Maxie led the way, as always. The king of his domain always had first dibs—so to speak—on leadership duties, and he carried that responsibility proudly.
Dinner was not any easier for Cathy the second time, but at least now she had the advantage of mildly knowing what to expect. A smidge of foresight and preparation was better than none at all. Cathy's recent life seemed to be composed of nothing but clawing desperately for an advantage somehow, any way she could.
Something never occurred to her the first time around and it suddenly clicked when she stared down at her plate of seasoned chicken and boiled potatoes drizzled with olive oil—where was Maxie getting all this fresh food?
The raid should have been long over. Phil knew that his friend needed medical supplies and he needed them bad. His fellow political prisoners had managed to scrounge and trade for some over the weeks and stored them somewhere back at their camp.
In an ironic twist of fate, the commission of Arkham City had turned Crime Alley into a circumstantial, barely detectable safe zone. Due to it's narrowness, angled path (useful for hiding places to jump unsuspecting wanderers), and near inability to receive satisfactory lighting, its notorious criminal use in the past was justified but no longer necessary, not when criminals were now free to roam open streets. Even denizen's sleeping patterns were in the throes of anarchy, as most City activity buzzed during the night. Old habits die hard for criminals, Phil supposed. He wished daylight was on his side at this moment, but the sun left Gotham's part of the hemisphere hours ago.
Leaving Mike to rest and be watched over by Neil, Phil scouted ahead. He removed his hood in order to see to the best potential. Not like the fur-trimmed cover would save him from a sniper's bullet anyway.
Finding the intersecting streets free of any hint of orange, he slinked from the mouth of Crime Alley and around the corner, headed in the direction of the cathedral. The vantage point the church offered would let him stay at a safe distance yet ascertain the camp's status.
The entire block was deserted so far. The journey of retracing his steps to the camp proved uneventful. Good. The last thing he needed was a confrontation. What he wouldn't have given for an armchair and hot water bottle pressed at the base of his spine right about then.
Hastily, he dashed across the open area, stopping at the cathedral's containment wall, back pressed against it. Looking up and down the street and detecting no movement, he edged to the right, passing the cathedral's locked, iron gates until bricks were at his back again. The camp's aluminum sheeting appeared just within sight.
A clack snapped under his boot.
As if he'd stepped on a nail, Phil jolted, hovering the offending foot in the air. Stepping back, he squinted at the filthy slush on the road. There was a rectangular and abnormally vivid object on the ground—at least in comparison to the wet asphalt—partly hidden under slush ridged by his boot's sole. He would have ignored it had an image on it not caught his attention. Reaching down and shrugging off the prick of cold to his fingertips, he picked up a laminated card. A driver's license.
Jacob, Catherine Elizabeth
That was all he needed. The picture beside it just confirmed. Cathy had been there. Lifting his head, he briefly scanned the area. She must have had her license somewhere on her person all this time, but why was it here and not with her? He even carefully peeked around the corner of the cathedral's rocky fence wall, dreading to see her ragged, lifeless body there, but no. Relieved, he saw nothing but a pile of wind-blown dirt and garbage piled.
Was she robbed and then dragged away? He prayed not. Wiping the card clean on his knee, he dropped it into his pocket. The picture would help him greatly if he got the chance to ask around to other political prisoners if they'd seen her. She was part of the pack now.
He just hoped it wasn't too late yet.
Cathy could have almost sworn that this dinner was a near repeat of her first breakfast there. She sat in the same spot, only now blessed with the knowledge that being the nearest person to the fire was customary to this character of sorts that she had to play. She was still at sea, but at least now she had an oar. Next step: obtaining a compass.
No more near misses, she told herself firmly. You have to be prepared, even if it meant speaking, which Maxie was surely going to engage. Cathy only hoped that if she started to flounder, Calliope would be merciful.
Though, there was a downside to her seat at the table, too. She didn't like sitting directly across from Hephaestus. He brought with him too much of a reminder, and that reminder was always sitting directly in her line of sight. Though that could have been just her excuse, the orange jumpsuit was eye-catching at any angle and distance. She wondered why he was given permission to remain in his Arkham City garb while the rest of them were made to dress traditionally Grecian.
"It pleases me that your rest satisfied greatly," Maxie said. Cathy realized that he had been speaking to her when she found him beaming down the table at her. "The perils you must have faced to reach our summit! If you please, Hestia, you must share your tale."
She felt the oar slipping.
"Hey, Phil's back," said Neil, clapping Mike's shoulder encouragingly. He stood up and squinted down the length of the alleyway at the unmistakable figure in the blue parka, but his face fell lower the closer Phil approached.
Mike spoke up before he could be shielded from the bad news. "You didn't get it, did you?" he said listlessly, resting against Crime Alley's dirty brick wall.
"They cleaned it right out. There's nothing left," answered Phil, downtrodden.
Mike sighed, closed his eyes, and gently bumped his head against the wall for support. "Well, so much for that." Planting his hands flat on the pavement underneath him, he scrunched his face and grunted softly, lifting pelvis-first off the mucky ground.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey," interjected Neil. He sprung into action and tried to guide his injured friend to sit back down. "Take it easy, you really shouldn't—"
"I'm fine." Mike shrugged off the helping hand. Not sharply, but enough to give Neil the hint. "The human body's crazy good at healing on its own. All I need is a shot of whiskey, a sturdy bandage, and I'm good to go. Good news is the bleeding stopped, at least."
"It'll start up again if you exert it," warned Phil, crossing his arms testily.
Mike was already rising on both feet, leaning heavily on the wall in a crouched position. He waved off the warning dismissively. "Nah, it ain't that bad." Stabilizing mainly with his knees, he rose all on his own, grinding his back upward on the craggy bricks, leaving white scuffs on his jacket. Now upright, he shifted sideways and began with one rather jerky step, heading in a direction only he knew the purpose of. He made some progress but was relying too much on the wall beside him. And it was about to run out.
Neil was already on one side, ducking under Mike's arm and holding tight while Phil serenely took over the other.
Mike glanced on either side of him. Sheepishly, he cast his chin down. "Thanks," he muttered.
Cathy kept her recount short and vague. She mentioned the abandoned house providing her shelter for a night, but she didn't mention any political prisoners by name, just that they were a roving group of mortals kind enough to take her in for rest. In return for their generosity, she gave them a fire. Cathy found that she really didn't even have to lie once, she just had to distort the truth a little bit by leaving certain bits out—such as the disturbing man in the courthouse basement. Maxie was clearly expecting an opus of swashbuckling danger and mythical creatures, but he seemed pleased enough at the conclusion of this version. Calliope thankfully jumped in when Cathy mentioned crossing the harbor. The woman laughed brightly. "It is so kind Poseidon bade you safe passage!"
The journey certainly wasn't safe, but Cathy latched onto that explanation for dear life. Maxie chuckled at mention of his supposed brother, nodding like it was such a Poseidon thing to do. Dionysus politely listened to Cathy the entire time, never interjecting once. He laughed along with Zeus whenever the time came. It was hard to tell how much Hephaestus absorbed, he busied himself mostly with his chicken, potatoes, and wine, but occasionally his head would perk up, proving that he was indeed listening.
After some after-dinner banter, Maxie drew their meal to a close officially and bade everybody goodnight. Cathy wasn't offered an escort this time, she was left to return to her bedroom on her own. This suited her just fine.
She paused once or twice whenever she came to a split intersection in the richly decorated halls, but after some reflection she remembered where she was and continued down her path. Knowing one's prison was very useful, and Cathy never missed an opportunity to study the art in order to pinpoint specific pieces to specific halls for navigation purposes. Maybe she'd never need it, but one couldn't ever be complacent in Arkham City, even when housed in a building that seemed shielded from everything on the outside.
Entering her bedroom, she saw that the tub still wasn't taken away. She supposed it was because Hephaestus had been called to dinner. She turned the key in her lock behind her, just in case he'd decide on a midnight visit to collect it. Even though she was certain nobody had been in her room, since they were all present in the dining chamber, Cathy nevertheless kneeled and crawled underneath the bed to check that her traveling bag was still safe, sound, and undisturbed.
A knock sounded on her door. Cathy started and her head bumped smartly on the bed's underside. Grunting and biting her lip, she rubbed her scalp vigorously. Another knock. Wiggling out from the underspace, she bounded to the door, cautiously unlocked it and peered through the small crack she allowed.
Calliope stood sternly in the dark hallway, hands behind her back. She glanced cautiously on either side of her. Without invitation, she bumped the door wider, entered, and closed it behind her. Cathy backed away, not out of fear but to keep a safe distance. Just in case. Always just in case.
"You might need this," Calliope said under her breath. Behind the column of her white skirt she revealed a book just smaller than the standard hardcover coffee table kind. It was bound in a glossy jacket and brown, titled simply as Greek Myths, with a stylized picture of robed figure brandishing a lightning bolt. The yellowed pages, the outdated font style, and the cover layout told its own story about the book's age. Cathy wouldn't have been surprised if this book was plucked straight from an Ages 9-14 section of a 1980's library.
"It's not much," said Calliope, "but there's some useful tidbits in here to help you brush up on your Greek Mythology if you require it."
Cathy took the tome hesitantly. Not that she wasn't grateful for somebody looking out for her, but acceptance of the book felt like acceptance of her fate, like Catherine Jacob needed to be shed like old skin in order to become the Hestia these people knew.
The realization didn't hit her like a bullet train like she expected; rather it just blossomed from a hidden place, possibly known but suppressed due to the idea being just too absurd to consider; Maxie wasn't a gangster in the sense of the current world type. These weren't code names.
"There is no actual sister named Hestia, is there?" asked Cathy. She pointed out the window. "Out there."
Calliope, surprisingly, understood. "Not until you showed up. Maxie doesn't have any brothers or sisters. Zeus does."
Cathy took the full weight of the book in her hands, the metaphorical weight on her shoulders not lightening any, but it did shift reasons with the new information. She didn't have to worry about an original Hestia barging in unexpectedly anymore, though that hardly made her situation easier. Not harder, but not easier.
"Right now we're not going to dwell on that," said Calliope quickly. "You make a mistake like that Persephone girl did, where she claimed to be a goddess who is supposed to be the underworld during fall and winter, you're done. You can keep this for a little while."
"Thank you."
"Listen to me carefully. I am not going to follow up and ask if you've read this book or not. I'm leaving it here, and the rest is up to you. If you decide not to study it, that's not on me. You make just one mistake that puts us all in danger, I wash my hands clean of you, and I shall feel no remorse. And one more thing. Do not let anybody see this book in your possession. Keep it well hidden. If you're caught, I will deny giving it to you. Understand?"
Cathy did and diligently nodded. She didn't expect to be coddled during her stay, but the fear of making just one mistake stuck like honey to her. The book would help, but it was clear that with every decision she made, the consequences were her responsibility. Privately, she vowed to exercise caution in everything she did from that moment on.
Both women paused in the shared silence.
Cathy sought to break it. "By the way, I thought you should know, my real name is—"
"Stop," snapped Calliope, flashing her palm.
Cathy was taken aback. Her tone was so sharp and disciplinary, like Cathy had done something terribly foolish. The younger's eyes widened and her chest rose and fell breathlessly, like all the air had been sucked out of the room.
"From now on, you are to answer to Hestia, understand?! There's too much risk in knowing each other's names. What if we accidentally let it slip? We've got parts to play. Full immersion. From now on, I am, in your mind, Calliope and always have been. I have no other name. And neither do you."
Cathy pursed her lips and nodded her head so quickly that it looked more like a vibration than actual nodding.
The older woman's gaze softened only mildly. "I'm sorry," she said flatly, "I apologize, I should have said that better. But you understand me, right?" It couldn't be said that her eyes were pleading, or maybe they were, but it could be said that they were burning intensely, hoping that Cathy was aware of the danger they were both in. "Listen, when we get out of here, if you want we'll get to know each other's true names, our previous lives, everything else you want to know. I'll answer them. But for now, you're a goddess."
Without dismissal or goodbye, she turned to take her leave, bouncy brown hair swinging. She rested a hand on the doorknob, but didn't turn it. "I don't know how you got here, but if you survived out there for this long, your story must be an interesting one, 'Hestia'." Turning the handle, the hallway awaited her.
Before the two went their separate ways, Cathy had one more thing to say. "Hey."
Calliope paused, glancing over her shoulder expectantly, one elegant hand on the doorframe.
"...Thanks for saving me at breakfast this morning."
Calliope's lips tightened. "You're welcome," she said plainly, and then left.
The woman kept talking like Cathy was officially staying. Cathy wasn't going to do any of the sort if she could help it. Permanence was a luxury in Arkham City, and Cathy couldn't afford its outrageous price. Not when a promise that decided mortality was on the line.
A/N: Oh wow, this long break was so refreshing. I was losing steam back in October. NOT to the point where I'd abandon this story, no, never. I started working on and finished my new Gotham fanfic during all this time, so unfortunately this one had to take a backseat for a little bit. I'm sorry for the long wait, but if one beneficial thing came of all this, it's that Bolt has been born anew in my mind now that I was able to take a step back. I feel enthusiastic about the story again and I'm pumping myself up for it. Feels so good, everything is pouring from my fingers so freely, unlike a couple months ago where everything slowed to a crawl and my mind wouldn't focus and I felt like I was going nowhere with this story. This must be what it's like to chew 5 Gum...