Welcome all, to chapter 3! This is a bit of a long one, as there was no real place to break it up properly. I do hope whoever's reading is enjoying this story.
A quick note on another favourite character I've used here: Richard Dragon. Richard trains people, is a fighter, one of Batman's trainers, and is in general a badass. He also appears to be exactly what his students need. For example, in the Question series, he was a mystery badass in a wheelchair (until he didn't need to be in the chair anymore). But in Huntress: Cry for Blood, he was far more mild, humorous and gentle. I think this was because that was what was needed to reach his students. As such, he is what his student needs, and I have characterized him as such. (And for those of you who like to play Name That Reference, yes I've continued my Kill Bill/Pai Mei references in this story too.)
At any rate, enough of my rambling and on with the story! As always, I own no one but Foxglove/Mariko, and suing me would be a waste of time, I'm broke!
Richard Dragon wasn't surprised to see the car winding its way up the treacherous road to his cabin. His previous visitor had shared some deeply saddening news, and suggested that he be ready for what was likely to be coming. He watched from the porch as the GTO parked and his student got out. She looked bad; her hair ragged, eyes lined, bloodshot. She'd lost weight and looked pale.
Mariko stopped at the railing, looking up at him, her eyes lost. "Hey, Sensei." She said, softly.
"Hey, kiddo." He didn't ask how she was. It would have been obvious, even if Bruce hadn't told him.
She dropped her eyes, swallowed. "Sensei . . . can I . . . "
"Of course you can stay. Long as you need." He said it quietly. He'd lost a friend and student–one of his best. And his student had lost the man she loved. Even without Bruce telling him, he'd have expected her to come.
She swallowed, her body language tense, full of pain, pent up and barely controlled, her hands shaking even though they were white-knuckled on her arms. That she'd driven without incident was nothing short of miraculous. "Thank you." She looked up again, trembling. "Vic . . . " In the next moment she was in his arms, shaking with sobs, barely able to keep her knees from buckling as he led her inside, guided her to a soft chair by the fire. He held her to him, letting her cry, and hating that he couldn't tell her it was a bad dream.
He did all he could, settling her with a mug of tea to hold to keep her hands occupied, and got her things from the car; a duffel bag, a large briefcase hastily stuffed with papers and what appeared to be flash drives. There was nothing else but a water bottle, not even a Starbucks cup. She'd looked thinner and he was willing to bet it hadn't even occurred to her to eat since Vic . . .
"God dammit, Vic." He whispered, leaning his back against the car, closing his eyes. Typical that he'd leave a big damn mess in his wake. If he were to by some miracle come back to life, Richard was fairly certain he'd punch him in the head just after he hugged him. Mariko was a mess, and he wasn't at all sure there was much to do to help her, but he'd try.
He put her things in the spare bedroom, came quietly back out. Her hair was in her face, she was staring into the teacup and taking slow, mechanical sips occasionally, when she remembered. He let her be and started some dinner, rice, herbs, vegetables, the smoked salmon that she liked. She came to the table when he asked, but didn't seem inclined to eat. He sighed, putting down his fork, finally unable to keep quiet.
"Kiddo . . . Mariko. You really need to eat. You've dropped weight, you're going to get sick. Vic wouldn't have wanted . . . "
"I've considered a hell of a lot of what Vic would want." She said, suddenly, looking up with an intensity that surprised him. "I came here, didn't I?" She looked down again, put her head in her hands. "I couldn't stay up there." She said, softly. "Everyone looking at me. They mean well but I couldn't let them look at me with those eyes . . . pity and sad and . . . " She trailed off, swallowing slowly. "I knew you weren't going to look at me like that, not with those eyes." She sobbed, rubbed her eyes irritably, hands shaking.
If she didn't rest soon, she was going to get worse. Bruce had been right; she wasn't stable. They'd let her go after the Memorial service because Batman had guessed where she'd head, but if things went the way they seemed likely to . . . well, apparently the Martian, J'Onn, wasn't pleased already, and had only agreed to leaving her to her own devices with the stipulation that she'd be brought back if the situation degenerated. Frankly, Richard wondered if he ought to call Bruce to pick her up right then.
It took the better part of an hour to coax a few bites into her, and nothing would convince her to talk about Vic, or to lie down and rest. She was still up when he went to bed, still sitting by the fire, arms wrapped around herself, lost in her thoughts.
The next morning Richard rose at five, exited his bedroom, and blinked.
The table was covered in papers, and there were a few tacked on the walls, and in piles in chairs. It looked like Mariko's briefcase had exploded. A laptop hummed near her elbow, small flash drives strewn across the table's surface. She obviously had worked all night.
Mariko herself was at the table, pale, dark circles under her eyes, fingers laced, staring at a paper in front of her, her face very . . . very . . . calm. She looked up, focused on him, slowly.
"They targeted him." She said, quietly. "The bank was a ruse. They wanted to kill Vic. That was the point."
He wasn't sure at all what to say to this, and approached slowly, frowning. The sheet in front of her was a diagram, presumably of the outside of the bank, the surrounding area where the . . . incident . . . had occurred. It was marked with colored dots, notes, arrows. Her finger traced over the paper as she spoke, her voice a disturbing monotone.
"There was no logical reason for him to turn our way." She said, quietly. "We were in the opposite direction he needed to go to get to his car. He already knew Superman would be knocked out by his gun, that would have been the obvious direction to go in. If he'd done even a cursory check he'd have known the alley was the only recourse in our direction, and that it was blocked. Even if he were going to the alley, I would have been the one in the way." She pointed out the dots, the notes, and swallowed. "Someone wanted the Question gone."
Richard sat down, slowly in one of the chairs that wasn't covered in notes. From the diagram it certainly made sense, still . . . "Well, maybe, kiddo, but in the middle of a fight things can start getting crazy . . . "
She shook her head, impatiently. "He wasn't panicked. He knew that Green Arrow had him in his sights. He had one shot and one shot only, and he turned all the way around to take it. Then he didn't even try to run." She looked up. "Someone hired him. Not for the bank job, that was just the bait. Someone also paid him enough, or had enough blackmail material on him that he would kill a member of the League despite the consequences."
"Okay . . . let's say you're right." He said, looking at her notes with a frown. "Why Vic?"
Mariko frowned, pulling some notes to her. "That . . . is the question."
She barely moved from her seat all day, and that mainly to reference the notes she had on the wall. Richard went about his usual routine, and brought her food she picked at. The piles of paper grew, notes more detailed, her handwriting more of a scrawl. When she asked him to relay some findings to Batman, he did it, and had a long conversation with the man.
Of course Bruce had picked up on some inconsistencies. Particularly after their gunman was shivved with professional precision the second he reached general pop in jail. Something was surely amiss, but the puzzle was a bizarre one. It was something he would have set the Question on. He promised to look into it, and they spoke awhile longer about their secondary problem in the next room.
Mariko was starting another pot of coffee when he came into the room, and sat down at the table, watching her, gravely.
"Have a seat, kiddo. We have to talk." There was far more firmness in his voice than usual, which did get her attention, causing her to frown and take a seat. "I've spoken to Batman. He's noticed some of the same things you have. And the gunman is dead, knifed ten minutes after he wandered out of the guard's sight."
She looked up, sharply, eyes narrowing. "If he left the guard's sight at all. Convenient." She said, and hissed through her teeth, angrily. "Have to start somewhere else then. Follow the money most likely . . . " She muttered, beginning to drift off him again.
"Mariko." He let the hardness creep into his voice again and she looked up. "I know you're planning on seeing this through to the end." He said, calmly. "You intend to follow the trail up the chain until you find out what happened, why, and who ordered it, correct?"
She leaned back in her chair, her bloodshot eyes narrowing slightly. "Yes."
He nodded a little. "And when you find out?"
There was a long silence. "I . . . don't know."
"Glad you're being honest." He said. "Batman is concerned, and I'm inclined to agree with him. No problem with you working on this, he wouldn't take that from you. However." He folded his hands on the table, regarding her, seriously. "If you cross the line and kill someone, he's not going to let it go. He will take you down. However he has to."
Her expression was blank, her voice devoid of emotion. "I am aware of that."
He nodded, gravely. "Which brings me to my second concern. You won't last five minutes if you don't rest and eat. You're going to rest, and eat, and you're going to do it tonight, and continue in that tradition until and after you leave here."
This time she frowned, irritable. "Richard, I need to work on this, and I'm not hungry."
"You seem to have mistaken that for a suggestion."
She frowned again, this time somewhat puzzled, her voice less sure. "You only ever make suggestions . . . "
He sighed. "You were a lot easier than Vic." He said, quietly. "All I ever had to do was suggest something and you were pretty amiable to it. Vic . . . at the beginning at times we had to explore consequences before he saw what was reasonable." Richard looked up at her, seriously. "You will eat. And you will rest tonight. A full night's sleep at least. If you continue to refuse, I will knock you out, possibly with a roundhouse to the head if need be. When you awaken the radius and ulna of your right arm will be broken near the wrist, necessitating a cast over your forearm and much of your hand for upwards of three months–I assure you the medical staff on the Watchtower will be instructed not fix it for you, though it will heal cleanly in its own time."
She stared at him a long moment, and for a second he thought she was far enough gone that she was going to try to fight him. "You'd do it, wouldn't you?"
He sighed. "Kiddo, I would. But only because I don't want something worse to happen to you."
"But . . . "
He held up a hand. "The discussion is at an end. Let's hear the decision."
She frowned, took a breath. "What's for dinner?" She said, finally, defeated.
He smiled a bit. "Good girl." He wondered if perhaps he ought to break her arm anyway. Even with rest . . . well, he'd made a promise and that was how it had to stand. He had to have some faith in his student, that she'd make it through without killing herself. Or others.
She was quiet the remainder of the afternoon, putting away her notes and the computer, dutifully eating what was given her, and drinking tea with him, quietly. Neither mentioned their earlier conversation. She didn't blame Richard, or Batman. They were concerned, and she knew it was rightly so. She hadn't slept because she worried about the dreams she was sure would come. Eating . . . she knew she should, but hadn't had anything nearing an appetite. Still, her head felt a little clearer after she had some food in her.
She went out at sunset to gather wood for the fire for Richard, and built a pile of it in his bonfire pit, where once upon a time they three–herself, Richard and Vic, had roasted fish, Richard leaving them eventually as they watched the embers burn down to darkness together. She pushed the memory out of her mind, kneeling and lighting the dry wood, watching the flames grow higher, feeling the heat radiating onto her skin. She sat there a long time, staring into the leaping flames, listening to the crackling wood. Finally, she reached for the bundle of black beside her. The costume was designed to be flame resistant, but in the midst of a bonfire it eventually lit, smoldered and burned. The long coat was next, silver buttons heating to glowing in the flames. Then the mask.
She watched, entranced as the lenses over the eyes cracked and burst, flames licking over the pointed ears, blackening the white fox face, making an eerie silhouette with sparking orange eyes.
"Sati was a Hindu practice." Richard sat beside her, handing her a cup of tea.
She took it, shrugging. "Sometimes the only answer is cleansing by fire." She replied, quietly. "I'm leaving in two days for Hub City. I want to visit Rodor. I promise I'll eat and sleep."
Richard nodded, looking over at her, the tired lines of her face, the pain. "See that you do." He said, quietly, and put an arm around her shoulders.
She leaned against him, gratefully. "I can't believe he's gone." She said, softly, swallowed. "I love him . . . God Richard I want him back . . . "
He squeezed her shoulder, gently. "I know, kiddo. I know."
She had no real idea what she talked about while the fire burned down to low embers. She was exhausted, rambling, tearful as she spoke to Richard. They shared stories, even laughed a little once or twice. In the end he had no resistance from her as she headed to bed, exhausted. He hoped sleep would improve things a little. If not . . . well, Batman had promised, as a favor to Richard, to keep an eye on her, but his usual duties wouldn't take a hiatus just because one of the League had been killed. He hoped she'd keep safe and wouldn't go too far, but it was entirely up in the air what she might do once she found out the answers to her questions about her partner's death. Revenge seemed likely. Hell, he was almost tempted himself. Who wouldn't be? Anyone would be sympathetic, but that wouldn't keep Batman from coming down on her immediately. And no matter how one looked at the possibilities, that wouldn't end happily.
All that could be done now . . . was wait.
