Tempest: Chapter Forty-Eight: A New Home


"I think you worry too much," Amara said with a snort as she sat up in her bed with her recently purchased burner cell to replace the one that she'd left at the Allens' pressed to her ear; it wasn't meant to be a permanent thing.

"Oh, I worry too much?" Roy responded dubiously from the other end. "You're living with two villains, one of which bashed some guy's head in yesterday!"

Roy had returned to Star City, but Amara had remained in Gotham, as her intention had been. He'd been very reluctant about the whole thing, but he wasn't Amara's minder, he was her partner...but she couldn't really be anyone's partner anymore.

"To be fair, he was rapist, so he deserved that head bashing," Amara remarked dryly.

"You know that's not my point," Roy responded as Amara raked a hand through her hair, looking to the large window on the wall, outside of which she could see the grass and the trees and the sunlight streamed through welcomingly.

"They're not going to hurt me, Roy," Amara sighed, "that was the only reason you left, remember? Because you were sure that I was safe?"

There was an intelligible mutter on the other end.

"You just call me, all right?" he grumbled. "About anything at all, all right?"

Amara tugged on a lock of grey hair, slightly embarrassed by his tone of voice. "I promise," she said before the call ended.

Being here, in Gotham, in this house, with Pamela and Harley was a new thing to adjust to, and it wasn't easy. Nothing about Amara's life was easy. She'd gone from being a lab experiment to being the daughter of Flash and the sidekick to Black Canary to the child of two villains. Two weeks ago she hadn't even been able to handle the idea of being something like that, of being lied to for so long, but things were different now.

Amara had known Pamela for more than a year, and even though she'd never told Amara the truth, hardly anything she had told her had been a lie. But Harley was new, a breath of fresh air, a ball of crazy that hit Amara so fast that it gave her whiplash.

She pulled the covers off of herself in order to stand and move towards here she'd stuffed her rucksack haphazardly in the closet. The closet itself was bare as Amara had only brought with her what she had considered necessities when she'd left the Allens' house.

In a short amount of time she had showered and dressed before making her way back down the trapdoor, stepping lightly across the floor before taking the stairs down to the main level.

There was a soft thrum of music coming in the direction of the kitchen and Amara peered around the corner to see Pamela and Harley in the kitchen, swaying to the music, with Harley tugging at Pamela's hands with a wide grin to her soft smile. Neither of them appeared to be aware that the pancakes were burning in the pan on the stove.

It was a kind of casual love that Amara was more used to seeing from Iris and Barry, like they were the only two people in the world.

"The pancakes are burning," Amara said as she sat down at the counter by the kitchen, perching on the bar seat, and startling the pair apart. She arched an eyebrow. It was like they were worried if she saw them being too cutesy that she was going to run off like she did to Russia.

"Oh, shit!" Harley swore, scraping the blackened pancake off into the trash before pouring batter into the pan for a new one.

"You don't have to do that, you know," Amara pointed out and both women looked to her in surprise. "I'm not going to run for the hills because you guys are together. I'm demisexual, I've kissed a girl before, and Ella's been telling me about her girlfriend for months, it's not a new thing."

Pamela smiled and Harley actually laughed. "Aw, we just didn't want to overwhelm you by being overly mushy."

Amara rolled her eyes, saying a quiet thank you when Pamela offered her a plate with a pancake.

"So, I was thinking maybe we could take you out shopping today," Pamela suggested, watching as Amara ripped up the pancake with her fingers, exactly like she did. Pamela hid her smile. "Clothes and anything you want in your room."

Amara chewed slowly on the bit of pancake in her mouth.

"You don't have to do—" Amara started to say, but Pamela cut her off.

"Baby," she said and Amara was surprised by the endearment, "do you want to live here with us? Do you want to be our family?"

Amara's words caught in her throat and Harley looked from daughter to mother.

"I'm not asking because I want you to choose between us and Barry and Iris, I'd never ask you to do that," Pamela said and Amara looked away bitterly. "I'm asking because your room has nothing in it, nothing personal, and you've got hardly any clothes. I don't want this place to be just a place you stop off from time to time, okay?"

"Okay," Amara muttered, her cheeks flushing with color, "um, some stuff sounds okay…but I don't want you to buy me stuff because you think you have to."

"Can't buy your love, got it," Harley said, sounding like she was making a mental note, then she grinned and pulled out clipboard holding a thick packet of papers together. "Don't worry, I've got a lot of other questions."

"What?" Amara said, looking at her blankly.

"Oh, don't worry, it's just the 'Girlfriend's Daughter Questionnaire', nothing to worry about."

But Harley's grin was just a bit too wide and it disconcerted her slightly while Pamela snorted into her apple juice.


Amara hadn't gone shopping in awhile, and not to the level that she was with Pamela and Harley; now she was rebuilding her closet from practically scratch.

"Favorite color?"

Amara's lips curled. Harley's questions were very simple and humorous, at least for now; Harley assured her that she was just getting started.

"Green and black," she said, riffling through the cargo pants section looking for her size.

"Rock on," Harley hummed in agreement, extending her fist for Amara to bump and after a moment, Amara complied.

"Have you ever worn a dress before?" Pamela asked her, joining in on the question-fest.

"I once wore something that was close to a dress," Amara wheedled, "easier to steal things that way."

Pamela laughed but Harley arched her eyebrows in surprise. "Ooh! I've gotta hear this? You're a thief too?"

Amara looked around just in case they were overheard, but there was no one close by. "Masquerade," she finally admitted.

"Hardcore," Harley said impressed. "Your petal's got some good genes from you, girlfriend!"

Harley spun an arm around Pamela's waist, kissing a spot high on her neck, making Pamela giggle. "You mean villainy?"

"Mmhm!"

"Thievery is definitely more of the neutral grey, if I'm being perfectly honest," Amara pointed out dryly. "And I do a lot of stuff with BlackNet."

"You know what, I don't care anymore, she's my favorite," Harley declared, tugging on the end of Amara's leather jacket. "Move over, girlfriend, she's taking your spot."

"Hey!" Pamela complained, but Amara's smile was worth it. "Okay, but would you ever consider wearing a dress?"

Amara blinked in confusion –Pamela and Harley were having two completely separate conversations–, looking over to where Pamela was standing. "Maybe, I guess," she admitted, "I've never really tried on a dress before, though…why?"

"Want to try something new?" Pamela coaxed with an easy smile, withdrawing two dresses from the rack. The first was a grey lace tiered dress, falling loose around the legs, and the second was black with a pattern of flowers across it, a bit shorter than the first ending at mid-calves. Visually, Amara couldn't really find anything wrong with them. Grey had always been one of her colors, and flowers had always been her thing.

"All right," she said, moving to take the dresses from Pamela. "No promises."

Pamela mimed zipping her lips and throwing away the key, waving her off to the dressing rooms.

"She's not calling you 'Mom'," Harley noticed. "You gonna mention that to her?"

Pamela's lips drew down into a frown. "No, I don't want to pressure her."

Harley's eyes softened and she cupped her partner's hips in her hands. "Hey," she murmured, resting her forehead against Pamela's. "You're a great mom."

"Do you think this dress makes my scar look to obvious?" Amara piped up suddenly and both looked towards Amara.

The black flower dress was a pretty contrast, but she was right, the fractal scarring on her chest was obvious, dark against her fair skin.

"You're always going to lose that fight, trust me," Harley said grimly. She had more than enough scars that she'd rather erase from her skin entirely, but they didn't always get what they wanted. "If you like it, you should get it. Scars are proof that you've lived, that you're stronger."

Amara rubbed at her neck and Pamela looked away from the scarring on her daughter's chest, because with the fractal scarring was the circular marks that Merlyn's arrows had made.

Bitter anger welled up inside her.

"That'd look good with some tights and your leather jacket," Harley added and Amara twirled around.

"You think so?" she asked curiously.

"Oh, totally." Harley winked and Pamela relaxed.

Amara was fine. The scars were old. Amara was fine.


"I'm telling you, you need to stop worrying," Amara said with a hint of annoyance as she drew up her legs to her chest when they returned to the house for dinner. She could hear Harley and Pamela laughing in the kitchen while she sat in the living room. "I'm fine, trust me."

"I do trust you," Roy insisted, "it's them I'm still iffy on."

Amara sighed. "Are you going to check up on me every day?" she asked in exasperation.

"Probably not," Roy decided. "So, how'd things go?"

"Clothes shopping took all day." Amara picked at the end of her pants with a bit of disinterest. "We're going to go out tomorrow to look for some stuff for my room."

She had a rather impressive number of clothing in her closet now, but she'd made sure that Pamela and Harley didn't go overboard on buying her clothes. But Harley had still insisted upon some new shoes, and Pamela had agreed, so Amara had another pair of combat boots, as well as a pair of running shoes and boots that went almost to her knees ("Trust me," Pamela had said when Amara tried to protest, "you're going to need these when winter hits Gotham.").

"I guess they don't sound too terrible," Roy acquiesced.

"You're like an overbearing older brother," Amara complained.

"You're my partner! I'm supposed to watch your back!"

Amara glowered at the ceiling as best as she could, because she hadn't been Roy's partner for awhile now.

"I love you, Roy, I really do," she said seriously, "but if you don't stop smothering me, I'm going to have Jade knock you out and drop you off in some remote country."

There was a moment of silence while Roy appeared to mull over her words before deciding, "And she totally would do that."

Amara's lips curled upwards.


When Pamela came to get Amara for dinner, she found her curled up on the couch, her arm tucked under her head, breathing in and out evenly.

Pamela's eyes grew soft as she took the blanket thrown over the back of the couch to place it gently over her daughter, but the girl didn't so much as twitch. She leaned down and pressed a light kiss to her temple fondly.


"All right, favorite weapon?"

"Bo-staff," Amara said as they made their way through another store. There was already a bedside lamp in a box in the cart, but Pamela was insisting that she needed one for her desk too.

"Thing that most people know about you?" Harley asked as she jotted that answer down and Amara had to pause and think about that for a moment.

"I've got a bit of tactile fixation," she admitted, looking up from a green desk light to look to Harley, "does that count?"

Harley waggled her fingers. "That's where you have a need to touch things, right?"

"Pretty much, yeah," Amara considered the desk light some more. "It's why I hold hands with all my friends."

Growing up in a laboratory where she'd hardly been touched unless to coax her into doing an action or drawing blood, she'd always been a bit touch-starved. When she'd been adopted by Barry and Iris, she'd practically latched onto them. It was only much later that Amara realized she actually liked to touch things.

"Does it make you anxious if you're not touching things? Because we can hold hands if you want," Harley said quickly, noticing how Amara had twisted her fingers together. She'd been doing it an awful lot since she'd left Central City.

"You wouldn't be able to steer the cart," Amara laughed instead. "Don't worry, I'm fine."

Pamela's voice interrupted them. "Okay, this might seem a bit much, but I saw them and they were perfect."

Both Amara and Harley looked up to see Pamela holding a box of knives. The knives themselves were normal but the ends of the hilts had transparent colored resin that contained a single flower within.

"Anything with flowers you have a dying need for," Harley said dryly, causing Amara to stifle her amusement.

"This coming from the woman that has a secret cache of guns."

"Hey, guns are important!"

"I was never a great shot with guns," Amara admitted.

"Aw, Petal, all you need is some practice, that's all!" Harley grinned widely.

"Hey, don't corrupt my kid," Pamela complained only to freeze, looking very much like she'd overstepped her bounds.

Amara had been very careful about not calling Pamela 'Mom' mostly because she still wasn't sure about using it, especially since Iris West-Allen was the woman that had raised her for the past several years, and in return Pamela had tried not to mention their blood relation in the hopes that she wouldn't make her uncomfortable.

But all Amara said was: "I'm friends with an assassin, I don't think there's much left to corrupt."

"Is this the one you kissed or someone else?" Pamela asked innocently, her heart soaring.

Amara scowled.


It was a small market almost completely out of their way, and definitely out of Gotham, but Pamela had thought it might be a good place for Amara to look at getting some stuff to put in her room.

So far, they'd ended up with a sofa chair ("I don't need another chair," Amara had pressed. "Baby, I know how many friends you've got, and one chaise is not going to cut it."), two lamps, bed covers patterned like leaves, some lights to circle around her room like what she'd seen in a girl's room when she'd snuck in to steal some priceless item, and a pot of a leafy plant like the one she'd kept in her room in.

Harley had kept the questions going through the whole car ride, which was impressive to say the least. Harley and Pamela had also decided that it might be a good idea to invest in their own gym.

"You mean like build it from scratch?" Amara asked, running a hand through her hair.

"Unless you'd like to show off your skills in a public gym."

Amara frowned at that. She'd never trained in a public gym before; she thought she might be a little self conscious of training in front of others, or showing off her scars, or showing off her ability to disarm others without too much difficulty.

"I could show you a couple of acrobat tricks," Harley added to Amara, clapping her hands eagerly.

"I'm friends with an acrobat," Amara felt the need to point out, "I've probably seen all those moves before."

Dick was very flexible, but she'd never actually seen him perform his Flying Grayson routine. Amara was sure it was amazing, but she didn't press; she doubted he'd done the routine since his parents were killed.

"Flexibility is sexy," Pamela winked towards her girlfriend in the seat beside her as she drove and Harley leaned towards her invitingly in a way that accentuated her curves and her outfit wasn't doing anything for Pamela's nerves.

"Oh, yeah?" she purred.

Amara rolled her eyes in the back seat. "This is why I'm single," she muttered in the face of their ridiculousness.

It was almost amusing how they'd all fallen into an easy banter of sorts, like they'd known each other for longer than they had; that was easy for Pamela, since she'd actually known Amara the longest.

It seemed like they were all walking on eggshells around each other. The first time Pamela had called her 'baby' it had been a slip-up and she'd been horrified about it, but Amara didn't really mind; 'sweetie' had always been Iris and Barry's endearment for her, and 'baby' wasn't so bad.

Her burner cell buzzed and Amara sighed as she pulled it out.

"Is that Roy again?" Pamela's eyes glittered in the rear view mirror.

"He's a worrywart," Amara complained, switching the phone to silent and almost feeling bad about it. She had Wally and Dick's numbers saved in the phone too, but she kept losing her nerve whenever she thought about calling them.

Especially Wally. Amara missed Wally so much, but she was deathly afraid of what she could say to him after all that happened, if he could ever trust the daughter of two villains.


Amara stopped at an artist's stall, pausing with interest as she took in the paintings propped up there. The girl sitting behind the table was older than Amara, but only by a few years, paint splattered across her cheeks like she'd just been painting.

"Are these yours?" Amara asked and the girl looked up from her book to consider her.

"Yup," she said, popping her bubblegum with annoyance. "Why?"

"They're beautiful," Amara said and she got the feeling that the artist didn't get that attention a lot. "You're Grace Merrit, right?"

The girl's brow furrowed. "Is my name somewhere?"

"Oracle helped you get out of the foster system, right?" Amara said, remembering her details from two months ago. "I helped her get some paints to you."

"Oh!" Grace leaned forward, a grin gracing her lips. "You're one of her runners."

"Every so often." It certainly wasn't a lie, though that tended to occur when she was playing the part of Masquerade. "Can I look around?"

"Go ahead, any friend of Oracle's is a friend of mine." Grace's grin widened and it made Amara turn faintly pink as she looked over the various canvases. "I hear working for Oracle is very lucrative."

"Pretty much," Amara agreed. She didn't even bother counting how much money the BlackNet had made her, she just made sure to keep it in several different accounts at several different banks under several different aliases.

"Heard she disappeared for a few weeks, 'that true?"

Amara's back was to Grace, so she didn't notice how her lips thinned. "It might be; it's kind of hard to tell when she's on and when she's not…why? Looking for some extra cash?"

Grace was an emancipated teen who'd come from a bad home situation, so that wouldn't have surprised her.

But all Grace did was shrug. "I wouldn't mind it."

Amara made a mental note of that as she pulled a canvas forward with interest. "What's this?"

"Oh, that's just a commission that fell through." Grace scowled at the painting that Amara had lifted up, but Amara eyed it with speculation. It looked like a DNA strand magnified several times over and composed of flowers.

"How much did they offer you?" Amara asked.

"Twenty-five bucks."

Amara hummed as she looked it over and another piece that was more muted, its colors softer, abstract, but looking very much like a storm at sea.

"How much for this one?" Amara asked, looking over her shoulder to Grace.

"Ten," Grace said, a bit flummoxed when Amara dug fifty dollars out of her pocket and took the two paintings, despite her loud protests that she didn't need that much.

"Find something you like?" Pamela asked when Amara found them again, Harley sporting some ridiculous earrings.

"Yeah," Amara said, grinning widely.


Wally was sulking, but he'd been sulking for almost three weeks, so that wasn't a new development. He didn't think he'd ever been so angry with his uncle before, but this definitely took the cake. Dinah had even banned him from superhero-duty for the next few days because he wasn't focused enough to work with the Team or Barry (though Wally knew who he'd rather be working with).

He twisted his pencil around between his fingers, scowling at his phone as it buzzed with the same unknown number as before, but he hit ignore before returning to his AP European History assignment.

The next minute another call came, this time it was Roy.

"Amy thinks you should pick up your damn phone," Roy said as a greeting and Wally stared blankly at his book in incomprehension.

"What?" he said stupidly.

"Amy? You know your cousin? The one that's the kid of two big bads? The one that ran off to Russia for two weeks?"

"She did what?" Wally demanded, startled by that information.

"That was a week ago," Roy sounded unconcerned, "get with it, West. She's staying in Gotham right now."

Wally was spluttering out sounds that didn't formulate into words.

"Talk to your cousin, she misses you," Roy added before hanging up, and a second later that unknown caller popped up again and Wally's heard raced in his chest.

This time he answered it, his voice wavering slightly. "H-hello?"

"Um…hi," Amara's awkward tone rang in his ear, and he flopped back onto his bed with a sigh.

"Thank God, Amy," he muttered, "I was worried about you, you know."

"I know," she said a bit regretfully, "but I couldn't stay, not after…you know."

Wally couldn't really blame her for that; he wouldn't want to live in the same house, let alone the same city as his father if he'd lied to him like Barry had to Amara.

"I miss you," Amara added quickly, "I miss everyone…but I'm not ready to come back."

"I want to see you," Wally blurted.

"Really?" Amara's voice came out surprised and he actually laughed.

"Why is that so surprising?"

"Well, I'm, you know, not a hero and not a villain and my mom's Poison Ivy," Amara sounded like she was wincing, "lots of bad points to my name."

"Oh, shut up," Wally said shortly. "You're still my favorite cousin."

"I'm your only cousin, and we're not even related," Amara pointed out.

"Don't worry, I still love you," he said, and he was sure that she was smiling then, even if he couldn't see her face. Wally knew Amara far too well, and nothing was going to change that.