Chapter Two: It's On the House

Author's Note: Please let me know how confused you are on a scale of one to ten. More will be revealed in the next chapter.

The girl slipped slightly on the obligatory 80s roller blades. The coffee shop went for authenticity with its uniforms, and the employees suffered because of it. He personally couldn't help thinking that the outfits were cute. He watched her as managed the tables to make it to the shops bar-style counter, high ponytail swinging from side to side. The heat rose in his cheeks as he realized he'd been staring and he turned back around to the front, hoping that the girl would take a little longer and allow the blood to seep back out of his face.

Blake felt a little tug on his jacket and looked down at the child he had brought with him. She looked up at him with large brown eyes, and he winced at the sizable chunk of dark hair missing in her bangs. Her parents would kill him for letting her play with scissors. Her pinafore was dirt colored, and now he was doing even better by letting her have ice cream and pancakes for dinner.

"Uncle Robin," she said, bouncing a little on the stool, "Your face, why is it so red? Do you have a fever?" He felt the small clammy hand reach up and press against his forehead. He smiled sheepishly. Five year olds were quite impressive in their skills of deduction. He grabbed her little hand and kissed it.

"If I do have a fever what will you do?" he asked teasingly. The little girl giggled.

"I'd make you soup and Doritos," she answered seriously. While the kid might have gotten the talent of reading body language from her parents, she had none of their cooking skills. Then again he wondered if Selena and Bruce were able to cook. Did self-exile and a clean slate do that to you?

The girl cleared her throat, not wanting to admit that she found the scene kind of cute. The little girl was gap-toothed and was obviously enjoying time with her father.

"Hi sweetie," Jamie said, bending down to the girls level and ruffling her hair, "I like the hair-cut. Did you do that yourself?" she asked slightly amused. The girl shook her head in the affirmative proudly.

"My Uncle didn't approve though. He said that he liked it better before," she fake pouted. Jamie laughed.

"Men don't always understand our sense of self-beauty do they?" the question itself felt loaded to Robin, but he did not pry. He merely shrugged. He felt however slightly irritated that the little girl was opening up so easy to this stranger when she would talk to no one else, except for him of course. It had taken him an entire year to get her to talk directly to him.

"What's her name?" Robin slowly came out of his musings and realized that the question had been directed at him.

"John," he answered as a reflex, then realized that the waitress had asked for the little girl's name.

"My name is Zanib," the girl corrected her Uncle.

"Well Zanib, today is your lucky day. The ice cream is on the house. Now," she said turning to Blake, "What will it be for you? Coffee, you said?" She waited for him to respond.

"Yes, just one cup of coffee please," Blake answered. Then he watched as she disappeared into the kitchen. There was something off about the girl. She was polite, but when she spoke to the little girl there was a wistful tone in her voice, as if she longed for a childhood that had long since disappeared. Yet, she could be no older than twenty one.

"She's pretty," he barely heard the little girl whisper. Looking down he saw a softness in the girl's expression he had not seen too many times before. Living on the run had made her slightly anti-social and cynical in her views, but still she possessed the innocence of a child. Her parents truly loved her, and he was glad that they came to visit once in a while and let the little girl stay as his "niece" from time to time, giving her a change of pace.

XXX

The moment Jamie passed through the kitchen door she knew that something was wrong. Gotham's Kitchen was being visited, and not by the patrons who enter through the front door. She looked over at the stove where the cook was being held at gunpoint. Sighing she slowly let the door close softly behind her. Sitting the tray on the counter she put her hands in the air.

"You know the drill toots, the money this scumbag owes us, where is it?" the man sneered, his lips curling into a cruel controlled smile.

"The deal was that we had until Monday to pay back the loan," she leveled her voice and controlled her breathing, willing her heart not to accelerate. She would control it this time.

"The boss changed his mind. Besides, tonight, tomorrow, the next day, what does it matter? You're never gonna have the funds, so why not give the boss man what he wants?" his body was practically glowing with triumph. The annoyance radiated through her skin and she felt the monster inside.

"A deal is a deal. I owe him nothing," It was true she owed the man's boss nothing, except years' worth of self-hatred and a knuckle sandwich. The man dropped the gun from the cook's head and shoved him against the wall, walking slowly toward the girl at the door. The other waitresses and waiters were huddled in a corner.

"Don't be that way," the man purred, trailing a finger down the girl's face, "we both know you haven't change. You are not a law abiding citizen now, and you never have been." His breath smelled rank making Jamie feel sick. She felt the blood boil in her veins. The man stumbled back a little as her eyes turned red and yellow, glowing with an inner fire. Then he burst out laughing.

"Thought you could live among the people as a normal citizen? Thought you could run from yourself? Thought you could ever escape your family, your home?" his voice was obnoxious as he continued to gloat. Jamie fought the urge within her to rip his throat out and toss the dead body in the nearest alley. No one would miss him. It would be so easy. Then she saw the look in her coworkers eyes. They were no longer cringing away from the man with the gun, but from her. She realized that her skins was hardening, becoming scaly and that her nails were growing into claws. She was becoming the monster he wanted her too. He hadn't meant to collect money, but to ostracize her from society. He was winning.

There was a knock on the kitchen door from one of the cashiers asking whether anyone was going to serve the customers, and Jamie turned. It was enough time for the man to make an exit. One look at her coworkers and she knew she was finished here. Internally she mourned the loss of a steady job and cash flow. Yet, while making a dash for the door she felt exhilarated and free. She would get herself under control, and fast, at least before the police showed up. In hindsight she congratulated herself on giving the owner a fake address.

Winding alley streets led out to a small apartment complex. She raced up to room 127 and slipped inside. The door was unlocked meaning her flat mate was in.

"Looks like you've had a busy night," the statement was followed by a yawn and a girl came out from the far room, "wanna talk about." Jamie smiled, at least here she was excepted.

XXX

"What's taking them so long?" Blake murmured, stroking the little girl's soft amber hair. She had fallen asleep at the counter waiting for the ice cream. It had been near an hours since they ordered.

"Here's your ice cream and coffee sugar," another woman with cropped blonde hair with too much make-up and perfume, with the aura of a woman too ready to please. "Ain't you the new commissioner of Wayne Manner's boy's home?" He sighed, and now he realized why the other woman had been so refreshing. Not once had she mentioned his new position in society, rather she had treated him like a normal guy. He missed that. Taking the coffee and ice cream, he shouldered the little girl and left the shop. As he was leaving he though he caught a glimpse of a little tussle in the alley. He'd have to check into that later.

For some reason the entire drive back to his house he couldn't shake the woman from his mind when he knew that he should have been thinking about the city and the new outbreaks of crime. This time the criminals were not of a scattered mind but of a single organized vision.

Like a living being the neighborhood was alive, and now that its soul was in danger he had to find a way to protect it.