Warning: Damian's a rought ruthless man, especially with those he has no patience for.

Honour Killing

Worth

The Fairweathers' lived in a penthouse apartment in one of the trendier apartment blocks. The building, having once been built and owned by Wayne-Powers Enterprise, was easily compromised. Swiftly he had access to digital copies of the building blue prints and was able to remotely manipulate the security feeds. Getting in was easy – he took the Batmobile (because the invisibility booster was a bit more advanced that his own) to the roof and entered the building through the skylight.

Why did people always forget to alarm the skylights?

The building was fully of the stylish metal and glass – in fact the whole apartment was made of metal and glass as if beckoning the whole of Gotham to come and have a look at their family and see how brilliant they were. Damian sneered beneath his helmet, he preferred the older styles of wood and metal – the style that the Manor still held and if he had his way, would always continue to boost in the futuristic world he found himself in. Terry might have called it retro.

Fingering his sword, Damian moved around the still apartment – after all it was night time, if they weren't painting the town red then they would be asleep most likely. If there wasn't more to the Fairweathers than distant Thorne blood, anyway. Damian hoped there was, because then Father wouldn't complain half as much than if he roughed up a civilian. Like it mattered at all.

10:15:35.

Plenty of time.

His eyes landed on a picture as he crossed their living room. It was a family portrait – an old man and woman, their adult son and young girl. Damian stared. There was more than a few years between Darien Fairweathers and Carlen Fairweathers, perhaps not as many as him and Terry but... Damian's finger traced the girl, a child's, face. He could understand, younger siblings never listened, not even when they were wrong and knew it. Terry never listened and Damian could have been his father. Terry never listened.

He let go of the picture. It shattered on the floor.

"Darien? Is that you?" A sleepy voice called from one of the bedrooms.

Damian turned and moved into the shadows, gripping his sword. One of the doors slid open and the young woman, little more than a teenager – like Terry – stepped into the room, pulling on her dressing robe. She was pretty, with longish red hair and a fair complexion in an old style sort of way – she could certainly look the part of Queen. But ruling Gotham was nothing to do with how you looked but how well you could play. Glancing around confused, she reached for the light switch.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Damian breathed in her ear, leaning close enough to smell the faint perfume she had been wearing earlier. The same one Terry had smelled of.

She screamed. And tried to run but Damian caught her before she could take a step. Still screaming, she fought back, trying to knock him off her. Not going to happen. Damian firmly took her wrists and slammed her into the wall, cutting the screaming off as the wind was forced from her lungs – she coughed. Anyone else would have pulled their punches, Damian didn't. What did he care if she bruised – she was lucky he didn't do worse. He slammed his fist into the area next to her face and she whimpered.

"Miss Carlen Fairweathers I presume?" He purred sarcastically as she squirmed around, trying to get free. "Stop that; it won't help you."

"Let me go, please," She begged, "If you want money, it's in the safe, the code is –"
Damian laughed, low, dark and harsh – she shivered and wilted, "I'm not interested in your money, girl, I want information." He growled.

Her eyes were like a kicked puppy; scared, confused and completely innocent. Desperate. She stared at him, at his masked face – the red helmet that she didn't recognize, not as a hero, not as a criminal but as something that was most likely going to haunt her for the rest of her life. She didn't recognize him, but she was never going to forget. He smirked, the only part of his face the helmet didn't cover. She blinked doe like. "What information?" she asked hopefully.

"Like who tried to kill your little sweetheart McGinnis." Damian pushed a lock of her red hair out of her face and she flinched. Oh, Damian knew exactly what she was thinking – she was terrified but that was the point. She didn't know what he was going to do. He could do anything – anything at all. He already hurt her, the marks on her wrists and arms were most likely going to bruise badly. Damian was not uncomfortable teasing her into letting her imagination run wild and dark. Not at all.

"Terry? No one tried to kill him –" Her eyes were blank.

"Oh no? Why's he tied up in bed dying of a fever then – someone poisoned him, at your little party earlier, Carlen. Why don't you tell me about it?" He whispered softly into her ear, close enough to feel her shrink back into the wall and try to turn away.

"I don't know what you're talking about! Y-you can't do this, my brother will be here any minute –" She snapped with false bravado.

"Hm, really? Well I only need a second to kill you, so we have plenty of time. Then I'll have a nice chat with your brother." He grabbed her chin and tilted her head, forcing her to look him in the eyes. She was horrified and scared and lying. Good. He wanted her to know she couldn't lie to him.

"Now, Carlen, I'm going to ask, nicely, one last time and if you don't answer my question informatively I'm afraid I'm going to have to hurt you –and this," He tightened his grip, applying enough pressure to make her grimace, "is nothing compared to what I'll do, understand?"

She nodded, tears starting to spring into her eyes. She bit her lip, which was trembling as she started to lose her composure. Instead of feeling sorry, all it did was make Damian disgusted. What a pathetic woman, to whimper and cry at a little discomfort and an idle threat. No, as pretty as Carlen Fairweathers was she was not worthy of his brother – not worthy of Gotham. She was worth nothing.

"Stop crying." He snapped and she trembled beneath his grasp. He moved close, his lips on her ear, "Now tell me about Terry and the party." He whispered softly.

"I-I-I...H-he was fine when he left. W-we were going to meet up at the charity ball next week. I didn't see anything, I swear, I didn't even know he was sick!" She cried, barely keeping the tears under control as the shaking got worse. Damian moved back a little, and a little of the tension leaked out of her.

"Good. Now, did you see anything strange, anything different to what it should have been?"

The girl blinked back some tears and thought about it, "I – no, I don't think so. I meant, nothing – nothing stands out. My brother, well, he got me and Terry a drink, champagne, the really nice expensive kind. He doesn't really spend time with Terry. Terry didn't want to drink it but – but I teased him into it," She started to cry, the realization that she might possibly have had a part in it was too much for the small thing. Damian grimaced and leant back as the sob got louder and messier. Disgusting really.

Somehow he doubted this little pretty pot plant was really behind this.

"Are you sure? Terry never touched, or drank, or ate anything else left unattended all night?" he pushed, nudging the girl a little.

"N-no, Terry wouldn't eat anything, he never does. He's so paranoid about that sort of stuff." Carlen gasped her face red and her eyes puffy.

"Clearly it's a well justified paranoia." And well learned from the amount of times Damian had slipped him something, "And you're sure your brother is behind it?"

Carlen stared at him, confused and bewilderment, "No, it can't be. Darien wouldn't hurt anyone, let alone Terry – he didn't know something was in it. Maybe it was meant for someone else."

Damian rolled his eyes and growled, "Really? I somehow don't think so, Carlen; I think your brother just tried and just might succeed in murdering your boyfriend. Congrats." He muttered sarcastically, enjoying the way the little colour left in her face drained out. No, Terry wasn't going to die. Damian sure as hell wasn't going to let him die from such a rookie mistake – at least not before Damian had a chance to knock him around for being so stupid as to let a girl influence him. Terry, thick headed, honestly.

"Where is your brother?" Carlen only shook her head. "I said," he grabbed her chin again, harder this time, "Where is your brother? Don't make me ask again and don't lie to me. My warning stands."

She opened her mouth but no words can out. Damian didn't need words; he could see it in her eyes. She was scared – for herself, for her brother; she didn't want to tell him but wanted him gone, she was confused and angry at her brother but still loyal. Any another time, Damian might have been impressed but right now that misplaced family loyalty was standing between him and the man who he wanted to beat to a pulp, between him and helping Terry. That was not a nice place to be.

He twisted her wrist.

"AHHHHH," her back arched and she bit down making her lip bleed, surprised. Such a wimp, that was nothing compared to what he could do to her and her brother. What he still might.

"Last chance – WHERE IS HE?" He slammed her against the wall again, his grip bruising. Carlen whimpered, closing her eyes in fear.

Gasping and crying Carlen made her choice, "Work. He'll be at the office. He always works late." She looked down, in pain and ashamed.

That was all Damian needed. He stepped backward, releasing her. Unsuspecting Carlen collapsed to the ground clutching her wrists as he stood over her.

"Go back to bed, leave this to me. If you interfere, I'll come back and I'll not be as gentle next time. Trust me, you'll not enjoy it."

Then he was gone. Leaving her kneeling on the floor, red faced, terrified and crying with bruises all over her arms. She waited; breathing heavily as if she had ran a marathon. She waited and watched and thought – she considered what had just happened, what the man had made her realize, what he had threatened to do. She waited until she was sure he was gone, and then she sealed her fate.

She wiped the tears away, picked up the telephone and dialled. "Darien, you wouldn't believe what happened – there was this man. He broke into the penthouse and ..."

So... Bad Damian?