Jo walked into the loft.
It was the first day of freedom. Her father watched her in the doorway, shifting his keys from hand to hand. Dick would look down, then back up again, trying to think of the right words to say.
"I'm sorry about the kitchen- I know it's a mess, but it'll be clean by tomorrow. Tim is going to stop by and drop off a turkey later tonight; Addison made ours, so we wouldn't have to worry about cooking tomorrow."
"Tomorrow? Oh- right."
Thanksgiving.
Thanksgiving was tomorrow. Jo rubbed her bad arm and stared down at the tiled floor. Two and a half weeks had passed in that hospital room. At least there wouldn't be school for another week, thanks to Thanksgiving Break. The idea of putting that school uniform back on made her stomach do somersaults. Suddenly, her eyes widened and she looked up at her father, panic rising in her throat.
"Dad, I wasn't able to take my finals this trimester. What am I going to do about my finals?!"
He shook his head and waved away her question, "Don't worry about school right now, Jo. I just want to focus on you getting back into the swing of things."
"My 'swing of things' was gymnastics and homework." Jo attempted to raise her right arm, but stopped halfway. Point proven- she couldn't get her limb above her chest, let alone do a floor routine or carry books.
Dick sighed. Suddenly, he looked a lot older than Jo remembered. The grey in his hair seemed to push a little more against the short black waves, and his blue eye seemed to loose a bit of its brightness.
He proceeded into the apartment slowly, and looked over the messy apartment.
"I'm trying to figure everything out, Johanna." He started cleaning up the kitchen. and Jo watched him, unsure how to comfort Dick.
She looked down at her hands, the bruises on her knuckles were a faded yellow- barely noticeable now. "It's just… if I have to do make up work, I just want to know what that is."
Her father grabbed the bag of chips from the counter and balled them in his fist. The metallic counter stood between father and daughter; when Dick spoke, his voice trembled slightly. "Jo, don't worry about GA right now. Rest up. I have a couple lessons tonight, so make some dinner or order out if you want to. No need to wait up for me."
The older man checked his watch. "I need to go, but let me know if you need anything." Dick gave her a smile, and Jo returned it. He headed out the door and down the stairwell towards to massive gymnasium below.
The door shut and she let out a slow exhale.
The apartment looked exactly as Jo remembered it- it had the same L-shaped kitchen with an island in the center, the same small table on the side, and it led into the same living room area and hallway to the bedrooms- but it felt like it belonged to a stranger. Sunlight from the skylights seemed like warm stage lighting and as she looked around the messy kitchen, she couldn't help but feel as though everything was a set piece for a movie or play- none of it was real. She picked up a half-eaten bag of stale chips and peered in at the contents before quietly setting them back on the cluttered countertop. The dark haired girl proceeded to the cabinet and it slid open, displaying some very real glassware. She shut it with a quiet, "Damn it."
This continued to be reality.
Faint vibrations of music began to waft up through the wood floorboards of the apartment. She could hear her father coaching one of his gymnastic pupils in the gym below, and Jo felt a mixture of envy and sorrow well up in her chest. A week ago, she would've known if she made the National Team. Two weeks ago, that opportunity was taken from her. Her arm throbbed, and she rubbed her shoulder slowly, trying to feel the thick bandages underneath her sweater.
It was her first day out since the hospital, and the long period of bedrest had provided her ample time to self-pity. But it seemed it the party was not over yet- a lump formed in her throat. She swallowed audibly, trying to wash down the overwhelming feeling like she was going to cry.
The apartment was silent albeit the music. For the first time since she was a kid, she was alone. Gymnastics was always an individualistic sport and she spent so much of her life focusing on it, for absolutely nothing. No friends. Not even her father was around.
Jo sighed and kicked the cabinet with her booted foot. At least the casts and slings would be coming off next week- just in time for school to begin after Thanksgiving Break. The thought of going back to Gotham Academy made the hairs on the back of her neck rise. She didn't want to answer the questions from teachers, overhear the whispers in the hallways, and start to complete all the overdue work. Jo wasn't able to take the trimester finals, and knowing GA, she would have to take them all that first week back.
She stared up at the ceiling and imagined pile of things she had to do continued to build. What else did she miss when she was in that hospital bed? She should call the school and find out.
Jo picked up the home phone and dialed the number. It rang for awhile, until Pauline, the woman at the front desk, picked up.
"Hello, Gotham Academy- registrar's front desk speaking, this is Pauline." Pauline had a high voice with a Brooklyn accent- a voice that that Jo always remembered with a tremor of fear because it was the one that reprimanded her for missing school. She could picture the cat cup sitting on her desk and taste the awful cherry candies.
"Uh, hi Pauline. It's Jo Grayson."
"Oh, Jo, are you feeling better? I heard about the accident- just awful. My mother always told me I should never fall asleep on trains, and you always get it- but now I get it." Pauline's voice was filled with false sympathy, and Jo wondered if people were actually born with the name Pauline, or if they came out of the womb as a middle aged woman with three cats and a desk job.
"I'm, uh, feeling better. Definitely better. I was just wondering how I could find out what I should be making up in my classes."
The line was quiet. A nervousness started to trickle down Jo's back, and she shifted her weight from foot to foot.
"Oh, Jo, your dad didn't tell you?" Genuine sympathy came from Pauline's voice this time.
A buzz went through the loft, notifying her that someone was at the street door waiting to be let inside.
Jo's body tensed and she gripped the side of the counter. Images of straight jackets and laughter filled her mind, and she shut her eyes. Focus. It was probably nothing. "Tell me what?"
"Oh, honey, I hate to be the one to tell you this. As you know, we run on a trimester system. Your father pays for each trimester, rather than the full school year because you had gymnastics," Jo pressed her lips together, waiting for Pauline to get to the point. "Then you had your accident, and-,"
BUZZ. The doorbell rang again and Jo let out a yelp of surprise. Pauline paused and said, "Are you listening to me, Jo?"
"Yes, sorry, Pauline." Jo shifted so she could hold the home phone between her shoulder and the side of her face, and reached forward with shaking hands to access the console on the counter. Pauline cleared her throat.
Another buzz. Jo's fingers trembled as she accessed the door monitor. "As I was saying, your father pays for each trimester, and due to the accident…"
A young man appeared on the screen. He carried a thick bag under his arm and shifted from foot to foot. He glanced over his shoulder and sighed again. Jo squinted, feeling as though she had seen his face before. It made her stomach turn. "…Academy doesn't accept loans as payment."
"Hello? Mr. Grayson?"
He knocked this time, and Jo glanced down at the buzzer. The door he was in front of would allow him to enter through the back staircase, behind the gym so her father would never know. Perfect route for the Jokerz to- do what? You really think he's a Jokerz? They never actually got your name. Jo scolded herself, and tuned in just in time to hear Pauline say, "…You are not attending Gotham Academy for the remainder of this year."
Jo went cold. Her eyes widened and gripped the countertop with surprise. "I-I- where am I going to school, then?"
"You'll have to go into the public school system, Miss Grayson. Whatever is your district's designated school." Jo's world felt like it was spinning. She looked up at the skylights and tried to steady herself. She didn't like Gotham Academy, but she knew all the kids there- knew what to expect from them. Knew how to blend in. The thought of a new school, a public high school, sent a shiver down her spine.
She looked down at the monitor and her stomach dropped. The door was open and the man was no longer there. He was walking up the back stairwell. Jo's heart began to pound.
"Uh, Pauline, I need to go."
"Of course, dear. Call if you need transcripts for any programs. We'll keep your physical records for a year-,"
Jo shut off the line and dialed her father.
His phone rang somewhere in the apartment. "Oh, god." She ended the call, and backed away from the door. She turned the corner and pressed herself against the wall.
The door slid open, and the sound of soft footsteps filled the quiet apartment.
She sucked in a breath and looked down the hallway, trying to think of something to arm herself with. Rustling from the kitchen filled the apartment, and something heavy dropped on the counter.
The only thing close to her was the old push broom her father insisted on keeping. Jo hobbled to the broom, and her good hand closed around the long handle. Blood roared in her ears as she lifted the heavy broom above her shoulder and crept back toward the kitchen. The rustling stopped. Everything grew still, and a tremble ran through Jo's body. She pulled the broom back in preparation of striking the intruder. A shadow of the intruder extended into the hallway, and he tensed.
Jo yelped with surprise as the dark figure darted around the corner. She swung before thinking, and the broom whacked against the person. However, the ancient cleaning tool had seen better days, and the heavy, bristled, actual broom end went soaring off the pole and crashed against the wall with a loud THUD.
The blow surprised him, and knocked him back a few steps. Jo spun around the corner, adrenaline helping her ignore her foot and bad shoulder. All she could see the flash of tan leather and dark hair. She swung with the now, very light broom handle, and hit the intruder audibly on the ribs. He leaned away from the blow and snapped his elbow down around the handle, pinning it against his body.
He grabbed the handle, pivoted around, and effectively ripped it from Jo's hand. The intruder rushed forward in a blur, and Jo was suddenly pressed against the wall, broom at her throat. Panic seized her body and she froze, not able to muster a scream. All she could see were blazing, clear blue eyes.
"Who are y-," The attacker's words died off, and the broom clattered to the ground as the intruder backed away. Jo sank back against the wall and she looked at the intruder with wild confusion. Then, it felt like someone punched her in the stomach as she realized who was in her kitchen.
"Oh shit," She managed, unable to keep her cheeks from flushing. This was too fucking much.
The dark haired boy was running a hand through his hair and muttered something about how, "…is going to kill me."
She looked down at the broken broom on the floor and back at the boy. He was the one who helped her with her bag on the street. Jo couldn't remember his name, but she remembered he had a nice smile. Jo slowly knelt down at picked the broom handle back up. He quickly put his hands in the air.
"Hey- hey- hey, easy now. I'm not here to fight."
She tried to look as ferocious as a crippled teenage girl could manage. Her good arm held the long broom handle diagonally before her body, trying to remember what her father taught her about form all those years ago. "Its all in the wrists," Dick would tell her with a shrug. "You'll learn it one day."
She felt a little twinge of anger that her father did not teach her more martial arts. Still, the intruder didn't know she didn't know, so Jo glared at him and spun the staff once to intimidate him.
"Why are you here? Who are you?"
He took a step back, hands raised. "I work for your grandfather- Bruce Wayne. He asked me to deliver a turkey on my way home."
"My father has not talked to Mr. Wayne for over 20 years. Why is he sending a turkey?"
The boy took another step back, and glanced over his shoulder at the large poultry on the counter. He looked at Jo and gave a forced smile. "I don't pretend to know what goes on in Mr. Wayne's head, but I guess Thanksgiving is tomorrow." Jo didn't lower the broom, and his smile was replaced by a serious frown, "Look, I was told to deliver the bird and check on Grayson's daughter. I assume that's you."
Jo gave a short nod. The blue eyed boy gave her a quick once over and said, "You seem to be doing pretty well to me."
Her efforts not to blush must've resulted in a scowl because he backed up again and this time he collided with the island countertop.
"Sorry, not what I meant- not that you aren't- I didn't mean- I mean- you look healthy and you're attractive, but I have a girlfriend and-," He sighed, "I have dug myself a very nice hole, which I will now go lay in." He ran a hand over his face, and gave her a sheepish smile. Jo felt a small smile stretch across her face and despite herself. She looked away, trying to compose herself.
"Sorry for attacking you, Miss Grayson." He rubbed the side of his neck where a small red welt was forming and gave her a smile. Jo's self restraint broke down- her cheeks flooded with heat and she let out a small exhale.
"Me too…" She looked at his face, trying to remember his name.
"Terry McGinnis." He extended his right hand out of habit, but pulled it back when he saw hers in the sling. He stuck both hands in the pockets of his brown leather jacket and gave her another half smile. "Well, maybe we'll see each other again sometime."
Jo raised her eyebrows skeptically and did something that looked like a shrug. Their gazes lingered, and she wondered if she would actually see those blue eyes again. Doubtful. The sunlight from the roof's windows cast warm light across Terry's face, and her stomach did another somersault.
Jo averted her eyes first, looking down to stare at the floor. Do I ask him to stay? Is there any food in the house? Oh god, I hope there's food, maybe we could go out to eat- but he has a girlfriend and that might be too forward. Maybe I should just-
She looked up to see he had already slipped out the door.
…
The Graysons spent their Thanksgiving at Finnigan's Diner.
It was a level below their loft, but it served some of the best hearty food in Gotham. It frequented by cops and nostalgic older men looking to relive their youth through old music, hand held menus, and human waiters. Dick fit into both of those categories and whenever he sought a comfortable meal, Finnigan's was the place. However, tonight was a tense, silent dinner.
When Dick found out the turkey was from Wayne, he dropped it off at the local food drive as soon as possible. He grumbled about the poultry all day to no one in particular, "This is how he reaches out to me?… acting like I can't afford a turkey… 22 pound bird, but who the hell were we going to feed with a 22 pound bird?… Wayne, he just did this to get in my head…"
Jo nodded quietly the entire time Dick grumbled, remembering the one time Mr. Wayne- never "Grandfather"- sent them a Christmas card. She was nine and couldn't recall everything that happened, just that the thick, fine white paper had a simple inscription, "Merry Christmas -Bruce". Her father never got rid of the card, but he went on about it for weeks, calling Tim and demanding to know if Bruce had reached out to him as well. Mr. Wayne had, which sent Dick into another angry rant. He blocked all mail from his adopted father the following week and answered Jo's questions with a simple remark: "He established he wanted no contact. I am just holding him to that."
Since that fateful note, the only mention of the name was through television news. Her father would listen quietly, but his blue eye would narrow into a dark, dark glare. Jo wondered what happened between Dick and Mr. Wayne; whenever she inquired, her father would always say, "I'll tell you one day; it's a long story."
However, the turkey was much worse than the Christmas card. It didn't help that Jo sat in angry silence. Now, she had fully processed that her father neglected to inform her that she could no longer attend Gotham Academy. Even worse, he seemed to have no inclination to tell her even when she probed the subject in casual conversation.
"The fact that he offered to pay-," Whatever he was about to say snapped him out of his grumbles. Dick looked up and gave Jo a small smile. "Sorry, Jo, this isn't the best holiday topic. I'm sorry."
"Isn't that what Thanksgiving is for? Old family fights and bitter secrets?" Jo meant for it to come out light hearted, but the remark was cold and short. Her father straightened and frowned.
"And what's gotten into you?" He asked.
Jo looked away and folded her arms. She pressed her lips together, debating whether or not to tell her father what she knew.
"Nothing." She muttered.
"It's obviously something," Her father took up his 'parent tone'. Jo didn't need to look over to see that his eyebrows were knit together and his eye filled with worry. She remained sullen.
"Jo, I know giving up gymnastics is hard. But the doctors gave you 3 months, and that's nothing! Before you know it, you'll be back on the mat and-,"
"This isn't about gymnastics!" Jo exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. The few people in the Finnigan's looked over at her outburst. Her cheeks flushed and she leaned forward to glare at her dad.
"This isn't about gymnastics," she whispered angrily. "This is about-,"
"One bacon cheese burger, and one chicken sandwich with lettuce and tomato. Extra large fries for both." The waitress smiled brightly at Dick and he gave her a smile in return. Jo wondered if part of the rest her father liked this place was because of the waitresses. The thought made her more angry.
"Thanks, Jenny. This looks wonderful," Dick said, and Jenny beamed as she set the plates down. "Of course, Mr. Grayson. Enjoy!"
He watched her as she walked away, before turning back to Jo.
"You were saying?"
But Jo just shoveled food in her mouth and shrugged. Dick rolled his eyes and probably thought to himself, teenagers. He moved in on the burger and began to eat. They ate in tense silence. Jo finished her sandwich before her father, and then began snacking on the fries. Finally, she couldn't take it.
"I called GA yesterday."
Her father's eye widened in realization and he set the burger down.
"Jo, I didn't want to upset you-,"
"It's a little late for that. When were you going to tell me? The night before I was supposed to go back?"
Her father lowered his gaze and didn't answer her. Jo folded her arms and sat back against the booth's red leather seats. "I just wish you told me. You never keep anything from me."
Something crossed her father's expression when she said that, a shadow. It passed so quickly, Jo almost thought she imagined it. She narrowed her eyes but didn't say anything. Her father cleared his throat and pursed his lips.
"I shouldn't have… kept that from you, Jo. It was selfish, and… and I think I wanted to live in the denial that I could afford to pay the medical bills and your tuition. But I'm sorry, Johanna; I truly am sorry."
Jo sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "What school am I going to?"
"I'm trying to see if the magnet program at Hamilton will take you."
"But I don't have a particular school interest." Jo knit her eyebrows together and her father sighed again and took a bite of his fry. "I know, but we now need to think terms of college what will make you look like the best applicant." That seven letter word sent a chill down her spine. Before, all she was concerned with was competing for the olympics. The concept of secondary education seemed to be a foreign one. And just as unattainable as that Olympic mat in Amsterdam, now.
"When do I start school?"
"This Monday."