"This is completely unnecessary."

Subtle about his displeasure over her not springing him from his gilded prison as she did Sorcha, Malcolm was not being. Raya couldn't resist nettling him further, though. Getting him to vent would, in her opinion, do a world of good.

"What isn't necessary?"

"You babysitting me." He bit out the words. "I'm not a child despite what my mother and Gil think."

"I know you're not a child." His snort made her smile. "You're the same age as Dick and I."

March placing Dick as the oldest while December marked Malcolm as the youngest.

"Then you know I don't need a babysitter."

The hint of petulance in Malcolm's tone warned Raya a shift in mood was about to occur. Over two decades with Bruce — poster boy for brooding males — her husband, younger brothers, and their friends taught her to recognize the signs.

Malcolm didn't sit in a big cave or underground bunker and glare at a computer screen, though. Nor does he have a private gargoyle to brood on. He was at his most dangerous when in this mood, though. Self-destructive behaviors, rash decisions, and running headlong into dangerous situations were all common when he got in this state. She cultivated a way to combat his moods while Malcolm lived with them.

"Who says I'm babysitting you?" She flashed him a lopsided grin. "Ever stop to think that you're babysitting me?"

Malcolm snorted. "Right."

"I swear to you I am not here to babysit you." The look he shot her said he didn't believe her. Swear he's related to Bruce, she huffed silently. "If anyone is babysitting, it's your mom."

Jessica had been beyond thrilled to babysit her infant son and two-year-old daughter, Hayley, in fact.

"She's babysitting them so you can babysit me."

"She's babysitting them because it gives her something to do."

"While you babysit me."

"I'm not babysitting you, Malcolm."

"If that was true then you'd be out there working the case with Gil, Dani and JT."

"Or I could be here working the case with you while Dick works the case with Gil and Detectives Tarmel and Powell."

That took the wind out of his sails. "Dick's working the case with Gil, JT, and Dani?"

"Yes, he is."

Malcolm's brow furrowed. "Why is he working the case with them and not you?"

"Because there's a Talon out there killing people." More than one but she kept that detail to herself. Malcolm had enough bodies to deal with. "And while I'm confident in my ability to hold my own against the likes of Cheshire, Nyssa or Talia, I am no match for a Talon."

Lady Shiva would be challenged by the Talons.

And that was saying something given Shiva was second to only one person: her daughter, Cassandra.

"Batman almost lost to Talon."

"Yes," she quietly agreed. "And on more than one occasion."

Those near losses haunted Bruce. Not because he feared death. His demise was something he accepted from the moment he chose to don the cape and cowl. No, what her grim mentor and taciturn parental figure feared most was what'd happen to the people of Gotham, and the rest of the world should he fail to stop either Talon or the Court.

"He's fought Talon more than once?"

"Yes, he has." Raya's belly cramped as she recalled his last encounter with the Court and their retinue of assassins. "He's had to fight more than one Talon at a time, actually."

Malcolm's eyes blinked wide. "There's multiple Talons?"

"I'm afraid so, yes."

His sigh perfectly echoed her own disquiet. "All we needed."

"Which is why I'm here and working this part of the case with you and your girlfriend instead of out there."

Raya didn't think it necessary to add the part about Dick and Bruce insisting she work the case with Malcolm.

"Sorcha isn't my girlfriend."

"Yeah, like Dick wasn't my boyfriend?" Raya snorted. "Try that line on someone who hasn't used it for half her life."

"She and I are—"

"Just friends?" Raya tucked her legs up beside her. "Yeah, used to say that, too."

Malcolm shot her one long, frustrated stare. "We're not like you and Dick."

"You're totally like me and Dick, actually."

"You and Dick are married."

Aha, his relationship with Sorcha is the real thorn in his paw, she mused. Getting Malcolm to discuss his feelings was about as difficult as getting Bruce to talk about his. Two decades taught her how to get each to face their emotions. One a bit better than the other.

"We are married now, yes." Something which amazed her every morning. "But we spent years running from our feelings. Told everyone we were just friends. Partners. Nobody believed us. Hell, we didn't believe us. Yet, we continued saying it until the Crime Syndicate kidnapped Dick and made us confront a world without the other in it."

"Sorcha wouldn't marry me." Malcolm's shoulders drooped. "I wouldn't marry me."

"Have you asked her if she'd marry you?"

"No." Malcolm shot to his feet and began to pace in small, tight circles. "But I know she wouldn't."

"Perhaps you should ask her if she'd marry you before assuming she wouldn't."

"Why?" A miasma of emotions wafted off Malcolm. Stung the air around them. "She's said there's no us. That there can never be an us. Not so long as Eve haunts me."

"She has a point there, Malcolm." She softened her brusque tone with a smile. "You need to grieve for one. Eve mattered to you. You also need to see her get justice. You'll never move on until you do."

"You sound like Sorcha." There was no bitterness. Just a weary acceptance. "She said the same thing."

"She and I are a lot a like," Raya said. "It's why we are friends."

"I hurt her."

"You hurt each other, I'd say. Largely because you both are scared about taking the next step." Something she had more than passing familiarity with. "Going from friends to lovers is terrifying. There's no going backwards once you do. It's all or nothing at that point."

"Sorcha isn't scared of the next step."

"She is of having her heart broken."

"I've already broken it." His shoulders slumped further. "Many times as I recently found out."

"You have, yes." Truth was truth and she couldn't avoid it any more than Malcolm. "You are terrible at interpersonal relationships. I found that out when we were not dating."

"I'm an ass."

"Yes, but an incredibly adorable one."

Malcolm hummed a laugh. "Thank you for agreeing."

"Anytime."

Malcolm sat back on the couch. "It's the truth, though. I'm an ass."

"You're not an ass. Okay, you are," she corrected as he looked at her. "But that's not why you can't have a relationship with anyone."

"I'm—"

"No."

Malcolm's brow creased. "But..."

"The words broken and fine are not allowed unless you're referring to something physically broken or that looks fine."

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "I'm the problem," he insisted. "And I can't be fixed."

New tactic needed, Raya realized as she looked at him. Have to challenge his opinion of being broken in a way that makes him see he's not broken as he believes. And there's only one way to do that.

"Am I broken?"

"What?"

"Am I broken?"

"No," he said, frowning. "You're not."

"Why am I not broken?" Raya cocked her head to the side. "I'm like you, aren't I?"

The question caught Malcolm off guard. As she intended for it, too. Logic was the best way to handle him. Hit him with facts. Pose questions. Get him thinking. Redirect his energy by making him focus it elsewhere.

"Yes, of course..." His brow creased. "But you've found ways to cope with your trauma."

"Not my question." The dark look he sent her might have intimidated her had she not been raised by Bruce Wayne, Master of the Scowl. "I'm like you, aren't I? I mean, I have a few of the same disorders and take similar medications as you."

"You've managed to work through some of your trauma."

"Ah, and therein is the answer, grasshopper." Her lips curved at his sigh. "Malcolm, you've never worked through your trauma because of your fear of what you might discover about yourself. Understandable considering your father was grooming you to follow in his footsteps. However," she said as Krypto padded into the room. "Avoidance is not the way to deal with it. Neither is continuing to interact with the man who traumatized you in the first place."

Something she and Sorcha were in full agreement needed to stop. Malcolm managed to thrive in the ten years he had no interaction with Martin Whitly. Less than six months later and all the progress he made had vanished. Once we stop the Court and Endicott, I will put Martin Whitly in a deep, dark hole.

Where the bastard wouldn't see the light of day again if she had any say about it.

"You and Sorcha agree on that."

"Everyone believes you're better off having no relationship with your father. Sorcha and I are just vocal about it."

That got a small smile. "You're not afraid to speak your minds."

"Look at the people who raised us."

"Bruce isn't as honest as you about his feelings."

"Because he's as emotionally repressed as you." Bruce was more repressed than Malcolm in her mind. "Neither of you knows how to do happy."

"I do happy." Malcolm frowned at her snort. "I do."

"You only do happy when it involves murder."

"Murder is what keeps me sane."

"Sorcha is what keeps you sane, Malcolm."

"And look what I did to her." Pain pulled down the corners of his mouth. "I hurt her."

"Love means being open to hurt." Something Raya learned firsthand. "We hurt those we love. Intentionally and unintentionally. It's part of life, Malcolm."

"All I have done since I met Sorcha is hurt her."

"If that was true, she wouldn't be here." She grazed Malcolm's shoulder with the tips of her fingers, gauging his sensitivity to touch, and waiting for a response that let her know he was receptive to it before proceeding. "Sorcha moved heaven and hell to get here as quickly as she could." As she'd have done were it Dick being accused of murder. "She knew you needed her and that was all that mattered."

"She shouldn't have come." Malcolm's head lowered. "I don't deserve it or her."

"That's the depression talking."

A hint of a smile curved the corner of his lips. "That's the psychologist talking."

"Something you are but always seem to forget for some reason."

"We're blind to ourselves is why."

"In many ways, yes, we are," she agreed. "However, we are also hyperaware of ourselves." Raya set a hand atop the one that so often trembled when he was stressed, agitated or confronted by something which triggered his traumas. "We know our minds, though. Our fears and anxieties. What can trigger a stress or trauma response."

"I am starting to wonder if I know my mind."

"The psychologist in me would offer a long and lengthy discourse on why being around the person responsible for your emotional trauma is unhealthy," she said as he snorted a soft laugh, "but the friend in me is telling me you don't need to be fed textbook hyperbole at the moment."

"Gabrielle warned me about the dangers of probing into my memories."

"There are dangers, she is correct. However." She squeezed his fingers. "Getting to the root of your trauma is also key in helping you heal from it."

"Is that possible?" Malcolm lifted weary eyes to hers. "Do you believe I can heal from what my father did to me?"

Did she believe he could be normal was what he wanted to ask her. It was Malcolm's biggest issue. Craving normalcy because it had been drummed into him that it was the key to being happy.

She learned long ago normal was specific to the individual. What was normal to her wasn't to other people.

Most people didn't live in a town with men and women who liked terrorizing them for their own ulterior purposes.

Course, they also didn't have a group of costumed heroes who hunted down those men and women threatening them and the city.

"I believe you can heal from what your father did to you with time, patience, and help, yes," she told him. "A therapist who specializes in trauma would do you a world of good in helping you with your trauma."

"Gabrielle helps me with my traumas."

Raya wasn't surprised Malcolm balked at seeing someone other than Gabrielle Le Deux to deal with his PTSD. His refusal to transition from his childhood therapist largely stemmed from his inability to trust authority figures. Especially since the key one in his life turned out a manipulative, conniving bastard.

"Gabrielle is a wonderful therapist." Raya slid her fingers between his. "I know that firsthand. She's my mentor. I interned with her while she taught at Gotham University. She's done much to advance our knowledge about childhood trauma."

"But?" Mirth shimmered through the exhaustion and grief in his voice, and on his face. "Smelling a but here."

"That doesn't make her the best therapist for your particular needs." The fingers linked with hers trembled. A clear indication of Malcolm's mental state. His edges were frayed. All it'd take to send him spiraling was a little push. She'd need to proceed cautiously to avoid that from happening. "You need someone who specializes in trauma, repressed memories, and identity disorders, Malcolm. That's the way to healing."

"Maybe," was all he said. As Raya expected he would. Change was something else difficult for Malcolm. Much as it was Bruce. "Let's get back to work."

Another classic from the Bruce Wayne collection, she mused as he picked up the tablet she set on the coffee table. Tossing himself into a case to avoid dealing with problems and emotions.

If Raya didn't know better, she'd think Malcolm was Bruce's biological son rather than Martin Whitly's. Wouldn't that be a kick in the ass? The boy Martin Whitly thought of as an extension of himself, groomed to become a killer, and convinced they're one and the same... actually being the son of the man who donned a cape and cowl to bring criminals like him to justice.

It was ridiculous, of course.

Malcolm wasn't Bruce's son.

There was no way.

He couldn't be.

A tingle, however, started at the back of Raya's neck as she studied Malcolm's profile. Jessica was what she saw when she looked at him.

There were little things, though, she now realized, belly tightening.

The shape of Malcolm's face, the slash of his eyebrows, the strong line of his jaw.

The way he smiled.

No, there's no way, she decided as she reached for the yellow notepad Malcolm dropped in his earlier frustration.

Bruce Wayne wasn't Malcolm's biological father.

Her brow knit.

Right?

A/N: Hello, all! Hope this finds you well!

For the curious, the bit about Dick is from the Forever Evil arc. The Crime Syndicate capture Dick and reveal him as Nightwing before placing him in a "murder machine" (it is a detonator for a bomb that can only be defused by stopping Dick's heart). Dick is saved by Luthor who ironically stops his heart long enough to defuse the bomb.