Raya wandered the back gardens of Wayne Manor with Malcolm. They slowly passed beneath arches and arbors, by stone benches, and around the small fountain Bruce hid among the winter roses Alfred planted after she and Dick came to stay at the Manor. The stone path they walked along was lined by a river of shrubbery and flowers, some tender with winter, some reigning supreme. It wasn't just the blooms, though, oh no. A sea of green also peeked out from amidst the powdery white.

There was so much texture and color here that each spill or shimmer of pink or white, red or lavender only added more wonder to an already magical place. The massive garden with the ground covered in a thin layer of fresh snow gleamed beneath the night sky. Hedges and branches sparkled like diamonds. Icicles sparkled from the railing of the gazebo at the end of the stone path.

A winter wonderland.

All theirs at the moment.

Malcolm broke the silence to ask, "Why did you continue to dance after your mom died?" as they passed under another archway.

Raya considered her answer as she trailed her fingers over the Helleborus hybrid fittingly named, 'Winter Sunshine.' "I love dancing," she finally said. "It makes me happy."

"It doesn't remind you of... him?"

It wasn't like she needed to ask who the him was. There were only two him's in this world he could be referring to: Matthew Berkeley or Martin Whitly. The context of his question confirmed it was her father instead of his.

"Dancing used to remind me of my father."

"Used too?" He glanced at her, one eyebrow arched. "It doesn't now?"

"No." She slowly turned to face him. "Now it reminds me of Bruce."

"Really?" Curiosity brought out the green in his eyes. "How?"

"I think of Bruce while I'm dancing. The pride on his face, the joy, the excitement. When I start to hear my father chastising me for not executing a move perfectly, I recall Bruce's words of encouragement. His support. It chases away the bad memories and allows me to enjoy what I love."

"I wish I could do that." Malcolm's hair fell across his face as he looked down. "I wish I could replace my father's voice with Gil's."

"You can."

He shook his head. "I can't. I've tried. My father's voice just gets louder. More demanding."

Raya ached to reach out and take Malcolm's hand. To offer him the comfort he desperately needed. She didn't, though, because of how sensitive to being touched he was. Something she learned when she touched him earlier and he almost leapt from his skin.

"You make Gil's voice louder. You make it drown out your father's."

He peeked at her from between the silken strands covering his face. "What about those who knew your father murdered your mother? Are you able to drown out their scorn? Their rejection?"

"Bruce shelters me from as much of it as he can but there are still times I hear the whispers."

Last year at the annual Wayne Ball being one of those times. Her enjoyment of the evening was dampened by those gossiping in the shadowy confines of the many alcoves the ballroom had. The whispers started the moment she entered the ballroom, in fact.

"Poor child," she heard one old crone whisper to another. "How long has it been since Ellen was murdered?"

"Six years," the other replied.

"Can you imagine that it has been that long?"

"Who is this Ellen you are speaking of?" someone asked. "I don't think I've met her."

"Surely you've heard about the Berkeley murder?"

"Why, no, I haven't," that person replied. "I wasn't living in the city at the time. What happened?"

"Oh, my, it was really quite the scandal!"

"Happened a few days before Christmas, in fact."

"Ellen Rae Berkeley was murdered while her daughter was asleep in her bed."

"Heavens! Do they know who did it?"

"Robber, it was said."

"No wonder poor Matty withdrew from society." The old crone sniffled. "Why that poor man! Mourning his wife all these years later…"

Then came the whisper that hurt most of all.

"Well, that ungrateful brat certainly didn't help matters when she tossed him over for Wayne and that filthy mongrel he took in. Imagine! Disowning your own father for a wastrel!"

"How do you deal with it?"

"I remember what Batman told me the night he rescued me from the men my father hired to kill me." Raya took a seat on a stone bench. "To rise."

"Rise?" His skepticism reminded her of Jason. As did his dubious look. "Really?"

"It has been the most important lesson I've learned." A lesson she imparted now because she thought he could use it. "We rise, we fall."

"I don't see how that helps against bullies."

"Ah, but you see, there is when we must remember that lesson the most."

"Why?"

"Why do we fall?" The same words Bruce asked her on that first morning in the cave's training area. "So we learn how to get back up. So we learn how to try, try, try again. And," she said, dropping her voice an octave, "so we learn to never give up. So learn to fall, Malcolm. Because then, and only then, will you learn how to rise."

Malcolm's face didn't indicate he recognized the voice she used to speak as being Fenix's. She didn't know if he was not paying attention or had a better poker face than she believed.

"You didn't go away to school, did you?"

"No, I was privately tutored the first year after my mom's death here at Wayne Manor. So was Dick. It was Bruce's way of protecting us from those who'd say mean, hurtful things for ridiculous reasons."

"Mother wouldn't agree to that." His bitterness stung the air. "She wanted me to be normal. To go to school, make friends, do things other kids my age did."

"Dick and I are normal." Well, normal enough for two kids who spend part of their time in armored suits and masks, she amended silently. "That year helped us by allowing us the time to deal with our losses. To come to terms with the changes in our lives. When we started school that next fall, we were able to contend with the teasing and snide comments some of our classmates felt compelled to send our way."

"How?"

"Well, even the biggest bullies fall for Dick's charm and witty banter."

"What about you?" He had inched closer, Raya noticed. If she moved her hand just a smidge she could brush her fingers against his. She didn't dare, though. Not until he gave her a sign that said he'd welcome her touching him. "How do you deal with those who bullied you?"

"If I couldn't talk the problems out with them, I ignored them. If that failed? I didn't invite them or their family to any of Bruce's parties."

"Isn't that a form of indirect aggression?"

Pleasure trickled through Raya at his challenging her method of dealing with bullies. Malcolm possessed a keen mind. He debated her that afternoon on justice reform with a clear, concise argument. He was even able to beat her at chess, something only Bruce and Alfred could do. Now this. It was as if Christmas came early for her.

"It is, yes," she agreed with a nod. "However, Bruce and Uncle Jim forbid us from getting into physical fights unless there is no other option."

Even if they had no choice but to fight didn't mean they were off the hook once they got home. Bruce took them to task more than once because of a fight they hadn't managed to avoid.

"Have you?"

"Gotten in a fight?"

"Yes."

Malcolm's eyes went big as saucers. "You've gotten in a fight?"

Raya couldn't stop herself from grinning. "I've been in a number of fights over the years, actually."

"You have?"

"Mhm." Bruce would give her triple Fenix homework for her smug tone. Fighting was never acceptable. Even when they were out on patrol they were supposed to exhaust every possible nonlethal method they had before engaging in a fight. "Won quite a few of them, too."

Needed help from her cousin, Barbara, and Dick to win a few of them, but they weren't losses.

Not in her mind, anyway.

Even the times when she needed to call on Batman weren't losses.

Losses were counted in terms of not accomplishing the end goal.

Not putting away the bad guys.

Not preventing people from being hurt.

Asking for help showed prudence.

Responsibility.

Maturity.

"I wish I knew how to fight like Robin and Fenix." Malcolm's sigh clung to the air. "Maybe the kids at school would leave me alone if I could fight back."

Excitement trickled through Raya, but all that was in her voice was cool calm. "Do you want to learn how to fight like them?"

"Mother won't let me take martial arts."

"She doesn't need to know."

"How wouldn't she know?" A frown wrinkled Malcolm's brow. "Who'd teach me without telling her?"

"I will."

He gaped adorably at her. "You will?"

Raya nodded. "Yes." She looked forward to it. "Martial arts helps me as much as ballet, actually."

"How?"

"It's a way of expending my energy and working through my anxiety."

"Can I practice with you?" Malcolm's fingers brushed hers. A subtle request. "When you practice your ballet?"

"I'd like that." Raya curled her fingers around his. "We can have Alfred pick up some things for you tomorrow when he drives Bruce to the office." She smiled then. "Now, let's go back inside before Alfred sends Jason or Dick out to get us."

"Surprised Dick didn't join us."

"I told him if he did that I wouldn't look over his English paper for him."

Malcolm's lips twitched. "That's not nice."

Raya harrumphed. "I love him, I do, but I wanted a chance to talk without him interrupting."

"You wanted…" Malcolm visibly swallowed. "You wanted to be alone? With me?"

"I did." She squeezed his fingers. "Yes."

Malcolm ducked his head,. His fingers twitched in hers. A sign of how nervous he was. "Can we watch a movie?" he asked in a breathy voice.

"Sure." She ignored the tingle of heat as she slid her fingers between his. "Even let you pick what one."

He darted a look at her but didn't meet her eyes. "Are you sure?"

Raya found his shyness sweetly endearing. Not that she'd tell him that. She was willing to flirt with the lines between friendship and romance but that was all she was willing to do.

"Long as you don't pick Silver Bullet or American Werewolf in London, I'm good."

A small grin tugged at Malcolm's lips. "Not a fan of werewolf movies?"

"No." Her nose wrinkled. "Dick loves them but they terrify me."

"Me too," he admitted. "How about we watch Troy or The Island, instead?"

"Sure," she said as they headed inside.

...

"That's wonderful, sweetheart. I'm glad you're managing to make friends while you stay with the Wayne's." Gil looked up from the file he was reading, an eyebrow raised in silent question. His wife merely held up one finger. "We'll see you tomorrow around five, okay? Love you."

She hung up as Gil closed the file and placed it on the coffee table.

"Sounded like he was in a better mood than he was when I left him the other day," he said. "I was almost tempted to bring him home because of how unhappy he seemed."

"Well, he's doing fine now," Jackie replied. "Took a walk in the garden a little while ago with the young lady... what's her name?"

"Raya," he told her. "Her name is Raya."

"He took a walk with Raya before they watched a movie while eating grilled cheese and french fries."

"The kid actually ate something?" At her nod, he smiled. "On his own?"

"Well, he said he suggested the grilled cheese all on his own so I assume the answer's yes."

"That's a definite improvement over a few days ago."

"He just needed time to settle in." Jackie placed the cordless back on the cradle before walking over to join him on the couch. "Remember how he was the first time he stayed with us?"

"How could I forget?"

Malcolm had sat huddled on the end of the couch, Gil's elderly cat, Gordita Bandita comfortably snuggled up in his lap. It took nearly two days before they got the kid to leave that spot for more than a bathroom break.

The kid had still been nonverbal then.

Shied away from almost all touches.

Didn't eat anything that wasn't a sucker or red licorice whip.

Refused to do anything but sit there on the end of the couch and pet Gordita Bandita.

Not that that fat bandit minded getting all that attention, he recalled, a wistful smile curving his lips.

Gordita passed away last year, taking a piece of all their hearts with him. Jackie suggested going to the shelter with Malcolm and picking out another cat but fate — or one fat bandit — decided to intervene.

Gil's eyes strayed to the armchair closest to the fireplace. To the bundle of fur curled up in the jacket he tossed there after getting home. The black kitten ended up becoming part of their family three months after Gordita passed away. He and Jackie had been taking a walk when they came across some neighborhood kids throwing rocks at the straggly kitten. Without giving him a chance to pull his badge, Jackie marched up to them, and read them the riot act. The hint of a smile curved his lips as he recalled the shame-filled expressions on the boys faces after she got done with them. She then scooped up the pathetically mewling kitten and waltzed home with him.

Zorro, as Malcolm decided the kitten should be named, made himself right at home.

"Malcolm came around eventually." Jackie set a hand on his knee, squeezed it gently. Quiet comfort and support. Both needed after the stressful day he had. "It just took time and patience."

"I recall you also bribed him with grilled cheese."

"It worked," she said, tone smug. "Didn't it?"

"Yeah, it did." Grilled cheese was the one food they could get him to eat when he wouldn't touch anything else. "Is that why he called? To assure us he was settling in?"

"I think he was getting ready for bed and decided to call to say goodnight."

"He's getting ready for bed?" One of Gil's brows arched. "How did they manage to get him to do that?"

"One happens to be a sixteen year old girl." Jackie's eyes glittered with mirth and mischief. "Sixteen year old girls can get sixteen year old boys to do lots of things."

"That so?" Amusement squashed his exhaustion. "Maybe we should hope this particular sixteen year old girl sticks around once all this is over and Malcolm comes home."

"I have a feeling our sixteen year old will make sure of it." Her head tipped against his shoulder. "Raya Kean's not like the girls Malcolm tends to meet."

"No, she's definitely not like the other girls Malcolm has gone out with," Gil agreed, curling his arm around her shoulders. "She's unlike any sixteen year old I have met."

And it's not because of her being a masked crimefighter, he added silently. Not that Jackie had any idea that Fenix and Raya Kean were one and the same. He hadn't told her about Malcolm being rescued by two teenaged superheroes. Not once, he realized, but twice. The teen heroes not only saved Malcolm that night at Bellevue, they also stopped him from getting beaten to death at the docks.

He hadn't told Jackie about that, either. His reasoning was less about trust and more about not knowing how to tell her. Batman & Robin were stories told in newspapers and comic books when they were growing up. They, along with the Avengers, the Fantastic Four, the Justice League were not people Gil expected to encounter in real life. They were characters for God-sake! Characters that a week ago entered his, as well as Malcolm's, lives.

If not for Robin and Fenix being at Bellevue... Gil didn't bother finishing that thought. The two heroes were there, they got Malcolm out before Berkeley's men could find him, and took him to Gotham where he was now under the protection of their grim mentor.

"I have a feeling being around a young lady who likes Malcolm for Malcolm will do a lot to help his self-esteem."

"Especially after the emotional hell his last girlfriend put him through."

There was a sting of bitterness in Gil's words, and he could taste it same as Jackie. He couldn't help it, though. Wayne calling him to tell him about the sex club Malcolm had been used to gain admittance too left a sour taste in his mouth. Gil was under no illusions when it came to the kid and sex. He was well aware Malcolm was active sexually. They had the talk after he came home from a date with buttons missing on his shirt, lipstick on his collar, and his neck covered in hickeys. Jessica reacted to her son's behavior by driving the kid over to his house, and ordering Gil to explain to her son how his behavior was simply, "not acceptable."

Gil earned one of her withering looks after reminding her about being Malcolm's age once and necking with her boyfriends in the backseat of their cars.

"That is not the point," Jessica bit out, eyes flashing with ire. "I simply will not have this family embroiled in any more scandal. We have barely survived what that man has done to us."

"We can't stop Malcolm from experimenting sexually," he said with as much patience as he could muster at three in the morning. "All we can do at this point is make sure he knows how to be safe."

"I do not want my son becoming a father before he can drive a car, Gil."

"I'll talk to him," he promised. "Make sure he knows to use protection."

Gil had done exactly that.

He just hadn't known he should also talk with Malcolm about sex clubs and the types of people who frequented them.

It was a conversation they'd have once things were back to normal.

Along with a number of other things he had been neglecting to talk with the kid about.

"I was a bit unsure about Malcolm living with strangers," Jackie admitted with a little sigh. "I figured we'd be going to pick him up after a few days. After talking with him, though, I feel a lot better about it."

"Having a sixteen year old girl under the same roof helps apparently," he couldn't help but tease her. "Especially one who sees Malcolm for Malcolm."

And not as Malcolm tended to see himself.

Which was as a mirror image of his father.

They're not the same, he thought as Jackie reached for the remote and clicked on the television. They're nowhere near the same.

Malcolm wasn't a killer like Martin Whitly.

He never would be.

Not on his watch.