Disclaimer: The characters portrayed within this chapter belong to DC comics, which is a subdivision of AOL Time Warner. Which is to say, not me. They are being used for entertainment purposes only, and I for one am certainly getting no financial renumeration from playing with them.
There are any number of things a tired vigilante can reasonably expect to find when they return home after a whirlwind round-the-world tour (of duty) of some of the hottest crime spots on the planet. Backed up mail spilling from the letterbox is almost a given, unless the CIA has become interested in their activities. Bad milk in the fridge is typically a universal constant, too. Reproachful pets tend not to be an issue; the vigilantes who have them are often pointedly devoted to them, so they're typically awaiting collection from other friends' homes, farms, or Fortresses of Solitude. Rarely, a spouse, partner or other loved one is ready to welcome them with open arms, but a disproportionately high number of vigilantes – as opposed to superheroes per se - are single, which probably says more about the lifestyle than anything else, really.
It was the latter part of early morning when a dirty, tired, but satisfied Huntress slipped down a cable from the stealth helicopter hovering above her, landing softly on the rooftop. She waved a goodbye to the pilot she could no longer see, but easily imagined the chirpy blonde firing off her typical half-wave, half-salute as the chopped drifted away under her deft guidance. Of all the things Helena Bertinelli expected to find when she arrived home, the most important – she hoped – was that Oracle had remembered to pay her hot water bill. A hot shower sounded like heaven after that last stop in slums of Delhi to crack a white slavery ring. . .
The teenage boy was perched above the air conditioning outflow vent next to the roof access, watching her progress with what had to be puppy-dog eyes behind that opaque mask. Utterly non-threatening, he looked like nothing so much as a young stray bundled into a blanket of a cloak.
She lashed out with a roundhouse kick, followed rapidly by an uppercut and a mean left cross, cursing the fact that her crossbow was still holstered on her thigh.
Not a single blow landed. Robin unfolded as gracefully as a flung bolt of silk, rippling past her strikes with ease though he made no move to launch a counter attack.
Rolling back towards the edge of the rooftop, Huntress pulled her bow. She still had a few quarrels left after pinning the arms dealer to the wall in Bangkok, and after that there were always the throwing knives. . .
"Huntress, please, I didn't come to fight!"
"No, you came to kill me! To finish off what your assassin teacher started with my family!" More tired than she'd care to admit, Huntress snarled the accusation that had been gestating slowly in the back of her mind throughout her trip with the Birds of Prey. Heedless of tact or caution, she flung it like a weapon at the boy she'd once considered the most approachable of the cliquish Batclan. The evidence – his own abilities – was irrefutable. He'd been trained by The Crimson. Her cousin and uncle had been killed by The Crimson. End of story, right?
He caught two of the quarrels she fired, evading the third by a whisper of fletching as it shot past him. Huntress growled deep in her throat, pulling the knives as Robin walked forward noiselessly, implacably, ghosting along on the balls of his feet. He had not yet moved to an offensive stance, was holding his arms out in a conciliatory gesture as he moved . . . so easily, so gracefully. Dropping into a defensive pose, Helena briefly wondered if the Asaros had felt so utterly helpless before his predecessor. /But I'm not going down without a fight!/
"Actually, I came to ask for your help." He paused, offering her a chance to reply as if they were sitting having a polite conversation over a cup of coffee as opposed to brawling on a rooftop. She ignored the opening. The taser needed a second or so to prep, and so she armed it, hoping the slight whine of the building charge wouldn't be noticed by her opponent.
Robin sighed. "Look, if it makes you feel better to shock me into unconsciousness before you let me in, that's fine. But it won't change the fact that we need to talk."
"There's nothing to say!" So the taser might not work as a surprise weapon, but if he was serious then she could leave him bound and hanging from a gargoyle while she ran for it. Alternatively . . .
"Actually, there's lots. And a fair bit of it's already been said by Oracle. She trusts you implicitly." Huntress took his words as an opportunity to launch a sneak attack. Distracting him with the knives in one hand, she concentrated the charge onto knuckles of the other glove. If she could just hit him with it . . .
He stepped easily out of reach of the charged hand, and a heartbeat later the knives had joined the arrows on the ground between them. He'd disarmed her and she hadn't even seen him move. Again, he took a non-threatening stance, and just as before Huntress wasn't fooled. /He moved before I could see it!/ The corollary of that was a little too depressing for her to acknowledge. /If he wanted me dead, I would be./ The taser was, she noted, still charged. Whatever he'd done to take the knives hadn't earthed it.
"What do you want?!"
"In general? World peace. From you? Information." Purposefully, Robin kept his tone light. /She's overtired, scared and knows she's outclassed. I need to make sure she doesn't feel cornered./ "You've got a copy of the Asaro files. I'd like to see them."
"Why? Trying to mimic your teacher?"
"No. Just trying to find him. And the Asaros are his only independently-confirmed kills." Robin decided to offer at least some information to the agitated vigilante. If nothing else, it might go some way towards gaining her trust, and while he could just as easily have stolen the files, he preferred not to tick off one of Oracle's operatives. /Babs can be very . . . 'creative' in her vengeance. And she's already spoiling for a fight after she found out I poisoned and then duped her while creating my 'Van Casey' identity./
"Why do you want to do that?" She was still suspicious, but he could see the tension easing slightly from her shoulders.
"Let's just say I have questions for him."
"You and the rest of the world." She looked at him searchingly.
"Helena, please." He knew instantly he'd said the wrong thing.
"Don't call me that!" mad, she swung out with the uncharged fist, a vicious haymaker she'd learned from Canary. To her surprise it landed, snapping Robin's head around and knocking him to the ground, blood trickling from a split lip. He'd rolled with it, but not completely.
That alone cleared her mind from the haze of fear and fatigue. While she hated the idea of her identity so readily available to those she herself could not name, it did not change the cold reality that there, suddenly lying vulnerably on the concrete and slate, was the same boy she'd ridden horses with while chasing down stolen microchips. The same she'd pulled away from an angry mob in the Clench-ridden rubble of Babylon Towers. The boy who'd vanished for a year and come back inexplicably altered, moving with an assassin's skill.
"You let me hit you," She demanded, angry. "Why?"
"I deserved it. I made a mistake." Robin replied, pulling himself upright, but not meeting her eyes. /I of all people should treasure a secret identity. I certainly know the incalculable harm losing it can cause, and Huntress has no way of knowing I've already done a sweep of the roof and surrounds./ "I'm so sorry I used your name."
Her rage shattered on that, cracking into a heartbroken concern, /Oh, Robin, no! No child ever deserves to be hit for something like that!/ Her fear, coupled with the shadow of her family's murder, had unleashed something dark and unpleasant within her. Robin, using The Crimson's moves, had simply been the target that she'd found to lash out at. It was an ugly realization, and it soured her stomach.
A long moment later, she discharged the taser into the concrete at her feet, startling Robin into making eye contact.
"Oracle really said those things?"
"Well, yeah. That's why I waited out here."
"Ha! You just deduced that she had to have helped me up the security here from 'tough' to 'too difficult for the Batclan'!"
"'Too difficult'-!? You go right on thinking that." He joked back, careful not to smile too much. His lip still hurt, and splitting it open again would just lead to more messy bleeding.
She disarmed the rooftop door lock, and then stepped onto a rough concrete panel that at first glance looked like any other on the roof. Then it sank, the concealed lift shifting silently downwards in response to the commands Huntress had entered into the touchpad on the false door above. Robin hurriedly leapt after her, landing lightly next to her.
"Cool toy," he commented.
"Robin," Huntress turned to him, unexpectedly serious. "The information comes with a price tag."
"Which would be?"
"Don't ever – ever – let me catch you allowing someone to hit you like that again. Do you understand?! You're not a punching bag, and that's not how you make up for mistakes!"
She stared at him ferociously. Finally, he nodded.
A/N: As always, feedback is heartily encouraged. (I'm not sure how many readers are still with me on Twenty-verse given it's length)