Disclaimer: I do not own any of the following characters in this story.
Someday maybe, but for now, they're just on loan.


My Little Girl
By The Seitz


So far I've counted fifty-seven different ways I could break out if this
place.

Who ever is running the show here, Warden something or other, has determined
that I'm going to be a good little boy and lightened up security. No more
twenty-four hour visual surveillance, no video feed in the cell either.
Hell, they were even nice enough to move me to a cell in the upstairs wing
of solitary. And since then I have found numerous ways to break out.

But I haven't. And when I ask myself why, the answer's surprisingly simple.
Every way out of this place involves me killing someone. And the law has
been laid down from on high. No killing.

That's part of the reason I've stuck around here anyway. I remember our
little talk, me and the Bat. I'd call him Bruce but I'm not really sure if
there's any of Bruce left, despite his heroics in front of my little girl in
his cave.

But I'm getting off the point. He came and visited me right after I got
locked up. He wanted to know about Alpha. I told him to go to hell. Then
I asked about Cassandra, I reminded him of his speeches to me when Floyd was
gunning for my keester. I'm afraid to know my own family. Yeah right.
She's hurt but she cares. That one was rich. This is what I said to him,
in case you're not following. I had to remind him that the only reason I
was sticking around this dump was for her.

Yeah, I know, my little girl is the only reason I do anything now a days. I
figured back then I could have busted out of this joint and then holed up
somewhere and waited for her to come and get me. Then maybe we could talk
or something. But no, big scary Batman stood in my cell and told me she was
still getting over everything, that she would come to me when she was ready.
When it didn't hurt so much to see me, is what he said. For someone who
never smiles I gotta tell you, that guy is a comedian.

And the really funny part, I believed him. So I stayed in the little cell
like a caged rabbit and waited. And then I waited and waited and waited
some more and I'll be damned if one day I got woke up to the words "You have
a visitor."

I knew it was her as soon as I saw her. All prettied up in her reporter
costume, made me wish I would have let her go out on Halloween. She looked
so pretty, that is, right until her face screwed up with anger and she
kicked in three solid inches of bullet proof glass. Come to think of it,
she even looked pretty when she did that.

And she stayed looking pretty as she kicked me then knocked out every single
guard on duty and then picked me up. I knew she wasn't gonna do anything
when she pulled her hand back like she was gonna strike, don't ask me how I
knew, a father just knows these things.

But then she laid down the law. I kill anyone and she's gonna kill me.
Said it right to my face, and know what, it was music to my ears. My little
girl was all grown up. I never did figure out why she wanted to know her
birthday. Maybe she wants a party or something, I'll have to remember to
send her a card or something this January.

Wow, now that I think about it January is coming up really soon. Hell, it
almost Christmas, maybe I should get her something. Nah, I'll wait till her
birthday, it'll be more special if she knows I remembered.

Batman's been back a few more times since our last exchange. He keeps
asking me about Alpha, I keep telling him to go to hell. Then I ask him
about Cassandra, and he always gives me the update. He was here two nights
ago, cute story he told me, my little girl wants to be a detective. Good
for her.

CLICK!

Someone's opening my cell. Making a damn show out of it too, must be a new
guy. I turn around to face. . . .her.

The cell clicks again as she shuts it behind her. I can feel my eyes go
wide, my breath catches in my neck. Cassandra, my little girl is standing
in my cell. I don't know what to say.

"Hi." I hear myself blurt out. I can feel my face pulling back into a
really dopey grin.

"Hi." She says and pulls her cape a little tighter around herself.

She's quiet, but she hasn't kicked me in the head yet, so I'm gonna take it
as a good sign. Maybe she wants to talk. Maybe the big Bat sent her here
to ask about Alpha. Figure, he knows I can't say no to a lady.

"So. . . Um what can I do for you?" I say hesitantly. This is a mystery.
She looks to worried to be here on regular bat-business.

She shrugs back her cape and I can see something in her hands. No way,
there is no way in heaven that can be. . .

"A Christmas Present." She says quickly and steps forward, holding it in
front of her. Damn I wish I had my camera. "For you." She says.

I'm speechless. I'm more than speechless, I'm struck dumb. I can't move,
thinking takes effort. There is no way this is happening, I've gotta be
having a dream, that's it, a dream. I'm back at home and I never framed
Bruce Wayne and I'm drunk.

"Here." My little girl says and holds it a little farther from her body.
Damnit I'm not dreaming. I do the only thing I can do.

"Thank you." I say and take it from her. I watch as her arms instantly drop
back into the cape. She cocks her head to the side and stares at me. I
raise my eyebrows and stare back. With a deep sigh she pulls off her mask
and looks at me. She's still as pretty as the day she threatened to kill
me.

"Open?" She asks me quietly, her brown eyes shining. I can remember the
last time her eyes shined like that. We were in London. I had to work out
a contract and I took her with me. She must have been about seven at the
time, and we were walking down the streets and she saw the little puzzle in
the store window. It was simple really, just a picture of a rose, couldn't
have been more than twenty-five pieces. And she looked at it and then
looked back at me and her eyes were shining just like they are now. How
could I say no? I can still remember when she put it together for the first
time too. She looked so happy and proud and she pulled me over to the table
and kept pointing to the puzzle then the picture on the box. My little girl
had done it and she wanted her daddy to see, looking back on it I should
have taped that too.

"Open it. . .please." She says again, quieter if that's even possible. I
can't tell her no. I slowly peel of the paper and open the box. Reaching
in, I take out the little wooden figure and cup it gently in my hands.

My little girl bought me a statue. It's made of wood, cedar, from the
looks of it. The statue is of two people, one is obviously very young, a
little girl, she stands there in a little purple dress, her hair is long and
straight and black. The other figure is much taller, but laying on his side
his head pointed towards the girl in attention. His hair is a dark brown,
almost black, he wears a white shirt and blue pants. Neither of their faces
have been detailed so both the little girl and the man could be anyone. The
statue my little gave me tells a story, The little girl is telling her
daddy a story. Just like the time my little girl came and told me she
finished her puzzle. And I walked to the table and laid down and watched
her point to the puzzle then to the box then to herself. And I smiled at
her and my little girl, my Cassandra came and gave me a hug.

"Like it?" Cassandra's voice come storming into my thoughts. Bringing me
back to the present, to my cell, with her. Her eyes are hopeful and scared.
I can see the tears running down her face.

"I love it." I tell her and move to set it on my table. When I look back
she is smiling softly, but there are still tears. "Oh Cassie come here."
I say and move to here opening my arms. I should have done this so long
ago.

She accepts my embrace, my little girl, and throws her arms around me. I
can feel her muscles through the suit and for a moment, they are drawn
tight, but then relax and before I know it, my little girl is sobbing in my
arms. And not knowing exactly what I'm doing I move my hands up to run
through her hair and I'm sobbing too.

And that's how we stay for several minutes in my cell. My little girl
crying quietly in my arms, and me, crying my eyes out and holding her to me
so tight, so she knows, I'll never let her go again, I'll never make her
run. It's a good long time before we dare to do anything else.

"Does this mean I'm forgiven?" I ask softly planting a kiss on top of her
head.

"No." She says from my shoulder where her head is resting.

Not yet. I know that. I still have work to do. I'm not forgiven yet, but
still, standing here, in my cell, feeling my little girl in my arms, feeling
her returning my hug, I can live with that.

fin