Disclaimer: DC Comics owns Young Justice
Tempest: Chapter Fifty-Nine: Gothamite Chamber Ballet
AN: I got the nicest review about how Amy helped someone come to terms with their own sexuality, and honestly that's the best reason to keep writing. I'm asexual myself, and I can't honestly recall a character on the ace-spectrum that existed, let alone impacted me, but I'm glad some of you found some similarities in her in yourself.
The names of the members of the GCB were mostly based on suggestions from tumblr followers, so thanks for helping out!
"Computer, secure the room."
Amara slid her phone back into her pocket as she settled onto the arm of the chair Dick had fallen into, crossing her arms. It was nice to see Roy again, as seeing her partner seemed to happen occasionally at best these days, but she didn't think this was a social call.
She was the only one out of uniform, but it was technically her day off and she had Oracle stuff to work on. Besides, she hadn't been expecting Batman to show up with Red Tornado standing impassively at his side.
"Secured," the computerized voice echoed around the room as a hard click echoed.
"I'll cut to it," Batman said flatly, "Do we believe there's a mole within the team?"
Kaldur took a small step forward. "I am convinced there is none."
Dick turned to share a glance with Amara, though his eyes were hidden behind his domino mask, but Amara caught his meaning without needing to see his eyes. The mole topic had been pretty much hush-hush since Amara had run off to Russia and she knew there'd been some debate as to her being the mole after the results of her screaming match with Barry, but nothing had come of it.
"When Sportsmaster claimed he had an inside source, he was merely sowing dissent," Kaldur asserted.
"His intel could easily have come by comparing notes with the other villains working for the 'Injustice League'," Dick agreed casually making air quotes with his fingers for emphasis before crossing his legs and leaning back in the chair. "And think about it, if anyone on the Team was working with those creepoids—"
"He or she would have betrayed us during our fight against them."
Amara's mouth thinned into a line and focused hard, the color of her darkening just slightly to an obvious green and she cleared her throat loudly, directing all the attention towards her and Dick jumped in his seat while Kaldur's eyes widened slightly.
"Could you not do that?" Dick demanded. "It's freaky."
Amara returned her skin to its original color, unable to help the smirk on her lips. "I'm just saying, one person fucked off to a mountain after that battle, remember?"
"Yeah, but that wasn't your fault," Roy pointed out.
"Thanks for that, babe."
She just knew he was rolling his eyes under his mask as she went through the painstaking effort of avoiding looking at Batman for longer than necessary. She was going to ride out this grudge for as long as possible, mostly out of spite, but that wasn't going to stop her.
"You three and Kid Flash are above suspicion," Roy agreed and Amara was flattered but didn't agree, "but I know Artemis isn't shooting straight."
That made Amara frown.
"For starters, she's not Green Arrow's niece."
"Roy," she warned, eyes narrowing slightly.
"What?" Kaldur leaned forward in surprise, but Dick wasn't.
"Well, yeah," the Boy Wonder said, "in fact, she's related to—"
"Enough," Batman interrupted sharply, cutting his own partner off. "Artemis' relations may indeed make her suspect, but she's still entitled to a secret identity." He gave a significant look towards Dick and the boy slumped back in his chair. "I'm more concerned about Superboy. We still know very little about what Cadmus programmed into their weapon. Conner could be the mole and not know it."
Amara sighed loudly. "I think you're all missing the rather obvious elephant in the room," she pointed out making a rather obvious gesture to herself. "If you're going to be suspicious of Conner, you have to be suspicious of me, too. I'm a product of Cadmus, too, and I'm the genetically altered offspring of Weather Wizard and Poison Ivy."
"Yes," Batman agreed, "but from what intel we gathered about you and Superboy from Cadmus' database, the one who was trained as a weapon rather than the one that was trained as an experiment poses more of a threat."
Amara recoiled sharply, incensed, opening her mouth to hotly reply that they wouldn't have bothered going through all the effort of creating her and testing her if they weren't going to use her in some way, but no words left her mouth because there was really no way to say that without resulting in more eyes observing her.
"Besides," Roy added for good measure, taking the attention off Amara, "Miss Martian is also suspect. She is Manhunter's niece, but he told Black Canary he has a few hundred nieces and nephews, and the first time he met M'gann was five months ago, when she stowed away on his last trip from Mars to Earth."
Amara's eyebrows arched in surprise. That was a bit different from the story she had told them about competing in a competition to prove that she was the best choice to be Martian Manhunter's sidekick.
"This changes nothing," Kaldur spoke without inflection, crossing his arms. "I have fought side by side with these people. None are traitors."
"So, we're back to square one," Amara grumbled under her breath.
She didn't like to think ill of allies, but there had to be a mole somewhere, even if Kaldur believed there to be none, Amara needed more proof. Oracle was built on finding out the truth, following the trails to where they led. But a tingle in the back of her mind told her that if she went looking down that path that she wouldn't like what she found, and Amara reminded herself that she had fall too much going on to worry about a supposed mole.
Probably not the wisest course of action, but nonetheless it was Amara's choice.
"You know I'd never think you were the mole, right?" Roy asked her over the phone.
Amara sighed loudly, shutting her history book as she completed her most recent exam before stacking it on top of her other schoolbooks on the desk before pulling out her keys to unlock the bottom drawer, pulling out her 'run-away box' as Jade liked to call it, dumping the contents onto the bed. "Of course not, but who's to say that I'm not some kind of sleeper agent developed by Cadmus?"
She checked the three different passports for aliases: Amaryllis Harper, Elisa Jäger, and Delphine Chevalier. She'd literally torched her one for Maeve Isley when Ra's al Ghul had burned the alias, so Amara had been forced to make a new one.
Amara didn't think she was going to have to run away again, but it never hurt to be on the safe side. She tucked the passports back into the box, stacking the packets of money on top of them, hiding the passports from view.
"You don't mean that," Roy insisted on the other end of the line as Amara lifted the gun Jade had once given her, checking the gun cylinder for all the bullets before replacing it in the box with the same burner cell Jade had left her with the gun.
"Come on, Roy!" Amara complained loudly, replacing the flash drive in the box before stuffing it back in the drawer and locking it shut once more. "You think I like pointing the finger at myself? But those stress tests weren't for nothing and they wouldn't have put that much effort into me if they weren't going to use me at some point."
There was a knock at her door and Iris opened the door sleepily. "Sweetheart, who are you talking to at one in the morning?"
"Oh, it's just Roy," Amara grumbled in aggravation. "He's being stubborn, that's all."
"Am not," Roy retorted in her ear.
Iris closed her eyes briefly, trying to maintain her calm at her daughter being the way she was so early in the morning. "If you're going to argue with Roy, can you please be a little quieter?"
"Sorry," Amara apologized quickly. "I'll get off soon."
Iris smiled gratefully, shutting Amara's door quietly behind her and Amara scowled, wishing that she could aim it at Roy.
"How can you think you're the mole when I've known you since you were ten?" Roy pointed out. "I know you, Amy, and I know you'd never go against the League like that."
"I routinely go against the League's wishes by operating as Oracle on the BlackNet," Amara whispered in annoyance, "everything Oracle does goes against the League."
"Not everything," Roy said with absolute certainty. "Stop trying to throw yourself under the bus, would you? You're worth more than that."
Amara couldn't help but huff at the faith he had in her, but a smile warmed across her face.
"Thanks, Roy," Amara said finally.
"Are you really getting a twitter account?"
"I'm hanging up now, Arrowhead," Amara said, rolling her eyes and ending the call, dropping the phone onto her bed before settling back onto the bed with her laptop in front of her, twitter up in front of her.
She'd called Harley earlier and asked what she thought about it. Harley was a person that had to build herself from scratch. She'd put herself through school by working three jobs and scholarships had seriously saved her life. Harley was very positive about offering help to people in need, something Amara had done before with sponsoring Gratia Art and the Gothamite Chamber Ballet, especially with the abuse shelter that Gratia Art was, and those girls were right, twitter could be a good platform.
But she didn't think Barry would be too happy about it, hence why she was holding back from telling her parents about, especially since twitter could draw her unwanted attention. Yet Bruce Wayne had a fairly public identity and still managed to be Batman in his spare time.
AmyIsley-Allen, she typed out before taking the screen name StarWarsGirl, adding a few words to the profile: The girl from the viral video that quoted Star Wars like a badass. And where the location was listed, she simply wrote: Never far from a laptop.
AmyIsley-Allen StarWarsGirl
Some girls suggested I make a twitter, so here I am! Hello, I'm the girl from the viral video quoting SW #StarWarsGirl
She'd see how that went by tomorrow. Amara could always delete the account if she didn't like the format.
So Amara shut the laptop and shoved it out of the way, pulling her blankets up around her and falling asleep.
Amara thought Artemis looked hilarious in her school uniform.
"Shut up," Artemis hissed through gritted teeth as she brought her cup to her lips as Amara tossed another fry into her mouth. "Just because you're homeschooled doesn't mean everyone is."
Amara's eyes glittered. "Well, it's not for everyone, but it does let me sleep in…and not wear a uniform."
Lunch was a time that students of Gotham Academy were allowed to leave the premises, just so long as they returned in time for afternoon classes, and meeting Amara for lunch wasn't all that difficult.
"You're unbelievable," Artemis complained, before smothering her grumbles into another bite of her burger. Amara looked rather nice, well, sort of casual nice, since she was wearing her Black Canary leather jacket over a lacy blue dress, wearing thick black tights and short boots for the cooler weather, or else Artemis might've been a bit concerned. "What are you, going on a date?"
"Who's got the time to date?" Amara said with a grunt before gesturing to her face. "Your sister stole so much makeup to appease me that I've decided I should probably start wearing some more."
"When did Jade steal you makeup?" Artemis asked in surprise.
Amara waved a careless hand. "A bit ago, right after I had to burn one of my aliases, but I'm only dressed nice because I'm meeting the Gothamite Chamber Ballet today at the Transcultural Theatre."
Artemis arched an eyebrow. She'd heard about the fire that had destroyed a good portion of the theatre and she'd walked past it once. It sounded like a shame that it wasn't going to be able to open its doors again when a mysterious benefactor had footed the bill and repairs were well underway. "You know, I would ask where you get all the money, but I've learned."
Her friend couldn't help but laugh at that. "Probably smart," she said before reaching into her jacket pocket to pull her phone out, thumbing past the lock to pull something out and hold it out to Artemis. "Take a look at this."
Artemis cast a curious look in her direction before looking down and blinking and then gaping. "Is this number for real?"
"Yeah, it's kind of crazy, right?" Amara's eyes widened with emphasis. "I wasn't expecting that much of a response!"
Amara's follower count was insane, already upwards of four hundred and she'd barely had a twitter account for two days. Artemis scrolled, reading a few of the posts. Most of them were pretty nice, welcoming her to twitter, some of them were asking about the self-defense moves she'd used in the viral video, and some people thought she should've stuck to being off twitter at thirteen, but those were fewer in number.
"Someone's asking if you're going to do any of your own videos," Artemis mentioned. "Are you?"
"I'm debating," Amara acquiesced. "Some girls I met suggested a Q-and-A video first and go from there, but there's been a lot of positivity about the moves I used in the video, so I'll probably do one on self-defense… you don't think it's a bad idea?"
Artemis spared her a smile. "Just be careful, Amy, there's a lot of crazy guys on the internet."
"Duly noted," Amara agreed, bobbing her head.
"Amara Isley-Allen?" Damali Faris didn't recognize the girl at all, but she had assumed it was the small red-head that had come by, a bit curious about why the theatre was in the state that it was, and this girl was dark-haired but still around the same age.
"Damali Faris," the girl smiled, offering her hand and Damali grasped it firmly, "you're the one that owns the GCB?"
"Yes, and we have no idea how thankful we are for your sponsorship," Damali added gratefully, "you were our saving grace. We might actually be able to start doing shows soon."
"I'm glad," Amara said. "I look forward to seeing you perform in person."
Damali graced her with a smile. "Do you always sponsor the arts, Miss Isley-Allen?"
"Just Amy," Amara corrected simply, "I've just got a bit of money that could be put to use elsewhere. I invest where I like."
She seemed a bit young for making investments as large as these, but Damali wasn't one to throw a gift back in the face of the one who had given it.
"So the repairs are going well, then?" Amara asked, gesturing around them and Damali curved her fingers, inviting the younger girl further in.
"Very well," she said in obvious relief. "The girls are very eager to get back to performing, but they all want to meet you."
"That's really not necessary." Amara's cheeks gained a splash of pink.
"Amy," Damali said, using the name that the girl had requested, "you literally saved these girls' lives, their careers…let them meet you. Who knows maybe you'll gain a friend out of it."
Amara rolled her eyes, stifling her amusement, but she allowed herself to be steered inside to the theatre itself with rows upon rows of red velvet seats, some of which were still being repaired, with several balconies and a second level that stretched at the end. And upon the large stage, with the thick curtains drawn back, were a number of figures dancing around on stage in ballet flats and leggings and loose shirts.
Their moves were so graceful that Amara couldn't help but be jealous.
The choreographer was an older woman with a rather obvious lilt in her voice, and if Amara was to hazard a guess, she'd think it was German, but Russian was the only language that was really her forte. She was older and her hair was well past graying, though not enough to cover her entire head yet, and she wore a dramatic sort of dress that extended to the floor and swished as she moved, a cane at her side, pointing out minor issues that the dancers could correct and Amara couldn't help but watch in interest as Damali called out a name she didn't know, gesturing her down to where they were standing.
"Adel," Damali smiled, "I want you to meet our mysterious benefactor, this is Amara Isley-Allen, Amy, this is Adelheid Hoffmann, she's our choreographer."
"Hello," Amara grinned in response and the woman appraised her with a gimlet eye for the longest time before inclining her head and speaking in thick English, "So you give these girls the chance to keep dancing?"
"Yes?" Amara supposed.
"Then you are not so bad," the woman admitted and Amara cast a bemused look towards Damali, but the hijab-wearing former dancer appeared unperturbed by the response, so Amara gathered that was the way she usually was.
Really, Amara's attention was more focused on the dancers, because she's never actually seen any ballet dancers perform in person. She'd watched a few videos on YouTube of the girls performing, but it was something else to see them doing it in front of her and not even wearing their costumes that were so often seen in productions. It was almost refreshing.
The girls were tall and short, with varying skin tones and hair colors, as different from one another as anyone could possibly be, connected only by their love of ballet.
And Amara was very glad that she'd invested in so many young and talented young women.
Damali whistled sharply and the girls all stopped their coordinated movements to give her their full attention. "Ladies, I'd hate to interrupt, but I want you to meet the person that is the reason you still have a job."
And the next thing Amara knew, she was practically being mobbed by a bunch of ladies who were very grateful and very vocal about their gratitude in so many different accents that it made Amara's head spin.
And the next thing she knew, the break had stretched on and she had found herself sitting with the youngest four, talking together while they all rested and drank their water vigorously.
At fifteen, there was a girl from Spain named Adara Auerbach, who after a few minutes pointed at Amara with dark eyes wide. "You're StarWarsGirl!"
"That's me," Amara snorted. "Do people recognize me that easily?"
The tall dark-skinned sixteen-year-old from Kenya with wildly curly hair threw back her head and laughed. "No," Nadira Barasa said in a husky tone, "Adara likes to spend a lot of time on twitter, that's all."
Sofia Velez was a small girl who had been born in Colombia but had been raised in the United States and seemed a bit skittish to Amara, but she asked rather seriously if she could show her how to punch. Amara looked to her belt, noticing the key ring dangling there with a small can of mace.
"Sofia has a boyfriend problem," Sabine Rosenberg, a dancer from Germany, confided, fiddling with the Star of David around her neck, "without him being the boyfriend."
"A stalker, then," Amara said in surprise. Sofia was the same age as Amara, and the only reason Amara had been followed and photographed was because of Weather Wizard, so it was startling to think of someone the same age in a similar situation.
Sofia grimaced, her shoulders tense. "I don't know how he knows where I am every day, I just want to keep my head down and dance."
"If you keep your head down, you are going to be afraid your whole life," Adara snapped back.
Nadira leaned around Sabine to look at Amara. "Don't mind Adara, she's got a rather loud personality."
That made Amara laugh. It'd been awhile since she'd freely hung out with people that weren't affiliated with the Justice League in some way (barring Jade, of course, being an assassin); she'd forgotten what it was like.
It seemed like hours upon hours had passed when Amara left with four new numbers in her phone, her thoughts lingering on Sofia and her tension that hadn't let up during their meeting. She reminded Amara of some of the kids she knew made their way to the abuse shelter above Gratia Art.
Amara flicked through the pictures on her phone, opening to the one Adelheid had taken of all the girls together with Amara sitting on the stage in front of them. It was a good picture and she uploaded it to twitter, adding: Just met the ladies of the GCB, looking forward to seeing their first performance!
Then she called her mother.
"How're the renovations going?" Amara asked airily. "The ones you don't need, I mean."
Pamela laughed on the other end. "They're going," she acquiesced. "They should be done in a few days…ready to come and spend a month with me and Harley?"
She couldn't help but grin. Her situation was unique, but it wasn't too bad to have four parents instead of two. "Totally. I miss you."
"Oh, baby, I miss you too," the heartfelt way she said it actually made Amara pause and blink furiously a few times. "What've you been up to?"
"I met a girl who has a bit of a stalker problem," Amara said. "A thirteen year old ballerina with a stalker, crazy."
"Poor girl." Amara could practically hear the grimace.
"I made four new friends today and she was one of them," Amara said proudly, "and none of them are involved with the League, it's a first for me."
"You're not a hard person to like," Pamela pointed out with a bit of amusement.
"Eh," Amara said, thinking of her explosive temper and her tendency to hold grudges. "They were friendly enough, and they want to meet up later in the week just to hang out."
Amara supposed this was her new normal, making friends with ballerinas, or about as normal as she was going to get.
"Sounds like you've been having a very good day, then," Pamela said lightly.
And Amara smiled widely.
"Recognize: 04 –Flash, B00 –Storm Chaser," echoed loudly in the Monitor Womb as father and daughter appeared via zeta-tube, Barry decked out in his red and yellow uniform and Amara with a laptop bad over her shoulder.
"Twitter, Amy, really?"
"There is so much judgment that I don't like," Amara grumbled, her laptop in its bag swinging wildly on her hip. "It's not as bad as you think! Besides, Batman's got a fairly public identity."
Diana hid her amusement. It was ironic of her to use Bruce Wayne as an example when she was doing her best to avoid him.
"Amy, you're thirteen!"
"I can't hear you," Amara intoned loudly before pointing to Diana. "You, I've got some information for you –goodbye, Dad! Love you! See you at home!" And then she was pushing Diana towards what was now dubbed as the Oracle Cave.
Amara shut the door behind them and dropped her bag on the floor and settling into the rolling chair. "So, the bad news is someone's gone through the trouble of trying to scrub your boy from every database known to man, and woman, in this case."
Diana's lips twitched faintly. "Did you call me over just to tell me what you didn't have?"
"Nobody's got that kind of time," Amara drawled out, rolling her eyes for good measure. "The good news is they didn't get everything and I can follow their trail back to where they first attempted the scrub job…which is here." Amara hit a few keys on the keyboard, bringing up a map and focusing it on one location.
Diana leaned forward, her stomach tying itself into knots. "But that's—"
"His office," Amara agreed. "I'm definitely going to need to have a look at that hard drive of his."
AN: Amy's making headway on the search for Steve Trevor and she's officially met the GCB
Please let me know if I screw up anything with religions and cultures I know very little about, because the chances are it's completely unintentional.
As always: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW!
