WE PARKED IN THE GARAGE BESIDE THE BUILDING. The sun was now up, only just fully risen. It was hard to believe it'd taken hours to get here when it felt like minutes. Per previously discussed intention, I wore my knife sheath beneath my coat.

Dick lead the way through the glass front doors and I followed closely behind. The inside was clean and modern—not at all how you would expect a criminal organization to appear. Though, if they were going for a public-friendly appearance, they succeeded.

He tapped on the touch screen floor registry, looking through the list, but my eyes wandered to the right. In my peripheral I could see movement. When I turned my head to look, my eyes settled on an elderly woman, intently trimming a bonsai.

My forehead creased with the questions filling my mind. Dick's fingers interwove with mine, bringing my attention back to him—back to our mission—and he tipped his head in a gesture before starting to walk deeper into the lobby.

I followed, though I found myself continuing to stare at the old woman. There was not another soul on the first floor. It was incredibly odd. Dick pulled me along with him, his hand the only thing keeping me out of my head, to the elevator at the back of the room.

He reached out and pressed the level up button. The elevator began to hum, signaling its movement. A soft touch to the back of my shoulder sent a jolt through my body. I twisted quickly, eyes slightly widened, only to find the old woman.

She smiled brightly, holding out her hand, "Butterscotch?"

In her palm was a small candy with a yellow wrapping. Every voice of reason and wisdom within me told me not to touch it. But something about the old woman kept my attention. Carefully, as not to touch her, I reached out and took the candy.

"Thank you," I nodded once, with a polite smile.

"You're very welcome, dear."

The woman turned and walked toward the front of the lobby. I turned to face the elevator, eyeing the yellow in my palm. "I hope you're not actually going to eat that," Dick commented, as the elevator chimed, its silver doors sliding open.

We stepped inside the small box and I reached out to press the button for the highest floor. "No, but I wasn't about to offend an old woman," I replied, standing back as the doors whispered shut.

Dick huffed an airy chuckle, "You literally almost murdered someone a couple hours ago."

"That bitch deserved it."

"That's beside the point."

"I know, I know. Killing isn't the answer. Even though they put our friend in the hospital and beat the shit out of the rest of us," I shrugged lightly, sliding my hands into my coat pockets as the elevator ascended. "I should definitely let her walk free."

"We needed her for information," Dick sighed.

"Could've gotten plenty of it from the other three."

With those words I could feel Dick's eyes on me. His heated stare radiated disbelief and confusion, with a light shade of exasperation. "You're unbelievable," he mumbled, as I felt him turn away.

It made my bones ache, the very idea of letting someone go whom genuinely deserved a fate worse than death. Whatever was inside me did not like it in the slightest and it held no problem in letting me know just how displeased it was.

I didn't bother trying to continue conversing on this topic. Instead I tried focusing on the vibrations of nearing bodies as the elevator car arrived at our chosen destination. The door was glass at the top, along with most of the elevator.

Dick opened the glass door and took cautious steps through. I, however, felt no reservations in simply walking into the glass box of an apartment we'd arrived at, unhindered. There was a singular set of vibrations that lead my way.

Further into the apartment and to the left, toward a flight of stairs leading downward into a bit of darkness. As I reached the top of the stairs, I felt Dick's hand latch onto my wrist before he stepped up beside me, into my view.

"Hold on—it could be a trap," Dick said, hushed in tone.

I gave a shake of my head, "There's one man down there. He's in possession of no weapons—unless you count a bottle of champagne."

We'd been through these scenarios many times over. Yet Dick always seemed to remain firm in his inability to trust that I knew what I was doing. Though, this time, Dick simply nodded once and took a step back, allowing me to continue.

It was unexpected, but welcomed. I started down the stairs, Dick just behind me, at the sound of a hollow pop. Whomever it was down in the lower level had just opened his bottle of champagne. Quite the odd choice of beverage for this scenario.

Making a mental note of it, I reached the bottom of the stairs, and walked straight into an open kitchen area. Every aspect of the room's design and decoration was nauseatingly modern. Almost everything looked to be made of glass.

At least, everything that could be. Almost as though if you touched anything, anything at all, it would break. And at the same time, there were elements that held a distinctly classical appearance. The combination clashed in a way that grated against my nerves.

A quiet sizzle came from a pan on a cook top situated in the island, where a man with white hair stood, wearing a grey three piece suit. Dr. Adamson, I knew. He turned his head in our direction the second we entered the room.

The way he smiled so calmly was an unnerving sight. "Ah. Miss Syren, Detective Grayson," he spoke, acknowledging our approach before turning back to face the island.

My feet halted my body at the edge of the island, two feet from him, and Dick stepped up to stand beside me. I felt an insatiable urge to surge forward and wrap my fingers around his throat. But instead, I stayed still, clenching my hands into fists at my sides to stay that way.

"How the fuck do you know that name?" I questioned, jaw clenched in apprehension.

"Well, you aren't much different with brown hair, are you?" Adamson replied, with a sickening smile. "Are you hungry? I've got something on the stove. You're not a vegetarian, are you? I do prefer an animal-based protein."

Dick spoke up then, "Who are you people, and what do you want with Rachel?"

"As much as I'd love to have a lengthy conversation with you about Rachel Roth, Detective, I'm afraid there's no time," Dr. Adamson said, exhaling as he crossed his arms and leaned back against the island. "You found me. I've been exposed. So the organization is sending people to kill us. We have one minute."

He looked over his shoulder at the clock, ticking away where it was hung on the wall, positioned between two floor-to-wall windows at his left. "Does this organization work for Rachel's father? Is he still after her?" Dick questioned him.

"You could say that, yes," Adamson said, after taking a sip of his champagne. He set the glass on the counter and paused, eyes lingering on the stove top. "Oh dear. My crepes are burning."

I could feel the agitation rising within Dick. This man was trying both our patients. But he seemed to be feeling it more than I was. My eyes shifted in his direction, and he returned my glance, sighing heavily through his nostrils.

This man was not giving us anything at all. And that, it seemed, was the point. He was going to draw out this last minute as long as he possibly could with the least information given possible. Dick tipped his head in Adamson's direction in a gesture.

It was a silent sign of permission. Permission to do what I'd wanted to do the second that man said my name. Without hesitation or second thought, I lunged at Adamson.

My hands gripped tightly to his arm, twisting it as I forcefully turned him toward the island and shoved him against it, pinning the arm against his back. He sucked in a sharp breath with a small sound of pain. Dick moved to stand on Adamson's right side.

"If you don't start giving us some answers, i'm gonna let her stick your face in it," he threatened the man, angered and exasperated.

"We have ten seconds-" Adamson groaned. "-before the final answers come for all of us."

His cryptic and vague answers were beginning to grate on my nerves harder than the clash of room design. I tightened my grip, bending his arm harder, "What do you want with Rachel?"

"Five, four, three..." Dr. Adamson counted aloud.

Rage boiled within me almost enough to render me blind. Emotionally blind, that is. I could feel them getting rapidly closer as he counted—a dozen men in full tactical gear on the upper level of the apartment. They were, in fact, coming.

Dick opened his mouth to speak, but I interrupted. "Fuck this," I spat out the words, before letting go of Adamson. Though, I released him only for a second. Then I kicked the back of his knee, dropping him enough, and slammed his forehead against the side of the island.

It did not kill him. It simply rendered him unconscious. The doctor fell over on the clean tile and my hands immediately went to my knives. Just as my fingers tightened around the first handle, my chest tightened, the hair at the nape of my neck standing at attention.

In a reflexive moment of pure instinct I freed a knife, one at a time, and sent them across the room to my left with a quick flick of my wrist. One knife sunk into each virtually unprotected shoulder of the only two men on our level at the time.

The rest of the men were quickly following, rushing down the steps with assault rifles. Though, the two already here were only wounded. They were still on their feet. I rushed toward them and sent my heel into the middle of one.

He was shoved back, slamming into the wall, before hitting the ground. Then, I yanked my knife from the shoulder of the other and sent it into a different location—sinking the silver blade deep into his chest, through the pitiful vest he wore.

After I pulled the knife out a second time, he dropped to the tile in a splash of blood droplets. The others all came in seemingly at once. Some stopped for me and some continued on to attack Dick, still near the island.

There were many. Though, I was not intimidated. I sunk the bloodied knife I held into the neck of a man, leaving it with him as I shoved him away, into the corner of the island.

My hands gripped the top of a gun and gave it a hard pull, tugging it from the man's hands, and I slammed the front of my shoe into his groin before sending the butt of the gun into the side of his head. He twisted to the right and dropped, only opening up a line of attack for the others.

I shuffled back a few steps to not only miss a swing, but to give myself more room to swing my own weapon, while simultaneously reaching for another knife. Although I succeeded in gaining a knife, my slashing with the gun was not successful.

One managed to hit the center of my face with the butt of his gun, causing my vision to blur momentarily as I took a dizzying stagger backward. The hit knocked me off balance.

I held up my arms to block his gun from continuing to do harm, no doubt leaving a plethora of bruises against my forearms, and moved backward more quickly to gain ground. It was a quick surge behind. Then I was able to lift my head and not worry of being hit again.

Not when there was three feet between us. Dropping the gun in my hands, allowing it to clatter to the tile, I focused on my knives—pulling yet another from my sheath to complete the set. The man came at me, raising his gun to swing.

As he did, I dropped to my knees and plunged a knife into his abdomen, then slashed at his ankles before standing. He toppled backward and another came at me from the left. At the same time it felt as though something physically gripped my heart in my chest.

Whatever it was clamped down tight, restricting its beating, and I felt a pulsing ache in my temples. It started there. But other pangs of ache hit various areas all over my body. I didn't need to feel any specific vibrations to know—it was Dick.

In a moment of sharp pain shooting into my chest, I paused with a grimace, giving the one charging at me time to do his worst. Something hard was slammed roughly into the left side of my abdomen and the force of it physically pushed me away.

Dizzyingly, I staggered backward in quick steps, trying and failing to regain the balance i'd suddenly lost, until my back hit the wall beneath the clock—the back of my head rapidly following. A sharp burning exploded in the center of my mind and I cried out.

It was then that my ears filled with a popping sound, followed by a distinct hissing as canisters rolling into the room spewed a white cloud that filled the space. The distraction gave me a moment to search for Dick with my eyes, unable to move the rest of me.

He was on the floor in front of the island, being beaten into the tiling by four men in black gear. Out of what appeared to be nowhere in my damaged state, a figure danced through the white cloud toward the men from behind.

It was distinctly male, though not much else could be determined. A second figure soon joined—this one, very female. The men in black stopped beating Dick to turn at the sudden sound approaching, but they were just in time to be brutally beaten themselves.

The two figures made quick work of the men with guns. Though, as they did, the white cloud was quick to begin dissipating, allowing for much more visibility. A blonde head of hair alerted me to the female figure first.

She was swift and precise, every movement appearing as a careful calculation. Yet still she fought in sync with the other figure. I squinted through the remainder of the smoke to focus on her appearance, but I didn't need to for more than a second.

Her vibrations, her warmth, the familiarity to it all was too much not to recognize for what it truly was. Despite the throbbing beginning in my lower back and the pulsating ache inside my skull, I felt my eyes begin to well up for an entirely different reason.

I knew her. I knew this woman. I'd known her since she was shorter that the height of my waist. In less than two minutes, the pair had all of the men in black unconscious and out of the way. The last of the smoke was clearing as well.

"Patricia?" I questioned, finding my mouth drier than I remembered it being before.

The blonde was frozen in her position of having just rendered a man unconscious in an intricate display of skill. She aimed her puzzled irises at me, narrowing the baby blues through her black mask. It was only for a moment. That was all it took.

A sudden realization relaxed her features, causing her eyes to widen in shock. "Savannah?" she questioned, bewildered. "Oh my god! It's you!"

Patricia was gasping, immediately moving toward me. I pushed myself from the wall and sped toward her, colliding with her thin frame, and our arms became a mess of limbs trying to put them around each other so quickly.

"Holy shit, Patricia. What are you doing in a suit?" I asked, concern and confusion taking over my voice as I pulled away from her. "What are you doing here?"

Out of my peripheral I caught movement, causing me to turn my head to the right suddenly. The male figure was now clearly visible, giving Dick a hand up to his feet. I couldn't help the immediate disdain coloring my features the moment I recognized him.

It was Jason. The second figure was Jason, dressed in a Robin suit a bit similar to Dick's. He wore the same cocky, smug expression he had when I'd met him in Gotham with Bruce. "Hey, babe," he smirked at me. "You miss me?"

Irritation, exasperation, and my unsatisfied craving for spilled blood only added fuel to the fire of my petty and enraged consciousness. I lunged in his direction. My muscles acted on their own, guided by the heat in my blood.

Dick threw his arms around me, tightening them as he gave a pull, keeping me from getting any closer to Jason. "Hey- hey! Anna, no," Dick said, keeping me tight against his chest. My own chest was heaving, working harder to compensate for my lungs' overuse.

I was all but seething, my knuckles turning white where I gripped the sleeves of Dick's jacket to keep myself at bay. "You two know each other?" Patricia was puzzled once again, though this time she was also slightly angered—reasonably so.

"Yeah, we bumped into each other back in Gotham a few days ago. Right, Beverly?" Jason stared right at me, seemingly enjoying the look of what he'd caused.

"Anna, what the fuck is he talking about?" Dick questioned, looking to me for answers. "When the hell were you in Gotham?"

"Okay, why don't we talk about this in a little bit? Right now, we need to get the fuck outta here before more of these assholes show up," Patricia spoke up then.

Interrupting the line of questioning, she stood with her chin up and shoulders squared, taking on a leader-esque tone and position. It was as though she'd made the final decision without anyone else needing to agree.

She simply stated it, and all complied. "I'm not going to kill him," I grumbled in irritation, pulling from Dick's arms. He let me go, though he kept an eye on me as I moved, most likely to make sure I would not double back on those words.

I stepped around him, moving to the far end of the island, and knelt beside the unconscious body of Dr. Adamson. He was not dead. He was not overtly injured. The man was in perfect condition to bring him along. "We need to take him," I said, to no one in particular.

"Exactly what I was thinking," Dick agreed, walking around me.

He moved to Adamson's legs and wrapped his arms around them, before hefting them up in order to drag him. "Lemme help you with that, man," Jason said, quickly moving to get one of Adamson's legs.

I stood and stepped back, giving room for both of the males to carry the doctor out. Though, I knew Dick could do it just fine on his own. He exhaled through his nostrils a huff of mild annoyance as he and Jason dragged the unconscious man past me toward the stairs.

The building appeared to have been evacuated of any inhabitants possible as we made our way to the parking garage, where we'd parked the station wagon when we first arrived. Patricia and I followed behind Dick and Jason as they dragged Adamson along.

She had many questions, but they truly started coming out once we entered the garage. The station wagon was in sight, a handful of yards away, when she said, "You look different. The brown is kinda weird to see on you."

"It's a change," I nodded, with a closed mouth smile.

"Why didn't you call?" she asked, her tone purely of curiosity. Though, I could feel the hurt radiating off her from that one question alone. "Or write? Visit? Send a carrier pigeon-?"

"There was so much happening when I escaped Arkham...I couldn't get you involved. Patricia, you were so young. The best thing I could do was leave you believing I'd disappeared. It was less hurtful."

Her eyebrows popped on her forehead, "Less hurtful?"

"I don't expect you to understand what I'm saying-"

"No, I get it. I don't agree. The least you could've done was send me a letter after a while letting me know you were okay," Patricia said, as we arrived at the car.

Dick and Jason dropped Adamson's legs and turned to face Patricia and I. Though, Patricia was only looking at me, turned in her stance to face me. Then, in a snap, she turned to face Dick. "And what about you, you asshole?" she questioned, accusingly. "You knew this whole time where she was, didn't you?"

He sighed, but nodded, "Yeah...I did."

"Fuck you, Dick."

She stared at him with a heated gaze, unwavering in her words. Dick stared back at her in surprise, obviously caught off guard by her harsh words, though also appearing understanding. My shoulders dropped as I exhaled, "Patricia, please. I'm sorry."

"Let's get our clothes, Jason," Patricia looked to Jason, pointedly ignoring me.

Patricia turned and began walking back toward the garage exit where we'd come from, and Jason hurried around us to follow her without question. Dick leaned back against the end of the vehicle and I pinched the bridge of my nose.

This was not a situation I was prepared to be in, and it was only made worse by the throbbing in my skull. "You okay?" Dick asked, gently. I lifted my head as I gave it a shake, letting my hands fall to my sides.

"I just need a minute. Are you okay?" my brows knitted as my eyes raked over his face, the purple growing on his left cheek. They came to stop on the red smear from his nose. Fresh blood was easing its way out through his nostrils. "You're bleeding."

I didn't hesitate to step forward, closing the space, and reach up with the sleeve of my coat to stop the bleeding. My right wrist stayed at his nose while my left hand rested against the base of his skull, holding him still. Dick huffed a chuckle, "Thanks, mom."

"If you had a mirror, you would see what I'm worried about.

"Anna, it's just a bloody nose—how many of those have I had in my lifetime?"

"Too many," I answered, pulling back my sleeve to see if the blood had stopped. "Did you know Patricia was working with Bruce?"

"Did you know that Jason kid was my replacement?"

His tone was rhetorical, expression one of mild irritation. It was a reasonable response. This was the second thing to come up that Dick didn't know about—yet I did. Though, I hadn't kept it from him. I simply did not bring it up.

That was not the world's best reasoning, but Dick had used it on me countless times and claimed it to be acceptable. Exhaling through my nostrils a light sigh, I placed my hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look me dead on.

Dick's brown irises softened when they met mine, causing him to exhale. "I'm sorry I didn't mention it to you," I voiced my words gently, quietly. "I'd gone and returned, and by the time we fixed things it had slipped my mind."

"And what about working with Victor?" he inquired, less irritated now.

I shrugged lightly, tilting my head, "I don't have a good reason for that—other than wanting to keep you out of it all."

"Your dad wants you dead and you're worried about keeping me safe."

He huffed a chuckle, shaking his head at me. If he'd seen the things I had seen in my lifetime, he would understand why. Though, there was no possible way he could unless he did. So I did not comment on it.

We'd waited only a few minutes for Jason and Patricia to return. The four of us loaded into the vehicle—Dick and I in front, Patricia and Jason in the back row—with Adamson's unconscious body in the trunk area. There was no pre-agreed upon plan moving forward.

It was simply acting on whatever idea suited us from moment to moment. Sitting in the car, I thought back on what Adamson had said. Specifically, my name. His organization works for Rachel's father and, logically, if Adamson knows so does Rachel's father.

Most likely that would come back to bite me in some way. For a moment I closed my eyes, letting my mind wander toward Rachel. I wasn't sure just how far our connection remained so I was pleasantly surprised to find out it was strong at this mileage.

There was nothing to see. But I could feel the faint vibrations of her being just clear enough to read them. She was alright. Obviously humored by something—most likely one of Gar's ridiculous jokes.

A rapid turn of the vehicle bumped me out of my thoughts, bringing my mind back to the people around me. We'd turned a corner onto a less crowded street, still driving with no official direction. But Dick and Jason were having a conversation.

I had missed most of whatever had been said when I joined it. Though, I did my best to follow along. "I was out boosting cars. Guess I chose the wrong one," Jason chuckled from the back. "Or the right one."

"You tried to steal the Batmobile?" Dick questioned, eyebrows risen.

"Nah, man. Just the hubcaps," Jason replied.

"So now Bruce wants to harbor criminals," I commented, relaxing into my seat. "How convenient I don't live in Gotham anymore."

Patricia scoffed, "He's not a criminal."

"Sounds like he used to be," Dick eyed her in the rear view mirror.

This, of course, caused her to roll her eyes as she looked away. "Hey, so was your girlfriend, man," Jason piped up, spitefully in good spirits. "What was it...fourteen confirmed murders? Probably a lot more since you left Gotham, right?"

I sat silently in my seat, eyes forward, unflinching. But I could feel Dick's sporadic glances. He was obviously trying to figure out if I would respond. If I was going to defend myself. If I wasn't, he would. He always did.

Inhaling sharply, I replied callously, "And exactly how many has Bruce let both of you get away with? Hm? This is a pointless dispute. Put your dick back in your pants and stop talking before I inflate my kill count."

For emphasis i'd pulled out one of my knives and stabbed it into the dashboard. The action caused a somewhat loud thwump. Dick startled in his chair, glancing quickly between me, the knife, and the road. "Jesus, Savannah," he hissed, under his breath.

"How did you two find us?" I questioned, twisting to see Patricia and Jason in the back seat. "It's not like we carry a Bat signal around."

"Uh, the tracker," Jason answered, as though it should be obvious.

Patricia's features hardened, and she immediately turned to him with a smack of her hand against his arm. "Jay, what the hell?"

"What tracker?" I asked, now mostly looking at Patricia. I wouldn't have put it past Bruce to try it, though it made me wonder why he'd bother asking about Dick when I talked to him if he already knew. With the following seconds of silence, I pressed for an answer, "Patricia, what did Bruce do?"

I asked it forcefully, demanding, as a rising worry accompanied my suspicion. Finally, Patricia spoke up. "It's in Dick's arm," she said, exhaling sharply. My eyebrows rose quickly on my forehead in reaction.

"There's a fucking tracker in my arm?" Dick questioned, rhetorical with the presence of anger in his tone.

Jason asked then, "Don't you remember when he put it in?"

The warm waves of tamped down rage covered me in their current as I sat back in my seat. I looked to Dick, but I didn't have to in order to know. He was furious. He had every right to be. Obviously Patricia had prior knowledge of this information.

Why Dick didn't, I had no idea. How does one's arm receive an implanted tracker and remain unaware? Did Bruce do it while he slept? Either way it was looked it, this revelation was morbid.

Dick clenched his jaw, exhaling through his nostrils before answering, "No."

"We need a plan," I reminded, gently prodding the conversation in another direction. "Adamson will talk now that he can't hide behind a death squad. We just need somewhere to put him."

"Can I make a suggestion?" Jason thrusted himself up to lean between the seats suddenly.

Sighing heavily, I looked down at him, "If it's a useful one."

"The safe house isn't far from here," he said, as he glanced to Dick. "It's perfect."

My eyes shift from Jason to Dick in a straight line. He didn't look to be excited by the suggestion, and I could understand why. I understood a little too well. Dick sighed, keeping his eyes on the road, "Anna?"

"I'm sure Bruce won't mind if we bloody his floors," I answered, as I shrugged one shoulder.

"Alright then. We're going to the safe house."

He turned the wheel, moving us onto a different street. Jason sunk back into the back row and I resumed my previous position, sunk against the back of my chair. It wasn't the first time Dick and I borrowed one of Bruce's safe houses.

The term borrowed is, of course, used very loosely. Thinking of those times brought me many other memories that hadn't been in the forefront of my mind in a long time. When i'd earned such memories they were horrific. Now, looking back, they meant nothing.

GOTHAM CITY
13 YEARS AGO

I sat atop my comforter, legs folded up to my chest, wiping my tears when a knock sounded on the door. When my father left for the office, I'd told him not to come home until he was done. There was no need to be interrupted for my silly feelings from a night terror.

So the sound of the knock brought a slight annoyance, but the sobbing i'd recently experienced tamped it down with sadness. "Come in," I called in response.

The door creaked open as I finished drying up my cheeks with a tissue. To my surprise, Dick poked his head in. "Anna? Are you okay?" he tentatively asked, slowly opening the door fully.

I shook my head, uninterested in lies, "No. Not at all."

"What's wrong?"

Adding more surprise, Barbara entered my bedroom the second the door was just open enough for her to squeeze through. "It's the nightmare, isn't it?" she asked, rhetorically, with a bit of sympathy.

She walked to the side of the bed and hopped onto the mattress, positioning herself a few inches from me. I nodded and she empathetically rubbed my upper arm with her hand. Dick's features read confusion as he, too, came to sit on the bed.

He climbed on and sat across from Barbara. "Wait, a nightmare?" he questioned. "What did I miss?"

"I'm sorry, I misspoke. Night terror," Barbara corrected herself.

"It was last night. I just...I can't stop thinking about it," I further explained, mostly for Dick's sake. I'd said everything already to Barbara over text messages earlier in the morning. He was the only one in my immediate circle that had no idea what had happened.

Without going into too much detail, I recounted what happened out loud for the two to hear. I couldn't say much of the woman I saw. Only that she was obviously dead and gruesome in sight. Anything more and I would've broken down again.

Dick's eyebrows were lowered, taking in what I'd said when I finished, "Wow...I'm so sorry."

"Is there anything we can do?" Barbara asked me, gently.

"Thank you, but I don't think so," I shook my head sadly. "It just needs to work through my system."

"Would Red Vines and a rom-com help speed it along?" Barbara questioned, insinuatively, as she pulled open her back pack to show a tantalizing cache of red licorice.

The corners of my lips threatened an upward turn, making my attempt at a smile mopey. "It might," I replied, thankful for the suggestion.

Barbara slid off the bed, leaving her back pack in her place, "I'll go pick out a good one from the family room. Make sure she doesn't ghost away."

She disappeared through my open bedroom door. Seeing it hang open, I could only bring back the fresh memories from last night's venture. A trip I never should've taken. Quickly, I averted my eyes, instead focusing them on my knees.

My arms were wrapped around my legs to keep them to my chest, my fingers tugging at the seam in the side of my jeans. "Hey," Dick's voice pulled my eyes upward, just as he changed his position. He crawled forward the foot necessary to sit beside me, our shoulders touching. "I'm still here. You don't have to be afraid."

Again, a corner of my lips desperately tried to curve up, "I know."

He adjusted to lift his arm over my head, resting it across my shoulders, and I dared to let myself relax just enough to lean into his side. The warmth was comforting. It was reassuring. A small edge of anxiety was taken off.

When Barbara returned, she leapt back onto the bed and displayed her movie choices. I'd decided on one and she pulled out her laptop. She came to sit beside me, opposite Dick, and rested her head on my shoulder as the movie began to play on the laptop screen.

That night I was afraid to turn out the lights. Dick and Barbara had stayed with me as long as they could. Barbara had to go in the early evening with her father, Commissioner Gordon, coming to pick her up. Dick received several phone calls from Bruce Wayne.

He'd only needed to answer it once. I could hear the slightly concerned and somewhat stern voice on the other end, but not enough to make out any words. In the end, Dick hung up the phone and told me he would be leaving as soon as Alfred came to get him.

It troubled me greatly, the idea of being alone. It had to have been visible on me, because Dick sat beside me again and wrapped his arm around me tightly, quick to reassure me. "It won't happen again," he told me. "Last night was a fluke."

"You can't be sure," I looked up at him with watered eyes.

He exhaled, "No, I can't. But the second you start to feel something—call me. I'll come over."

"Bruce would let you do that?"

"I won't ask."

"I don't want you to get in trouble just because i'm being silly," I said, shaking my head with guilt.

Dick turned more toward me, angling himself to better see my face while still keeping his arm around me. "Anna, you're not being silly. I can see it right now—you're terrified," he replied, seriously.

Daddy knocked at the partially open bedroom door then, gaining our attentions. I knew he was there to say it was time for Dick to leave before he'd even spoken. It had felt like the people in the movies as they see a Police Officer, and they know they're about to get bad news.

"Mr. Grayson, your butler is being incredibly persistent. I'm afraid it's time to head out," Daddy said, quite pleasant for an otherwise unpleasant situation.

"Do you really have to leave?" I'd whispered, looking only at Dick.

There was a guilty sadness shimmering in his eyes as he stood upright from climbing off my bed. "You'll be okay," he assured me, confidently. "Just remember what I told you."

An anxiousness in my chest almost brought a tear to my eye, simply from the mere thought of spending a second alone. It was a restless and helpless feeling. Dick exited the room with one final glance of confidence in my direction.

Daddy took steps toward the bed, coming to sit on the end of it. His eyes looked me over with his features pulled into an expression of concern. "What are you feeling?" he asked, tentatively.

"Fear," I answered, honestly. "I don't want to see it again, Daddy. I don't."

A few small, warm tears rolled down my cheeks as I slowly shook my head. My father looked just as helpless as I felt. Finally, he said, "I know last night wasn't easy. But you have to be strong. If it happens again, we know we have a problem. If it doesn't, we know there's nothing to worry about."

"But I have to sleep for that to work."

"Exactly. Come on, Savannah. This has nothing on you. You can do this easily," he said, speaking lightheartedly with a tone meant for motivation.

I took a deep breath, tightening my arms around my legs, "I'll turn out the light when I'm ready to sleep."

"That's my girl. I promise you—come tomorrow morning, you'll realize it was a one-time thing and everything's going to be fine," he smiled confidently at me.

He came to the side of the bed and leaned down to press a kiss to the top of my head. Then he turned to leave and disappeared through the bedroom door, pulling it closed as he went.

I removed the socks from my feet and crawled beneath the comforter, snuggling into my pillow and bed sheet, desperate for a false sense of safety. My cell phone remained in bed with me all night, my fingers wrapped around it in case of emergency.

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
NOW

I followed behind the others as we made our way to the elevator in the garage. Bruce's idea of a safe house was a tower impossible to hide in. The walls I'd seen were predominately made of glass. It made me question just what exactly was safe about this building.

All three of the others I was traveling with seemed right at home, whereas I had no idea what to expect. Yes, i'd been inside Wayne Manor a few times. But I was never allowed anywhere else.

Dick attempted the retinal scanner beside the elevator door. It flashed red, as I'd quietly anticipated. With how the situation was left between Dick and Bruce it wouldn't surprise me if he'd been removed from the will. "I got it," Patricia spoke up, moving to take Dick's place as he stepped away from the scanner.

He turned with a heavy sigh and came to stand beside me, a foot or two back from it all. Patricia stepped up to the scanner and the device on the wall flashed green. I couldn't overlook the prideful smirk on Jason's face as he watched her.

Did that child know any other expression? Spitefully, I doubted it. Patricia stepped inside the now opened elevator, Jason right behind, and Dick and I followed in after them. It was a tight space. As the doors closed, I pressed my left shoulder into the side wall to make room.

The metal box allowed for only a small amount of wiggling before there was no moving to be done at all. My duffel, hanging off my shoulder, was pressed between my hip and the wall. Patricia stood in front of Jason, her back against the other side wall.

Her arms folded over her chest tightly, she scowled at the flooring—the body language a piercing scream in the silence of the elevator. It was understandable, her reaction. At the time I made the decision to remain away from her I was another person.

It felt as though I were someone else in those times. With all the drugs from Arkham still tainting my veins, I might as well have been. But it didn't stop the guilt in my stomach. It hurt her. I suspected it would. Though, the blow was in fact lesser this way.

Patricia was too young to understand still. That is okay. She does not need to understand as much as she needs to live with it. And I was confident she was capable of that. A shift in presence at my side drew my eyes downward and to the right.

Dick sidestepped to angle himself in my direction, lowering his voice as he spoke to me, "Once we get Adamson inside, i'll take the lead on questioning him."

"Why?" I questioned, raising a brow.

"We need him alive to question him," Dick answered, vaguely as though it should be obvious. "He can't answer what we ask if he's-"

"The bastard deserves to die but I won't kill him unless I need to."

"Anna, just let me handle it. Please."

I stared at him a moment. When we were in Adamson's apartment-like office, it seemed to me that Dick was finally trusting me to know what I was doing. Now it looked like a step back. But I bit my tongue, nodding once as I averted my eyes.

There was no point arguing about it. This would require a lot of taking what I could get. The second the elevator doors slid open, Patricia pushed off the wall and marched out. Jason casually left the elevator, taking the role of the unaffected one.

Dick sighed heavily as he eyed the behavior and stepped out after them. Walking into the main area of the safe house, I confirmed my suspicion that most of the building was made of glass. Because, in fact, it was.

"I'll go back and get Adamson," Dick announced, stepping into the main area only to hand me his Robin case. I took the case without complaint. It was not hard to see he needed a moment alone.

Once I had the case, he turned and went back to the elevator. I put it on a table at the far right of the room. "Cool. I'm gonna check out the brew sitch," Jason said, as he crossed the room to head for the kitchen.

Patricia got up from the couch in the living room and marched after him, "Jason, we talked about this-"

"Yeah, yeah—no drinking on mission, blah blah blah," he grumbled, his voice losing volume as he disappeared into the kitchen.

She followed in after him and their quiet voices mixed into one blur of voice as they began to heatedly discuss the topic of drinking. Jason looked no older than eighteen. There was no way Bruce approved of him consuming alcohol.

Of course, I'd thought there was no way Bruce could approve of putting a tracker in Dick without his knowledge. People we don't truly know never cease to surprise us—and drastically disappoint us.