A very, very late gift fic for Miss Scorp who has changed her name a few times since this was promised to her.
This story blends elements of Jason Todd from the various incarnations, but mostly the Red Hood and Scarlet arc by Morrison and Tan. Except for the costume. Not a huge fan of that one.
Although firmly set in Gotham, there are several references to the TV show Arrow, but not enough that I feel the need to call this a crossover.
If you are unfamiliar with Spanish words and pronunciation, please see the notes at the bottom of the chapter.
"Mija, your tio says you're renting out your condo for another six months." Xochitl winced as she heard the unspoken accusation in her mother's voice through the cell phone pressed to her ear. How dare her uncle know more information about her than her own mother! "When are you coming back to Starling City?"
It was a good question. Too bad she didn't know the answer. "Just a little while longer, Mama. Wayne Enterprises is still dragging their feet," she said, fumbling with the keys to her studio apartment. Of course the landlord couldn't be bothered to make the key to the deadbolt a different color than the lock on the knob, yet he still made sure that "DO NOT DUPLICATE" was engraved on both. "They still don't see the benefits of hiring a PR firm when they've got full-time Public Relations Officer. If we can get Wayne on board, it would solidify our position here in Gotham."
"If they haven't made up their minds after six months, then I doubt there's much you can do to change it. It's time to come home." Xochitl heard the catch in her mother's voice even through the crackle of static and the slam of the door as she finally stumbled into her apartment.
Quickly stifling a twinge of guilt, she flipped on the light, hoping the noise of her entry had already scared away whatever creepy-crawlies might be scrounging about for crumbs in the cracks of the linoleum floor. They were persistent, even when she'd sprayed the room from top to bottom and left bait traps in every conceivable space. Even though she hadn't brought home any food since the first week when the cereal she'd poured into a bowl had ended up being a wriggling mass of black things that sent her screaming into the bathroom.
"Mama, I told you that most of my time has been spent scouting locations and evaluating competing firms in the area, as well as soliciting future clients." She flopped onto her bed, the only significant furniture in the room aside from the small table and chair, where she'd attempted to eat that fateful morning, and a large trunk at the foot of the bed. "The firm is putting a lot of faith in me to get this done, and I don't want to let them down."
"But why does it have to be you? Shouldn't they have sent someone older, who's been with the firm longer? And why send you alone?"
"Because Aaron trusts me to do it." Xochitl closed her eyes, remembering the stricken look on his face when she'd requested a leave of absence without a specified date of return. While her social media savvy was easy to replace with fresh-faced college interns, it was her innate ability to read people, to quickly deduce which buttons needed to be pushed and which ones needed to be protected, that made her so invaluable at Walker and Associates. He'd taken her under his wing, shown her how to utilize her intuition and combine it with a silver tongue, and together they'd managed to land several big clients, including the Davenports and Mark Francis with Kardak Holdings. In fact, they'd been laying the groundwork for Sterling National Bank, now that Walter Steele was no longer with Queen Consolidated. "It would mean a huge promotion, and I'd be one of the lead associates at the new branch."
"I just don't think that Gotham is a safe place for a young woman all on her own."
"And Starling is? The city's elite created an earthquake to level The Glades because they wanted to get rid of the poor people living there. A masked vigilante is running around shooting people with arrows, and I'm not exactly sure I want the police to catch him." She could feel her blood rising to the surface and tried to calm herself, but she couldn't stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth. "Maybe Memo would still be alive if there were more people like this Hood guy."
The silence from the other end told her she'd gone too far. And the hurt and pain from her brother's death welled up inside, as if the past ten months hadn't happened, as if she was still there, sitting beside her mother on the couch as the detective told them that Guillermo Aguilar had been shot, asking politely if anyone would have wanted to harm him. Hmm, maybe it had something to do with him being a prosecutor for the district attorney's office. Maybe they should look into those case files of his and see if one of them was perhaps a bit more than someone only a few years out of law school should have been handling. Even now, the police had failed to come up with anything substantial, despite their insistence that his murder had been given top priority.
Squeezing back her tears, Xochitl took a deep breath before opening her eyes again. "I'm sorry, Mama. I know you're worried, but I'm doing fine. I'll see if I can get Aaron to arrange a flight home next weekend."
"Okay, mija," her mother said in a shaky voice. "Ten cuidado. I don't know what I would do if I lost you both."
"I promise to be safe," she replied, forcing herself from the warmth and softness of her mattress, her only concession to comfort in the squalid apartment. "Te quiero mucho, Mama."
Hanging up, she plugged her phone into its charger and opened her closet to get ready for the day ahead. Or, rather, the evening, which was when her day truly started. She pulled out her clothes for work, shoving the rest aside to stare at the back wall. Her twin brother's picture stared back at her, his expression stern, as if admonishing her for what she'd done, for what she was planning to do. Maybe using his profile picture from the district attorney's website was a bad idea, but it was easier than seeing him smiling and carefree, the dimple on his cheek that matched her own. It was easier to keep her head clear looking for the person responsible for Prosecutor Guillermo Aguilar's death instead of the person that ripped her other half from this earth.
Besides, she thought, her eyes tracing the thread pinned to her brother's picture, passing other documents and photos to land on a scarred and pitted face, that man is already dead. Not that she had killed him. She'd used every resource, every contact she'd made, even delving into Aaron's personal rolodex, to find the murderer. After two months, she'd found him, drugged him, and questioned him in a seedy motel room that made her apartment feel like a luxury suite. When the time came, she thought she could do it, that her rage and despair over her brother's death would steel her nerves. She stood behind Memo's killer with a gun pointed at his head. Three shots, pop pop pop, to match the ones he'd given. She faltered, hand shaking despite the heavy weight of the cold metal clasped in her fingers. With a desperate sob, she'd plunged a needle into his neck, knocking him out while she cleaned up any evidence and wrote a note for the front desk. How was she supposed to know that the desk clerk wouldn't call the police but instead called a group of vigilantes that had formed in the Hood's absence?
She traced the thread again, with her finger this time, to Gotham, tapping the name she'd taken from the hired gunman. Vince Fletcher, the man who'd ordered a hit on the prosecutor who'd been putting a dent in his smuggling business. She'd been able to piece things together after learning of his involvement, finding his hand in several seemingly unrelated cases that Memo had handled. He'd been directly involved in only one. Most of the time, however, he was a whisper, a shadow at the edges of the page: an investor in the company that managed the gas station where the drug bust had gone down, on the board of directors for an elderly home cited for abusing the residents, a benefactor to the hospital that had billed insurance companies for medications that patients never received.
Even in Gotham, he was a hard man to find. Or course, she'd had to be more careful about her methods of inquiry, not wanting to draw attention to herself. This wasn't Starling City where she could drop in on an old friend from high school who happened to be a uniformed officer or owe a favor to an ex-con whose name she'd found hidden in Aaron's files. And Gotham's vigilante seemed far more organized, although just as intolerant of rogues operating in his city without his express permission.
So it had taken the better part of six months to develop the connections to track down Fletcher. Six months of living off her savings, whatever her uncle charged to sublet her condo, and whatever crappy job she needed to gain her contacts.
Speaking of which, she needed to get her ass in gear if she didn't want to be late for work. She opened the trunk and pulled out a few items, tossing them into a small duffel before heading to the bathroom for a quick shower.
mija - MEE-HA - shortened form of "my girl child", a term of endearment
tio - TEE-O - uncle
Xochitl - SO-CHI - a name derived from the Nahuatl word meaning "flower"
ten cuidado - TEN KWI-DA-DO - be careful, take care
te quiero mucho - TE KI-E-RO MU-CHO - I love you a lot