries with utmost professionalism. No wonder Moma trusted him so much, and Titoh was so satisfied with him as a mentor despite the man being relentless with his assignments. He was not aware of the trove, or the key or even that Baije had stayed on the island, but Fay was there when he vowed that he’d keep any information he’s entrusted with confidential before Moma and Len. Including Damian’s presence. Or how the boy had ended up with several broken bones after nearly three days in the jungle. 

He looked significantly better by the time the healer was done with him, but he was in dire need of a bath. 

“Stay,” Damian murmured, as she examined his face while they waited for the bathing pool to fill. Corim had focused on the broken bones and any other internal injuries that might have deteriorated into something life-threatening, but he left most of the bruises alone if they weren’t too large or deep. He was a firm believer in that the body should get the chance to heal on its own. “Alright,” Fay said, far more relieved to see him than embarrassed with the request. She lowered her hands and told him she’d get some salts and oils, while he got undressed and slipped into the hot water. 

Fay took her time, not turning around until she heard the splash of water, and then walked back to the pool, with towels and ceramic containers. Keeping her gaze averted from him, she made her way around the pool, pouring the ingredients in and watching them colour the water. With the water pouring from the ceiling, a thin film of bubbles was inevitable, albeit nowhere at the level she usually had them when she bathed. 

From the corner of her eye, she caught Damian submerging himself in the water. The dirt coating his skin was stripped almost immediately, causing an earth-coloured film to form on the surface, colouring the bubbles there. Fay wasn’t sure what to do herself, as she remained crouched on the other side of the pool. He resurfaced there a few moments later, dark hair plastered down on his face, which made her giggle. Damian tutted as he swiped the wet locks back, which looked more tangled than usual. His torso and arms looked cleaner than before, but he was still in need of a good scrub. 

Which was what she ended up doing, sitting on the edge of the pool with her legs in just as he had before. She wasn’t sure if it qualified as a habit, seeing as for the past two months they’d barely had time with each other, but since their argument the previous week, they’d both been using each other’s time in the pool to talk. They’d always signal when they wanted to get out so the other could respect their privacy, and Fay had never felt exposed or vulnerable because he’d always sit with his back to her unless she told him she was comfortable with him turning around. He never asked her to do the same, but she did it anyway. 

Damian turned his back to her, sitting on the bench, between her knees. Fay wore a pair of short tights underneath her tunic, which she rolled up to avoid getting it too wet. She’d showered earlier, while Corim had been tending to him and a part of her had hoped they'd end up like that. She liked taking care of him, and although he didn’t admit it, he liked the attention. 

Grabbing a handful of soap flakes, she poured them on his head and started rubbing, watching the soapy foam form very quickly. She found it rather therapeutic, scrubbing and detangling and massaging, stripping away all the dirt and sweat and other accumulated debris from the past three days. She asked him to rinse once, watching him dive again before he came back up for a second lather, then rinse again. When he was done with that as well, they moved to the side of the pool where the water was cleaner and she brushed a comb through his raven locks, patiently, until there were no knots. 

“That feels better?” She asked with a smile.  

He grunted, but his lax shoulders and closed eyes spoke volumes. A relaxed panther, that was what he reminded her of. Fay grabbed a sponge and gently brushed it over his shoulders, more because she knew how good it felt to sore muscles rather than for cleaning purposes. He’d have to take over eventually since---since, well, he had to, right? They’d never actually washed each other, beyond a head scrub, and going further than that meant he’d have to get out or her to get in so she could reach all places. 

Damian turned around with no warning to face her and she just stared at him, sponge in one hand, water dripping down her forearm. He stared at her half-lidded, cheeks flushed while his hands settled on the side of her thighs. Fay dropped the sponge, and instead switched her attention to his face. She could count at least three different bruises and five scrapes, just above his neck. His cheeks were flushed, likely due to the hot water, and the dark lines under his eyes indicated he needed a good night’s sleep, which she absolutely planned on making mandatory. The way he stared at her, however, half-lidded and features relaxed, made something hot broil in the pit of her stomach and her heart flutter. 

She traced the bruises with her fingers before leaning forward to kiss the first one, just above his left brow. Cupping his face, she repeated the gesture wherever she found a blemish, peppering his face with kisses. 

“I know it’s late, but--” She murmured. “Happy birthday.”

Knees on the bench, he lifted himself out of the water until they were both aligned with one another. He didn’t say anything, just stared at her. Fay’s eyes dropped down to his neck and shoulders, before briefly going down the length of his body, taking in the lean muscles under the bruises and small cuts. She returned her attention to his jaw, to plant a kiss over one cut there before switching to his neck. Tentatively. If he didn’t like it or was uncomfortable, he’d stop her, but while kissing was no longer such an unknown art to her, she was still unsure of how far she could go. 

She felt his hands move up her legs and over the curve of her hip before they settled on her arms as she descended his neck. Underneath the fruity scent of oils, she could make out his own, heady and familiar, along with some earthy notes. There was a long, superficial cut at the juncture between his left shoulder and neck. Fay paused, deliberating before she opened her mouth to run her tongue down that cut. One of her hands had landed on his stomach to support herself and she felt the muscles contract there, a response that emboldened her to suck at a spot on his neck. 

A hand in her hair tugged her head back, and she nearly asked if she was doing something wrong but then his mouth was on hers, and no, she definitely didn’t. She moaned when she felt his tongue brush against hers, and responded in kind, wrapping her arms around him, fingers brushing down his back. Fay squealed against his mouth when she felt herself being tugged forward, her ass sliding off the wet edge of the pool and feet missing the bench to catch herself. Before she knew it, she was neck-deep in the water, the cotton material of her tunic sticking to her skin. Her hair was in a high ponytail, but she could tell the tips were getting wet. 

Damian chuckled. She glared at him. “What is wrong with you--- mphf !” He kissed her again, and she instantly grabbed onto him, arms around his shoulders. She didn’t really think about the situation they were in, him naked and her in the water with him, far too focused on how his lips felt against hers and the way he kept her caged in against him. She was aware, physically, of something hard poking her in her stomach, but her brain took its time in processing what it meant. 

It wasn’t until she wrapped her legs around him, and she felt the small grunt at the back of his throat that she realised what she’d inadvertently brushed up against. Fay let go immediately, alarmed, untangling her legs, and pulling her head away from his. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean---sorry.” He let go of her and she instantly floated back a foot or so. 

“Fay---”

“Fay, are you in?”

Fay jerked around, startled, momentarily discombobulated as the fog in her brain cleared up. She glanced towards the bathroom door, half expecting it to open and for her brother to walk in, which was a horrific enough scenario to chase away the heat in her veins. She glanced back at Damian, whose expression was closed off and she knew it had to be because of the way she’d reacted, but her heart was beating too fast, and nervousness was settling in. 

“It’s fine.” He said calmly but didn’t come closer. “You should go.” 

She hesitated, but nodded, averting her eyes and moving back towards the edge of the pool. Using the bench, she hoisted herself up, grunting at the way the drenched clothes weighed her down despite the thin material before she got up, grabbed a towel, and walked over to the door. She didn’t dare look at the pool. 

Fay exited, nearly slipping on the floor, which elicited a curse. Wrapping the towel around her tightly, she cleared her throat and stepped towards the antechamber. The door was open, and she saw her brother stand in the middle, holding a round ceramic bowl and two rolls of gauze. He looked at her in surprise, then grinned. “Did you fall in?”

Sort of. Fay shrugged. 

“Corim sent me this,” He said, handing her the bowl, which appeared to contain a dark red paste. “She said it helps with inflammation.” Fay took the bowl and the gauze. “I looked for him in the healer’s wing, but he was already gone. Not sure where he is.”

Fay was absolutely going to feign ignorance. 

Then, at the worst timing possible, the sound of rushing water echoed from her chambers. Was it always that loud ? Fay froze, staring at Titoh like a deer caught in the headlights as she watched the exact moment he put two and two together, because he looked down at her, and the water dripping off of her then his eyes darted around the room. Both his cheeks and ears turned red. “Oh.”

Oh. 

“I---erm, I didn’t know you two---” He cleared his throat. “Sorry if I interrupted---”

“You didn’t—” He sort of did. Fay realised with some horror that she’ never told anyone she and Damian weren’t just friends. Neither one was very keen on public displays of affection and given how little time they’d spent together in the past months, she doubted it would have been obvious. 

“It’s no problem,” Her brother’s voice had gone suspiciously high-pitched, and he no longer looked at her. “I am going to go now.”

Fay opened her mouth, but nothing came out as she watched Titoh power-walk his way out of her chambers, slamming the door unnecessarily hard behind him. She closed her eyes, let out a sound of frustration, and then walked back into her chambers to get changed. Her hands were shaking slightly as she swapped her tights and tunic, for a loose sleeveless top and a pair of soft cotton shorts. 

Feeling high-strung still, she decided to go for a fly, making a couple of rounds around the island before she lowered herself into the jungle where she collected a couple of Eldar fruits. She wasn’t even hungry, but she felt weird going back empty-headed, knowing that Damian was probably out by then. 

Bagheera preferred to sleep outside, but she made sure Hector, Nada, and Pip were safe and comfortable. The latter was quite happy to have the other bed all for himself while the cat generally settled by the window. 

As expected, when she returned, Damian was standing in the middle of her room, in a pair of linen trousers and rubbing a towel through his hair. Her heart stuttered when she saw him, her plan at using the fruits as an offering to overcome an awkward silence going up in flames.  

They stared at one another. 

“Forgive me,” He said suddenly, looking away. “I crossed a boundary.”

Fay opened her mouth, but no words came out. Had he crossed a boundary? She hadn’t even thought of that. While she had been in the air, the thoughts that had percolated her mind were primarily centred on how good and right and exciting it had felt to be close to him, with such little standing between them. Damian had told her he was attracted to her, and she didn’t doubt that. It wasn’t the first time she’d felt him react physically like that but the last time he had, he had ended up walking away from her in a rush, and then later told her he was unaccustomed to such a reaction. She’d been satisfied with just kissing, with holding each other although she was never unaffected herself. Fay found it easier to explore that type of ache when she was on her own and had never felt impatient about them moving further. 

But what had happened in the pool had been a step forward, to put it that way. Damian had felt comfortable with allowing her to feel that, and she---she---

“I didn’t mind it.” She breathed. “I---” There was nothing wrong if they started exploring more of each other, right? She had wanted to keep touching him, and---she wanted him to keep touching her. It was still slow in terms of how far they went with each other, but that did not make it any less intense. 

Her throat tightened. She lacked the courage to say all that. 

But she could do something better. 

The fruits dropped out of her arms, and she was already halfway to him when they landed on the ground, rolling away on the floor. Fay wasn’t sure what was more delightful. That he immediately caught her or the way he pulled her flush, one arm around her and the other guiding her legs around his waist. 

“…I didn’t mean to run away.” She said heavily, hand carding through his hair. 

“Yes, you did.” 

“I… I was just surprised.”

“That you have that effect on me,” She nodded, although it didn’t sound like a question. “I should have… asked.” For permission. 

Fay shook her head. 

“No, no… I—” She swallowed, eyes flitting to his mouth. “—I like it.” She whispered. “When… we’re like this.” 

A hand in her hair tugged her head up, and Fay only caught a glimpse of the ceiling before she closed her eyes when she felt his mouth on her neck. 

“As do I.” 

Damian stepped back and sat down on the edge of the bed, the towel he’d been using chucked on the floor. He was kissing her hard, and she was as responsive as she was enthusiastic, opening her mouth to him, her hands gripping him like a lifeline. It did feel like she was drowning, in a nebulous sort of sensation that made her feel feverish and greedy and chased away all rational thoughts. She was not sure how long it took, all sense of time was lost on her, but when her lips started tingling from the constant friction and her chest burned with lack of oxygen, he dipped his mouth to her neck. She dropped her head back, breathing turning short, and suddenly very glad she wore clothing that allowed her to feel more of him against her. 

His hands moved from her waist, one up her ribs and the other down over the slope over her ass. When he gripped the flesh there, her breath hitched at the unexpected shiver that travelled up her spine. Her breasts brushed against his chest, and she became starkly aware that the thin material of her shirt did little to hide how aroused she was getting. She felt his hand, warm and firm, slide under her shirt, and over her skin, rubbing patterns there before it climbed up to stop just beneath her right breast. His mouth was on her shoulder, and she could tell by how his breath fanned over her that he was breathing harder than usual as well. “…pause?”

“No.” The word came out of her mouth even before she processed what he was asking her about, or the implication of saying no, and that was probably one of the few times she was happy to speak without thinking. Damian’s hand moved over her breast, light and tentative at first. When her hands dug into his shoulders and she arched into him, he didn’t need any further encouragement and startled fondling her, thumb brushing against her hardened nub. 

Her breasts tended to be unpredictable in terms of sensitivity. Most days, if she wasn’t training intensively – which hadn’t been the case in the past months – her breasts were just… normal, she supposed. Not quite the erogenous spot she’d read they could be, at least not when she’d tried to stimulate that area. If she was training, they tended to get tender, and she realised it had to be because the area was so close to the marks on her collarbone. Moma had confirmed it and told her to just use the salve she always did, but she didn’t say anything about the cream soothing her in a way that caused her to be sensitive in all the right ways. It never lasted long. But it felt really good at that moment. Or maybe it was because of who was touching her. Maybe she just didn’t enjoy it as much as when she did it, and that was it. 

Or---or---it didn’t matter as long as he didn’t stop what he was doing with his hands. 

Damian tugged her head back down for a kiss. Her heart was beating inside her ribcage like a jackhammer, and when she shifted, she became aware that the growing heat between her legs was accompanied by dampness. And he was hard as well, his length pressed against her centre, the knowledge that he was so affected making her feel light-headed. 

The moan that escaped her throat was inevitable when his other hand switched to her neglected breast, kneading the flesh in tandem with the other before teasing her nipples. She felt delicious currents travel from that point all the way down to her navel, the cotton material of her shorts growing wet. She arched against his hands, quietly hoping he’d do more than just brush his thumbs over the sensitive nubs but not quite able to let the right words out. She’d never adored his perceptive skills as much as she did at that moment when he rolled that area between his fingers, pinching and pressing. With all the shifting about, her shorts had hiked up and the unexpectedly prominent seam dug just in the right way, causing friction that she kept chasing by grinding down on it. She wouldn’t have heard him groan if they hadn’t been pressed so tightly together, and his mouth wasn’t so close to her ear, making her realise that it had to feel just as good for him when she moved like that. 

His left hand wandered downward from her chest and settled on her hip, slightly digging into her flesh there, but rather than finding it painful, her mind supplied an image of when she’d seen his hands press down there before, in the past. It had never been with the intention of driving her hips tight against his before, but the result was the same. Fay was lost in the sensations, instinct replacing all thoughts and her body just moved of its own accord, encouraged by his hand. 

Fay clutched him, arms around his shoulders and a hand tangled in his hair, as she felt herself climb to a height she’d chased before, on her own, when it had taken far longer to get there. She hadn’t had time for that in several weeks now, and maybe that was why it all felt so intense suddenly, why she reached her peak quicker than she’d expected. 

“Da---Damia--- ah !” His name came out of her mouth in a choked gasp, eyes shutting. Damian’s body tightened under her, and she heard him hiss, his hips moving back against hers. Her thighs quivered around him, as the climax came at her in drugging waves, causing her whole body to contract. The hand on her hip was still guiding her to keep her momentum, and she felt him throb against her core, prolonging her own response before the wetness between them grew bigger. 

Fay’s body was a dead weight against him, her nerves raw and her heart so loud she could hear it beat in her ears. She felt beads of sweat trickle down her spine. Opening her eyes, she could make out the bed and the sheets, but she didn’t really process them. Her mouth felt dry, and there was a happy thrum in her muscles she’d felt before but hadn’t quite felt as satisfying as up until then. Because it had happened with him, because of him, and no wonder people chased that high so often with one another. And it wasn’t even sex. Yet. 

She swallowed, her mouth dry. 

Damian lowered himself back against the bed, taking her with him. One of his hands slid over her back, fingers brushing against the scars and marks there, while the one on her hip settled on her thigh. 

“You---” 

“Y-yes.” She licked her lips, shifting slightly. Her legs felt as if they were made of jelly. “Did you---“

He exhaled. “Yes.” He didn’t say it, but she had brought him over the edge when she climaxed, clutching onto him like that and choking back on his name. It had to be the single most titillating thing he’d ever heard, and he’d spent nights allowing his brain to fantasise about what she might look – sound – feel like after he’d stopped restraining himself from feeling that way. Reality held the higher ground, undoubtedly. There was a sense of power in what they did that made him wonder why he had ever even fought against it. That he could elicit such a reaction from her, that she felt incredible just with a few touches and humping against him, and the way she lost all her self-consciousness, chasing those sensations---that was an addiction in the making, and it was dangerous because the idea of resisting it again was preposterous. 

He’d never quite felt the primal sense of mine, mine, mine as in that moment, and it still had nothing to do with ownership, as much as he wanted them to keep exploring that side. Well. He has always considered empirical research a prime scientific method. 

They both needed to get changed, and likely even take shower, but they weren’t in any rush. Fay managed to find the strength to pull away from him, and he met her gaze. He’d tease her about her flushed face and glazed eyes, but he knew he was in a similar boat. A thought struck him, that he hadn’t seen her face when she’d come and that was something he wanted to see in the future. 

“Are you… always this sensitive?” He murmured, eyes flitting to her chest. Even in the dimly lit room and her shirt, he could make out the round flesh and the hardened nubs poking through the material. 

Fay was shy again, looking away when he raised his eyes back to her. She missed the way his lips curled in a smile. “Um, no. It doesn’t usually feel this… good, not when erm, I do it.” Realising what she’d said, she quickly added, “And sometimes I don’t feel anything, or it's quite painful. I think it’s because my marks are close to---” She gestured towards the area. “—yeah.”

“When you do it.” Because there was no way he was not going to circle back on that. Fay refused to meet his gaze, so he cupped her chin and turned her head. “Really?” He murmured, then he smirked. “That’s why you spend a ridiculous amount of time in the bath.”

The skin under her eye twitched. “N-no. That’s not---” Her shoulders sunk a little, seemingly resigned. “Not… usually. I don’t, uh, do it when you’re around. It’s also a bit weird when I’m near Bag, so---it doesn’t happen often.”

“I don’t have an issue with you doing it when I am around.” He found himself saying, and maybe it was the post-coital haze, but he felt tempted to say far more than that, especially when she stared at him like that. He wanted to know what she was thinking when she was alone and seeking her own pleasure, if she thought about him the way he did about her. He very nearly pointed that out, maybe with a slight sense of vindictiveness for all those times she’d disturbed his moments alone. If he did, they might end up going even further that night and it didn’t feel right. Not yet. 

“You’re terrible.” Fay sighed, fingers brushing against his mouth as if to silence him. 

“Perhaps, but I am clearly excellent at making you orga--”

“Don’t —don’t you dare .”

And because he was a tyrant, he added, “Maybe I should re-evaluate my birthday gifts to you in the future—”

She stared at him horrified. He found it endearing. 

“This—this was not a birthday gift!”

“Perhaps you should re-evaluate your birthday gifts---”

“Shut up!"

He smirked deviously, opening his mouth again. Fay only saw a solution to that, and she slapped a hand over his mouth, but he quickly removed it, as he did the second hand that tried to silence him. 

“Rather moot to be embarrassed about this after I’ve had my hands on your---"

She quickly pressed her lips against his before he said anything further, worried she might actually die of awkwardness. 

In retrospect, that might have been his plan all along. 

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They both slept rather well that night. 

Chapter 83: Of outgrowing

Notes:

Happy Halloween! Providence is officially back, everyone :) Thank you very much for all your patience. As a fellow reader, I know how frustrating it is to wait on a fanfic to be kept on hiatus again and again. Your comments and words of encouragement have been lovely, and I hope I'll make the wait worth it.

Many, many thanks to my Beta-Reader MoonglowOnWater for helping me with my fics -- and for giving me plot pointers, a fresh perspective in addition to the proofreading.

Chapter 83 will be a very long chapter, folks and it will be primarily from Damian's POV. I want to remind you that the rating for this fic has changed to E for Explicit, and to also pay attention the tags :) I am hoping to start posting on a weekly basis, but please bear with me if that may not be possible always. Very soon, I will be posting a recap of the story so far, as well, so keep an eye out for that.

Enjoy! And as always, your comments are most welcome.

Chapter Text

“Growing up is losing some illusions in order to acquire others.”

— Virginia Woolf

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“Where have you been?” 

Damian knew the questions were bound to come. Truth be told, he had anticipated them a lot sooner, but between his father’s trips away and Damian spending time on the island, they had not crossed paths as much. He had spent the last several nights patrolling as Robin and the days over on the island. In the evenings, Fay waited for him at the warehouse, always. In the morning, she’d either be the one to lead them onto the other side or Lira would, at a pre-established time. 

“Where have you been?” Damian retorted, not even bothering to turn around to face his father as he removed his armour vest and placed it inside his locker. A motion he’d done a hundred times over. Much like the routine of going through the decontamination chamber before removing his uniform, unless there were injuries that required Alfred’s purview. At that moment, however, he found himself staring at the stainless steel of his locker and his spare uniform and his tools, finding them simultaneously familiar and foreign. He could recall the distaste he’d once felt for those colours, thinking that Robin - any of them, really - would never last a day in the League. He could also recall re-opening that locker with a different perspective. It wasn’t an overnight change, but the result of months of being Dick’s partner. He’d never stopped taking pride in having been given that role, even when his father had not shared that sentiment. Putting on that outfit had become as natural as the sword felt in his hand. 

But now? Now something has changed again. It was not just the locker. The uniform he’d been putting on every night that week, newly issued by Alfred after he’d taken Damian’s measurements the week before. He had grown another few centimetres, his limbs longer, his shoulders broader. He did not feel out of place, per se, in the uniform. He felt—

Bruce sighed, as he pushed down his cowl. “Dick told me you’ve been training. With Fay.” He paused. “Outside of Gotham.”

It wasn’t a question, so as far as Damian was concerned, there was no response required on his part. He closed the locker, a little harder than necessary and turned around. Bruce had his utility belt in one hand, no doubt checking whether it was fully equipped, but he had ceased all movement to look at him. Damian returned the scrutinising look. His father did not look angry, but the expression on his face clearly said that he was not going to accept any vague answers, nor that he was going to let it go so easily. 

For his ten year old self, that look would have been fuel to the anger that had ruled his heart and head. His sixteen year old self still experienced the anger, but he’d gotten better at keeping it in check. There was a part of him that did resent the glimmer of suspicion in his father’s eyes, the interrogating tone he used. “Is there a problem, father?” He did not have the patience to beat around the bush and instead squashed the temptation to point out that what he did outside of his Robin role was none of his father’s business. 

“Is there?” Bruce remarks calmly. “What is going on, Damian? The secretiveness, you and Fay disappearing for days on end.”

There was also a part of Damian that was tempted to just tell him the truth. Fay thought it would be for the best, mainly because she didn’t want him to be at odds with his father. Damian doubted that would ever not be the case. 

He could tell Bruce. Yes, father, well actually I have been training on a secret island behind a supernatural barrier that you and the Justice League are probably not aware exists. I have been training in ways I haven’t in years, and it feels good

He could also say that he’d been learning the history of a world he knew more about than he’d ever told Bruce. He’d been learning how to use new weapons, and new science and he’d been testing his abilities against a woman that would have been more in place in the League than as a vigilante with the way she fought. He’d been accepted by the people on the island rather effortlessly, at least by those few who were aware of him being there, and when he was not training, he was still developing himself in one way or another. He spent his free time with Fay, and when she was not translating him the knowledge they had in the magical hoard left by her parents, they were sparring. More often than not, those activities ended up with them tentatively exploring each other in ways they hadn’t before. 

He could say all of that and more. Like how there might be an interdimensional enemy out there, in search of mysterious dark paths and most likely responsible for all the trauma Fay had suffered. How Damian had found a mission in all of it. A task. A duty. Not just to protect Fay, or because he was Robin. 

It was aggravating that he had yet to find the right words to encompass all that he was experiencing. On why the locker and the Robin uniform and the cave and even his father suddenly felt foreign. 

No. Not foreign. 

Distant. Faraway. 

Like how the League had felt when he’d briefly returned there after his time in Gotham. 

“I am training.” Damian responded. “In a confidential area. We’ve both been focusing on making progress.” He could add how his stomach was heavy with fizzy heat when he watched Fay fight. How his blood rushed in his veins when they were sparring and she stopped pulling her punches, for both of their sakes. How he’d grown quicker and stronger and learnt to adapt to different fighting styles because she’d also been growing and adapting and learning. How he was always looking forward to the post-sparring care, because they’d gotten into the habit of bathing together. 

He felt no temptation to say any of that. That was for him only to know. And perhaps Fay, if not via words, then when he made no effort to hide the effect she had on him when they were alone. 

“You’ve turned down patrolling while I was away.” 

“I prioritised other things. I don’t see why I should waste my time with low-calibre cases when I could be focusing on my training.” 

Tim had been around more often, partnering up with Dick while he filled Bruce’s place. It wasn’t until that moment that Damian realised he didn’t actually care. While he’d never turn down the opportunity to work with Dick as his partner, Damian hadn’t actually felt that sense of urgency to make sure he was on the frontlines. Not in Gotham. 

Bruce’s raised brow told him he’d come to the same conclusion. “As long as you are Robin, you have a responsibility.” His father said, ultimately. “I agree training is important, but you’ve been disappearing for days at a time, refusing to communicate why or where you are.” 

“Says the man who is constantly away with Justice League affairs.” Damian retorted. 

“Exactly.” Bruce said, dropping the utility belt onto the bench between them. “I know what it is like to be pulled into different directions.”

Damian clicked his teeth. “And your point is?” He knew what the point was. The point was that he’d have to compromise at one point or another. He couldn’t have everything. The same way he couldn’t be both Damian Al Ghul and Damian Wayne, not if his parents had a say in it. 

Except they didn’t. Not anymore. 

Bruce approached him. He was still taller than Damian, but he no longer towered over him. “I want you to talk to me, not feel like you have to hide.” The teenager bristled at that. “If you and Fay are in danger again—”

They might be. They didn’t know what they didn’t know. 

“I am not hiding.” 

Bruce pressed his lips, then exhaled. “Fine.” He said. “Tell me then.”

Damian opened his mouth, then closed it quickly, the words nearly spilling out altogether. Could it be that easy? To talk to his father about everything. He knew Fay hoped for it, but she wasn’t naive enough to think it would go that smoothly. After all, she was keeping plenty of secrets from the rest of her family. 

He didn’t need Batman to come to his aid, or Bruce to solve the mystery of whoever was after the dark paths. Problem was, his father was unlikely to just stop at lending his ear for his son. It was not who he was. 

“We’re just training.” He said, eventually, his mouth dry. “Is it not you who always better to be prepared than fail to prepare? If one waits for the enemy to arrive before preparing, one has already failed.” And it was all the truth. They didn’t know what they were preparing for. 

But they did know what they had to protect, and whom, and what they had to lose. What he would lose if he failed. 

Bruce was not convinced. “Hn.” Then he seemed to take in Damian’s height. “You’ve grown taller. Alfred did say he had to issue a new uniform.”

Ah, yes the uniform. It fit him perfectly, yet it also didn’t, at the same time. 

“Soon, I’ll be taller than you, old man.”

Bruce’s lips twitched. “We’ll see about that.”

Damian showered, got changed and left the cave with something heavy and cold building inside of his stomach, weighing him down. He had wanted to talk to his father, he had had the opportunity. A good one, too, because his father, as scrutinising as he might have been, had been open to the conversation. 

Yet. Yet. 

He couldn’t shake off the sensation all the way back to the warehouse. The place looked almost the same it always did, except the shelves had been partially emptied, gradually, as Fay has been moving books into the hoard to show Titoh or to keep safe. She had to have cleaned the warehouse while he had been out on patrol because all the surfaces were shiny and he felt the scent of lemon permeating the air. 

After checking the perimeter via the cameras, and re-arming the alarm system, he headed upstairs. The warehouse was empty aside from them. Bagheera and the pets were on the island. The paladin generally accompanied them back to Gotham, but his training at the hands of the former Resistance leader was leaving him drained. Damian had heard of Olena and seen her a couple of times on the island, but he had not met her officially. They were still careful about keeping his presence there discreet. 

The door to their bedroom was closed but not locked, and when he stepped in, he found Fay curled up under the light duvet. The main lights were off, the only source of light coming from the strings of fairy lights hanging on the shelves around the TV, which was also off. It was four in the morning, so it was still dark even with the days growing longer. With a few quick clicks on the tablet in his hand, he commanded the smart windows to turn dark. He’d agreed they’d both rest until later in the morning. 

“Damian?” Fay’s voice was laden with sleep, as she shifted around to look at him over her shoulder, watching him place the tablet on the nightstand and remove his shoes. “...are you okay?”

“Yes. No injuries.” He said, as his jacket came off next. The weather in Gotham was incomparable to the tropical temperatures on the island, but the warehouse was warm. In the end, he decided to strip down to his boxers and it had nothing to do with how hot or cold it was. 

Fay turned back, clearly drowsy as he slid into the bed, under the duvet and then he turned off the fairy lights using the remote he found between the pillows. 

He purposefully laid down at an arm’s length from her. Damian counted to thirty before Fay shifted around to peer at him with a look that he knew was scandalised. From the corner of his eyes, he saw her pout lightly, before moving closer to him, so she could press herself against his side. Swung her arm over his chest, one leg over his, smushed her cheek against his shoulder, after pressing her mouth there in a quick, chaste kiss. Her skin was warm and soft, the energy thrummed beneath her skin and she held onto him so tightly he could easily map out her body from sensation alone. 

His right arm fell around her back. With the other he reached for her leg, to bring her knee higher up. He left his hand curled at the back of her knee, fingers stroking the soft skin there. She must have washed her hair because the scent of shampoo was heady, the soft locks tickling his arm and his cheek. Fay was only wearing a pair of shorts, and a tank top that had ridden up slightly, leaving him with a sliver of skin to stroke back and forth with his thumb. 

He was certain she had figured it out by then, but she never said anything about it. 

If she did, he’d deny it wholeheartedly. 

The weight in his stomach was gone. 

.

.

.

Lira Estaris was an adequate fighter. That was the assessment Damian had given her and would insist on. He would rather get stabbed than admit that she was in fact, not adequate. She was far more than that - League of Assassins material, at least in skill if not in behaviour because she remained quite obnoxious, as far as he was concerned. Of course, she was also not entirely human, but that made it more challenging and he loved a challenge. It also put into perspective why Fay had often pointed out to him that the difference between her and her Estaris relatives was obvious, why she’d been at the receiving end of constant comparisons. 

In appearance, Lira came across as human as Fay ever did. In battle, however, it became clear that she was not, particularly when it came to her senses. Lira had given him little to no information on what she was capable of when they’d first started training, the reasoning being that in a real battle, the enemy would not go ahead and list their strengths and weaknesses to him. 

That was fair. Damian had even asked Fay to not volunteer any information on her aunt, at least not any more than she’d told him in the past. After weeks of training with her, he had built a comprehensive profile on her as much as she had on him, but he could tell she hadn’t expected him to be as observant as he was. Or that he’d purposefully set up traps to test out the limits of her abilities and potential blind spots. 

He had to admit, at least to himself, that the genetics of Dragonborns were impressive. The abilities of the likes of Lira could be categorised into two states, as his new trainer had explained herself, albeit that was an oversimplification. 

“Dragonborns generally have heightened senses. The five human ones, and more often than not, they’ll also have other senses that humans normally do not develop, or do very little.” Lira explained. “Which ones are mine?”

“All five general ones are beyond peak human limits, but not at a superhuman level.” Damian had concluded, two weeks in already. “You also possess a heightened perception of incoming threats. Although that could very well be due to experience and training.”

Lira nodded. “Yes. That’s true. As proven by some of your senses—”

All of my—” He started correcting, immediately. 

Some.” Lira cut him off. “You have an excellent sense of hearing for a human, and not a full adult one at that, I’ll give you that. Your sense of visual perception is also at peak performance. However, your sense of smell is limited by only that which you know in terms of scents” Lira crossed her arms over her chest. “You may be able to detect certain poisons or traps by the materials that were used, but you cannot detect chemical changes by smell alone. You don’t know what you don’t know..” 

Damian gritted his teeth, but he didn’t comment. She was right. They both knew it. 

“In the first stage, my senses are heightened, as you’ve sensed. My speed, agility and reflexes are better than most humans, but that doesn’t mean they don’t require training. Conditioning.” Lira continued. 

“What about the second stage?” 

Lira smirked. “That's what you'll learn today.” And that day, for the first time, Damian became aware of the abilities that Lira had. A half-Dragonborn. His pride wouldn’t allow him to call her impressive to her face, but she was. 

Fay had already told him that Dragonborns were born with different abilities, some hereditary, others unique to each individual. Historically, the purer the bloodline, the higher the chances that future generations would be born with strong genes. For the child to have the potential to surpass their parents easily, and set up a new bar. 

Having witnessed what Lira was capable of in the so-called ‘secondary stage’, even Damian could not deny that Fay was right when she mentioned that her aunt could be a very dangerous woman. That she had several decades worth of training despite not looking younger than her mid-twenties also meant that she had expertise. She might be obnoxious, but she had the knowledge and she was willing to share, but has never made it easy for him. Not once. 

That was something Damian could respect. The first three weeks had been spent with Damian figuring out what she was capable of, while she had done the same in return with him. Then they had moved on to completing intensive hand to hand combat, tracking and hunting exercises as well as navigating traps she set up. Lira’s acute sense of scent not only allowed her to track down people easily - like a dog, a remark that had earned him a broken nose later that day - but she was very in-tune with people’s emotional states. Not quite like Bagheera, who was an empath through and through, but her senses were heightened enough that she could detect physiological changes. 

The only other person he’d met who has made it difficult for him to hide anything was Cassandra, and his foster sister was all human, unlike Lira (which made Damian appreciate her ability all the more). Lira’s senses were, however, not the highlight of the second stage, although all of her abilities were amplified then. 

Baije told him once that Lira was considered one of the finest hunters in Maysoon and beyond. He’d never admit it outloud, and he was still sceptical about that statement, but he could see how she might have achieved that reputation. 

“Hn.” Damian crossed his arms over his shoulders, watching the man use a whetstone to sharpen one of the blades they’d found in the hoard. “I’ve seen her in the second stage.” He remarked. “With abilities like that, she wouldn’t have been just a hunter.”

Baije smiled, but it was rueful and his eyes were despondent. “Aye, she wouldn’t have been. Not in the old regime.” 

A killer. She would have been a killer. She was a killer. Her abilities offered her a perfect toolset to be an assassin and an excellent one at that.

“That’s why you agreed to train me, didn’t you?” Damian said apropos of nothing, a few days later while he was bandaging one of his arms. Second-stage Lira had claws that could slice through human flesh like a hot knife through butter. She’d only nicked him, but it was possible he was going to need at least a couple of stitches. Fay was not going to be happy. “Because you were raised to be a killer as well.”

Lira stared at him unimpressed. “Don’t speak of things you know nothing about.” 

He might have hit a nerve. He was tempted to keep poking at that nerve.

“It makes sense, though.” He continued. “With your abilities, with what you’ve shown me so far. But you’re different from the others. Not like Damar, and the other one.” Aryg. Damian disliked him too much to give him the honour for his name to leave his mouth. “You’re half-human, like Fay.” Yet also not like Fay. “She said you’re decades old, which means you would have grown up in Maysoon before the Resistance began its major operations or had any big wins.” 

Damian was really good at reading body language, too. He knew he was crossing a line from the way the woman’s eyes grew colder, the silver making her look steely. But he was curious. Why she’d changed, if she was doing it out of sentimentalism because she believed they were anything alike. And if that was true, then what? Damian couldn’t say he wanted to have a heart to heart about his childhood with her. He might have grown to respect her, but he didn’t fully trust her. 

“Half-breeds were frowned upon, or persecuted or treated as lesser than.” Damian continued. “Yet you were one of the royals.”

Lira raised a brow. “Is there a question, brat? Or are you just trying to show off thinking you know everything?”

“Why did you say yes?” 

“Why did you feel compelled to convince me how much of a killer you were raised to be?” Lira asked calmly. “That you lived a life that children shouldn’t.”

Something cold trickled into his veins. Damian schooled his surprise away before it fully formed, not quite expecting her to say that, out of all things. The ire building up in her eyes was gone, replaced by something far more weary, an emotion that bellied her age and life’s experiences. 

Aggravatingly enough, he couldn’t read her. What she was seeing when she was looking at him. If it was pity or compassion or she was empathising with him. 

“I am who I am.”

Lira smiled. He’d never seen a more striking physical resemblance between her and Fay until that moment. They both looked the same when they were sad, except Lira kept the emotion more at bay. 

“Yeah.” She said, with a nod, uncrossing her arms. Damian’s brows furrowed. “I should hope we don’t have that much in common, though.” Lira uncrossed her arms and turned away, to grab the sword impaled in the tree trunk behind her. He’d only just managed to make a couple of cuts in her shirt the entire morning. “We are all who we are, kid.” 

Then she told him to strap the weights onto his wrists and ankles, and jog laps around one of the small islands they’d been training on until sun went down or legs gave out. 

He had walked himself into that one. 

Thelion Orivel. Prodigious oldest son of the Orivel clan, one of the twelve ruling families of Maysoon. Mild-mannered, highly-educated, highly intelligent and talented enough to be one of the youngest individuals ever to be accepted into one of the royal warrior guilds. They were old, traditional and prestigious - prized and admired the way an Ivy League college was in that world. 

Or at least that was how Fay had described it all. Damian had rolled his eyes at her, not particularly impressed with how impressed she was. She spoke highly of the Orivel family in general, pointing out that they had been close allies and friends to her parents, having been amongst the first clans to switch allegiance. 

She had also failed to mention something else about the relationship between the two families. Titoh was more than happy to share, most likely as an attempt at retribution for the amount of mockery Damian subjected him to. 

“The Orivel family suggested a union, you know.” Titoh said in a not-so-casual way, as he plopped down next to Damian on one of the stone seats. They were back in the field where they’d watched Fay and Klaus go against Kaera, except this time it was just them in the audience and Fay was training with Klaus only, Thelion overseeing it. “I always did think they’d be bound to court.” Titoh continued. “Fay had the biggest crush on him.”

Damian already knew that. Fay had told him after all. Just as she told him that Thelion had been amongst the few who had been genuinely kind to her after the war, who hadn’t treated her as a failure. Just as she’d told him that she had long outgrown her crush, and merely admired him as an individual. Titoh trying to bait him into feeling jealous was fruitless. Damian held no doubt about where Fay’s affections laid, nor was he so insecure to think Thelion would ever have any claim to her heart. 

But to Titoh’s credit, Damian had not been particularly forgiving of him even if the boy had proven that he was no longer the same foolish child who had hurt his sister years earlier. 

“I know you and Fay are… a thing.” Titoh said finally, looking a little disturbed. 

Damian smirked. “Yes, well, you wouldn’t if you hadn’t interrupted us so that’s on you.” The statement had the effect he had hoped for, as Titoh’s cheeks turned a dark shade of pink. 

“Are you—” The boy looked scandalised, then whatever he wanted to ask he decided against with a shake of his head. “You know what. I don’t want to know.” He looked out into the field where Thelion approached both Klaus and Fay to talk to them. “You know, if this was Maysoon, you wouldn’t be able to just court her.”

“Is that so.” Damian said, his tone bored. 

“You’d have to prove yourself first.” Titoh said. “You might even be challenged by other suitors, or family members. I bet Thelion would be one of the people you’d go against.” 

Damian didn’t react, his eyes on Fay the entire time. He did like watching her move, how dangerous she could be when she put her mind and heart into it. 

“This is a pathetic attempt.” He remarked. “A cowardly way, truly, to try and get under my—”

“I am not.” Titoh’s tone had changed. “Okay, maybe when I said Fay had a crush on him, I did. But I am not. That’s not why I am bringing this up.” 

Damian exhaled and clicked his teeth in irritation. “Get on with it or get out of my face before I throw you off.” And he would. Titoh would know by then he’d absolutely follow through with that threat. 

“I am not particularly convinced of you.” Titoh said bluntly. “But I don’t think you are a bad person. A jackass, and dangerous, yes. But my sister is happy. I haven’t seen her this happy since we were children—or close to that, anyway, considering everything that’s going on.”

Damian glanced at him from the corner of his eyes. Titoh was looking at the arena, his hands in his lap, face set in a serious expression. 

“One day.” He paused. “One day, we’ll go home. I don’t miss Maysoon that much, to be honest, but I think Fay does. One day, we’ll go back, temporarily or not. The way things are going—it’s impossible we won’t, right? What with the mystery of the dark paths, and this invisible enemy, and what’s going on in our homeland with the suspicion and conspiracy theories—” Titoh closed his eyes, and sighed loudly. “My point is that Fay won’t just turn her back on it. Not unless we solve this. I wish—I wish she could, so she didn’t have to worry.” He opened his eyes and glanced down. “But let’s be real. The reason we’re all training this hard—we’re preparing for a battle. Or for something big, anyway.”

Titoh reached beside him to grab the hat he’d been carrying around, and place it on top of his head. The sun was high in the sky and merciless on his fair skin. 

“If Fay goes back—you’ll go with her, right?” Titoh asked. “This isn’t just—just fun for you?” There was something accusatory in his tone, but it clearly came from a place of affection for Fay. “Because she’s from another world and maybe somewhat exotic and—”

“That’s ridiculous.” Damian cut him off, tasting bile at the assumption that Fay represented something so shallow and fleeting. Titoh couldn’t possibly understand the bond they had, he hadn’t been there to witness what they had been through since they were twelve. “Be careful about what you’re trying to imply, you fool.” He added acidly. 

Titoh looked at him, Damian could feel his gaze but didn’t award him eye contact. The idiot was making him miss Fay’s sparring with Klaus. 

“You don’t get it, do you?” Titoh said, annoyedly. “Back home, there’s many people who see Fay not as Fay, but as their daughter. The clan might have disowned her from being heir, but I think—I think there’s still expectations around it. From the public maybe. Fay will always have expectations and—and burdens.” He said emphatically. 

Damian rolled his eyes. “And your point is?”

“Don’t make her think you’ll be there for her if you can’t face all of that.” Oh, the nerve of the little worm. Damian’s head snapped towards the other boy, eyes flashing. Titoh had enough self preservation to recognise the danger he was tempting out, tensing visibly but he did not back down. He met Damian’s murderous gaze. “If Fay wants to move back permanently, will you?” Titoh continued hotly. “You’re a hero and a warrior in this place, aren’t you? But you’d be nobody in our world. You’d have to prove yourself, you know. You’d have to earn your place.”

“Says you? How have you proven yourself?” Damian snarled. “By throwing her to the wolves?”

Titoh flinched slightly, and remorse shined in his eyes. “For Fay’s sake.” He said, finally. “Whatever burdens, whatever battles, whatever awaits her—I think Fay will find a way to surpass them. In her own way. But she’ll also have to deal with a lot of shit from other people if we go back home. That’s what will await you as well—if you really care about her,” Titoh said vehemently. “Then don’t make her think she can rely on you.”

“You know nothing about me.” Damian said icily. 

“If Fay chooses Maysoon, even for a period of time, how will you be in two worlds?” Titoh challenged him. “If you go with her, how will you prove you’re worthy of her when you still know so little of our world? What if you don’t want to leave and she does?” Damian’s mouth twisted in a sneer. “What if you have to choose between that guild of yours here or whatever it is, and her?” 

“Mind your own business. Or I will make you.”

Titoh snorted and got up. “I made mistakes, some of which I will never forgive myself for.” He said, glancing down at the arena again. “But I will not let anything bad happen to her again if I can help it.” 

Then he stormed off, leaving Damian with rage singing in his veins and a desire to maim something - him preferably - stronger than he’d felt in a long time. Titoh should count himself fortunate that he had not gotten several broken bones only because Damian did not wish to upset Fay. 

“What if you have to choose?”

.

.

.

“I would kick you but Moma will kick me if I open your stitches.” 

Damian grunted, and tactically looked away. Not because he was avoiding Fay’s gaze, of course not. Even without meeting her eyes, however, he could feel how angry she was with him. The water in the glass pitcher to his left, on the table, was boiling, bubbles forming on top. He could feel the vibrations of energy, it was like standing next to a live wire. 

Like she had room to talk, given weeks earlier, she had been half-dead after pushing herself in that match. He told her as much. 

“This is not the same.” He scoffed, then bit the inside of his cheek because the motion jostled him in a way that made him ache all over. It wasn’t pain he hadn’t felt before, but it had been a while since he’d been that battered. The old hag had lathered him in pungent herbs, stitched and bandaged him up then pinched his cheek, calling him a ‘foolish boy’. In the cot across from him, behind a drawn curtain, Thelion was unconscious. Moma hadn’t healed him either, but he was bound to recover fast, him not being human and all. Of course, Damian had asked not to be healed by Corim.

“What has gotten into you?” Fay asked. 

He would rather bleed out than admit that Titoh’s words had been percolating his mind constantly, like an insidious virus, giving voice to thoughts he had been pushing away. And with thoughts came emotions, roiling angrily inside of him, contradicting and distracting. 

A good sparring match had always managed to help clear his head. Of course, if that was all he’d wanted, he could have asked Lira. Or Fay. Or gone back to Gotham, and asked Dick except no, he and Fay weren’t an option since they were both able to tell that he wasn’t trying to blow off steam. Lira might not have cared enough to ask but again, he didn’t trust her enough to allow her to detect how he felt. 

So he’d challenged Thelion. Damian was rather indifferent to him but the blonde warrior personified all the questions that kept ringing in his mind. Titoh had asked him what he’d do if he had to prove himself in Fay’s world, and was there a better way of testing that out than fighting one of Maysoon’s golden children? He’d made it clear to Thelion that if they fought, they’d do so with little to no rules. Not a deathmatch, but they would not stop until one of them was knocked out or incapable of carrying on. 

Damian had not expected to end up fighting for nearly seventy hours, but neither had Thelion and by the end of it, they had come to appreciate each other’s abilities. Thelion was a talented swordsman, but so was Damian. They were both strategic, they had both spilled blood in the past, and they both had been raised to be skilled in more than just a few combat arts. Thelion had the Dragonborn genetics to his advantage - eyesight in particular, but Damian had been raised by the League of Assassins. By Talia herself. As proven in those three days, it still meant something, even against a warrior from another world. 

It ended with a tie. Not the outcome he wanted, but it was enough for the time being. It answered some of the questions in his mind, it assuaged his pride. There were other questions the fight had not answered, however. 

“Damian.” 

He met her gaze. “I was merely testing the effectiveness of your aunt’s training.” He said. “Isn’t that what you did weeks ago?” 

“All of a sudden?” Fay asked, brows raising. She wasn’t convinced. That was how well she knew him. “Is that the only reason?”

No. “What reason would there be?” It was not a discussion he wanted to have there, in that healer’s hut, with Thelion in one cot and Moma across the room. 

Fay’s mouth pressed in a tight line. He could tell she could tell he was lying, but the way she glanced around the room also let him know she understood he was not going to be very open there. 

But she was upset and it left him with a bitter taste at the back of his throat. He had been angry when she’d hurt herself during that match, he could not blame her for feeling concerned. That was the price for allowing someone so close. He shifted his hand, knocking his bandaged knuckles against her arm leaning on the edge of the bed as she stood in a chair beside his cot. Her eyes flitted down, then back up to his face. The tension in her mouth and jaw lessened, and her brows weren’t as knitted together. 

“Please let Corim heal you.” She said eventually, before standing up. Her fingers brushed against his, briefly intertwining before she pulled her hand away. “I am going to train with Bagheera.” 

“Hn.” 

He watched her go. 

Moma was staring at him, and he looked at her, feeling her gaze. She looked amused. 

“Something funny, old woman?”

She shook her head. 

“You remind me of someone.” She said, “Another foolish boy.” 

.

It wasn’t planned, but they ended up recreating the… session they’d had that evening in her chambers. He was sixteen years old and he was enamoured with his best friend, which made for an aggravating combination. To say he liked to kiss her was redundant, an oversimplification of the way his insides burned when she touched him. What she felt like against him, what she smelled like, the sounds she made. He had no reason to discipline himself away from his urges unless the situation called for it. In those moments, though, when it was just the two of them, he was free of such constraints. 

They had found a secluded spot on one of the northern islands. It was so small they could walk around the entire island in under two hours but it was lush with vegetation and a terrific waterfall cascading into a pool they’d started using as a meeting point. They only ever had that level of privacy back in Gotham, but their time was generally limited. Fay spent hours researching, or just sleeping off her exhaustion, and he was balancing patrol duty and Lira’s training. His father had made no further inquiries, perhaps because they had a full house, to put it so and there hadn’t been any threats that required all of their attention. 

When they’d agreed to meet at the pool that morning, it had been with the purpose of talking. They had not done much of that lately, even Damian had felt its absence. If they talked, however, they were bound to eventually touch upon the subject of his father, and the secrets they kept and why he’d decided to challenge Thelion the way he had. He knew Fay would ask. 

And he was prepared to discuss if she insisted. 

Then he took a good look at her, and all ideas of talking went out of the window. He hadn’t kissed her in three days, which shouldn’t have felt like a long time, but it did. He took consolation in the fact that she clearly felt the same, judging by how enthusiastically she responded. He lost his shirt first, and then she did, leaving her in her sports bra and shorts. Damian kissed every single bruise that littered her body, then doubled over again for good measure before he left a few of his own on her neck and shoulders. 

It wasn’t the worst way to start the day, truly. Fantastic, actually. 

Up until the moment he’d made the mistake of pulling her back on top. It wasn’t the position per se, especially since he had a magnificent view in his opinion. Damian was not sure when his mind had blanked out completely in a hazy fog of arousal and sensation. Maybe when he’d encouraged Fay to return his ministrations, so she’d started kissing at his neck, leaving a couple of hickeys of her own. Or maybe it was the way the sun brought out the auburn shade in her hair, more noticeable amongst the chestnut brown now that she spent more time in the sun. Or maybe it had been her hand sliding down his stomach. When they had last been in that position, it had been in the dark in her chambers and they had both been exhausted, but sexually frustrated enough to not bother with much prelude. That morning, out in the open like that, he had a very clear view of what she looked like straddling him like that, her strong thighs on each side of his hips, the curve of her hips and the dip of her waist. How the shorts she was wearing, tight and dark, allowed him to see exactly where she was pressed against him. 

There was no way she hadn’t felt his erection, given she had inadvertently grinded against it, and that was perhaps where logic had failed him. As had his self-control, which as it turned out, was not as good as it was in other situations. Unfortunately, it was not much better than that of any other teenage male finding himself in that position. 

He was not sure how long it had taken, but it was a shamefully small amount of time, and he’d been so wrapped up in the sensation, he had not even tried to hold back. Her mouth was on his neck, and he could feel how soft her breasts were even underneath the sports bra because their chests were pressed together. His hands had somehow ended up on her ass and hip, feeling the way she moved against him. 

Humiliatingly enough, he hadn’t even lasted as long as he did when he sought his own release and he came so hard that his brain tripped on itself, reconciling that yes, he had just done that, and yes, it barely took anything, you weakling. And yes, Fay absolutely could tell because he’d snapped his hips up against her and his hands had dug deeper into her hip. The sound that had formed at the back of his throat hadn’t left his mouth, he refused to allow that, but with how close she was, there was no way she hadn’t heard his breath hitching or felt him tense up. 

The post-orgasm haze still lingered, but he did not give into it, pulling himself into a sitting position even before he realised what he was doing. His trousers - dark, thankfully - were wet and sticky at the front, and the shame that filled him was acidic, giving him heartburn. His ears and cheeks felt red, but he blamed them on the sun, as weak an excuse that was. 

“Damian—” Fay was still on his lap, and her hands had moved to his shoulders. “Are—are you okay?” 

No. He was most certainly not. 

His body was thrumming, and when she shifted away from him, he felt an electrifying jolt go down straight between the apex of his thighs. 

“Hey—” Fay placed her hands on his face, trying to get him to tilt his head so he could look at her, but he refused. 

Damian covered her hands with his and gently removed them. “I—-” He wanted to apologise, but saying sorry made it all real. He swallowed. Once. Twice. “F-forgive me.” He said instead. Because if there was anything worse than how little it took to make him come undone, it was the idea that Fay had not gotten anything out of it, he was sure of it. She wasn’t the only one who did her research. He knew that women had a harder time orgasming, and she’d admitted as much two weeks earlier. That evening was likely to have been an exception. 

“What for?” Fay pried her hands out of his and reached to his face again. “I should be the one apologising.” 

This time, he did look up, genuinely confused. “What?” 

Fay’s face was flushed, her lips swollen and red. She had a hickey on the left side of her jaw, and her pupils were dilated. She looked embarrassed. “I, uh… maybe we should have paused? You didn’t say pause, so I thought you—-sorry.” Her hands dropped from his face, and she slid her arms around his shoulders. Her head dipped forward. “You always ask if I want to pause. I should have to.”

What.

“You—” He blinked, bewildered. “You think it’s your fault?”

Fay hid her face in his neck. “I thought you… liked that?” She said very quickly, and very quietly, clearly embarrassed. “I mean, you seemed to like that last time, and I thought it felt good and—and when you made us switch positions, I thought you—-you wanted that.” 

Oh, he had wanted to. So much he’d lost perspective. 

“You… were trying to—” His mouth was very, very dry. “--to please me?” 

“Um.” Fay made a noise. “Yeah? I–I should have asked.” 

Damian snorted, then propped his forehead against her shoulder. Here they were. Fay feeling perpetually like something is her fault, and him feeling his pride was in tatters. How fitting for them. 

“Did… Did I do it wrong?”

He chuckled darkly against her shoulder. “What do you think?”

“Then why did you—” Fay tilted her head towards him. “---you seemed angry.”

He nuzzled her neck. “I was. I am.” He said against her neck, busying himself with the soft skin there while trying to find the right words. I don’t want to fail you. In any way. “Out of the two of us, only one had…” He swallowed. “...their needs met.” 

Fay was silent for a few seconds, then pulled away, tugging him from her neck with a hand in his hair. 

“Oh. Because you—” Her brows furrowed. “---and I didn’t—” Then she shrugged. “So what?” 

The skin under his eye twitched. “You idiot. Why are you so blasé about this?” Fay just stared at him, surprised. Could she really not understand it? Fay couldn’t possibly think her pleasure didn’t matter. That it should come second. 

“Damian—”

“Who do you take me for?” He wasn’t angry at her, really. He was angry she wasn’t angry and he wasn’t sure what to do with that. With the level of understanding she always gave him, yet still managed to surprise him. “Do you expect me to be as—as weak as idiots out there who can’t even summon a modicum of self-control—”

“Hey—”

“--because frankly, I find it offensive that you would prioritise my needs in this manner, as if I would ever find it acceptable—”

“Erm, Damian.” 

“---to be in a partnership that is so unbalanced—mphf.”

Fay pressed her mouth against his, swallowing the rest of his tirade. She might have learned that tactic from him. Stubbornly, and mostly out of pride, he tried to pull away, but Fay didn’t allow him. She didn’t press too hard, either, but the way she cupped his face and threaded her fingers through his hair was so tender that he relented. There was silent acceptance in that kiss. She wasn’t angry even if he was, and she wasn’t taking his words personally because she knew him well enough to know they weren’t actually directed at her. 

He couldn’t finish his polemic, so he focused his energy into the kiss instead. Could she feel it? How much did he want her? How much he wanted to be worthy of her, and for her to never look at him as anything less than how she did then? Damian stroked his tongue against her one more time before pulling away, both a little breathless in the end. 

“I wanted to… please you because I wanted to.” She said, “That’s all. This wasn’t… about prioritising. Or a test.” She kissed the tip of his nose, then his left cheek. “Remember that day when you were hard on yourself because you thought being attracted to me—and me finding out—bothered you? Because you are used to having control over everything.” She pecked his mouth, then moved to his other cheek. “I am sorry to tell you,” She smiled a little. “But you really don’t. Not over everything. No one does. But you do over the things that matter—like training.” She kissed his forehead, then chose different spots across his face. “I don’t need you to control… yourself or things like this. When it’s us. I just need you to be… with me. That’s all.”

Damian relaxed against her, and pressed his forehead against hers.

“I know something is bothering you.” Fay murmured. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it yet. But please stop–stop treating me as if I am so easily disappointed.” She frowned a little. “If—if our roles were reversed, um, now, would you feel disappointed in me?”

No. Never. Never. 

“Statistically speaking, women reach orgasm only—”

Damian.

“No.” He said simply. “No.” He shook his head as his hands roved up and down her back. “I do not wish for this to be… how it is.”

“I don’t think it will be.” Fay stroked his cheek with her thumb. “This is really new, and—honestly, I am unsure about a lot of things. Not about you. Or um, doing this with you. It’s just… new, that’s all.” She said, “It does make me nervous.”

“You did not seem nervous.”

“Mh-hm. Well, I always think that—” She shrugged. “---it’s Damian. It’s him, and everything will be fine because it’s him, so I don’t feel nervous after. I know I can always pause, and I will probably still be very embarrassed, but… we also have time. And we can just talk or try again.” She smiled shyly. “Right?”

Right. 

He smiled, and he liked the way her eyes grew a little wider, the way she stared at him when he did, her pupils dilating a little again. 

Fay beamed at him. 

“Please don’t hide from me.” Fay wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly. “I see you.” 

Don’t ever stop. 

.

.

.

“Boy, what did I tell you about touching stuff without my permission?”

“That was already on me, so what difference does it make?” Damian retorted, giving the pale green salve in the clay pot a pointed look. He had put his finger in it, curious about its texture, while waiting for the woman to come back to her study. Moma generally worked from one of the healer’s huts, but it could not hold a candle to the amount of resources she had in her office in the temple-like residence. The walls were lined with shelves and cabinets, and those in turn were full of all manner of containers - baskets and storage drawers and pantry bins and tubs accompanied by bowls and jars, in such a variety that the room could have been used for an expo. 

The space was permeated by a heady scent of herbs and ointments, and depending where he stood, the smell changed flavours from fruity and sweet to woody or floral. A large wooden table took up most of the space in the middle of the room, chock full of apothecary equipment, albeit everything was in perfect order. Wooden chests stacked up in towers full of potions and salves, pestle and mortars of different sizes and materials, jars and glass bottles, tea strainers and cheesecloths, tincture bottles and beeswax paper. 

The salve he’d been looking at was in a small ceramic bowl on the office desk near the window across from the entrance. He had taken a seat in the swivel chair. From the window, he had a great view of the village in the distance, as well as the beach and the horizon of the ocean stretching in the distance. 

Moma grunted, and then kicked him lightly with her cane. “Out of my chair, boy.” He did as he was told, without complaint, noting the way her hand gripped her cane. 

The woman sat down and propped her cane against the desk. She waved Damian off when she noticed him stare at her in a scrutinising manner. “Just the damn weather.” She said, “A storm is coming. My bones can feel it.” 

Damian sat down in the chair in front of her desk. “I’ve studied the chapters you gave me, and two additional ones.” He announced, with no small amount of pride. 

Moma smirked. “Only two?” Damian scowled at her. That only seemed to further her amusement as she rifled through the papers on her desk. She was meant to quiz him. History, geography, politics. Mostly Maysoon, sometimes they’d go beyond, but for the time being she wanted him to focus on her homeland. But before she could start on that, Damian had some questions of his own to pose. 

“How did he do it?” He asked, causing Moma to raise a brow at him. “How did he come back after turning against his family? On Maysoon?”

“Fay has not told you?”

“Fay only knows what she knows.” For one, she had been born long after Damar had turned his back on his own clan, only to be the one to lead to their downfall. Relatively speaking. The Estaris still held power and wealth and influence, they were just subject to an oversight system now, as all the other clans now. 

“Have I not given you enough translations to read?” Moma huffed. “If you have too much time on your hands, I can have you reorganise my herbs.” 

Damian ignored the threat. “The translations don’t contain first-hand accounts, last I checked.”

“First-hand accounts aren’t everything.” 

Damian scowled. “Are you going to answer the question or not?”

Moma stared at him patiently. “Tell me why you want to know and I will.” 

Pride made him get up from the chair. “Forget it.” Then, as he was about to walk away, Titoh’s words rang loudly in his brain again. Damian stopped, his back to the woman. “He was the golden child, was he not?” Damian said eventually, turning around. He shoved his hands in his pockets and schooled his expression into an impassive one. 

“If he’d stayed, even if he held a different philosophy than his predecessors, he could have had all the power they did and more. He could have changed the law and gained the favour of the people.” Damian looked past the woman out the window. “I read the history books. They’re not painting the whole picture, are they? He made himself public enemy number one, and had to start anew on rebuilding his… himself. Why?”

Moma looked momentarily surprised, then just curious. “You truly think it would have been an easier path had he chosen to stay and be the change he wanted from the inside?”

Damian stepped back towards the desk to take a seat again. “Perhaps not. He would have had more power, but also more constraints.” He debated. “Still, what made him choose? There was a time when he was loyal.”

Moma inclined her head in assent. “Damar started feeling disillusioned with the way the clan behaved from a young age, but he did not have the power to change anything, no matter how talented he was. He did actually believe that, once. What you said. That if he is the best, that if he reaches the top - then he’ll be able to achieve it all. No one would contest the changes he wished to make if he’s the most respected, the most powerful.” 

“What changed?”

“He learned that he didn’t know as much as he thought he did.”

“How?” Damian prodded. “He went from being the golden child to the one who betrayed them all, and later killed his own kin.” 

Moma fixed him with a long look. 

“Do you know what they called her? The last monarch of Maysoon.”

“The Mad Empress.” 

“Hm. Do you know why?”

“There are different theories in those books you’ve given me.” Damian commented. “Most of them, however, speak of the Evnei. It’s the price a Dragonborn pays, is it not? Power in exchange for humanity.”

“Correct.” Moma pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “I have not been alive long enough to see what that woman was like as a child, but I saw enough. Greed. Cruelty. An indomitable will and frightening ambition. That is what she was made of.” Moma crossed her hands over her stomach. “There’s a common belief amongst many in Maysoon – and beyond - that she was born mad. Savagery and a thirst for power have been characteristic of Dragonborn for many years, to the point it was synonymous with being one.” 

“Hn.”

“I was put in charge of Damar when he was still quite young. By our worlds’ standards, anyway.” Moma said. “I was close enough to his mother to see that while she may have loved her offspring, it was a dark and twisted kind of love—if it could be called that.” She sighed. “Her influence was insidious.”

“For some less.” Damian piped up.

Moma smiled ruefully. “Yes and no. Damar was indeed her favourite.”

“Because of his prodigious skill?”

“Because he was malleable.”

Damian blinked in surprise. “What?”

“From a young age, he was a calm child. Hardly ever cried as an infant, much less as a child. Years ahead in maturity, and very curious.” Moma’s smile widened slightly, looking nostalgic. “To her, he was perfect because he was the flesh and blood embodiment of Dragonborn power - her power. She saw herself in him more than in her other children.”

Damian scoffed. “An opinion she most certainly regretted, I am sure.”

“Damar was curious, but he placed duty and responsibility above his own needs. When I was first assigned to him, I expected tantrums and arrogance, and misuse of the power he was given.” She scoffed to herself. “He came across as cold. I truly did believe he lived up to what was said of his kind.”

“But?”

Moma’s corner of the mouth lifted, eyes full of mirth. “As soon as we were alone, he asked me whether I could tell him stories. Of the previous clan members I served across Maysoon, and my travels and how knowledgeable I am.” 

“Stories.” 

“Mh-hm.” Moma nodded. “He studied, but he did not limit himself to what was expected of him, and not because it might make him a better soldier one day. He wanted to know things many in his circle dismissed as beneath them.” She paused, only to ask Damian to pour some water from the pitcher on the table a few feet away. The teenager acquiesced quietly, and it wasn’t until she drank half the glass that she spoke again. “He wanted to know why people lived the way they did, in Maysoon and beyond; but he also loved the clan. He became acquainted with death very early on in his life. Killing, seeing others do it.”

“That was not what made him turn.”

Moma’s expression darkened. “He was a killer already before that happened.”

“There’s something else, isn’t it?” Damian pushed. “Something happened.”

“He had a choice to make, in the end.” Moma said. “Be like those before him, or be different.”

.

.

.

“He criticises me for keeping secrets from him, but he’s been disappearing on JLA affairs every few weeks with no explanation.” Damian growled. “I’ve been far more present as Robin than he has as Batman—” As my father. “---so he doesn’t get to accuse me of anything.”

Dick stared at him. “D.”

What.”

“Weren’t you the one who was fine with Tim covering you?”

The boy bristled. Dick half-expected him to start hissing like a cat. “Drake is acting as if he’s Robin,” He spat. “I said that there’s no need for me to be here for low-calibre operations when I could be focusing on my training. If father actually cared about my development, he’d understand why that’s more important.”

Dick sighed, and reached to brush a hand through his hair. “Okay, D–let’s just—” He gestured for the boy to come take a seat on the bench next to him. Otherwise he would keep pacing back and forth across the infirmary like a lion in his cage. Damian very reluctantly did so, but he sat close enough to Dick that the older man could place a hand on his shoulder, so that was a good sign. 

“Let’s leave Bruce aside for a second, shall we.” He said lightly. “For the past months, you and Fay have been disappearing for days on end. I know we discussed this—us three, Fay and I. I understand why the secrecy, even if I don’t fully agree with it.” He continued. “Especially since you both know you have people you can trust here.” 

Damian scowled, but he didn’t comment. 

“Does it really bother you that Bruce changed the order in which we should be contacted for an emergency?” 

“Were you not listening?” Damian asked in a clipped tone.

“Yes. But is it really a problem?” Dick asked. “You said it yourself. Training is a priority - wherever and with whoever it is taking place. Fay is another and whatever it is you two are working on.” He paused. “That doesn’t mean you slacked on your Robin duties, but you’re not just focusing on that anymore, are you?”

Damian looked down, his scowl morphing into something a little more conflicted. “So what?” He asked hotly, albeit in a lower tone. “Father isn’t just one thing. You aren’t either. You are Nightwing, you are Batman in my father’s absence, you guide and train the Titans, you support the JLA.” His eyes flashed accusingly. “I can very well be more than just Robin.” 

“Then why are you so angry about it?”

Damian opened his mouth, then quickly shut it. I don’t know. His hands clenched in his lap, so tightly the blood left his knuckles, turning them pale. 

“I–” Damian inhaled sharply. He crossed his arms over his chest, but he didn’t relax, his back straight and shoulders tense. 

“There was a time when I felt conflicted too.” Dick said. “About whether or not I’ve outgrown Robin. And by default, being Bruce’s partner.” 

“Do you regret it?” Damian asked, ultimately. “That it ended when it did?”

Dick chuckled. “Well, for one I was fired, so it wasn’t a choice.” His smile faded a little, but he did not look resentful or angry. “When I started leading the Titans, I was constantly compared to him. Much like you, I also felt there were times when he could have trusted me more. In the end, he made the decision for me – I can’t say I was happy about it. Did I think he was fair the way he went about it? Absolutely not, especially since it happened after a pretty dangerous mission that nearly cost my life.” Dick shrugged. “In the end, it was for the best. I did not struggle taking on the Nightwing persona—so it was time.” 

Damian mulled that over. “I know all about the story of how you came to adopt that name, Grayson and where it came from.”

“Yeah, but you don’t know how I became Nightwing. Fully, I mean.” Dick smiled. “Putting on a new mask is the easy part. The hard part is figuring out what it represents. We define it, in the end.” 

Except Bruce, perhaps. Batman defined Bruce. Batman was his first persona, and Bruce was second. 

“You’re thinking of quitting Robin.” 

There. Out loud. Said, and impossible to un-say. 

“Are you worried about what Bruce will think?”

Damian doubted Bruce would be angry. Disappointed, maybe. He was bound to find another Robin, was he not? It was what he did.

“I don’t really care whether he approves or not.”

Dick squeezed his shoulder. “If it feels right to you.” He approved. “We will always be your family, D. I will.” 


“Hn.” Thank you. 

Dick lifted his hand, but didn’t remove it. Instead he brushed his knuckles against the column of Damian’s neck, where the fading bruise was half-hidden by the collar of his shirt. The older man grinned. “Training, is it, huh?” He asked teasingly. “The sparring sessions must be quite challenging.” 

Damian ignored how warm his ears felt and he swatted the man’s hand away. “A rake such as yourself does not occupy the moral high ground here.” 

“Mh-hm.” Dick was unfazed. “Perhaps it is time.” He said sagely, eyes glinting with mischief.

Excuse me.”

“That we had the talk.” The man’s grin widened. “As your older brother—”

The blade was at his neck in a split second. 

Dick couldn’t say he hadn’t seen that coming. Unfortunately, puberty and girls had done nothing to mollify his younger brother’s temper. 

.

.

.

****

It was by any means uncharacteristic of him to be in that position. In such a state, no less. The jungle oasis that he and Fay had nothing short of laid claim to was located in the middle of the small northern island, landmarked by a waterfall. The body of water that it fell into formed a natural bathing spot approximately as long as an olympic size pool but narrower. 

Behind him, he had the waterfall, which hid a small cave one could access by swimming under the gushing water. The deepest point of the pool was towards that area, just a little over two metres with most of the pool not going further than 1.80 metres. There was a particularly shallow area in the middle, around the boulder he was leaning against where the water barely reached his waist. If he leaned back against the curved side of the boulder, which he was currently, he was exposed just past his hips. Before him, Damian had a view of the rich flora of the surrounding area, and he was partially sheltered by the sun by the towering trees and their thick foliage. 

It truly was an oasis. Even with the sun making a threatening appearance above his head, the water was relatively cool, especially in the shaded areas. The occasional breeze played with the flowers and leaves above his head, working in tandem with the sounds of birds and small animals scurrying on the branches to create a tranquil song. The aroma of the jungle was pungent, brought forward by the humid atmosphere, and his eyes were filled with a kaleidoscope of greens, save for the bursts of colours belonging to exotic flowers and ripened fruits. 

He and Fay weren’t meant to meet there until later that afternoon. She had told him she wanted to train with Bagheera, then spend a few hours in the hoard with Titoh. By all means she was not supposed to be there that early. 

By all means, he should have stopped the moment he picked up on her presence. To her credit - and his shame - he didn’t become aware of her until she was already swimming towards him. Or maybe he had been, and something obscene and wretched stopped him from acknowledging it on a conscious level. The more he’d think about it later, the more he’d conclude that yes, he’d had plenty of opportunity to try harder at stopping her.

Which was how his best friend and innamorata became an unwitting spectator to a moment that once upon time had brought him such shame and repulsion that he’d sworn he'd neve engage in such a weak act. That was then. Back when he’d yet to come to terms with his libido and his sexuality and how central Fay had become to it. 

Fay had likely noticed his clothes, across the shore from her, because she called out his name and that was the perfect opportunity to stop. Or to at least warn her. Except his brain was hijacked by an addictive cocktail of dopamine and endorphins and oxytocin, yet also lucid enough to make him aware that the very person he had been thinking of until then was just a few metres away. In a state of undress, likely and calling his name and smelling of those herbs she always did nowadays, and with her cheeks sunburned and tan lines that he found surprisingly erotic. 

She was no longer just in his mind, but present in flesh and blood. “Stop—stay there.” He managed through gritted teeth and not loud enough, because he could hear the water splashing lightly as she swam towards him. 

It was too late, really. He’d already been at his limit by the time she arrived, because he’d been trying to work on his self-control, to get better. There was a part of him - perhaps the same weak, obscene and depraved part of him that didn’t try harder to hide himself - that found the idea of her being there, finding him like that, realising this is the effect she had on him disturbingly appealing. 

“Damian—oh.” Her horror was palpable. 

Oh indeed. 

It was useless to pull himself deeper into the water, and it was useless to quickly rush and hide what he was doing. And it was a little hard doing all of that mid-orgasm, and she was staring at him with that same flushed face that tormented him. 

He closed his eyes, out of shame, and the effort it took him not to let out any undignified sounds. Meeting her gaze only made it worse, but it probably came second to the brief moment he saw her eyes drift below his navel, where his hand was wrapped around his throbbing shaft. He hated himself for how that image intensified his pleasure, and made him jerk his hips against his hand, against whatever was left of his rational side of the brain shouting stopstopstopstop. 

If it had been useless to hide before, it was certainly useless to try and shy away in the aftermath. Damian swallowed, counted back from three and opened his eyes. The water, crystalline clear and cool, no longer felt as refreshing against his skin. 

He met her gaze, because he refused to be a coward as well. Fay did not look angry, and the horror he’d caught twisting her features had morphed into embarrassment. She was looking away - too late -, mortified, her cheeks scarlet and eyes wide. She didn’t appear to know what to do with her arms, floundering for a moment before she crossed one over her chest and with the other she reached to scratch at her nose. She was anxious. 

“I–I am sorry, I didn’t know—”

“I did not mean for you to—”

They spoke at the same time, and stopped simultaneously when they realised. Fay glanced at him, tactically keeping her eyes on his face only. She wasn’t running away, though. Nor did she appear revolted or disappointed. Fay looked away again. “Sorry, um, maybe I should–I should go?” She asked, uncertain. “I should have just—hm, yeah.” 

Damian almost answered yes, then he thought against it. She was still there. Fay had walked in on him when he was naked before, and she’d immediately tried to walk away. She could have easily flown away in that open space. 

He pushed himself off his rock and stepped forward, before diving in the water. It took only a few strokes of his arms and legs to reach her where she was. The water there was deeper, it reached just beneath her breasts, and even before he resurfaced, he could make her out in the clear water. Fay had stripped down to a dark halter bralette and a pair of shorts. She easily saw him coming towards her, but she didn’t move away, even when he resurfaced and he managed to splatter water on her. 

Damian brushed his hands over his face, then lifted them up to his hair, to shake the excess water off so it didn’t stick to his face. The uneven terrain under them diminished their height difference and Fay stared at him with a mixture of confusion and self-consciousness. She quickly looked away, shyly, but he tilted her head back with his left hand, cupping her face gently. Her brows furrowed, but she didn’t resist at all, and he moved slowly, to give her opportunity to move away. She didn’t. 

He hadn’t kissed her that tentatively since the first few times they’d done that, but he felt it was warranted after she’d witnessed something he’d not classify as tender at all. Even when she did respond, he didn’t deepen the kiss and instead moved his hand downward so he could press his mouth over her cheek, then jaw, then her neck. She always did that with him, whenever she felt he was agitated or exhausted or angry—he’d never told her, and he perhaps never would, but he found it soothing. 

Slowly, he placed his other hand on her hip and pulled her closer. Not enough for them to touch properly, but he could feel the heat of her body, the thrum of her flux. 

“Are you… alright?” He murmured as he pressed his nose against the column of her neck. Her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, already half-wet, some strands sticking to her skin, between her shoulder blades. 

“I…” Her hands, which had fallen by her side in the water, came up. One fell on the forearm of the hand he kept against her face, the other hesitantly touched his abdomen. Damian pulled away, watching her carefully. She wasn’t pushing him away though, her touch becoming more firm against his abs, her eyes briefly flitting lower than that, to that spot she’d had a whole view of a few minutes earlier that now was under water. Hardly hidden, given how clear the pool was. Her hand moved up, and her eyes followed, as she gently made a path from his stomach to his chest, then to his shoulder. 

She met his gaze, and a new emotion had formed in her eyes. Curiosity. “Yes.” 

Fay wrapped her arm around his shoulders, pulling herself closer until they were flush with one another. He could feel her breasts underneath the thin material of her bralette, which was quickly becoming drenched. Her bare legs brushed against his, and there was no way she couldn’t feel the length of him pressed just above the apex of her thighs, even through her shorts. At that rate, she was bound for another spectacle. 

She pressed her mouth against his, shyly, but this time he did not hesitate to deepen the kiss. The hand on her face moved to the back of her head to guide her, and his other arm anchored her against him by the waist. Drops of water trickled out of his hair down his face and onto hers, but neither one of them cared. As soon as she parted her lips, he swiped his tongue across hers and he tasted something sweet, slightly citrusy. “Hmm.” Those soft, small sounds she made; he always found them maddening. 

Fay’s hands came up in his hair, scraping along his scalp and tangling his dark locks into a nest no doubt - she always did. It was worth it for the delicious friction she caused, the sensation travelling up and down his spine before culminating back in his navel. 


Confident that the marks hadn’t left her painfully sensitive anymore, he lowered the arm around her waist under her ass to hoist her up. The water made everything buoyant, splashing against them as Fay wrapped her legs around his waist. She inadvertently brushed against his newly budding erection, and this time, he did not stop the low, deep sound that formed at the back of his throat as he pulled away from her. 

She was the bane of his existence. 

He hadn’t realised he'd said it out loud until, “That’s really mean.” Was whispered warm and breathless against his neck. 

Damian smirked as he licked a drop of water trying to make its way down her neck. “You didn’t leave.” 

Fay tensed lightly, then she relaxed again. Then she buried her face in his neck, her arms tightening around his shoulders. “...I froze.” She admitted quietly. “And… you didn’t stop.” 

His right hand slid over the roundness of her cheek, underneath the material of her shorts while the other climbed up her back, brushing over her scars and marks, warmer than the rest of her skin, as always. Then he found the clasp of her bra, and he stopped there, his thumb under it, grazing against her skin. 

“You were curious.” He concluded. 

“Um,” Fay’s hands dug into his shoulders. “I—no—”

“Yes.” He wasn’t accusing. 

“...I don’t know. Maybe.” She mumbled ultimately. “I was really… surprised. I did think that—well, that you might—sometimes—-but not here.” 

Neither did he. “I don’t.” He agreed. “Not here. Today was… an exception.”

One beat. Two. Three. 

“Why?”

His lips twitched as he craned his head to lick the outer shell of her ear. “You.” 

She shuddered. “M-me?”

Damian swallowed. If he went that far and said those words, he’d bare whatever he had managed to keep hidden of how much she affected him. Then again, he had just gratified himself in front of her. 

And she’d asked him not to hide. 

He didn’t want to. Not from her. He had no reason to. 

Damian inhaled. He could detect the faintest trace of perfume just beneath her ear. Her skin smelled wonderful all over. She had to have cleaned up before coming there. “You were training this morning.” He had watched her sparring session with Kaera. Then he’d come straight there. 

They hadn’t had much time for each other in the last week. Fay had been working intensively on getting better at detecting energies, but it required a large output of the flux on her end, as well as mental energy. In the evening, he’d found her passed out in their chamber or the library. They’d still made some time, however brief, to meet during the day and catch up, but they had not engaged in much beyond discussion. Fay was prone to sensory overload, and the marks made her skin so tender that she struggled to wear layers over them, much less let herself be touched. Damian did not mind - he understood and respected how difficult it was for her. On the contrary, he only felt pride and respect watching her push herself like that. 

And lingering underneath those emotions was a constant yearning. Not just physical, of course, but that had certainly grown more acute in recent months. His desire had never become a burden to her, but he was going to acquiesce to her request. To not hide. 

He met her gaze pointedly. Fay stared back at him with endless curiosity, and he watched the flush in her cheeks spread to her ears and down to her chest. Her hands came up to his face. “...really?”

He didn’t answer, just watched her attentively, committing every feature and every micro-expression to memory. 

“If–” She glanced over his shoulder, towards the boulder. “If that’s why you were here,” She swallowed, then met his gaze again. “Were you—hm. Were you thinking of—” She trailed off, looking a little panicked, and a little embarrassed and a little… hm. Her pupils dilated. 

“Of?” 

She swallowed again, then licked her lips, but he let her catch him looking at her mouth with probably the same look he’d had on his face earlier. 

“Of me.” 

“Yes.” He said bluntly. Who else could it be. Fay did not look surprised, but she did look pleased, even if her face was now crimson. Her brows furrowed a little and he found her aggravatingly endearing. 

“Is it because we haven’t really—-in the past week, I mean.”

“No.” There was a whole new world of opportunities with them exploring their attraction that he was, quite frankly, enthusiastic to explore. New data to acquire, to put it that way. He would manage just fine if they needed to give each other space due to other commitments, but he wanted her nonetheless. 

“Hm.” Fay brought her bottom lip between her teeth, then released it. She looked like she wanted to add something, then dismissed it. Ultimately, she leaned forward to kiss him, which he was perfectly alright with. 

Then she grinded against him, and when they pulled away, “I think about you too.” 

Exactly. The bane of his existence. 

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They moved to the deeper end of the pool, where depending on where they stepped, the water reached up to their shoulders. The kissing continued, lazy and drawn out, accompanied by wandering hands and quiet confessions. Primarily from her, when he asked her again and again what it was she would think about him exactly. If she didn’t faint from embarrassment first. 

It was a little humorous how simultaneously understanding she could be of the learning curve they were facing when being intimate in that manner, yet also bashful about her own thoughts. 

“Does it… not bother you?” Fay asked, floating backwards a little, lips swollen and new hickeys stark against the skin of her neck. “I mean, you’re naked and even—even earlier—”

“No.” He’d always been comfortable in his skin because it was just that. Skin. With her, however, there was the added element of wanting and needing to be touched in ways he wouldn’t allow others. “Stop avoiding the question.”

Fay pouted lightly, but she swam back towards him. She reached for his right arm, and lifted it out of the water, between them. “Um,” She shyly brushed her fingers over his, then his palm. “I like your hands.” She said quietly. “But–you knew that.” He did. But she’d never told him they were a part of him that she fantasised about. “And… well, here.” She lifted his hand higher, and with her other she pressed her index finger over his wrist. From there, she followed the line of a protruding vein that curved over his forearm and stopped near his elbow. “I don’t know why.” She admitted. “I just do. Like when you use your sword—-stop smirking.” She dropped his arm in favour of covering her face with her hands. 

He was amused. And very pleased. 

“What else?” He brought her closer, with those hands she liked so much apparently, on her hips. 

Fay lowered her hands. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

Absolutely not. “You know me too well to ask such a question.” 

Fay took a deep breath, looking away for a moment, then back at him, her eyes falling on his mouth before moving downwards. She shrugged one shoulder. “I kind of… like all of you, to be honest.” She said, She lifted her hand to touch his sternum with her fingertips. Then she started tracing his abs, gently, almost reverently, before she stopped, her palm pressed to the skin just above his navel. “I like it that you always catch me.” She smiled a little. “And the… way you do. You always put your arms around me, and… it feels safe.” She looked sheepish. “And it does feel really, really nice. You do, I mean.” 

“Nice.”

“Amazing.” She added quietly. “I like it—whenever we are close. In any manner, really. It makes me feel… wanted.” She lowered her eyes, watching drops of water slide down his collarbone. “You do. I told you I didn’t mind if you—” She struggled for the word. “---if you felt good, because I… I also like that. I mean, I don’t always understand why you would, because of me, but if you do… that makes me happy.”

Damian frowned. He brought his hand over hers, and the other he slid it towards the back of her neck. He’d removed the hair tie earlier, and she’d dived a few times, causing her hair to be fully wet, dark strands sticking to her skin. 

“Because of you.” His brows furrowed, quite displeased by the implication she was making. Her self esteem had improved vastly over the years, and especially in recent months, but he had not realised she still felt self-conscious. 

She met his gaze, leaning her head against his hand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make it sound that bad.” She said, “I don’t always see myself the way you do, I suppose.” 

That was not acceptable. 

If she couldn’t see it because her mind wouldn’t allow it, then perhaps… “I can show you.” 

Fay stared at him puzzled. “S-show me?”

He nodded curtly, and he dropped his hand from her face down to her shoulder and over her arm. Her hand was still on his abdomen, kept there by his other. 

“If you wish.” He added. 

Fay looked panicked for a moment, as she looked around them. “Here?”

It wasn’t an ideal location, at least not as private as their chambers could have been, but—- “There’s traps around the perimeter for nearly a mile, remember?” He always puts them up, regardless. Fay generally flies within the safe zone, so that’s why she didn’t trip them. 

“I—” 

“We can pause anytime.” He stroked the back of her hand. “There’s no… urgency.” He was immensely turned on by then, nearly as hard as he’d been when he had gotten to the pool, but her boundaries were inalienable. 

“No, I–” She looked around again, licking her lips again before she looked back at him. “Slowly?” She asked. “Um, it’s a little embarrassing and… my marks are still sensitive.” 

“Of course.” Then he kissed her. 

It was her choice to remove her clothes even if she was not as comfortable as he was naked, and he told her he did not expect her to. Fay could be stubborn though, and he was stuck in an awkward state of amusement and arousal as she disappeared underneath the surface of the water, a few metres away from him. Moments later, her clothes floated to the top - first her bra, then her shorts. Bubbles rising preceded her return to the surface. 

Fay brushed her hands over her face and hair to push it away from her eyes, then glanced at him tentatively before pushing the clothes away towards the shore. Then she swam towards him, a little awkwardly, no doubt because she was now naked. Damian kept his eyes on her face, as he met her halfway and they both stopped when they were less than an arm’s length away from one another. 

“Are you certain?” He asked. 

Fay nodded. “Just nervous, but yeah.” 

He lifted his hand towards her, and she grabbed it, allowing him to pull her towards him. In the crystal clear water, he inadvertently caught a glimpse of the plump flesh of her breasts and her naked hips. The water distorted her proportions but he found it all the more titillating because of it. 

She didn’t look as apprehensive as before, but her shoulders had yet to relax fully. Damian kissed her, deeply, holding her wrist but not touching her anywhere else. Fay responded, and got a little closer, until he felt her knees bump against his. 

When they pulled away, Damian grabbed both of her wrists and brought her hands to his shoulders. He wouldn’t touch her if she wasn’t fully comfortable, so perhaps that would help. “You first.” He said, simply. 

Fay was hesitant, then she wasn’t. She slowly drew her hands down his shoulders, over the taut muscles of his arms, eyes following suit. Then she turned her attention to his chest, tracing the few scars littered across that area before her head dipped forward to press her mouth where her fingers had been. 

Damian closed his eyes, jaw tight. He never thought he’d ever like being examined in that manner. The admiration and affection she touched him with made him feel light-headed. Her hands moved all over his torso, up and down his sides, then back over the indented line between his abs, her index finger following it all the way down to—She stopped. It took all of his willpower to not jerk his hips, to chase her touch, because then she’d not only be aware of how hard he was, he’d also be rushing things. 

“...can I touch you there?”

Or maybe not. 

Damian opened his eyes, blinking. Once, twice. Damian Wayne did not buffer. He simply did not. He’d vehemently deny that had ever happened. 

“What—” He cleared his throat, and he looked down at her, torn between wishing he hadn't misheard her and wondering if it was really worth losing control all over again. “You don’t have to. That’s not what I was—-”

“I know.” She chewed her bottom lip. “But… I want to. If you do.”

Yes. Yes. 

Also no, because he was meant to show her what he saw, not for her to end up pleasing him. Damian stared at her, searchingly. Inquisitively. 

“I…” Fay glanced away, for a second.. “We… show each other?” She proposed. 

It did not happen often that his heart raced so hard that he worried about his blood pressure, but alas. Damian’s right hand moved towards the one she kept hovering over his navel, placing it on top of hers. “Pause.” He swallowed, as he started guiding her hand lower. “Say pause.” 

“No.” She murmured. “Not now.”

He moved slowly, dragging her fingertips over his hip bone, before guiding them towards the apex of his thighs. “Wrap your—” He brought her hand over his length, and the moment he felt her fingertips against his scorching flesh, he went weak in the knees. A most pathetic flush assailed his cheeks and ears. He was not sure what was more incredible. The way she gripped him, or the act of guiding her hand against his shaft, to use it in that manner which she was happy to oblige. 

A curse left his mouth, and he was not even sure in which language, as he leaned forward, his forehead falling against her shoulder. She was suddenly closer, her breasts pushing against his chest, soft and warm, the stiff peaks grazing his skin. “That’s it.” He hissed, letting go of her hand once she established a rhythm, just the right pressure. Instead, he touched her thighs, sliding his hands over the wet, supple flesh up to her rounded hips before settling in the narrow dip of her waist. “Fay.” He gritted out, against her neck. “If you keep going—”

“It’s–it’s alright.” Her hot breath tickled his ear. “Don’t—don’t hold back.”

He didn’t. All sensible objections left his brain and he started meeting her movements with his hips, a slew of encouraging words and praises falling out of his mouth in an amalgamation of languages. He couldn’t hear or see or smell anything but her, her, her, her. His hand could never compare, truly, and neither could the hypothetical sensations his mind had come up with.

Bliss built up and rose in him until his body could no longer contain it. Then abruptly, the tension coiling inside of him snapped, like a wave crashing against a cliffside. He didn’t stifle the guttural sound erupting from his throat, the way her name left his lips as he shut his eyes closed. His hand instinctively wrapped over hers again, encouraging her to keep moving it against his throbbing sex, drawing out the dizzying white-hot sensation. The water between them was quickly stained, but it went ignored as they stayed like that for what felt like minutes. 

Damian exhaled as he lifted his head to look at her. Fay’s apprehension was completely gone, replaced by something akin to awe… and satisfaction. He removed her hand from his softening member, and pushed her back into the water. “My turn.” He breathed. 

“But I—” 

“Trust me.” He kissed her jaw. “Turn around.”

She was confused, but she did as he was told. He floated closer to her, until his front was pressed flush against her back. “What are you—ah.” He cupped her breasts, as his mouth settled in the crook of her neck. 

“This.” He muttered in her ear. “I think about this.” Then he ground against her ass. “And this.” He grazed his thumbs over the stiff peaks of her breasts, which caused her to arch against him, mouth parting slightly. “This.” He played with the sensitive nubs and kneaded at the soft mounds he could just barely fit into his hands. 

She was sensitive, but it did not seem to cause her pain, on the contrary. He smirked as his right hand dipped from her breast down to her ribs. He dug his fingers in there lightly, then dragged them down her side before moving to the front, to her stomach. He liked that she maintained a level of softness there, but when she tensed against his hand, he could feel the presence of muscle. 

“Pause,” He started, as he licked the spot behind her ear. “Or show me.” 

“Hm.” 

For a second, he thought she might say pause. He would have stopped immediately, of course but he wanted nothing more than to return the attention she’d just given him. To make her feel what he had. 

Then her hand settled over his, not unlike earlier. 

She guided his hand down. 

Then he was cupping the supple flesh between her thighs, warm and soft, and no fantasy could possibly hold a candle to that moment. Fay gasped softly at the contact, and when she lightly guided his fingers between her folds, he realised the slickness there had nothing to do with the water. She was tight, he feared he might hurt her if he pressed his fingers too far - that felt like too much, too early - so he left his hand relaxed in her grip, allowing her to move it where she wanted. 

“H-here.” She said shakily, moving his index finger to the top of her entrance, where the bundle of nerves, tender and swollen, was. He pressed his thumb there. Her reaction was instantaneous, as if he’d just lit the wick of a firework. Fay arched against him, her other hand gripping his wrist, fingernails digging into his skin, as she choked out his name.“Oh… Damian.” 

He focused on that spot with the same razor-sharp focus he did any task. Before long, Fay was grinding and bucking against his hand, a series of choked moans leaving her mouth. He wondered how frustrated she must have felt. She had admitted to him that she had difficulty finding time for herself, and even when she did, she needed time to reach an orgasm. 

Fay bowed forward, her hands gripping his to keep herself grounded. Damian leaned forward, his back pressed against hers and his mouth on her shoulder. He might be new to such activity, but he could multitask, so while he continued to stroke her in that overly sensitive spot between her legs, his other hand teased her breasts. 

He could feel the energy thrumming wildly beneath her skin, the marks on her back growing warmer, reacting to her heightened emotional state. 

Damian was not a person that could easily be surprised. 

But he would lie if he said he hadn’t been taken back by the water around them growing warmer, green wisps of energy causing it to become more volatile the closer she was to coming. He felt her body tense up, her thighs clenching around his hand. He could feel the flux coursing through her body wildly, causing her marks to grow and move and change shape briefly.

He had to back them up to shallower water because Fay lost her footing and he was holding her up. It would not have been a problem had she not instinctively created the water to shift, small waves drawing back and crashing against them. 

Huh. Interesting. 

Fay’s breathing was rough, and she was a mollified, trembling mess in his arms. The water around them took a few minutes to calm down, and he watched, fascinated, as her marks retreated into their original place and shape, the glow fading. At that point of the pool, the water only went up to her ribs, and he wrapped his arms around her, feeling her grow self-conscious the moment she realised the water was no longer hiding her fully. 

“Hey,” He murmured in her ear, then turned her around. Something hard lodged itself in his throat when he noticed her eyes were wet, the tears half-formed at the corner of the eye. “You’re crying.” He said, alarm settling heavy and cold in the pit of his stomach. “If I hurt you—”

She shook her head, and pressed herself harder against him, her arms wrapping around his back. “No.” Her voice was hoarse. “No.” She repeated, as she pressed her face against his shoulder. “It just—It just felt good.” She exhaled. 

She was crying because she had felt good? The knot in his stomach loosened, and he was able to inhale air properly. “It has never felt this way before?”

Fay shook her head. “It was really… intense.” She tilted her head, and kissed his neck. “Can we, um, just stay like this? For a moment. I just—need a moment.”

He had no complaints. Damian was spent, but he was not sure he could ever tire of feeling her bare body pressed against his like that. He caressed her back gently with one hand, the other wrapped around her shoulders. 

“Your flux reacted.” He remarked calmly. “I take it because it's also new.”

“Um, I made a glass break once—” Fay admitted against his skin. She’d sagged against him, wet and still shaking slightly, but warm and supple. “--but no. Not this.”

“Hm.” Interesting indeed. Then, after a moment. “You were early today. We said we’d meet at noon.”

“Mh-hm.” Fay’s hands skittered across his back. “Kaera told me I should take a break to give time to my flux to recalibrate.” Pause. “Oh. Oh no. I completely forgot.” She added suddenly with a groan. “That’s why I came here early. Titoh said he found something in the hoard—an actual clue, maybe. I said I would find you and we’d meet in the library.” 

Damian smirked. 

“Are—are you smirking? I can feel you smirking.”

He pressed his lips against her temple. “Shut up.” He said, without any heat whatsoever. “Just… be quiet.” He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. What was that term that Fay liked to use? Ah yes. 

A happy place. 

That was it. 

They didn’t leave the oasis until later in the afternoon, just basking in the privacy and quiet for a little while longer before they had to return to the reality of their predicament. 

They were on a quest to find the dark paths and nothing about it was going to be easy, or free of danger. 

.

.

.

“Finally, you two took long enough.” Titoh grumbled the moment he and Fay stepped into the hoard. As it was late afternoon, the temple-like residence was quiet as most islanders were preparing for the evening feasts they had on most days. 

They’d spent hours at the oasis before returning to her - their - chambers to wash properly and change into new clothes. Fay had tactically chosen to wear a pair of jeans and a loose button-up shirt, which successfully hid most of the hickeys he’d left all over her neck, shoulders, and chest. She’d let her hair down, but it was impossible to obscure the couple of marks on the column of her neck. 

Titoh noticed, judging by the way his eyes widened a little when he noticed the purpling marks, but he quickly looked away, ears pink.

“Sorry, Titoh.” Fay said, cheeks still a little flushed as she rolled her sleeves up to her elbows. No doubt to keep her hands busy. “We got caught up with um, training.” She flinched visibly. 

It could not be said they hadn’t learned plenty from one another that afternoon. 

Titoh waved her off, his annoyance short-lived and most likely eager to move on as soon as possible, as he gestured to them to follow him. “You’re not going to believe this.” 

They walked all the way to the other end of the titanic space after Damian shut the door behind them. 

“So, I found it by accident while I was searching through the cabinets and shelves at the back here—” Titoh explained, rather enthusiastically. “---then I noticed there was something on the floor. I moved all the cabinets and shelves, and look—-” 

They did. 

Chapter 84: Of Cora Montgomery I

Chapter Text

“If you wish for something hard enough, the fairy tales teach us, you can get it in the end.
But it’s hardly ever the way you thought it would be, and the endings aren’t always happy ones.”

— Jennifer Weiner

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“Do you know why fairytales are important, my love?”

“Why?”

“Because they teach us that monsters can be beaten.”

Not all monsters. The one that had eaten her mother inside out could not be beaten, with technology or medicine, or prayer. Maybe magic could have worked. But neither her father nor five-year-old Cora had any magic. Even Batman didn’t, although who knew? He was a superhero, after all. 

Not everyone could and would be saved. 

A few weeks after Cora’s birthday, Madeline Montgomery had drawn her last breaths at Gotham General Hospital after an arduous battle against cancer. It had taken her quickly, which some might consider a blessing. Even when she had been on the hospital bed with her skin ashen and her head covered in a silk wrap hiding the absence of her missing golden curls, her mother hadn’t stopped telling her stories. 

Heartbreakingly enough, Cora could not recall much of the last story her mother had told her. She could not remember much of Madeline most days, truth be told, but sometimes the memories resurfaced, incomplete and intermittent. 

Cora remembered how her mother had no longer looked like her mother, sometimes quite vividly. 

And she remembered wishing, very much so, that someone figured out the secret to beating the monster taking her mother away. Like the heroes and heroines of all those stories her mother had told her. 

Your mother was a fighter, her father had said the day her mother had died, in a broken voice. But sometimes there’s monsters out there that can’t be defeated. 

That was not what her mother had said. What her stories promised. Every monster could be beaten, one way or another, sooner or later. 

“I’ll defeat it, daddy. I will!”

No monsters would take her father away. 

 .

The weeks after her mother’s death were a blur, both because she had been so young when it had happened and because grief had a way of doing that. Cora remembered watching the deep brown casket being lowered into the ground, and the priest reciting from the Bible and the skies thundering. The scent of petrichor and wet soil filling her nose.

“Look, Cora, sweetie,” Her father had murmured, his eyes red and wet for weeks now. “Even the sky is crying for your mom.” 

They had stayed by the freshly dug grave for hours, long after the others in attendance had left. Not many had been present for the funeral, mostly co-workers, and neighbours and friends. There had been no grandparents, uncles, and aunts present. 

When the day had been over and done, Cora had come down the stairs to grab a glass of water, but instead she’d found her dad at the kitchen table, crying. A large bottle half- full of dark liquid had stood before him, and she could smell the strong scent even from several metres away. 

Her thirst had been forgotten and she’d watched from behind the wall as her father alternated between chugging from the bottle and talking to a photo of her mother, tears pouring down his face. 

Monsters were scary. 

But that image was scarier still. The monster that had taken her mother away was largely invisible, but the effect of its clutches was obvious in how her mother had looked and spoken and sometimes couldn’t do either because she had been too tired and sick. 

Her father was still alive, but she had never seen him cry this much before. Clive Montgomery had always been a jovial man, ready to play along with the stories of his wife. He’d always made Cora and her mother laugh. 

There were more types of monsters out there than she’d thought. 

But a hero would know how to deal with each and every one of them, right? 

And her father would need a hero. 

Her father hadn’t spoken about her mother in the first few months after her death. But sitting at the table in the evening, drinking and crying had become a habit. 

As had Cora watching him without him being aware. 

When he had first started talking about her mother again, he hadn’t stopped, not for a long time. He'd tell her stories of how they’d met, and the funny things her mother had said, and all about the idiosyncrasies that made him love her. Clive refused to throw away anything that belonged to her mother, especially the typewriter she used to spend hours at, or the many, many notebooks Madeline had kept in her small study. 

“She was a fantastic writer, Cora. Fantastic.” 

He’d tell her stories, the same ones her mother had, but it hadn’t been quite the same anymore. Her mother had made them sound more special, somehow. 

And her father never looked as cheerful as he had before. 

One day, he’d told her. One day, they’d get them all published so everyone knew how great a writer Madeline Montgomery was. 

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“You are just like your mother.”

Her father used to say that to her before as well, but it had turned into a daily occurrence. 

And she was. Cora was a carbon copy of her mother from the ringlets of blond hair to her large blue eyes and her dimpled smile. How she liked living in her head and making up stories and living vicariously through them. He always looked a little sad when he said it afterwards, but Cora took pride in it either way. It felt as if he was bestowing upon her a special ability that no one else had. A secret connection she shared with her mother, whom she'd never talk to, or hug, or share much else with. 

Cora had been seven years old when Clive had lost his office job. The severance package was worth four weeks of pay for each year that he worked at his company, and he had been there for nearly a decade. Between that, the insurance payout and what little savings they had left, they should have been fine for at least half a year until he’d found a new job. However, there were still hospital bills to be paid, and then the car had broken down and then the house had started requiring repairs, as if the mortgage payments weren’t a burden already. 

Getting fired hadn’t been Clive’s fault. He had been a good worker. Loyal, always on time, respectful of his colleagues, hard-working. He was just unfortunate, along with the other fifty workers who had been fired after the company had merged with another. Their modest savings diminished almost as quickly as debt racked up. Madeline had little to no family alive, but they weren’t particularly keen on supporting them, as they’d never approved of Clive. They were so bitter about it that they didn't even care to see their granddaughter and niece at risk of homelessness. 

Her father told her that he had no family either. Cora would later learn that that was not true, but at the time, why would she have doubted her father? Her father was everything to her. 

.

Five months after he’d lost his job, just as the summer vacation began, Clive got home from what Cora had believed to be another day of job hunting, driving a yellow Ram Promaster van. The colour was an eyesore and chipping away in countless places, the left side of the windshield was shattered and one of the side mirrors was hanging on for its dear life. 

Cora was confused. They hadn’t had a car in three months. The old one was too expensive to repair so Clive had been able to sell it for parts. It was not nearly enough to pay the bills they had, but it had saved them from having their power cut off. Cora tried not to think of all her classmates who were going out to summer camps all across the country while she was at home. It wasn’t fair, but it wasn’t her father’s fault either, and she wouldn’t have dared to even bring up the topic. 

It was what it was, one of her teachers had said once. It was the kind of expression you used when you took the good with the bad, she’d explained. Because good things didn't always happen. 

It was what it was. 

“Look, Coco!” He had different nicknames for her, but Coco was a favourite. Her mother had never liked it because it took too much away from Cora’s name, especially when Cora was itself a nickname. Cora didn’t mind. Whenever her father called her Coco, it meant he was in a good - excellent, even - mood, and that was rare those days. “I had the best idea!” He opened the door and got out of the van while she got up from the porch and approached him. Usually, their next-door neighbour Mrs Harkness looked after her while he was away, but by then she’d become a rather successful latchkey kid, so sometimes she was on her own too. 

It was what it was. Her father had become a little hopeless. A little helpless, too. He didn’t just drink in the evening anymore, when he thought she couldn’t hear or see him. With each job application he got rejected for, the more despondent her father became. Sometimes he didn’t even bother to get out of his pyjamas, and sometimes he wouldn’t get out of the house for days. In a way, he was a stable point of reference. He’d be there, in the living room, on the sofa or chair when she left for school and he’d be there when she came back like a statue that made the smallest of movements. She learned how to use the washing machine because a few times he’d forgotten to do it and she’d had to go to school with dirty clothes. She’d become a master of the microwave, and what could go in and what couldn’t, because although Clive would cook for her when she asked, his food always tasted off. It would be either too salty, or burnt, or not done well. 

“Is this our new car, dad?” 

“More than that, sweetheart!” He approached her, and swept her up in his arms. He used to feel stronger. His arms and torso weren’t as thin, his eyes never used to have those bags under his eyes like a panda bear. He always used to shave his face. “It’s our new home.”

“What?”

“Yes, yes. We’re going on an adventure, my sweet Coco! Just you and me.”

Cora looked at him, then at the van, then back at him. “An adventure?” It was a magic word for her, of course. An adventure. She’d lived a thousand adventures through the books she read, and the movies she watched. Heroes were made by the adventures they live, she’d learned. But how could an adventure take place in an ugly van that looked like it didn’t have many days left?

Her father told her it wouldn't look that way when he’s done with it. Clive was quite skilled in carpentry, having learned it from his father and even attended courses when he’d been younger. He'd turn the van around in just one summer, and it’d no longer be a pumpkin, but a carriage. 

“Then what?”

“Then we’re free. To do as we please. We can go travelling, and we can start off at Niagara falls. You’ve always wanted to see them, haven’t you? We’ll start there, Coco.”

But if he was going to take the whole summer to fix it up, what about school?

“You’re a smart girl. Your teachers said you’re ahead, so you can learn while we travel. We’ll buy books, and you can learn things that you didn't learn in school. Unschooling, I think they call it.”

Cora wasn’t initially delighted by the idea of not going to school. She liked school. She had friends too, even if they didn’t invite her to their birthdays as much as they used to do. Lizzie McCormack said it was because her father was a ‘drunkard’, which had earned Lizzie a headache after Cora had thrown her book at her head. What did Lizzie know? The Big Sad - as she’d come to name that particular monster that smelled of whisky and made her father look less like her father each day - had gotten a hold of her Clive, and it wasn’t his fault. Sometimes, monsters just had a way of getting to people, even the best ones. 

But she wouldn't allow Big Sad to take her father away. She’d made a vow. 

“Are you happy, dad?”

“I am happy if you are happy, sweetie.”

After all, what were heroes without a mission?

Clive had spent the entire summer working on the van, while working part-time at a nearby grocery store. All of their money went into the van, credit cards maxed out and bank accounts wiped clean. He insisted that they wouldn't need all the material possessions they had at home, so two weeks after he’d brought home the van, they had a garage sale. Cora felt something cold and heavy settle in her stomach as she watched people inspect items - personal items - touch them and then walk away with them after paying her father. 

Her mother’s effects were not for sale, thankfully. Especially that pretty periwinkle summer dress that she used to wear. Cora didn't always remember much of her, but she remembered that dress. 

Her mother always looked like a fairy in it. 

Her father’s drinking had reduced significantly while he’d worked on the van, then it had stopped altogether half-way through summer. Cora spent hours in their garage, watching or helping her father while they listened to old records. She completely forgot about summer camp and the apprehension of not going back to school because she became more and more excited about the promised adventure. Her father was happier than she’d seen him in a while, and his eyes were no longer as red and he started shaving again. Even his overalls, while persistently stained with oil and paint, were kept clean and his attitude was infectious. 

They were preparing for an adventure. Their carriage would be their home, and the road would be at their beck and call. They could go anywhere and everywhere, and they’d learn everything and anything. Cora wouldn’t mind - hoped, actually - that their adventure might include all the classic elements. Maybe a lost artefact so they could be like Indiana Jones. 

Her father was doing better, after all. The Big Sad had been tamed, or perhaps even defeated. 

.

The van looked infinitely better. It was now black, and there were new tires - or second-hand better tires - and the inside looked completely different. Her father really did have a knack for such work, regardless of his modesty around it. “I wouldn’t have done without you, Coco.” He said. “You kept me going.” 

The space was cramped, and she was not fully convinced by it, especially the realisation they were never coming back to the house dawned on her. She wouldn't come back to her bedroom which had a closet painted with flowers by her mother. She wouldn't eat in their kitchen anymore, she wouldn't see the small garden her mother used to tend to or sit in her mother’s study. Then again, with the amount of items they’d been selling over the summer, the house already felt vacant. 

Her father looked happier, though. Maybe the Big Sad had gotten to him because of the house, and getting away from it would keep Clive out of its clutches. “You and me, Coco, what do you say?”

He was happy when she was happy. 

“It looks great, dad,” She grinned. “I can’t wait!”

It was what it was. 

There were bunk beds fixed across the back, a kitchenette on one side and space to work on the other, along with a small bathroom (if it could be called that). Cora knew every nook and cranny of that place because she’d helped her father put it together. In the process she’d learned more than she could have at summer camp. She’d particularly liked it when they’d gone shopping for supplies a couple of weeks before they left. Some items they’d recycled from their home, such as bed sheets and clothes and pillows. Others they had been given, such as the small old fridge that Mrs Harkness had no longer had a need for. 

Cora was smart. She knew that even with the deal Clive had gotten on the wood and the tools he’d borrowed from neighbours, they would have needed several thousand dollars for everything. When she’d asked him once if they were okay money-wise, he’d told her not to worry because he had everything sorted. 

The cold, heavy dread was back in her stomach. 

.

They’d set out on their adventure on the first day of Autumn. 

It had felt like an adventure. The first two months, anyway. They left and never looked back, or rather her father did. Cora watched their house grow more and more distant in the side mirror (which had also been fixed), then she looked at her father. He still looked happy. He was smiling, and he kept talking of how he’d already planned their trip to Niagara falls with plenty of stops for them to make. 

She couldn’t explain why the weight in her stomach persisted. She was too young at the time to understand, even if she could feel it on an emotional level. 

Her father’s smile never reached his eyes. 

They’d gone to New York, where they’d stopped for a few days. Clive took her to Broadway and the Empire State Building and dozens of other places, some decidedly not free. He always paid in cash, and Cora noticed the thick lump of money he carried in his trousers. She did like all the places they went to, and all the food they ate and all the fun they had. It felt like an adventure. There was no school and there was no work, and it was just them and whatever they wanted to do. 

A small part of her did wonder, but didn't linger on the thought - why couldn’t we stay home if we had all that money? She was only a child, however, and that rumination was forgotten quickly. She trusted her dad, and he was an adult and he understood better whether or not they could afford it. 

Plus, wasn’t that what heroes did? They left the familiar, their home, in search of the unfamiliar and the unknown and possibly dangerous? 

As long as the Big Sad didn't come back. 

Niagara Falls was the most breathtaking place she’s ever been to, and Cora thinks there might be magic there. Who knew how many secrets the water and the land carried there? 

Many, her mother used to say. Niagara Falls was one of her favourite places on Earth, and it had been Madeline’s promise they’d go there together, one day. Her mother wasn’t there, but her stories of secret nymphs and fairies rang loudly in Cora’s head, so loud she didn’t even care that the water had managed to seep under the plastic poncho she was wearing. 

Years later, Cora supposed she did meet her own fairy. Of sorts. 

They had been back in Gotham by the end of October. Her father told her it was a temporary detour from their next destination in their road trip around the country. He just had some ‘affairs’ to take care of, and with that he parked them in the parking lot of a supermarket. 

They never left anymore. Gotham, that was, anyway. They certainly moved around a lot afterwards, because Gotham was dangerous and unpredictable, even more so at night. Cora had lost track of how many places their van had been in, but she did learn which ones were good to return to. It fell to her to remind her father when their time was up in one place. For example, at night, it was always better to be parked in well-lit areas, preferably nowhere close to the East End neighbourhood. One too many times they’d lost their sleep to the sounds of gunshots, sirens and explosions. One too many nights, they’d moved around two or even three times to avoid getting caught up in Gotham’s natural chaos. 

She never went to school, but Cora made sure to study anyway. She’d read and read and read. Clive stopped helping her with the grammar and vocabulary a month after they returned, so she started giving herself homework. He was gone during the day, most days. There were no bottles of whisky or beer, but most of the time they also didn’t have clean clothes, or even clean bodies for that matter. Her father started smiling less again. 

Cora really didn’t like their new arrangement. 

“I am sorry, Coco. I promise we’ll be back out on the road again soon.”

She smiled. “It’s okay, dad, I don’t mind.” She shrugged. “School is boring. Plus, I can read a lot more this way!”

Her smile made him smile. 

It was all part of the mission. 

It was what it was. 

A few weeks before Christmas, they had moved into their third home, counting the van. Said automobile was parked in front of the old apartment blocks where they’d be staying. The neighbourhood was within an orange zone, which meant it could be dangerous. 

Cora knew this because she was a connoisseur of Gotham city. She had well over a dozen maps, but her main one was sectioned off in different coloured blocks, also of her own making. Cora had taken to listening a lot to the radio after their small and only TV had broken down on their way back from Niagara falls. She also read whatever newspapers she could get her hands on. She knew well which areas were a no-go and which areas were safe and which areas were rife with criminals. It was simple. Red was stay away. Orange was better to stay away. Yellow was maybe but not preferable. Green was safe.

She tried to explain that to her father, but he reassured that they’d be fine. He had a job now, at a factory only twenty minutes away, and it was best if they were out of the van for the winter. Then they’d go travelling again. 

She didn't believe him anymore. 

They moved into their dingy one-bedroom apartment a few days later. The apartment block was covered in graffiti, the halls smelled of cigarettes and urine and all of their furniture was mismatched and old. Clive told her to take the bedroom, because he'd sleep on the fold-out sofa in the living room. 

“Don’t worry, Coco. I’ll fix what’s there to be fixed, so make a list. The landlord said he didn't care if we give it paint, might even be grateful for it, so this place would look and feel like home in no time.” Her dad said cheerfully, looking around optimistically. 

It was what it was. Take the good with the bad. 

Cora swallowed - was that a rat she spotted scurrying away? and she could hear a baby crying its lungs out from the apartment above - but when she turned around to face her father. “Okay,” She smiled. “Could we paint my walls periwinkle?”

He grins. “Of course.”

She’d made a vow. 

“Oh, oh!” She said, “We could paint the kitchen, too, right? Then I could just put some of my posters on the places where there’s cracks. And–and–” She looked around at that place that might as well have been the very lair of the Big Sad. “---oh, I could paint some flowers over by the entrance. Just like the ones I had in my old bedroom!”

Her father chuckled, then ruffled her hair. 

“That’s my girl. Always looking on the bright side, just like your mother.”

Yeah. 

Except not really. 

They had been back in the van by the end of March after her father had lost his job at the factory. Their landlord didn't tolerate them being late on their rent. 

While parked near Costco - a green zone - Cora watched as a group of children around her age came out of the store, their school bags bouncing on their backs. She did have more time and freedom to read what she pleased, but she didn't have all the textbooks students did. The books she could get her hands on, usually brought in by her father, were old and falling apart. She didn't mind, eternally grateful although she was worried to ask where he did get the nicer looking ones. 

“Would you like to go back to school, Coco?” Her father asked, noticing her when she stared at the students as they passed their van by. 

Yes. She’d like it better if they were out on the road, visiting and seeing new things, but Coco was old enough to understand that that was not likely to happen. They had no money and her father was constantly in-between jobs. What was worse was that bottles of beer had started showing up again. 

Sometimes it felt like there was a big, hungry monster on their tail, closing in further and further. 

“It’s okay, dad.” She said, “I don’t mind.”

Clive frowned. She smiled. “Do you want me to tell you what happens in the book?” She’d been reading Lord of the Rings. 

“Sure, sweetheart. Go ahead.”

If there was anything stories had taught her, it was that hardships came with their own set of rewards. A perilous journey full of uncertainties would finish in such a manner that all that had come before was worth it. 

Maybe they were on an adventure after all. It was in Gotham instead of around the world, and it was lonelier than she thought it’d be - there was no fellowship for her - but it was an adventure all the same. 

Maybe. 

.

Her father had worked five different jobs throughout the summer, three at a time, sometimes. He’d be gone all day unless he had to come back to move their van to a different place, either to avoid getting reported or to be in a safer zone. Cora still cooked for herself, and took clothes to the laundromat and would spend her days reading. Sometimes, if they were parked near a park, she’d go play there and sometimes she’d make acquaintances with other children. But mostly she’d study. 

Her father vowed to her that she'd go back to school that autumn, which was why he was working so many odd jobs, and such long hours. He’d go from a shift on a construction site on one end of the city to being a kitchen staff member in a fast food restaurant on the other end of the city. At nights, sometimes, he’d go work at a gas station that they often parked at as well. No one really wanted to work night shifts there because of the increased risk of theft. It paid well, and Clive insisted on signing himself up for as many shifts as possible. Cora felt uneasy about it, but she’d stopped asking him to go there when he’d firmly told her that he was going to keep his promise no matter what. 

She knew a thing or two about making a vow. So she kept hers. Cora would make sure the van was always clean, and that they had food and that she prepared properly to go back to school by going to the public library almost every day. There was a nice lady there that always helped her with the material she’d need for the next academic year. 

Her father still drank, but never more than a beer or two. That was okay. The Big Sad was being kept at bay. 

In September, she’d returned to school. It was a different one than she used to attend, because they no longer lived in the nice neighbourhood in Blüdhaven. Two weeks before the start of the new academic year, her father rented out a caravan in a trailer park, eight kilometres away from her school. The mobile home park was home to well over twenty families, and it was relatively safe and secure. It beat having to constantly move the van around to avoid getting caught in an explosion or car chase. 

The caravan was cheap and affordable, and Cora finally had her own bedroom again. It was not exactly like being back in an actual house, but it was the closest thing she had to one for the first time in a while. The park was not lavish by all means, as there were no clubs or services, and the landlord was a spindly woman with a throat so raspy that it gave Cora the shudders. Mrs Tanase was not necessarily friendly or generous either, but they couldn't keep living in the van. Not if she went back to school. 

There were no bottles of beer in sight in those weeks right before and right after the start of school, because her father was too busy fixing up the place. 

The Big Sad was kept away when her father had a task. So, whenever she saw her father looking sad, she'd come up with a task for him, be it homework - even if she didn't need it - or to fix her bike tire - which she’d purposefully punctured by going over pieces of broken glass. She'd talk to him about her day at school because he was always so enthusiastic to hear how much she enjoyed it, and how many friends she’d made and how great everything was. They were not all truths but that was okay. She didn't want him to worry. If he worried, then he'd become helpless and hopeless again. 

She thought she’d figured out the secret to keeping her father’s monsters away.

So what. So what if she couldn't have fancy lunch boxes with different meals every week as opposed to the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches she brought day in day out? So what if other children got picked up by their parents instead of her having to cycle immense distances each day, even when the weather was bad? Sometimes Clive would wait for her, too, but she understood that when he wasn’t there, it was because he had to work. So what if she didn’t always have all the glittery, wide variety of school supplies other girls had, or a phone, or the latest pop culture based merchandise? Cora understood her father couldn’t afford them. She wanted them, but she couldn’t ask. If she did, her father would get sad if he couldn’t get them, and then he’d either work himself to the brink of blacking out - like that time - or he'd drink again. So what if her clothes weren’t always properly pressed, or smelled a little sometimes? There was no laundromat near the caravan park, and they didn't own one, either. They didn't know the neighbours well enough to ask if they could use theirs. 

So what. So what. So what. 

Her mother had died because cancer had killed her, a monster she understood much better by then. It was not the same kind that threatened to take over her father’s heart, but they were of an equally insidious nature. Cora was not ashamed of her father. He had to do it all on his own, take care of her. He might have lost his way a few times, but even the best of heroes did, didn't they? He’d gotten better. He might not have the same cosy, well-paying job he’d had before, but they were no longer in the van, either. The caravan was warmer, and there were no more days when she became acquainted closely with gnawing hunger. She had textbooks again, and she was excelling in her studies, which made her father proud and helped him feel determined instead. 

What could the others possibly understand of it? Nothing. 

It was what it was. The good and the bad. 

The drinking had returned, and this time it had with such a ferocity she’d felt there might be dark magic at play because the bottles multiplied so quickly that it was hard to explain rationally. Cora had seen her father drunk before, and he’d never been loud or aggressive or violent. Just... miserable. Mumbling to himself, or holding a photo of her mother and talking to it. 

She could smell the scent of alcohol on his breath on Christmas, but those days passed by largely uneventful. This year, there were actual presents and decorations and even a Christmas tree, albeit small and modest in its decorations. 

It was New Year when things took a turn. Her father told her he was stepping out temporarily to meet with a friend he’d made at work - at one of his jobs - but he'd be back before the clock struck midnight. He promised they’d be doing the countdown together. 

He didn't return. Cora didn't sleep the entire night, worried something happened to him. People went missing in Gotham all the time, after all. What if he got hurt? She’d have no one. Cora had no way of contacting him, and she didn't know anyone who’d know where he’d gone. 

She didn't notice the new year had started until the other trailer park residents started lighting up fireworks. The handful of colourful pyrotechnic devices she and her father had bought laid untouched on the kitchen table. That was another promise broken. 

If her father didn't come, what would become of her? 

Who would even care if he was gone or not? No one would talk about her father except her. 

Cora struggled to remember any stories that might offer her an answer. 

Clive had returned at midday on the first day of the new year. Cora, who had been sitting beside the window the entire night, saw him arrive in an unfamiliar black car. He stepped out from the passenger seat, clothes rumpled and a bottle in a paper bag in one hand. He stumbled over to the caravan, and Cora immediately opened the door, eyes full of tears and hands shaking. 

“Dad! Where were you—-”

“Not–not now, Coco.” He said, and reached to ruffle her hair. He brought with him the pungent scent of alcohol mixed with tobacco, so heady that Cora’s stomach protested. It was a good thing she hadn't eaten anything in half a day or she would have thrown up. “Daddy is tired, I am just going to go to sleep.”

“But–but dad. You promised—where were you?” She said, stepping aside as he made his way inside, his body unbalanced but his grip on the bottle unfaltering. “You’re drinking again. You said—you said you won’t drink anymore. You said—”

Cora, that’s enough!”

Cora jumped, startled and she instinctively took a step back when he rounded on her. Her heart was like a jackhammer, and she felt cold, very cold, but it had nothing to do with the icy breeze coming from outside. 

Her father was standing before her, but it was not her father. He looked like her father, but his eyes were dark with a rage she’d never seen, and his mouth was twisted into something ugly. Her father had never looked at her like that. Sure, she’d gotten in trouble before, and she’d tested his patience, but he’d never been anything more than a little annoyed or perhaps exasperated. 

The Big Sad was not chasing her father, threatening to swallow him whole. The Big Sad was already there, had always been, inside of Clive and it was finally showing its face, like a snake that had been lying in hiding, waiting for an opportunity to attack. 

As quick as it had made its appearance it was gone. Her father’s eyes widened, and his face went slack with shock as he took in her trembling figure and the tears streaming down her face. 

“Oh—oh no—” He straightened, placing the bottle blindly on the table to his right. “Cora, darling—I am sorry. I am so sorry. I didn’t mean—” He stepped towards her, arms raising to reach her. 

She bolted, unable to trust if it was her father or his monsters that were trying to get her. Cora ignored when he called out for her to seek refuge in her room, pulling close the accordion door. Then she hid under her duvet. 

She was no hero and this wasn’t an adventure. 

But her father’s monsters were real. 

She had gotten pneumonia. As it turned out, one’s immunity could become quite crappy when one spent a period of time not eating the right nutrients. Cora didn't remember much of that hellish week when the infection had ravaged her body, making her wonder if she was going to die. It had felt like it. 

She did remember that her father had always been there whenever she’d opened her eyes. Sometimes, she’d seen her mother as well. There had been chicken soup and Vicks VapoRub being rubbed onto her chest, and warm tea being fed to her via a straw and her father massaging her back when she’d kept crying because of the aches afflicting her. 

There had been stories. She hadn't realised he’d stopped telling them ever since they’d left their first house until then. Instead, she had taken over that task by talking to him about all the books she’d read or the stories she came up with on her own. 

She couldn't help thinking that she’d failed. 

Cora had learned to lie from a young age. The stories she’d offer the teachers were so well-rehearsed that at times, she’d feel put out when she remembered they were just lies. It was ironic, considering she was otherwise a bad liar. But she was smart, and she was imaginative. And maybe some of those lies came from secret wishes that she’d never dare express to her father. 

It had taken her almost three weeks to be back on her feet after the bout of pneumonia. Her father crouched in front of her one day, placed his hands on her shoulders and apologised for yelling at her. He promised it would never happen again. She forgave him immediately. 

Cora loved her father dearly, even if she didn’t always like him. Sometimes she got the impression he didn’t like her much either, although there was no doubt he loved her. Or maybe, disliking her overstated it. Rather, he looked at her the way he did at the photo of her mother. With broken affection and thinly veiled suffering. 

She was the spitting image of her mother, after all. 

Things got better again. Clive got a job at a bar, which she didn’t think much of at the beginning except she was worried about him being around alcohol. He vowed he wouldn't touch alcohol again, however, and he kept his promise. For a while. All bottles disappeared, and she never saw another one for months. 

Cora was not allowed to visit him at his workplace because it wasn’t appropriate for someone her age, he’d say when she asked, but he did seem happier. He told her stories again, and they started spending more time together. Within two months, he received a promotion at the bar, and that was when the money started coming in. Cora was smart enough to figure out that the ‘assistant manager’ role in the bar he described as ‘small, but with its fair share of clients’ couldn’t possibly make him the salary he started receiving. She was sure, because then she looked it up on the brand new laptop he gave her, along with a phone - the latest model. It didn’t stop there. 

Her father took her on shopping trips and told her not to be shy from asking for what she wanted. Cora never went too far, a little apprehensive and intimidated because they hadn’t had that much in a while. She felt they might get jinxed if she told him everything she wanted, and it wasn’t as if she couldn’t do without all the fancy stationery or nice shoes. He bought them all for her anyway, even when she didn’t tell him she wanted them. Cora was grateful, but a familiar cold and heavy sensation filled her stomach. 

“Um, dad, are you sure we can afford—”

“Yes, yes. Coco, things are turning around. The job is fantastic and it pays well, and the owner says I might be up for another promotion in six months if I keep working the way I do. Isn’t that fantastic? We could leave the caravan and find a nice apartment. Hm?”

Cora nodded, and smiled. She was not convinced, and by then she’d grown wise for her age. She didn't say anything, though. 

For the first time in a long time, she showed up at school with brand new textbooks, up to date with the latest pop culture events and first to put her name down for school trips. 

Everything was good. 

.

But it hadn’t lasted, and she was not entirely surprised. Cora Montgomery was used to change, and she took it as it was, because it was what it was. There was anger festering deep in her heart, and that sentence was like a numbing cream that took away the sting of the fiery emotion. By then she was old enough to understand that other children didn't have to say it was what it was, nor did they have to worry about their parents like she did. 

Heroes took challenges as they were, even if they found them unfair and exhausting. 

She was not sure she cared much about being a hero anymore. 

After all, why would it be her out of all people? She was nothing special, especially in Gotham. There were plenty of other children who had no parents, or a helpless one, or lived in a far worse situation. Why would anything fantastical, and wondrous, and magical, and adventurous happen to her? 

How could she possibly ever save her father? 

.

Things had been going so well that her father had insisted she take up the teacher’s recommendation to sign up for Gotham Academy. The institute had launched an initiative for students from low-income backgrounds to sign up for a scholarship that’d allow them to study at the prestigious school for free for one year. They could continue their studies there, under a scholarship, provided they maintained the same high results in subsequent years. The award was bound to cover approximately ninety percent of expenses, with the rest either subsided or addressed via other financial help. Clive confidently told her that he'd be able to afford the remaining ten percent, and that she shouldn’t worry about it. 

She applied for it. Cora had to sit through two different interviews, one with the headmaster and the other with the recruitment officer, and she’d also had to complete an aptitude test. In terms of references, she had no difficulty obtaining them. Two months later, a week before her eleventh birthday, she was informed she’d been accepted. 

She should have spent the summer preparing, and basking in the excitement of studying at a prestigious school. She wasn’t worried that she'd stand out. She already knew that she would. The other students would immediately be able to tell she was not like them, and she doubted that all of them would be nice about it. But so what? She was smart enough to be there. She was going to succeed, hero or no hero. She'd face every bully fate put in her way and she'd win, and she'd prove everyone wrong, and she'd—she'd be writing her own adventure, seeing as it had refused to find her. 

But every good story had villains, too. 

Unfortunately, they were closer than she’d thought. 

The caravan had suddenly felt very small. Fragile. Not nearly safe enough. Not when there were two–no, three. There were three men outside, yelling for her father to come out in tones that promised they were definitely not there for a social call. 

Cora was alone. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for her to be back home before her father. He tended to have an unpredictable schedule, but most days he'd work throughout the night. It paid better, he’d tell her when she asked him, because although she was a latchkey kid through and through by then, sometimes she still felt apprehensive being alone. There were a few other caravans parked in the small park they lived in. The couple living left of them held screaming matches on an almost daily basis. Mrs Tanase, who lived across from them, however, was quite nice and she had, on occasion, brought Cora food for dinner if she knew Clive was working. But Mrs Tanase wasn’t at home that evening, and no one living in the other caravans was bound to come and confront the three men. 

At first Cora thought it was the creditors. She knew the drill by then. Always double check who was at the door and if she didn't know the person, turn off all lights and pretend she was not there. Then send a message to her father to let him know. 

The three men were definitely not creditors. The one in the middle was short and stout, and the only place he had more gold than on his fingers were his teeth. The other two were tall and burly, looking very much like the villainous lackeys in her comic book collection.

They didn’t see her peeking through the window, thankfully. Cora always locked the door when she was alone, so all she had left to do was turn off the lamp on the desk and the TV which she’d left on a low volume. Then she grabbed her blanket, more for comfort than because she felt cold and hid underneath the kitchen table, half-hidden by the plastic cover. 

Heart pounding in her chest and hands cold with fear, she texted her father. When one of the men started banging loudly on the door, she decided she couldn’t wait for Clive to respond and called him. 

No answer. She called him, again and again and again. 

It was futile. The entire visit lasted perhaps twenty minutes, but it felt like hours as she listened to the men go around the caravan, banging against the walls and trying to get a peek inside. She could hear them shuffle in the gravel. The short one had a distinct accent, but she could not place it and at one point she heard him tap on the window above the table she was hiding under. 

‘Looks like nobody’s home, boss.’

‘Or da worm be hidin'. Maybe we should let ourselves in n' have a lil' peek.’

Cora’s breath caught in her throat, body going so stiff she might as well have been a decorative goblin. No. No, not inside. If they turned that place upside down, they’d definitely find her. Then what? What would they do to her? Could she hide? But where would she hide? There were three of them. Surely, they’d look everywhere. 

She just wanted her dad to be there. 

Nah. Let’s check the Broken Shaker, first. We’ll come back later.’

Cora didn’t let go of her breath until she could no longer hear their footsteps and voices. 

She fell asleep under the table, though. 

It was where her father found her, a few hours later, when he came barging on the caravan, agitated and scared, calling out for her. 

It was just a misunderstanding, he told her. Everything would be fine. He'd clear the misunderstanding, and the men would leave them alone. 

“Do you promise, dad?” Cora sobbed, clutching onto him. 

“I promise, sweetheart. I promise.” He muttered. “I will always keep you safe. I promise, I promise.” He kept repeating that, over and over. 

Cora pretended she believed him fully because she did love him, even if she didn't trust him as much as she used to, and he was trying. 

.

The men hadn’t come back. 

Cora didn't stop being on guard however. Whenever she was close to the caravan park, she’d watch out for any unfamiliar faces and she always made sure that she was not being watched. She always locked the windows and door, and had stopped leaving all the lights on and always kept the curtains drawn. 

She no longer wished for magic or mystical quests though. She wished she were able to put bad guys away like Batman did. She wished she could have done more than just hide under the table when those men had come around. She wished she could be a main character in a story. Cora had never felt particularly unfortunate, or ungrateful, or angry with the life she had, but she now knew that her father telling her it was all ‘adventure’ was a way to sugarcoat the reality of their hardships. She didn't need to be whisked away to a magical world like Harry Potter, or discover she was a demigod like Percy Jackson, but she sure wished she could have the friendships they did. 

Maybe she was just not special enough. At the Academy, the other students certainly seemed to think so, although most of the teachers had praised her on her performance. 

Or maybe she just needed to be patient. 

Maybe. 

Cora had felt angrier with herself than with Julia and her clique when they ended up showing their true colours. She should have known something was off. It wasn’t as if she hadn't known true kindness, or had never had friends before, as brief as they might have been, but she’d hoped. 

She’d hoped that maybe she'd found her club. Her fellowship. Her golden group. She’d hoped that, yes, this was it. This was the moment when she’d finally have people who were there to stay, who wouldn’t judge her or think her lesser. So what if Julia had fancy clothes and her bedroom was bigger than the entire caravan Cora lived in? So what if they got picked up in fancy, shiny cars and travelled to exotic places on holidays? So what, so what, so what. 

It could always be worse, right? They could be back in the van where she never fully felt warm in the winter, and they could still be eating instant ramen whenever they couldn’t make it to a soup kitchen. Some people didn't even have a van to take shelter in. Some people didn't have photos of their loved ones, or a parent at all. She could have been placed in foster care, and never seen her father again. 

Yes, things could have been worse. After all, the glass might be half empty, but it was still half full. When that wasn't enough, well. It was what it was. All great men and women, real or fictional, had become such because they’d persevered, no matter how empty their glass was. 

Cora was not sure when her father had started drinking again. The bottles of gin and vodka and beer started making a home on the kitchen table and her father’s nightstand. They came in singles, at first, and when she asked him about it, her father told her that it was just to take the edge off. At first, he threw them away immediately and didn't allow the bottles to linger. 

But the bottles started multiplying and they were never fuller than a quarter, no matter the size. The scent of alcohol percolated the air, and impregnated her father’s clothes. Cora made sure her uniform didn't stink because by then, Julia and her clique had already started giving her grief and the last thing she needed was for people to know. 

Clive’s new job had always followed a rather unpredictable schedule, but she could tell something was wrong. Her father was gone most nights, from early evening until late morning, and he slept throughout the day. She could hear him snoring while she was making breakfast and preparing for school. 

She always left a plate of food by his door, as she’d done for a long time. 

He stopped eating. He drank more. On the increasingly rare occasion she found him at home when she was back from school, he was never fully sober again. Gone was the lucid look in his eyes and the jovial disposition and how are you Coco? Tell me about your day. 

It was happening again. Her father was spiralling, and now she was old enough to know that he probably needed help. Or maybe someone her age shouldn’t know that, but she did, and she ended up printing up several pages on AA’s meetings at school. Apparently that was where people like her father went for help when they couldn't help themselves. 

And he certainly couldn't. 

Her efforts at trying to get him to listen to her were futile. Cora barely saw him anymore, and when she did manage to get a hold of him, he was never fully sober. He thought it was sweet she was looking out for him, and he ruffled her hair as he told her that everything was fine, and sometimes adults just needed a little something to help them along. He always told her he was proud of her. 

These days, he started bringing up how much she looked like her mother again. It was in the same sad, distressed tone he’d used years earlier, and now that she was older, she understood a little better why her chest felt tight. 

She felt guilty. She couldn't help but think that if she looked a little less like her mother, her father would not be so pained. That he would not be constantly reminded of his loss. He loved her, of course. Just maybe not enough to take care of his monsters. Maybe it was her fault Big Sad kept coming back. Because she looked and acted like her mother. 

When Cora insisted on the AA again and he refused to listen to her, she decided not to back down. She showed him the pages, and how she’d already researched where the nearest place would be and how she got fliers from that soup kitchen they used to go to. 

Clive yelled at her for the first time in a year. He snatched the papers out of her hands, and ripped them to pieces all the while ranting about how he was the parent, how she should only worry about school and leave the adult matters to the adults. Cora didn't run away this time. She didn't cry either, at least not until she was in her room, hiding under her covers. Her father didn't come after her, or tried to comfort her. 

He did however leave the caravan and she didn't see him for three days. 

She was not really sure how she felt, but sometimes the emotions roiling inside her chest felt like they were going to snuff out her ability to breathe. Like a big great wave that she couldn't fight against. 

She stopped wishing for all things fantastical and mystical and of a great destiny. Instead, she just wished her father were happy again. 

And that her mother were alive still. 

Cora hadn't stopped going to school while he’d been missing, just as she hadn't stopped messaging and calling him with no response. She thought about searching that bar that those men had mentioned on the weekend. What if her father was injured? Or–or worse? What if this time she'd be left well and truly alone? 

Mrs Tanase asked her about it, as she invited Cora over for some hot gumbo. Cora lied and said that her father was away on a business trip. She knew that even if that were true, he could still get in trouble, but Mrs Tanase didn't care. No one really cared about the people who lived in that trailer park, after all. But she lied anyway because her heart wouldn't allow her to speak of an alternative scenario. My father may be dead. My father may not want to come back. It may be my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed so hard. 

It was while she was at Mrs Tanase’s that the men returned. This time, they were not as polite, and Cora watched from the window of Mrs Tanase’s caravan as they forced the door open and went inside. With the curtains drawn she couldn't see what they were doing, but the noise they made was a good enough indicator of the mess they were making. Glass breaking, things being knocked around, heavier things crashing to the ground. 

Anger mingled with the fear and apprehension she felt. Cora thought about her books and her comic books and her mother’s things all being touched and thrown around by those men. It was not fair. They had no right touching those things. Mrs Tanase turned off the lights, and told her to be quiet. It was too dangerous for her to go out there, the woman said. No item was worth her life. 

The intruders were done with their damage quite quickly. They made their rounds at other caravans, banging on doors and asking the residents there if they’d seen Clive. No one had. They eventually arrived at Mrs Tanase's door, who instructed Cora to hide under the bed at the far end of her caravan. It smelled under there, of mould and a perfume that made her want to puke, but Cora did as she said. 

They never come in, and Cora could hear them demanding answers. Mrs Tanase told them that Clive had been missing for days. 

‘What about his daughter? Noticed all of her things are back at the caravan.’

‘I am not sure. I think they both left in quite a rush. I haven’t seen her.’

‘You sure about that?’

‘Of course.’

‘When did ya say they took off?’ 

‘About three–no. Four days ago? I am not sure when, though. They don’t have a car to my knowledge. Not anymore.’

The men clearly did not believe her because Cora heard them repeat their questions several times. Or perhaps they were trying to find holes in the woman’s story. Mrs Tanase, bless her soul, however, kept her composure and repeated the same answer each time until the men were satisfied and left. 

Cora didn’t leave Mrs Tanase’s caravan even after the men left in their car. The woman told her it was best to wait because sometimes ‘those folk’ liked to come back.

“...those folks?”

“Yes, child. Loan sharks.” Mrs Tanase sat down at her kitchen table. “My husband worked for one. Well, my first husband, anyway. You don’t want to be on their bad side, trust me.”

Cora stared at her, unsure. “Why—why would they come after my father?”

“Money, poppet. Money. Your daddy probably owes them a lot of money.”

Cora swallowed. She thought about her phone, and her laptop, and how when they’d purchased the caravan and started renovating, her father had been in such a happy mood. For the first time ever they’d gone to a big supermarket and filled their cart to the brim, and he’d told her she could throw in whatever she wanted because they could afford it. 

But… then what about his job? What was he doing at night if he wasn’t working at that bar? 

She voiced that to Mrs Tanase who stared at her with a pitying look. 

“Oh poppet.” She said, “Nothing good, I can tell you that.” 

Her father had returned that evening. Cora was still awake, sitting at Mrs Tanase’s kitchen table staring out the window, watching their caravan. It was left wide open, the lights still on and some of their clothes thrown out into the yard. She both wanted and dreaded to see the damage inside. Her host had gone to sleep, but Cora was not able to lay down and relax, much less close her eyes. 

She felt really lost. And unsafe. And confused. 

Just past midnight, she watched a figure limp its way towards her caravan and at first, she didn’t even recognise her own father. His clothes were filthy, and his shoes were missing. It wasn’t until he stepped inside the caravan and she heard him call her name, that she realised who he was. 

Cora unlocked the door and sprinted over. 

A part of her wished she hadn’t. Her father looked terrible. Terrifying, really. His right eye was shut, surrounded by swollen, bruised flesh and there was dried blood caked all over the lower half of his face. His other eye was bloodshot, as if someone had injected colourant into his orbit. His left arm was in a sling, hanging limp. It took her a moment to realise that the reason his fingers were so bloody was because he was missing his nails. He appeared to struggle leaning on his right leg, which must have been severely injured given the cloth wrapped around his calf looked drenched. 

“D-dad? Dad, what happened?!”

He turned around, swaying, and let out a sob when he saw her, before he crumpled on the floor just as Cora rushed to him. With his good arm, he pulled her in. He smelled of alcohol and blood and sweat and something else, something rotten, like that time the milk had gone bad while they had still lived in the van. 

“Oh god, oh god, Cora. I am so–” His voice was hoarse, nasal. His nose was also swollen, askew. It must have been broken. “I am so sorry, my love. I am so sorry.” He started crying. “I am so sorry. Daddy is sorry.” 

Cora started crying too, and she wasn’t sure why but the emotions inside her chest threatened to suffocate her again. It was what it was. 

But what was wasn’t fair. 

“We—we need to go to the hospital—”

“No, no, I am fine, darling—”

“Dad, please. You’re—you’re bleeding!” She cried, pulling away. Her grey nightshirt was stained with splotches of crimson from his arm. She felt cold, but she barely acknowledged it. “Please, dad.”

He had relented. 

Mrs Tanase drove them to the hospital. She told the doctors that her father had been assaulted on his way back home by three unidentified men. 

There was some truth in those words. 

On the TV in the waiting room, Cora watched the news. 

That night, Batman took out a large network of criminals that often used the Broken Shaker Bar as a meeting point for their business. 

“Forgive me, Cora.” Her father had said, as soon as he had been all fixed up and able to have visitors in his room. “I am sorry, sweetheart. I know it must have been so scary. I promise they’re not coming back.”

He had made promises before. 

Cora smiled, because it always made him smile in return and that time wasn’t any different. “Okay, dad.” 

A week later, her father attended his first AA meeting. 

Mrs Tanase had helped them find an apartment through a friend of a friend of a friend, which Cora found weird. Why would she live in a caravan if she had friends who could help her find a different place to stay? Perhaps she just liked the trailer park better. Maybe it had something to do with how calm she was when she spoke to those men, and how quick she was to recognise them as dangerous folk. It didn't matter. Whoever Mrs Tanase had been in a past life was none of their concern. She had been good to the Montgomerys.

Four months after the incident, her father had been hired by the private cleaning company that the Academy used. Mrs Tanase had something to do with that as well. The monthly stipend was not much, but the contract was for three years, provided her father passed the probation period, and it came with benefits they hadn’t had in a while. Her father never missed an AA meeting, and sometimes he went multiple times a week when he felt tempted to drink. He was assigned a sponsor, Mr Nicholson, that he always spoke well of and who Cora met on several occasions. 

Their new home consisted of a two-bedroom apartment that was small but cosy in a decent neighbourhood, much further from the East End than their previous abode. Clive insisted that Cora took the master bedroom. Two months after he started his new job, he decided to go for a second one, part time. The scholarship covered the bigger part of the expenses, but he wanted her to be able to go on school trips and afford extracurriculars. Cora never asked for them, and when he told her about it, she told him she could do without either. She was torn between being happy about being able to go on that trip to Washington and feeling guilty about her father once again working himself to the bone. Once, she suggested that she could just go back to public school, but he immediately shut down the conversation, saying he'd make sure it didn't come down to it. 

That worried Cora a little, because by then, she’d learnt that her father would go anywhere to make sure she had everything she wanted. Even if it meant making reckless, dangerous choices. She made sure her time at the Academy was never taken for granted. She studied hard, and even though it was a little early, she started thinking about college. If she got into a great one, maybe even Ivy League, then she was more likely to get a high-paying job. Then her father wouldn't have to worry about working multiple jobs, and he'd be happier because she'd learnt to be happy too.

Clive didn't know that Cora had not managed to blend in as much as she told him she had. She told him she always sat with other students when in reality she rarely ever did. Sometimes she even pretended she was on the phone, texting away with friends he thought she had because she knew he'd feel worried otherwise. 

She still hadn't found her tribe. Julia and her clique were insufferable, especially since they’d found out about her father’s job, but Cora merely scoffed at it all. So what. They didn't know anything about her father. They didn't know anything about their hard lives, and how much they’d been through. Cora didn't need friends like them in her life. She might want to have friends, but she had also spent a lot of time on her own so she was used to it. 

Plus, Reuben was nice, even if sometimes he liked kissing up to the popular kids. Mara was nice as well, but she was also pretty and wealthy, so she didn't really need to make an effort to fit in. Occasionally they’d be paired up with her for school assignments, and that was always fun even if they had little in common. 

It was fine. 

She'd be the underdog. They had the best stories, anyway. Right? 

It was what it was. 

She might not seem like it, but she saw and understood more than people gave her credit for. She was quite terrible at lying, at least on the spot, and her social skills weren’t the best, either. Most people didn't really like to listen, she’d learned, and they definitely didn't listen to someone as chatty as her. What they didn't realise was that she was good at listening, too, even if it didn't seem like it. Cora noticed how Reuben’s eyes were always a little watery after an encounter with Archer, even if he smiled and laughed along with the cruel jokes at his expense. She also noticed how Mara, despite how much she loved and respected her parents, was under a lot of pressure because of the expectations they put on her. Or how Archer was not just haughty and crass and obnoxious, but also a rather angry person. 

Sometimes she wondered what other people saw when they looked at her. Did they only see the poor girl who was lucky to get a scholarship and whose father was a cleaner? Did they see the obnoxious chatterbox blonde who always tried to get involved in every initiative because she was a little bit of an overachiever? Did people see her at all? Probably not. Cora understood she failed to conform to plenty of social standards, and that her upbringing had shaped her to be a little… odd, to put it mildly. She didn't usually mind it. She was who she was. Even if it got a little lonely sometimes. She wished she had more family, even found family. She wished she had friends to hang out and tell about her mother’s stories, and laugh over silly things and maybe get in a little trouble over. 

Maybe she'd get those friends eventually. In the meantime, she'd just observe. 

Like how she observed that nervous brown-haired girl dressed in a Hogwarts robe, standing by the Halloween buffet table. 

“Hello, fellow Gryffindor!” Terrible social skills, see? 

The girl stared at her, startled. An awkward person could always recognise another, and Cora took it as an encouraging sign that the only other person dressed in a Harry Potter costume was a girl who didn’t seem to have her own group of friends. 

“Wh—what?”

Cora scrutinised her robes. If the girl was her age, then how had Cora not seen her before? She was quite good with faces. She knew everyone in her grade as part of a survival strategy more so than any popularity.

“...I am new,” The girl’s eyes darted around, looking for an escape. Cora had come across that reaction before many times, especially during those times when her clothes hadn’t always been pressed or entirely clean. It did sting, but she understood that she might have been a little abrupt in her approach. 

“I am sorry,” Cora said genuinely. “I talk a lot, don’t I? I didn’t mean to.”

The girl’s apprehension faltered, and instead she looked guilty. Well. That was new. Cora often excused herself for talking a lot, but she’d never seen anyone look sorry about it. “It’s, um, okay.” She nodded. 

Cora extended her hand. “My name is Cora.”

“Fay.” The girl didn’t seem to like touching other people, but her handshake was firm, however brief it might have been. It wasn’t Cora’s fault, then. 

“Fay. Is it short for something?”

“Um, no. Just—just Fay.” 

Huh. There was something odd about this, just Fay, but Cora couldn’t place her finger on it. 

Figuring out what it was fell low on her list of priorities. 

Being kidnapped could have that effect. 

.

“I want you to take this journal and write in it.”

“What should I write?”

“Whatever you want. It can be small observations, or it can be something that upsets you. Whenever you feel like something was… too much.”

Cora eyed the notebook that the school counsellor pushed across the desk towards her. The covers were black, blank, and the paper inside was lined. She leaned forward from her chair and grabbed it. “Okay.”

Cora could tell the counsellor was not particularly satisfied with their session. Or maybe she was not convinced by Cora saying she was fine. Because she was. 

Sure, she had nightmares, and sure, the first couple of weeks after the Halloween incident she hadn't really eaten, or slept, or paid attention in class much. But then again, none of the students who had been kidnapped operated at a hundred percent. Many hadn’t even returned to class because their parents had decided to withdraw them from the Academy, no longer considering it safe or wanting to let their children recover at home. No one was hurt, as far as she knew, beyond scrapes and grazes. Physically speaking, anyway. 

Cora went back to school a week later. She was among the few who did, and the students who had been so fortunate to not be present on Halloween had bombarded her with questions. 

Look at that. All she had to do to be seen was get kidnapped. Who knew? 

“Is there anything you’d like to add, Cora?” The woman before her asked encouragingly. “Remember, this is a safe space.”

Being kidnapped had been a horrible ordeal, but Cora had had her fair share of scary situations and tough challenges. The school counselor thought she might be still in shock - Cora had heard her speak to her father - but she wasn't. She’d already processed what had happened. 

She’d gotten kidnapped. Granted, they’d gotten the wrong kid. But she’d been saved. It was done. It was over. 

It was what it was. 

The brown-haired girl - Fay- was nowhere to be seen. 

And no one had heard of her, even the teachers. 

Huh. 

Plus, if she had never been kidnapped, Cora never would have finally found a friend. Months later, when she expressed that out loud, Fay stared at her amusedly. She found it funny, even if it was a dark thing to say.

It was really nice having a friend like that. 

Chapter 85: Of Cora Montgomery II

Notes:

Hi everyone, I am very sorry for being one week late with this update. I have been in and out of the hospital due to being unwell. Nothing serious but it has been impossible for me to focus on little else than my recovery and it will be my focus for next few weeks, so bear with me.

Thank you to my Beta-reader, MoonglowOnWater for the editing and proof-reading :)

Providence will likely be back for another chapter around the Christmas period, then the next one will be in January.

Chapter Text

“It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door.

Y ou step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.”

— Bilbo, The Fellowship of the Ring

.

.

.

Tastes like friendship. As a great aficionado of cinematography and literature, Cora knew that it was a very common trope. Tastes like friendship. Two characters, no matter how different they were or the background they hailed from, would eventually become friends. United by shared interests, or experiences, or adventures. Usually, although she was not sure why, such a bond was born over a meal or one character offering another chocolate. Cora could list a myriad of examples. In Aliens, Ripley got Newt talking again by offering her a cup of chocolate. In E.T.,Reese's Pieces was the delicious treat that tied Elliot to the alien. A Baby Ruth lead to Chunk befriending Sloth in The Goonies. It made sense, she supposed. 

So, when Fay told her that she’d start attending the Academy because of a case, Cora went ahead and bought some chocolate. Well, actually, she ended up buying thirteen different types and spent an hour deciding which one would be best. She and Fay were technically past the introduction and get-to-know-you stage, given everything that had happened. But she didn't know Fay that well, and they were definitely not friends. Yet. If Cora didn't screw it up. 

“Here.”

Fay blinked. She looked surprised, then confused. Cora flinched internally. Damn. Fate had given her the opportunity to have a real friend finally, one who was super cool too, and she had gone with Kit Kat. The classic one, too. A delicious treat, of course, but did it taste like friendship? 

“Um, thank you.” Fay said. “But…why?”

Cora smiled nervously. “I just thought that… you know.” She reached to rub the back of her head. “It’s your first week, and this place can be a lot, and chocolate always makes me feel better. Kit Kats in particular.”

“Oh.” Fay looked at the Kit Kat in her hand, then back up. She smiled. “I like chocolate as well. Thank you, Cora.” She looked at the treat again. “Would you like to share it with me?”

Cora grinned. “Sure!”

Mission accomplished. 

Take that, Elliot Taylor. 

For once, there was someone at that school who was even more awkward than Cora. She felt guilty for feeling a little relieved by that thought, even more so when she saw how used Fay was to people staring and whispering behind her back. She was not comfortable per se, or indifferent, but like Mara, who was all confidence, or Reuben who pretended he was not hurt when he got picked on. Although she was anxious and awkward, she still helped Reuben up that day in the canteen after Archer had made fun of him. 

Then Cora saw it for the first time. Something hot bubbling beneath the placid expression and sad eyes, turning her eyes darker and straightening her shoulders. It was anger, and it took Cora a moment to recognise it because she hadn’t thought Fay was capable of it. The brunette was quiet and polite and kind, and more sad than cheerful, but angry? And that angry? 

It felt familiar. Cora didn't realise why at the time. 

She did begin to understand the source of that anger, the more she learned about Fay. Of how she’d lost her parents, and how she had a brother that she hardly spoke about, at least not in the first years of their friendship. 

Cora was smart enough to fill in the gaps. People often assumed otherwise because of her tendency - her need - to be optimistic and cheerful, but she had experienced enough hardships in her short life to recognise the marks it left on a person. Many months later after the Academy case, which had ended with their Sociology teacher dead and the school’s reputation suffering, Cora saw them. The scars. They were in Cora’s bedroom and Fay had to not have realised that when she removed her sweatshirt, exposing her back in the process. The sports bra hid part of the marks and the scars, but Cora could see plenty. 

Fay was oblivious to Cora staring at them, mortified, even after they disappeared under the soft pyjama top. She turned around and spotted Cora’s look. Bagheera, sitting by the window, had stopped munching on his apple and was staring as well. Leave it to the empath to detect every emotion around him. 

“Sorry,” Cora apologised clumsily when realisation dawned on Fay’s face and she tensed up. “I, uh, I didn’t mean to stare.” She added, lamely. 

Fay frowned. “It’s alright.” She said with a nod. Then paused. Which felt like an eternity, and the room was suddenly too small. 

“Others—others did that, didn’t they?” Cora asked tentatively. She was being nosy, and she really shouldn’t, but a lot of things about Fay suddenly made sense. “You told me that–that you were bullied before.” 

Fay smiled wryly. “It’s complicated.” She said, “But yes. People were… angry and upset and lost. After what happened.”

“The—the attack?” A faraway world full of magic and dragons and god knew what else. Cora’s mind could only speculate what it was like, even with Fay more willing to open up about it. 

“Mh-hm.” Fay hummed. “It’s alright. It was a long time ago—”

“It’s not.” Cora blurted out, eyes stinging. “It’s not alright.” The scarred flesh—it looked like whoever had hurt her had gone pretty deep. She was no expert, but if Fay had already had them when she’d come to Cora’s world when she had been twelve then… then. “You didn’t deserve that.”

Fay stared at her in surprise. 

Then she smiled. “I know.”

Cora couldn't help but think that Fay didn't look fully convinced of that. Later, she did. But not then. 

“It is what it is.” Fay said. 

Yes. 

It was what it was. 

Cora had never realised how awful - how sad - it sounded until she’d heard it from another child’s mouth. 

The best of adventures, in Cora’s opinion, started with an unlikely hero. They might or might not be reluctant to embark on the adventure at first, but almost always, the stories ended the same way. The hero came out on the other side a changed man or woman, surrounded by a found family. They might have lost some friends or allies along the way, but gained others in the process. 

Cora had never considered herself a hero. Or someone with the potential of being a hero. Especially after meeting Fay and Damian. One of them was Robin, for Merlin’s sake! They were the heroes. Fay was the one who’d travelled across worlds and hailed from a fantastical realm and helped other people. Not Cora. 

That was not necessarily an issue. How much different Frodo’s story had been if it wasn’t for Sam’s unyielding loyalty and love for him? 

Except. 

She didn't really belong in any of Fay’s adventures, did she? 

It was what it was. 

.

.

.

“Ready?”

“Um, no.” Cora tightened her arms around Fay’s shoulders, and her legs around her waist. “Please, please don’t drop me.”

“Would it be such a loss?” Damian drawled from their left with a roll of his eyes. Cora would have thrown him a dirty look but she was too focused on keeping her breakfast down. She really hoped she wouldn't end up vomiting in Fay’s hair. 

“I won’t drop you.” Fay said with a smile, her hands under Cora’s knees, holding her firmly. “You are going to feel a little funny at first, but I will go slow.”

“O-okay.”

Fay was warm. Then she was really warm. Cora realised that the faint thrumming sensation she felt was the so-called flux, the supernatural energy that filled her friend’s body. Moving and coiling underneath Fay’s skin. Her friend, the alien. There was dust lifting around them, and then they were moving, against all odds, upwards. Against gravity! 

Her stomach fluttered. 

Cora swallowed. Her body felt heavier than she was, and she clutched on Fay so hard she might leave bruises behind. Fay held her promise, however, to go slow, and Cora ventured a glance down. They were already two floors above ground, Damian and Bagheera growing smaller and smaller as they kept going up. 

“Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah.” She looked around as they rose above the tops of the grove of trees they’d gone to. She could make out the outline of Gotham City just ahead of them, the smoke coming from the industrial area much closer to them, over the river. The sky was mostly clear, just a few puffs of white moving slowly but not daring to block the sun behind her. 

Cora realised she could feel the air shift around them. Fay was not just beating gravity with her will, she was manipulating the air around them. “This is—this is incredible.” She gasped as they went higher and higher until Damian and Bagheera became little more than shadows on the ground. Cora didn't relax, especially when she realised how high they were going. A flock of birds passed them by, the flutter of their wings so close that Cora could feel it against her face. 

“Oh wow.” 

They were above the nearest clouds, and it was the closest thing to Heaven, if it did exist. The air was clearer there, but it also felt harder to breathe. 

She wondered what kind of stories her mother would have come up with if she’d been able to see that breathtaking view. 

Or if she had had a friend like Fay. 

.

Later that day, Cora watched Damian and Fay spar. 

Maybe she didn't need to be part of their adventures, she thought as she watched on, fascinated and excited. It was enough that she was privy to those moments. That she had a friend - maybe two, if Damian wasn’t such a prick all the time - who liked Cora as she was. 

It was pretty great, actually. 

.

.

Cora lied more than people believed her to be capable of. She’d lied to her father when she used to tell him everything was fine at school, and no, she was not getting picked on for having dirty clothes or third-hand textbooks (if she was lucky). She’d lied to herself. She’d lied to her aunt that she was over the incident on Halloween night, and in many ways she was. She’d lied to the school counsellor and the therapist her aunt had arranged for her later on, that no, she didn't have any PTSD symptoms. 

She didn't tell anyone about her nightmares. They didn’t bother her often, but when they did, it was with a vengeance that made her wonder if her own brain hated her. She dreamed of dark halls and men with guns, she dreamed of shadows wrapping themselves around her hands and feet, ready to drag her into an abyss. She dreamed of the Angel sometimes, too, not hurting her but her father. 

Cora always felt exhausted the day after. Not just I-didn’t-sleep-well-enough kind of tiredness, but a mental one. An emotional one. The dreams felt like a cold storm that left her heart in shambles, leaving her feeling hopeless and useless and weak in different ways. 

But she did what she did best. She smiled, and she asked her aunt about her day, and messaged her father to ask him about his and she did her homework. She might be a little quieter at school but most students were likely relieved, because they all knew how much of a chatter box and know-it-all she could be. Reuben and Mara still talked to her, they even hung out occasionally even if she was not as close to them as they were to one another. 

“Is something wrong?” Fay noticed something was off in the first thirty minutes after they’d met at the park. Bagheera was several metres away, curiously approaching a flock of geese floating on the small man-made pond. Fay could be really good at reading people, too, Cora thought. She didn't need Bag, or maybe it was because she'd spent such a long time around an empath that she was good at it. 

Cora floundered. Other people had asked her that - her aunt, her father, the therapists - but she had always reassured them that yes, everything was fine. “Yeah, sure.” She smiled as widely as possible. It was not entirely fake, but it felt weird on her face. “Why do you ask?”

Fay contemplated that, looking as if deciding whether to pry or not. “You talked less.” Cora flinched. “You also always ask where the gremlin is.” Damian. He didn’t usually come along when Fay and Cora met, but when he did, he was always such a sour puss. Not as bad as she’d thought he’d be – he lacked social skills too, in Cora’s opinion, and he probably didn’t mind her as much as he pretended he did. 

“Oh.” Cora swallowed. “Heh, thought it might get old.” She shrugged. 

Fay was not convinced. She didn't say anything, at least not until later that day, when they were at the warehouse with takeaway food and about to put on a movie. 

“I don’t always sleep well, either.” Fay remarked out of nowhere. 

Cora frowned, a slice of hot pizza in her hand. “What?” She looked at the brunette, sitting on the floor as opposed to the couch, with all the pets hovering around her, eyes begging for food. Bagheera was dozing off next to Cora, belly already full. 

Fay smiled a little, looking apologetic. “You’ve yawned a lot and you seem really tired.” She said, then paused. “You’re, um… distracted, as well. Is it nightmares?”

Oh. She'd been paying attention. 

Cora hesitated. For quite a while. At least two whole minutes, enough that the grease from the pizza was getting on her fingers and the dough was cooling down rapidly. 

“Yeah. Sometimes.” She admitted, with more ease than she’d expected. “You get them, too, don’t you?”

Fay nodded. “Yeah. they were usually on Bad Days, or before.” 

There was something the way she said bad day that made Cora wonder if it meant something else. “It’s normal right? Having a bad day now and then?” She shrugged, instinctively brushing it off as she was used to doing. “It’s just nightmares.” It really wasn't. It had been three days and Cora still felt low. 

Fay tilted her head. “Not always. On Bad Days, I feel very tired and… sad.” She admitted. “I don’t really feel like doing anything.” 

Yes. That was exactly how Cora felt. She lowered the slice of pizza into the box, wiped her fingers, then moved off the sofa to sit on the plush rug, next to Fay. 

“Did it last long?” 

“It used to.” Fay nodded. “A week, at worst. Three days, at best. It was a Bad Day when I met Damian for the first time.” She looked fond. “I cried for no reason at one of the paintings at the museum.” 

Cora had cried that morning too. It was stupid. She’d started crying because she hadn’t been able to find her pink scrunchie although she rarely used it because it wasn’t tight enough to hold her unruly curls. 

“And now?”

Fay shrugged. “Not as often. It didn't last as long.” 

“But Bag is an empath – can’t he help?”

The other girl shook her head. “I think it makes him sad too, but not really. I don’t think anyone can make the Bad Days go away completely. Like a headache.” She said, “But they can get better.”

“The Bad Days.”

“Hm?”

“You keep saying the bad days.” Cora’s brows furrowed. “I thought it’s a language barrier thing, but—” Fay spoke English far too well. “--why do you say it like that?”

“Oh. Moma told me I should keep track. Good Days, Bad Days and everything in between.” Fay said. “Because of my panic attacks. To understand what causes them. Usually, my worst panic attacks took place on Bad Days, or right before.”

“So, um,--” What was that word that the therapist had used? “---triggers?”

Fay nodded. “Yeah.”

“Does that actually work?” Cora pouted slightly. “I don’t see how it would do any good. They still happen, don’t they?”

“It didn’t, always. But it helped knowing how often it happened, and if I got better or worse.” Fay explained. 

“Hm.” Cora mulled that over in silence for a few minutes. Fay didn’t push or ask any other questions. “So you just mark them like that? Bad Days, Good Days?” The Big Bad. Cora hadn’t thought of that in a while, but it used to be on her mind all the time when she was younger. 

“Yeah. I keep a journal.” Fay looked at her. “It’s okay to have Bad Days.” She offered. “Even if they’re really unpleasant.”

Cora’s eyes stung. She'd heard all of that before, but she was not sure why it felt different then. “Can you—erm, can you show me?” She asked. “How to do it?”

Fay smiled. “Sure.” 

Cora didn't ask what Fay had nightmares of, and Fay didn't ask Cora. 

It was enough that they understood. 

.

.

Her father had attended AA meetings for nearly two years. He was completely and fully sober. There was still some tension between him and his sister, but he'd been coming over for dinner every Sunday. Once back in the workforce, working in a call centre, Clive had focused on finding a new place to live. It had taken him well over a year, and not without loaning money from aunt Emma, but he’d moved into a one-bedroom apartment in a relatively good neighbourhood. Perhaps the best he'd lived in since Cora’s mom had been alive and they’d all lived in their house in Blüdhaven. 

Cora spent at least two evenings a week there. They either had takeaway or cooked together. Although the dishes were usually simple, Cora enjoyed every minute of it. Her father was safe and alive and sober. He was joking again, and he smiled often, happy to listen to her stories from the Academy or tell her about his funny - and not so funny - interactions with clients. Six months after he had been hired as a supper agent in the customer service call centre, Clive had been promoted to a supervisor role. He hadn’t gotten much of a pay rise, but they went out to celebrate anyway and Emma joined them. The promotion was more important in what it represented than the power or money he made - it meant he was trusted, that his hard work to prove himself had paid off, that he was turning a corner. 

For the first time ever, Cora caught a better glimpse of the sibling dynamics her father and his sister must have had in their youth. Up until then, dinners had usually been brief and quiet, with Clive letting Cora or Emma talk. Cora knew they sometimes argued still, she could hear them from her bedroom. 

But that evening, at that dinner, it wasn’t anything like that. They were both smiling and teasing each other, and recalling stories from their childhood. How her father had nearly broken his arm climbing over the fence of his thirteen-year-old crush. How Emma had gotten pink eyes from the first boy she’d ever kissed and had been called Pinky for the rest of school year. On and on. It spoke of a childhood that had been relatively peaceful and happy, at least at first glance. 

Cora could fill in the gaps, however. Clive had gone away to college, but dropped out after one year. Cora’s paternal grandparents had passed away shortly after, one year apart. One from a bad heart, the other from a bad liver. Neither her father or her aunt explicitly stated it, but Cora had heard them argue on the topic. On how her aunt believed her father had become ‘just like their father’, how ‘history was repeating itself’. Her paternal grandfather had had a drinking problem too, and he hadn’t always been nice. That was likely an understatement. Cora was certain of it, because her aunt had tried and failed to discreetly ask her if Clive had ever hurt her when he was drunk. When she first had, Cora had felt enraged her aunt could ever think that. Two years later, however, she had some perspective on it. She understood why her aunt had asked. 

She’d understood the moment she had seen the small, round-ish scars on her aunt’s right arm. Cigarette scars, old and faded but permanent. Just like Fay’s. Just like the small scar on the bottom of Cora’s foot from where she’d stepped on a piece of broken bottle glass when she had been eight. 

Clive had been at his best when her mother had been alive, Emma had remarked one time. Then she’d died. 

And the Big Sad had come for him. 

And the Bad Days never quite ended. 

Cora pretended she didn't see the bottle of whisky tucked under the sink, in the cupboard, right at the back in her father’s new apartment. it was not opened, but sealed. That was a good sign. It had to be. 

.

.

.

Damian Wayne could be a gigantic prick. He was arrogant and snarky and sarcastic. He could be quite mean, too, but not in the malicious way Julia Friar was. It was as if he didn't always know when to stop with his observations of a person, only too eager to bluntly and harshly relieve others of their comfortable delusions of themselves. Cora had to admit that from her first encounters, she had found him to be frickin’ intense and that had been before she’d seen just how dangerous he was. 

Thank God he was one of the good guys, right? Right. 

But he was not all that. It had taken her a while to see it, and to understand why Fay adored him the way she did, but Cora saw it better. Damian was brilliant and unflinchingly loyal and capable of compassion, as roundabout as he showed it. Cora used to wonder why on Earth he would ever be Robin - she hadn’t met any of his predecessors, but she was certain they were all different from one another. Damian came across as unsympathetic and borderline merciless and rather violent. Highly standoffish and conceited and if his ego were food, there’d be no world hunger. 

But. 

“Julia Friar?” Fay asked. “She’s gone?”

Cora stared at her in confusion. “Wait. You—” Her brows furrowed. “You weren’t the one behind it?”

Fay looked just as puzzled. “Uh, no. I was on the island, remember?” Yes. Cora kept the magical-or-super-sciency cube tucked away safely in a secret spot in her room. “That’s good, right?”

Yes. The Academy got rid of one of its worst bullies. 

“Yeah.” Cora nodded. “Yes, it is.” 

Fay had no idea about it. 

Cora glanced across the room where Damian was petting Oskar’s head after administering him his shot. The guy had a soft spot for animals despite being as prickly as a porcupine. 

He had also known of Cora’s troubles with Julia and her clique. 

Huh. 

“Do you, uh, want me to give you the cube back?” 

Fay shook her head and smiled. “No, don’t worry. I’ll leave again, and you can use it to contact me.” She looked over to Damian. “He thought it was best if you had ways to reach out to us if you need it.”

Huh. 

Later, Damian gave her a batarang. It was sharp and sleek and had a tracker inside. Cora could probably get away with saying she just bought it somewhere. After all, Gotham had fast food chains selling vigilante toys and villain-themed food. 

He ordered her not to lose it or else, and that she shouldn’t use it unless there was an emergency or else. Cora wholeheartedly believed his threats, she’d never take them lightly. 

But she did not believe him when he said it was Fay’s idea. 

.

It was a fact that Cora would never, ever fully belong in Fay and Damian’s lives. She had known it from the beginning. For one, she was not a vigilante. She did not understand a vigilante’s lifestyle no matter how much she read up on them, collected posters and newspaper clippings and comic books. She was certainly not an otherworldly teenager capable of manipulating natural elements which was frankly, freaking awesome. Cora had never understood why, in many stories, the protagonist would be reluctant to embark on adventures, or be the ‘chosen one’, or accept the magical endowments they were offered. Well, actually she could understand why – there was danger to any epic adventure. But it wouldn’t be an adventure otherwise. As someone who had been through a fair number of dangerous situations, Cora was not sure she was quite cut out for it. 

But that didn't stop the insidious, bitter emotion from worming its way into her heart occasionally. It was not envy, per se. Cora would not say she was envious of Fay or Damian and the lives they lived — and they’d both clearly had complicated childhoods fraught with loss and heartache in different ways. Cora had too, but she hadn’t witnessed people die in a war, or grown up in the shadow of one of the world’s greatest heroes. 

It was still an emotion she wished she didn’t experience, one that was inevitably followed by a sense of guilt. Cora saw the way Damian and Fay looked at each other – they always had. Maybe, in the beginning, it hadn’t been so obvious, but even before those two had become more than friends, Cora had seen how well they fit together. Not in an opposites-attract sort of way; Cora could see how often they were on the same wavelength. The way they didn’t always require words to communicate, how sometimes their dialogue was made up of small, discrete gestures and affection wrapped up in layers of badinage and shallow annoyance. When they looked at each other sometimes, Cora got the impression they saw more in each other than she did. 

They were each other’s person. The kind of partnership that was forged from danger and camaraderie and everything else that books say were the foundation of an impenetrable bond. 

Cora was not envious, because she admired their relationship more than she wished she had that with someone else. Even on the days when she was inadvertently reminded that she’d never be in in. There was information they had to keep from her for her own safety. Because she was just Cora. A civilian. A simple human girl. Awkward and overly chatty stemming from a desire to connect with others and failing to do so again and again.

Fay was a good friend, and not just in the cool-powers-and-stories-from-a-fantasy-like-world way. She was kind, thoughtful, observant, and loyal. She liked Cora even if she talked too much, even if she was just a civilian. Cora sometimes wondered why Fay was friends with her - she had to be boring compared to Damian and all the other people she knew. Cora was not brilliant or skilled or rich like Damian – she couldn't offer Fay knowledge or protection. She could talk her head off about pop culture and the Academy and so on, but was that really enough? 

One day, it probably wouldn’t be. All good things came to an end. Just like the house in Blüdhaven, and the trailer park, and the apartment. It was all a cycle of Bad Days and Good Days, wasn't it? 

Cora made no demands. Had no expectations, even when she felt a familiar stinging sensation slicing through her heart whenever Fay went away for days, weeks. She always came back, and she never forgot about Cora. Cora knew she was on that faraway island, and they sometimes talked via that weird but wonderful cube, about lots of different things but never about why Fay was training so hard that she was sometimes covered in bruises all over. She couldn't know. It was for her own safety. She appreciated that, but it also reminded her that she’d only ever be that—the side character. Unfailingly there when needed, but never fully immersed in the adventures that were happening. 

She did feel grateful, however, to have found a friend. Friends, maybe. Damian could be alright. Sometimes. Now and then. And Cora might not be able to know everything, to be little more than a spectator to their journey but she was nonetheless happy to be there. In their lives. As little space as she might take up, as insignificant as she might be in their journey. She was there. She was accepted. She was a friend, even if she was not one of them. 

It was okay. It was what it was. Each to his own journey, right?

She was there. She was alive. In a few months time, she’d go to college and it wouldn’t be just any college, because Cora’s hard work had paid off. She had been accepted by most of the colleges she’d applied to, including an Ivy League one. Her father was doing great, and his rapport with his aunt was healing, and maybe this time the Big Sad would remain subdued indefinitely. He’d be there for her graduation, and he and aunt Emily would drive her to college and her new life would start. Away from Gotham, which meant she probably wouldn’t get as many opportunities to see Fay. Cora tried not to think too much of it, even as the academic year was rapidly coming to a close and she could feel time trickling away quickly. 

She focused on the positives, because it was what she'd always done. 

“Cora, it’s nice to see you again.”

“Hi.” Cora smiled sheepishly, ears a little hot as she shook the man’s hand briefly. 

Peter was her aunt’s boyfriend. Emma insisted on not using the term ‘boyfriend’ because she found it a little silly given she was in her late thirties, but she also always giggled whenever she talked about him. And boy, did she talk about him. Her aunt was smitten with him, and Cora could see why. 

Peter checked the boxes for tall, dark and handsome. Cora had yet to see him out of a perfectly tailored suit, or otherwise fine clothes that made for a model-worthy wardrobe. He was a good-looking man, clean-shaven and dark hair kept short. His eyes were dark, like two pieces of onyx which her aunt might have gushed over once or twice. Cora found it endlessly funny but she was also happy to see her aunt happy. Emma tended to be somewhat of a workaholic, rarely ever carving out space for herself or others in her life—except Cora. Ever since she’d become her guardian, Emma had always made sure Cora had everything she needed, materially or emotionally. 

Cora, in return, had come to care about her aunt a great deal. It was the most stable environment she'd had since her mother had died, which in itself had been somewhat of a learning curve. Cora was used to worrying - about bills, and food and school supplies and her father’s health and whether bad men would show up at their door. Those worries had been fully taken off her hands when Emma had taken her in, but Cora couldn't say she didn’t find it hard to get accustomed to that new lifestyle. Emma gave her a super generous monthly allowance, and bought her brand new textbooks and when she was away on business trips - albeit brief - she hired someone to look after cooking and cleaning for Cora. Emma was savvy and world-travelled, and she wore the best of clothes and ate the best of food – at least that was how it had felt in the first year Cora had stayed with her. 

So, yes. She was tremendously happy for her aunt. Emma had met Peter at a company-led networking event that she’d been asked to lead and organise. He worked for the same company, albeit a branch in Europe, prior to his move to Gotham several months earlier. They had begun working together when he was transferred into her branch, and had been dating for nearly a month when Cora was introduced to him, in March. Emma brought him over to the apartment for the first time, and Cora helped her cook pasta because unfortunately, cooking skills did not run in that side of the family. She had fun, though. 

The dinner was very enjoyable as well. Peter was charming, highly-educated and mild-mannered. He brought an orchid for her aunt, and an expensive box of chocolate from a French luxury-brand for Cora. He asked her questions during dinner about her college choices - she'd gone with Columbia University, in New York. Not very far away, he noted. 

He was right. It was only a couple of hours away. 

“It’ll be hard to start from scratch, I am sure.” He said with a dimpled smile. “I know I missed my high school friends, for a while.” 

“I was glad to be rid of mine.” Emma joked, and they both chuckled. Cora smiled as well, even if nothing she felt inside was worth a smile. 

“Don’t worry, kiddo.” Peter grinned, as he reached for her shoulder. “I am sure you’ll love college.” 

A draft of cold air must have travelled through the room, because Cora felt a shiver travel down her spine, like a cube of ice sliding down her back. 

Emma smiled at Cora from across the table. “Yes. And you never know—maybe Fay will attend a college nearby?”

“Fay?” Peter removed his hand from Cora’s shoulder. He glanced at Emma, then he looked at Cora. “Is that your best friend?”

Best friend? She was not sure about that. Close friend. Fay was a close friend to her, but was she to Fay? Damian and Fay were best friends. They looked at and knew each other like that. 

“Yes, she’s a good friend.” Cora said, and told no lies. Then she looked at Emma. “Yeah, maybe she will.” 

No, she wouldn’t. 

.

Cora didn't see Fay much in the months leading to the end of the Academic year. Just once in April, and not at all in May. Fay, however, did make good on her promise to keep in touch and they talked at least once a week for a few hours. Cora had a hundred different questions gathering on the tip of her tongue, ready to somersault out of her mouth, but she swallowed them. Fay would likely be put in a difficult position, and she wouldn’t be able to answer them – and Cora’s heart would sting all over again. Then she’d feel guilty because she did think Fay genuinely cared for her. 

Instead, they talked about Cora’s remaining school assignments, life at the Academy, the exams she had to sit through and how her college prep was going. Fay was excited to hear all about her plans to go to New York, and promised that once school was over, they could go on a shopping trip for Cora to check off all she needed for the first year of college. 

Cora agreed wholeheartedly, as she took in the dark smudges under Fay’s eyes and the bandages wrapped around her limbs. It was not always that bad, but sometimes it was even worse. Training, Fay said. Bagheera and Damian, too, but that was all she could say. Cora just nodded along, and asked her to be careful, and sometimes Fay would show her some photos from the island she was on – wherever she was. Cora suspected it was South America, but then again, they could very well be in another dimension or another planet that looked like Earth.

Whenever their calls - if they could be labelled that - ended, Cora was left with a lingering sense of… inadequacy. Imposter syndrome, except rather than doubting her academic achievements or skills, Cora doubted the validity of her friendship with Fay. Doubted whether she was worth the time Fay put aside for their calls even though she and Damian were clearly working on something, agonised over whether Fay would eventually decide that it was best if Cora didn't contact them. Cora didn't think Fay would ever be that cruel, or cold, but it did make sense, right? They had their adventure, and Cora would have hers, albeit more in the shape and form of being a college student trying to figure out adulthood. 

Cora sighed, then rubbed her hands over her face. She mentally chastised herself for being such a Debbie Downer. Being so pessimistic was not her style, especially when her life was pretty good. She was happier than she'd been… well. 

Since her mother had died. 

.

.

For a little over a year, her father had insisted that they have a father-daughter trip every month. Years earlier, he’d promised her that they'd go anywhere and everywhere, in their little van, with no creditors or landlords to hold them back. They had never gone everywhere, but Cora had hung tightly onto the memories of that trip whenever the mantra of it is what it is hadn’t worked out for her. This time around, Clive did hold his promise – albeit she’d never told him that she’d expected their monthly trips to fizzle out eventually. 

It started out small. First couple of months, they crossed off landmarks and attractions in Gotham and neighbouring towns. Then they started going further, to New York and Philadelphia, on two- or three-day trips that Emma approved (albeit a little reluctantly at first). During summer, they’d go somewhere or someplace she particularly loved, like a Broadway musical, almost every week. 

It had been an excellent summer if she might say so. The time she’d spent with Clive had taken off the edge of the budding inadvertent grief she knew she’d feel when she went to college. Grief because she’d miss her father and Emma, and even Reuben and Mara, and Gotham, because for all its faults, it was home. She’d certainly miss Fay and Bag, and being allowed to go to the warehouse and being let into their fantastical, incredible world — and having someone who understood her. Who didn't look at her as a nuisance or the nerdy overly chatty girl. Maybe she’d find her people - her fellowship - in college, and she probably would, but it wouldn’t be the same. 

Truth was, she did feel a little special knowing that out of all people out there - better, more interesting people - it was her that had ended up finding out who Robin was, and who the newest vigilante in Gotham was. Was that so wrong, she asked herself many times. 

Maybe it was. 

She’d spend many hours - weeks - thinking that what came next was a punishment for wishing for more than she had, for being selfish, for wanting to be more

It was the last weekend of May. Early on Saturday, Cora was in her bedroom, double checking she'd put everything she needed for her trip to Coney Island with her father in her leather backpack. A fine bag, truly. All made of leather, olive green with amaranth accents and stitching, with front pockets and several compartments inside. It had been a present from her aunt the previous Christmas, and it matched the delicate watch that Fay had given her as a gift. While searching for her wallet, Cora heard the front door open and close, then her father’s voice echoed down the hall from the sumptuous open space that encompassed the kitchen and living room. Her aunt greeted him, and they spoke in hushed tones which she didn't make much of as she was still trying to find her wallet. 

Then, “For fucks’ sake Clive, why can’t you just listen to me for once!”

Cora jumped. Her aunt’s voice wasn't even that loud but Emma rarely ever spoke at that volume, even when she'd visibly clashed with her brother in those first few months of their new arrangement. 

Cora found her wallet on her desk, and she dropped it into her backpack before slinging one of the straps over her shoulders. Her attention now, however, was towards the door of her bedroom, which was half-open. Emma didn't shout again, but she could hear her father shushing her and their voices speaking over one another as they argued. 

With a frown, she stepped into the hall quietly and turned left. She didn't intend on eavesdropping but she instinctively tried to step as lightly as possible, her curiosity getting the best - or worst - of her. 

“Emma, please—”

“No.” Her aunt huffed, followed by something clattering in the sink. Perhaps a fork or a spoon. “She has a right to know. She's already been through so much—”

“And she will.” Clive pressed, just as Cora stepped around the corner. The kitchen was to her left, and she spotted Emma standing on one side of the large marble island, her father on the other. Her aunt’s cheeks were flushed, eyes dark with irritation and mouth pressed in a thin line. Clive on the other hand, looked at her with an expression Cora was unfortunately familiar with. 

It was the look he had given her when he’d told her that they’d have to go back to Gotham and cut their adventure short. The look he had given her when he’d told her that he couldn't afford new textbooks or that they’d be late on their electric bill in the last apartment they’d had. 

Something cold and heavy and uncomfortable dropped inside Cora’s stomach, and she swallowed. 

“I have a right to know what?” 

Both Clive and Emma were startled. Her aunt jumped slightly, her annoyance morphing into surprise, then into a look of guilt. Her father recovered quicker, but he smiled at her, even if it looked a little nervous. “Hey, kiddo.”

Cora looked between them. “Know what?” She insisted, feeling cold all of a sudden although her hands began sweating. 

Here it comes. Another opportunity for it is what it is. 

Emma looked away, and sighed. “Clive?”

Clive looked at her then at Cora, whom he approached. “I am sorry, Coco. I didn’t mean for you to hear that.” He said, placing his hands on her shoulders. She’d had quite the growth spurt in the last year, putting her at nearly five foot eight. Taller than average, even taller than Fay at that point, although the discrepancy was not as obvious as with some of her female classmates. “Your aunt and I were discussing…” He paused, staring at her with a long, woeful look before he smiled again, this time a little wider. “...a job opportunity. At work.”

Cora’s brows furrowed. “A job opportunity?” She glanced at her aunt, who had turned away from them and was washing her mug of coffee in the sink. 

“Yes, sweetheart.” Clive said. “Remember how I told you that my boss is quite happy with how I’ve trained the new hires? Well, they’d like me to go train people in other places as well.” His hands lowered from her shoulders, but instead he draped an arm around her and pulled her into a side hug. He didn’t smell of alcohol or cigarettes, he hadn’t in a long time, but Cora instinctively inhaled deeply, searching for the scent she'd felt on him for a long time. “The problem is that it’s on the other side of the country, maybe abroad. I would have to go away for quite a while, though – maybe three or four months at a time.”

That was what they were arguing over? That he might be absent? 

“Oh.” Cora nodded. “I see. Well, that’s good news, isn’t it? They trust you and they like how you do your job – so maybe you’ll get an even better role!”

There was a niggling sensation at the back of her head. It told her that something was off. Primarily because it didn’t make sense for her aunt to react in that manner to those news. Especially since Clive’s difficulties in turning his life around was one of the reasons they’d failed to reconnect for so many years. To her aunt’s credit, she hadn’t even known about Cora, no more than Cora had of her. 

“Yeah, exactly!” Clive smiled, then his face sobered up. “But, Coco, it’s possible that they might send me sooner than later. Which means we might not get to have the epic summer before college we planned. Maybe a few weeks—”

Oh. “That’s okay.” Cora said automatically, and it was, even if she also felt disappointed by it. “This is more important – plus, I’ll come back home for the holidays. And you can come visit me.” 

Clive stared at her affectionately, and he reached to pat her head. She gave up on trying to tame her curly hair, and instead let it do its own thing. Mara had once told her she envied Cora for her hair, because it was a rare combination, blond and curly but Cora rarely ever felt blessed because of it. Except when she thought about her mother, who had had the same hair. 

“It is not.” He said firmly. “Nothing is more important than you.”

Cora smiled. “You know what I mean. This could be a really good thing – and if you get one of those corporate roles, you’ll have a better contract as well, right?” Then, maybe, he wouldn’t feel the need to keep a bottle of whisky under the sink. It was still there, Cora always found a way to secretly check whenever she went by her father’s home. 

The same bottle. She was certain, because months earlier she’d sneakily placed a single black dot on the corner of the label with a marker. The bottle remained unopened. She had attempted to ask him once or twice, maybe even bring it up to her aunt – but she was scared. He was still attending AA meetings, and he had a sponsor whom he’d befriended and grown close to. A friend.

Cora had promised herself that if she ever found the bottle opened or used in any way or gone, she’d immediately bring it up. She hoped it wouldn't come down to that. 

“We can do something.” Emma said. Cora looked at her, and the woman smiled at her, but it was a tight kind of smile. “I have an overdue vacation to take, and I promised we’ll go to Europe once you graduate. You can even bring Fay along if you want.”

Cora was getting the sense she was being bribed. Or distracted. She couldn’t tell. 

“Yeah, that’ll be awesome, aunt Emma. You don’t have to if you can’t.” 

“And you could come with me if I am going to another state.” Clive offered. “ You deserve it for all the hard work you’ve put in.” He pulled her closer and kissed her head. “My little Coco, going to the Ivy League next year. I did always say you’d get your mother’s brains.We’ll make sure you have the best summer ever.”

It was not, in fact, the best summer ever. 

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Later, when she’d look back on where everything went wrong, Cora would realise that she couldn't remember much of that day on Coney Island. In fact, it took weeks for her memory to come back. 

She did know, with certainty, that it was a great day. Cora had studied as much as one could for her last exams, and most of her assignments had either been handed in or ready to be submitted. The icy sensation in her veins didn’t go away that entire morning, and throughout the day, no matter how much fun she had, Cora kept experiencing a niggling sensation at the back of her head. 

She ignored it. Her aunt and father were relatively normal during breakfast, although the tension wasn’t fully gone. Cora was smart enough to realise that it didn’t make sense they fought over Clive going away on business trips, but for once - just once - she wanted to remain oblivious. She wanted not to worry, and just take things as they were. 

They were on Coney Island by ten, and as anticipated, it was a hot day. Nearly twenty-seven degrees Celsius by early afternoon but Cora had come prepared with sunscreen and a hat. They went on the Cyclone and Wonder Wheel and Thunderbolt, and in-between those attractions, Cora took dozens of pictures, stuffed her face with hot dogs and ice cream while watching the Mermaid Parade. The sun caused the clothes to stick to her, and she still managed to get sunburnt, but she didn’t care. 

In the afternoon, her father drove them back in his rental car. Emma wanted to have dinner together, along with Peter. 

.

The niggling sensation only left her alone for the brief period of time she fell asleep in the car on the way back. She woke up with a jolt, heart thumping wildly in her chest, as if she’d just had one of those Bad Day dreams. Except she didn’t - or at least she didn’t remember. 

“Oh, hey, kiddo.” Clive looked at her with a concerned look. She had jerked in her seat, gasping as she roused up. Cora looked around, momentarily confused about her whereabouts. Rental car, still. She was in the front seat, and they were parked underground, in the parking lot of the rather high-end apartment block she and her aunt lived in. “You okay? Did you have a nightmare?”

“I–yes—no. I am not sure.” The tickling had morphed into a buzzing that travelled up and down her spine. Blood pumped through her veins at such a speed, she felt as if she’d run a marathon. 

Clive touched her forehead. “You’re a little warm. I think the sun got to you a little.” He said. “Come on. We’re not that late – maybe you could take a cold shower before dinner and you’ll feel better.”

Cora only nodded. They exited the car and headed to the elevator. The apartment was located on the tenth floor, out of twenty-two. By the time the elevator doors opened and they stepped into the hall, Cora was feeling even worse. Her hands were clammy and her ears were ringing and she felt—-she felt exactly as she had felt that night on Halloween. Both nights. When she had been kidnapped, and when she had been attacked by those weird shadowy things, which had turned out to be her Sociology teacher. 

It was fear. Or rather her body’s innate self-preservation instinct going haywire, telling her that something was very, very wrong. It communicated to her what her eyes and ears failed to pick up on. Like how quiet it was when they stepped into the apartment, how cold it felt. She had shuddered, but she was still trying to chalk it up to sunstroke. 

The lights were off. 

“Emma, we’re back.” Clive dropped the bags at the entrance, then removed his shoes. Cora put her bags down too, but she didn’t move otherwise. Her whole body felt so tense her muscles might snap like brittle wood. 

Something was wrong. Something was wrong. Why was it so cold? Her aunt loved keeping lights on and the temperature cranked up high. Cora teased her about it often but she was secretly grateful, as someone who had experienced too many cold nights in her short lifetime. 

“Emma?”

She stepped after her father, following him down the narrow corridor into the open space of the living room to their right. The kitchen was to their left along with the other hall leading to the three ensuite bedrooms. Large, tall to ceiling windows greeted them across the room. 

Her aunt was there, all right. Standing by the kitchen island, in the dark little black dress that she had shown Cora a few days earlier. Her hair was coiffed up elegantly at the back of her head, and she was wearing pearls. She looked beautiful. 

Or she would have if she didn’t look as terrified as she did. The makeup, or what was left of it, did little to hide how the colour had drained from her face, or how watery her eyes were. Her mascara and eyeliner had run, forming dark streaks below her eyes, and she was visibly shaking, her back ramrod. 

“Oh. How nice of you to finally join us.” Peter. He was seated only a couple of feet from her, at the kitchen island and calmly working his way through what looked like dinner. Beef wellington, the dish her aunt had been so excited to share. The scent of pastry and meat and roasted vegetables permeated in the air, but the oven was off and what was left of the dish was still on the stove. “Mh-hm. This dish is incredible—you truly have outdone yourself, darling.” He still smiled the charming smile Cora had seen before, but there was something unsettling about it now. 

“What—Emma!” Clive exclaimed. “What the hell do you think you are doing?” He looked at Emma. “What did he do to you, you bastard—”

“Now, now.” Peter put his fork through a roasted potato. “No need for name calling.” 

“Run.” Emma whimpered, a few tears rolling down her cheeks. The word came out choked, more of a bitten sound, as if she was struggling to get it out. As if someone had wired her jaws shut. “P–pl–plea…se.”

Cora’s heart dropped in horror. 

“Cora, get out of here, now.” Clive said agitatedly. “Go call for help.”

She didn’t even get a chance to react. From the corner of her eye, Cora saw something shift in the corridor they’d come from and when she glanced down, she nearly jumped out of her skin. 

Someone was there. A woman. Tall, nearly six feet, dressed in… a manner that resembled no fashion Cora had ever seen. Not of that world, her mind supplied in panic, because the woman was wearing leather and armour, and the sword in her right hand was real. It looked morbidly pretty with its gleaming steel – if that was what it was. Cora had never seen obsidian steel before. The woman smiled, and it was full of malice, her canines looking like they could slice through meat as if it were butter. Her skin colour was unnatural, out of place - grey with sickly-looking dark veins forming ramifications all over her arms and legs, exposed under the armour vest and the leather skirt. The pupils of her eyes were pitch black, much like her sword, the irises absorbed by the onyx. 

Cora vaguely heard her father’s disbelief upon seeing the woman, but neither had much time to process, because movement on the other side of the room caught their eye. Two more intruders - both men - dressed in similar attires to the woman and with skin just as ashen, their pupils as black as the sharp blades strapped to their belts. 

Cora felt a familiar rush of terror coursing through her veins, paralysing her. Clive backed away, looking terrified and he wrapped his arms around her, keeping her close. It was useless of course. He would never be able to fight those—those things. 

Peter smiled that charming, dimpled smile of his, as he reached to cut the last piece of steak. 

“Cora, dear.” He said. “I think you and I have so much to talk about, don’t we?”

Cora’s tongue felt heavy in her mouth, and the coldness that she’d felt earlier now felt insidious, reaching through her clothes and seeping through her skin. She feared her heart might jump out of her ribcage and serve itself up as a side to the steak on Peter’s plate. 

If that was his name. 

“What do you want?” Clive exclaimed, gripping onto her tighter, both for her protection and perhaps for his own sake. “Who—who—what are you?” 

A low, guttural sound erupted from the woman’s voice – it was like standing next to a lion, hungry and ready to pounce on them. 

“None of that, darling.” Peter said, as he finished his plate - the man must have been famished because it was spotless. Villainy must be an exhausting job, Cora thought hysterically. He got up, and Emma flinched visibly but she didn’t move. She looked like a doll - terrified but all dressed up - unmoving with her hands crossed together on the table. 

She couldn’t move, Cora realised. Whatever or whoever Peter was, he was making her stay frozen in that place, barely able to speak. Peter placed the fork and knife on the empty place - how well mannered of him - and then got up, wiping his mouth with a white napkin. Emma was only able to follow his movements with her eyes, otherwise stuck where she was, and Cora felt her father tense up as Peter stepped around the island. 

“Now, darling,” He grinned, his teeth baring. His smile looked positively feral. “How about you and I have a quick talk about your friend Fay?”

Cora’s jaw clenched together. The cube was in her bedroom, tucked away in an old shoe box underneath a scarf that she had also received as a gift from Fay. Her aunt wasn’t nosy at all, she hardly ever stepped foot in her room, but Cora still made sure she kept the object safe. The batarang from Damian, however, was in the side pocket of her backpack—the tracker should be live, she was fine with that as Fay explained how it worked. But that was useless, right? Fay had no idea she was in danger. Cora wasn’t sure if she could get her hands on it, though, to press the hidden, sleek button that would send a distress signal. 

“I—I don’t have anything to say.” She exhaled, jaw trembling slightly. 

“Hmm. Oh, I think we both know that’s not true, now, is it?” 

Then with the subtlest glance towards his two lackeys sitting by the window, he had Clive pulled away from Cora. 

“Dad! No! What are you—” She froze mid-sentence when one of the burly creatures pressed a blade to Clive’s throat, silencing any protests he was about to make. Her father looked even more terrified before, as it seemed to suddenly dawn on him that who they were dealing with was not human at all. 

“Please. Please, don’t hurt her. Don’t hurt my daughter,” He begged.

Peter was unfazed, as he seemed more busy adjusting the cufflinks on his silky dark shirt. “I won’t, if she tells me what I want to know.”

“Cora—sweetheart, just tell him. Please just tell him—ah!” Clive gasped in pain, when the creature behind him kicked him down, forcing him to his knees. 

Cora was vaguely aware of the tears running down her cheeks. “Dad—please. Please don’t hurt them.” She choked, looking from her father to her aunt to Peter. “I really don’t know anything.” 

Peter continued to look smug. When she met his gaze, Cora felt the same icy shiver she had last time she’d looked him in the eyes. As he approached her, she found it harder to breathe and it wasn’t just the fear at play – the buzzing sensation was back. It was a cold and prickly sensation, and she recalled experiencing something similar the night they went to the old abandoned amusement park. Was it the flux? It did not feel like Fay’s, not exactly, but there was an energy percolating the air that was sending alarms in her brain. 

Peter stepped closer. She stepped back. 

Or tried to. 

Cora found she couldn’t. The moment she tried to move, her back connected with an invisible wall. She looked over her shoulder and saw nothing, but the buzzing sensation was stronger. An electrocuting sensation travelled up her arm, like a bolt of lighting, and she cried out, immediately pulling her limb closer. It felt as if she’d touched a live wire. 

Then something on the floor caught her attention. A glowing circle had formed around her, barely leaving any space to move inside, and beneath her feet were marks. Or perhaps runes? They did not look like the marks on Fay’s body, but Cora was willing to bet they were from her world. 

How did he do that? Was it some sort of spell – it seemed like it. But the man before her did not need to wave a wand or speak an incantation. Cora looked back up, and she gasped, startled when she found Peter only a foot away from the circle, looming over her. 

ohgodohgodohgod

“Where is she?”

She. Fay. 

“I don’t—I don’t know.” It was the truth. Somewhat. Cora didn’t know where Fay was exactly. 

“Hmm.” Peter looked amused, as he crossed his hands behind his back. “Well, I guess I have no use for you and your family.” He lifted his head towards the woman standing near the door. “Kill the aunt and father.”

“No!” Cora shouted, panic swelling inside of her like a balloon as the female warrior - ? - vanished and reappeared behind Emma in the blink of an eye. Her aunt’s eyes were bulging in terror, and she was visibly shaking but could not do much else, as the intruder placed the sword at her throat. “No, no! Please, don’t!” 

Peter raised his hand up, and his subordinate stopped. She’d barely pressed her sword against Emma’s throat, but Cora could make out a thin crimson line forming on her neck. 

“What do you want?” Cora sobbed. “Please don’t hurt them. They have nothing to do with this.” 

“Bring her to me.” 

“Wh-what?”

“Tell me where Fay Estaris is,” Peter said calmly. “Or your aunt and father will die."

Chapter 86: Of hidden in plain sight

Notes:

Hello everybody! A massive thank you for your patience, especially to those of you who've had to contend with me going regular weekly updates to posting every couple months. As a fellow reader, I know that frustrating that is.

Here are is what you should expect going forward:

I. Providence will end in a few chapters' time. It is not the end of the story overall, just this fic in particular. There will be sequel. I do not expect I will start posting again until early summer - May/June - as I would like to take the time to work on it at a calm pace. The final chapters of Providence will be published all together, for one final post. Unfortunately, I do not think this will happen this month, for which I apologise in advance.
II. Due to how complex this fic has become, I would like to take some time to revise Providence from scratch. I will not be re-writing it, per se, but I did start this story two years ago, and a lot has happened. I will be looking out for grammar errors and plot inconsistencies, mostly. If there's any major changes, which I doubt/would like to avoid, I will make you aware in the sequel.
III. What If will continue to be published on a weekly basis unless specified otherwise. There may be additional shorter stories/one-shots featuring characters from Providence in the same/alternate universes but nothing is set in stone.
IV. Finally, what can you expect from the sequel is in the end notes. For those who'd rather not know at all, just skip it :)

Thank you for your support and feedback! It never fails to make my day. I will respond to all of your comments for this fic and the other by the end of the day.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“Truth is always hiding in plain sight... which means it’s not hidden at all.”

— Kyle Hoobin

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Fay had to admit. The discovery that Titoh made felt a little… underwhelming. For one, upon seeing all the cabinets and shelves and wooden boxes pushed aside, she’d expected him to have found a clue on the wall. But there was nothing there that she hadn’t seen before. The wall rose high above their heads, painted in the same pale paint as the rest of the place, chipped away in some places. 

Then Titoh gestured for them to look at the junction between the floor and the wall, or rather the carved line running along the edge from one end of the temple-like space to the other. That was not new either. The entire floor was covered in decorative wooden inlays forming an exotic mosaic that converged and framed the large medallion in the middle of the room. The medallion contained a titanic map of Fay’s homeworld, which could only be properly appraised when standing on one of the mezzanines, or in her case, flying above it. 

The inlays appeared to be purely decorative. It lent a certain character to the place due to the gradual colour changes and the finely crafted details of the floral and fauna elements carved to accompany the lines heading towards the medallion. Fay had assumed it was her mother’s doing. Evara had always liked decorations of such a nature. That place had clearly not just been a dumping place for knowledge – it had been a safe haven. Perhaps a hidden home. 

“I don’t get it.” Fay admitted. 

“Did you only learn to look down now?” Damian quipped. 

Titoh threw him a look, which quickly faded when he met Fay’s gaze. “Some of these lines are carved, right? And they all go towards the middle of the room. To the map.” He gestured to one particular which ran perpendicular from the one following the direction of the wall, past them and to the middle of the room. 

“Yes.” Fay nodded. 

“They’re not just decorations,” Titoh said with a smirk as he glanced at the wall he’d exposed, then reached inside the pocket of his linen trousers. “I think there’s something beneath us. A hidden room or a passage.” He unfolded the piece of paper, which was a little bigger than an A4, then crouched down to place it on the floor. Both Fay and Damian approached him to take a closer look at what was on the paper. 

He smoothed out the paper, then looked up at Fay with a smile, his eyes gleaming with mirth. “I think it’s a story, Fe.” He said. “Look. I’ve sketched out as much as I could see on the floor from one of the higher mezzanines.”

On the paper, he’d drawn a large rectangle that took up almost the entire surface. Titoh had divided it into four equal sections, likely to help him with sketching out the patterns on the floor as accurately as possible. In the middle, just like on the actual floor, he had drawn the medallion with all the lines leading to it. Without the floral decorations and the map, the circle and the medallion looked far less intriguing but also oddly asymmetrical. 

“There’s furniture and bookcases and boxes everywhere, so it’s impossible to make out the lines completely, but they’re definitely not symmetrical. For example, from that wall—” He gestured over his shoulder to the wall he’d lead them to. “---we’ve got four lines, but there’s three coming from the opposite room. Seven from the left, five from the right. The medallion, if anything, reminds me of a sun and all these lines of sun rays —but isn’t that strange?” He asked. “Why would they choose this pattern?” 

“They all converge in a single point, however.” Damian remarked while Fay crouched down before Titoh to take a closer look at his drawing. His brows furrowed. “A round world map is limited in what it can represent. I’ve seen some of the map atlases in here – that’s not a common choice in your world, is it?”

Titoh shook his head, the usual tension between the two boys gone as something more pressing was occupying their attention. “It’s not.” 

Fay swivelled on the balls of her feet to look at one of the carved lines which went past her, just a foot away. She reached to touch it. It was shallowly carved and there was nothing about it - no trace of energy, no draft of air coming from below - that might indicate something being underneath it. 

No more than usual, at least. The entire place was full of energies, active and residual. Kaera had increasingly focused on teaching her and Klaus how to sense, detect and read energies, but Fay wasn’t good enough to be able to tell if there was anything in there that might represent a clue. Kaera herself had inspected the place, but even with her expertise, she was not able to map out the origin of all the energies – especially if magic was involved, which appeared to be the case. It was almost like a battery for that place. 

She voiced that to her two male companions. “What if whatever is feeding into this place and protecting it can be found under us?” She asked. “Mom and dad have likely gone all out in ensuring this place is as safe as it can be – even the key itself is not known by many.” 

Titoh stared at the piece of paper thoughtfully. “If this is some sort of ancient magic spell or other obscure energy, we could spend months searching for it—years, even.” He glanced at the floor. “Or maybe I am wrong and the lines don’t mean anything.”

“You’re not.” 

Both Fay and Titoh looked up in surprise. Damian had stepped away from them, one arm crossed over his chest, propping up his elbow as he scratched at his chin. He was staring at the floor with interest, eyes following the lines from the wall Titoh exposed to the middle of the room. Then he smirked widely. “I think I know what this is.” 

“Really?” Titoh and Fay blurted at the same time, both standing up. Damian let his arms fall to his sides and walked away. The other two teenagers followed him closely, and they all stopped in the middle of the room. 

Damian walked around the edge of it. “Yes,” He scoffed. “It was right in front of us the entire time.” 

“What was?” 

Damian looked up, green eyes bright with satisfaction. “This is how the two worlds are connected.” He gestured a hand towards the carved lines. “This isn’t a map – it represents a nexus point and the lines? They are ley lines.” 

“Ley… lines?” Titoh repeated. 

Fay’s brows furrowed. “Are those… energy lines?” 

“The idea of ley lines was introduced in the twentieth century in Europe by people who argued that ancient societies have deliberately settled or erected structures along these lines. Ley lines go all around the planet and while there’s various interpretations of their meaning and power, the general consensus is that they represent a primordial force of energy.” Damian explained. “The theory of ley lines is particularly common in esoteric studies, not as much in the scientific field.”

“So a nexus point is where they meet,” Titoh commented. “They would meet in more than one place?”

“Correct.”

Fay and Titoh exchanged a look. “We have a similar theory in our world,” Fay said. “They’re not called ley lines however.”

“It’s the jungle, isn’t it?” Damian said quickly. “You’ve said that the jungle – along with several other locations that have been vied over by rulers, is a place full of power.”

Fay nodded. “According to the flux dogma, everything is connected by energy – and therefore, so are these locations. I don’t remember anything about lines—” She glanced at Titoh who shook his head as well. “---but there are stories that say dragons created these… nexus points, by feeding their power into them.”

“It’s not talked about much, though, I don’t think.” Titoh said. “This was mostly taught to us when our tutors would talk about the history and mythos of our world, and dragons. I’ve never heard of a nexus point—or its equivalent, before.” 

Fay stepped within the circle. “But it does make sense. Our worlds are separated by a veil – which sort of implies that they’re like two sides of the same coin? Or something close to that. If both worlds have energy converging in one point then…”

“...they could potentially allow the passage between the worlds.” Damian finished. “No. Not potentially. I am sure that’s the answer. The portals require a great source of energy, do they not? I always found it odd that Ranis chose to open one where he did, on the outskirts of Gotham.” 

“There’s ley lines connecting in Gotham.”

“Yes.” 

Titoh’s brows raised. “How do you know?”

Damian looked smug. “My grandfather has dedicated the greater part of his life to studying how the world works—ley lines included, esoteric or not.” His smirk widened. “This may actually be why he’s so interested in you—and your world. Why hasn't he killed you?”

“I am sorry, what?” Titoh blinked. He looked from Damian to Fay. “His—his grandfather tried to kill you?”

Fay smiled nervously. “Um… I only got stabbed. Lightly.” Realising that such an explanation did her no favours, judging by Titoh’s horrified expression, she sighed. “I will explain later.” 

“The island must be a nexus point as well. A very large one.” Damian continued. “Perhaps even this place.” Then he looked down at the floor, tapping his right foot against the edge of the map. “This may be an actual map—not just an interior design choice.”

“So, uh, we’d need to find out which nexus point this refers to?” Fay asked. “In this world? Or the other?”

“Yes, I believe so.” Damian nodded curtly. 

“Is it possible to find out how many and where the other nexus points are in this world?” Titoh asked. 

“Of course.”

“Then we’d also know the locations where portals can be opened.” Titoh concluded. 

Fay brushed a hand over her face. She could feel a headache starting at the base of her head. Damian grunted, then glanced over his shoulder. Both Titoh and Fay followed his gaze to find Lira and Baije standing at the other end of the room, near the door. Even with the distance between them, it was clear that the two – especially Lira - had heard what they were talking about. 

“This was the great secret knowledge on portals?” Damian scoffed, as the two veteran warriors closed the distance between them. “Rather unimpressive.”

Lira rolled her eyes at him. “Yet it took you this long to put it together.”

“You’ve purposefully made it seem there’s more to it than it is.” Damian quipped. “And omitted information when it came to how this island was found, how Fay was sent here, how Ranis sent his lackeys.” 

Baije raised a hand in a placating manner. “Aye, we did. In the beginning, to protect ye. Then the more ye got involved, the less sure we was whether to tell ye everythin'.”

Fay pulled a face. “Then? You knew what this means?” She gestured a hand towards the map carved on the floor. “All this time?”

“Not exactly.” Lira shook her head. “We didn’t actually think it means anything—not until you two had a look a couple of weeks ago, and mentioned the lines are all meeting there. Kaera couldn’t sense any energy though.”

“But it does represent a… nexus point.” Titoh said. 

“Maybe – we haven’t been able to identify the location yet. Ye was right, they are called ley lines in this world---in our world, it is a little bit more complicated.” Baije scratched at his beard. “Actually, it's complicated in either world.”

“Meaning?” Damian crossed his arms over his chest. 

“The nexus points are fixed points, and they are being used to travel between the two worlds.” Lira said. “Not all of them, however. The ley lines are not stable currents of energy. Some are more powerful than others. Some can be detected but are not useful for interworld travel—others can barely be detected and are rather, well, useless. To us.”

“You’re saying their power can be influenced?”

Fay’s breath hitched, as something dawned on her. “The flux masters!” She exclaimed. “That’s why they were guardians, isn’t it? They knew how to find these nexus points and they—they could even… what? Control them?” 

“Yes.” Lira nodded. “Controlling them, however, may be taking them a little too far. They most likely knew the most about them. The old masters had likely studied these nexus points and ley lines—if that’s what we want to call them.”

“Then they would have also figured out how to use such power?” 

Baije hummed in assent.

“Okay so—” Fay paused for a moment, trying to collect her thoughts. To think the day had gone so well otherwise. How relaxed she felt earlier compared to then. “The flux masters were guardians of the Veil—they studied it, understood its power. I suppose it only makes sense they’d know about the ley lines.”

“Then they were vilified, hunted down and eradicated.” Damian continued. “The knowledge was lost. Buried, most of it. The old master—Lydo, was it? – he came to this world, but was also presumably followed.” 

“Wait, wait.” Everyone looked at Titoh. “If these nexus points are being used to power the portals—or generate them or—however it works,” He said a little frustratedly. “---then what about the dark paths? Why would someone be after the dark paths if they knew about the ley lines?”

“Yes, that doesn’t add up.” Fay agreed. “Also—what about Daphne? And Bernard? Daphne said she studied them, and was sent here via the dark paths. Bernard was obsessed with them, but he also knew about this island. He used to be a seeker, so he would have known about the nexus points. Why not try to use one of them?”

“We don’t know, kid,” Lira said. “But Damar and Evara were hell bent on ensuring they weren’t used—that no one sought the knowledge.”

“Also, old Dalinne doesn't remember, does she? She woke to the sky in this world with no memories, just a letter. From 'erself.” Baije pointed out. “She knows the dark paths are bad news---but did she ever know anything?”

“Bernard was fixated with finding the dark paths yet he knew other ways to return to this world.” Damian remarked. “Presumably, the Council knows about these nexus points—even if one had the technology, they’d monitor travels in these locations?”

“Yes.”

“He’d be running the risk of others finding out he’s alive.” Damian paused. “Yet, he also risked being uncovered when he started arming criminals in this world, and created his Sponsor persona.” His brows furrowed. 

“He preferred to die with the answers he thought I found in the Bible.” Fay noted, solemnly. “It always felt like he was… desperate. We theorised that maybe there’s always been someone else he was working with.”

“Or for.” Damian noted. “There doesn’t seem to be any connection between the Sponsor and Ranis, yet they both came after you.”

“Yes, but something doesn’t feel… right. About any of it.” 

“It’s almost as if it’s on purpose.” They looked at Titoh again, who’d remained silent until then. “Their presence, I mean. Too random to actually be random? Bernard being a former Seeker. Ranis, who wasn’t that powerful, somehow managed to get here, even though it was rather reckless, wasn’t it?”

Damian grunted, eyes narrowing. “Someone is… toying with us?” He glanced at Lira and Baije. “Anyone you might have forgotten to tell us about?”

“Nope,” Lira threw him a look. “We did tell you everything we knew – which isn’t much.” 

“Can we go back to the ley lines for a moment?” Fay asked. “You said not all of them can be used. Our world has them, then?”

“Yes. The most powerful ones are generally found in locations where there’s great energy—like the jungle of Maysoon, or the forests of Aeryg.” Lira explained. 

“The island is one of them.” Damian confirmed. 

“Exactly. However—they don’t necessarily work the way a door does. Going from point A to point B—or rather, point A and B are not always the same.” 

“Because the energy is not constant?” Fay said. “That’s why Bag and I ended up in the Amazon, rather than here?”

“The point A he sent you from was not exactly a nexus point—but close to one. Enough to open a portal to send you through—”

“--but not enough to control where she’d be sent.” Damian finished. “It would however still be a location where the ley lines converge—or close enough, then?”

“No.” Baije shook his head. “Not exactly. The ley lines o' this here world, with the ley lines o' our world do not match. “Ley lines ain't necessarily fixed -- o'er the centuries, even just decades, they've shifted. Which means that previous locations used to open portals became useless, or even more unpredictable.”

“The dark paths may be the answer to that unpredictability, then.” Damian said. “They are of such interest that the flux masters were hunted over it. They died protecting them.” 

Fay felt like she might need to sit down soon. She hadn’t eaten anything since that morning, and she’d had more excitement than she counted on. More good than bad, but the past half hour in the library had left her feeling discombobulated. “The dark paths could be… fixed paths, then? Wouldn’t require a portal at all. Just knowing where they are to travel here.” She theorised. “Which goes back to what I had heard about them in the first place– that they’re secret ways of travelling between worlds.” 

Lira pulled a face. “I hope the fuck not,” She said. “But then, it would make sense how there may be dangerous actors travelling back and forth without the Council detecting them?”

“But why would mom and dad not make it public?” Fay asked. “Or at the very least, offer whatever they had on the dark paths to you—the Council? Keeping everyone in the dark if there’s people who already know of them doesn’t sound…” Smart. “...not like something they’d do.” 

“Unless they didn’t realise just how many people knew of them. Or how dangerous they were–are.” 

“You also don’t remember, Baije.” Titoh said, looking at the man. “So, it’s possible you did? Why else would you have a list of people you can trust?”

“Yes, perhaps. It's all just theories at this point -- I don't know what I don't know.”

“But we know that mom and dad were investigating—” Fay stopped mid-sentence as she felt something vibrate in the back pocket of her trousers. “Oh. Cora is calling.” 

“Cora?” Titoh repeated. “W-Why—is she okay—?” Then he noticed the look Lira was giving him, staring at him amusedly with her eyebrows raised, and he instantly looked away, red-faced.

Fay frowned at the screen of her phone, then pressed the green button. Cora rarely ever called her on mobile. They texted mostly, or the blonde would use the cube Fay had left her with. 

She pressed the phone to her ear. “Hey, Cora.” 

“H-Hey! Hello—” Clearing her throat, her voice sounded higher pitched than usual. “How’s—-What’s up?”

A cold sensation travelled down Fay’s spine like an ice cube sliding down her flesh. Something sounded off about Cora’s voice.

“Nothing much—are you okay?” Fay answered, then she glanced at Damian. Check Cora, she mouthed at him, while keeping the phone pressed to her ear. “Is everything okay? Do you need anything?”

“No–it’s all good here. Just—just came back from Coney Island with my dad. Just wondering if you wanted to hang out?” 

Fay’s brows furrowed. “Now?” Cora had told her she was meant to have dinner that weekend with her aunt and father, or was she misremembering it? “It might take me a while to get there, though.” Not true, but Cora didn’t know about the magic key. 

Y-yeah, if you don’t mind? I’ve got a lot to catch up on—and tell you what happened with Tommy.”

Fay’s stomach dropped. That was a cry for help – ‘what happened with Tommy’. It was one of the code sentences they’d agreed to use if Cora was ever in danger, and couldn’t tell Fay directly. Tommy had been the first and only boy Cora had ever gone out with, months earlier – it was somewhat of a joke between them because nothing much had happened between her and Tommy, actually. 

“Sounds good,” She tried enthusiastically. “I am on my way.” 

“Okay—see you soon, alligator!” Too cheerful, even for Cora. Then she was gone – their calls were rarely ever that curt. 

Fay lowered her phone, then looked at the others. “Cora is in danger.” 

“Where?” Lira asked. 

Damian was looking at his watch. “Her home. Both the batarang and the GPS in her phone showed that she was at her address.” 

“She said she wanted to see me and catch up – -but I am sure she was meant to have dinner with her aunt and father tonight.” Fay said. “She sounded… off and then she used one of the signals.”

“She is being held… hostage?” Titoh asked, looking disgruntled. “But if she called you, then whoever it is—”

“They want you, not her.” Lira finished. “You told her you are on the way?”

Fay nodded. “She doesn’t know how fast we can get there—I never told her about the key.” She looked around at Damian. “But she knows we have ways of travelling… unconventionally.” 

“Which the captors might also know.” Damian looked down at his watch, and quickly pressed and moved his fingers over it. “I am sending out an alert, then I’ll check the security cameras.” 

“I am going with you—”

“No, Titoh—”

“Maybe she or her family need medical attention.” Titoh cut her off. “Corim is not here – he is in Maysoon with Moma. We don’t have time to explain what’s happening to any other healers here.” 

“He’s right.” Lira said. “Let’s go.” 

.

.

.

The phone was snatched away from her hands by Peter. “Good girl.” Fay had been put on speaker, so he didn’t need to ask what the girl had answered. “Although, I feel we could have worked on your acting skills.” 

Cora didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. It had taken every single drop of her willpower to remain composed on that call, to try and sound as normal as possible because that was what Peter had ordered. She hadn’t been though – Fay would be able to tell, right?

“She gave you what she wanted, so please let her go. You can use me if you want—but please just let my daughter go.” Her father said, from where he'd sat down on the sofa. He hadn’t moved an inch, lest he risked incurring the wrath of one of the men - creatures - standing near him. Cora, on the other hand, had been forced into one of the stools by the kitchen island near her aunt who was still frozen to the spot by whatever supernatural ability was controlling her. Magic, perhaps? Likely. 

“Hmm, I don’t think so.” Peter said. “You’re rather useless as a bargaining chip.” Then he paused, and rather dramatically, he stared around his three hostages with a pensive expression. “Actually, I don’t need all of you, you’re right.” Then he smiled, and Cora felt all of her blood go cold as she watched Peter look at Emma. “Oh, darling—look at you. Such a pretty woman. Great cook, a good fuck, too. I do feel we had some fun, didn’t we? Shame we must part ways in this manner.”

“No—what—” Fear replaced Cora’s blood like a flood of ice water, when the female warrior suddenly materialised behind her aunt, a shiny blade pressed at her throat. “No, no, no, please—!” She wailed, the horror bubbling in her being with such potency that it could not be contained, as blood gushed out of her aunt’s neck. She didn’t even see the moment the blade cut the skin. 

“No—No, Emma!” Clive yelled from across the room, rising to his feet, only to be pushed back forcefully into the sofa. 

Peter snapped his fingers, a gesture that didn’t even register to Cora’s attention as she shot out of her seat to rush to her aunt. Whatever had held the woman in place was gone, and she crumbled to the ground like a doll. 

Blood. There was so much blood. Why was there so much blood? Even with her eyes drowning in tears, all she could make out was red. And the taste–oh god. The taste. The metallic taste filled her nose and clung to her tongue, and her hands were slick and warm and—oh god. Nobody survived a sliced throat, did they? That’s why they made for such dramatic scenes in movies. 

Cora pressed her hands over her aunt’s throat, trying and failing to stifle the flow. “No, no, no—” She sobbed, her tears falling down on her aunt’s cheeks. Emma could move again, but she was either in shock or too weak to do anything or both. “Please—please hold on—” Cora cried. “Please.” 

“Oh dear.” Peter grimaced. “That’s quite a mess, hm?”

You sadistic fuck!” Cora snarled, looking up at him. “You won’t get away with it.” 

Peter looked merely amused. “Yes, yes. I’ve heard all about the little fairy and her abilities. It has been a while since I’ve fought a flux user—much less a half breed like her.” Then his smile faded, and his eyes averted down the hall, past the kitchen. “Hm?”

The kitchen faucet burst suddenly, water sprouting out of it into the sink. The pipes started rattling, and Cora felt a very distinctive and entirely impossible draft of air sweep the kitchen. They might have as well been standing outside, facing the late evening wind as items were knocked off the tables.

Peter smirked, as he stepped to the left to face the hall directly. “She’s here.”

And that is all Cora heard before the entire place felt as if it was being swept into a tornado. She leaned over her aunt, never removing her hands from the woman’s neck as cupboard doors were ripped open, cutlery and kitchen appliances were sent flying and the pipes burst, quickly flooding the place. The female warrior vanished from where she’d been standing by her aunt’s feet, and Cora heard, rather than saw, the fight that must have ensued across the room. The kitchen island blocked her view, especially with her kneeling beside her aunt’s limp body. 

She screamed, in fright, when a blade swished past her head and connected with the door of the oven, shattering the glass. Her aunt was unconscious, the blood pooling beneath her head diluted by the water cascading from the sink-now-turned waterfall. “Aunt—auntie! Hey!” Nothing. Cora’s right forearm was bleeding, tiny pieces of glass having cut her skin but she barely noticed, as she tried to shift her aunt away. She grabbed the blade for good measure - the metal felt foreign in her hands, unnatural. 

Hands touched her shoulder, and she screamed, immediately jumping away. Turning to face the attacker, she pointed the blade at them. “No–No!” 

“It’s me! Calm down—it’s me!” 

Then she actually looked at who it was. Tall, a shock of white hair, eyes that made her think of periwinkle flowers when she first saw them. “Ti—Titoh?” 

He crouched down before her, and gently reached for her hands, as one would a cornered animal ready to bite. He removed the blade from her hands – his hands were warm, softer than she’d expected. Then he looked at her aunt, his expression darkening. “I’ll have a look at your aunt, okay.” 

“She—she—” Tears rolled down her eyes. How was this happening? Hours earlier she was just having fun at Coney Island. Why was this happening to her? “I think she—the blood. I can’t—I couldn’t stop—oh god.” 

Titoh moved closer, until he was kneeling next to Cora, beside Emma. He lifted the woman’s right wrist, checking her pulse. “She’s still alive.” He said – his calm tone was like seeing an oasis in the middle of a dessert. Cora could only watch, paralyzed in place, as his hands moved over to Emma’s neck. They began glowing —and then she could feel it, as well. The energy. Just like she could feel it with Fay except it felt different. Titoh’s energy felt…cooler. Like a breeze, rather than the warm vibrations of Fay’s. 

“Can you—will she–” Cora swallowed. “Will she survive? She—she lost a lot of blood.” She did. A lot of it was on her hands, and soaked in her trousers and shirt. She must have looked exactly like a final girl would. Except, she was no fighter. 

“I can close the wound—most of it.” Titoh said. “But she needs blood. Whether she survives, will depend on that and—” He glanced at her, meeting her eyes before looking away. “---on her, too.” 

“Okay, what—”

In movies, they don’t always depict just how disorienting an explosion is. How, even if one gets away from the damaging radius of an explosion, they will still have plenty to deal with. It’s not all walking away from it in a dramatic manner. That’s exactly what crossed Cora’s mind when she felt the earth shake under her. Suddenly, the concrete and the marble and whatever other materials made up the building felt as secure as a card of papers. And as if that wasn’t enough, then there was the debris flying everywhere, and the fumes mixed in with dust and smoke that felt like a claw reaching in through her throat to squeeze her lungs shut. 

Cora barely registered an arm going around her back, and pushing her down, water and blood seeping through her front and on her face and hair – her head was filled with a ringing sound that made her wonder if that’s what insanity felt like. Her right leg ached, and she couldn’t see anything, but she thought she felt her hands touch hair. Wet hair. Her aunt’s hair. 

Cora!”

Dad?

Everything went dark. 

.

.

.

Meanwhile….

Looks like it’s a party, Jason thought as he arrived at the location Damian had sent, albeit it wouldn’t have been needed ultimately. The dark rings of smoke rising to the sky and the explosions were like a beacon, even in a city that was host to such animated nights on a regular basis. The neighbourhood wasn’t crime-free - there was hardly a place in Gotham that was - but it was out of ordinary to have that much chaos take place there. It was a wealthy area, full of low to medium-high condos that was filled with upper-class families. Gated communities, tall gates and fences and dozens of security cameras made that place relatively safe compared to many other places. 

If Damian was involved, then Fay was involved. The brat may have not been skimping on his Robin duties, but it had become increasingly clear over the past year where his focus lay. Jason and Stephanie placed bets that Bruce will eventually lose his patience with the secrecy Damian insisted on - ironically inherited and learned from his father himself - and make him choose. Robin or whatever he’s up to. Bruce may see Fay as a potential ally, but Jason was certain the man was irked that she knew more of him - all of them, really - than they did of her. 

Jason landed on the roof of a building, right across from his point of interest. A nearly identical build, with well manicured lawns and floor to ceiling windows. Or, at least that’s what it must have looked like before – at that moment, the building looked like a monster bit a chunk, then spat it out all over the road. Alarms have gone off, from multiple residences and civilians were still evacuating, making their way like ants out of their apartments - either by foot or by car, trying to put as much distance as possible. 

He spotted Nightwing land on said road, to the right, and helped a woman carrying a baby in her arms get up. Spoiler had also responded to the signal it seemed - Jason saw her on the roof of the affected building, a blotch of purple amongst the smoke. Red Robin was across town, handling a bank robbery and Batgirl was working with the Oracle on a case that would have fallen to Batman, had he been there, instead of JL business. How many times was it that the old man disappeared for JL business? Four times alone that year? Jason made a mental note of being nosy about that later. 

A figure clad in black was sent flying from the top floor across from him, and he felt, rather than saw them go through the windows of the building he was on. Hm. He knew who that was. A burly creature with sickly grey skin and black scleras, carrying a comically-sized sword followed, easily making the jump from one building to another, despite the several hundred feet distance. That one, he didn’t. 

Hm. What kind of trouble was Tinkerbell in now? 

.

.

.

Lira got up from amongst the debris, and met the gaze of the hulking creature. Puppet, by the looks of it, she thought as she eyed the dark lines on its limbs, spread out like branches. She didn’t need to look to know they all met in the creature’s chest – in the heart. Except there was nothing there, but the spell that was keeping it moving and at the bidding of the asshole posing as a human. 

Rather weak and predictable, she found as the creature disappeared and tried to take her by surprise. It materialised to her left, massive arms swinging the sword at her. Either it was all a distraction or. Or. Lira easily dodged it, then closed her eyes briefly. All it required was just the slightest concentration, after years and years of calling upon that voice inside of her. The one that sat deep-seated within her being, beyond the skin and tissue and bones, almost always hungry and ready to put its savagery to use. Still controllable, as a half-blood, but no less capable of being feral. 

Her vision was sharper when she opened her eyes. The darkness was not an issue anymore, and she felt the hair stand up on the back of her neck, as instincts became even more heightened. Scent has always been her strength. Even from that location, amongst the rubble and the smell of rotten and sulphur rolling off the creature, Lira caught a whiff of other scents from outside. Blood. Human. Sweat. Various people - she recognized Fay and the little apprentice brat. The exhaust gases from cars, the smoke which made her slightly nauseous with how overpowering it was. 

The swing came swinging at her head, no slower than before but it felt that way to her when she was in that state. Lira caught it, and the floor cracked under her feet as two opposing forces knocked onto one another. Then she swung her fist through the creature’s chest, going through the armour and its flesh. She was not surprised to find it felt cold inside, those puppets were little more than revenants walking out. Lira met some resistance, it’s body not quite as frail as she thought but took a step forward, and pushed her fist further. 

The dark energy seeping from the thoracic cavity was like ice, and her expression became repulsed as the black liquid that was the creature’s version of blood dripped down her arm, soaking into her cloak. Oh man. She really did like that coat. 

Fingers wrapped around the gelatinous mass inside, and she ripped it out, causing the creature to shriek and yowl so loudly that what was left of the windows on that floor shattered. Lira delivered a front kick to the creature, sending it flying across the room. 

The mass in her hands, just barely fitting in her palm, had a sickly purplish colour. It glowed beneath the black liquid, throbbing in her hands with what she then confirmed to be the energy of a Forger. Or someone who had knowledge of such dark arts, anyway. It was of a weaker nature. In the past, when Lira came across such creatures, not only it had been more challenging to find and remove their hearts, but the energy itself could be toxic. 

Hm. Not that it was pleasant, or inoffensive. There was a coldness about the energy that was uncanny, and she was forced to drop it when she realised it was burning her. Second degree burns just from holding it for a few seconds. Interesting. 

Oh? Lira looked up and found the beast gone from where it’d fallen against the half crumbled wall to her right. They can move even when the heart is removed? That was uncommon.

Its scent was everywhere. Lira couldn’t pinpoint the source, but she felt the air shift behind her, to her right and her ears picked up on the sound of a blade being unsheathed. She rotated out of the way, and pulled out her own blade and with a single swipe, she cut through the beasts’ wrist, almost all the way to the other end. It dangled from the rest of the limb, hanging by threads of thin flesh and tendons before the creature chose to sacrifice it entirely, and ripped its own hand. It landed on the floor, and Lira watched as it hardened, akin to a statue before it disintegrated. 

Her brows raised in surprise. When she glanced at the creature again, it was no longer missing a hand. Palm and fingers were half-way regenerated. Okay, she’ll admit she did not expect that. It can do all that…without a heart? 

It came at her, again and again. Faster, each time, she realised. It was adapting to her - not just growing stronger and quicker. To her fighting style, to her own speed and agility. Learning. 

That was…new. And rather concerning. 

Within minutes, she was having a harder time predicting its movements. She narrowly avoided getting her head sliced off, by ducking and then upper cutting the beast. Did its body mass and density change as well? It only stumbled back, dazed before it landed on a knee, one meaty hand clutching its dislocated jaw. 

Lira glanced off to the floor. Now where did that heart go? 

Then she caught a whiff of a scent she had become familiar with against her. Oil, gunpowder, that synthetic material Fay told her it’s called Kevlar, sweat. Something else that belonged solely to the person in question. Scents were like fingerprints. 

“‘Ello.” The Red Hood was leaning by one of the pillars near where the windows used to be. He waved his gun at her. “Need help?”

“No. All good.” She replied with a roll of her eyes. “Go away.” 

Which wasn’t a good look, considering two seconds later, she was sent crashing through the pavement – two floors down, too. Damn. She did not like that human at all. The creature came after her, and Lira jumped out of the way, or else risked serving as its landing cushion. Not the worst injury she’s suffered, she supposes, but she’d rather not test her healing abilities more than she needed. And Aryg thought she’d never mature, ha.

“Who’s your master?” She asked, as she unfortunately, had to give up on her coat. She chucked it aside. The creature stared at her, pupiless black scleras that held as much life as any cadaver. “Nothing?” 

It charged at her. Okay, alright. It was time to end this, because there were at least two more of those things out there. The master himself was there, wasn’t he? She’ll have to get her answers from him, then.

Lira dodged out of the creature’s way, then pulling a blade out of her holster, she went for the eyes as she jumped on its back. The beast stumbled back, but she held on, going for the neck before. It will not bleed out to death, but it was enough to distract it so she could knock the sword away. 

Lira jumped away, grabbed the sword, then swiped at it. The blade, as large and well crafted as it was, could not go through mass of grey flesh and black slickness, not with how quickly it had begun regenerating. “How unoriginal, buddy,” She grumbled, as left the blade stuck halfway through the thing, embedded there like an odd accessory. Lira delivered a side kick to it, the force sending it through the beasts’ torso completely before it flew across the room. Whoever’s living room that was, it looks like they’ll need a new place to live in. 

The beast crumbled to the ground, in two pieces. It was not going to stay that way, she could already see tendrils of flesh moving like amoebas, growing back in place – one half calling to the other. Lira glanced up at the hole that she’d made on her way down, then jumped up back to the top floor. 

She looked around the floor. Nothing. Where did that damn thing—oh. Nevermind. I know where it is. 

Meaty hands bulldozed their way through the floor, and tried to grab her by the ankles. She jumped and landed a few feet away. 

What crawled out of the new hole in the floor looked less like the beast she fought seconds earlier, and instead was just a disgusting mass of flesh and bones and tissue. It morphed, assuming a new shape, one that had too many limbs in her opinion. No eyes, just a gaping mouth with too many teeth. 

“Yo.” 

The newly formed beast angled itself towards the masked man. The purplish heart was in his hand, glowing brighter than before. Lira had figured he had been the one to get his hands on it, although the intensifying pulse of energy had alerted her to its location. 

The beast still had a voice box from the sounds of it, as a mixture of screeching sounds and clicks gurgled out of its formless mouth. Then it lunged at Jason, limbs carrying it over quickly and in a manner that reminded Lira of an arachnid. 

A spider. Could there be any relation—?

The man threw the heart up in the air, out into the open space above the street. He moved out of the way - he is fast - at the last second, but perhaps it would have not mattered. The creature’s only focus was its own heart, as it lunged after it, even at the expense of throwing itself from the top floor. 

The Red Hood pulled out his gun, and shot at the heart with a speed and precision Lira didn’t expect. Was he really human? The bullet exploded as soon as it hit the heart, and the outburst of energy that it generated was so powerful that it felt as if a tornado snapped its way between the buildings. Windows on buildings down the street and of cars burst, and the cold, cutting sensation Lira felt earlier, was sent flying like debris. Invisible but dangerous. She grabbed the masked man, and pulled him away from the edge, throwing both of themselves deeper into the building. 

The energy still reached them, cutting through her tops and slicing her skin. Even his body armour did not remain untouched, not before a dark energy like that but she absorbed most of the impact. What the…fuck is that energy? The energy made her stomach churn, and her instincts to go haywire. It was over in seconds, but it has been years - decades- since she’s felt something that powerful and…warped.

Silver eyes fell on the man on the ground beside her. The energy had cut through his helmet, a deep diagonal line from the upper left corner near all the way down to his jaw. He removed it, and unsurprisingly the domino mask she’d seen him wear before was in place. Did that really help, she wondered? Maybe she might not be able to recognize him without a mask, but his scent and voice were recognizable, weren’t they? The latter, at least, without a helmet on. 

“Invisible magic? Seriously?” He asked, staring at his mask with pursed lips. 

Lira got up and walked over to the edge. The energy hadn’t just behaved like shards of glass flying everywhere, but it’d also burnt everything in its path. Cars and the trees lining the sidewalks were on fire both to her left and right, down below. Both the building she was on and the one across had suffered damage, from where the energy had rebound to. 

Oh. This was bad. She glanced across, at where the chaos originated from – the flames had been put out and thankfully it seemed like the building had already been evacuated. The smoke that lingered, however, made it difficult to see what was happening. Lira, worryingly enough, could not sense Fay’s distinct energy. The scents were muddled at that point, it was impossible to track who was where. 

Lira jumped down, landing four stories below with practised ease. Then she looked around – it had gone too quiet - before she jumped over to the top floor of another building. What would have been abode before was not nearly unrecognisable with the damage that’s been caused. Fay had been responsible for part of it, but that man—he was certainly not human, yet he smelt like it. He also did not have an energy signature. All Forgers she’s ever dealt with before have always had a distinct aura. 

“Estaris.” Damian. He had one hand over his right shoulder, blood seeping through the pale tunic he had left on. He did not look injured otherwise, just roughed up. “They’re gone. Those things, and their master—he took Fay.” 

Lira’s jaw clenched. Yes, he would have. That was the point. Fuck. “How?”

“He disappeared in plain air,” Damian remarked. “It looked like magic.” 

So the Forger is not just a Forger. But here…in this world? 

“Where’s the other humans?”

“Nightwing took the aunt to get medical attention, the fool–” Titoh. “--went with her. Montgomery and her father were taken, as well.” 

I shouldn’t have wasted that much time with that beast, Lira thought. She shouldn’t have assumed that Fay could handle herself when Lira herself wasn’t sure what the threat was?

“She went willingly.” Damian remarked through gritted teeth, his mask doing little to mask how thunderous he was. Despite the anger that rolled off of him, Lira could smell his concern. The tiniest, speck of fear – he was worried. “Montgomery was used as leverage. Which is why I need to go. Now.” He said impatiently. Not with that shoulder, Lira thought. “Can you track—”

“No.” Lira said. “Not this kind of enemy. But we’ll get her back.” Fucks sake, Lira. Think, think. Fay will handle herself, but if this is related to everything we’ve talked about then—-think. “I may have an idea on what we’re dealing with.” 

“Oh, that’s good,” Both her and Damian turned around. Nightwing, Red Hood and Spoiler had all landed behind them. The sirens Lira heard earlier were much closer, causing her head to pound. She blinked, once and twice, and her senses dulled to their everyday use. Better, but not by much. That energy had left her feeling on edge. “Then you can give us an explanation as to what is going on.” 

Wonderful. 

 

Notes:

The sequel will feature:

- time skip(s)
- more graphic and likely adult content, as well as touching on darker topics albeit my aim will always be to avoid being gratuitous, especially with violent topics. Please always pay attention to the tags before reading.
- Damian-centric and Batfam-centric chapters, including character studies/development. I would like to take the break between Providence and the sequel to also read more comics on Batfam. While canon does a shitty job at maintaining consistency when it comes to characterization, I will let you know where I draw inspiration as I did with Damian.
- I've decided to cut back and simplify the story long-term, in order to maintain regular updates in the feature.