"In your life you meet people. Some you never think about again. Some, you wonder what happened to them. There are some that you wonder if they ever think about you. And then there are some that you wish you never have to think about again. But you do."

― C.S. Lewis

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16th of August

The day after the explosion was, shockingly, not a Bad Day.

After leaving the area in a rush the previous night, they didn't go to the attic directly but made a detour to the 24/7 gym where Fay washed herself quickly. With the adrenaline rush finishing, she was in significant pain because of her hand but she wanted to get all the dust and blood off her. In addition to her badly bruised knuckles, the glass had left her with several cuts, enough to draw blood but not enough to have damaged nerves (as far as she could tell) or require stitches. Once back in the relative safety of the attic, she had almost instantaneously fallen asleep as soon as she laid down on the mattress, Bag curled against her back and the dog and ferret at her legs. The cat rarely ever slept with them, but she had heard it meow somewhere above her head.

She woke up right after dawn but had stayed in her fort because that day she was meant to be off anyway. She felt exhausted and the painkillers she had brought with her from her world had made her feel drowsy, her mind awake but not alert.

Dana came to find her around lunch time, as she usually did when Fay didn't show up in the morning. Even when she had no shift, the girl and her paladin would always go by to say hi and grab one of the pastries Mack would always bring in. The woman's gentle voice and warm hand against her head reminded her too much of her, so Fay lied that she had eaten something bad which made her sick, pulling the sheet up to her neck to hide the bandages, and hoping the woman would go away quickly.

She felt guilty for that thought soon after, when Dana kindly fed her furry companions (Bag didn't eat, he preferred to just lie down next to her) from the small used fridge she now owned, where she generally stored their food. Then she was left alone to her devices.

Around three in the afternoon, with the painkillers wearing off, an aching hand and feeling jittery, Fay decided Bag needed – and deserved - a bath. Heading down to the soup kitchen where Mack greeted her cheerfully and Robby asked her if she was feeling better, "I am fine, thank you. Just ate a bad sandwich'', she grabbed the hose, connected it to one of the sinks and set to wash her paladin in the narrow street.

His antics, once again, relaxed her and took her mind off away from the psychical pain or insidious thoughts. He mischievously grabbed the hose and splashed her before making her chase him around in circles, trying to escape her when it was time to get his fur rinsed. The afternoon improved after that, although at the back of her mind she still worried that one of those masked protectors would track them down to ask her questions. There was also the matter of not being able to return to the museum which was one more reason for her heart to ache.

Partially soaked and feeling lighter, she had cleaned the area before putting the hose back to its rightful place. She accepted Mack's fresh banana bread, and then Dana asked her if she wanted to accompany her out for some chores around town. Some air might do her good, the woman said. Fay had been tempted to say no but ultimately didn't because she knew she had to buy groceries herself and it'd have been selfish to keep Bag locked in that small, cramped space the entire day just because she preferred wallowing in self-pity instead. There were enough of those days already. Plus, having time to think about things might just trigger a panic attack.

They went to different places across town: visiting a potential new distributor for kitchen supplies, the bank, a frustrating visit to city council. Dana had explained that the soup kitchen received a monthly grant via angel investors through a charity foundation, but the money was always transferred late, the amount never quite matching what it should have been and it was because the 'council always found a way to keep their share, greedy bastards'.

Fay remained quite as she and Dana as they one of the cubicles on the second floor, an hour after waiting in the hall. The woman in front of them did not look like she enjoyed her job. She had an unpleasant attitude too and she had barely looked up from the screen as Dana politely explained that their latest grant was late by a week and they had no forewarning which meant that she had to cover costs from her own pocket.

Dana's irritation increased throughout the meeting, rightfully so. The woman wasn't listening properly, made Dana repeat herself several times, then was quite flippant saying she could not control what rich people did with their money. Then she told Dana that she had to fill in another form, despite having filled four more previously, but this one was apparently different because it needs to be sent digitally to 'senior management'. Fay had a feeling the woman behind the desk just wanted to get rid of them. The entire appointment made Fay think about Maysoon, and the charities there and how they used to deal with them, and she couldn't help but wonder if people had the same difficulty obtaining financial help. Surely not. Her homeland was known for having minimal unemployment rate and no homelessness.

Right?

They left the city council at a rushed pace with Dana mumbling profanities all the way through which was slightly amusing (and it also hurt a bit, because she knew of another woman whom expressed herself just as colourfully when she was angry). Their final trip was to an immense supermarket several miles from where the soup kitchen was and Fay vowed to return to it later because there was just so much to look at. The downside was that they had to leave Bag waiting at the entrance as with any other building. Fay grabbed extra packs of meat and apples and sweet ice to make sure she could spoil him that evening, before awkwardly setting them in Dana's cart, careful to keep them separate.

She had done the same when they arrived at the checkout and placed the items on the conveyor belt, but the woman insisted for the cashier to count everything on the same bill, despite Fay's protests. She had seen how upset the woman looked whenever she did expense reports and clearly the city council was not going to be of any help, financially. Dana shot her a look that silenced Fay's protests immediately and replaced them with an embarrassed thank you (she made a mental note to hide some money in the woman's purse next chance she got).

Fay didn't have the courage to go exploring Gotham that night, but it wasn't much of a problem. Her attic felt comforting between the soft glow of fairy lights, the snacks spread around them and her companions. Tucked inside the fort with Bag and the other strays sleeping around her, she had made a list of which items she should buy next time she went to the supermarket before picking up a new book to read.

That day had been almost good enough to make up for the previous one.

For her, it was enough.

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19th of August

She had visited the museum at least twelve times since the beginning of August, for an average of six hours. Every two hours, she'd exit the museum for fifteen to twenty minutes before returning and picking up where she left. It was to check on her dog hidden behind the tree that grew close to the building, separated by the small fence around the park. She'd give him water, and apples (?) and she'd converse with him as if he was a human being, showing him the map of the museum and pointing out which rooms she had visited, what she saw, what she learned.

She worked at the soup kitchen on Jubilee street, mid-town Gotham. Not an affluent area, but not particularly poor either. The soup kitchen owner and the cooks behaved with familiarity with her and seemed to have taken under their wing, offering her food and allowing her to hide in the attic of the building. The attic which she shared with other stray animals. She had creatively turned the narrow space into a practical area with a variety of items she had likely scavenged or stolen or had been donated by Dana Mercher. She had at least forty books organised in towers; eclectic tastes. He identified the genres based off on some of the titles: fiction and history and philosophy and travel.

She walked everywhere with that giant wolf-like dog of hers and people would give them wide berth. No wonder no one had tried to accost a small girl like herself…yet. She knew that part of Gotham well and in the days, he's been observing her, she had walked hours around the city doing various chores. Yuri Zuraite, the Russian-Polish owner of the meat shop in the vicinity of the soup kitchen, took obvious advantage that she was a homeless child with little financial means. He made her deliver within a two-mile radius because it must've been cheaper. Being a child, he did not have to pay her, and she could not have done a thing about it. She was good at running and he watched her zig zag through the streets and deliver the chilled packages to several different blocks within the timeframe imposed on her.

Yuri gave her ten dollars and one kilo of meat which Damian doubted was entirely fresh, but just good enough to be served on the day. She'd always check it before giving to her dog.

Ah. So, she did all that work to ensure her dog ate.

She was a sneaky thing, too. He watched her and that beast of a dog trespass the campus of the Academy and after some tries, sneaking through a window she found open. Not to steal anything, though, even if there were plenty of items that could have been pawned off for a small fortune. The musical instruments and the golden trophies alone would have made her thousands. Instead, she only seemed to have two interests: the girls' locker room which she presumably used to shower because she had come out with wet hair and fresh clothes and the library.

She'd sat there in the darkness with a flashlight reading for hours. The dog would sometimes instigate games, snatching her book and making her chase him around the room. She left right after dawn, and he watched her walk back to the soup kitchen, where she climbed up the fire exit, to the dance studio and then pulled herself inside the attic. She'd let the small dog out to climb down and go for his needs waiting for him to return before closing the hatch.

She did not sleep that night. An hour later they climbed back down and using keys Mercher must have given her she accessed the kitchen through the back exit where she set to clean it thoroughly. She worked there continuously until early afternoon, after which she finally slept two hours. Not enough; not for a growing child. Nightmare-induced insomnia perhaps?

Even though the weather was in the mid to high twenties during day, she always wore long-sleeve tops. Most of her clothes were oversized. He had watched her roll up her sleeves once in the safety of the attic, revealing the white bandages that she had wrapped from her knuckles all the way to her elbows. He doubted that was the only thing she wanted to hide under the unnecessary layers of clothes.

Yet as uncomfortable as she looked sometimes because of the heat, and even though her hand clearly ached, she did not complain once, she did not make it obvious she was wounded, and she had not backed down from any of the chores she had in those days. She was disciplined.

The girl was of nervous disposition, and certain elements seemed to trigger the anxieties: loud noises, large crowds, people stepping in her personal bubble (he had watched the way her face tightened when Dana ruffled her hair or when the cook – Paul Maverick – pulled her into a bear hug). She was incredibly attached to the dog whom returned that connection, and she was most talkative around him (he would also label it a coping mechanism in the mental file he had on her).

She had no connection to the building that exploded. The probability that she had been there at the wrong place and time was high. All the observations he made in the days he monitored her pointed to an introverted, nervous person whom preferred to maintain a low profile. rather easily triggered by certain stimuli. That burning building and its surroundings would have been the worst place someone like her could have been.

Yet she ran inside it, risked her life because she somehow knew there was someone who needed help. The dog had to have been the one to guide her. She had a strong emotional connection to Bag (what a ridiculous name), perhaps her only one, but she had been willing to stay behind, to potentially never see her companion again just to help him.

The balcony had been a good idea and she had shown surprising determination in breaking the glass, again, with little regard to any injuries she may incurred. The building did not collapse dramatically within seconds after they left it. In fact, it wasn't until nine minutes later that it did. Grayson would have found him and the boy long before it happened, so her thoughtless display of heroism wouldn't have been necessary.

She hadn't done it out of arrogance or for glory though; she had been frightened to be in there. He saw the tears; he heard the raw emotions in her voice when she begged her dog to leave her behind, even as out of it as he was. She had been shaking, too but she refused to let go of him. She was a thin thing; he would have been heavy for her to hold especially with his suit on. She held on with a determination that bellied her frightful nature.

She put all sense of self-preservation away to rescue a masked stranger whom should have been saving her instead.

'My life doesn't matter more than yours.'

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20th of August

After her shift at the soup kitchen, they headed to the museum, where she intended to explore the Asian art and antiquities section. As soon as she stepped through, the enthusiasm she felt died out instantly. The hair at the back of her stood up, her instincts recognizing something was off even if she couldn't identify it immediately.

One of the security guards checked her bag and then told her to head to the woman behind the desk. That didn't happen before. Fay had reluctantly done so and was further confused when the woman smiled at her and told her to wait. With increasing trepidation, she watched as the woman pressed a number on the phone, before lifting the receiver to speak to whoever was on the other end.

"Yes, sir. She is standing right here. Shall I send her over?''

Send her? Send her where?

Absolutely not.

Fay instinctively stepped back from the desk, panic making her heartbeat so fast she would have probably felt the muscle in that area contract. She had gone there too many times, hadn't she? She had seen other children there, but rarely ever unaccompanied and none of them would have come across as fixated with visiting as she was. Or maybe it was the many times she kept going back and forth down those halls, in and out to check on Bag.

Her heart started pounding faster, and her mouth dried as a dark thought settled in her mind.

What if they thought she was trying to steal something? She did not look homeless, but she looked haggard enough for people to draw conclusions about her financial means. They probably thought she had been scanning the place, learning it inside out so she'd know how to get away with theft. She did not have anything incriminating in her bag except-her journal and the museum map. She had taken so many notes of that place it was impossible for anyone not to consider it suspicious. Their first thought will not be 'she's from another world so she's just trying to educate herself'.

It would be 'this poorly dressed, hungry looking and nervous child is planning to steal something'.

Crap. How had she not thought of that before? How alarming it must have looked for the guards, for the woman at the reception, for whoever was monitoring those cameras to see her return so many times.

I am such an idiot.

"Wait—'' The woman's smile faded when she realized what Fay was doing. "Where are you going? Hey—just wait a second.''

The woman was too damn loud. A few visitors turned to look at them curiously and to make matters worse, she caught the attention of one of the guards as well. As she whirled on her feet to head back out, she came face to face with the one that checked her bag – Ross, his name tag said – whom did not have a threatening stance but in that moment her brain instantly labelled him as an enemy. He made the mistake to try and touch her, his hand reaching for her shoulder.

As out of shape she may have been, she still had her reflexes and given she hadn't had a panic attack recently, she had recently slept better which meant she was more alert. She didn't think, just acted, grabbing the man's hand, twisting and then reaching to bend his arm, from the elbow, at an unnatural but painful angle with her other hand, bringing him to his knees almost immediately.

When she realized what she'd done, she instantly let him go, hands raised slightly. "I—I am so sorry.'' She whispered, horrified because she hadn't meant to cause him pain.

People were staring now, crowding in. She didn't look at them, but she could hear the whispers. She always heard the whispers.

The other guard in charge with checking bags had started walking in her direction, hands up in placation although with him she saw the tension in his body. She did not like the sight of that baton hanging on the side of his belt, either.

"Hey, kid. Calm down.''

She did not feel calm. Not when she had just made a scene by taking down a man twice her size, and when she could hear another guard approach from behind betrayed by the jingle of the keys on his belt. She ducked quickly leaving the man to grab empty air and rotating on her feet she rolled her body away from his reach, before straightening and starting to run for the doors, giving the other guard a wide berth. He tried to intercept her and grab her as well, but she changed her pace abruptly and gyrated past him, leaving him to stumble in a very graceful manner before falling flat on his face.

Someone from her impromptu audience laughed.

She pushed the revolving door so forcefully she forced one of the visitors to quickly exit it or risk getting trampled. She wasn't sure he cared she had yelled 'sorry!' but she didn't stop to find out, because as soon as she was outside, she turned to the left in the direction of the park. Bag must've sensed her distress because he stepped out into the street even before she reached his point and although he looked confused, he sprinted after her when she didn't stop.

She ran all the way back to the soup kitchen. When she arrived there, she leaned forward, propping her hands on her knees as she tried to regain her breath. The sandwich she had earlier came back up her throat violently, and she ended up vomiting onto the pavement below.

The backdoor of the soup kitchen opened.

"Fay?'' Dana called, concern colouring her voice. "Are you okay? What happened?''

Fay tried to straighten up, but her body convulsed again, and she ended up doubling over even harder as she vomited again.

Walking up to her, the woman placed a warm hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles and murmuring encouraging words. That comforting gesture was enough to make her come undone and ruin her recent cry-free lucky streak.

"I-I did something bad.'' Fay rasped, agitatedly when she was finally able to speak. "I did something bad!'' Was she screaming? She was.

'I am sorry. I am so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt them-please believe me, uncle.'

'I didn't mean to lose control. It won't happen again!'

She agitatedly tried to explain that she went to the museum and how woman wanted to send her somewhere and she hurt a guard, but she didn't mean to. Then all rational thoughts went out of the window and they were replaced by panic-fuelled ones, which in turn made her blabber frantically. What if they came after her? What if they found out she was homeless, and she lived in an attic? What if they arrested her? What if they took Bag away? With each sentence she found it harder to breath, as if an invisible claw was gradually closing around her lungs, stopping them from inflating properly.

Dana placed her hands on her shoulder, but this time Fay didn't react like she had with the guard. She was too busy trying to remember how to breathe properly (and deep down she knew Dana would never hurt her).

"Fay!''

Fay closed her mouth, her ragged breath filling the silence that followed. She shamefully stared at the ground, vision blurring with tears.

"Everything is going to be okay.''

'Everything is going to be okay, my little fey.'

Liar.

When Fay refused to tilt her head up, the woman removed her hands from her shoulders and crouched down in front of her. "I will help you, okay? I won't allow them to take you away or Bag.''

"You-you don't know that.'' Fay sniffed. Because the woman really didn't; she meant well, and she would have indeed helped Fay if it came down to it. Dana, however, had issues of her own-if Fay did get arrested or taken in by Child Services, she'd end up just being a burden.

The woman waited until her sobs have reduced to quite sniffles before speaking again.

"Do you want to know why I've helped you? Why I own a soup kitchen?''

"Be—because you're kind?''

Dana smiled ruefully. "Because I used to be you. Lonely and a bit lost, that is.'' The woman tentatively reached to wipe the tears away from her cheeks but when Fay flinched, she immediately lowered her hand. Dana was like that; tentative but never forceful. She always knew when to step back and she never questioned Fay's reticence to allowing people to touch her. "My mother left home when I was really young, and my father used to take it out on me.'' Dana continued calmly, although it must have been a very hurtful memory to reminisce. "So, when I was about your age, I decided to run away. I didn't last very long, I wasn't quite as resourceful as you nor I had a loyal, loving dog to protect me.''

Bag pushed his head under Fay's head, and she looked down at his pale gaze. His affection was bright and warm, and it reverberated through her, loosening the knot of nerves in her stomach. It was starting to get easier to breathe again.

"One of the neighbours two floors down took me in. She'd allow me to sleep in her home and she'd cook me meals and she'd keep me out of trouble.'' Dana said. "It wasn't just me, though. Even though she did not have much money herself, she used a lot of it in cooking meals for other people in the neighbourhood. We lived in a poor area, so I wasn't the only one starving.''

Feeling much calmer, despite her irritated eyes and new headache, Fay finally looked up to meet her gaze. "Is—is that why you opened the soup kitchen?''

The woman smiled. "Yes, exactly. If it hadn't been for Gram-gram's kindness, who knows where I would have ended up. She encouraged me to study and do something with my future. It may have taken me a bit of time to get here, but I've always wanted to find a way to pay forward her kindness. So, I ended up opening Soul Bowl. It's not much and some days it can be very frustrating, but you've seen all the people that come through, right?'' Fay nodded. "Well, for some of them that hot bowl of soup and socialising with others who understand them is it. The only good thing in their lives. They may never experience something better.''

Yet Fay had a warm attic, now filled with so many things it might have as well been a home, even if she refused referring to it as such. She had a safe space, and a secret emergency stash of money and a potential way out, back to her home, where she had everything. At least materially speaking.

She had made a choice by being there, living in those conditions. The men and women that came through Dana's soup kitchen didn't. Yet it was her that Dana had been generous most with. It was sickening. Someone else – more deserving - could have been in that attic instead of her. Some other child, one that had run away from home because they were being neglected or abused, not because they were too afraid to face their own failures.

"I don't know your story, Fay.'' Dana admitted. "But I think you're a kid who saw more than she should have. I think you are dealing with a lot inside and maybe that's why you're so quiet and that's okay. If you want to talk about it, I am happy to listen. If you don't, then that's also okay. I will help you if you need it. I don't believe in many things in this shitty world, but I do believe in being kind and helping others if you are able to do so.''

She did too.

The woman raised to her feet, and gently nudged Fay towards the kitchen. Bag stood glued to her hip, allowing Fay to dig her hands onto his fur because she found it therapeutic. Not that he didn't enjoy it.

"Dana?'' Fay stopped right before the small step. The woman had already stepped inside, and she turned to look at Fay, attentive.

"What-what if someone doesn't deserve kindness?'' Fay's breath hitched; her throat restricted by a vice of emotions. "What if some people are where they are because of their own actions?''

Dana looked surprised at the question, but then crossed her arms, lips pursuing as she seemed to contemplate it. After a few seconds, she shrugged. "Some people won't deserve it. Some people are unforgivable.'' Fay's chest felt tight again. "That doesn't mean I shouldn't help people, though. I don't know what everyone that came through my soup kitchen did in their life. Maybe some of them do deserve their fate. Or maybe some of them will learn what good is and they will pay it forward. Someone once told me that I shouldn't assume another person is undeserving as that'll inevitably make kindness a selective process that too many people use. If a person ends up proving undeserving, then I can decide to stop being kind.''

Fay nodded. It didn't quite answer her question, but she understood what Dana meant. Kindness could be a double-edged sword sometimes. She'd know.

"Whatever brought you here, Fay-'' She looked up at the woman in alarm. "You are too young to let it define you. You are clever and you are kind and you are honest. You are one of the most hard-working individuals I met. I've never once thought you were undeserving of my kindness. On the contrary, I wish I could do more for you.''

Fay looked away, feeling tears brimming again. She wanted to believe Dana, but she had no idea whom Fay was, whom she had been before she came to that world, what she had done. If she knew the truth, Fay was willing to bet she'd have changed her opinion very quickly. In a way, she was taking advantage of the woman's kindness by allowing her to perceive Fay as someone she was not (someone deserving).

Survival, she had called it in her first weeks in Gotham, but it no longer was just that. Not when she lived relatively comfortably, not when she had places, she enjoyed visiting, people she had inadvertently started to care about. Dana, Mack, Robby. She wanted them to like her, she wanted them to be happy and for the soup kitchen to be successful.

"How about you and Bag get inside? I'll get Mack to get you some toast and you need some liquids in you, pronto.''

Fay and her paladin stepped inside, letting the door close behind them.

It was bad getting attached to that place, she thought. Because she was starting to see it more than just a shelter, than just survival. And it won't last.

Sooner or later she'll have to leave Gotham.

The attic and the soup kitchen and Dana's kindness and the museum and Gotham Academy will all be a thing of the past.

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The staff members of Gotham Museums were imbeciles.

Only idiots would scare a child in running away like that.

However, it had been interesting to watch the way she reacted. She knew how to defend herself. Well enough to react quickly, without hesitation. She didn't need force or strength; she had known exactly where to press to incapacitate the guard despite being a bigger opponent.

Tch. The guard earned the sprained wrist. He should have read her body language; it was obvious she was scared, thinking she must be in trouble. Damian had specifically told the receptionist not to alarm the girl; just let her know that she could wait in the hall and reassure her it was for a good reason. She had reacted like a wild animal being threatened to be put in a cage. He couldn't fault her, although his interest was certainly piqued now (it had been rather entertaining watching the other two guards make fools of themselves).

How did a homeless, anxious and timid girl such as herself knew self-defence techniques?

Well, he wasn't going to find out at the museum. She was never going to come back there after that incident, no matter how much she enjoyed it.

"—Tt—". It was no use. He was going to get to her in other ways. Given she was a flight risk, he'll have to make sure he'd do so in an environment she'd find less hostile.

(He was curious to find out what other surprises she would reveal.)

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21st of August

She had three orders to deliver that day, all located within a half mile of one another but around five miles from the meat shop, past the soup kitchen and into the upper part of Gotham. While that area was a fresh change, clean and affluent, it was also more crowded, but a longer delivery distance meant that Mr. Yuri will be giving her more meat. She'd have to deal with her apprehension of crowds if it meant spoiling Bag and the other strays.

The various sized chilled packaging was handed to her in an insulated bag and she was told she had two hours to finish even though the polystyrene boxes filled with gel packs and dry ice would last at least several hours, even in the twenty-five-degree weather. Mr. Yuri liked to make an impression on his customers especially the ones that lived in the wealthier area (he also liked putting her under pressure, so there's that).

Public transportation was out of question. Buses were often crowded; they triggered her anxieties and Bag was unlikely to be allowed to board unless he was in a carrier. She wasn't sure how she'd carry him even if she wanted to put him in one (or whether she'd find such a big one). So, instead Fay would shove as many of the chilled packaging into her large backpack, ensuring they were properly cushioned and secured so they would not open or get damaged while she moved. That day she had forced herself to eat a bit more than just scraps to have more energy, so she hoped she would not end up feeling unwell before finishing the deliveries.

Between studying the map of Gotham and previous deliveries, they'd learned which areas they should avoid, and which shortcuts were most effective. Bag's keen senses generally meant he took the lead because he'd be able to warn her if he sensed something was off.

She no longer had the stamina or strength she once had but running had a therapeutic effect on her. Emotional pain converted in miles and she felt something akin to power to being able to leave buildings and shops and people behind her like that. She felt free.

So, they ran. It took them about forty minutes which was an embarrassing time, but she tried not to allow the negative thoughts ruin how light she felt. For Bag the distance had not been anywhere a challenge, but he enjoyed running by her side, so he was happy altogether. Mr. Kilner whom owned a small but busy bagel shop was the first on her list and after stepping past the glass doors, she glided through the occupied tables and walked up to the counter. She handed him the boxes that had his initials written on them. Mr. Kilner liked charging more for the bagels that he made using Mr. Yuri's meat because of their quality. Fay didn't think it was right to charge five dollars for one, but she chose not to make her opinions known. She was just the messenger, after all.

Two streets down she had Mr. Fitzwilliam's bookshop which she had visited in her free time and almost never left empty handed, even if with used books most times. She liked him because he always gave Bag water to drink, which he did that day too. Mr. Fitzwilliam always ordered on a weekly basis, so his order was generally the heaviest, but she didn't mind. Whenever she'd manage to get to those parts and visit his shop, he'd always talk to her about new books he brought in, either old or new and if she had time, he'd invite both in. His was one of the few places Bag was accepted.

Her last destination was a new one. Mr. Yuri had initially refused to let her have the order but the real delivery service he used for long-distance or 'his best clients' (another way of saying wealthiest, probably) had caused him issues that day. It seemed all the other delivery drivers were busy that day. Odd. When Fay walked in the store, she caught him yelling and swearing on the phone in the backroom, startling a few other people that were perusing in his shop. They couldn't send him another replacement, not in time for the delivery at a quarter past twelve.

He reluctantly gave her the order and very threateningly told her that she had to deliver on time 'or else'. He would rather have her deliver than risk being late, but he didn't tell her who it was for. Just the address and that she should leave it at the entrance, tell them she was his niece if they seemed surprised at how young she was and leave immediately. He was so agitated about it she'd expected him to deliver the order himself, but his shop was busy and his son (almost as unpleasant as his father) was not due in yet.

She understood his trepidation when she saw just how different that area of Gotham looked like in comparison to the ones south of the meat shop and soup kitchen. The traffic was thicker, the streets were crowded and the skyscrapers around her shined like giants of steel and glass as they towered over them. The Wayne Tower, at the end of the boulevard caught her eye and she remembered reading that it was one of the tallest buildings in Gotham.

The last delivery address saw her stand in front The Paradise Garden, a lavish restaurant with a domed glass roof and delicate pale colours that reminded her of Art Nouveau paintings. At the entrance, there was a tall woman standing by a brown stand decorated with flowers and she eyed Fay rather scandalised when she dared approach, large dog in tow.

"Are you lost…. miss?''

"Is this 1259 Kane street?''

A thin dark brow quirked, and brown eyes eyed her up and down. Fay knew snob when she saw it. She lifted the insulated bag with the remaining order and showed her the receipt Mr. Yuri gave her attached to it. "My-um, uncle told me to deliver this here.'' It was a stupid explanation; why would her uncle even send her to deliver? Surely that would have offended his client even more. The woman gave her a look that Fay knew it had nothing with her age and all to do with how she was dressed. She was sweaty too, after running in that heat, so that probably didn't help her image.

Mr. Yuri made a mistake sending here there. Even if they didn't care a child was delivering the order, she looked like a beggar amongst the guests she glimpsed inside the restaurant. It was all rather ironic, of course and she'd be lying if she did not find it at least a bit amusing at how tables have turned on her. The woman's lips curled into a plastic smile that made Bag instantly dislike her. Fay shared that sentiment. "I am afraid you are confused. The Paradise Garden is a refined establishment and all our dishes are prepared by the finest cooks using meat from reputable farms.'' Fay wasn't impressed neither with the pride in her voice neither her condescension. "I will have to ask you to leave before-'' the woman glanced at Bag, whom stared back at her head-on, making her flinch slightly "-that thing scares our customers.''

The hot emotion that suddenly bubbled in her chest was unmistakable.

Don't.

Don't let it get to you.

You are not allowed to feel that emotion.

"He's not a thing, he's my partner.'' Fay said tightly. "Someone placed an order here. I am not interested in going in-just to make sure it's, um, delivered.'' Mr. Yuri would blame her if she went back with spoiling meat or if her order never arrived with her client. She couldn't trust the hostess wouldn't throw the order away as soon as she walked away. Before the woman could come back with a retort, no doubt as offensive as the last, someone interrupted her.

"That won't be necessary.'' A male voice.

All three of them looked up at the statuesque middle-aged man that had stepped out from the restaurant, stopping at the threshold. He was dressed even more formal than the hostess in a three-piece dark suit and white gloves. His heard was balding, save for the grey hair on the sides of his hair; he had a thin moustache as well. He had an unreadable look on his face but when he met Fay's gaze, his eyes did not look unkind. "My employer has placed the order. If you'd be so kind to follow me.''

Three pair of eyes stared at him bewildered.

"Excuse me, but I cannot allow someone like her—'' the woman started, stepping from behind the wooden menu stand.

"Miss—'' The man's eyes moved to the woman's tag. "Holly. The young lady and her companion have been requested inside. If there are any concerns, I am happy to communicate that to my employer.''

'Miss Holly' paled considerably, and all her arrogant veneer was wiped away instantly. "N-no, sir. That's—there's no-'' She cleared her throat, visibly flushed. "My apologies. I have no concerns.''

Ha!

The man gestured for Fay to step inside before him and she did so hesitantly, her paladin glued to her hip. She wasn't sure what just happened, but she'd be lying if she said she didn't feel satisfied at how easily– and gracefully- the woman had been dismissed. People should not judge others based on their appearances and they should certainly not refer to her paladin as a 'thing'.

Once inside, Fay took a moment to admire the layout of the restaurant: the soup kitchen could have easily fit in at least twice over just on the ground floor which was decorated beautifully with dozens if not hundreds of flower arrangements. Natural light filtered through the glass dome above their heads, and it wasn't until she was inside that she realized the roof had fine stained-glass decorations littered across the entire surface, subtle and minimalistic yet effective in casting ethereal colours across the room.

For the first time since she had come to that world, she had finally found a place that reminded her of home. It didn't even feel she was in Gotham anymore.

"Please follow me.'' The man instructed gently and walked ahead of them, as they followed him towards a marble, large staircase curving around one side of the room and leading to a mezzanine that had a long narrow fountain lining the glass balustrade. There was another room up there, but its entrance was sealed off by pale blue curtains decorated with gold motifs. A man dressed in a similar outfit to Holly stood by the entrance but unlike her, he did not bat an eye at either of them, saluting the man leading them cordially before leaning to pull the curtain away for them to go through.

The room inside did not differ much in décor, but it seemed to serve as an exclusive part of the restaurant. The glass roof was closer to their heads there and there were pale silks hanging above their heads, casting strategic shadows above the seats and tables, clusters separated one from another by large pots of flowers. Indeed, dining up there was designed to be a private affair.

She couldn't help but take a deep breath allowing her senses to be cleaned by the intoxicating fragrance of flowers, by the soothing sounds of trickling water resonating discreetly from small fountains placed around, by the refreshing, cool air. The sun rays warmed her pleasantly as she took her time to admire the simple decorations around the room. It had no need for colours when it had the natural beauty of nature incorporating it and the marbled floors, of the same pale colours as the walls, created an aesthetically pleasant sense of continuity.

Bag pulled her out of her reverie when he suddenly tugged her to the left, and she followed him, amongst the vases and pots to the end of the room where the floor to ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the busy boulevard and Dion Plaza across from them, bustling with people and vendors and kiosks. She'd heard about it as being one of the main entertainment districts of Gotham, largely frequented by middle- and upper-class members, although amongst the hundreds of shops there would have been those whom catered for the poorer pockets too.

Flanked by large pots of flowers, there was a round glass table and two seats facing each other, pushed close to the windows. Standing by the seat on her right, there was a small figure dressed in green long-sleeved shirt and dark trousers, hands crossed behind the back. Something struck her about the boy's position, the way he faced away from her, but she couldn't figure out why.

"Young Master Damian.'' The tall man announced. "Your guest is here.''

Guest?

'Young Master Damian' turned around, and she abruptly came to a halt, heart fluttering. The boy with green eyes met her gaze and smirked, which did nothing else but set off alarm bells in her head. Bag glanced between her and the boy confusedly, but when he sensed her agitation, he stepped in front of her, shielding her, although she was at a safe distance from both the other two males.

The boy quirked a brow at him, but he did not look in the least intimidated or surprised by the dog. In fact, he just kept looking smug and Fay suddenly had the urge to run away again.

"Welcome.'' He said formally, then gestured towards the seat across from him. "If you'd like to take a seat. Pennyworth will take the order now and will be bringing out lunch soon.''

The man could have taken the order at any point?! Which meant this 'young master' really did want her up there.

Why?

She dumbly handed the order to Pennyworth, whom informed her politely that lunch will be served soon. The piece of information didn't really register in her mind because she was too busy going through possible scenarios as to why she was there. Did it have something to do with what happened at the museum? If she was in trouble, then why would she be called there, in that fancy place? Was it to make her lower her guard, so they could gather information out of her because they figured she was hiding something?

Why out of all people it had to be him?

She instinctively glanced around the room, looking for potential exits. Going back the way they came through was always an option; there were no guards and the restaurant hadn't looked busy when they came through. However, in such a high-profile location, they were unlikely to get away as easily as at the museum if they made a scene. There was a room to her far right where Pennyworth had disappeared to, likely the staff room or the kitchen. There had to be an emergency exit there; the staff wouldn't stand in their way if a large dog and a girl suddenly came bursting through. But they wouldn't be familiar with the layout, and only end up setting off alarms.

Going through the windows in front of her would have been quickest way, but she no longer had it in her to make such a jump (or a successful landing that did not break her legs, for that matter).

"You are free to leave if you are not comfortable.'' The boy piped up, and she brought her eyes back to him. He must've noticed her looking around, but he didn't seem alarmed by it. Bag's tense stance did not change, but he also did not react any further which meant he sensed no malice or deceptive intent from the boy. He was telling the truth. Or he was just very good at masking his emotions, even from her paladin.

"Why—why am I here?'' Fay asked warily, because there was no way in hell she'd sit down and have lunch with him if he didn't tell her why someone like him wanted to have lunch with her. Was it about the painting? Did she end up offending some royalty there without realizing?

There are no monarchies in this side of the world. She reminded herself. He was no prince, but he was someone. He had a manservant catering to his needs; he was dressed in expensive clothes and he was lunching in a place like that.

When putting all that together, it made even less sense for him to have ordered from a butcher across town. Mr. Yuri had quality meat, but Damian must have had access to far better producers. Had he used the delivery to get her there or was the paranoia clouding her judgement from a more reasonable explanation?

"I would like to extend an apology on behalf of the unacceptable behaviour of the staff members yesterday.''

"….''

"Yesterday at the museum you were treated unfairly. I had informed the receptionist to tell you to wait in the lobby because I wished to speak to you, for no negative reasons. Obviously, she had proven incapable of following simple instructions.''

What

The

Fu-

"I, um-why—why did you want to speak to me?''

"Do you know who I am?''

"…young master Damian?'' She wasn't trying to be a smartass; she was just very confused.

Those green eyes glinted. They looked even brighter underneath the natural light. He did not look offended that she did not know whom he was, but she had a feeling he couldn't wait to tell her.

"My father is Bruce Wayne, a businessman and industrialist and the founder of Wayne Enterprises, a multi-national company that invests in a great many sectors.''

Wayne Enterprises? As in the Wayne Tower? Mack had told her about it—the Wayne family were incredibly wealthy, top ranking not just in Gotham but worldwide. Bruce Wayne may have been labelled as an innovator and businessman, but he might have as well been royalty given just how widespread his influence was. Anyone with that kind of wealth and reputation equalled power and connections. All that could result very dangerous to anyone who crossed him.

And his son was standing right in front of her, wanting something with her or from her.

Well, shit.

He didn't wait for her to acknowledge the information he's given before he carried on. "As his only heir, it is my responsibility to be involved with the company in order to learn about it. My latest project has been directed at transforming Gotham into a cultural and educational hub by redesigning the Museums and ensuring they will mark their place on the map of top institutions in United States.''

So, he was the one behind the changes that had been taking place at the Museums? No wonder Robby had looked so shocked when he saw the changes; that place must've looked very differently before.

He looked about her age, and to have that responsibility, it meant he was either very capable himself or very good at telling others what to do. Probably both. He didn't strike her as the type of person who worked tirelessly behind a desk but rather one that preferred to have others fulfil whatever vision he may have. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but it made her even more wary of him. She didn't think it was judgemental to make that assessment of him – the world of the rich worked differently than the world of Dana's and Macks' and Robby's, after all.

When she didn't move from her spot, the boy pulled the chair from the table and sat down, one arm slung over its back. He looked comfortable, and perhaps he was trying to make her feel more relaxed, but she still refused to walk any closer, let alone sit across from him. He hadn't answered her question yet.

"Let me just cut to the crux of things, shall I?'' He said casually. "Rochester, the museum director, had alerted me to a visitor that had started frequenting the museum quite often. He found it suspicious, although I don't share in his theory that you were there for any purpose other than you genuinely seem to have an appreciation for education.''

It sounded too good to be true, but the panic was eating through her observational skills to tell whether he was bluffing or not (whatever she had of them, anyway).

"In order to fulfil the Museums potential, it must be capable of catering to different educational needs, particularly the lower social classes. The museums had been historically accessed by a narrow demographic that is not fully representative of Gotham's population. There are different factors of course impacting low income families from frequenting the museums, even if they have free entry such as time management and lack of transportation. Wayne Enterprises has created and invested in several foundations aimed at supporting families, education and encouraging more interest in arts and culture.'' He paused, looking at her intently and she nodded, realizing he was waiting on her to let him know she was still following him. "There have been efforts at mitigating any learning barriers through a wide variety of initiatives, including sponsoring schools in bringing children on regular visits to the museum. However, I do not believe that's enough, and I have the data to prove it. Redesigning and expanding the museums was the first step in addressing these shortcomings and next is ensuring that the institution will be more effective in catering to all its visitors, as well as running a series of support programs to address obstacles that may impede people from attending.''

She nodded again. Everything he said made sense, as surreal as it felt to be standing there listen to what was probably the wealthiest child in Gotham go on about his business. He sounded very proud of his achievements, but Fay wondered if he truly understood those 'obstacles' that he talked about. She couldn't fault him if he didn't – until not too long ago, she hadn't fully understood either what it meant to have nothing and being forced to survive from one day to the other. Even in her current predicament she knew she was far luckier than most families in Gotham and had more freedom in how to live her life.

"What-what does all this have to do with me?''

"I would like to seek an outside perspective on alternative lifestyles to ensure that my proposals are comprehensive and inclusive.''

A long, fancy way of saying he wanted her opinion because he was too rich to understand the everyday struggles of regular people. She couldn't help herself in blurting the next words. "You want my opinion because I am poor.'' She found she didn't feel bad about it. That's exactly what he was insinuating, and she found it rather-amusing, although she didn't show it. Oh, how have the tables turned indeed.

"Yes.'' He replied, looking shameless, if not a bit amused himself with her bluntness. "But it's not just that. Your age and your interest in the museum also play a part in my choice.''

"…your choice.'' She repeated dryly.

He smirked again, and his chest puffed out a bit, hands waving towards her as if he was presenting something. "Congratulations. I have chosen you to be the one to assist me in the next months with rolling out the next stages in my project. You will be handsomely compensated of course, along with many other benefits which I am sure you will be very pleased by. We can work out all the details later, of course, once we've had lunch. Business is always best be conducted on a full stomach.''

It took her a bit to realize that the funny thing her face was doing was a smile and the feeling in her chest was not anxiety but laughter. She reached to cover her mouth with her hand, trying to quell how hysterical she felt. He misunderstood the curl of her lips and wide eyes for something else, because he looked even more smug as he clapped his hands together. "Take your time. I know this is an overwhelming and unexpected proposal but by no means, don't feel ashamed about your surprise. It is okay to show your enthusiasm.''

It's okay to….?

Asshole.

Her paladin glanced at her, and she could feel the humour rolling off him. She could not hear his thoughts but the look in his eyes was enough to confirm he was likely thinking along at the same lines. She took a deep breath, worried she'd start laughing and that she might offend him (although he rather deserved it). Did she even know how to laugh anymore? It probably wouldn't have been a pleasant sound.

"I, um-'' She bit the inside of her cheek and averted her eyes from her paladin because he was definitely egging her further. "I appreciate that.'' She started, years of etiquette reminding her that it was diplomatic to respond to an offer by acknowledging it first. "That's a generous offer.'' Her voice was tight with emotion, just not the one he assumed. He looked satisfied with himself, the brat, reminding her starkly of the spoiled, elitist children she knew in Maysoon. "Excellent. Now, please, take a sit and we can discuss—''

"No.'' She hadn't meant to cut him off or express herself quite that bluntly but his demanding, arrogant attitude irked her. She could be timid and a pushover most times, but she did not like the way he had already decided she'd accept, the way he gave her permission to feel gratitude and joy at his offer as somehow it was his prerogative. That well-known defiance of her people had decided to make itself known, although she'll probably regret it later.

"Excuse me?'' Ah. There it was. He did not like being told no. He probably has never been told no.

She met his gaze which had darkened, his brows furrowed and—did his face twitch? She thought it did.

"I am afraid I cannot accept your proposal.'' Fay said politely. "I think—I think what you are trying to achieve is noble and I am sure it will help many people, so I hope your-vision is successful.'' That's it. Smooth his pride over, first. Then reiterate to make sure there was no doubt. "However, I must decline. I-am not interested in being a part of it.'' It would have helped if her words didn't tremble as much as they did. The amusement had subsided, but her mind was still processing through the insanity of that encounter. Bag huffed at him loudly, because he wanted to have his piece said too (he had a penchant for dramatics, too). Fay bowed her head slightly to the boy who had momentarily stopped talking and was just staring at her a bit like the cat in her attic did when she did not get extra food portions. "I hope—I hope you find someone who can help you. Have a nice day.''

Then she turned on her feet and walked away, as calmly and normally as possible towards the entrance, Bag following slightly behind her, just in case the boy decided to do something he shouldn't be doing. He wouldn't mind giving him a piece of his mind and before he left, he made sure the boy was aware just how sharp his teeth were.

It wasn't until they were outside, down a street past the restaurant that Fay stopped to take a few shaky breaths. Having the courage to say no shouldn't have made her feel that way, but it did. Bag felt proud of her and so, after that entirely confusing and unexpected meeting, she decided they should go to the park and make the best of the day. Running a few laps would do some good for her nerves too.

She might have to reconsider leaving Gotham sooner. There was no say how vindictive the boy was.

She knew exactly how cruel could be, after all, especially when people had the power to inflict pain onto others.

.

Damian stared at the spot she'd been standing in.

She hadn't been emotional at this proposal; she was trying not to laugh.

She was trying not to laugh at him.

That ungrateful, little-!

"Ah. I take it your guest will not be joining you.'' Alfred remarked a moment later when he came out pushing a trolley, no doubt with the food he had been meant to serve them both.

Damian fists were balling to tightly his knuckles had turned white and his teeth gritted, his words barely pushing through in a low hiss. "She said no. What kind of idiot would say no to an offer like that?''

Or rather she was saying no to him. The offer was sound. It would have played into her natural curiosity and she would have made money off it. But she had found it hysterical, because of him. Clearly, she was lacking in mental faculties. What could have he possible done wrong? If anything, it should have been an incentive to be personally recognized by the Wayne heir. He had made it clear, hadn't he, who he was?

Alfred cleared his throat and Damian looked up at him. The butler's expression was placid, but he could tell a lecture was coming.

"What?'' He snapped, irritated, beating him to it.

"If I may, Master Damian,'' Alfred started politely, undeterred by his defensive reaction. "Perhaps this was not the appropriate setting for the young girl.''

"Because she's incapable of appreciating it?'' He knew that's not what the butler was insinuating, but to his credit, he hadn't expected her to say no. There was a part of him, the ruthless one, that considered blackmailing her. He had plenty of things he could hold above her head, starting with that beast of hers that had the audacity to growl at him.

"Because you offered her a role on her personal circumstances which may be very well a-sensitive topic. You have told me she hadn't reacted well at the museum and ended up running away just at the mere suspicion of being in trouble. She is a cautious being, I'd say and having someone, especially as-imposing as yourself, approach her suddenly, it may not have inspired trust that it was genuine.''

That had to be it. Not him.

Some of the anger left his body, allowing his shoulders to relax. "How exactly do you propose I go about this, Pennyworth?''

Alfred's lips twitched. "I may have some ideas, Master Damian, if you'd like to hear them.''

"—Tt- fine.''