Disclaimer: I do not own Batman.

Redemption, Retribution, & Restitution

-Chapter One: ASS-KICKING TUESDAYS-

-/-/-/-/-

It was going to be hard walking home later. The fog billowed against the window of the small self-defense studio, like white smoke against deepening blue shadows, obscuring the small courtyard outside from view. Soon the orange lamps would come on outdoors, affording only the barest measure of safety for a lonely traveler. Danielle's thoughts kept drifting that way even as Jillian attempted to talk her ear off instead of practice.

"What if Killer Croc attacks me in a dark alley?"

"He won't," she reassured her student for the ninth time, "now practice disarming Mary."

The young woman's eyes brimmed with wild scenarios. Danielle swore she would pop a blood vessel. "But what if it's really Scarecrow and he shoots me up with his fear stuff?" she spoke a little too quickly.

"Remember what I've taught you in this class," she replied patiently. "Don't go to dangerous places, and you're already a step ahead of the criminals…"

"But what if the Joker finds out where I live and comes into my house?"

Danielle gave her a flat look. "The Joker is dead, remember?"

"Oh yeah…"

Just a typical Tuesday night. Danielle looked around the small studio and pride swelled in her. Students of all ages – some younger, many older – filled her class, sweating and focusing and slowly moving from victims to survivors before her very eyes… I was the victim of a serial killer, and I turned my life around. She rubbed the diamond-shaped scar on the back of her neck absently. If I can do it, they can do it!

Who would have thought that their dream could take off like this? It was three years ago last August when Bruce Wayne had stood in the lobby upstairs, smiling down at her and offering her the chance of a lifetime. After a long absence, they were reinstating self-defense classes at Gotham General Hospital – and Bruce Wayne wanted Danielle Lee of all people to lead them.

Three years. She thought. My, how time flies.

Theodore waved her over. She winced at the huge bandage on his nose while he shyly adjusted his glasses. I should have taught him more. It's not his fault. Two months of class, and he couldn't stop his bullies from attacking him again. A week ago, a neighborhood gang had cornered Theodore on his way home from work and broken his nose. Hearing that one of her students had landed in the hospital, in spite of all his hard work… It was devastating to know her class hadn't protected him. But he stayed alive, she pushed away the vicious guilt. That's victory enough sometimes.

"Um, Miss Danielle, can you help me? I can't seem to get this move." In spite of the injury, Theodore had never stopped being positive. She was constantly amazed at his resiliency.

"Demonstrate it for me," she encouraged him.

Theodore and his sparring partner Lloyd did as she instructed. She watched carefully as they grappled. He has the moves… but he's closed on one side.

"Open up your posture: you're shielding your left too much." She adjusted Theodore's body gently. "When your posture is open and alert, you can react more quickly to threats."

"But doesn't that mean I'm leaving myself open for a fight?"

"The goal of self-defense isn't to fight. First and foremost, it's to escape. You're looking for the quickest opening to run… even if you have to create that opening yourself." She nodded to Lloyd, "Try to notice where his balance is off, and then use his weakness to your advantage." The two men repeated the sequence, and this time Lloyd went flying to the mat. Theodore looked up, a bashful grin on his face.

"Thank you, Miss Danielle!"

She smiled back. "Anytime."

The class practiced for twenty more minutes, and then Danielle called everyone's attention and asked them to stand in a circle.

"You have all practiced so hard tonight!" she smiled proudly at her eager students. "I have a question for all of you to answer: what is your biggest fear? It's important to acknowledge your fears so you can overcome them, and so you'll know you're not alone. Let's go around the room and share our fears, starting with you, Lloyd."

The burly mechanic, who had been attacked by a group of thugs near the shipyards, grinned. "My biggest fear…would have to be getting eaten by a shark and somehow it doesn't choke to death on my bones. Dying in vain!" The class laughed.

"Um…" Theodore tapped his fingers together and then adjusted his glasses again. "My biggest fear is going someplace dark and getting jumped…not seeing it coming." The class nodded somberly.

"Mine are psychos," said Jillian, almost too cheerfully. She hadn't been assaulted or attacked before, but was taking the class as a preventative measure. "Like the supercriminals. They're so powerful, and there's just no reasoning with them!"

Her sparring partner Mary was wearing a long-sleeved violet cardigan. "I'm afraid of failing to be all I can be, " she said softly, pulling the sleeves lower down her hands to conceal the bandages on her wrists – Danielle had noticed them right away. "I don't necessarily mean my life cut short by an attack or anything, you know – just that I want to live up to my potential… Not let anything hold me back, you know?" Danielle made a mental note to watch Mary carefully for signs of increased depression – she seemed very fragile.

"Mine is being raped," her next student Monica said frankly. According to the referral, a family friend had attacked her in her home. "I—You know, I was lucky last time. I don't want it to happen again, cuz it could be worse next time."

"My fear is that I won't be able to protect my kids," Greta rasped. She had no marks on her at all, and she tended to hide her emotions, but Danielle knew that she was still feeling the effects of the mugging; she was with her children when it happened, and the perpetrator had waved a gun in her face for ten minutes before letting them go. "It's harder learning self-defense when you never know if an attacker is going to go for your kids. Makes it more of a challenge."

"Mine is being beaten to death," said Sarah, who was still sporting bruises around her neck from an assault. "Not being able to defend myself."

Becky was drying her eyes on her sleeve. "I-my biggest f-fear is… It's my uncle. That's it. I don't want to say anymore." Sarah rubbed her back.

"It's OK," Danielle said, looking first at Becky and then the rest of the class. "You're very brave for sharing your fears. Sharing is a good first step for knowing how to face them. Cecil, would you like to go next?"

Cecil absently rubbed the cast on his arm. He had been in the wrong place during a drive-by shooting. "My biggest fear is not helping a friend in need. If a friend were to ever go through this and feel they have to keep it a secret…my biggest fear is not being a good enough friend to them, to know something is wrong."

Finally, there was one person left: Scott Jones.

When Scott spoke, his voice barely rose above a whisper. He had bandages all over and bruises marred his milky white skin. He still wouldn't tell anyone who his attacker was. "I don't want to talk about my greatest fear," he said, hunching his good shoulder. A mop of brown hair hid his face.

"That's OK. Like I said earlier, you don't have to share if it makes you uncomfortable. Thank you everyone for participating in our lesson and supporting each other—"

"Miss Danielle?"

"Yes, Theodore?" She felt proud of the shy man for speaking up.

"What's your biggest fear?"

She opened her mouth and closed it again. Several of her students leaned forward slightly. When she spoke, the classroom was completely silent.

"My greatest fear," she began, "is that I will fail one of you or possibly all of you, and some monster will snuff out your brightness. My fear is that in spite of all our hard work here, small-minded criminals will continue hurting people and keeping everyone living in fear and pain." Absently, she rubbed her hand over her face - over the thin scar that ran across her forehead and nose. "And if I'm honest with myself, my greatest fear is to become a victim again."

Her class knew that she herself was the former victim of a serial killer. What they did not know was that the serial killer was none other than the infamous Victor Zsasz, who kept a tally on his skin for each victim after posing their lifeless bodies. None of them knew that he had attacked her multiple times, each time growing more and more fixated on his victim, his "zombie".

But then they didn't have to know these things. They knew that she was like them – a survivor, hoping to rebuild her life in the wake of horrific abuse – and that was enough.

"That," she continued, smiling, "is a huge reason why I teach this class. Each time I do, I am facing those fears head on." The students relaxed at her words and many of them smiled. "This is the end of our class for the day. I will look forward to seeing you all on Thursday, and remember that you can always call me if you need advice or support. Good night, and stay safe."

The class dispersed.

Danielle rolled her shoulders and sighed as she left the office. As much as she loved her work, class always took all the energy right out of her. I wish I could just teleport home.

The hospital hallways were empty at this time of night, except for the emergency ward upstairs. But down here, in the basement… It was too quiet. Eerie.

She walked by the wooden door of the Records Room, her old job, quickly. When she passed the mailroom, she stuck her hand in her cubby out of habit. Her fingers touched fiber.

"Ahh, the joys of paperwork…" she trailed off in astonishment.

Her name was written in beautiful cursive on slightly weighty paper. A note? She started to open it but thought better of it. She didn't need to be dawdling when it was already so dark outside. She stuck the paper in her pocket, vowing to read it over tea later. It looked like a personal note. She sighed.

The elevator came very quickly, taking her up to ground level. Much better lighting up here. No sooner had she arrived, the elevator across from hers opened, and none other than Bruce Wayne stepped out. His blue eyes twinkled when he saw her. "Hey, Danielle! How are those new pads working out?"

"They're perfect, Mr. Wayne!" she beamed. "Our students were just practicing on them now and they say they're softer! Thank you so much! We even have a little of the funding left, so I might spend it on more kneepads, other supplies…"

"That's terrific!" She was never sure if Bruce Wayne were listening or not. In spite of his charm, he had an airheadedness to him that was both enviable and frustrating. But she didn't mind. It was Bruce Wayne's funding that had reopened the hospital's self-defense program in the first place. She owed him, and to top it off, he had practically given her the job himself, thanks to her friend Mrs. Phillips.

"How's your family?" she asked earnestly. "How's your little girl?"

"Oh, Selina's fine," he smirked. Danielle smiled, picturing the fiery socialite Bruce Wayne had married. "She's at some charity event right now. And Helena's great. She's getting so big. She really keeps us on our toes!" A rare, genuine smile graced the billionaire's face.

"She must be beautiful."

"She really is. Well, I'd better get home to her!"

"Have a good evening, Mr. Wayne."

"Bruce, please," and with that, the billionaire hurried outside to his waiting car.

She saw Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne's personal butler, holding the door open for his master. One more person he meant to kill but didn't, she thought to herself. Sometimes she was tempted to talk to Bruce Wayne about it, ask how his butler felt as a fellow survivor of the madman. She would love to talk to someone with similar experiences and compare notes. But she didn't want to overstep her boundaries.

BRIING! As always, she jumped at the sound of the phone.

"Hey Dani, how was class?"

Danielle smiled. Cindy Gibson, her best friend, always called her when she got out of the office. Cindy left work an hour earlier than Danielle, now that she lived with her boyfriend Dante. The two girls had been housemates for three years, up until very recently, and Cindy still worked in the Records Room down the hallway. Danielle thought Cindy worried about her sometimes, being alone now.

"Class was good as always. They're getting it. How are the stacks?"

"Ugh!" Cindy groaned. "If I have to re-catalogue one more file from August, I swear I might-!"

"Might what? Resign?"

"Might knock Ms. Davis out and then resign! After I get her an icepack, that is. But enough about the dreaded mounds of papers. One more week til Turkey Day! You think you might wanna come over after all?"

"Maybe," Danielle laughed. "But are you sure you don't want it to be just you guys? You know, since it's Dante's first Thanksgiving with your family?"

"So bring a date yourself, girl! See any cute guys in your class that you might wanna…you know…?"

"God, so unprofessional! You know I wouldn't date one of my students." Actually, she thought, I'm probably not ready to date anyone at all. Maybe I never will be. "Though I did get a note today…"

"Ooh!" Cindy could barely contain her enthusiasm. "Is it a love note?"

"I don't know! I haven't read it yet!"

"Why haven't you? Trying to kill me with suspense?"

"I'm going to read it over tea when I get home," Danielle promised. "Now I'd better get going. It's dark already… And you know how dangerous it gets around here at night."

"Always the self-defense teacher," Cindy teased affectionately. "Think about Thanksgiving, now! I'll see you Thursday for our coffee date!"

"Bye!" Danielle slid the cellphone back in her pocket and wrapped the thick wool jacket more snugly around her body.

The orange lights of the hospital faded as she walked down the darkening streets, back toward the Coventry district where she lived. The fog had cleared and the sky was full of cold stars, visible as she got further away from the populous area. She could hear the water of Gotham Bay lapping, even though it was a few blocks away still. Or maybe it was her imagination.

There were no cars or people on this street. Long dark alleyways stretched off of the main street, leading to empty places. For a self-defense teacher, the irony was not lost on her how isolated her walk home was. Not even a bus ran down this way. But it was the only way home with constant streetlights. The can of mace slapped lightly against her leg from the pocket of her long jacket.

It was times like these when she wished for her baseball bat.

Always be mindful of your surroundings.

If she were a younger and more naive person, she would go out wandering all night, looking at all the lights displays as the holidays approached. Maybe go someplace like Gotham Square and watch all the young couples wander as well. She missed those carefree days. Even with…with him chasing her, there had been times where she felt so…liberated.

A knife biting into her shoulder, neck, arms, abdomen, across her face—

The streetlights made the frost on the pavement glow a golden color. It had not snowed yet. It was late November, and the snow wouldn't be here for another couple weeks, most likely. Until then there would be fog, and rain, and sleet, and frost, and cold cloudless nights, like tonight. She shivered and walked faster. Winter was coming.

Never mind tea. What about a nice hot cup of coffee!

Out in the distance on the other side of the water, the downtown skyline stretched, the part of Gotham that never slept, and Wayne tower loomed over it all. The lights of the Pioneer Bridge blinked and twinkled like so many stars. She used to cross that bridge every day, into the Bowery District, her old home. Now that she lived in Modern Gotham, she had to find occasion to go over there. It had been a few weeks since she had visited the piers in Amusement Mile. She hoped that the seals were braving the cold successfully.

A flash of a man, standing behind her, fingers on her neck— She didn't bother to turn. The flashbacks didn't bother her so much anymore. Not anymore.

And yet she stopped, fist clenched. Three years, three long years, and sometimes it felt like only yesterday.

Her tormentor was gone. He was dead. Victor Zsasz was dead – and she was the one who had killed him.

You bastard, she thought. Even from beyond the grave, you haven't gone away. Why? Why can't you just let me be in peace? Accept it. You lost. You didn't liberate me! You never will. Sometimes she wondered if she were really talking to Victor Zsasz, or to herself.

When she walked among the tall buildings, she couldn't help but think of the way she used to run through the streets, hoping he wasn't chasing her, knowing he would find her again. Now it seemed she could never truly escape him, not with her career, a sick monument of sorts to their legacy. Sometimes she swore she heard his voice on the wind, calling her name. But of course there was no one there. Was he watching her now? From the other side?

Her own fingers, trailing along tallies of scars drawn on warm skin— No—Never again…

She looked up at the beautiful holiday lights, but the sadness prevailed. And she hated herself for it. Would he be here to see it, if he had lived? Maybe I could have reformed him… God… Did he really have to die? She scoffed. I shouldn't feel pity for him! Think of how many people he would have killed in the last three years, if he were still alive…

Would he have walked these streets someday, appreciating every breath of fresh air that swam into his lungs? –Why, why did the guilt always persist, when logically she knew it was for the better?- Would he have strolled along, without seeing a single person as a zombie who needed to die? His 'salvation', he called it. If she hadn't done what she did, he would still be "saving" people, giving them the gift they never wanted. I gave them a gift by killing him! If that monster had lived-!

If he lived, would he ever have made amends to all the families he hurt? To the hundreds of victims? Her thoughts swirled chaotically. She breathed deeply. He always brought this chaos with him.

-With a jolt, it seemed she was upside down again, the cold salty breeze on her face, hearing screams. Seeing his cold eyes fade into nothingness…-

Danielle closed her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I'll be there soon," she whispered to the listening breeze. "I'll come visit soon." Like I do every month on the 2nd day. I'll stand again above the cold waters of the Sprang River, and I'll remember. "I won't forget what you taught me… even if you are a bastard, Victor Zsasz."

The few months he had been around had changed her – for good. She was stronger now, much more alert – also more jaded and guarded in many ways. Scarred. But he had taught her to value life more than she ever thought possible, and she would always be thankful for that. If he had lived, could I have taught him the same?

Oh well. She had killed him. She would never know the answers to those questions.