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Redemption, Retribution, & Restitution

-Chapter Two: THREAT-

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Another beautiful foggy day in Gotham City. There had been sleeting rain in the wee hours of the morning, and slush rode up on her boots as she entered the hospital. She sighed at how warm it was inside on the main floor, vowing to enjoy it fleetingly. The basement was always freezing… possibly because the morgue was on that floor as well.

Wednesday, her busiest day of the week. Monday through Thursday were her class days, and on Wednesday and Saturday nights she trained at Kairi Tanaga's dojo across town. Today she would be both the teacher and the student, and the combination never ceased to intrigue her.

She could say she lived an ordinary life, at long last – the very thing Zsasz had abhorred. But there one variable each and every day at work that changed: she never knew who was going to walk through her door. Her classes were drop-ins; some students had referrals, especially if they had been seen here at the hospital, but many people came on their own volition. She had kept a good number of students, many who would stay months learning from her before moving on – but she never knew what new faces she would see, what new horror stories she would hear, and what new wounds she would help heal.

Long ago, she had assumed that she would be working with victims of supercriminals, like herself. With Gotham's reputation, this was a fair guess. But it had been the opposite. For the most part, her students were victims of small time criminals, crimes of opportunity, even domestic violence. Why weren't the victims of the supercriminals coming to her class? Could it be that, with Joker's absence from Gotham, there weren't as many successful big players anymore? Or could it be, she thought with a shiver, that they were too successful? That, in fact, there weren't many survivors of supercriminals, because they didn't leave survivors.

She was lucky. She was also very rare.

The thought made her feel colder than the weather outside.

As she shuffled through the lobby, she caught sight of her friend, the receptionist Mrs. Phillips, and strode up to her desk.

"You look cozy!" she said cheerfully. The official hospital secretary and receptionist Mrs. Phillips was bundled up warmer than a kid on snow day, a thick wool sweater beneath her cardigan and a shawl draped over her shoulders. Her eyes were sharp as she peered up at Danielle through her golden cat spectacles.

She owed everything to Mrs. Phillips. She had been the one to encourage Bruce Wayne to reopen the self-defense program, after it had been shut down for years. Mrs. Phillips had been close friends with the original director of Patient Outreach Programs, and when the lady had been untimely murdered, all the programs had closed. It had been Mrs. Phillips' dream, more than anyone else's, to see the programs reinstated, and she had told Mr. Wayne to approach Danielle about getting involved. So far only the self-defense program was back, but given enough time, maybe the other programs would come back too someday.

Mrs. Phillips was of another generation, a much politer one. She wore thin-rimmed cat glasses balanced on her nose, with a golden chain around her neck, and spoke with a manner that was both .

"Are you here to tell me the latest hospital gossip?" the old lady secretary asked, looking up from primly smoothing her paperwork.

"No, I leave that to Cindy," Danielle grinned, leaning against the information desk.

"I saw her flitting through here earlier, all abuzz with coffee. She offered me some, but I declined."

"You should have said yes! It is so cold outside!"

"Yes, well, I bought a new portable heater recently, and my feet are nice and toasty in here."

"Speaking of cold weather… what are you doing next Thursday for Thanksgiving? Do you have any plans?"

"I hadn't anything particular in mind. Occasionally a few old birds and I get together, fellow war widows you know, but we haven't organized it yet."

"I was wondering if you might want to do something," Danielle fiddled with her purse strap. "You know, we could have a dinner together or something."

"Wouldn't you rather go to Cindy's family's house for dinner? You do every year, if I recall?"

"Well this year is Dante's first dinner with them, I didn't want to intrude. Then again, Cindy did say to bring someone of my own… you could be my plus one?" she grinned.

"I believe Cindy meant someone your own age, and someone you might want to potentially date."

"Yeah, well, we both know how likely that is right now. Well, think about it. You know Cindy's always got extra room at her table." She smiled. "No one should have to be alone on Thanksgiving."

Mrs. Phillips' eyes crinkled subtly. The not-quite smile struck Danielle with a fierce wave of nostalgia. For a moment, the old woman reminded her of her grandmother.

"I will consider it, my dear. Now you'd better go turn on the heat in your office, before you become a popsicle!"

"Will do!" She gave Mrs. Phillips a wide smile before hurrying to the office.

Maybe next year I could host Thanksgiving, she thought. Little brother might have moved to Gotham by then… "Little brother" was 25 years old, not so little anymore. With him, me, and Mrs. Phillips, it would be like having our family again. Or maybe I'll go home and see my parents. It had been a long time. Too long.

She heard a muffled ringing. "Oh no!" Her keys scrambled in the lock and she burst into the tiny office, snatching up the receiver as it was on its last ring. "Phew…"

"Miss Lee? You sound out of breath."

"Not at all!" She straightened up, immediately recognizing the deep voice. "What is it?"

"A matter has come up concerning one of your students, Scott Jones. I need you to get some information from him, then meet me tomorrow night."

"I'll see what I can do…"

She stretched as she hung up the phone a minute later. The room was still cold and it made her body ache tiredly. Her fingers spun the dial on the wall near the large vent, but the metal groaned in protest. She frowned. No heat.

Sometimes the old hospital had trouble in the pipes and vents. She sighed. Time to call the maintenance man to fix it. That meant there wouldn't be any heat in the studio next door either, since the ventilation system serviced both rooms. "Brrr…"

Today was a special day: Obstacle Day. Every so often, Danielle decided to transform the studio into a more realistic training space. Empty trashcans, jump ropes, papers, and chairs lay strewn all over the mats. When her students came in to practice today, they would have to be mindful of environmental obstacles in addition to defending themselves. After all, the real world wasn't built on soft training mats.

She had been watching the Wednesday students carefully. With only a few new faces, the group had been pretty consistent over the past month. The newest face was, in fact, Scott Jones, who had been coming to her classes for just over a week. Interestingly, he had been coming to all of her classes, Monday through Thursday. It was almost as if he wanted to learn these skills more urgently than the average student.

He was still in danger.

Of course. That was why she had gotten the phone call earlier. That was why she needed to watch him more carefully today in class and then get information from him.

In the blink of an eye, it was 4PM already. Her students trickled into the classroom, including her target student. Scott looked tired today. There was an uneven stubble on his lower jaw, and dark bags ringed his eyes like bruises, contrasting with his milky white skin. The marks on his body were turning green, healing. His posture was slouched, his bad shoulder still hunched in on itself. He looked at her as he came in, acknowledging her, but seemed to immediately look away after. He had been able to look at her longer the day before.

That was a sign. Most students would slowly begin to display signs of improvement… if they hadn't been retraumatized. Scott was looking worse. He is still being attacked. She remembered what he had said yesterday, when she had asked what her students' fears were: "I don't want to talk about my greatest fear." He was still holding back, afraid to name his attackers. If he didn't talk about it, he could be killed, or spend months experiencing repeated attacks, suffering alone without any support.

Just like she had.

She felt a fire in her chest. Not if I can help it.

The rest of her class shuffled in, bewildered faces taking in the sight of the cluttered mats. Danielle smiled. We're going to have some fun today!

"Alright everyone! Pair up, do your stretches, and then we'll go over the activity for today, as I'm sure you've all noticed the altered state of the room." The class chuckled.

Scott was not the only student there from yesterday. Theodore was there too. Theodore pushed his glasses up on his nose before approaching Scott, and Scott nodded to him as they partnered up. She saw Theodore's eyes do a quick appraisal of his partner's injuries, the bruises that lingered and the bad shoulder, and smiled to herself. For all his shyness, Theodore noticed a lot and read people very quickly. She hoped he could help set Scott at ease before she questioned him tonight.

"One of the key lessons of self-defense is to be aware of your surroundings." She watched as her students gazed apprehensively at the debris all over the room. "You need to be aware of who is around you, aware of what's happening – and you need to be aware of the environment itself. If someone attacks you and you fall, there won't be a soft training mat waiting for you. There might be a concrete sidewalk, a flight of stairs, a curb to trip over. Any number of obstacles that could work against you. You need to be aware of them. I want today's focus to be free-form fighting; use as many of your skills as you possibly can. If you fall, adjust – don't stop the practice, incorporate it into it! One partner will attack, and the other one will do whatever it takes to defend him or herself from that attack, until he or she can get away safely. Does that make sense?" The class nodded. "Alright, let's get to it!"

The pairs quickly decided which partner would be an attacker, and the energy in the room changed. It was the grating, heavy energy of competing interests, the tension between would-be victims and predators – the rhythm of the assault. Each moment dribbling by, measured in pounding heartbeats, deciding who would win. Make one little mistake, and the opponent gains an advantage; how far they take that advantage depends on how many openings either party exploits. One little mistake, and it's game over for either person, in a mere instant. She knew that many of the people in this classroom knew this first-hand.

She knew that both sides were trying to end their fight as soon as possible.

Zsasz was cunning, Zsasz was fast. She didn't know what she was doing… Only that the blade, the crazed gleam in his eyes, scared her. She didn't let herself slow down. Put distance between us, use a long stick or a baseball bat – strike then. Strike while he cannot stab. Adrenaline pounded in her ears. He's blocking the door! I have to escape!

"Please, sir…"

She snapped her head around, and the classroom came back. Theodore was lying on the floor, staring up at his "attacker" with raised hands. He had tripped over an overturned trashcan during the scuffle and was now at his opponent's mercy. The "attacker" – Scott – had paused. Theodore spoke quickly.

"Do you want money? You can have my money. See?" He held up his wallet. "Is this what you were looking for? It's no problem." He tossed the wallet to Scott's left. As Scott's eyes darted to the wallet, Theodore scooted backward and stood up quickly before turning and running.

Danielle was very impressed.

"Good job, Theodore! You got away safely," she beamed.

Theodore shrugged shyly. "Yeah, but it's not something you can do everyday." He approached with his head lowered and accepted his wallet back from Scott. "If they always bully you and you always give up your money, you start to feel like a loser after a while. You start thinking, why can't I stand up for myself? Plus then you're broke."

"In the grand scheme of things, a stolen wallet doesn't matter," Danielle said firmly. "I know we're training here in class on how to do physical defense, so it might be hard to yield your possessions when you have learned these skills... It might feel like a defeat. It's not. If compliance gets you out of a situation alive… if they're threatening you, making you choose between handing over your wallet or getting hurt further… why not give them what they want?"

"But what if they want you dead?" Scott suddenly spoke. Danielle and Theodore looked startled. The young man shook his head darkly and resumed staring down at the mat. He didn't speak another word.

5:30PM. Her students were exhausted and beaming. She couldn't have been prouder.

"I hope you all got in a good workout today!" she called. Her students laughed. "You all did excellent! Have a safe evening, and remember – always be mindful of your surroundings! See you next class!"

She saw a mop of brown hair heading for the door.

"Oh, Scott!" she called. The student stopped and turned hesitantly. "Can you help me put away some of the supplies? I could use an extra hand…" Ignoring Theodore's confused look – he surely would have volunteered if she had asked – she focused on Scott and was relieved when he nodded yes and came over to her. She handed him the supplies basket and he set to work picking up the kneepads, while she picked up the trash and righted the trashcans. His shoulder was tense, bunched and pulled against his body. She had to be careful, set him at ease.

"How are you doing with this class so far?" she asked as non-threateningly as possible.

There was a long pause. "It's good so far," he said, his voice a little raspy.

"Is it upsetting your injuries at all?" she continued. "You can let me know if we need to move slower—"

"They're healing fine," he reassured her. She nodded.

"If you don't mind my saying so—" she stopped. Scott turned to look at her. His fine brown hair was trembling on his brow line, and he had a guarded, almost hard look in his eyes. She exhaled slowly.

"You're safe here. I don't know your story and what happened, but I know that you're not alone, no matter how scary it was. I've seen hundreds of people come in here, and one thing we have in common is that we know what it's like. We all know what it's like to be assaulted and have our sense of safety robbed from us. I'm here to make sure it doesn't happen again – to any of you. You can ask me anything, Scott, anything if you think it would help you. You are safe here. Alright?"

He nodded but didn't volunteer anything.

"Can I tell you a story?"

He nodded again.

"There was…a time… when I was walking home from work one day. It was three years ago – four years in March. It was just an ordinary day, nothing special. I passed by this park not far away from here… and that's when it happened."

"What happened?" Scott asked. Danielle realized suddenly that she had been silent, reliving the memories in her head.

"I saw a man standing in front of a bench, not thirty feet from me. There were these two people – a couple – they were dead. They couldn't have been older than I was at the time, and yet— I realized they were dead when he moved them, when their heads fell back…" She felt, rather than saw, her student shiver violently. When she looked over at him, his pupils were dilated and his skin was paler than usual. She pressed on, "He saw me, of course, the killer did. Said I was next. I ran. I was scared. I lost him and thought it was the end of it, but…" She shook her head.

"But what?" Scott's voice was filled with dread.

"He found me again. He wouldn't stop attacking me," she whispered. "No matter what I did… There was nothing I could have given him that would have satisfied him, until I was dead." Except for near the end, but… he doesn't need to know about that. No one does. She pushed away the rush of confusion that came with the thought and stared her student in the eye.

"What you said today in class – 'what if they want you dead?' – that's exactly what I went through, and it's a scary place to be. It was my worst nightmare." As expected, he was looking at the scars over her nose and forehead and neck, understanding on his face. "I would hope, that if you went through something similar, you would have someone to talk to about it."

Scott's eyes snapped to hers, and he seemed to be in a trance. She wondered, the moment teetering on the edge of a knife, if she had been too bold with her unspoken question. Would he bolt?

His eyes narrowed, and suddenly he was looking right through her, as if he were somewhere else. "I have a nightmare just like that," he said darkly.

"You do."

He swallowed thickly. "You wanna know what my greatest fear is?"

"What is it, Scott?"

"It's that when I leave here tonight, they'll be waiting for me, maybe at the bus stop – or maybe they've found out where I live and they'll be waiting for me when I get home… to kill me."

"A group of them did this to you?" She felt a pang staring at the black, blue, and green of his bruises.

"They want information," he blurted out. "I'm afraid they're going to kill me once I give them what they want."

A cold shiver went up her spine. "So they've been targeting you, specifically, for some time now?"

Scott nodded.

"Who are they? What information do they want from you?"

His eyes found the floor again. "I-I-"

"C'mon, Scott…"

"They said if I tell the police, they'll kill me!" he said. Danielle flinched. "My friend, Matthew Summers… He said if I tell the police, he'll kill him!" She had been just like him before… and it had cost her so much.

She watched him struggle with himself for a few minutes, her heart breaking more and more. "It's OK, Scott… Scott… It's… it's OK if you can't talk about it right now… Hey, look at me."

Her student had tears in his eyes.

"Look, if anything happens, call my office number. Do you have it? Here it is again. I check it at night too before I go to sleep. If you need anything, even just to talk, call me, OK?"

Scott took the number and put it in his wallet carefully.

"Look, we've got to find a way to keep you safe. Can you take a taxi home from the front of the hospital, so you're not out on the streets? Or better yet, can you call a friend and stay with them tonight? If you're scared about going home, you should stay with a friend instead. Can you do that tonight? And then come to class tomorrow? Is there anything I can do for you, right now?"

Scott shook his head, his face getting paler. "I'll be OK, Miss Danielle."

She could only watch in dismay as her student hastily left, shaking like a leaf.

She hoped he would be back.

Steam and lavender filled the small bathroom. All the aches from Kairi's class were coming out, and more than a few bruises too. Kairi Tanaga-sensei had gone hard on them today. She stripped off her shirt and pants, smiling. Nothing like a workout followed by a hot, relaxing bath on a cold night.

She glanced at the small window, out into the darkness. Hope Scott got home safely.

She rifled through her pants pocket and then glanced at her thick jacket. Yeah, I could stand to wash that too… She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, and her fingers brushed paper. That's right - there was that note from yesterday, and she had forgotten to read it. Cindy was going to hound her about it tomorrow over coffee! Sighing she sat down on the toilet and held up the paper.

Hopefully it was just some professional note. Anything but a love note. The thought of giving herself romantically to anyone ever again—she could feel her stomach tighten and acid rise in her throat. She couldn't. Not now. Possibly not ever.

The inside message was written in beautiful calligraphy. Heart sinking, she began to read:

Silly teacher came to teach,

Little students came to learn.

Every week a skill they reach;

Every week a new one burns!

Pretty teacher wants to help:

You ought to quit while you're ahead.

Hold off on your noble cause

Or I shall paint your classroom red!

Little teacher, causing trouble,

Listen, and choose a diff'rent path,

Or harm befall the ones you lead –

Wait and see and face my wrath!

Her stomach turned to ice. The piece of paper slipped softly from her hand.

"That's not a love note…"

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