Aside from the motorcycle's rumbling, everything was much quieter on the second day of driving practice. It was only Suren and Batgirl instead of the previous crowd. Whenever Suren rode the bike around a lap, Batgirl looked like a lonely dot in the middle of the asphalt, a prick of color that came and went. She reminded Suren of the first star to come out at night.
The sky has changed so much since I was in Lebanon, Suren thought. I do not know any of the constellations here, and no one draws star maps the same anymore. It has felt like forever since cousin Sumayya was excited about the Samarkand Observatory. I wonder what star-viewing places look like now.
That was irrelevant today. Batgirl alone on the track reminded Suren of a star, but she was not one. Stars were silent. Batgirl yelled. A lot. Sometimes she yelled criticism and tips, but other times, she just yelled. Suren didn't know if some of her whoops at his driving were encouraging or mocking.
"How's it feel to go from horses and flying demons to a bike?" Batgirl said, holding the motorcycle as Suren popped his helmet off. The bike engine radiated heat.
"How do you think it feels?" Suren said.
"Not great." Batgirl chewed on a wad of green gum, blowing a bubble before popping it. "The way you make turns says you haven't figured out how they work yet."
Suren grimaced. "What are you implying?"
"I said what I said," Batgirl said. "But you'll get the hang of it. I bet the world is a lot different than how you remember it. Adjusting must be hard. Especially in America."
"Yes, it is. Adjusting was difficult two months ago too, when that comment would have been relevant."
"Oh, so you're talking shit like Damian now?" Batgirl cocked her hip. "It took long enough for your ego to start showing here."
Suren glared at her. The fact she had lent him a hair tie meant little. "I don't need to imitate Damian to be rude to you."
"Y'know, you're right," Batgirl said. "You've proven that already. But I'm still a better driver than you, pipsqueak."
Suren jammed his helmet back on. "Not for long."
Batgirl's smile had teeth, but it was less forced than it had been a month ago. A bruise from patrolling darkened her brow. Sunglasses perched in her tangled hair. She wore a bloodstained jersey and shredded jean shorts, but both of those were less eye-catching than the line of fresh stitches tracing up her right thigh.
Batgirl, Suren thought, is someone who punches you in the face when you look at her. Physically and otherwise.
"Let's see you cash those checks your mouth has been writing," Batgirl said. "But don't hurt yourself."
Suren huffed. Stupid mortal, he thought. But his irritation warmed him, and as it sat in his chest, it almost felt like encouragement. Batgirl's judgemental gaze no longer made him want to melt her skull. He twisted the throttle and kicked the bike into first as Batgirl stepped away.
"Okay, you're not exactly a valedictorian of Robin's school of driving," Batgirl said, "but you're doing better. You'll survive the race."
"I suppose I must thank you," Suren said.
"Yeah, you should, you brat."
"Fine. What must I do to live up to your apparent high, high standards, Batgirl?" Suren said. "I seem to be missing something."
The raw line of stitches on her leg combined with the smell of oil made Suren wrinkle his nose in disgust. He could not imagine bearing a wound to the air here. Disgusting, he thought. Batgirl noticed his look. For a moment, she looked ready to punch him.
"If that was a comment on my clothes," she said, "I'm gonna deck you, whether you're new to this century or not."
"It wasn't." Suren scowled. "Do you think I would waste our time with that? Your embarrassing attire is your business. I do not understand your attempts to be nice to me. Black Bat and Red Robin are not here. You don't need to pretend you tolerate me. You are pretending less already."
Batgirl sighed, but her posture became less aggressive. She looked resigned. 'Fed up with this shit,' as she would say. She pushed her river of blond hair behind her shoulders. Suren readied himself for a stream of Father's comments and Batgirl's reply.
"Alright," Batgirl said. "I don't know if I can trust you yet, Suren. Let's make that clear."
"The feeling is mutual."
"But Cass vouched for you. She said you were trying, and I believe her. So I'm going to try and make this less miserable than it needs to be. I don't… dislike you."
Batgirl stood nearby. Suren was sitting on the bike. He quietly took in the keys hanging from the motorcycle ignition and Batgirl's bruises from fighting people all night long. She had come in today to teach him anyway. Batgirl looked like she was trying hard not to speak, but Suren didn't feel like she was going to insult him.
"What is your advice for making turns?" Suren said.
"You need to turn harder and lean into them more." Batgirl twisted the motorcycle steering wheel in demonstration. She placed her hands near Suren's. They did not touch. "You can do it. You're just not confident enough in yourself. I promise that's gonna go better than you think it is."
Batgirl pulled away.
"I will remember that," Suren said.
Suren's stomach felt like it was sliding across the floor in fear when he cut close to the circuit wall. Lights spun above him in a mobius strip. The world was slick and blurry. He made the turn fine.
Batgirl, a dot on the track again, cheered.
When Suren glided to a stop behind Batgirl, he found himself disappointed that Black Bat and Red Robin were not watching him today. Their faces would have made the empty seats around the circuit more welcoming. I did much better this time, Suren thought. This would have impressed them.
That thought came as a surprise. Suren didn't know what to do with it. For once, he wanted approval outside of his family. He wanted Black Bat to be proud of him - Batgirl, too, and Red Robin. He did not need it, but he wanted it. It was unnecessary. Suren wasn't used to this.
It's a useless feeling, Father said. You're useless.
Den Darga's voice grew louder without the motorcycle's roar to drown it out. He had been squashed down for two days. Now, he returned with a vengeance. Suren yanked off his helmet so its sweaty, tight confines would not hold Father's words close to his face.
Why do you seek their approval? Father said. Why do you want this whore to be proud of you? They're all irrelevant. Every day, you move further away from what your mother would have wanted.
You don't know what Mother wanted. Suren dropped the helmet on the asphalt. Breathing was hard. I want attention from these people, and kind words, and I'm allowed to look for that.
Kind words! By the Pit! Your family needs you, and this how you repay them? By chasing mortal compliments-
"Shut UP, Father." Suren sucked in oily air, desperate to clear his head.
"Excuse me?"
Batgirl stopped a foot away. Worry creased her face. Apprehension, too. She knew she had stepped into something unrelated to her. Suren shook his head. He crushed Den Darga's voice into the back of his mind.
"It is nothing," he said.
"It didn't sound like nothing."
"I have problems with my father," Suren said.
Batgirl looked at him like he was crazy before she made the clear decision that she did not care.
"So do half the people in Gotham," she said. "This is a city full of daddy issues. Welcome to the club. Your old man isn't… trying to steal your body or something, is he?"
"No. That is an Al Ghul specialty. Damian mostly killed my father."
"Right." Batgirl assessed him a last time. "Then you're going to have to deal with those problems like the rest of us. Sorry, Suren."
"Great," Suren said.
Batgirl's phone pinged twice. She slipped her hand into her pocket without removing it. The expression on her face wasn't pity, Suren thought, but it was a type of consideration.
"I have to meet up with Signal," Batgirl said. "If you're not going to be stabby or condescending, you can come. If you want."
If he didn't accompany Batgirl, Suren would be stuck feuding with his father's voice and wondering where the Tamaranean and Colin Wilkes were. His phone remained silent with its usual lack of new messages.
"I'm not mean to everyone," Suren said. "I will come."
Batgirl scooped his helmet off the floor.
"You had better hold onto this, then," she said.
Batgirl had her own motorcycle outside of the Batcycle. It was much smaller and older. Rips littered its seat cover, scratches cluttered its lights, and its engine spluttered with less power. It moved more with a hum than a scream. The black and yellow paint streaking its sides had seen better days, but Suren doubted that Batgirl cared much about that.
At least it seems more stable than the Tamaranean's monstrous creation, Suren thought.
He sat behind Batgirl as she navigated Gotham traffic. Vehicles of all shapes and sizes puttered along the streets. Vans with advertisements for carpet cleaning spewed noxious fumes at the stoplights alongside motorcycles and sleek, newly painted sports cars that reminded Suren of the Batmobile. He knew little about cars, but he could tell which ones signified status. Traffic was a cacophony of honks and screeching breaks. Exhaust mixed with the wind.
Suren was glad that Batgirl understood all of the traffic signs. Ones beyond "STOP" and city mileage signs eluded him. Thankfully, they did not spend too much time in downtown traffic. Suren exhaled when they left the tunnel of glittering buildings and intersections.
"Where is Red Robin?" Suren said, once they had stopped at a quieter light. "Is he on a mission?"
The race was happening soon. If Red Robin intended to be back in time, he would have to watch himself. A billboard above them advertised The Iceberg Lounge with an image of a sparkly spilling drink and a penguin. Suren looked at his distorted reflection in the back of Batgirl's helmet.
"Probably," Batgirl said. "Dick was dropping by the manor today too, so I bet that had something to do with it."
Ah. Nightwing. Suren knew little about him other than his status as Damian's favorite brother, his charisma, his temper, and his fame. Maya had once declared that Nightwing was "almost as nosy as Damian, which is an accomplishment."
"Let me guess," Suren said. "It is complicated. The same way things with Damian are complicated."
"Second verse, same as the first," Batgirl said. "Get used to hearing that about a lot of things in Batman's family."
Suren did not know what that English expression about a "second verse" meant, but the second statement clarified enough. I thought being a Lu'un Darga was complicated, Suren thought, but the Wayne-Al Ghuls are ridiculous. There was never this much arguing about our unity. They will be in trouble if someone takes advantage of this. He gripped Batgirl's jacket when the light changed. Batgirl steered them onto an exit with less traffic.
"I do not know anything about Nightwing," Suren muttered into Batgirl's back, "but Red Robin and Damian need to get over themselves and collaborate already. They both like you. They both plot. They both cause problems. This distance is stupid."
"Tell me about it," Batgirl said.
"The Waynes and Al Ghuls share flaws and one withered brain."
Steph laughed. "Is one of those flaws liking me?"
A bold question. They slid to a stop at an intersection. Gotham's towering skyscrapers and gargoyles gave way to lower buildings and lawns. Suren saw the city breaking apart the further they went. When he looked down, he saw Batgirl's legs, sinewy and scarred in the sun. New gravel scratches and dirt from the drive flecked them. She did not seem to care. For all of Batgirl's faults, she was not someone who withheld what she believed. She deserved the same courtesy.
"No," Suren said.
"Huh."
They plunged further into Gotham's suburbs.
Signal looked far too pleasant to be a Wayne-Al Ghul. His tank top was a spotless white with a sunglasses-wearing bird on the breast, and when they parked next to his car, he was reclining in his seat, eyes closed and face turned to the sun. Alfred the cat couldn't have basked better.
"Oh my god," Signal said, leaning out of his window. "Did B adopt another one?"
"Close," Batgirl said. "Duke, this is Suren. He's one of Damian's friends. He's staying with us for now. Suren, this is Duke Thomas. He's one of the nicest people you'll ever meet."
"Jeez, Steph. Try not to set the bar too high right off the bat. It's nice to meet you, Suren. How do you like the manor?"
"Well enough," Suren said. "I am grateful for their hospitality. The manor is a beautiful, archaic place, though there are not enough dungeons for my liking."
"I think it's creepy," Duke said, "but to each their own. You sound like you fit right in."
"Yeah, he does," Batgirl said.
While they talked, Duke fished a bouquet of flowers out of his car. Batgirl passed him a twenty dollar bill in exchange for it. The three of them walked out of the parking lot into a fenced-in graveyard. Rows of headstones stretched before them like so many wayward teeth. Grass swayed around them. Suren spotted several mausoleums a hill away, though none of them were as intricate as a Darga tomb. Less fancy tombstones were surrounded by flowers and pinwheels. This graveyard was not one for the forgotten.
"How's Isabella?" Batgirl said.
"She's fine," Duke said. "Community college has her busy. She's not in the suit as much as she wants to be, but I promised her we'll get the old We Are Robin gang back together for community service after she graduates. She's excited about that."
"B isn't gonna be happy."
"Yeah," Duke said, "but he's never happy. You're not a snitch, either."
"Of course not."
"Nor am I," Suren said.
Duke smiled. "Thanks." He raised his fist. Despite himself, Suren returned the fist bump. The Signal was easy to scrutinize yet difficult to dislike.
After five more minutes of walking, they slowed. Batgirl placed her bouquet of flowers in front of a thick tombstone. Two more bouquets and a framed pair of tickets sat in front of it already. Suren did not understand what their "modern dance" label meant. The tension in Batgirl's shoulders told him he did not want to know, or get closer. Suren stayed back at the grave before it.
Duke hesitated before joining Batgirl in front of the grave. He slipped Batgirl's money back into her palm. She curled her fingers around it in a fist.
"I don't know all of what happened. But it wasn't your fault," Duke said.
"I know." There was broken glass in Batgirl's voice.
"Yeah," Duke said. "But I hope you know know."
Batgirl twisted, ready to punch him, but no punch came. Suren glimpsed the name Gavin King engraved on the headstone. Duke, looking ahead into some future, did not flinch. Batgirl exhaled. She bumped her shoulder against Duke instead.
"Thanks for coming with me," she said. "Really."
"No problem."
"Was he a Robin?" Suren said.
Duke looked to Batgirl. Anger kept her from crumpling. Suren thought of the first time he had crawled from the Pit, full of nothing but broken bits and rage that kept them together.
"No," Batgirl said. "But he fucking mattered. Alright?"
"I believe you." Suren maintained his distance. How awful mortal death is, he thought.
Batgirl huffed. She turned her back to him, quickly. Duke put a hand on her shoulder.
"Steph," he said.
"You know what makes me mad?" Batgirl said. "What really, really pisses me off?"
Suren listened to the breeze trickle through the grave wind chimes and pinwheels.
"There's not a single plaque to him in the cave," Stephanie said. "There's no case for an Orpheus suit. There was a closed casket funeral. Part of me thinks that he's out there somewhere, recovering in Kenya or Cambodia. That's the kind of shit B would orchestrate. But his family is still here. It's been three years now, and they put flowers out every month. His parents cared. Gavin cared about them, too. He wouldn't leave them on hold for this long while he pretended to be gone. Who the hell would do that to their parents that loved them? What coward would let that happen without someone forcing them into it?"
Stephanie tilted her head skywards, inhaling.
"So either Gavin is alive and more spineless than the Gavin I knew," she said, "or he's gone. Really gone. And Bruce won't talk about it since paying for the funeral. The same way he won't talk about what happened to Jason. I'm stuck knowing I'm the last person who talked to Gavin, and what Black Mask did has permanently fucked us both. I don't wanna lose B or Cass, but if it's me or Black Mask in an alley one day, I'm going to kill him. Regardless of what they believe about mercy. This is the kind of thing that makes me understand why Jason ripped his casket and Gotham apart after getting back."
Duke hugged Stephanie with one arm.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"Yeah." Stephanie ground her heel into the grass. "We all are. Black Mask better hope that Hood gets to him before I do."
Suren had nothing to say when they headed back. Stephanie's face was dry, but she stalked ahead of him and Duke, leaving them thirty feet behind her. Duke made no attempt to catch up with her. Suren heard the voices of his family in every rustle of grass.
How weak mortals are, Den Darga's voice said. How finite. We return to where we are born. We never die. They molder here.
"Are you okay?" Duke craned his head at Suren.
"Yes," Suren said. "I did not know him."
"I figured. But things like this are always hard."
Suren looked at him, surprised. "Are they? We all die."
"Yeah," Duke said. "But it's not the dying that's hard. It's the not knowing. It's the not seeing them ever again."
As terrible as the Pit was, in that moment, Suren clung to the shreds of it inside him with all his strength. He was glad to know where he was going. How mortals lived with this uncertainty above them was beyond him.
When they returned to the parking lot, Stephanie was smoking. She dropped the cigarette nub into the gutter upon seeing them. She looked calmer.
"Sorry about that," she said. "I didn't expect it."
"It's not a problem." Duke nudged Suren.
"He is right," Suren said.
Stephanie rolled her eyes. The gesture was toothless. "Get on the bike, Suren."
He did.
One more thank you to Duke, one more "I owe you," and they were on their way.
"That wasn't the field trip I planned it to be. It was supposed to be less depressing."
"It is fine," Suren said. "I mean it."
Stephanie studied his face then laughed without humor. "Right. You're a Darga. This is the kind of thing that got shoved in your face early on, huh?"
Suren couldn't disagree with that.
"Stephanie," he said, "I am sorry. If you need help killing whoever this Black Mask is, I do not mind death."
Batgirl didn't look ready for that. She tucked her wayward cigarettes back in her pocket. Her motorcycle was parked behind the manor, away from the prying eyes of the cushy neighborhood that surrounded it.
"That's homicidally sweet of you, Suren. I can't take you up on it."
"I guess you could use that word," Suren said.
"What, homicidal?" Stephanie said.
"No. Sweet."
Stephanie fiddled with the cigarette in her hand before deciding against it. She returned it to its brethren in the box. Suren felt no shortage of relief to see her looking tough again.
"Hey," she said. "Do you have a nickname?"
He blinked. What?
"No. I do not have a nickname," Suren said. "Those are mortal idiocies."
"Uh-huh," Stephanie said.
Suren struggled. The natural answer was حبيبي. Damian used it with him and Maya, when he wasn't arguing with either of them. Suren's cousins had used it with him. But Suren did not know what it meant in English. He did not know what to tell Stephanie about how tone changed everything. Outside of Arabic, it felt too close, and it made him uncomfortable.
Stephanie was not his-friend. Even if this felt a lot like her reaching out.
"Again," Suren said. "I do not have one."
Stephanie shrugged. "Okay. Tell me if you get one, then. I gotta go. See you later, Suren. If I don't see you or Tim before the mission, tell him good luck for me. Good luck to you, too. Break a leg."
"I will," Suren said.
And that was that.
AN: This story keeps expanding to address and include other characters. Whoops. Consider it a whole comic adventure.
1. Damian would absolutely use habibi (حبيبي) as a nickname for Suren and Maya after he emotionally matured more. Suren still has issues to work through before he uses it.
2. War Games was both a horribly written arc overall and a horribly written arc for Steph. Even if she disagreed and fought with Bruce, I refuse to believe that she faked her death without trying to contact her mother, or that she went along with half the bullshit that happened. Here, Leslie Thompkins - with good intentions - took a badly injured Stephanie to Africa and faked her death without her consent. That didn't work out. When she returned, Steph was left to pick up the pieces and tell her mother she wasn't dead. To say Gavin King's death and her torture at Black Mask's hands had a profound affect on her after that is an understatement.
3. Next chapter is the race.