Dawn found Malcolm seated on the bottom stair in his mother's house, exhausted physically and emotionally, but way too keyed up to actually attempt sleep.
Not that that was all that unusual.
He tended to forego sleep a lot.
Something Gil, his mother, sister, and Sorcha all frequently voiced frustrations over.
This time, however, Malcolm felt justified in his decision to avoid sleep for as long as possible.
He still needed to work through what happened at the hunting cabin, process what Jason did, and accept it as the only viable outcome there was.
He also had to come to terms with John Watkins being dead.
Not as in Joker-dead, he amended as a door opened upstairs. But permanently so.
Something Malcolm couldn't get his hyperactive brain to wrap around.
The part of himself, the one he feared was like his father, accepted Watkins had to die. It was the only way to keep the people he loved, as well as the public, safe.
The rational side of himself, the one he used to profile men like his father and Watkins, fixated on how he'd not get the answers he needed now Watkins was dead.
Well, I could get them still, Malcolm acknowledged as he released a shaky breath into the silence. There is still one person I can ask about what happened on that camping trip.
Not that Malcolm believed his father would give him the answers he craved.
He refused to answer the other times he questioned him about the camping trip. Only now Malcolm understood it wasn't simply another of his father's manipulative games.
No, a dangerous group of people were also involved.
The kind who employed serial killers and undead assassins to get rid of those they determined posed a threat to their organization.
"You're their perfect Talons."
The words played through Malcolm's mind as he sat there, hands trembling between his knees, gaze focused on the marble floor.
Why the Court wanted him as a Talon made absolutely no sense.
Raya, yes.
Him?
Not in the slightest.
Granted, he had been trained by Batman.
Dick and Jason, too.
Sure, he had also trained with other sensei and acquired additional skills while working for the bureau.
That didn't make him a suitable candidate for Talon.
Not to his way of thinking, anyway.
Why then, Malcolm wondered as a chuff came from upstairs, does the Court want me as a Talon?
"I figured you'd be down here and brooding over things rather than upstairs with Sorcha."
Malcolm watched Raya descend the stairs from the corner of his eye. She had exchanged her suit jacket and slacks for a faded gray sweatshirt he suspected belonged to Bruce and black yoga pants. Her feet were also bare. Something she only did if she planned to either spar or dance.
Part of Malcolm hoped it was the latter.
"I don't brood," he said as he scooted over to allow her room to join him.
"Oh, please. You almost brood better than Batman."
The affection in her voice, on her face was unmistakable. It soothed the fire in Malcolm's belly, stilled the tremors rattling his bones, and quieted the shadow creatures tormenting him since they left the cabin.
"I don't brood in a cave, at least."
"One of you doing that is more than enough for this family."
"He did trade the cave for the roof of the old GCPD building during No Man's Land."
"Only because an earthquake made the cave inaccessible."
"Meaning he'd have brooded in the cave if he could have."
"Oh, yeah."
A comfortable silence fell between them. Malcolm broke it by asking, "So, why are you up?"
"Sleep issues, remember?"
He breathed out a small laugh.
"Having a three-and-a-half month old doesn't help."
"A baby is a great help for sleep issues, actually." Her grin teased out her dimples. "Ready made reason for why you haven't slept in three days and look like shit when you stumble into work the next morning."
Her insinuation wasn't lost on him.
"Not dad material here."
"Oh?" One brow arched. "And why do you assume you're not dad material?"
"Tricky childhood for one…"
"Yeah, you did have a tricky childhood," she agreed with a slight nod. "However, I'll counter that with my sperm donor murdered my mother when I was nine. I was then taken in and raised by a caped crusader who allowed me to traipse around with him and my best friend fighting crime. The sperm donor then tried to murder me and my other best friend in retaliation for his serial killer father not murdering my mother and me. And," she continued as Malcolm sighed, "I'll conclude with Gotham isn't exactly the best city to raise a family to tie everything up into a nice pretty bow."
Malcolm sent her one, long frustrated stare. "I'm also wildly dependent on benzos."
If he thought that argument would work on Raya, he was sorely mistaken.
"Sorcha isn't."
"Raya…"
"Malcolm." She placed a hand atop his arm, squeezed gently. "None of those things disqualifies you as dad material. They're elements you'd have to work around, yes. They don't stop you from loving a child or giving them a home, though."
She's right, he realized. None of those things disqualify me as dad material. They're things I'd have to work through. Deal with.
Same as she and Dick did.
"I've been dreaming about something other than the Girl in the Box and that camping trip the last few days."
"Oh?" was all Raya said.
Not pushing or prodding or cajoling.
Giving him the space to decide whether to tell her about the dream or not.
"It's about a baby," he said. "A girl."
"A baby girl?" Raya sat up straighter. "Alive or…?"
"Alive." Malcolm confirmed. "Thankfully."
"Hm." Her brow furrowed. "You worked the case about the mommy blogger whose husband was murdered, right?"
"Yes." Malcolm frowned. "Why?"
"Well… it could be the reason for why you dreamed about a baby girl."
"I thought that," Malcolm admitted quietly. "Only…" He grimaced. "Her name was Jaqueline."
"Jacqueline…" Raya's eyes narrowed into thin, speculative slits. "Long form of Jackie."
"Yes…" Malcolm looked down at the marbled floor. Seeing but not seeing the thin gold streaks in the black and white pattern. "I don't know why I'm dreaming about a baby named after Jackie with everything else going on."
"Well, Jackie Arroyo was an extremely important person to you." Logic was Raya's weapon of choice. She wielded it as capably as she did the bo-staff, katana, and sai. Malcolm appreciated it, especially in those times where he couldn't see a pattern or reason why. "Makes sense you'd dream about a baby girl named after her." She sent him a look from beneath lowered lashes. "Or Sorcha."
Malcolm ignored that well-laid trap.
"A dream is sometimes just a dream."
"Well, yes, sometimes a dream is just a dream." Raya's fingers tightened on his arm. "However, your subconscious could also be telling you it is time for a new beginning. To move on from the past and live here in the present. Build a future for yourself. A life that is full and rich and happy." Her lips curved at the corners. "All things I remember Jackie saying to you before she died."
Logic, again.
As well as that eidetic memory she and her cousin, the former Batgirl turned Oracle, had in common.
"How about I make tea?" Malcolm suggested while pushing to his feet. "Think we could both use a cup after what happened last night."
"You offering to make me tea is kinda funny."
Malcolm frowned. "Why?"
"Because I actually came down here to offer to make you a cup of Earl Grey."
Malcolm's lips twitched. "Not mint?"
Raya's eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief behind the lenses of the spectacles she wore when not wearing her contacts. It brought Malcolm back to when they were sixteen and on their own in No Man's Land. The city was divided into territories ruled by Gotham's underbelly, people were fighting for their survival, death was all around them, but a glimmer of hope remained because Gotham's guardians remained to stand between them and those who wanted to destroy them.
"More like Mediterranean Mint for me." Raya rose to her feet with the grace and elegance instilled in her during her years as a dancer. "Earl Grey for you."
"Ah." Malcolm chuckled softly. "Your magic cure-all."
"Actually, Earl Grey is Alfred's magic cure-all. I just found Mediterranean Mint accomplishes the same restorative qualities."
"Sorcha would agree with you."
"Smart girl."
Malcolm hummed a quiet agreement. "Surprised she didn't come down with you."
"She lost the coin toss."
Malcolm's eyebrows quirked. "You did a coin toss to decide who'd come down here and make tea?"
"No, we initially drew cards until it was just Sorcha and I left." She sent him a playful grin. "Damian was quite put out he lost."
"I can imagine."
"You should feel honored."
"That he hasn't killed me? Believe me, I am."
"No." Raya took hold of his hand. His shaky hand, Malcolm saw, mildly amused. "That he was put out he couldn't make you a cup of Alfred's tea." Her fingers slid between his. Squeezed gently. "He doesn't articulate his feelings verbally all that well… totes got that from Bruce, and he isn't all that good at showing them, either." Her dimples appeared again. "Totes got that from Bruce, too."
"I'm not that good at it, either."
"Yeah, you do tend to suck at it."
"Thanks."
"Anytime."
Malcolm rolled his eyes and allowed her to tug him down the short hallway to the kitchen. A tingle started at the back of his neck and shivered along his spine when they passed the entrance that led down to his father's hobby room. He ignored it, chalked it up to his over-anxious state.
A mistake he regretted a second after he found himself shoved through the swinging door into the kitchen.
Fear exploded inside Malcolm, burned hot in his violently cramping belly.
His breath congealed in his throat.
His heart twisted in his chest.
Through the kaleidoscope of thoughts racing through his head was one: a Talon was inside his mother's house.
And they have Raya.
Tremors shot from the tips of Malcolm's fingers, up his arms, and down his spine into his feet.
He forced himself to focus, to think.
Help.
He needed to get help.
Gil was forever reminding him about calling for backup.
Damian was upstairs.
So was Christopher.
The rational part of Malcolm balked at pitting them against one of the Courts trained assassins.
Tim.
Jason.
Dick.
Bruce.
They were who he needed to call for backup.
They wouldn't get here in time.
Leaving him.
He was there and he could do something to help Raya.
Keep Talon from taking her back to the Court.
Or worse…
Fueled by his decision, Malcolm pushed through the kitchen door and raced towards the foyer.
Neither Raya or the Talon were there.
Inspection revealed the front door was shut.
The windows were unbroken.
The alarm hadn't been tripped.
There could only be one place Talon took her: the murder room underneath the house.
A place so many others had been taken.
None of whom, save for Eve's sister, Sophie, survived their ordeal.
Memories from the last time he was in that portion of his mother's house assaulted Malcolm as he headed to his father's hobby room.
Waking up chained to the floor…
Watkins stabbing him…
Twirling an axe he intended to use on his mother and sister…
Him raising up the hammer he used to break his thumb so he could escape his restraints…
Malcolm pushed through, raced on.
Two seconds later, he burst into the underground dungeon Watkins brought him.
Where he found himself greeted by the unexpected when the Talon turned.
Stared at him with eyes a familiar shade of blue.
From a face he knew as well as his own.
A/N: Hello, all! Hope this finds you well!
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