10:47 AM Batman. Seven months later.
Despite my opposition to the fact, I took a couple of days to fly out to Larnaca, Cyprus to look into the workshop that Nightwing had scheduled for Tim as well as meet with an old colleague. I decided I'd meet with my colleague at a coffee shop on the harbor before touring Tim's school. I preferred to handle the hard things first. I was not looking forward to seeing her—my colleague—and even more than that, the guilt that I felt being away from Gotham filled me with anxiety. It overflowed in my stomach, spilling into my knees. The anxiety made it difficult to be Bruce Wayne—it made it difficult to hide Batman. I managed it by trying to remain as aloof as possible.
Cameramen where waiting for me at the air-terminal, but I had covered myself in a wide-brimmed hat, shades, and a scarf to make pictures difficult.
I climbed into the Bentley that was waiting for me, and it sped off to our destination. It was perhaps a thirty-minute ride, but I decided it prudent to drive through random routes throughout the city and its countryside to shake any paparazzi. Over the years, I had come to realize their endurance. The paparazzi, while tenacious, were sprinters and not marathoners. They'd be highly motivated to follow me for the first hour, but only the most dedicated would continue through the second. A third hour was unlikely to yield any pictures at all.
My limousine stopped outside the coffee shop where I had planned to meet my acquaintance. I removed my covers and climbed from the backseat, checking that my flak vest was not visible beneath my suit. The weather in Larnaca was more accommodating of wearing multiple layers than the oppressive and soupy summer in Gotham City this time of year. The breeze was my ally in a circumstance like this.
I entered onto the patio of the coffee shop through a gate bordered by palm trees, shrubbery, and a flock of native flamingos foraging in the nearby waterway for food. I scanned the sparsely populated patio. It sported white aluminum tables and chairs and was bordered by a chest-high stake fence with two couples sitting near the door of the cafe. My colleague was sitting on the side opposite of me.
She wanted to be able to see me come in—she hadn't changed a bit.
"Bruce Wayne," she said warmly, her thin Asian eyes sizing me up.
"Sandra Wu-san," I greeted her in return as I snaked through the patio furniture.
One of the couples scrutinized me from their table. They must have recognized me.
"What has it been? More than a decade?" Sandra asked. She was dressed in a red and gray blouse with Asian accents, a black mini-skirt that sported red silk trimmings, and a pair of white pumps with chrome heels. Her hair was pulled back forming a tight, symmetrical bun that was held in place by two crisscrossed chopsticks. Her make-up was moderate, complimenting her yellow skin-tone, and her eyeshadow was smoky. Characteristically, she wasn't wearing earrings.
"It has been a long time," I agreed.
"You look well. A tad bit larger and less fat mass since last we saw each other. It would seem that you're in no less shape than you were in the past."
"Better."
"Without a doubt. You were always very focused." She looked deep into my eyes, and I threw off the appearance of Bruce for just a moment. Then she smiled, "Please, sit with me."
I pulled the reciprocal chair out and eased into it, folding my hands politely on the table.
"Can I interest you in some coffee, Bruce?"
"No, thank you."
She nodded slightly devoid of concern. "So, to what do I owe the honor? Is this a social call or business?" Sandra asked, lifting her cup to her lips.
"A little bit of both really."
She sipped her coffee and then placed it down; her lips left no lipstick on the rim. "Have you come to provide me with my rematch?"
"No—I'm here for something more important."
"What could be more important than what you owe me?"
"I have a favor to ask of you."
Her voice became suddenly cross. "What makes you think that I would help you?"
"Your honor…"
She looked deep into me again, her eyes just as cold as mine. Then she gestured me with her hand. "Continue."
"I'm here to inform you that the young man, Tim Drake, that you've been training is my ward."
Her face flushed for a second and then composure took over. "That explains the large compensation."
"Indeed."
"He's of exceptional talent."
"And, I need that talent harnessed."
"One of your agents contacted me and arranged this, then?"
"One of them."
She was calm, but her eyes told the truth—there was an agitation that she didn't realize that she had been manipulated. Whether that agitation was anger or sobering realization of something else was unclear. She was connected to some dangerous people, after all.
I heard footsteps coming towards us, then a shadow crawled across the table, followed by the scent of floral perfume. Instinctively, I tensed. But, Sandra showed no sign of threat, so I relaxed.
"Excuse me," a heavily accented lady interrupted our conversation. Sandra and I looked up. It was one of the ladies that was seated on the patio with us.
"Can I help you?" I asked, adding warmth to my best celebrity voice.
"I'm sorry to interrupt you and your lady, but are you, Bruce Wayne?"
"I am."
"Omigod! This is amazing! I have never met a celebrity before! Can I get a picture with you?" she exclaimed, pulling her phone from her pocket.
"I'd prefer that we didn't. But, I'll give you my autograph instead."
"Oh, that would be wonderful! Thank you!"
I took Sandra's napkin and signed my name with a signature that wasn't my own and then passed it to the lady. She thanked me several more times and then scurried back to her table.
Sandra and I picked back up right where we left off.
"Males are not allowed in my school of dance, Bruce. However, the compensation made me reconsider just this once."
That was code for how dare you.
"Thank you."
"What's the favor and why the deception?" There was venom in her voice.
"Because I didn't want Sandra Wu-san training him with our history in mind. You would allow our history to get in the way. I wanted Shiva to train him, and I figured the compensation would compel the very best from you."
"I don't take kindly to being manipulated."
"I'm aware. But, it was necessary."
She raised a brow. "Shiva, you say?" She was definitely angry.
"Yes—Shiva."
Sandra sat forward in her chair with all seriousness. "Is it a swift death you want for this boy, Bruce?"
"No."
"Then why would you seek Shiva to train him—especially through deception. Teaching requires compassion—Shiva has none."
"That's why I need Shiva to do the training. The mission he's undertaking and the people he'll fight will have no compassion. He must learn to fight in that environment."
"Now that I know you're the patron, the money isn't enough, especially if you were looking for me, as Shiva, to train him."
"I figured as much."
Her expression hardened.
"Why are you here?"
"A press conference." I shrugged. "Name your price," I said.
"You're not being honest."
"We were trained that way, remember?" I replied.
"Shiva wants a rematch with the stoic Bruce Wayne."
"I'm not the boy I once was, Sandra…" It came out more as a warning than a qualifier.
She reached across the table and laid her hands on one of mine and smiled warmly. "Oh no—you are something far greater now…but then again, so am I." Her hands were dainty—perhaps half the size of mine—and delicate, but her knuckles were scarred and labored.
"I'm aware. I've paid attention to your exploits."
"Have you now?" Sandra's voice had the slightest hint of suggestion. "And, why is that?"
"I always have my ear to the ground. You know that."
"What have you learned about me?"
"That you're undefeated in the Khmer Nāga Fighting Circuit."
She half-smiled. "Your agent paid a very high amount to make the boy—"
"—unstoppable. I'm aware."
"Yes, unstoppable." She nodded at the statement as if confirming that this was all true. "Why did you seek me out?"
"Like I said, your honor. I trust your integrity. Always have."
She flicked the air with her fingers. "Do you, Bruce Wayne, accept my price?"
"Yes."
She looked away as if she were considering her next words. She looked back at me. "Why are you training this boy? What are you to possibly gain?"
"Hope."
She let out a throaty chuckle. "Hope?" she asked unconvinced, sipping her coffee again.
"Yes," I nodded. "Hope."
"Hope," she said, swishing the word around in her mouth thoughtfully. Then, her eyes squinted suspiciously. "Is this another deception?"
"There's nothing deceptive about hope, Sandra."
She sipped her coffee. "It wasn't something we were trained in—hope."
"That's why I left."
"You are the greatest enigma I have ever known."
I nodded.
"Don't let me down on your end of the bargain," she demanded curtly over the top of her coffee cup.
"Have I ever let you down?"
"Yes." Sandra drew her hands away. "Once."
We were silent for a moment, and then I said, "I should be going."
"You should," she said, folding her arms but not taking her eyes off of me.
"Ensure that you complete his training."
"On my honor."
I stood and checked my watch, and I placed money on the table for Sandra's coffee and started to leave but stopped when she spoke again.
"What if he doesn't survive my training?"
"Then I'll know that he wasn't meant for this path." I looked over my shoulder at her. "But, he will survive; he's like us."
"Very well. Shiva will deliver your boy. But she doesn't want her rematch with Bruce Wayne." Her voice became intense. "She wants her rematch with something far greater."
I left without looking back. I had a fight to prepare for.