A/N: Well first of all let me express my sincerest apologies to all my readers and fans for the long wait you've had to endure. Unfortunately, life got to be a little overwhelming awhile ago, and not only did I have the time that I really needed to devote to writing, but I had lost my muse. Actually, that's not entirely true…my muse had turned into something dark and depressing, to reflect my own personal mood at the time, and I simply didn't want to let the story end on a completely dark note.
But it's amazing what a 2 weeks cruise vacation will do for one's spirits. And with a laptop at my disposal, I was actually able to hammer out almost the remainder of this story. With that said you can expect the rest of the story to come out rather rapidly now.
Now there's a couple of things I need to explain first. Part of this chapter and the next will have a guest written section by my man and comic guru Denis "Malkavian" De Plaen- most specifically the afterlife sections staring our not-so dead Goliath. There are a lot of references to various comic-verse chars coming up which if you don't know much about them (like me) it's ok. But for those of you who do, cheers to you, and we hope you get a bit of a laugh out of what we're doing. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE, remember this is fanfic (most specifically mine!) and yes I've taken certain liberties with my massive undertaking. But it's all in good fun and spirits so don't take all of this seriously and want to hang me for blasphemy or something. OH PS: the lyrics, the characters, etc etc are not mine I make no money off them.
Ok so now that my ranting is done: Once again, my thanks for your patience and your support.
Enjoy!
Somewhere in the immortal realm….
Time was flowing oddly, in Goliath's perspective. He was resting, as he was told, waiting. But how long has he been waiting? Seconds? Minutes? Days? Maybe even months? He couldn't say.
A soft voice pulled him from his reverie. "Trouble sleeping?" asked the voice.
A young brown haired woman walked toward him. She was wearing a violet hued wool pullover, and a calf length skirt, and her face adorned a lovely, friendly smile. Goliath blinked, then nodded.
"I wasn't aware sleep was possible in afterlife," Goliath replied sarcastically, and sighed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. My name's Goliath of Clan Wyvern."
The woman nodded and smiled. "I know. Mine is Sue Dibny. Pleasure to meet you, Goliath." She extended her hand, which Goliath shook.
"Likewise, Ms Dibny. " Goliath replied with a smile.
"It's Mrs. Dibny, actually. But, please, call me Sue." Her smile was dazzling, yet comforting. To Goliath, she was like a crossover between his beloved Elisa and Fox Xanatos. "Do you mind if we take a walk?"
A walk to where? It's white everywhere, here was his thoughts
Never the less, being the gentleman…err; gargoyle he was, he offered his arm to the young woman. The two walked in the white nothingness… then emerged in a lush garden, leaving Goliath breathless.
"Is that Heaven?" He finally asked. That got a chuckle from Sue.
"Heaven isn't exactly a specific geographic place like Avalon, you see. It's more like a plane, a dimension- a layer of reality. For example, there's a New York, a London, and, where we are now in a Los Angeles. The Garden of Fragrances in Van Nuys, to be exact."
But this LA was very different than the Los Angeles he had visited in the last decade. This place was clean, and safe. Just outside the park, the Gargoyle could see a fluid flow of the car traffic.
"Sue…why are we here?" He finally asked.
"I find this place quite relaxing, and I though it might help you relax some. You have a training session coming soon, and you'll be introduced to your team mates…and your mentor."
"I understand." Goliath answered after a pause.
A regular 'schtock' sound was audible every few seconds, and gurgling of a stream, under the Japanese wooden bridge the two were standing on. Sue was right, this place was relaxing. This brought back memories of Ishimura, one of Goliath's favourite places in the world. Elisa and he himself spent a month there, three or four years ago, after Elisa had received a bullet in the line of duty.
She had been reckless, and paid the price for it. They had argued so much after that, about the risks they were taking- that SHE was taking. They argued so frequently and so violently, that it came to the point where they saw their friendship balancing on the brink of breaking.
But Kai had suggested that they come over for a while and Brooklyn was perfectly able to lead the clan in his absence. Back then, they had been so close to admitting the true extent of their feelings for each other, and yet they didn't. Retrospectively, what a waste of time it had been, that game of hide and seek.
A beeping sound pulled the large gargoyle out of pensive state of mind.
"You'd think they'd ban cell phones, here, but noooo!" she grumbled as she flipped open the hi-tech looking phone. "Dibny."
Goliath couldn't understand what was said on the other end, but he saw his companion nod her head.
"Alright, then. Goliath will meet you there. But you know what I think of that place, Boston…" -a pause, then- "Yes, good afternoon to you too."
Goliath's head perked up at the mention of his name.
"Is there some trouble with my presence here?" was his first question, when Dibny hung up.
"No no no! Don't worry about it. It's just that the person whom is supposed to be your mentor and sponsor, will be meeting you in the Mortal Realm. In an Enclave, as we call it. He'll explain it all in details."
Goliath paused, then quickened his pace to catch up with the brunette.
"What kind of place is it, exactly? How will I recognize it?"
Dibny looked up at Goliath and smiled.
"I'll give you a lift there, don't worry. But we've got some time to kill. So, I heard you met the Batman's daughter?"
January 13
Mortal Realm
Manhattan
It was early morning, when Dominique drove her car away from the Brooklyn Bridge. Ahead on the right, she could see the shape of the Eyrie Building cutting in the clouds filled skies.
But today, that wasn't her destination.
She had given Rudy, her driver, a well-deserved day off. And seeing his face when she told him, was really worth the favour.
She enjoyed driving, although she seldom indulge herself, she had no patience to deal with hu…with people during the rush hours, and the wealthy CEO usually used the time it took to Rudy to drive the Limo from her manor in the Queens to the Nightstone Plaza to overview her day's schedule, or refresh her mind about tricky conditions on a juicy contract.
Driving really was a hobby to her. It was a bit like gliding, she had reasoned at first, but it didn't make her muscles ache after a long drive.
Not so long ago, as she was starting to face the fact that she was changing, that her views about humans were changing, she even drove as far as Star City. That had been after Angela had revealed the fact the Elisa was the one covering for her, while she snuck off to visit her mother. At other times, she had driven to Central City, Boston, Chicago… It helped her clear her mind. A palliative of some sort.
People who stop smoking often shift toward candies, cookies, their secretary… Anything sweet they could get their hands on. To Demona, presently Dominique, her palliative to genocide was driving.
And that was something she hasn't told many. Well, nobody at all if she was honest with herself. Only her Vice President Silver knew about what the hobby was for her boss…though she was told it helped her deal with the stress following some painful self-questioning. The platinum blonde haired executive had been very understanding and supportive. The two were even starting to build a certain level of trust… but it was limited by the fact that Dominique wasn't ready or willing to let her know about her nightly self.
Elisa was another.
Elisa was, well, an enigma to the immortal gargoyle turned human by day. She had a sharp intellect, a good-looking physique and, truly, the heart of a gargoyle. She was protective –some might even say over-protective – for her loved ones, and of people in general, regardless of their species.
Demona had hated her with such a passion, for so long, partly because the more she got to know Elisa Maza, the more she felt a kinship to her. The first positive feeling Demona had developed toward the Detective was a grudging respect, even esteem.
And now that her hatred was leaving her, now that her nemesis was down for the count, physically and emotionally hurt… Demona was feeling this compulsion to help her get to her feet, to support her in any way that she could.
To be honest, it wasn't the first time she had felt that for a human. But the outcome, back then… The outcome hadn't been good. As the car stopped at a crossing light's red, Dominique reminisced.
Flashback.
Constantinople, 1453
The city was a hellish maze, illuminated by a descending sun in that evening of May. Pillars of smoke could be seen all over town. Ottoman soldiers were everywhere, crushing every pocket of resistance they found. Crusaders were determined to defend their city though. They had lost so much to their powerful enemy, and they weren't going to surrender this one last bit of the once glorious Roman Empire.
An explosion pulverised a church nearby, a woman screamed.
The man, a proud knight, wearing a white robe over his chain armour, his snarling mouth surrounded by a beard and moustache that already had silver in it, dropped his shield to help the woman back to her feet. She was a beauty, really. Her proud cheekbones and lean silhouette typical of the Carpathian region…but her dark hair, her light chocolate complexion and proud nose were a giveaway to her Hebrew ancestry.
"We must hurry, Talia. The sun is almost down. We must warn her." He told her.
"It's too late, my love. The clan is gone, and the Ottoman is tearing the city asunder. There's nothing our winged friend can do for them- or for us either. Please, Henri."
"Demona must be warned, Talia! The Hunter is here, and after her. She must be told" the knight named Henri exclaimed
The oblivious couple bumped into a man, as they were hastening their pace. His shoulders were broad, even without the armour. The black shirt covering the armour was red with blood. One could still see the Royal British blazon embroiled on it, gold upon black. His helmet was black as well, save for three red slashes painted and carved in the metal. The overall quality of the attire and the equipment demonstrated the place of the warrior in the Nobility. Much higher than Henri's own.
Henri didn't see the iron gauntlet covered fist that hit his face, breaking his jaw.
"Ye shall nae warn th' Demon, ye traitor!" The knight hissed, in a thick brogue of the Scottish Highlands. "In fact, yer sinful days o' worshipping th' She-Demon will end taeday. Yers and yer mongrel of a lass'."
These words were uttered with such a calm hatred. They were not a threat but a promise, as he pulled a Claymore sword from his sheath.
"I, Comte Henri Ducard III, don't fear you, Sir Canmore." Henri said bravely, picking up his own blade. He looked upward, seeing the sky darkening fast and steady, and grinned.
"Ye donna stand a chance, ye pathetic whelp. I shall put ye out of misery quickly. And I shall cut yer head. Eve' yer head look demonic." The tall Hunter boasted. "Watch car'fuly, lass, fer yer turn will follow."
Henri attacked, but Sir Canmore was younger, stronger and better trained, and dodged the slash with great ease. Twisting his torso, then his hip, Canmore followed his move, thrusting his stronger leg high above the ground. The foot's heel caught Henri on the side of the head, sending him swirling in midair a good five feet above the dusty ground.
Henri landed heavily on the street, his head dizzy, his sight filled with spots of bright colours. If he saw Canmore approaching, his claymore poised for the deathblow, he didn't react to it.
"No!" Talia screamed. This couldn't end like this! Not after having fled Hunyadi's personal assassins, when they were so close to free her childhood friend Radu… Not when she finally found a loving husband in that young French knight. Talia jumped in front of Henri, taking the blow meant for her husband.
The heavy blade cut through her midsection like it was butter, shredding the linen of her dress, her delicate skin, her toned muscles and soft tissues, also exploding her spine. Her eyes grew wide for half a second, then lifeless as she collapsed on the ground in two separated heaps.
"TALIA!" he screamed, but his scream was covered by an inhuman shriek.
A figure landed a few yards away, where Talia's torso had fallen. It was tall, azure skinned, with a mane of red hair and definitely feminine attributes.
"Talia…" The creature whispered, as she touched the cheek of the fallen woman. The creature's eyes filled with tears, as her four-fingered hand brushed a streak of raven hair from the paling face.
"Demona." Henri called painfully, through his broken jaw.
But Demona didn't seem to hear him
She turned toward the Hunter, who took a step back. Her face was streaked with tears, but her eyes were burning like a couple of setting suns
"DEMONA!" he shouted, doing his best not to wince from the pain he was feeling. "This Canmore is mine."
Henri had had his share of those corrupt nobles who though they could live like they pleased, treating the less fortunate like cattle- who kill for no reason. No more. This ended now!
Henri steadied himself as best he could and advanced on Canmore.
"Fool!" the Hunter growled. "Ye think ye beat me!"
"Perhaps not, but I will kill you none the less, murderer." Henri shot back, as he raised his sword.
Without another word, he charged. His strength was fuelled by his rage, but the same rage was also clouding his judgement.
"Nae bad, traitor," Sir Canmore taunted, blocking attack after attack "but nae guid enough."
Then, with a swift stab, the Scottish knight impaled Ducard on his Claymore. But to his surprise, his foe was still up on his feet, glaring heinously at him.
With his gauntlet-clad hand, Henri pulled on the blade, stepping forward. Impaling himself further, but at the same time, getting closer to his enemy, his hand maintaining the huge weapon steady, despite Canmore's best effort to dislodge his blade.
Demona's breath was caught in her chest as she was watching Ducard marching on the Hunter. No! Not another one! She won't allow it!
Henri stopped momentarily, his step unsure, and coughed. Drips of blood sprayed on his killer's armour.
Forcing himself to take deep breaths, each more painful than the previous, Henri steadied himself and looked upward. Through the helm, Canmore's and Ducard's gaze met… A mere second before Henri plunged his own sword in Canmore's chest, barely missing the heart.
The hunter let out a surprised gurgle, releasing his hold on the Claymore's handle and, letting the sword go. "A…Another Hun…ter will come." Then Canmore collapsed on his knees than backward, on his back, trying, uselessly, to draw some air on his pierced lung. A few heartbeats later, the Hunter was no more.
"HENRI!" Demona screamed as she ran to his side on all fours. Effortlessly she broke the Scottish blade, relieving Henri's wound of some of the Claymore's weight.
"I got him, didn't I?" Henri asked the blue skinned gargoyle with a weak smile on the lips.
"Yes, brave knight, you did." Demona replied softly.
Ducard smiled, closing his eyes. "Then I can…"
"NO! Wake up, Henri!" Demona screamed, "You can't die! Not yet!"
"Not… up…to me." Henri replied tiredly.
Demona gently placed one of Henri's arms around her shoulder. "I know a way. But we have to go now."
"Ta…Lia."
"She's in a better place, now." Demona whispered. "Come."
For an unknown amount of time, Demona supported most of Henri's weight as they wound their way through the invaded city, taking the darkest alleys, until they finally entered in a cellar. Or at least what looked like a cellar. Except, this one went down further than a normal cellar- deep into the undergrounds of Constantinople.
"Are we… descending to Hell?" Ducard asked, his voice echoing in what looked like a buried cathedral.
"No, my friend, to your salvation." Demona reassured him, her own voice echoing in the subterranean cittern.
Eventually, they reached a wooden door. Demona let Henri gently slide on the ground. He was pale, barely breathing, and struggling to stay conscious.
Through narrowly open eyes, he noticed small flowers budding from the ground. How was it possible! The flower was blue colored poppy. And present in great number, making the ground look blue for as far as Demona's torch was lightening this…place. Even on the pillars, Ducard could see poppies.
"Poppy of Phobos" Demona said, answering the unasked question that just passed by Ducard's mind. "That's what the Ancient Greeks called that plant."
Demona couldn't develop her explanation further, as the door opened, revealing a tall man. Moorish, even taller than Canmore was, bald, but dressed like an Ottoman, two scimitars hanging at his belt.
"Lady Demona?" the man asked in Aramaic, surprised. "We thought you left the city."
"No, Ubu." Demona answered in the same language "My apprentice and his wife had a run in with the Hunter. He fought bravely, but sustained a bad wound.
Understanding dawned to the warrior's face. "You want to use the Pond to save him?" the man – Ubu - asked. "I don't know if the Seer will allow it. Only the bravest of the League is allowed…"
"Henri Ducard earned that right, Ubu!" Demona exclaimed hotly. "And it was the Seer who told me where I could find my apprentice."
"Fine" he sighed. "Even if he isn't, your boy won't live long enough to tell other of the League of Shadows."
"Thank you, Ubu." Demona said, as she helped Ducard up to his feet.
Ubu guided them through a maze of corridors and passages. On the edge of unconsciousness, Henri could see people's head popping up from entrances carved in the walls. Men, women, and children.
Who knew that so many people were living beneath the surface, beneath the burning buildings of Constantinople.
They finally reached a stairway heading down. A faint light was coming from downstairs, illuminating the steps in an eerie way. It took the gargoyle and the dying human a few minutes to reach the bottom.
And what was waiting them took their breath…even Demona's.
They were standing on the edge of a cliff, inside of a gigantic cave, large enough to contain the Coliseum of Rome. Ducard looked up, at the vault, covered by luminescent moss and crystals. Below, as far as he could see, there was a lake of bubbling yellowish brown mud, going to the far end of the cave. An acrid smell kept him from loosing consciousness again, and yet gave him some sense of fright.
There stood off to one side a small form covered in a cloak made of animal –a wolf, by the look of it- hide from the head down, on which hung trinkets and talismans. A thin arm was emerging from under the cloak, looking almost mummified, clinging on a carved staff taller than the person herself.
Two kohl-circled eyes were peering from beneath the cloak, above a crooked nose. Oddly, that old woman was scaring the life out of Ducard, filling him with an ageless terror.
"You brought him, at last, my child." The old crone spoke. Henri knew that language, it was Hebrew.
He grew up hearing this language in his native Palestine, in his father's domain. Then it hit him. He hard heard a rumor among the slaves of his father, when he was a child, about an immortal cannibal crone known as the Seer of Cappadocia. Mothers used to threaten their children with the Seer. "Eat your mil or the Seer of Cappadocia will take you away and eat you instead!"
So the legends were true, after all. The Seer was real.
She pulled off the hood of the cloak, and Ducard screamed. He screamed so hard it hurt. He screamed, for the old woman's head was nothing but a rotting skull, maggots springing out of her mouth… an yet, it didn't seem to trouble her to speak in any fashion. I'm imagining things.
"Me connais-tu, petit homme?" she asked him in his mother tongue, French. Her face slowly reverted to a more normal nature. Do you know me, little man?
"Vous êtes l'Oracle de Cappadoce." He replied, his voice hoarse, and then he repeated in Hebrew, then English. "You are The Seer of Cappadocia."
"Quite right, little man, quite right. I've seen the world become more and more corrupted since my Queen Goddess Toth Khepera banished me from Kemet…the country you call Egypt. So long ago… I forgot my very name" She walked closer "why have you come to the Pond of Sutek?"
"I don't know, melady."
"Do you seek out my immortality? Do you expect the Pond to bring you back from the realm of the Western Lands?"
"Will it help me fight the corruption?" Henri asked, growing weaker.
"It might." She replied.
"Then yes. I have to live."
"No gift this worth is free of price." The Seer warned after a pause. "Are you prepared to pay it, for what you desire?"
"Y… yes." Henri said, now barely conscious.
And no later than his answer came through his lips, the old crone grabbed his wrist and twisted it, promptly propelling him over the edge, plummeting 150 feet down into the pond.
Demona waited for agonizing seconds after her apprentice fell into the pond. If it was too late, if the fall killed him… then all of this would have been for nothing. Ubu was standing behind her, looking concerned. Finally, the constant boiling gained in intensity, and finally erupted upward, a human form in its middle. The chest and shoulder were broader. The figure landed graciously on the cliff. Aside from the broader chest, his eyes were different, as well. The skin below his eyes was darker and the eyes themselves were bloodshot. His movements were fast, and in the blink of an eye, he was on Ubu and grabbed him by the neck, and effortlessly, raised him above the ground, then marched to the edge of the cliff. Ubu's legs were dangling in the void above the Pond. A low growl came from Ducard's throat.
"Henri!" Demona called.
"Henri Ducard is dead, Demona. You know, the Hunter had called me Demon's Head." He said, then turned his head back to Ubu, who was struggling to breath. "Tell me, warrior of the Shadow, how do the people in Ottoman lands say Head of the Demon in their language?"
"Ra's… Ra's Al Ghul."
Oh, no! There's no turning back, now…
… you've woken up the demon… in me."
Dominique did a double take, as she heard the song in the auto radio system, completely out of place in the 15th Century Constantinople, and, in the background, other cars behind her honking.
When she looked up, she saw the traffic light was green.
She muttered an oath, realizing she had been day dreaming, and quickly drove past the crossroad. She was now heading West, toward Soho.
Taking a glance on the sheet she was holding against the driving wheel, where she had written down direction to Elisa's place, Dominique was driving smoothly through the January's early morning rush hour.
Get up! Come on get down with the sickness
Get up! Come on get down with the sickness
Dominique was surprise to realize that her breath was rasping and shallow, as a cold sweat pearled on her brow.
Get up! Come on get down with the sickness
Get up! Come on get down with the sickness
She hadn't though about that tragedy in years. God, how could she have been so selfish? Sure, she had saved Henri's life… but what about his soul? She had damned him, sure enough.
Open up your hate and let it flow into me
You mother get up
But now, she knew better. She was a different person, a better person
Come on get down with the sickness
She remembered the brief time she had spent with the Detective…with Elisa, a few nights ago. Once again, Demona had let her fear get the best of her. Despite what she had taught Henri, so long ago about overcoming his fear… She was still toy to her own fear.
Come on get down with the sickness
Madness is the gift that has been given to me.
STOP! ENOUGH!
NO MORE!
Dominique pushed a nervous thumb on the NEXT button of the Hi-fi installation, so fast it skipped a track. On the display, the title of the track appeared: DISTURBED - 06- Fear
The last thing she needed was a song about hatred and madness.
On a second though, she simply pushed the STOP button, and drove in silence, with only the hum of her car's engine, and the street background noise to break the monotony.
O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O
New Gotham
To anyone standing at the base of Wayne Tower, the building was impressive- perhaps even daunting. Helena Kyle had leapt off the cornices, of this same building with a shout of exhilaration many times over the years. She knew every nook and cranny, every shadowed spot, along the outside surface of the structure, and yet she had not once set foot inside of it. Ever.
So, as she and her father pulled up the pressed packed steps leading up into the Tower, Helena Kyle-Wayne, felt a tiny sense of trepidation well up inside of her. This was it. Once she set foot on those concrete steps there was no turning back. She would forever be giving her life over to the life that her father had lived, one that could not be easily walked away from.
"What the hell was I thinking?" she muttered quietly to herself, as the limo stopped.
"Cold feet?" her father asked.
A glower in his direction confirmed what she had thought she'd heard. He was the tiniest bit nervous as well. His pulse was up, his breathing had shallowed slightly, and if she concentrated enough, she could smell the adrenaline starting spread through his body causing the same fight or flight reaction in his body that was coursing through her own right now.
She smirked. "That wasn't a dig now was it? Because if it was I could come back with something snappy like, 'I'm not the one who runs in the family'."
She watched him fight the wince, as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I think you'll do just fine in the boardroom."
Alfred had opened the door and was holding his hand out for her. She almost balked, but then remembered the role she was now playing. Taking a deep breath she accepted the proffered hand and stepped out into the public eye as Helena Kyle-Wayne for the very first time.
Her father stepped out behind her, threaded his arm around hers and gave her a gentle nudge to keep her moving through the throngs of reporters that were being kept at bay by police and security.
There were a hundred men and women shouting for his attention, but he simply ignored all of them until he reached the top of the steps where he and Helena were safely behind the ropes that gave them several feet of space. He let go of his daughter's arm and turned to face the media and held his hands up. Almost immediately the noisy crowd hushed.
"Wow…that's pretty cool. Think they'll do that for me?" Helena muttered quietly.
Bruce Wayne smirked back at his daughter. "When they find out who you are they'll be hanging on your every word," he murmured back before addressing the crowd.
"I know all of you have a great deal of questions for me, all of which will be addressed in due time. To give you the basics, I suffered a….hard personal loss nearly a decade ago. While I have been in touch with Wayne Industries over the years, I have left the running of my business to my business advisors and my Board. It had recently come to my attention however that due to my lack of presence Wayne industries have become a target for several other large corporations for a hostile takeover. Wayne Industries has been in the family for four generations now and I have no wish to see that name go down on my watch. So as of today, I will be resuming control of my company."
"Mr. Wayne who is the young lady that has accompanied you today?" a single reporter called out.
Bruce held his hand out and Helena joined him, her chin rising slightly, her eyes glinting as she readied herself to the challenge ahead of her. Despite everyone's best efforts, she had refused to wear the typical 'corporate wear'. But she realized her standard club wear wasn't exactly appropriate either. So she crossed the two and came up with a stylish outfit that had already turned more than a few heads. She wore classy black slacks that hugged her form and flared out slightly around her heeled boots. She had a simple white blouse that ruffled showed a generous a modest amount of cleavage, without being too distracting. But she hadn't been able to give up her leather completely. So instead of her long duster, she had settled for a trendy mid-thigh length leather jacket that not only provided some warmth against the cold weather, but also added that touch of adventure and danger that always surrounded her.
"I'd like to introduce to you my daughter, Helena Kyle-Wayne. She'll be working side by side with me over the coming months- perhaps years- in learning how to run Wayne Industries. She'll be taking over the company for me when I plan to retire."
There was dead silence as they digested that bit of shocking news and then they went nuts again.
"Do you plan on retiring soon!"
"Kyle-Wayne….does that mean she is the daughter of Selina Kyle?"
"Is Selina Kyle's' death the reason you left?"
"Do you know that this young lady is really your daughter?"
"How long have you known you had a daughter?"
Bruce raised his hands once again and they quieted. "I will be making a statement to the press tomorrow afternoon, in which Helena and I will answer as many of your questions as we can. But as you can imagine we have a great deal to catch up on and a full day of Board meetings. So if you will excuse us ladies and gentlemen."
With that, he turned, offered Helena his arm once again and they strode into Wayne Tower. Helena chuckled as she looked over to her father. "It's all an act," she said in mild wonder.
He smiled a tiny bit at that. "Welcome to the stage."
As they walked inside the grand foyer, a huge crowd of people began to cheer and applaud the return of their employer. Helena hung back and watched as her father personally greeted a number of them by first name, asking small questions about their welfare of that of particular family members. He took his time, not brushing them off even though most he chatted with were lower level employees. It was amazing to Helena to see how many people had stayed loyal to Wayne Tech over the years even without a Wayne at the helm.
As the large crowd slowly dissipated, and began to return to their duties, and elderly man approached from the back of the foyer and smiled warmly at Helena and Bruce. Bruce hugged the older man, another gesture that surprised Helena.
"It's good to see you again Lucius."
"It's good to have you back Mr. Wayne. And I see you've brought company," he grinned as he turned to Helena and bowed slightly at the waist.
"Lucius I'd like you to meet Helena Kyle- Wayne. Helena, this is Mr. Lucius Fox. He's the only man I will ever trust this company to in my absence and the reason Wayne Tech has remained so strong all these years."
"Mr. Fox," Helena greeted as she shook the older man's hand and flashed him a winning smile.
Lucius looked over at Bruce, astounded. "You've told me to be ready for a surprise in the past, but I think all of those pale in comparison to this. A daughter?"
"Trust me Lucius, I was as surprised by it as you are."
Lucius looked ready to say something else, but then he glanced at the young woman standing next to his employer and closed his mouth. He took a closer look at Helena and then smiled as if he had reassured himself that she was indeed truly his daughter. Helena couldn't fault the man.
"Don't worry Mr. Fox, I'm not some girl who suddenly popped up, claiming to be the long lost child of Bruce Wayne. My mother, whom I believe you knew well, decided to not tell my father about me until shortly before her murder. I had no idea who my father was until after her murder."
Lucius frowned slightly as he looked over at Bruce. With a brief word of excuse, the elderly man pulled Bruce aside firmly. "You knew you had a child by Selina and yet you still left? My God Bruce why didn't you at least let me know about her? I could have seen to her well being while you were away!" Lucius reproved sternly. "I cannot believe you of all people would abandon your own blood when she needed you the most."
Helena turned away to pretend that she was examining the foyer, to hide the smirk she couldn't fully suppress."
Her father sighed. "Trust me old friend, I've gotten this lecture from more than one person already. Selina had already arranged for her to be taken care of by Barbara, and Helena didn't want to have anything to do with me at the time. If anything she blamed me for her mother's death and has wanted nothing to do with me or the trust money I set up for her when I left."
"Where has she been all these years?"
"Here in New Gotham, with Barbara and Alfred and another girl they took in a couple of years ago."
"And she's never touched the money you left?" he asked skeptically.
"She's just like her mother Lucius," Bruce told him with a faint smile. "Proud and independent."
Lucius inspected the young woman again, who looked over her shoulder at the two men and flashed them even white teeth. "She looks just like her mother did," Lucius agreed quietly. "What changed her mind?"
"Time," he answered quietly. Then he chuckled. "That and she finally had the chance to beat the crap out of me leaving her like I did."
Lucius laughed. "Then she is definitely like her mother. Does she know about your…nighttime activities?"
Bruce looked over at the older man. "Who do think has been carrying on the crusade while I've been away?"
"Hmmm. No wonder she was pissed at you."
Helena approached them at this point. "Well, the foyer is very interesting and all, but how about you take me upstairs now and show a girl how the big boys play?"
Lucius grinned. "This is a new millennium Ms. Kyle-Wayne. We like to keep things co-ed now," he said as he offered her his arm.
"I like you already Mr. Fox," she laughed, as she accepted his arm and they began walking towards the elevators. "Well, seeing as how my father has started to let you in on some of my secrets I'll let you in on another," she told him as she leaned towards him.
He looked at her and jumped slightly as her eyes flashed gold. "I inherited more than a few of my mother's…traits. I figure that since my father respects and trusts you enough with the knowledge of dual identity, it's only fair that you understand the full extent of mine."
Lucius quirked an eyebrow. "So, I take it you overheard that entire conversation then?"
"I can hear a pin drop in a room full of cotton, smell what someone had for lunch yesterday, and fall off a fifteen story building and still land on my feet."
The older man smirked. "You, my dear, are going to slaughter them in the boardroom. They'll never know what hit them."
"I'm going to try my best Mr. Fox."
O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O/O
Manhattan
Still Morning….
As she sat in the now creeping traffic, Dominique had to be honest with herself- Elisa was her friend. She had proven that so many times over the past several years, that Dominique had lost count. The real question was, 'Am I Elisa's friend?' Over the years, all she had given the raven-haired woman was hatred, grief, and torment.
But things were changing now, and it felt good. Looking after the wounded human was not only cathartic for the immortal, but she was finally feeling at peace with herself as well.
Today would be a big step in the right direction.
When she finally arrived in front of the apartment building, Dominique recognized it immediately, and quickly turned in the visitors' parking lot. Over the years, she had visited Elisa's apartment quite a few times, but always from the sky. This was a first time for her. Yet another one, she mused as she climbed out of her car. A cold gust of wind reminded her of what season it was, and the red head picked up a coat from the back seat. As she was walking to the lobby, the grey sky finally began to release its burden and snowflakes started to fall.
The lobby wasn't anywhere near a five star palace, but it was well kept and clean. The outside's red color theme was reproduced inside, though more pastel in nuance, giving certain warmth to the ensemble. The floor was a pavement of beige marble like stones. At the center of the lobby, built like a hemi-cylinder against the wall, in front of a mirror, to the right of he locked door leading to the elevators, was the doorbells display. Elisa had nicknamed it the DHD, for a reason that escaped the red haired CEO.
"M-10…" Dominique said, reading her note aloud, then browsed the display, and easy enough, found it on the top far left. "MAZA, Elisa."
Dominique drew a deep breath and pushed the tiny button, her manicured red painted nail a bright contrast against the matte silver platting of the display.
"Yes?" came Elisa's voice, sounding somewhat strained.
"It's Dominique," she answered, a bit concerned when she picked up the distress in the other woman's voice.
It took ten good seconds before the typical buzz sound was heard and the door opened. Not bothering with the elevators, Dominique checked for the staircase, and opened the adequately labeled door. The fast paced clicking sounds of Dominique's high-heeled shoes echoed in the pit-like room, as she hurriedly climbed toward Elisa's apartment's floor.
The L shaped hall of the top floor had the bi-color theme like the lobby, burgundy and beige, decorated with a small table on which a lamp was posed, a chair, and some framed painting hanging on the wall. The hall also contained three doors; two doors on one side, and one –Elisa's - on the other. It was easy to guess which one was Elisa's apartment's door, as it was clearly marked. Not wasting more time, Dominique headed towards the door, and knocked, calling Elisa's name.
"Come on in!" Elisa called out. Her concern growing further with the detective's pain-filled tone, Dominique stepped in.
She recognized the setting, though it had slightly changed over the decade since her first unwanted visit. On the coffee table, beside half empty Chinese food carryout boxes, there was several DVD sets, and a rather large flat screen TV now decorated one wall. One thing that struck Dominique as she did a quick survey around the premises, were the pictures. If Elisa had to pick a profession other than police work, she could certainly moonlight as a photographer. She had over a dozen pictures of the Clan in various poses. Some while they were asleep in stone, others when they were awake and interacting with each other. All of them captured each individual's personality and emotion perfectly.
Dominique nearly jumped in surprise when she felt something rubbing against the leg of her trouser. Looking down, she saw Elisa's cat.
"Hello there little guy." The red head murmured, as she crouched down to gently scratch Cagney's chin, making him purr in turn. She'd always had a special affinity for the creatures. "Where is your owner?" she wondered out loud, not seeing any sign of Elisa.
Standing, she called out Elisa's name again. "I'm in here," came the frustrated reply from the bedroom down the hallway.
Moments later, Dominique was standing in Elisa's bedroom doorway, trying to suppress a smirk as she took in Elisa's current predicament. It was obvious the detective had been struggling for some time to dress herself, having managed to pull on a pair of very loose fitting cargo pants. However, she was currently struggling with an article of clothing that had frustrated the immortal herself after she had been forced to live half her existence as a human. She still wondered what the inventor or the brassiere had been thinking when they made the difficult garment. Was it a woman's rite of passage when she was finally able to snag the two small hooks through the loops, with your arms bent behind you in an awkward position, using only your sense of touch?
The inability to accomplish something she had been doing for years, was taking its toll on Elisa however. The mixed expressions of both physical and emotional pain, humiliation, and frustration in the human's eyes quickly squashed any humor that Dominique had initially felt. That and the small red dots that were beginning to seep through the fresh bandage on Elisa's side.
"Are you okay?" she asked a bit hesitantly.
"Do I look like I'm okay!" Elisa finally exploded. "I've been trying to clasp this thing for the past half hour!" she ranted, before finally ripping the offending garment completely off of her and hurling it across the room. It narrowly missed Cagney who had come in to see what all the noise was about, sending the cat scampering back out of the room. Elisa immediately regretted her small tantrum, and sank to her knees with a sob, clutching her aching side.
Dominique stood next to her for a brief awkward moment before she knelt next to Elisa and tentatively pulled her into a hug. The detective's shoulder's shook within her gentle grasp, as the injured woman struggled to control her sobbing. "It's okay Elisa," Dominique whispered. "Trust me, you need to let this out…there's no rush to leave right now," she encouraged.
As they had a few nights before, they stayed in the embrace for several long minutes before Elisa seemed to have vented at least some of her grief and anguish for the moment. Elisa sat back, finally realizing her topless state and blushed furiously as she sniffed and looked around for the bra. Dominique stood and retrieved the undergarment.
"How about some help this time?" Dominique suggested as she reached down to help Elisa back onto her feet. Elisa wordlessly allowed it, though the immortal could feel her sudden discomfort. "I know I sure as hell could have used some the first few times I needed to put one of these damn things on," Dominique grumbled, trying to ease the detective's discomfort as she fastened the clasp in the back.
Elisa cleared her throat, quietly thanking Dominique for her help. Truth be told, even though it stung her pride to rely on someone for help, she was grateful for Dominique's assistance. That and the fact that the red head had made no further comments about her severely marred physique. With her entire torso exposed, she hadn't been joking when she said she'd be a roadmap…and then some. Scars from previous gunshot wounds, knife injuries, and the ensuing surgeries to fix the damage furrowed the skin in nearly a dozen places.
Dominique was silently wondering how the woman could even stand to be wearing a bra, given the number of huge greenish yellow bruises across her torso, several of them standing out prominently on her sternum and right breast. To say that the number of battle scars the detective had acquired over the years also amazed her, was also an understatement. If Elisa was already sensitive about her possible facial scarring, Dominique figured she was equally uncomfortable with the scarring on her torso, so she refrained from making any comments. Instead, she simply inclined her head and smiled when Elisa quietly thanked her.
Elisa felt a small smile creep onto her face in spite of herself, and she nervously shifted her weight as an awkward silence fell over the room. Dominique looked around for a moment, then back at Elisa, and the two broke into a nervous laugh.
The shared laughter seemed to evaporate some of the tension, and a genuine smile finally lifted Elisa's features. "I'm sorry….I just feel…like I'm back in Junior High or something."
"And now I know what it feels like to be in Junior High," Dominique replied with a more relaxed chuckle. Will wonders never cease? I, of all people, made Elisa Maza smile. "So do you need help with the rest?" she asked gesturing to the tasteful sweater that was lying across the bed.
"Um, I think I can handle it from here."
Dominique nodded and busied herself with examining the detective's room as she watched her struggle with the sweater from the corner of her eye. When Elisa gave a small triumphant noise, Dominique turned her full attention to the wardrobe on the opposite side of the room. Amused, Dominique noticed the carving on the top of the wooden French doors. On the left door was carved the head of a lion, on the right, a witch.
"My grandfather Carlos made that wardrobe for me when I was a child, shortly before he passed away." Elisa explained, with a soft smile. "As you can see, he had a certain sense of humor, joking with the story that my mother used to teach me to read."
"Which was?" Dominique asked, although she had a fairly good idea.
"The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, by C.S. Lewis." Elisa explained.
The wardrobe was open, and so Dominique casually glanced over Elisa's clothing. For a woman of her taste, the lack of dress clothing was appalling. Granted, Elisa's lifestyle and salary didn't really warrant her buying more than the three or four dressy outfits. She pulled out one particular dress, carefully examining it. It was a silky black cocktail dress that didn't leave much to the imagination. It was also of high quality and must have cost Elisa a small fortune.
Turning she held the dress up with a raised eyebrow. "That would be Fox's doing," Elisa admitted. "They kept putting my name on their damn lists whenever they threw a function that involved the Department. Fox finally cornered me, demanding to know why I never came, and when I told her I had nothing to wear she dragged me to some high priced store and blew my month's salary on that damn dress."
"She didn't even offer to buy it for you?"
"She insisted on buying it, but I wasn't about to have my career ruined over a dress that'll come out of the closet maybe once a year."
Dominique replaced the dress and skimmed over the remaining clothing. "Hmmmm."
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Don't 'nothing' me," Elisa said exasperated.
"You really need to go shopping Detective," Dominique assessed as she turned back towards Elisa.
"Unlike some people, I have to work long hard hours to make enough money to pay for rent and food, let alone blow money on clothes," Elisa answered somewhat annoyed. "I've got what I need for work and sleep and it's not like I'm on the Manhattan social list anyway."
"Every woman should have at least a little variety in her wardrobe. And definitely more than….four pairs of shoes," Dominique said gravely serious. "I'll take you shopping because you haven't arrested me before so it won't look like your taking a bribe from a former convict."
Elisa blinked and shifted her weight again. "Yeah, well we'll see," she responded, almost defiantly.
Dominique simply grinned. "You ready to go?"
Elisa nodded, and the two headed downstairs to the garage level where Elisa gawked at the fire red Lamborghini Diablo the immortal walked towards. "No limo?"
"With the right vehicle, driving can be almost as thrilling as gliding." Dominique smirked.
Elisa balked. "Yeah, when you've got more horsepower under the hood of a single engine than the whole Clan put together. You actually drive this thing around the city?"
"In this traffic? I almost never take this into the city. It's at home on the quieter roads upstate, where I can easily outrun the state troopers if need be," she said casually as she pushed a button and the car unlocked with a beep.
Elisa looked over at the redhead from her side of the car and shook her head. "I so did not hear that," she muttered as she opened the door and ducked her head to look inside. She let out a low whistle of appreciation, and Dominique told her to quite dawdling and get in. Inside she looked back over at the immortal, a hint of her old smirk, playing at her lips. "So a Diablo huh?"
The red-head merely smirked back. "Fitting, don't you think?"
Mid-morning…Elisa had been in a few nice homes over the years. Hell, she had a castle that was practically her second home. Wyvern's architecture was a thing of wonder. But the palatial abode of Dominique Destine, was a thing of beauty. The park-like grounds offered quiet solitude away from the bustle of the city, and the mansion itself was elegant without being too decadent.
After Elisa had been given a brief tour of Dominique's home, she was led back into the library. "So what should I call you when you're in human form?" Elisa asked out of the blue, as she gazed at the rows of books surrounding her.
The red head looked back at Elisa and shrugged. "When my dual identity is not at risk of being exposed? Whatever you wish Detective."
Elisa nodded and then watched as she pulled a book out, opened it to reveal a keypad and punched in a quick set of numbers. There was hiss, and then an entire section of the bookcase slid back and to the side to reveal a staircase that led to a secondary hidden basement. "Isn't that a little clichéd for you?"
"Perhaps, but make no mistakes Detective. Only I can safely activate the opening of the stairwell. Anyone else that tries to head down these steps without my company, would not reach the bottom alive.
"Nice," Elisa muttered, but she followed Demona down the barely lit passageway, having to accept the immortal's help when the strain on her leg began to grow too much. At the bottom of the stairwell, there was another keypad and a voice command that sounded suspiciously like a spell, to open the heavy iron door.
Elisa tapped the metal. "Worried about some of Puck's cousins trying to barge in on your hobby room here?"
Demona scowled deeply. "The Fey have brought me more pain and suffering in my life than help. Every time I see Owen, it takes all of my self-control to keep myself from bashing his skull in with my iron mace. Puck's 'gift'" she spat sarcastically, "may have allowed me to roam this world more freely during the daytime. But every day I have my body ripped apart and then put back together twice. If I could make him feel just a fraction of what he has condemned me to endure for eternity, then he wouldn't have been quite as cruel with his prank."
Elisa raised an eyebrow at that revelation. She had heard from Angela that Demona's transformations were unpleasant, but she suspected that the young woman had not been privy to just how horrible they really were. Given the barely restrained malice in Demona's voice, Elisa decided that the immortal's description of her transformation wasn't being embellished.
The policewoman cleared her throat and looked around, hoping to change the topic and cool the redhead down. "So this is security room?"
She watched as Demona took a calming breath. "In a sense. I can have access to the security system from various strategic points throughout the mansion, much like Xanatos. This is a safe-room of sorts. If need be, I could blow the whole place up and remain untouched in here. This entire room surrounded by three feet of iron plated steel."
Man, she really hated the Fey, thought idly as she glanced nervously at the weapons rack. Despite their earlier moments of bonding- or whatever the hell it was- Elisa couldn't help but feel a tiny bit nervous standing her unarmed in her former enemy's weapons room. And then she frowned as she spotted one weapon that looked surprisingly familiar.
"Is that what I think it is?" she whispered hoarsely, the color starting to drain from her face.
Demona walked up behind her and sighed regretfully. "Not quite. It was a prototype that was developed during bid for a government contract five years ago. It was originally designed to be a lighter anti-tank gun that foot infantry could carry. Xanatos won the bid," she admitted grumpily.
"I fired the entire design team, and one of them went to work for Davis shortly thereafter. After the HQ's hit the street, I suspected that it was the same prototype with some new modifications. It wasn't until a couple of weeks ago that I found out for sure that the maggot had tried to sell the newer design to Davis. Davis never put it into production, but they had the blueprints for it in their database."
"How did you find that out?"
"Moles. It's the name of the game in the corporate world."
Elisa nodded to herself. "Canmore worked in their Security department, and had access to the plans. He stole them, and then funded their black market production."
Demona smirked. "The weapon had one fatal flaw that worked to your advantage."
"What was that?"
"One shot, could blow the thing up like a string of grenades. I heard you and the other detective put on quite the fireworks display in New Gotham that night. I don't know if you noticed, but any man armed with the weapon, made sure they had good cover to fire from. The gun is bulky and they didn't want to risk having it hit."
Elisa went quiet at the reminder of that night, and Demona silently kicked herself as she saw the haunted look begin to fall over Elisa's face. "Thankfully I have little use for this wall anymore. Now I devote most of my time in my Sanctuary."
"Sanctuary?" Elisa asked with a puzzled look. There was nothing else much of interest in the room, and she couldn't remember hearing the immortal use that term during the nickel tour she had given of the rest of the estate.
This time, the words Demona uttered were clearly a spell, and a small section of the wall simply disappeared. Elisa drew in a startled breath, and hesitantly followed Demona through the dark portal. As soon as they were through, the portal closed and they were encased in darkness. Fear washed over Elisa immediately. Her breathing sped up, sweat began to bead on her brow, and her heart pounded in her chest as the claustrophobia surrounded her.
A match was struck, and she was hard pressed not to let out a noise of relief as the redhead began lighting candles around the room. Once they were surrounded by the soft glow of the scented candles, which also provided a welcomed warmth, Elisa began to relax. Demona was eyeing her curiously, but thankfully said nothing about the detective's near panic attack.
As her heart began to settle into a more normal rhythm, Elisa took in the sights and smells around her. They were in a room that would be considered small compared to the rest of the mansion. Too Elisa it was about the size of her bedroom, and strangely enough, almost a cozy feeling despite the dungeon-like look. Stone walls surrounded them on all four sides, a large bookshelf filled with ancient leather bound books, scrolls and papyrus papers. Another was decorated with various objects- talismans of one sort or another Elisa figured.
There was a low wooden workbench set against one wall with a single stool resting off to one side. Next to the table there was another large rack filled with various items and objects in jars and containers of all shapes and sizes. "Lemme guess," she said wryly. "Eye of newt, and wart of toad?"
"I like to refer to this as the spice rack," Demona responded mildly. She reached into a chest under the table and pulled out several large pillows and tossed them onto the center of the floor. "It really is amazing how easy it has become to acquire most of this stuff any more. Humanity's growing interest in the occult has resulted in the increase of those who deal in the various ingredients typically used in spell casting."
"You mean there's a cook book for this stuff?" Elisa asked incredibly.
"For most of the minor things. Thankfully, the heavy stuff actually requires someone with genuine skill and the general public has neither the access to nor the ability to handle such attempts. Ever hear of spontaneous combustion?"
"Saw it on Ripley's once," Elisa answered as she watched Demona pull a heavy tome off the shelf and caress it reverentially before setting it carefully on the workbench.
"That would be spell casting gone wrong. But not just any spell – the ones that pull magic from the caster. I lost control of a spell a couple of times myself in the past." The immortal shivered. "Not a pleasant way to go. I only did it twice and the first time was an accident."
"You incinerated yourself on purpose?" Elisa asked skeptically.
"I was in the middle of being tortured by a group of witch hunting humans at the time. They were also about to draw and quarter a young woman that had nothing to do with magic based on flimsy evidence. So I let a spell go wild and took the whole mob down with me before they could torture her as they had me."
Elisa blinked, a surprised look on her face. "Does it really shock you that I would take my own life so that I could kill my tormentors as well?" Demona asked flatly.
"No….I'm just surprised that you would have taken such drastic measures to protect another human."
Demona looked away, busying herself with flipping through the pages of the ancient tome. "She had come across an egg all by itself when she was a child and tended to it until it hatched. She cared for the hatchling until another Clan came by the area and took it into their Clan. She found me in the same cave as the egg. I had nearly been lynched by a mob in a neighboring village, and was too weak to fight her as she dressed my wounds and sat with me until sunset the next evening. She was one of the few humans I had an… alliance with throughout the centuries," Demona admitted quietly.
The immortal's demeanor shifted to completely business-like once she found the page she was looking for. Straightening, she moved over to the shelf, picked up a single small silver vial, and crossed back to the tome to consult the page for a moment further. "Make yourself comfortable Detective. It would be best if you would lie down on the pillows so that I have free access to your most severe injuries."
Elisa looked around her and began to have the first twinges of doubt. "Like I said before. I'm not really into having spells and stuff cast on me. No offense, but my only experiences with them in the past have all been bad."
Demona flashed her a toothy grin. "Don't worry Detective. I promise not to take advantage of you. This is merely some mud from a very special place that will speed up the healing process. There is a certain way it must be applied however for it to work properly though and given the rarity of this ingredient I do not wish to waste any of it."
"Magic mud huh?" Elisa asked skeptically.
"For someone whose entire ancestry is steeped deep in the arts of magic and has been to places such as Avalon and New Olympus, aren't you being just a little too skeptical here?" Demona sighed.
Elisa's new cynical attitude towards most things was beginning to wear on her patience. The darker woman had the grace to look somewhat chastised. "Sorry," she muttered as she reclined on the pillows.
"You might want to remove your pants so that I can attend to the injury on your leg as well."
"So where'd you get the mud?" Elisa asked, trying to shake off the small case of nerves that she had begun to develop.
"In a place that is even more secret than Avalon," Demona answered cryptically. Elisa watched as the immortal's gaze grew distant for a moment. "Being submerged in the mud can heal even the most mortal of injuries"
Elisa sat up, her features tightening. "You knew of such a place…and did nothing to save him?" she asked tightly.
Demona looked down at her sadly. "To be bathed in the mud is to be reborn- but not to the life you once knew. I made the mistake of trying to save a dear friend's life…at the cost of his soul. I will never again condemn another person I care about to such a fate…even if it means losing them forever in this realm," she finished hoarsely.
Elisa stared at her for many long moments, determining for herself that Demona was indeed speaking the truth. Then she looked at the small vial that was being clasped tightly in the redhead's hand. "If the mud is that dangerous, how do you know it will help me without harming me?"
Demona cleared her throat. "To be completely healed one has to be submerged at the point of death. But the magic properties are potent enough, that an application of a small portion onto an injured area, will aid in the body's natural healing progress."
Demona paused. "Just so you know, there is nothing I can do for your eye. The damage done by the Hunter's blow was permanent before you even reached the castle. I'm sorry."
Elisa struggled to fight the tears. She honestly hadn't come here thinking that anything could be done. But hearing those words from the last one who could give her any possible hope, was like being sentenced to life without parole. This was truly it.
"I understand," she answered roughly.
The sincere regret in the other woman's eyes was too much, and Elisa turned her head to the side as a few tears escaped. Demona turned away from her, giving her some privacy as she struggled with her emotions, and finished with her own preparations.
A few minutes later, Demona was kneeling over Elisa holding out a bowl of cloudy looking water. Elisa eyed it suspiciously. "It will help you relax," the immortal explained. "The application of the mud will burn for a few minutes, and this will help lessen the pain."
The detective didn't argue, just simply took the bowl and drank the acrid liquid in quick gulp. Her face twisted in disgust, and she coughed twice as the concoction burned all the way down to her stomach. But once there, she began to feel a quick numbness spread through her body as her mind began to drift aimlessly.
This was even better than her morphine drip. She had the same pleasant numbness without the suffocating unconsciousness. It was peaceful. "Wow…." She drawled, not even realizing she had spoken out loud. So this is what it felt like to get high. No wonder people with crappy lives eventually turn to drugs. All the pain just disappears, she mused idly to herself.
Someone approached her again, and she rolled her head to the side to see a pair of bare feet that belonged to Demona. When had she taken off her shoes? Demona was saying something to her, but she just grinned lazily back at her. She saw the vial being held up, and somewhere she realized that some pain was about to occur. Her shirt was pulled up to expose her injured side. She hardly even felt it when then bandages were pulled off.
Demona popped the cap off the vial, and picked up a tiny brush. With a final look down at Elisa, she was assured that the human was too drugged to feel the full effects of the mud. She dipped the brush into the vial, and began applying the mud in small dots strategically across Elisa's injured areas. While she could do nothing to restore the dark haired woman's eyesight, she could speed up the recovering surgical scars there. She also placed several small dots along the troubled knife wound, and the barely healed gunshot injury to her leg.
Elisa hissed suddenly as the mud began to seep into her body, and Demona quickly recapped the vial and set it back on the shelf. She returned to Elisa's side, moving to where she could restrain her if need be.
Damn that stung. She supposed it would have been a lot worse had she not been drugged, but she really didn't care either way. Pain was good, she remembered being told once. It reminds you that you're still alive. Question was, did she really want to still be alive? Do I? she wondered randomly. I wonder if this is what death is like? Peacefully floating along, not a care or worry about the world.
Demona watched carefully as Elisa's breathing began to even out as she slipped further into the drug's embrace. Her eyes began to flutter shut, and she struggled against sleep for only a brief moment before succumbing into the arms of Morpheus.
BreakElisa awoke with a start. Her good eye roamed about her unfamiliar surroundings in a near panic as she tried to calm her harsh breathing. "Easy," a familiar voice instructed calmly. "I moved you into a bedroom on the main floor once you fell asleep to make you more comfortable."
"Water," Elisa croaked out, her throat bone dry, her tongue feeling thick and cottony.
A tall glass was pressed into her hands as she was helped to sit up. He side still ached- actually it was burning mildly, and she groaned slightly.
"You will still be experiencing some discomfort over the next couple of days, but then it will begin to recede quickly."
"How quickly?"
"Granted you don't overtax yourself and undo what I just did, within a week."
Elisa finished off her water. "I'll be healed in a week?"
Demona shook her head. "The worst of it will be healed in a week. Once the mud wears off your body will resume it's normal healing rate. By then you should be left only with minimal scarring and some tenderness."
"I feel like I was run over by a truck," Elisa complained as she rubbed her throbbing temples.
"You're body is working overtime right now. You'll need to eat a great deal more than you normally do for the next couple of days. I've already had lunch delivered, and can bring you some if you think you can stomach it right now."
Truth be told, she was famished. She nodded, regretting the action immediately and groaned as she sank back into the pillows. "I'll be right back," was all she heard before she dozed off.
The smell of food, stirred her back to consciousness and her stomach rumbled loudly in anticipation. "Italian. Lots of carbs for your body to burn while the mud is in your system."
Elisa accepted the tray with a grunt of thanks as she tucked into the large serving of pasta. Several minutes later she sighed in relief as she finished her third piece of bread and gulped down the last of her water.
"Better?" Demona asked in a slightly amused voice.
Elisa smiled a bit sheepishly as she looked down at the remains of what had been an enormous meal for even the heartiest of appetites. "Yeah…thanks."
"I wasn't joking when I said you would need to eat more over the next few days. You'll be burning calories exponentially."
"Good thing I just had my sister help me restock my fridge and pantry. She always goes overboard."
Demona took Elisa's tray and then tossed her the remote on her way out of the room. "You should take a look at CNN. You're friends in New Gotham are all over the news today."
Elisa quickly flipped on the television and programmed in the proper number. "- been no official word yet on what prompted Mr. Wayne's sudden return, but there have been rumors over the past months of several other large corporations threatening the livelihood of Wayne Industries."
The screen was split as the anchorman came back into sight. "Mike, we heard Mr. Wayne announce that his daughter is Helena Kyle- Wayne. Bruce Wayne and Selina Kyle were once in an item in the public spotlight. Is it safe to assume that Helena is the daughter of that union?"
"Our sources have confirmed that Helena is indeed the daughter of Selina Kyle. As many of our viewers may remember, Selina Kyle was tragically murdered in front of her daughter by one of the Joker's hit men. Mr. Wayne did mention in his brief statement to the press that his sudden departure from the public was at least in part due to some personal losses in his life. Given what we know of his past relationship with Ms. Kyle, it is reasonable to assume that her death had a personal impact on him."
"So is it known whether he has been raising Helena on his own out of the public's eye all these years?"
"Actually, from what we've learned, it seems the opposite. There are several unconfirmed reports from the locals here that Helena was placed under the guardianship of a local teacher Barbara Gordon and has been working locally as a bartender. Ms. Gordon is the daughter of Former Commissioner Gordon who was also attacked and left for dead by the Joker himself on the same night of Ms. Kyle's murder. We have been unable to reach Ms. Gordon for comment since she has gone into seclusion after the attack on her home by Harley Quinn the night of the Dock Wars."
The anchorman looked thoughtful. "Is it possible that all of these attacks, both past and present, are somehow linked?"
The field reporter tilted his head to the side and then shrugged. "It could be possible Steve. Harley Quinn, is the purported girlfriend to the Joker. But at this point it is all speculation, and most likely will remain so since Harley Quinn was killed,"
"What about her brother, Jacob Quinn, the man who was reported to be the ring-leader of the Dock War mercenaries?"
"He was immediately transferred to Arkham, and both the DA's office and city officials have been very tight-lipped about him. We have been learning over the past few weeks that there seems to be a shakedown of city officials. We are still piecing together our own evidence, but from what we can tell, the Dock Wars were fought by only a handful of officers and mostly civilians, due to the corruption that has begun to infiltrate all levels of government here in New Gotham."
The reporter consulted his notes. "So far, the stats are: three high ranking District Attorney's, four judges, two police captains, over two dozen officers, and two City Council members have been indicted on charges ranging from bribery to conspiracy to commit treason, and aiding or abetting terrorist activities. After the mass casualties suffered in the Dock Wars, and the potential damage that could have been done had the shipments not been stopped, it is very likely that any convicted in connection with these charges will receive severe punishments. Back to you Steve."
"Well Mike we thank you for that informative report, and we look forward to any more updates that you might be able to give us. In related news, the Governor of New York made a few brief comments on the funeral held at Wyvern Castle this past weekend for the gargoyle Clan Leader that fell in battle the night of the Dock Wars."
Elisa immediately raised her hand to turn the television off. "You should listen to what he said," Demona remarked as she came back into the room and settled into a chair off to one side where she could still see the TV.
With a sigh, Elisa dropped the remote and watched the speech that was recorded from earlier that morning. "These past few weeks, I have had brief contact with the gargoyles that live in Manhattan. On Friday night however, I had the honor and privilege of getting to know them. I only wish it had been under better circumstances, and once again I offer the Clan both my sincerest condolences and my deepest thanks on behalf of the citizens of both Manhattan and New Gotham.
"I went to the funeral knowing that there would be several high-level officials there. I had no idea that the most important ones would be the ambassadors sent from various other Clans from around the world that have come to know the Manhattan Clan. I must admit that this office has un-officially acknowledged the existence of the gargoyles for some time now. I truly regret that we never put forth the effort to get to know more about this amazing race that has dedicated their lives to protecting ours."
Either he was a really, really good actor, or he was genuinely sincere in his comments. "Many people in the past have called them beasts…animals…something evil to be destroyed," he continued distastefully. "Well I am here to tell you today, that while some of them may appear animal-like in appearance, they are some of the most human people I have ever had the privilege of meeting. Night after night, they relentlessly patrol the cities or villages they live in, selflessly protecting those within their domain. Their race has done so for centuries, with little to no recognition or gratitude.
"Well it's time we end that. These noble beings helped to stop a disaster that could have had widespread ramifications across this entire country. What amazed me the most however, was that they did so, in complete cooperation with the human friends that they had made over the years. This group of heroes, human and gargoyle, truly showed that our two races can live and work together in harmony. It is time someone stood up, and took some action to show the rest of the world that these living, feeling, caring, individuals deserve to be free amongst humanity, not hunted down and slaughtered like beasts."
He paused for dramatic effect, letting his words sink in before he continued. "I believe that we, the citizens of New York can rise to that challenge. The Statue of Liberty sits just off the coast of this very state, reminding us that New York was founded on welcoming people from varied backgrounds, without judgment. We owe it not only to them, but also to our American ancestors who fought so hard to give us our freedom, to give the gargoyle race theirs. With overwhelming approval from our state's Senators and Congressmen, I signed a Bill this morning granting any gargoyles that live within this state, full citizenship.
"As such, they will be treated like any citizen of the United States. They will be bound by our laws, but they will also be granted the same inalienable rights and privileges as any other American. As citizens of this proud state, I call on each and every one of you, to stand with me in this decision. To be the first to welcome the gargoyles as fellow countrymen. To be the first to show that the principles our founding fathers set forth in the Constitution, can be extended far beyond any of their wildest imaginations. To be the first to show that true brotherly love, knows no bounds. For if we can accomplish this, then there is no limit to what we can accomplish." He took a deep breath, seemed to calm himself though the look of excitement never left his eyes, before he nodded to the crowd he had been addressing.
Elisa noted that as the cameras had panned the crowd throughout the stirring speech, the few anti-gargoyle posters that had been visible at the start, slowly sank out of sight and several of the protestors were clapping and nodding in thought by the end. Elisa finally clicked off the TV as the report wrapped up. "Huh."
"I made a call to the Governor while you were asleep, asking of his sincerity to the cause. When he assured me that he was planning to do all he could to help incorporate the gargoyles into the public, I offered a substantial donation on behalf of Nighstone to further the pro-gargoyle campaign they're already working on."
Elisa looked over Demona and blinked in surprise. "What? You don't think someone of my nature would be so generous?"
"No….I just don't think I've every seen you so... casual."
Demona looked down at herself and shrugged. She was dressed in a pair of stylish sweatpants, an oversized flannel shirt, and was sprawled sideways on the chair, her feet dangling over the armrests. "I have spent most of my life being free of the restraints of most clothing. I absolutely abhor and loathe the business suits I am condemned to wear when I am in the public eye. When I am in the safety of my home, I enjoy the freedom of less confining and much more comfortable clothes, fashion be damned."
"This, from the woman who lectured me earlier that I needed to go buy more clothing," Elisa snorted.
"There is a difference. I at least have a wide variety to choose from when I go out each day. You on the other hand-"
"Yeah, yeah…need to have more variety. I'll get around to it some day," Elisa muttered, not wanting to get on the topic of her lacking wardrobe again. "So, um, how much is Nightstone donating?"
"One hundred million dollars," Demona smirked. Elisa gasped and she shrugged casually as she inspected her fingernails. "It was nothing, really. Besides, I had to outdo Xanatos who had managed to get through and donate before me, quick bastard."
"One hundred million? Jesus…that could fund the campaign for the next century!"
"Well the money will be used for quite a bit of things. For now it's all under one title, but it will also be used for funding the integration of any Clans who come forward, into society. All the details are still being worked out, and probably won't be ironed out until the Supreme Courts and Congress make a ruling on the true legal status of any gargoyles who do live in this country."
Elisa frowned. "So what he just said…"
"He has the right to grant them citizenship in this state. But it's more like giving them diplomatic immunity. But even as we speak meetings are being held and laws being drawn up to handle this situation."
Elisa examined Demona. "You honestly think this could happen... that they could finally be accepted by the public," she said, with more than a little wonder in her voice.
"Normally, I wouldn't trust a lawmaker any further than I could throw them- in this form at least," she added ruefully. "But after the various conversations I overhead the other night, and from my own contacts, I cannot ignore the fact that this situation has reached the highest level of not only our government but several others throughout the world. This country is aware of that and racing to set the precedent. I'll give you humans one thing," she said with a smirk. "Your pride to outdo one another in any matter, will always overrule your sense of judgment."
"Yeah, well let's just hope that they don't rush things faster than they should be. This is all good and well, but people are going to need a little time to adjust."
Demona watched as Elisa's eyes had slowly grown heavy over the course of their brief conversation. "The accelerated healing is also going to make you more tired than usual," she explained, as she watched Elisa fight her growing need to sleep.
"Maybe I should head back home," Elisa said as she began to struggle with the sheets.
"You'd be unconscious by the time we reached the car, and then I'd have to haul you up to your apartment. I don't know about you, but I know I certainly don't relish the thought of seeing that picture plastered all over the tabloids next week."
Elisa sank back into the comfort of the bed. "I just need a little nap."
"As do I," the executive announced as she stood. "I usually try to grab a few hours of sleep before each transformation. I'll see you just after sunset."
"…'k," came the sleepy response.
((More to Come soon!))