Chapter 9 Falling, Feeling Down

Ouch. Helena picked herself up from the ground, again. She had mastered everything she'd ever attempted in her life--this would be no different. It was just taking a bit longer than she expected.

Helena had figured it wouldn't take her long to learn how to fight. She was a quick study and learned complete muscle control before her age reached double-digits. She'd never not been in shape and had always been considered one of the best gymnasts in the world. For Pete's sake, she was practically an Olympian!

She had grossly underestimated the demands of Cassandra Cain.

Cassie didn't say much but her methods of teaching made her Russian coach look soft by comparison. She looked at the new bane of her existence taking a drink, obviously taking a break after laying her student, opponent, whatever Helena was, out once more. Helena studied her more closely from her spot sitting on the ground. They had been at it for about forty minutes and the woman had yet to break a sweat. Helena wondered how that was even possible. True, it was forty degrees out, but her face wasn't even flushed. By comparison, Helena was panting, each exhale forming a white cloud of escaped breath.

A new determination flowed through her as she stood up. Helena had to beat her. It would happen today. She would earn a victory today, even a small one.

Alfred looked out the window at the girls below. He thought it was a tad chilly for them to be practicing outside. It was February after all, and just because there is no snow on the ground doesn't mean its not too chilly to be outside without any kind of wrapping. They didn't even appear to be wearing jackets, only headbands and gloves. And those leggings and long-sleeved shirts were much too tight to provide adequate warmth. Surely, Miss Cassandra was used to the chilly conditions thanks to years in a bat suit, but Miss Helena was another matter entirely.

Alfred sighed. He wished he could watch closer, and actually see the girls as more than figures. He abhorred violence and really had no interest in the beauty of the women. He just wanted to see them. He had yet to meet Miss Troy, and was most eager to.

"Alfred! What are you doing out of bed?"

A smile crept at the corners at the old butler's mouth. They were Martha's words in Thomas's voice. It was amazing how much Bruce gained from his parents, despite their too short time together. "I cannot remain on that bed for the rest of my days, Master Bruce."

Alfred turned slowly. Bruce had already put down the prepared meal and was walking over to help bring Alfred back to bed. It took a little over ten minutes but Alfred had gone the six feet and Bruce tucked him back in. Alfred couldn't help but remember when it used to be him tucking in his young charge, staying with him until he slept to ward off nightmares as best he could. "Why did you even bother buying the walker if I was never expected to use it?"

"Don't be like that Alfred. I just don't want you to exhaust yourself by moving about. It takes too much energy." Bruce looked concerned.

Alfred took no small amount of pleasure in it. Not that Master Bruce needed anymore pain in his life, but perhaps it was fitting that he could finally see what it was like to have someone dear to you do something so physically taxing, not unlike dressing as a bat to battle psychopaths. "Can you blame me for wanting to see our new guest?"

Bruce gave a small grunt, bringing over Alfred's soup. "She'll be coming around more often now, I'm sure you'll get to meet her properly sooner or later."

They sat in silence. Alfred glanced over at Bruce, who seemed content to brood. Bruce was never a conversationalist, but usually they had some conversation in these moments together. Something was off, but Alfred couldn't quite place what.

After several failed attempts to get Bruce out of whatever depression he was in, Alfred finished his soup. Bruce gave him a copy of the Gotham paper and took away the tray, grunting a good-bye before letting the door close behind him.

Alfred prepared to read about the recent happenings of Gotham when he saw the date and realized what was bothering his not-so-young charge.

"Happy Birthday, Master Bruce."

Cassie felt the impact of Helena's kick when she blocked it. Cassie had originally tried to go easy on the girl, but found quickly that Helena had as much trouble as her when it came to holding back. The girl threw everything she had behind every punch and kick. Cassie was happy to see there was no need to start from fresh.

Helena was coming along nicely. Barbara was right; the girl was born to be the next Batgirl. Cassie had only three real training sessions with her and she was already impressed. What that girl possessed surpassed determination. The girl didn't allow herself anything but perfection. Cassie read a combination of confidence and determination in every move made.

She could see the therapeutic aspects of it as well. Physical aggression, after all, was a great way to work out any mental and emotional problems. Helena seemed to become more clear-headed and focused the longer she fought on. She blocked a right hook, but had her own kick dodged.

Another thing that impressed Cassie was Helena's intelligence. When Barbara had first suggested she train her, Cassie was quick to do a through background check. While the brush-ins with the law and missing pieces worried her a bit, the nearly perfect academic record overruled some of those. Even without the knowledge of her high test scores, Cassie recognized that Helena never made a mistake twice.

Cassie tripped and pushed Helena straight into the ground with a large amount of force. Once again, defeating her.

Or so she thought. Helena regained her footing faster than ever and with that surprised managed to best Cassie with a boot resting on Cassie's chest and a smirk on her face.

Cassie felt a surge of pride. Yes, Helena was coming along nicely indeed. They could quit for the day. She gave the only compliment she felt necessary. "Good."

Sixty. Is this where Bruce had pictured himself at sixty? Going over old case files in his Batcave? Barely able to walk without using a cane?

Truthfully, had Bruce ever really expected to make it to sixty?

"What are you doing?"

Bruce attempted to close what he was looking at, but there was no way Cassie could've missed the profiles: Joker, Riddler, Ra's Al Ghul, Hugo Strange, and Catwoman.

"You shouldn't be down here. Helena could've followed you."

Cassie said nothing. She simply went over to the next computer station and brought up the night's patrol. Bruce's scowl deepened.

"What?"

Cassie looked over at Bruce. "I didn't say anything."

"That's the problem. You should have been defending your actions before moving on."

"Would it be so bad if she did see the cave?" Bruce said nothing so Cassie continued. "She's a good fighter. I could use the help."

Bruce got up and straightened up to his full height. For a moment he returned to his former terrifying glory, growling the words, "Helena will not be putting on any mask or cape."

It took a moment for Cassie to recover. "That's her choice not yours, Bruce."

"She doesn't need to be pulled into this."

Cassie opened her mouth but closed it again, reconsidering whatever she was going to say. "Why were you looking at those files, Bruce?"

Damn. He had hoped she was going to ignore that. "It's nothing."

"Is it that Vale woman? The reporter?"

What? Is that what she thought he was concerned about? "No. It's nothing."

Cassie gave Bruce one more studying look before walking away. Bruce didn't bother to watch her enter the vault and come out as Batwoman. He only heard the roar of the Batmobile as she drove off.

A cruel smile passed the man's lips as he was informed of the girl's progress. She would be ready sooner than he originally thought. He saw another man approach him, a curious look on his features. He snapped the phone shut. He got what he needed from the speaker.

He gave a short bow and looked the other man in the eye, pleased with his progress and seeking approval from his elder. "Excellent. My sources inform me that we are ready to begin Phase 2."

Unfortunately the other man was not as pleased. "Don't you think you're moving kind of slow, son?"

The younger man gave it a moment of consideration before responding. "Better slow and right than fast and with regret."