All characters, settings etc associated with Young Justice and DC, and Kung Fu Hustle, are not owned by me. I merely own the plot and unfamiliar characters/organizations and am not making any profit off this fiction venture.
Chapter Warning(s): violence, coarse language, minor sexual implications, mention of domestic/child abuse
Maelstrom
Sha'lain'a
"When you are a mother, you are never really alone in your thoughts. A mother always has to think twice, once for herself and once for her child."
Sophia Loren
4
Miami, Florida : July 2, 2010 – 13:14 EDT
The letter is heavy. It is written in my sharp, scrawling handwriting upon thick pages that are all folded tightly and stuffed into a blue envelope I store in my surface-dwelling.
I slip on my sandals and barely glance at the barren, small apartment I call my surface-dwelling before I grab the doorknob and leave with the thick envelope in my jacket pocket. I lock the door behind me, although I know that anyone who bothers to target me wouldn't be blocked by a mere lock.
Habitually, I brush my long hair away from my face as I walk to the stairs. I sense the oddness in the stairwell as I begin walking down and I tense. When I turn the corner and come to the landing in front of the fourth floor I freeze.
He looks older.
"Sha'lain," he says, finally, for once in his life using the correct shortened version of my name. "Or should I say Christi?" That's the name I started using on the surface when I decided to finally purchase a surface-dwelling at least semi-legally. He smirks, the same smirk I know Kalla has.
He's wearing a pair of blue jeans, brown boots, a green t-shirt, and a gorgeous black leather jacket. His dark hair is shaved close to his scalp this time and his cheekbones are more defined than they were years ago. I wonder if this is the same face Kalladura'ham saw.
That thought prompts me to move. He stiffens and I dart forward, slamming my forearm against his throat and slamming his back against the side wall. He grunts and winces at the impact, his head colliding with the wall, and I keep him held against the wall and off the floor easily. My free hand moves back, my fingers curling and my senses finding every water pipe nearby.
"What the hell did you do?" I hear myself growl.
His large calloused hands grab my arm so that he isn't choking and he coughs, "Nothing – nothing bad."
My eyes flash. I release him and as he takes a second to rub his throat I grab his left wrist, twist it behind his back then slam him facefirst against the flight of descending stairs. I crouch over him, my knee digging into his back and my opposite sandaled foot by his face. I loosen my hold on him enough for him to turn his head, revealing the blood dripping from his nose and mouth. He coughs, again.
"You electrocuted my baby!"
"I'm her father," he retorts.
I tighten my grip on his wrist. He winces. My thumb nearly brushes across the scarred flesh across his knuckles that I used to wish I could just make vanish. For as long as I've known him his hands have always been rough, calloused, scarred, and usually splattered with oil, dirt, or grease.
As I loosen my hold again he grunts, "She's my daughter. I'm not a monster. I wouldn't hurt my own daughter. I'll attack her as the Other Guy, but she can handle herself against that. I know her limits, Sha'lain. I know how to go over them without hurting her."
"You electrocuted her, David."
"No, I didn't."
"She remembers electricity entering her body but she can't remember anything else! What else could you possibly have done to her?"
"Electricity did enter her body but she wasn't being electrocuted. She agreed to let me test her abilities. That's all I did, Sha'lain. She showed me her abilities, I tested her physiology, and I observed the results."
"You used her as an experiment?"
"Kalla has most of the benefits of both an Atlantean and a Human, and she's my daughter. She's unique. I needed to know what she could do. You know I always need to know that."
I release him and stand, remembering the tests he was always so interested in having me do. All of the questions he asked me about vampires and skinshifters and were-creatures. He would spend hours upon hours in libraries and any archives he could get into just reading whatever caught his attention. He had always been a hunter for knowledge. He believed that knowledge was power, and that having enough information would always give you an advantage. He always wanted power because to him, power was also control, something he sorely lacked for years.
Kalladura'ham was the same. She was nearly obsessive when it came to studying combat, strategy and tactics, important people and organizations she knew she could someday wind up interacting with as either Aqualass or Kalladura'ham. Other parents complained about their kids not reading enough. I complained about my kid not doing anything but reading. She's more similar to her birth-father than I care to admit to anyone.
He sits up, wincing, bringing his hand to his nose and touching it gingerly. It wasn't broken but some of the skin had been wiped clear off and it had been jarred enough for it to start bleeding. He seemed to have bit his tongue as well.
I am unable to shake the scent that never seems to leave him. The scent of new books – I can almost hear his newest book opening in his hands, resting in front of his eyes – paired with gasoline – he's in the workshop, experimenting, building more and more mechanical marvels, even then he was looking into the possibility of building a battle suit – both mingling in seawater – he was never fond of forests, found them too enclosed, give him a river though, a prairie, an ocean, and he would soar.
I know far too much, remember far too much, about him.
I question, scared and angry, "What are you going to do with that information?"
"Nothing."
"Are you going to give it to any of your fellow supervillains? To any other criminals? To any other organizations?"
"No," he answers, shooting an irritated glare at me. "I'm not stupid, Sha'lain'a. I know what could happen if anyone else got their hands on it. They'll target her and kill her, maybe torture her."
I swallow at the thought.
He continues, "I will not let any of them do that to her."
"But if they do? If someone…Ocean Master, maybe that Luthor guy, get their hands on that information what will you do?"
"Kidnap Kalla again," David answers. "Train her, give her the information I have on Ocean Master or Lex."
"And if they get to her before you do?"
"I'll kill them."
"People have been trying to kill Ocean Master for years, and Luthor returns after every defeat even stronger. What makes you think you can do differently?"
He gets to his feet, "You know the answer to that Sha'lain'a. You used it yourself against me."
"You'll let them think you're on their side, and then you'll rip it all out from under them."
"Also, unlike the so-called heroes, I have no qualms with killing."
"How did you find me?"
"It took me 16 years to find you and you were sending a letter to me each year," David points out, sensing my irritation. "It wasn't easy."
"You still found me. I want to know how."
"The prevalence of cell phones is helpful. You try not to go to the same mailbox or post office every year, but there are only so many mailboxes and post offices. Post offices generally have cameras as well. I knew you would be near water, probably closer to Shayeris, so definitely not the northern half of the Eastern seaboard. I also tried to track down where you purchased your pens, paper, envelopes, where you got the photos developed then later where you got the digital camera…it was a variety of things that took me 16 years to place. Do you have a tissue in your apartment?"
"No," I lie.
"Liar."
"You don't get to go in my apartment," I explain tersely, striding past him. "I also still have to mail your letter."
"Just give it to me now."
"No."
"Why not? That would be easier."
"Because it would break our agreement made 16 years ago and if that's broken you'll start killing more people than you already do."
He turns to me, surprise creasing his features. His brows rise. He chuckles, turning away from me as we walk down the stairs, "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you caught that. You've always been intelligent when it comes to deals."
"Had to be," I huff. "Aspasia always tried to trick me."
His smirk vanishes at the mention of Aspasia. The late-night and early-morning talks…confessions we had undoubtedly filtering back to his mind. The memories of when I told him about my time under Aspasia. What she did for me and what she did to me. He remains silent. He never did like Aspasia, my parents, or my siblings. I let him dislike them and he let me express my hatred for his parents. He never mentioned siblings. He didn't mention much about his birth family, but I know I have reason to hate his parents.
"I should just kill you," I mutter darkly as we stride out into the sun banishing away the ghosts.
"Mmm, you wouldn't," David says confidently, resting his hands in his jacket pockets
"I've killed before," I point out, rounding the corner to head to the nearest mailbox.
"Yes, but not anyone you've had a child with."
"I only have one child."
His eyes flick to me, "So that isn't a promise."
"Just because you're the father of my daughter doesn't mean I won't kill you."
I drop the envelope in the mailbox.
I walk down the street and turn into an alley, intent on heading to a café that serves some fantastic muffins. I stop at the sound of a gun cocking behind me and its metal resting against the back of my neck. I turn, raising an eyebrow as David moves the gun up to press its barrel between my eyes.
"Will you kill me now?" he questions, his voice low and his expression the same one I saw countless times before he killed someone. No. Wait, no. I'm wrong. There is a hint of a smirk. He is playing with me.
Fine. I will play.
I do not reply, merely twist away from the gun and snap my hand up, grabbing his wrist and twisting it back as I press my opposite hand against the back of his elbow. He expects my movement and twists with me, bending his arm and bringing his opposite hand around to bury his fingers in my hair. He pulls, sending me buckling over as pieces of hair rip from my scalp, and I lose my grip on his arm. He turns, grabbing my wrists, twisting them behind my back then slamming me face-first into the alley wall with my arms sandwiched between my back and his front.
I still.
"Remind me why you let Calvin into your home," he says, his breath ghosting across my ear. "As I recall, he's killed people too. I thought you didn't want to associate with murderers."
I remain silent. Fuck. He's still mesmerizing. The physical attraction is still there, that much is obvious. No other form of attraction, oh no, Calvin gets the rest plus the physical, David only gets the physical. All calluses and scars and fury, but still overcome with a defiant, endless determination to prove everyone else wrong.
I remain still.
"You haven't changed a bit," David remarks, his gun next to my side, his breath moving across my gills as he dips his head. "You know, Kalla already looks a lot like you. She's going to be a heartbreaker."
I slam my heel into his shin, followed swiftly by my elbow into his gut, my strength held back so as not to burst some organs or break some bones. He reels backwards and I twist, slamming my knee into his core. I grab the gun and promptly twist it in my grasp as I kick David to the ground. I crouch over him, pinning him to the ground, the barrel of the gun pressed against his forehead. I may be physically attracted to him, drawn by the danger he poses and the furious determination he exudes, like some lovesick teenager, but that means nothing.
I hiss, the gun making a circle against his forehead, "She is not me. She will not be hypnotized by her hormones and the allure of someone older, interesting, and apparently worldly, to the point where she will get too far in and have no chance of getting out. She will not allow anyone to take advantage of her. She will not let anyone else dictate her actions or who she is. She will stand behind her beliefs, no matter what she is faced with. She will not be me. She will not be you. She will not be Calvin. She will not be Orin or Mera. She will be her own woman, and if you try and take that from her I will not hesitate to rip you apart."
David seems unbothered by the fact that I have a gun trained on his head and remarks, "I have no doubt that our daughter will be, as you say, her own woman. That she will stand behind her beliefs." His apathy vanishes, replaced by obstinate assurance, "She just needs to find a belief to stand behind."
"She already has," I retort and stand, emptying the magazine and crushing it. I toss the gun in the dumpster then turn and stride away, "Do not follow me, David."
"Wouldn't dream of it," he calls. I can practically hear him smirking.
I barely restrain myself from whipping around and at least glaring at him. Instead, I merely clench my hands into fists and continue walking
Daphne looks up when I enter the busy café. Her crimson eyes flick silently to the large windows as I grab my muffin and frozen lemonade from the oracle barista with the hidden eyes and sit across from the vampire. I let my eyes flick in the same direction and spot David turning a corner, that infernal smirk still playing at his lips.
I sigh, "I still do not know what he's planning. He said that he did not hurt her, he was only putting her through tests like the ones he put me through."
"Do you believe him?" she asks, the wide brim of her hat throwing her face into shadows that make her even more terrifying, but also more familiar. Her legs are covered in a white miniskirt and fishnet stockings stuffed into a pair of black heeled ankle-boots. Hanging from her neck and resting over her grey t-shirt patterned with fleur-de-lis is a tarnished gold locket that looks old and holds a grainy photograph of a little Korean-Canadian boy. Most who know that she's been alive for over 100 years assume that the locket is hers from when she was a child. It isn't. She found it in a pawn shop in 2002. The photograph is hers though. It's of her little brother. She calls him Jason.
I know enough about Daphne to know that Daphne isn't her birth name and Jason is probably not her little brother's birth name. I don't bother to wheedle her for her or her brother's birth names. I imagine that living for a century and taking on new identities like new shirts makes birth names either irrelevant or immeasurably precious. They are not to be given to anyone if they are precious, and they are not to be remembered if they are irrelevant.
I sigh and take a sip of my frozen lemonade. I set the drink down then slowly begin to unwrap my muffin, "I want to."
Daphne shoots me a look and leans forward, away from the men's spiked leather jacket hanging across the back of her chair. She clicks her tongue piercing against her top teeth and habitually grabs the ends of her hair, "Kid, do you believe him? Would David hurt his kid?"
"I know that his parents hurt him. I know about the abuse inflicted upon him when he ran away, or was kicked out…he was never clear on that. I know that he's killed people. I know that he's had people tortured." I exhale heavily, "I also know that he is efficient to a fault. He never does anything without it being a part of a larger plan, or of benefit to him in some way. He isn't fond of doing things "just" for fun. He always has to justify it as a piece of something larger."
"Could he gain anything from hurting her?"
"Her fear, but he got that by virtue of her memories not being clear."
"He must have realized that she wouldn't remember everything. He's a smart guy."
"I know. I cannot fathom what he could gain from hurting her and making her not remember it. He never kills, by his terms, needlessly. Not anymore at least. Before, he did, when we were kids, he thought it would give him some sort of control. It never did though, and then he went to prison. I guess he met some sick people there, people who get off on killing other people, and realized that he wasn't that."
"You were both kids then. That doesn't excuse what he did, killing so many people, but you were kids. He had no idea what he was doing. He thought he had an idea but he was wrong. People can be wrong."
"I should have been in prison years ago," I remark bitterly.
Daphne nods, "The only one of your family who shouldn't spend some time in prison is your daughter."
"Do you think it will stay that way?"
"Just because she has parents who are criminals doesn't mean she'll stay that way. Blood isn't what makes you family and it isn't what determines your future. You should know that by now. Your parents were terrible."
"True," I incline my head in agreement. "And the only person I consider family who is related to me by blood is my daughter."
"So did he hurt her?"
I sigh, "If he didn't then he would gain information. David loves information. He thrives on knowledge, just like Kalla. He could hurt her while getting that information but he usually doesn't enjoy hurting people like people seem to think he does, and I don't think he would let himself turn into his own father, or mother. He still likes me, I know that, and he seems to care for Kalla."
"It sounds like you're saying he didn't hurt her. That he won't."
"She said that it's almost like David's trying to turn her into a worthy opponent," I comment. My eyes flick to Daphne's, "If that were the case it would mean that he wants to fight against her. I have no doubt that he wants her mentor killed but if he doesn't want to hurt her then why would he be trying to turn her into a worthy fighting opponent?"
Daphne frowns, pondering my question, "What if he's not trying to end up on an even playing field with her?"
"Pardon?"
"Maybe this is his convoluted way of trying to get involved in her life, of not only biologically being her father but trying to act in a…paternal manner with her. Moreso than through those letters."
"By fighting her?"
"By training her."
I blink.
"Whenever she goes up against other opponents there is a risk of her being seriously wounded, right?"
"Do not remind me," I say, rubbing the bridge of my nose.
"When she fights against Ocean Master she will bleed and bruise a lot."
"Please stop talking about my daughter like that."
"But when she faces David," Daphne continues as if I never spoke, "she has a tendency to get away with small bruises, small cuts, and with a loss of breath but no serious injuries. Right?"
I frown, recalling the battles Kalladura'ham told me about, recalling the moments when I was called to consult on her healing.
"Does she get away from those battles against David and find it easy to pinpoint areas she could improve on?"
"Fuck." I rest my forehead on the table, muttering, "He's training her, fuck. I didn't even realize."
"I doubt you were supposed to."
"He tested her to get more solid information on her physical limitations. That's why she was gone for so long. Of course he didn't want anyone to know what he did, so he made her memories hazy. He even said that if any other criminals got their hands on his information on her he'd take her again, train her, give her the information he has on the criminal in question, the information to beat them. If the criminals got to her before he did, he'd kill the criminals."
Daphne raises her reusable coffee mug to her lips, "So what are you gonna do now?"
"Hope he told the truth and if he did, I will wait and watch. Ensure that he does not try and take my baby from me under the guise of being a good and present father."
"You'll deny him that?"
"Absolutely. All he's been doing for years is parading around in that costume like a child playing a game. He's just been plotting the demise of my nation. Calvin is a better father, and even if he wasn't, I'd be a better father before David. Kalla doesn't need his shadow hanging over her. She's dealing with enough now."
Daphne raises an eyebrow.
"She's pining after someone – I think it's Tula – and she knows that Tula – the individual she's pining after – is not attracted to her in the slightest. The backlash from the media after that oil spill shook her up, and has made her pay more attention to the media itself which is making her feel like more of an outsider on the surface-world because she isn't…there usually unless she's being painted as someone terrible."
"In the mainstream at least."
"Our world's – the magical one's – media is a little more forgiving so I know she tries to focus on that media but it's difficult to escape the mainstream one, especially when she's basically an ambassador between Atlantis and the surface-world and she has to be aware of what the mainstream media is saying about her."
"What about Atlantis?"
"She's a hero in Atlantis. There are the purists, of course, who try to bring her down, along with those people who still believe in the Curse of Kordax, but they're shut down pretty quickly. Her attention there is favourable for the most part."
"I thought most Atlanteans weren't fond of the relations with the surface-world."
"It is still a controversial topic, but unless the relations are highlighted or are threatened in some way they usually aren't brought up. We are a big place. There are plenty of more local issues that gain attention first."
I sigh, knocking my sandals against the legs of my chair, "I believe she may be having some friend issues as well. The surface-world…I have no doubt that she enjoys her job but I know that she is closest with Roy and he can be…difficult for someone like my daughter, who is calmer and is not always fond of spontaneity. Back home I believe that her crush is putting a strain on her friendships, and I know that while she considers some others her friends they have a tendency to consider her to be a role model, a mentor of sorts, because of her position and skill set. She is..frustrated, I believe, with the lack of people willing to wait and learn how she operates, as a friend."
"What do you mean?"
"Most of the friends she's had have insisted on speeding up their friendship quicker than she would like. She prefers to take things slowly, and it seems as though most of the people she is around do not understand that when she wishes to be left alone it is not an insult and there is not something wrong with her. She likes to be alone."
"You want to be a teenager again and be her friend?"
"Poseidon no. I was terrible. Besides I…like to consider myself her friend now. There are few secrets between us."
Daphne raises an eyebrow.
"Barring David and some points of my past."
"But you're withholding that information because you're her mother."
I hesitate, "I suppose so."
Daphne reaches across the table and takes my hands – I did not realize that I had been methodically tearing apart the napkin for my muffin. Gently, she squeezes them, "You're a good mother, Sha'lain'a. You're raising an amazing daughter."
I half-smile at her.
Daphne squeezes my hands one last time then pulls away and announces softly, "I am Gina now, by the way."
My smile grows and I nod to Daphne-turned-Gina, "A pleasure to meet you, Gina."
Zeelie Residence, Toronto, Ontario : July 7, 2010 – 16:22 EDT
The suburban residence is familiar. Has been so for years. I telepathically sense my daughter's presence first.
::: Rini, Orin told me of what occurred. :::
::: I am well, Matim. My attention is occupied elsewhere. ::: Kalladura'ham assures me.
::: Occupied? By what? :::
::: Superman's teenage clone. :::
::: …I was not expecting that. :::
::: Who was? :::
"Sha'lain," Kaleb greets me, opening the door and admitting Calvin and I to his family's home. "Kalla said you and Calvin might be coming."
Beside me, Calvin grins, his grasp on my shoulders loosening as he moves forward to greet his brother-in-law, "Peggy home yet?"
"Still at work," Kaleb explains.
"How were the Canada Day celebrations?"
"Loud," Kaleb smirks. "We sat on the roof and watched the fireworks. Pansy has about two hundred temporary tattoos of maple leafs and flags for the occasion."
"Clearly not on her," Calvin comments as we enter the living room where Pansy is swearing at the television and trying to explain to the white teenage boy beside her the background of the film playing. It seems to be a horror film.
The boy seems to only be half paying attention and is scratching at the maple leaf tattoo on his right cheek irritably while sprawled across the chair to the right Kalladura'ham is pressing another temporary tattoo onto her right calf. He frowns at the screen, "Why would she go upstairs? There's no way to get out."
"It's a horror film thing," Kalladura'ham explains, pulling away the wet cloth and then the temporary tattoo's paper to reveal a red maple leaf on her calf.
"It's stupid."
"Matim, Patera, how was the trip?" she questions, raising her head to look at Calvin and I.
"Uneventful," I answer, striding across the room to reach her. "You are well?"
"Yes, Matim. I am, I already told you-"
"Sha'lain, she's fine," Calvin cuts in.
I shoot him a glare but pull away from Kalladura'ham anyway. I turn to the boy, "This is…"
"Currently, he's Jacques," Pansy explains.
"We are trying out different names," Kalla expands.
Pansy shrugs, "Only name I was given for him was Superboy and if he's a superhero he needs a secret ID so he needs a name. Thus, Jacques."
Superboy/Jacques grimaces.
"How about Kyle?"
Superboy/Jacques shakes his head, "No."
"Ty."
He blinks.
"Josh."
Superboy shrugs.
"Now he's Josh," Pansy says, looking up at me.
"I see," I say, glancing down at Kalla. She seems unbothered by the exchange. Obviously, the exchange has occurred before. ::: We would like to speak with you. :::
Kalla's eyes flick up to me quizzically then she stands, tossing the wet cloth to Pansy, and walks towards me. Behind me, Calvin begins climbing the stairs.
"Should I pause it?" Pansy questions abruptly, not bothering to question our behaviour. She has been around magic for too long, clearly.
"No," Kalladura'ham says. "I have seen it already, remember?"
Pansy shrugs then turns back to the film, nudging Superboy/Josh's shoulder with her foot to get him to look back at the television rather than occupy himself with the rest of us. "Dude, watch. You'll never understand it if you don't."
"Understand?" he repeats, staring at the television incredulously. "It's a guy in a mask slaughtering a group of idiots."
"Okay, so it isn't a mentally stimulating movie. We should watch Kung Fu Hustle after this. You'd probably like that. Might not understand it…your pop culture knowledge is pathetic…but there's lots of ass-kicking."
I hear Superboy/Josh grumble, "Better not be any idiots."
"Badass idiots. Oh, dude, don't eavesdrop on them. I know, superhearing and all. Here, I'll turn this up really loud so you can't accidentally eavesdrop 'cause that's just rude."
The slaughtering taking place on the television is turned up. We can hear it on the top floor.
I shut Kalladura'ham's door behind me, giving us a barrier for the noise from the TV to pass through. Our daughter is perched on the bed, her legs crossed, and she's watching warily as Calvin stands in front of the closet with his arms crossed – is he trying to make her think she's in trouble or something? I start immediately, "You are not in trouble."
She shoots me a puzzled look and raises an eyebrow. Her thumbs massage her calves unconsciously and she looks between myself and Calvin – who has yet to uncross his arms but thankfully is not presenting himself as if he's angry, just worried. I explain as I sit on the bed next to her, "We have been speaking with Orin and Mera."
Her eyes widen, partially from my casual use of Annex and Anassa's names which always unnerves her, and partially from the implications of my words.
"Orin told us what happened in D.C.," Calvin explains, "and explained the options available to you. He agreed to let us tell you about them first."
"Options?" she repeats, perking up.
"As he explained to us, you have some options the other protégés do not have," I say. "You can continue your schooling in an institution, rather than being privately instructed."
"Return to the Conservatory with Tula?" she says, torn between brightening and being frightened. Brightening wins out and she smiles hopefully, "That would be…nice."
"Hear the other options," Calvin says quickly. "Or, you can be transferred in the military. You would be learning under someone else, getting some different experiences, and putting your more specific military-training to good use. Or, you can take Batman's option."
She cocks an eyebrow, "Batman's option? What exactly would that option be?"
"Orin thinks it may be a team. A…black ops team of sorts," I clarify, attempting to restrain my anxiety with the idea of my baby girl being on a black ops team for the Justice League. I know that Kalladura'ham will not like my anxiety and it will influence her decision. Possibly swaying her to make a decision that she is not 100% happy with. I do not want that for her.
"Then, of course, the options to continue being his protégé or trying the civilian life are open," Calvin says.
"There is no option to be an independent operative?"
"Not that he mentioned, but," I tilt my head at her, "do you want to be an independent operative?"
I know her far too well. She stiffens and for a split-second dread crosses her face. She is frightened of the prospect of having to make her own life-or-death decisions, of having to be a superheroine with no one telling her, or advising her, on the best course of action. She is newly 16, which is, by Atlantean standards, a year away from being an adult and that simultaneously terrifies and excites her. I am unsurprised. It is a frightening prospect for a teenager and it shows, if only for an instant. She tries to hide the fear, as usual, because her reputation is one that boasts of her fearlessness, her reliability, her confidence, and her calm, and because teenagers simply are not supposed to fear adult independence, they are supposed to want it desperately all of the time. Which is a ridiculous expectation but still, somehow, present.
I expect the lack of an answer, but it was a question that needed to be asked. She needs to consider it when making her decision.
"Must I choose now?" Kalladura'ham questions, worry creasing her forehead.
"Of course not."
"Orin did say that Batman wanted you to give him three days," Calvin points out. "Take advantage of that and sleep on it."
Kalladura'ham nods silently, gnawing on her lower lip while her fingers fiddle with her toes, pondering and silently debating with herself.
Orin, Mera, all of her instructors, and even her friends, have said that she is mature. They often seem to forget that she is still a teenager and requires some guidance. That she is frightened of and excited for what the future holds. That she is still trying to grasp her full abilities and skills, still trying to figure it all out, who she is, what she wants, how relationships, friendships, those weird things with parents, and how crushes work.
She is still new to this world. I wish others would remember that.
A/N: Oh. My. God. This was excruciating to finish. Sorry for the delay.
Updates will likely be slower now as I have two jobs currently, one of which demands a massive chunk of my time and writing mojo. Also, the next 2 ½ weeks are crazy busy so my steam for writing is going to be severely depleted. I will be impressed if I manage to update in a week. Sorry about this in advance, but RL calls!
You have no idea how much I love you appreciating this story.
