Author's Note: This is a companion piece to Portrait. I am using the characters of Jonathon Bruce Grayson and Victoria Angela Grayson with Emaniahilel's permission. You can find their first appearance in fanfiction here: http:// www. fanfiction. net / s / 3171388 / 1 / (take out the spaces).

Also, you might find that there is an implied continuity with Emania's on-going Robin/Raven fanfiction It Only Takes A Moment (which if you haven't read it yet, what the hell are you doing here?) I blame Vicky for that.

Dedicated to Emania

Likeness

By Kysra

-Blackest Pitch-
-Vicky – 4 years old-

She is a happy child with sunbeams in her eyes and moondreams that wrap her in silver when asleep; and her earliest memory is warmth and safety and strong hands that cradled her just after she was born.

Those hands – Daddy's hands – that guide her now as she crosses the street, hold her when she wants to be held aloft high and near, and lead her in a dance perched atop his feet. They are hands that she trusts, and they are hands that circle blue smoke and glitter in pretty semi-circles and gentle Mommy's knotted green veil into smoothness.

Blue is her least favorite color, but it is Daddy's color and she tells him so; and he laughs, pecks her nose and tells her that blue is her color too. She doesn't correct him. Her color is a bright bubble-gum pink and Jon's is dark plum and Mommy's is evergreen, but she likes that he says they are the same, even if it means being blue.

Her cousins say she lies when she proudly points out their colors, say she's fibbing when she announces proudly that she remembers her first breath in Daddy's hold. It doesn't bother her, doesn't make her sad because Daddy believes her and Jonny is the same.

Instead it is a comfort that she knows where Daddy is, every second of every day even when he's late picking her up from nursery and she's waiting on the curb all alone. Her knowing often makes Mommy look at her with a face that has her stomach roiling and burning as if she has just eaten too much peanut butter, but Daddy just hugs her close and kisses her forehead and says they are connected as surely as she shares his black hair and laughing mouth.

And she is a happy child, happiest when Daddy has her in his lap braiding her hair. He's really bad at it, and the end result is often skewed with tufts of hair breaking out of the plaits. But, she still grins ecstatically and kisses him in thanks when she looks in the mirror simply because she loves Daddy (even if his color is blue) and Daddy's love is an invisible bright pink ribbon shining enmeshed within long black, crooked braids riding along her shoulders.

-Melting Sapphires-
-Vicky – 11 years old-

When she is nine she knows without doubt that Daddy is the strongest man in the universe, but it is not until she is eleven that she sees that strength in action. She has always understood that he is a fighter, that his every move is planned and potentially dangerous – so different from Momma who is all graceful dancing even when walking to the mailbox at the end of the drive.

Her heart stammers as he throws a man in a strange red suit over his shoulder then sprints only to be held back by a tall figure she has seen in the news – The Batman. They are in a large building, full of marble and gold plate with a great crest taking up the far wall and a fancy carpet underfoot. There are people dressed in costumes that hide nothing from her, but she is frightened when a finger is pointed and a woman in a tall hat speaks her name with an imperious sort of demand.

She can feel Daddy straining to get to her, his eyes wide and teeth bared at her back as he growls a threat to counter the one approaching her and her brother. But it is not Daddy she relies on for immediate protection, and she holds onto Jonny's shoulders as he slips into a stance Daddy has shown them a million times along with the strikes and blocks that will follow.

There is so much shouting she can barely hear herself think, and her head is whipping this way and that, trying to make sense of what is happening. She wants Mommy so badly now, but she is outside pulsing the deep forest green of meditation in progress. Breathe in, out. Azarath. Metrion. Zinthos. Her eyes settle on Daddy who is still fighting against the restraining hands of five superheroes who seem too familiar with him in their pleas for rationale; and as melting sapphire and frosted cobalt mesh and hold, she realizes that Daddy is scared too.

So she tries to smile for him, but there is something lurking beneath the surface of his fear, something smoky and writhing beneath the storm cloud swirling around him that reminds her of Momma. It feels thorny and painful and she wants more than anything to be wrapped up in his arms and tucked away against his body, because Daddy is safe and warm and nothing is ever confusing when he's near; but he is fighting and hurting and so very strong because even though he's so afraid that she can taste the bitterness on her tongue, he keeps pushing toward them, dragging the five clinging, weighted bodies with him like a rodeo bull she once saw on TV.

And when it's all over, when she's crying on his shoulder and Jonny is asleep in Momma and Daddy's bed, he tells her he is so proud to have such a brave little girl like her, his voice soft and heavy like her old baby blankie masking hard steel.

-A Smile to Build a Dream Upon-
-Vicky – 18 years old-

People tell her that she's too old to address Daddy as "Daddy," but she doesn't really care what those people think. She has her parents and siblings (both blood and honorary), cousins, aunts and uncles, grand-pappy (his long-suffering look is etched upon her memory with crayon and glitter), and friends, and that's all she needs.

Her life is filled with love and laughter and scars too numerous to count but smoothed over with milk and honey, care and concern. She doesn't need the romance she has always worshipped between her parents, won't be dissatisfied if she never knows such heart-stopping passion or genuine devotion. So, when she finds herself caught up in a web of hiding, calm gray shot with silver, she is intrigued at her own growing interest.

She had imagined – in girlish day-dreams – her prince would be just like Daddy with piercing looks, an expressive mouth, and a body adapted to decisive action. But Connor was nothing like Daddy, nothing like those girlish day-dreams; and somehow, he is everything she has ever wanted. There is an air of wonder about him (she smiles to remember Daddy's old nickname), a seeming sparkle of stardust that haloes the pale hair and swim within the depths of his hazel eyes. It is something mysterious that takes hold slowly, growing stronger the more frequent the contact, and she often thinks that perhaps her story will not be so different from her parents' after all.

But there are serious issues to be aired before 'Happily Ever After' can become a reality, and as she walks beside Daddy down the crowded Mainstreet U.S.A., she cannot help but smile tremulously when the thought finds her that she is growing up and soon, sooner than she would like, she will have her own life and family separate from her parents and brother. The thought is not a superficial one for this is the first of many lasts - their last family vacation to Disney World. Jonny is engaged now and will be moving out of the house in a few months. She is filled with an internal battle between bitter longing of times past and sweet hope for the future.

"Daddy?" She can't help but look up at him as she says it, mouth slack and eyes wide, almost afraid. Suddenly, it's very clear to her that she's making a life-altering decision and cementing it with vocalization.

"Something on your mind, Princess?" He smiles in that reassuring way that always managed to stem her tears or calm her tantrums in childhood, and she visibly relaxes, looping her arm through his and leaning against his side as they walk.

Pulling a little on his arm, she tries to slow him down as she sees Jonny and Momma exit a store ahead of them. She needs this moment just between them, and she cannot think of a better place to have this conversation because Disney has always held special meaning to her parents, to Daddy in particular.

"Daddy . . . how did you know you were in love with Mom?"

He halts completely, and for the first time in her life, she cannot look at him. She hears him mutter something under his breath before waving Momma and Jonny away and taking her shoulders, pulling her toward sidewalk and shade. "You've heard that story a million times, Vicky."

"I know . . ." She hedges for a moment, then straightens and finally lifts her head, "I just need to hear it again. The real version."

Daddy has never hidden anything from her - not his secret identities, not his past, not her demonic heritage - so she knows to trust his word now. She lets him pull her down to sit on the edge of the sidewalk before settling herself into the circle of the arm that comes up to cradle her. "There was no great moment of clarity for me. I lived with your mother for a long time before we ever really connected as anything more than teammates. Then there was the Bond and everything that went with it, and most of the time I had to wonder if I was becoming attracted to her because of our mental connection, and after Trigon I was even more confused so I started spending more time with her. It was a . . . very slow process."

They were unmindful of the stirring crowds, and she snuggled even more deeply into the velvety royal blue of his cloaking aura. "But how did you know, Daddy?"

He leans back a bit, using his free hand to steady them, as he grins a little, eyes distant and glowing with familiar warmth, "We went to see Casablanca together at Jump City Municipal Park one night, just the two of us. Your mother had mentioned it as a favorite of hers, and I had never seen it, so we went. I think I realized something was going on in my heart when I began watching her more than the movie."

"Oh." She paused for a moment before spitting out, "Daddy, do you like Connor?"

Daddy sighs and kisses the top of her head, his hand smoothing her back, and she wishes again that she was a little girl so that she could climb into his lap and let him braid her hair and everything could be simple. "Honey, whatever you decide, you have my blessing."

"But do you like him?" Her heart is beating a mile a minute, and her hands feel clammy with sweat.

"I wouldn't be able to part with you otherwise."

She breathes a little easier now, letting Daddy pull her to standing as they begin the walk again, his arm around her shoulders. And then her mind catches up. "How did you know that he –"

"He asked for permission a few days ago, before we left."

And she can do nothing but laugh gaily and throw her arms about his neck as Momma and Jonny meet them halfway, her heart stammering in her chest and her mind full with the knowledge that Connor's smile is like Daddy's - slow to form, always beautiful, and filled with a thousand promises that you can trust will be made true.

-Ray of Light-
-Vicky – 25 years old-

Daddy is no longer young, and it is a shock to think so even though she knows he could probably take on Jonny and Connor at full strength with no problem. He has made it a point to keep himself at peak shape, still nimble and quick as ever but with graying hair and a weathered face.

He seems even older now as she watches him hold and rock her newborn daughter in his arms the way he once rocked her, cooing and smiling into her face, "Smile for Grand-pa, little princess. There's a good girl." And she wonders at the sliver of jealousy that rises in her breast. She has always been Daddy's princess, but she realizes that she has been crowned Connor's queen.

Softly, tenderly he holds the pastel green bundle in his arms, the still-vibrant and weaving blue surrounding him embracing the infant just as fully, just as protectively as it had always embraced her. She smiles and pictures her girl causing as much havoc for her Grandpa as consistently and completely as she, herself, caused her own.

There is a moment of peace, when she simply leans against the wall and allows her eyes to fall close on the image of her father holding her baby girl, just basks in the warmth of his ultraviolet light overwhelming the growing little glow of her baby; and it occurs to her that this must have been what it was like when she was the one being held so long ago.

"Vicky?" She jumps slightly before turning to find her mother's grave face, a question on her lips.

"Momma, wha–"

"You should tell him."

Her lips purse as she looks over to her father and baby again, then nods, thinking that sometimes, she wishes her mother didn't always know what she was thinking.

She has never been afraid of Daddy, never been uncomfortable or anxious around him. She was a happy child then a happy teenager and now a happy adult, and it was all because of him, his support and steadfast love. Each step towards him is a moment flashing through her mind: of skewed braids and fierce, determined protection; of laughing blue eyes and ever-present warmth; of ready comfort and understanding; and of a gazillion hugs and kisses, soft words, and "I love you"s.

And she suddenly knows what Momma meant; and it's been ages, but she knows that he must remember because Daddy remembers everything. "Daddy?"

He finds the strength to tear himself away from his new little princess, and she hides the mist forming in her eyes by bending to kiss his cheek and whispers, "I hope her color is blue too."