Me? Updating on time? Unheard of.
So this is one of my FAV chapters thanks to the flashback scene near the end, and I hope you all love it as much as I do! I really enjoyed brainstorming that scene and I especially enjoyed writing and editing it, so I can't wait to see what everyone thinks of it!
Also, I forget to mention it in my last author's note, but I made a playlist for this fic! Well I've actually made about four, but this one will be the "official" playlist for Victor and CJ. If you want to give it a listen, go to my profile for info on how to find it
CJ's shoes padded delicately on the hardwood floor as she tentatively stepped into the open concept apartment, eyes taking it all in heedfully. Her jaw was ever so slack, her expression evident of a certain anxiety that was settling inside her. She came to a pause in the center of the living room, expression unchanging while her eyes studied the kitchen just ahead of her with an absence to her stare.
Behind her, Victor remained planted in the doorway, watching the way the young woman took in the apartmentㅡthere was no doubt that CJ was afraid. From the small way she moved to the wordless way she took in her new space, Victor could tell that leaving the Falcone estate was a frightening step for her. Even if it was only temporary, the manor had become a comfort and a home to her, and he was sure that being in the city had to be intimidating. Since returning to Gotham, CJ's life had been one dramatic event after the nextㅡas soon as something settled down, another thing would pick up, and that was surely taking a toll on her. She needed some semblance of stability, and maybe now she'd finally get that chance.
The both of them were rooted in place for another minute before Victor finally entered the condo as well, though CJ made no acknowledgment of his footsteps. He came to stand a few feet behind her, eyeing the room briefly.
"Home sweet home, huh?" Victor broke the silence with a subtle grin, and CJ turned at the sound of his voice, her gaze unsure. They each stared for a few long moments, Victor patiently and CJ thoughtfully. Recognizing the pensive atmosphere setting in, he sighed ever so slightly, attempting to keep the air between them light, "What, worried I'll come knocking for a carton of milk?"
To that, CJ's lips pulled up in a small smile, her eyes turning timidly from his, "This is… a lot."
Victor expected as muchㅡit was clear as day on her face that she was in a constant state of anxiety since that day Umberto came by nearly two weeks ago. After releasing all her pent up energy and anger on her brother, CJ had been relatively quiet with both Victor and Don Falcone.
"Things aren't ever going to feel normal again…" CJ spoke softly as she wandered into the kitchen, though she seemed to simply be talking out loud rather than addressing this to Victor, fingers delicately gliding across the countertop, "… are they?"
"Normal wouldn't be all that exciting anyway." Victor's eyes were playful as CJ looked at him again.
"I guess you're right." There was a slight smile at the corner of her mouth, though the lightness of it didn't reach her eyes, "But I could do without excitement for a little while."
As she spoke, Don Falcone walked through the open door with the building manager, the two concluding their conversation. The mobster met CJ's eyes with reassurance, pausing to shake the manager's hand and thank him. The other man looked around the room at each face before turning to swiftly exit.
"I hope it's to your liking, Camila." the Don started, and CJ frantically nodded her head.
"It's wonderful, Don Falconeㅡit's almost too perfect." She eyed the minimal, modern furnishings as she walked back out of the open kitchen, "I can't thank you enough."
Falcone gave a single nod, "You'll never have toㅡthis is my parting gift to you." There was a sadness to the smile CJ gave, a disappointment in knowing the man was readying to leave for Miami in just a few hours. She let her eyes drift toward Victor who stood just beyond his former boss, and in that glance he could see just how hard it was for her to say goodbye.
CJ's eyes met Falcone's again, "I'm glad I had this time to get to know you… you've been more than kind."
Falcone stared down at her with warmth on his face, "It may not be through blood, but I consider you family, Camila."
In an instant, tears dared to prick at CJ's eyes and she smiled sadly while averting her gaze, wiping under her eye quickly to catch a stray tear.
"Thank you…" Her voice was so small, and after a moment she looked up again tentatively, a question to her expression as she met Falcone's eyes again.
As if reading her thoughts, the Don smiled and stepped forward, delicately engulfing the young woman in a warm hug that she immediately reciprocated.
From where he stood observing them, Victor couldn't help but slightly falter at the display of affection, having not seen Falcone so open and genuine in a short while. Last time the man was this gentle was with that Liza woman, who turned out to be working for Fish Mooney the entire time. And before that Victor recalled another woman, Natalia, if he was remembering correctly, but the Don kept his warmth to a minimum, even keeping his affection toward his children well under wraps most days.
Neither Victor nor Carmine would necessarily say Victor was like an adopted son, but that didn't mean the older man was any less fond of him; as far as sentiment went, the two kept quiet, though their mutual respect was still obvious. And as Victor continued to watch the hug between Falcone and CJ, he briefly receded into memory, trying to recall if his surrogate father had even shown such obvious warmth to him in this same way. In this moment, Victor finally noticed that he and CJ weren't so different, having such a significant circumstance in commonㅡwhen their families turned against them, Don Carmine Falcone was there to offer solace.
CJ could feel a single tear trickle down her cheek as she held tightly to Don Falcone, the realization that he was about to leave truly setting in. Her greatest anchor for the last two months would be gone, and that was admittedly terrifyingㅡshe wondered if anything would fill that void any time soon.
When Falcone finally pulled back, he held CJ at arm's length, studying the distraught look in her eyes, "Don't look so upsetㅡI'm only a phone call away."
She gave him a sad smile, "And a thousand miles away."
The Don was quiet for a few moments, "You have to become your own anchorㅡmy time in that role has come to an end." CJ nodded quickly in understanding, her eyes cast down, "Remember, you and your mother are always welcome to join us should circumstances change."
"Thank you." Her words were nearly a whisper as her eyes slowly looked back up at Falcone, "Hopefully one day."
His warm gaze remained on CJ for another few moments before he turned to acknowledge Victor, whose stare was serious and yet mildly distant, as if an old thought had crossed his mind. But in true form, he still remained alert, taking notice within a moment that Don Falcone was looking at him with an expectant and patient stare. Once Carmine was sure the younger man was paying attention, his eyes sharpened slightly.
"You take care of her." His tone was distinctly paternal, "Whenever she needs your help, you will be there."
"You got it, boss." Though his word choice could have been amusing, there was only complete seriousness in Victor's voice, and in that brief moment CJ could finally see the daunting assassin more clearly than she had any time before; she could see the obedient and determined servant, the man who always got the job done. Even she was mildly unnerved for that split second despite the fact that Victor was in no way a threat to her.
The two men held eye contact for a moment longer, the serious gleam in both their eyes briefly warming before Carmine turned back to CJ one last time.
"I've a flight to catch." He said simply, causing another sad look to cross CJ's face, "You'll be alright, my dear, don't doubt that."
CJ gave him a nod, warmed by the term of endearment, before Carmine pulled her into a last farewell hug, and CJ's fingers clung firmly to his jacket, the child still in her afraid to let go. But she relinquished her grip as he stepped back from her, giving her hands a light squeeze and a smile before he looked back toward Victor.
"The same goes for you, young manㅡI'm always just a phone call away." He spoke like a father, approaching Victor and offering out his hand. Now it was CJ's turn to watch with intrigue as Victor's gloved hand took the Don's, the older man's free hand clapping down onto Victor's shoulder in what was probably the only display of affection the two were comfortable with.
"Have a good flight, sir." CJ could even identify the amicable tone to Victor's words, causing a light smile to pull at her lips as the assassin stepped to the side to allow Carmine a clear path to the door.
"Thank you." With a final glance back to CJ, he spoke, "Your future remains bright as ever, Camila."
She gave him a large smile, but couldn't find the words as the older man started for the door. And within a moment he was gone, en route to his next adventure, leaving Victor and CJ in an intimate silence as they both stared at the empty entryway.
For a week CJ kept to herself, cooped up in the new condo. If one were to ask, she'd claim to be adjusting, still unprepared for this next change in her life she had to deal with. Don Falcone was gone, and so too was her comfort zone, her safety blanket. The mansion, despite its vastness and emptiness, was familiar and warm to her. This condo was lifeless in comparison.
It had become difficult to sleep at night knowing that the building was full of other owners and tenants. Though she certainly couldn't hear her neighbors, CJ nearly had herself convinced that she could hear every footfall and every word throughout the complex. Logically, she knew it was her anxiety talking, but the fear that was stirring since Pino attacked her was impossible to entirely shake off and ignore. She was uncomfortable in her loneliness, but most definitely wasn't going to risk exposing herself to others for companionship. It would come in time, she told herself, eventually she'd be back out there just like she used to be.
Eventually.
And eventually had no deadline.
In all of this free time, CJ managed to distract herself every now and again from her darker thoughtsㅡbut like all frightening things, the darkness and anxiety always crept back in. Though she no longer panicked or cried when remembering what Pino did that night, the memory still hurt, still managed to draw all of her focus away from anything else. It was like having the same nightmare every single evening and being unable to wake herself from it.
In those instances when Pino didn't absorb her every thought, CJ usually found herself concerned with every other damned thing under the sunㅡhow was her mother doing, should she go find a job, or maybe a hobby, did she make a mistake when she decided not to go to Miami with Carmine? She honestly knew that sitting around and getting caught up in thought was doing her no good, and yet she couldn't stop. She couldn't simply muster up the confidence and step out her front door as if nothing at all bothered her. She was in a rut with no intention of dragging herself out of it any time soon.
CJ admittedly wasn't sure what day of the week it was when Victor knocked on her door. She nearly didn't open the door, initially out of fear, then due to disinterest in this unannounced guest, but when she heard his simple, humorous announcement of 'housekeeping' from out in the hall, CJ calmed her nerves and decided to let him in.
When she opened the door and their eyes met, there was a certain friendliness to Victor's expression as he took in her tired appearance before letting his gaze casually search the condo behind her.
"So, first week in the new place," he started while stepping into the living room, "how do you like it?"
CJ stared at him briefly as she closed the door after him, "Just as good as anywhere else, I guess."
Victor eyed her with doubt, but said nothing as his lips quirked in acceptance; CJ could tell despite his silence that he didn't believe her indifference toward the condo.
"Well… it's not Falcone's mansion, but… it's cozy." he commented all too nonchalantly as he continued further into the room, and though his back was to her, CJ knew Victor was studying the space thoughtfully. Eventually, he stepped into the kitchen and opened her fridge all too casually, finally spurring CJ to move again, following him until she stood on the opposite side of the breakfast bar, her arms crossed in a self comforting way.
"Did Don Falcone send you?"
Her simple question caused Victor to make a face as if mocking it, "No, this is a personal visit." He let the fridge door slowly close as he moved on to open up one of CJ's cabinets, causing the woman to look on with unsure question. Victor, too, closed the cabinet after a moment, "You need groceries."
CJ very nearly rolled her eyes before Victor's sharp gaze could catch the expression on her face, though the tone of her voice spoke for itself, "I'll get to it."
"… Have you left since moving in?" Victor questioned as he studied the apartment for any clues as to what she's been doing this last week. The silent, slight narrow of CJ's eyesㅡas if saying she wanted the topic droppedㅡgave Victor the answer he needed. An unexpectedly genuine expression crossed his face, "You doing okay? And no bullshit, I can tell when you're lying."
The blunt but somehow considerate way Victor spoke caused anxiety to rise in CJ's stomach, her gaze dropping away from his, fearing that her eyes would reveal too much.
Victor's abstruse but continued concern for CJ was still odd despite all these months. She'd been back in Gotham just shy of five months, and yet that growing friendship with Victor was one thing she struggled to understand and acceptㅡshe wondered why she was so comfortable with a man whose dangerous reputation preceded him, and even more she wondered why he continued to bother with her. What could he have found so interesting about CJ Maroni?
CJ remained tight-lipped as Victor's dark eyes continued burning into her, and she began to consider just how much she wanted to say and if she could even bring herself to speak up. And as she found herself shrinking, Victor, too, could see her walls slowly building back up. As he watched her expression subtly cycle through emotions as she thought, he finally let his eyes turn away. CJ's hesitation to say anything was all the information he needed to identify that she wasn't at her best. Victor could also tell she wasn't doing herself any favorsㅡshe had settled into a state of depression, whether she fully recognized it or not, but the signs of it were all too clear to the assassin. He could still remember his early teens in the years after Carmine took him in, and he could even more clearly remember seeing how depression (and worse) had affected Charlie back when they were practically roommates.
Victor gave a slight sigh through his nose as his eyes returned to CJ's face, "Wanna go out?"
Her eyes darted back up as well, "What?"
"You wanna get out of this stuffy apartment?" He elaborated, raising his hands ever so slightly in indication of the place while walking back out of the kitchen. As he approached CJ, an unexpected fierceness graced her hazel eyes. It was one he recognized, though he hadn't seen it in a while, and in that moment he saw that the old CJ was still there.
"Why do you care?" Her tone, too, was strong, and Victor was nonplussed by the question. CJ's stare was resolute, though he caught a glimmer of fear in her eyes, as if it took a lot out of her to simply ask even that, "You ever think you're just wasting your time?"
"No." He was so quick and firm to say it, which CJ didn't expect, and it caused her brows to begin to turn down, though otherwise her expression remained firm, "Why would I be wasting my time?"
Finally, her expression truly faltered, and CJ rolled her eyes at the question, her following words biting, "I'm just Maroni's kid who got beat by her brother." There was a long, tense pause between them, "Why you and Don Falcone keep trying is beyond me."
Victor's expression knotted, eyes narrowing as he remained silent. The power that had taken CJ remained fixed as she awaited a response that possibly wouldn't even come.
Steadily, Victor took a step forward, then another, and another, narrowing the gap between them to mere inches. CJ masked her building anxiety well, wanting to shrink back as she took a deep breath, able to inhale the scent of Victor's cologne at this proximity. He let his head dip ever so slightly so his gaze could stay locked on CJ's face.
Victor's voice was low, but not in a menacing wayㅡno, his tone was calm, nearly… soft, "Would you have had anyone else?"
CJ's expression wavered again, eyes slowly drifting down as if in realizationㅡVictor was right in his question. Would she have? Both her mother and Umberto proved what fear held them back from doing, and CJ hadn't seen any of her Gotham friends since last summer. She really was more alone than ever before, yet both Victor and Don Falcone were willing to step up to the plate for her. This still didn't answer her question, however, it did begin to make the question irrelevantㅡshe had these two men choosing to help her without asking anything in return, why should she question that?
Because people always wanted something.
That was the mob mentality, she realized. The things her father taught her, whether intentional or not, had more impact than CJ would have anticipatedㅡpeople, especially people in Gotham, didn't do anything for free. If she hadn't known Victor as well as she did (which wasn't really well, all things considered), she would have already expected him to ask for something in return for everything he'd done. But not once did he ask for anything more than for her to grab meals with him.
Isn't that what friends are supposed to do, ask for nothing in return?
CJ thought back on all the friendships she's ever hadㅡfor the most part, she was fortunate to have a few good, or at least decent, ones. Sure, there were some shitty people she got close to back in high school (being a Maroni in the popular social circle brought a lot of fake people into her life, after all), but she had known a small number of genuine people as well. And much to her surprise, Victor somehow managed to be one of the most genuine.
The realization in CJ's expression was obvious to Victor as his eyes remained locked on her, waiting to see if she happened to have anything else to say. He didn't need her to speak, both of them knowing her confirmation to his question was unnecessary.
Victor leaned down a little further as if he were about to whisper a grand secret to her, and as he got closer CJ kept her eyes focused down on his chest rather than his face, nervous about making eye contact in this short distance between them, "I was you once, CJ."
Victor righted himself and finally stepped back, heading for the front door as CJ looked up with a confused wrinkle to her brow. He couldn't just say that and walk awayㅡafter all, what exactly was he implying with that?
"What does that mean?" CJ questioned him as he paused just in front of the door turning to look back at her curious hazel stare as he considered what he wanted to say. Another bout of silence stretched between them, Victor's serious look giving way to one of neutrality, meanwhile CJ's stare remained unchanged.
"… You like tacos?" His question threw CJ for more than a loop, and the complete flip in topic and mood began to stir up her frustration again.
"What?" She spat. How could he have been so damn serious just a minute before and now be acting as if nothing had happened? What was he so desperately avoiding that he'd rather annoy CJ than talk about it?
"It's taco Tuesday." Any sign of emotion was undetectable on his face, though his eyes suggested that something unwelcome was on his mind.
"Today's Wednesday?" CJ wasn't sure whether to be more confused by or annoyed with Victor right now.
"No, today's definitely Tuesday." There was slight critique to Victor's tone as he continued to dodge the topic, "So, let's go get tacos, you've been cooped up in here too long."
"Victor, I'm not in the fucking mood!" CJ's exhaustion came out crystal clear, her hands briefly clenching down at her sides, "Are you really just going to dismiss that ridiculously cryptic thing you just said?"
For a long moment, the two stared at each other in silence again, CJ now impatiently waiting for Victor to say something within the vein of seriousness. But instead, he hummed so quietly that CJ almost didn't even catch it, casting his dark eyes down before he turned and quickly retreated out of the apartment. CJ was baffled and upset enough to nearly stomp her feet as she gawked at the door for a few moments longer, finally huffing and moving back toward the couch.
~twenty years ago~
Eight year old Victor stood under an old ash tree on the far side of Robinson Cemetery, his exhausted and distraught eyes staring at the group circled around two fresh graves as a man spoke to the grieving crowd. The young boy felt weightless and distant as he watched the proceedings, struggling to accept and make sense of the chaos that his life had become in the last week.
His parents were being buried, and the moment was stolen from him by all these strangers. Whoever all these people at his parents' funeral were, Victor sure as hell didn't recognize most of them, and he had no intention of getting to know them either. He was still a child who really didn't know his parents as well as he thought he did, however, he liked to think that they wouldn't have wanted thisㅡthey wouldn't have wanted dozens of people mourning their death while ignoring the little boy that was left behind.
Victor was left with almost nothing except memories and a scarce trust fund that was locked up until he became a man, and neither of those things would last forever. This stupid ceremony would end and go on to be forgotten, and all these strangers would move on with their lives as the Zsasz family eventually faded from their memories. But Victor knew he wouldn't forget today, just as he knew that he'd never forget the loss of his parents or this dreadful sensation of feeling so completely and utterly alone in the world.
As a stray tear trailed down Victor's cheek, he heard footsteps crossing the damp grass behind him. The young boy wiped his cheek with his sleeve as he spared a glance back, his dark eyes landing on an important looking man in an obviously expensive suit, another man (was he a bodyguard of sorts, perhaps?) just a step behind. The second man held a closed umbrella, anticipating rain any minute now, meanwhile the older man seemed to give nothing else but Victor his attention.
He eventually came to stand beside Victor, who hadn't let his stare waver from the gentleman for a second. The man was incredibly imposing, towering over Victor, but the boy made no show of fear.
"Victor." The man's warm voice caused the young boy to narrow his eyes in a near glare, but the man in the suit seemed unphased by the look, "Not fond of crowds?"
The boy didn't speak, his lips not even quivering as if considering a reply. The pair stared at one another for a few long momentsㅡVictor hated when people stared. In the last year, he had been stared at much too often once his progressive hair loss became apparent, and now Victor rarely felt comfortable in his own skin. He always tried to hide under hats or hoods, and he even started growing his hair out longer in hopes the bald patches wouldn't be noticed, but it seemed this 'alopecia,' as the doctor from the clinic called it, wasn't going to slow down any time soon. And despite the fact that this man's eyes never broke away from Victor's, the boy still felt overwhelmingly exposed.
The faintest of 'hmm's finally vibrated in the man's throat as he turned to eye the crowd yards away from them, the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance causing the second man to spare a brief glance at the clouds.
"I'm Carmine." The gentleman started, undeterred by the young boy's silence, "I worked with your parents."
Victor's eyes darkened slightly, stealing a glance at the lackey behind this Carmine, who kept his distance from the two, face watching the crowd with complete neutrality.
"I understand if you don't want to speak," Carmine continued, "I'm not here to make you speak to me. But you looked like you could use the company."
'I don't.' Victor's thoughts spat in his head, but he remained tight-lipped as his stare returned to Carmine, who also looked back down at him a moment later.
"Your parents were admirableㅡhardworking, dedicated. And they cared deeply about you, Victor; spoke highly of you every chance they had." Carmine's words were genuine, but to a young Victor they were empty and meaningless. If this man knew his parents so well, then why didn't Victor know him? He was just like any other stranger here, the only difference being that he was the first person to acknowledge Victor all day. The others avoided the boy in fear of saying the wrong thing to himㅡhow were they to talk to a hurt child about the loss of his parents? And, too, they avoided him for fear that maybe he'd have an outburst they couldn't handle. None of them knew the Zsaszes' only child all that well, so they certainly couldn't expect that he'd have a temper, however, the powerfully dark look in his eyes at such a young age was enough to make even adults falter.
Carmine's nearby companion noticed that the burial service appeared to be approaching its close, and so he stepped up silently, "Sir."
Carmine looked down at the crowd again before returning his warm eyes to Victor, the boy's expression having progressively become less harsh, "I understand you may not be interested in what a stranger has to say, but I want you to know that if there's ever anything you need, Victor, that you can call me."
Carmine retrieved a slip of paper from his breast pocket, holding it out to the young boy, who stared at it warily, a sudden sadness shining in his eyes as he met Carmine's gaze again. For a few long moments, neither moved, until finally Carmine gave a single, reassuring nod. Slowly, Victor removed a hand from the pocket of his jacket, carefully taking the paper from the man and glancing at it briefly to stare at the string of numbers before hiding it within one of his pockets.
Victor's sad eyes drifted back to the crowd, his expression crumbling slightly, causing a frown to cross Carmine's thin lipsㅡif he had known what was going to happen, he would have found a way to prevent the Zsaszes' murders. Seeing any child left without parents was heartbreaking; despite his employees knowing the risks they took in working for him, it never got any easier for Carmine when he met any of these children. Perhaps it was foolish of him to reach out time and time again to these kids, but Carmine couldn't live with himself if he didn't at least try to do something. He was fortunate up to this point that too many lives hadn't been lost thanks to him, but when moments of misfortune struck, Carmine couldn't sit by idly.
As the crowd finally started to slowly disperse, Carmine met the gaze of one of the men among it, whose eyes quickly glared upon recognizing who it was standing under that tree with Victor. The man branched off and started up the slight hill to them, to which Carmine looked down to the boy one last time.
"It's best I go, Victor." the boy looked back up, though his stare seemed distant, "Don't lose that number; who knows when you may need it."
And with that, Carmine and his lackey turned and began back to the path that led to the lines of parked cars, Victor staring as they disappeared into one of the vehicles.
"Victor, get over here." The man from the crowd hissed as he stopped halfway up the small hill. The young boy's eyes quickly darted over to the voice which belonged to Grant Norman, Victor's maternal uncle and new guardian.
Grant was Victor's only living relative that he knew of, at least here in the States; the boy's father was an immigrant from Hungary, having snuck into the country on his own as a teenager, and apparently his mother's parents had both died before Victor was born. In his eight-and-a-half years of life, Victor had probably only seen Grant less than a handful of times, his parents thinking it best to distance themselves from the manㅡthey never spared any detail, and so Victor only knew that Grant didn't get along with his father. When he was younger and had questioned his mother once on the topic, she explained that sometimes families weren't close, and that was nothing to be ashamed of. She'd also said something along the lines of "blood isn't always thicker than water," but it was a phrase that Victor didn't understand.
With his head cast down, Victor shuffled over to his uncle, stealing a single glance back at Carmine's retreating vehicle. Once the boy was within reach, Grant grabbed his shoulder and squeezed it insistently while tugging him closer, dark eyes boring into Victor, who hesitated to make eye contact, instead glaring at the ground.
"Don't you ever speak to that Falcone again, got it." Grant's voice was low as he loomed over Victor, "Your mom is dead because of him."
Falcone. Victor knew that name, having heard it in his parents' past conversations. This Carmine Falcone was simply a mystery to the boy, who only knew the man to be his parents' boss, though he most certainly didn't know what their line of work was.
Grant's harsh words hit Victor hard, who didn't know what to believe; could Carmine, who was kind in their brief few minutes together, really be to blame? Victor certainly didn't trust the things his uncle had to say, given the things he'd learned about the man in the past, however, that jarring statement could have very well been true.
Briefly, a memory of his mother flashed across Victor's mind, a memory of the way she comforted him on a day where he'd woken up to a chunk of his hair on his pillow rather than his head, and it caused the boy to frown while barely holding back tears.
"Hey, you listening to me?" Grant's insistent tone cut through Victor's memory, and the young boy gave one quick, fearful nod in response, staring down at his uncle's tattered shoes, "Good, you better keep listening, or else we're gonna have a fucking problem."
The weeks following the funeral were not kind to Victorㅡhis life simultaneously was moving at a mile a minute and at the slowest rate it could ever be. He was obviously unwelcome in his uncle's home, being relegated to spending his time up in the half finished attic where Grant could simply ignore the boy most days. Victor quickly discovered his uncle to be a drunk with a temper, who regularly lashed out at the boy, making no effort to hide his obvious disdain for Victorㅡthe kid was apparently too much like his father, whom Grant made known he was never a fan of. In fact, in the midst of a number of Grant's drunken outbursts, he even made the mistake of calling Victor by his father's name, which he did most often when his outbursts resulted in him attacking the boy.
When Victor wasn't suffering at home, he was suffering at school. He got transferred to a new school closer to his uncle's home in the Narrows, and the kids there were particularly unfriendly to the "balding orphan." Other students were both scared of and nasty to him, calling him terrible names from within the safety of a group so he couldn't fight back, but steering clear of him should they be walking the halls alone.
Victor's hair loss had also seemed to pick up speed, the boy noticing more and more bald spots as the months went on. But now he had no one to tell him that everything would be okay, that just because he was different didn't mean there was something wrong with him. This was only adding more fuel to the insults both from Grant and from his peers.
Victor's life took on a new type of loneliness. Even before his parents' death he was a distant child, but never had he felt so entirely on his own like this. His uncle wanted nothing to do with him, kids at school wanted nothing to do with him, and he was sure no one else out there could possibly want anything to do with him. He was eight years old and left with no one to be a comfort or companion to him.
It was nearly five months into his new life, just after his ninth birthday and a couple weeks after the first snowfall in Gotham, that things escalated to even worse than before. By now, the boy had sadly grown used to the abuse he had been enduring, but it seemed that, with each passing day, Grant was becoming more and more aggressive. With the boy approaching puberty, Grant reckoned that he needed to beat some sense into Victor before he became a man, certain that anything the boy had learned from his father prior was garbage that would make him weak.
Victor was some embodiment of sin to Grant, an embodiment of bad luck and bad things. It would have been ironic, this preaching coming from such an ungodly man, but Victor could find no irony in it when this mindset is what left him bruised and bleeding multiple nights a week. Grant insisted to the boy that his alopecia was some kind of punishment, a show of the devil's work at play, punishment for all the bad things his parents had done before they passed.
"Sins always leave scars." Grant would say this to Victor whenever the boy angered him, as if he was somehow above sin. That phrase became a warning to Victor in those months, telling him to somehow run before it was too late, but he could never scramble away from Grant fast enough.
And that phrase was the last thing Victor heard before he snapped.
To this day, Victor's memory of the event was a little blurry; maybe it was his subconscious trying to protect him from the horror of remembering what he managed to do as a child. Victor could remember Grant's particularly hostile shouting and the anger that was bubbling inside his young chest as he, for the first time, fought back instead of submitting to his uncle's aggression. He could remember Grant charging at him and losing his footing, giving Victor enough time to dart into the kitchen and clamor for the knife block near the stove. He remembered Grant's shout of rage as his heavy footfall charged for the kitchen where Victor stood with an unsure yet determined grip on a knife, the boy's eyes just as dangerous as those of his abuser, any of his usual childlike fear somehow entirely absent from him.
Victor could remember the sudden rush of adrenaline when the knife in his hand managed to stab into Grant's abdomen for the first time.
But he couldn't remember what his uncle's screams sounded like, couldn't remember how many times his knife broke skin, couldn't remember feeling the blood repeatedly spraying into his face with each time he stabbed. For what was probably only a couple minutes, all Victor saw was red fury, his mind a blur until finally Grant's body finally fell limp and collapsed into a pool of his own blood.
Victor wasn't sure how long he stood over the dead body, but it felt like hours as he remained unmoving. He was trapped in a daze as his dark eyes stayed locked on Grant until finally the blood stopped oozing from the dozens of stab wounds, and even then Victor's senses hadn't entirely kicked in. His foggy eyes glanced at the knife he still held before he wiped it on the front of his jeans, raising it up to eye level and studying it for a moment as if something dark and unrecognizable had taken over him.
"Sins always leave scars." Victor spoke in what was probably something between a sarcastic and matter-of-fact tone, his own voice not quite sounding familiar to his ears. His eyes looked back down to Grant as the slightest trace of a grisly smirk tugged at his lips. He realized then that he wasn't afraid or shakenㅡhe wasn't fearful of what he had done nor of the potential consequences he may have to face because of it.
Instead, Victor felt relief.
A furrow pulled at Victor's brows as his dark eyes trailed over the blade in his hand once more, something akin to both decision and curiosity consuming him for a moment. He lifted his opposite arm, palm facing up as he, in almost a hypnotic state, pressed the end of the blade into the skin below his elbow, creating a rough line of blood that slowly flowed from the cut that was probably a little too deep and a little too jagged. He stared at it for a moment, not feeling even a trace of pain from the damage he just did.
Dropping both arms to his sides, Victor finally stepped back from the body on the floor, releasing his grip on the bloody knife as he began to consider what exactly he was supposed to do next. He slowly exited the kitchen backwards, refusing to peel his eyes from Grant until he disappeared around a corner, and once that was done, he released a deep breath that he hadn't realized he was holding.
He knew something had to be done about this. Sure, he could call the police, but Victor didn't want to entertain the thought of where child services might place him if the court ruled that this act was in self defense. He could run, but eventually someone would come looking for Grant, and once they found the body, they'd surely go hunting for Victor. Neither of these options sat well with the young boy.
It was at that moment that Victor remembered the man he met at the cemetery all those months ago.
Despite the show of his disinterest in Carmine Falcone at the time they met, Victor was nonetheless curious about the man. Many afternoons these last few months Victor could be found hiding out at the public library to avoid being at home, and it was while at the library one day that the thought of Falcone randomly crossed his mind. So, he found a librarian and asked about archived newspapers, to which the woman smiled sweetly and asked what he needed them for. Her kindness quickly dissolved though when Victor, with a maturity far beyond his years, plainly told her he wanted to find out more about a guy named Falcone. The librarian insisted such a young boy had no business looking into this sort of matter, and just as seriously Victor insisted it wasn't any of her business what he was doing.
Don Carmine Falcone was arguably the greatest mobster Gotham had ever seen. Though some of the topics in the articles didn't make sense to young Victor, he could still understand that Falcone was someone of importance and a lot of pull, someone that was both menacing and yet kind. The word 'mob' was one Victor hadn't yet become familiar with, but it sounded like some sort of business to him, so he couldn't quite understand why his uncle seemed so hateful toward Falcone or why the librarian seemed fearful at the mention of his name.
Carmine had said to Victor all those months ago that the boy could call if he needed anythingㅡwas this something the man could fix? Whether he could or not, he was Victor's only hope since ruling out the police. So he began up the staircase to his attic bedroom, footfall heavy and causing the worn floorboards to creak as he ascended with a finite look on his face.
Tucked away in a small shoe box hidden in the back of his dresser, Victor had saved the slip of paper Carmine Falcone gave him, leaving it to sit and collect dust among photos and trinkets that he'd collected through the years. After retrieving it, he went back down to reenter the kitchen and grab the only phone in the house, staring at Grant's body again with intrigue as the phone rang in his ears.
It was an hour later that Carmine entered the substandard home, finding Victor sat on the staircase with his head leaned against one of the railings, a surprisingly sure and mature look in his eyes as he met the older man's gaze. Despite Victor being only nine, he seemed to have aged years since the mobster last saw him.
Carmine's eyes took in the young boy's appearanceㅡhe had lost much more hair since the two last saw each other, and his eyes were a little hooded, as if drained of energy. Blood splatters were dried across his face, chest, and arms, but Carmine still managed to spot a single, jagged cut that had surely leaked more blood than was safe (and perhaps, he reasoned, that was why the boy looked so tired). Despite surely getting taller, Victor still looked small, having lost some weight in the last few months, though Carmine didn't want to assume one way or another why that was.
The mobster's eyes finally trailed away from the boy, looking around the small unkempt house, spotting bloody footprints going both to and from the kitchen, but he decided against going to investigate. He didn't need to see the body of Grant Norman to know just how severe the confrontation between him and the boy was.
Carmine eventually looked back to Victor, whose eyes had continued watching the man thoughtfully and carefully, waiting patiently for him to eventually speak up.
After another minute of silence, Carmine finally took a couple steps toward Victor, his left foot rising onto the first step so he could reach out and set a firm hand on the boy's shoulder, giving it a brief, reassuring squeeze.
"I'll see to it that this is taken care of." He gave Victor a small but consoling smile before stepping back and straightening up again. He returned the hat held in his opposite hand to its place on his head as he turned to open the front door, Victor spotting the familiar lackey from months ago standing just outside. Just like before, the other man looked on with an entirely unreadable expression, stepping aside for Carmine as he met the boy's stare.
Carmine looked back over his shoulder to look at Victor, an encouraging shine briefly taking his eyes as his voice took on a paternal tone, "Come, Victor."
The mobster began out the door, and without hesitation, Victor rose to his feet and followed Carmine without looking back.