"Charfield, I can't—no, won't—do this. It's stupid."
Amelia leaned back farther into the heated seat. She didn't take off her seatbelt, half-convinced that the driver would come to his senses and take her back to the estate where she belonged.
"But, Miss, your grandparents have ordered it. Plus, let's face it, your social skills could use a little work. School will be good for you. You'll finally get to hang out with some kids your own age."
"Mother would never make me do this. If they had wanted me to be social, I could have just volunteered at the hospital again."
"Yes, but you insisted on caring for the coma patients."
"So?"
"Coma patients can't talk."
"Oh whatever," she muttered under her breath and finally took off her seat belt. She swung her bag over her shoulder and tried to open the door in a huff, but the door wouldn't open no matter how hard she pushed on it. After a few more violent attempts and a bit of huffing and puffing, she demanded, "Charfield, how am I supposed to make a dramatic exit when you have the child lock on?"
Charfield was already in the process of opening the door for her, having ignored what she was saying, and gave her a droll stare. "Have a good day at school, Amelia," he said with a flat voice. "I will be here to pick you up at 2:20."
With a grimace, Amelia made the first few steps toward Gotham Academy.
Oh god, what if they had a welcoming committee?
She glanced around her at all the other kids running up the steps, desperately trying to be on time for homeroom. She was late. Charfield had needed to drag her out of bed that morning, and her hair was an unkempt mess atop her head to prove it. Grandmother had fussed about it, but nothing could be done.
Truthfully, she wouldn't mind crawling back in bed. There was a large stack of books on her bedside table waiting for her arrival and she didn't want to keep them waiting.
Charfield was still watching her, probably making sure she actually made it into the building and didn't run off somewhere. With one last look back at the car, she marched up the steps.
"Hi! Are you Amelia VanAlstyne?"
Amelia had to stop short before she almost ran into the small, brunette girl in her path. She was kind of hoping to avoid this kind of treatment. She tried to suppress a groan. "Yes."
"Wow," Short Girl took a step back and took in Amelia's nearly six-foot frame with awe, "you're a lot taller than you look in the magazines."
"Uglier, too. So who are you?"
"Oh sorry! I'm Emily, the headmaster sent me to come get you. I have some stuff for you." Short Girl, Emily, produced a folder from the bag on her back and thrust it forward into Amelia's hands. "We're in the same first class, which we should probably be getting to. This way!"
Throughout the day Amelia had been called tall more times than she could count. Eventually her default response became, "Really? No one's ever told me that before. You're, like, really clever." Either no one had caught the sarcasm or everyone had chosen to ignore it, but regardless they all thought themselves to be her best friend, like, ever.
She rolled her eyes just thinking about it.
As much as she hated being trapped in that building all day, Amelia wouldn't have it any other way. If the headmaster told her grandfather that she was making friends quickly, perhaps he would let her leave.
If only she could be so lucky.
She was waiting for Charfield to pick her up out in the courtyard of the school when a boy strolled over to her with an air of confidence that bordered on arrogance. "Miss VanAlstyne, I just wanted to let you know that I hope you had a lovely first day at this… fine institution. Don't let the leeches bother you, they'll leave you alone eventually." He inspected his nails and gave her what she suspected was the most charming smile he could muster. His eyes trailed down her body in a way that made Amelia wrap her coat tighter around herself. "You're just a hot commodity from a well-respected family, fresh meat."
To keep herself from slapping him, Amelia pulled up the collar of her black trench coat against the cold, winter wind. She didn't like the way he leered over her, and she definitely didn't like that he was comparing her to meat products. She gave him a short glance before turning her gaze straight ahead and offering shortly, "Thanks for the advice."
"No problem. Oh, where are my manners?" he asked, as if he had any. He thrust forward his hand, forcing her to shake it. "My name is James, I'm a senior. Captain of the lacrosse team. You should come to one of our games some time."
"Totally cool. I wouldn't miss it for the world."
"Yeah? Well, I'm having a party this Saturday at the manor. Be there."
Be there? So he was ordering her around now? She bit the inside of her cheek for a moment so she didn't say anything too stupid, but she couldn't hold it in. "You try really hard, don't you?" she blurted.
His suave demeanor dropped immediately, but he tried to play it off. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that I'd be very careful about who I called a leach if I were you, James. Oh, and also,I would sooner chew off my own foot than touch you with a ten foot pole."
Charfield pulled up in the car and she didn't even look back to see his face.
He glanced at her in the rear-view mirror as he started the car. "Rough day, Miss?"
"I hate it here."
"Did you make any friends?"
"No."
"Well, were people nice?"
"Yes." When he didn't respond, she continued, "They looked at me a lot. Just looked."
He looked back at her in the rear-view mirror sympathetically. "It'll get better, Ames. It won't be bad forever."
"I suppose. Please don't call me that, Charfield."
"Yes, Miss."
"I don't suppose I can bribe you into doing my Accounting homework, can I?"
"Not a chance, but I'd be happy to help you with it." Charfield was smart, insanely so. He had graduated from some Ivy League school and was taking a few years off to pay off his loans before going back to graduate school. He wasn't going to be working for the VanAlstynes his whole life, that much was certain. She had always known, and expected, that he would eventually leave and go work for some big business, or maybe even start one of his own.
Amelia had grown up with Charfield. His parents had always done security work for her family, so he'd always been around. He was just over six years older than Amelia and liked to think himself that many times wiser, but when it came down to it there was no one Amelia knew or trusted more. When Amelia moved to Gotham a few weeks prior and her grandparents had insisted on a bodyguard, he was the obvious choice.
So, naturally, when he later appeared in the doorway with his brows furrowed and his lips pursed into a thin line, Amelia knew she was in for hell.
"What is it?"
"Charles requests your presence in his office."
She glanced down at her Accounting textbook, suddenly longing to do nothing but sit and read. However, she doubted her grandfather would believe her sudden interest in the subject was genuine. "As in immediately?"
"As in yesterday."
"Am I in trouble?"
"He didn't say, Miss, but he didn't look too happy."
"Alright, wish me luck." Amelia walked down the corridor and up the stairs to her grandfather's office door. She stood there for a moment to summon up all her courage, and rapped the thick wood lightly.
"Come in."
He didn't sound happy.
Her grandfather's large office contained a desk and enough books to fill a small library. Records, each precisely labeled in twelve-point Times New Roman font, directly in the middle. Each beetle-black leather book contained details about every shipment, every contract, every buyer, every seller, every good that had been in possession of VanAlstyne Shipping since Charles VanAlstyne had inherited it. It was difficult to tell from the way they were arranged, but each book was shut up tight with a polished silver lock, the key to which only her grandfather possessed. And that was only VanAlstyne Shipping, a division of VanAlstyne Corp that her grandfather had personally molded into the world's largest player in world ocean transportation. In the north wing, there was a large library full of nearly identical books dedicated to all of the corporation's other endeavors, mostly involving weapons manufacturing and technology.
At the moment he sat in his comfortable leather chair, glaring at her and silently fuming. His bushy white moustache hid his mouth from view, which Amelia was certain was gripped tight as a vise to keep from spewing insults.
He never looked like a friendly old man. His eyes didn't crinkle when he was happy. He had permanent frown-lines. He just looked like an angry old German. Vaguely Nazi-like, but Amelia had been told by her grandmother that such accusations were improper and reprehensible, not to mention politically incorrect.
Most girls' grandfathers looked like Santa Clause. Charles was no Santa. She'd always been afraid of him, ever since she was little. She had always dreaded the extremely rare visits she and her mother would make to Gotham, despite her grandmother's constant doting.
As she waited for steam to come out of his ears, she contemplated on jumping out the grand window behind his desk, which overlooked the entire estate. It seemed to be her best bet.
"Grandfather?"
"Do you not understand why our business has stood strong since before the founding of this country, Amelia? Can you not fathom the great lengths countless generations of this family have gone to achieve such longevity?"
She froze like a deer in headlights, her heart beating wildly in her chest at his cold, casual tone. "Um… no, sir."
"Do you know how one develops an empire such as this?"
"No sir."
He slammed his hands down onto the wooden desk with a loud thud and stood up abruptly, which pushed his chair back a good two or three feet. "Politics. Politics and impartiality. Keeping your nose out of other men's business and your puckered lips on their ass cheeks."
"I don't understand."
"That boy you made a fool of happens to be a loyal client's son and heir to his father's organization. As questionable as the morals of this organization may be, I cannot have you ruining our name and thus the future of this company. I did not pay for your education so that you can take pretty pictures in designer clothing. I am sending you to this school so that when I leave VanAlstyne Corp. to you, you will have the connections necessary to make this company one you can leave to your children. This is not about education. I understand, you already have that, but an education will not make you money. Not in Gotham."
"Yes sir."
"I don't care whether you are repulsed by or in awe of some of these people, Amelia, but you will treat them with respect from now on or suffer the consequences." He sat back down in his chair with a heavy sigh, the tension gone.
"Yes sir. Is that all you wanted to speak to me about?"
He offered the smallest of smiles. "Yes, girl. You can go now."
It took Amelia a long time to wind down that night. She couldn't stop replaying the argument in her head. One little bit bothered her: Impartiality. Keeping your nose out of other people's business, despite morals. What was that supposed to mean?
She didn't let it bother her for long, soon her head was consumed with how the hell she was going to manage to make friends with these people. She was never particularly outgoing. When her family hosted parties, it was usually just older, drunken people initiating conversation. Honestly, outside of Charfield, she had only rarely interacted with kids her own age. She sat at her vanity, pulling the brush through her hair slowly and counting. One. Two. Three. All the way up to one-hundred. Her grey eyes were dull and tired.
Seventeen-year-olds were not this complex. She would manage. She'd have to.
Be friendly. Think friendly thoughts. Muster up some courage, be outgoing. Easy.
"Do you need anything, Miss Amelia?"
A tall, gangly-looking brunette girl stood in the doorway. She was new, or at least Amelia had never seen her before in her life.
It was worth a shot.
"Uh, no thanks. You're new here, right?"
"Yup! My name's Amber."
This girl really wasn't giving her much to go off of. Making conversation shouldn't be like speaking to a brick wall. Amelia took a deep breath. "So, Amber, what brings you here? Working, I mean."
"Oh, well…" she toed the ground and shrugged. "I needed to pick up a little extra cash for school."
"Yeah, that's actually what my friend Charfield is doing. He just graduated from Yale. What do you want to major in?"
The girl frowned and shifted her weight back and forth from one foot to the other. "Well, I don't really know yet. I think English. I'd love to be a professor someday."
"Yeah? I love reading. Check out the bookshelf over there!" Amelia placed the brush down and walked over to the looming shelves, completely stuffed with books. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Austen. Shakespeare. She loved her books. "Whenever I go somewhere I always stop by the used book store. I know it sounds corny, but I love old books. They smell better."
In fact, what she really loved about her old books was the writing they contained. Not printed, but notes from the previous owners. She liked to imagine what it would be like to be them, sitting in a café in the middle of Paris, or curled up on a rainy day in a London flat. But she couldn't say that, it would be creepy and would most certainly not make her any friends.
"No, that's cool… You have a lot of really good stuff, here."
"Thanks. Feel free to borrow some any time you want! Here," Amelia skimmed the stacks and pulled out a large book that contained the entire works of Edgar Allen Poe. She'd picked it up on her last trip to London, and it had plenty of barely-legible notes scribble in the margins. Amelia liked to pretend the previous reader was a student, the first one in his family to go to University. They were proud of him, and every time he would return home his mother would dote and fuss over him for days. She would introduce him as her son, the journalist. "Interested?"
"Really? Are you sure?"
"Not a problem at all, I assure you. Now if you don't mind, I think I'll go to bed and stop keeping you from your job. I don't want you to get into trouble."
"Not at all, thank you Miss! Good night!"
"Good night, Amber."
Miss Amber, consider yourself befriended. Maybe this outgoing thing wasn't going to be so hard after all. All it took was a little push to get the ball rolling.
The instant Amelia walked into the dining hall all she could feel were eyes on her back. She'd heard a lot of people whispering about her earlier, but no one had really said anything of much importance. No one had bothered to talk to her, either.
If she had gotten herself blackballed on the first day, she would be both impressed and scared for her life. Her grandfather would cut her to ribbons and use her skin to tailor a leather coat.
She got a bottle of water and package of snack crackers from one of the vending machines and headed over to the library. She founda book containing the complete collections of Sherlock Holmes, and made her way back to the most unpopulated area of the stacks and took a seat on the cold, polished wood floor. She inspected her surroundings. She was surrounded by bunch of texts written in Chinese, so at least she wouldn't be distracted. Not that she didn't already know every twist and turn of the stories by heart already. Amelia knew the texts intimately, and had read them over and over many times. Sherlock Holmes was her one true love, closely followed by Mr. Darcy, of course.
"Oh, uh, sorry."
Amelia glanced up from her book. She had been so completely engrossed by the novel that she hadn't noticed the boy walk around the corner. "I'm in the way, aren't I? Here, sorry," she moved away from the side of the bookshelves he had his eyes on. He browsed for a while and she remembered what her grandfather had said in his office. She wasn't willing to suffer through any type of punishment he was prepared to dole out. Courage. "I didn't think anyone would be back here. I didn't think we had Chinese classes."
"We don't, but I've taken them in the past and I'm getting a bit rusty. I have some stuff I need to read for an… assignment."
"So basically you're a huge nerd."
He laughed as he pulled a book from the shelf and began reading the back of it. "Yeah, I guess you could put it that way. Not exactly as poetic as I'd like, though. So, what's your deal?"
"What deal?"
"You're hiding in the bowels of the library during lunch hour. That seems a bit deal-ish to me."
"Yeah," Amelia put the book on her lap and frowned, "well, Gotham Academy and I are hitting a rocky point in our relationship. You know how it is, quick love-affairs like this. Fire and powder."
"I'm assuming you're the VanAlstyne girl?" He tucked the book under his arm and leaned up against the shelves. "I heard a couple people talking about you earlier."
"I'm Amelia," she stated simply.
"Dick Grayson. Your relationship with Gotham Academy will improve with time. For now, everyone just thinks you're a little, uh…" he bit his lip, clearly searching for the proper word, "harsh, that's all. But they'll get over it eventually."
Amelia was going to be a fashionable coat very soon in the future. Her grandfather was going to kill her. If she'd managed to turn the school's population against her this quickly, imagine what damage she would be able to do for the rest of the year? They'd be chasing her out with knives and pitchforks like the county ogre. "What do you mean, harsh?"
"I say harsh, they say frigid bitch, but you know… sticks and stones."
"What? I'm friendly! I'm totally friendly! I'm Miss Friendly! Who wouldn't want to be my friend? I've been talking to you for five whole minutes and look, you're not exactly iced over."
He gave her the same doubtful look Charfield had given him before when she said she had good people skills. "You told James Moretti that you would rather cannibalize your own limbs than spend time with him. Harsh."
As if she hadn't gotten in trouble for that enough already. "Why does everyone keep bringing that up? It's not a big deal or anything. I was nice to everyone else all day, even when all they did was call me tall. Do you know how annoying that is?"
That was when she noticed Dick wasn't exactly the tallest. They were probably around the same height, which for a guy was pretty short, but he probably hadn't finished growing yet. "No, actually, I don't get that very often."
"Well, has anyone ever told you that your hair is black, Mister Grayson? Because I just have to say that your hair is just so black. Out of all the black hair I've ever seen, yours is by far the blackest. And don't get me started on the photographs, they do not do nearly enough justice to the utter blackness of your perfectly coiffed, ebony locks."
He ran his fingers through his hair with a smile. He pushed his bangs back, which stayed there for only a moment before flopping back into his forehead exactly as they had been previously. "You really think it's perfectly coiffed? That's sweet."
She rolled her eyes. "You're so proud of yourself."
"With reason. I mean, I do have perfectly coiffed ebony locks."
Amelia sighed animatedly and observed the boy for a short while. He looked so familiar. She'd definitely seen him before, or heard of him, or something. But she couldn't think of where she'd heard the name Grayson before. She didn't know of any Grayson family. But there was something—
"You're Richard Grayson!"
"Get out of town!"
"No, shut up, you don't understand. I mean, don't shut up, that's rude, I didn't mean that. No, but, you're Dick Grayson! You're the kid who lives with Bruce!"
Single eyebrow raise. He was starting to get a little afraid. Maybe this is what her grandfather had meant when he said that she was completely socially inept. She wasn't supposed to be in awe of her classmates' pedigrees, especially not when she was constantly reminded of her own impressive family line by her grandfather. "Yeah, and?"
"Nothing just… see, my grandfather told me that if I didn't make friends he'd turn me into the next spring fashion. Well not exactly in so many words, but you know where I'm going with this."
"So we become friends and you…?"
"…don't get turned into a coat." She paused for a moment to breathe. She had been speaking for so long and so quickly she had lost track of her own thoughts. She gathered herself together for a moment. "Oh my God, you think I'm crazy. I'm sorry, it's just no one's talked to me all day and when I get nervous I run my mouth."
"Don't worry about it," he assured, "I'm used to fast talkers."
"But you still think I'm nuts."
"I never said that."
"You never denied it, either."
The bell rang. Saved by the bell. "Look at that, time to go to class!" He offered her his hand and helped her stand. "What do you have now?"
"Good question," Amelia glanced down at her schedule. "Abnormal Psych."
"So basically you're a huge nerd."
"You know, I actually prefer academically and intellectually inclined." She gave him a hard poke in the chest, "There you go—poetry."
"They still make you wear the suit when you're working nights, huh?"
Amelia had been having difficulty sleeping, so when she remembered that Charfield was working that night, watching the security cameras, she jumped at the opportunity. It pretty much meant that he'd be sitting on his laptop doing nothing, because nothing interesting ever happened in the manor. She'd thrown a warm sweatshirt on over her flannel pajamas, but she hadn't actually looked in the mirror until she had passed one in the hallway. Her dark brown hair stuck out at odd angles, so she tried her best to push the strands down with her fingers on the walk over.
He was leaning back in a swivel chair with his feet up on the counter, computer balanced on his lap. "What are you doing up? It's three in the morning."
"There are worse things I could be doing at three in the morning. And as my security guard, I believe you're the one obligated to keep me entertained in order to prevent me from doing such things. I could become a pregnant meth-addict if you're not careful." She rolled over another chair from the other side of the room and sat down beside him, pulling her knees up to her chest. "No, but really, do you want me to get you something more comfortable? Grandfather wouldn't mind."
"My parents would, though. I don't mind. It helps me stay awake."
"Are you still driving me to school tomorrow morning?"
"You bet."
"You're not going to be so over tired that you crash and kill me, are you?"
He gave her another one of his looks. She'd been getting those a lot lately. But it seemed like a good question from where she was sitting.
Charfield was about to say something when everything went completely black. All the monitors showed black rooms, and then not too long after the backup went and even the security room turned dark.
Amelia couldn't even see her hand a few feet in front of her face.
She could hear rummaging behind her, then a click and a dim light when Charfield finally found a dying flashlight. He tossed it to her and grabbed another from the drawer. "I'm gonna go see what's going on, you stay here."
"I need to pee."
"You can hold it."
"Tell that to my bladder."
"Amelia—"
"It's winter. It's windy. My only concern is finding a toilet in time. Now you go do whatever security-guard-type thing you need to do, and I will go relieve myself. I have my phone on me. I'll call you if I get kidnapped by the Easter Bunny or something."
He bit his lip and obviously considered arguing further, but nodded and left. Amelia followed him out and walked down the corridor in the opposite direction. She hadn't lived in this house for more than a week, and she'd never been in this wing before.
She found a large set of decorative double-doors. Might as well start here.
She pushed open the heavy door and immediately her light bounced back at her from a large bay window. "Hello?"
No answer. Apparently none of the night staff was there cleaning when the power outage had occurred.
There were tons of reflective surfaces, which seemed to be little clear boxes displaying jewelry. Portraits of all of her ancestors lined the walls of the long room. There were even hand-carved marble busts of a few of her older relatives. How excessive could you get?
She opened the glass casing of a gorgeous ruby necklace and picked it up. The stone was surrounded by dozens of small diamonds, which glittered in the dim, flickering light provided by her flashlight. Who would leave something like this unlocked? It had to be an heirloom, worth a fortune.
Which is when she noticed the broken lock on the side of the case.
"I'll be taking that, sweetie," a sultry female voice practically purred against her neck.
Amelia jumped and whirled around, both knocking over the stand the case had been on and dropping her flashlight in the process. She backed up as far as she could and gripped the jewel tightly in her palm.
"Who are you?"
A figure stepped forward , but all Amelia could see was the silhouette of a masked woman wearing tight, black clothing. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Who the hell was this? Palms sweaty and chest heaving, Amelia struggled to swallow the accumulating saliva in her mouth. The woman took one step forward. Two. Amelia could feel the wet spot on her neck where the woman's lips had been turn cold.
"I'm not the one you need to worry about, little girl. I won't hurt you. I even think you're cute." Her voice dripped with sexuality as the woman strolled slowly forward. A gloved finger lingered in her mouth, and her tongue darted out quickly and gave it a small lick. "Your good old granddaddy, on the other hand, oh, now he's a bad man. What do you think he'll do when he finds out his sweet little lamb just handed over his great, great grandmommy's pretty jewels?"
"My grandfather loves me," Amelia growled angrily, completely losing her senses and taking a step toward the woman. "And when he finds out what you've done, he'll have you hunted down and thrown in Arkham to rot. That is, if I can convince him to let you live."
The woman pushed her roughly against the wall and pressed her lips against Amelia's ear, then hissed sarcastically, "Oh, I'm sure he loves you, sweetie. Just ask Melissa Vega and all the others." She pried Amelia's hand open and snatched the necklace, placing it into the front of her shirt. "Thank you for your cooperation, Miss VanAlstyne."
A dark figure appeared over the woman's shoulder.
Charfield.
Finally.
"You're welcome. Anytime. There's someone behind you, by the way."
The woman's eyes went wide for a moment before her expression twisted into pure rage. That was when everything went black.
A/N:
Inro to the story:
This is broken into 3 parts. Part one and is an introduction to the characters and some background, and the plot gets a lot more fast-paced in parts 2 and 3 (or at least I like to think so!), both of which have their own conflicts and story arcs. Part 1 is all from Amelia's POV, but in part 2 there are some chapters from Dick's POV and eventually I'd like to expand to Tim (but whether he gets his own story or not is yet to be determined).
This is supposed to take place in the time gap between season 1 and 2, which makes my timeline is a little off with Dick's age but I'm okay with that. Thanks for reading!
