Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Batman universe.

Author's note – Here is where I really messed with the time frame, at least for the movie. Just so you guys know :)

Bruce is amazing. He's advancing through his training like no one I've ever seen. And I've seen a lot in my ten years here. He's already mastered weapon fighting, swords, gauntlets, etcetera.

It is strange, though, to watch him fight. He seems so different when it's just me and him. Then, he's warm and even a little talkative, but on the floor he's tough and closed and … deadly. I shiver at the thought.

I don't think Bruce knows what he's in for, and I can't warn him. It would be against my code of conduct. I'm only supposed to keep him healthy. If I could, I would scream at him to stop what he's doing before it destroys him. Like it destroyed me.

But, would I? I remember all too clearly Ducard's words to me when I first took this position. They're going to let me go if Bruce succeeds. That should be my only priority. That should be my only tie to Bruce Wayne. The strange friendship that has sprung up between us is clouding my vision, I can't see clearly what's right in front of me.

I feel torn. On one hand, I want Bruce to succeed so that I can escape. That is selfish of me, incredibly so, knowing what Bruce will have to go through to thrive in the League. But it's still my top priority. That is the only reason I don't reach out and grab his hand and save him from sinking into the darkness.

On the other hand, I have become friends with him. I care about his well-being. I don't want to see him lost. All around, I feel like a horrible person.

Then it happens.

Bruce stumbles into my room, his eyes glazed over. They have drugged him to "rid him of his fears and embrace the darkness" or whatever. That was the worst part of my training, because the drug did nothing for me but give me a bad headache for my ten percent bird brain didn't take to it like a human's. And they still threw me in the lake.

He looks at me confidently. I wonder if he knows that they have done this to him.

"I've done it," Bruce whispers, and he seems proud of the fact.

"What?" I ask.

"I have conquered my fears. I have become my fears," he breathes, his voice husky. How much did they give him? "Ducard said that my initiation is fast upon us."

Initiation? Really? My heart leaps into overdrive.

"But … I don't know," Bruce continues, too out of it to notice my stiff back and crazed eyes.

"What? What don't you know?" I ask, freedom in sight.

"I don't know if I can do it," Bruce admits. My heart stops cold, just as suddenly as it had sped up.

"Of course you can," I say, but it comes out as a snarl. Bruce caught the edge in my voice, and it seems to sober him. He doesn't say anything more.

I swallow, bringing my voice down to a calmer lever, "Why do you doubt yourself?"

"What if this isn't what I really want?" Bruce asks, looking to me for some real guidance. He trusts me, I realize with a start. He wants to really know what I think about all of this bullshit. Now is the time to tell him.

"It's want you want," I mumble, the words only half-baked in my brain, "Otherwise you wouldn't have gone this far."

"I don't think I can finish," Bruce says slowly. Disappointment and rage flare up as one in me, and I start to yell at him.

"You HAVE to finish!" I scream, moving so that my face is right in his.

"Why?" Bruce's eyes become guarded; he doesn't understand my reaction to his doubts. He probably thought I would have been softer and helpful. That's what I thought too.

"Because!" I exasperate, and then the words slip from my mouth, and there is no way to take them back, "You're my ticket out of here."

Bruce is silent for a moment, his brain caught on this last statement. I scoff at him, but I don't know where it came from. Is someone else controlling my brain and my body? Because that's sure as hell what it feels like.

I sigh, trying to calm the trembling that has sprung up in my body. This is for the best, I tell myself. Hopefully, this will fuel his anger and he will finish the job. And I can't hide from that fact that only a few days ago I had thought seriously about this moment, when I would break his trust and sever our bonds.

"If you get through this alive, I get to leave, do you hear me?" I say, my voice quieter, but sterner, "You have to do it. I have to leave."

Wheels are turning in Bruce's head, I see them on his face as he realizes my true purpose, "So … all of this? Healing me, befriending me, it was all a ploy? You were using me?"

I don't respond, and he probably takes that as a yes.

He shakes his head in wonder, angry, but still curious. Probably as to how one person can be so evil.

"Well," he finally says, after a long few minutes, "I'm sorry to let you down then."

My eyes pop out of my head, and my mind starts racing, trying to think of the best way to motivate him. I could beg with him, tell him that they'll kill me if he doesn't finish. But he kind of hates me right now, so he probably doesn't care much if I live or die. I could tell him it was all a joke. Um, no. Stupid idea. A path springs into my head, and it seems plausible, but he'll most likely hate me more when it's over.

"Fine," I snarl, my mouth delicately lifting into an under-used sneer, "Quit."

Bruce hasn't expected this either, the surprise is on his face. I'm throwing him through so many loops, turning his vision of me upside down. But I can't stop now.

"I don't care. Let them kill you. Be a quitter. Lose," I don't know if Bruce is competitive or not, but if he is even the slightest, this will work.

"You're just like your father," the words bubble from the back of my brain. Ducard had told me about Thomas Wayne and his death right after Bruce had arrived, hoping that I would use the knowledge to spur Bruce on. That's exactly what I was doing.

"Weak," I add.

"My father wasn't weak," Bruce says menacingly. I hit a sore spot with this one.

"Yes he was, just like you. Unable to do anything. To weak to finish what he started, to weak to protect his family."

Bruce roars at me, leaping from his cot where he had sat so motionlessly through my tirade. He makes a grab at me, but I dodge out of the way. I really pushed the wrong button.

I dance out of his reach, each time he tries to catch me. Finally, he slumps back onto the cot, the drugs still slightly in effect, which was the reason I evaded him so easily. But he was far from done. I had hurt him, but I didn't expect a rebuttal. He wasn't going down without taking me with him.

"You're full of shit," he tells me something I already know, "You're not doing this to urge me on. You're doing this because you're scared."

"Yeah, I'm scared of never leaving this hell hole," I interrupt scathingly.

"No," he says, simple and blunt, "You're scared off getting close to me. I see it in your movements. You don't want to push me away. But you're too scared to keep me close."

I gape at him; I didn't know he was so insightful. I thought that I had done a rather good job of keeping my true feelings under wraps around him. My face is as smooth as a rock after a hundred years in a riverbed. But inside, I am burning alive.

"I'm not the weak one here. But fine, if you're too afraid to let me in, then I'll leave," Bruce says as he gets up. He has hit the bulls-eye. I keep my unbreakable poker face in place though, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing my pain. He doesn't slam the door. He closes it softly. But I listen carefully and about halfway down the hall he slams his fist into the wall, probably leaving a nice, big hole. Good. I have poured just enough on him to make him mad and keep him going. Even though it was at great personal cost.

I flop back upon my bed and bury my face in my pillow. Soon, I have to flip it around because one side is wet. Wet? Am I … crying?! I sit up, bringing my hand to touch my face. I am crying! I almost laugh. I haven't cried since … well, I honestly don't remember. I haven't felt anything strong enough to make me cry. I think I'm hysterical.

But it hurts, a lot, and I realize again why I had pushed everyone and everything away from me. It was to save myself from this awful pain. I sniffle once or twice, and then strengthen my resolve to close myself off.

But Bruce slips into my mind, briefly, before I fall asleep. That look of betrayal on his face, his angry words. As much as his words hurt me, nothing gave me more pain than hurting him like I had. No matter how hard I had tried to keep him out, he had wiggled his way into my brain and my heart and he wasn't leaving anytime soon, and there didn't seem to be anything more I could do but tell myself this was the best way. I would be free of this soon, free to forget it. Bruce, the Bruce that I have grown so attached to, he will most likely disappear in the League of Shadows once I leave. That hurts a lot too, but I remember freedom, that wonderful elusive idea, and I know that will be my salve to these self-inflicted wounds.