A/N: Super late! But hey, it's super long. It's two chapters combined. I probably should've split it up, but after the long wait, I didn't want to hold out on ya'll either. I could not get this one written the way I wanted to save my butt. So I'm hoping I did it enough justice. There's a bit of everything in this one. Tim fans will be happy...I hope? And yes, the birthday part chapter is coming. A disaster? Oh...but of course. By the way, there's a poll on my profile, feel free to check it out, I'll leave it up until the end of this story. Chapter 30 should be the final, if not sooner. It depends on how it writes out.
I don't know…I don't know what pulled me up from my knees that day. It wasn't like I could feel anything, the cold had seen to that. And my heart? The last of its tears had all but frozen to my face. But what boy would admit that he cried? I'd just blame it on the snow and this bitterness that seemed to rattle the trees to their core.
Feeling the wind ruthlessly push against me, I braced myself, frowning as it plucked petals from the roses in my hand. Mom loved roses, at least that much I could remember. And me too, or at least I hoped she had. I hoped the faint memories of her in my head weren't the visons my own longing had shoved into my head in desperation.
As I watched petals twist and tumble down the hill, looking almost like blood in the snow, I saw her. A small ghost of a girl, her face and fingers as red and ragged as my own. One glance in my direction and I couldn't even move. It was like the cold had reached right into my chest and stole my breath. Or maybe my lungs forgot how to breathe. I had to look away. Janet Drake. If the frozen ground was hard on my knees, I don't remember. I only remember the feel of that stone against my forehead, the feel of the falling snow touching my ears. I wish you hadn't sent me away. I wish I had more to remember you with than just these fragments…I wish we had more of a chance. But the words in my head only make my mouth ache. I should have been here with my father, but there was no telling when he would finally wake from his coma. Batman had managed to save my father from death. I should have been more grateful, but I was still alone.
"I'm so lost Mama. Tell me what to do…" I knew those stinging words, I had said them myself a time or two hadn't I? Closing my eyes I could hear the snow whipping against the stones of this silent place. I could only imagine what my mother would do. If it was honest or not, I'll never know. I simply pressed my lips to that icy marble as my legs seemed to will themselves upright once more.
Boots sinking into the snow, I worked my way down the hill, so unsure of what I would say to this girl who was balled in front of a headstone, letting the snow coat her like a little match girl. Crouching, I could see the tremble of her body, from the cold…from sobbing, from both. At first when I reached out to her I was afraid she'd crumble into the snow like a broken statue. But when my fingers finally made contact, she looked up at me with those pale blue eyes. Eyes that were strangely familiar to me. "Are you okay?"
Lifting her arm she dabbed the shimmer of new tears off her face with her sleeve, sleeves that were too thin for this kind of chill. "I'm f-fine."
Before I could get another word out, my hands were busy peeling my coat off. "You're also turning blue." I said, watching that bottom lip of hers quiver. I imagine it was supposed to be a flushed pink, not a pale purplish-blue. "What are you doing out here?" I asked, letting the coat droop around her.
"Sitting with my mom…" The words came out as if they were scraping their way out of her. "…thank you." I should have told her she was welcome, and yet all I could do was crouch there. God, I knew the way that felt. The way the words just burned your throat, the way they made you hurt after you've held them in for so long. Spotting the name behind her, I gently reached up and brushed the snow away. Paige Larson. It wasn't a name I knew, but like Janet Drake, she was someone's mother—her mother.
"You have someone here too, don't you?" Was I that easy to read? Or could kind just read kind? At her words I found myself eyeing my mother's headstone, now all but covered in scattered rose petals, looking awfully lonely. "My mom is here too." I manage, though the words leave me softer than I anticipated, so I nod, as if it's not enough. "A few rows up the hill."
Snow blowing its way between us I could only watch her making hearts with her nearly frost bitten fingers. "Do you…live around here? You look kind of familiar." I say, but how she's familiar or why…I don't know. I just feel it. When she lifts her hand from the snow and points down into the valley, my brain doesn't know what to think. Beyond those bare trees are the peaks of Wayne Manor. It made no sense to me. You see, ever since my mother died and my father had ended up his coma, Bruce Wayne often visited me. I never thought he and my father were friends, but I knew they ran in the same circles. I think I was too glad of the company to ever really ask why he of all people went out of his way to visit me. Knowing what I know now it makes so much sense. But even so, he never mentioned he had a little girl—this little girl.
"You're…" My mind was already racing, but as a familiar voice cut through the air wielding an unfamiliar name, I froze there. What was this? What did it mean?
"Delilah!" The girl jumped to her feet in an instant, letting my coat pool around her. Thanking me, she darted off the other direction, hopping over tombstones and plagues while I just stood there like an idiot so unsure of what to do. I mean, Bruce was chasing after her. Do I call out to him? No. My uncertain feet pulled me forward. Standing there on the hill I could see their shadows melded together. Just like I had done, Bruce removed his coat. Maybe I had picked up a few things from him along the way.
Still not sure of what to make of the display, I turned back to the audience of snowcapped headstones, spying a rose that had blown down the hill. Picking up my coat I slung it over my arm as I studied the unknown name once more. Paige Larson. Mother. Friend. Missed. I don't know why, but it made me smile just a little. "I know just how she feels." I murmur, picking the rose up at my feet before letting it settle in the heart that this 'Delilah' had created.
With every trek I made to the cemetery, I carried an extra flower for the stranger, wondering if I might see the little match girl haunting her mother's plot. But like most days that winter, I would find nothing but her boot prints in the snow. According to the rest of the world, there wasn't a little girl living at Wayne Manor. So was I simply following the tracks of a ghost? When I finally had the nerve to ask Bruce about her on one of his visits, he told me I was mistaken. And just like her, the prints began to disappear. I would have resigned her to my memory, to my own longing to have someone else share my pain. She was nothing more than a selfish act made up by my own misery—or so I thought until the flowers began to pop up on my mother's grave.
It would be years before I would see more of Delilah Wayne than just her flowers, even after I learned that the girl in the graveyard was more than my imagination. I assumed Bruce was only trying to protect her since he made no mention of her. And while a part of me begged to ask, the words would never come out, like they knew they were forbidden despite my curiousness.
I had scarcely grown accustomed to this life. I should have been grateful, grateful that my father had managed to return to me with a whole mind unlike so many who never wake at all. I was living in a house I could barely remember with a man I hardly knew. It was a new chapter in my life, new school, a new start. I was finally home! Isn't that what I always wanted? And still I found myself wishing for something familiar from the years before. Bruce slipped from life with the waking of my father. It made me feel like a traitor to miss the man's company. So I kept it all to myself as I tried to disappear into a new routine. I never thought my ghost would materialize in the halls of Gotham Prep.
"Have you seen the new girl yet?"
"Who hasn't, Fuck-tard?"
"Twat-waffle. So, c'mon, what's she like?"
"Not exactly smoking hot if you know what I mean, but she's cute. A little too innocent looking, but I could fix that."
The school was abuzz, fixated on the very thought of a new face having the misfortune of joining our snobby ranks. In a couple weeks whoever they were would be old news. "Yo, Drake! Are you trying out for the lacrosse team?" Just. Shoot. Me. Hearing the hinges on my locker squeak I cast my glance at the towheaded Pitman.
"Nope."
"What, you too good for it or something?"
"If I said 'yes' would it make you go away?"
I could hear his buddies cackling and clucking like chickens from behind him. Funny thing is, I couldn't really see beyond him. He's kind of well… big. But as his chuckle booms through the hall, I'm already wondering how loud of a thump he'd make when he hits the floor. "You're a funny one, Tim."
"I get that a lot." Uh, no. No I don't. Let's see…if I hit him with the locker door I wonder how funny he'd think I was then? Of course I'd have his three buddies to contend with. Two on one? Sure. Three? Here? Eh, there are too many people here. That could get way messy.
"Real. Fucking. Funny." His paw of a hand comes down on my shoulder with every word, and while I can feel him trying to leave his mark, I don't even flinch, I just continue to gather my books. It doesn't matter what kind of school you go to, there's always that one guy that has to assert himself as the big man on campus. Yeah, yeah. You're the king of the jungle, alpha of the pack etcetera, now shove the fuck off.
A floater like me wasn't really a threat to his social status, I knew that. It's not like my parents were A-list celebrities. It was my athletic aptitude that seemed to threaten him. If you're not with them, you're against them I guess. Whatever. We weren't what you would call friends. And I can't say I hated him. Hate's a strong word. I just wouldn't mind beating his face in.
"Pike, there she is…and she's staring this way." I was contemplating the pros and cons of getting myself suspended when the background noise made it to my ears. On the one hand I could lay him out right here and now. On the other, I'd be stuck at home with Dad. Yeah, how about no? Things were already awkward enough. But Pike's shadow finally left my locker taking the option off the table—that's probably a good thing—for him.
"Oh, hell…"
I was tempted to tune it out like all those times before, and yet something was begging me to turn around. Something felt familiar. The second I found those wide blue eyes staring at me from across the hall, my lungs forgot to breathe. We were motionless, separated by a river of bodies and backpacks. If there were words, neither one of us could summon them. Was it seconds that we stood there just staring at each other? Or minutes? I'm not totally sure. I remember the sound of the bell harassing me into action. The only thing I could do was nod to her. So, we are real creatures then…
As a group of girls pulled her down the hall in a cloud of giggles, I could see her delicate head bobbing back to me before she disappeared into the crowd. "Drake, Dude, what was that?" I could only shrug at the stunned Pittman. "Are you and her…"
"I don't even know her." I say, heaving my bag from the floor. At my words that cockeyed grin spread across Pike's face as he slung his jacket over his shoulder.
"In that case, you know what they say, finders keepers." I could only stare at him as he swaggered his way down the hall, so unsure why it bugged me. This wasn't new behavior of course. Pike would chase her and when the novelty wore off he'd find someone new to conquer. But this wasn't just anyone. This was my ghost of the graveyard. She was still the girl who left flowers for my mother. Okay, so maybe I knew why it bothered me.
"You don't know her either…"
She wasn't someone to be conquered.
If Timothy Drake's morning could be summed up into a handful of items, it would be the half empty thermos of bitter coffee, the dull point of his pencil, and the still blank pages of a sketchbook. It had always been easier for him to sketch out his projects, to put his overwhelmed mind elsewhere when sleep had been all but forbidden. But this morning, the page in front of him was still blank, as blank and bare as the sunless sky stretching out before him. They had actually saved a life. And yet as Tim sat there on that roof with the wind nibbling on his ears, he was sure he could still feel the weight of Max Collins' body lying in his arms. How many? How many lives did he have to change before he could close his eyes and not see that limp boy? How long until the sea no longer mimicked the sound of blood gurgling in the back of his throat?
With the weight of his head resting in his hands, Tim could barely see the faint glow of his phone through his fingers. Dad…again. He should've just reached right out and picked up the phone. He should've let the man know he was okay. And yet there he was, still as the statues that were perched around him. How do you let someone in after so long? This relationship between father and son had been tenuous and bitter at best, straining under the burden of unsaid things.
How could he tell him now? He knew about the incident with Max Collins, but what about his triumph? It felt nothing like a good deed probably should feel. How could he expect Jack Drake to fill this void in him? It was too large! Yes, maybe it did begin with his parents and their chosen absence from his life, but now that hole in him had grown so vast he was afraid that it would swallow up anyone and everyone in his path. How the hell could he ask the man to bridge that?
And why the fuck couldn't his father reach out to him when there was still hope? Now it just felt too late, the years had worn that small hole in his soul to a canyon, a canyon he had tried to fill with his obsessions over the years. Obsessions like Batman. Obsessions like Nightwing. And now here he was trying to find something that might make him forget it all completely. After all, the second the sun sank from the sky, he couldn't be Timothy Drake, he was Red Robin. And Red Robin didn't have time to worry about such trivial things. Right?
Tim could feel his own fingers raking down his face as the phone finally stopped trying to grab his attention, the pad on his knee still blank. Jesus, why couldn't his stupid brain just shut up?! Watching the first rays of light break across the sky, Tim could do nothing but sigh. Another sleepless night was all but spent…and here was another day where he had to be Tim Drake. Grabbing his thermos he could only frown at it…empty. The gulls only continued to dart through the paling sky, mocking him as they cried. Empty cup. Empty page. Three missed calls and a mountain of unread texts. This morning had the makings of a crappy one. Fun.
In the midst of collecting his things, a piercing shriek cut through wind. Before his breath could even shape it's self into a wispy cloud he was already leaping for the lower ledge. But as Tim worked himself to the open attic window he had used earlier that morning, something lithe and bright began to billow out in soft sweet notes.
"Really now, Miss."
Perching himself on the windowsill, he could see Delilah Wayne in that pale yellowing sunlight, her slander hand clutched to her chest as she laughed. It was the kind of sound Tim was sure he had never heard coming from her before. Alfred on the other hand wasn't amused by the cherry cheeked girl.
"I'm sorry..ow…I'm sorry." Laughter and cracked ribs weren't exactly a good mix. Perched there, he watched her tuck the wild strands of her hair behind her ear as she crouched down and opened the dust cloaked trunk in front of her. "I thought it was real." She said lifting out a tarantula.
The old man across the cavernous attic only seemed to roll his eyes. "But you have no fear of bats? Honestly, Child."
"Pennyworth?!"
"Oh, shit. Don't let him come up here!"
"You'll have to face him eventually, you know. He was quite cross to find you gone this morning." He told her as he made his way for the door. "But of course, not so cross that he didn't take Jax on his run without you."
Tim could only imagine the look on her face. "H-he took my dog with him? My dog? Are you pulling my leg?"
"Do I joke?" he asked, turning back only to swipe the Halloween decoration from the trunk.
"You sir are the embodiment of cheeky. And just what the hell are you going to do with that?!"
"If you hear another scream, I suppose you'll know then, won't you?"
"Don't go blaming it on me!" She cried as he slipped out the door. But as her eyes traveled up the perched shadow on the wall she twisted around to stare at him. "Oh. Morning."
"So, Batgirl is afraid of spiders." Tim teased as he hopped from the window, watching the dust float up into the air under his weight. He could see her eyes falling to the trunk in front of her, her fingers running over the delicate fabric that probably hadn't seen the sun in years. "It just startled me. End of story." She murmured, as she gently plucked old frames from the chest. With Tim's shadow looming just behind her she let the trunk open wide. "My grandmother's things."
Tim only picked up one of the old photos that were sitting at her side, aged moments of a life that happened long before their time. Strange even as he looked at the face of a then young Martha Wayne he could see bits of Delilah staring back at him. "She was one classy lady."
But as he set the frame back down on the floor, he could see the girl sitting there, a dress pulled halfway out of the trunk. "I meant to come up here and gather some photos while Damian was busy…and all I can seem to do is reminisce." She said softly, the dress falling into her lap. "When I was about five or six, I loved playing up here." When that soft smile lit up her face, Tim felt himself crouch down to the floor beside her, watching her fingers as she smoothed out the pleats of the skirt. "Alfred told me he was going to run errands and would be back. He said that my father was in his study. So I thought nothing of it until I tried to leave. The suit of armor by the door had fallen over." How could she smile like that? "And I couldn't get the door open. I remember yelling for Dad until I just couldn't yell anymore. So here I was, stuck in this attic freezing my ass off. It was so cold that the windows were all frozen shut. I guess when Alfred came home hours later and asked about my whereabouts he wasn't exactly thrilled that Dad had no clue where I was. When they finally found me I was curled up in a ball with all of my grandmother's clothes on top of me."
Del gently pulled the garment off her lap and laid it back in the trunk. "Dad felt really bad when I told him I had called for him until I had lost my voice, but hey, Grandma Wayne kept me warm. You would've thought I sucker punched him or something." Del said, working herself from her haunches. "That was the first and last time he ever told me he was sorry. He usually apologizes through gestures. Words are not his strong suit."
As Tim watched her brush the dust from the top of the chest he could only wonder just how many times his father had apologized to him over these last couple years. Plenty. But had he really taken the time to listen? Would his brain allow him to?
"Gestures?" He asked, his own fingers gripping around the phone in his pocket as he followed her to the door.
"Yeah. Like—when I was ten, Dad and Dick totally missed Christmas. A couple nights later woke up to this puppy sitting on my chest just licking my face. Dad just sat there by my bed and the only thing he said was 'So, what do you think?' It's just what he does, and I let him get away with it."
As if summoned by her words, the puppy that was now a full grown Doberman came flying up the stairs for them, leaving a slur of angry words in his wake. But if the dog gave two shits about what Damian Wayne had to say, he wasn't showing it with that wide mouthed dog grin.
"You! Where the hell were you?!" Out of the corner of his eye Tim could see her empty hand reaching into the pocket of her coat as they paused on the stairs.
"That's a good question." If he didn't know any better he'd swear the girl was biting her cheek as they watched her father slide from the dim hall. He only paused long enough to lean into the banister.
"Out."
"At 3 am?"
"Miss Wayne, a letter has arrived for you."
At the sound of Alfred's voice the girl turned and hopped down the stairs nearly two at a time, the sound of a dog's prancing following her around the foyer. "Mm hm." The sound slipped out of her like a hum as she nearly snatched the envelope from Alfred's hand.
"Monkey see, monkey do, Master Bruce."
"I thought we'd gotten through that stage already."
"Bruce, she's a teenager that stage starts all over again. It's just…ten times worse."
At the sound of Jezebel Jet's voice, Del had to fight not to roll her eyes, instead she simply tore open the letter, trying to ignore the way the woman wrapped herself around her father. "It's from Sissy. Her dance troupe is opening for a play tonight."
"Sissy? Who-"
"A little girl from Del's origination, Page for Parents."
"Can I go?"
"No. We have a function tonight."
"But I snuck out at 3 am. Guess I'm grounded. Looks like I can't go." She said giving her best lamenting sigh. " Alfred, looks like it's just you and me again."
"Nice try. You're going."
"Dad!" Del cried yanking the flyer away from Damian's reaching hands. (Only just to turn around and hand it to him.)
"Del."
"Why can't I-"
"Because you snuck out at 3 am."
"But-"
"End of discussion."
Tim forced himself to suck in a breath as he watched Bruce and the model disappear back down the hall. The second they were out of sight, he could see the girl's fingers pulling a small tube from her pocket. With a subtle nod toward a certain door, it disappeared into Damian's fingers. Just what did she do while she was gone? It was enough to drag him all the way down the stairs. "Out of curiosity, if Alfred brought you back here…how did you leave? Your bike's still here."
But Del only shook her head as she took the brightly colored flyer out of Damian's hand. If she could feel the boy glowering at her, she made no move to show it. Now wasn't the time or the place. "Where's it at?" He asked, feeling her eyes on him as he took the liberty of peering over her shoulder.
"Gotham Theatre."
We should go. Wait…we? What was this we business? Ugh, did his brain have to be this damn ridiculous? As a sigh hissed from her lips, Tim could only watch as she folded the flyer up into neat little squares. "This just sucks. Her aunt's moving her to Metropolis…" So it was the last time Sissy Collins would be in Gotham. Without thinking, Tim wrapped his fingers around the girl's wrist, stopping her from stuffing the paper into her pocket. She went absolutely sill.
"May I?"
Del opened her hand, allowing him to pluck up the paper. "Tim…" Her gaze flickered from his hand to his face. "You're vibrating." Ah, crap.
"It's probably my dad." He said, aware that she was watching the paper disappear into his pocket.
"If you can make it, I-"
"Oh, trust me, I will."
"Tim?"
"Yeah?"
"You really should answer that. If it was me you'd answer it, right?"
Timothy Drake paused there in the foyer, feeling the cold smack into him as he held the door open.
"Guess you won't know until you do." He said flashing a smirk as he slid outside.
"You're not as charming as you think you are, Bird Boy."
"Says the girl with a smile on her face." Before that face could twist or her hands could make a one fingered gesture, he shut the door, certain he could hear her calling him a jerk.
"What the hell is this?!"
"Jesus H. Christ, you ever, I don't know—knock?!" Del cried, hugging her robe closer around her as Damian burst through the door. You're not walking around like you own the joint? That's what you Waynes normally do. As the boy threw her backpack, all Delilah could hear was Jason in her head. It made the girl want to press her hands into her robe, as if it her fingers could suddenly feel his mouth there. Never mind that the gear he had given her was now spilled out across her bed.
"I don't know how you do things with them." She could feel the words edging up in volume as she yanked Damian from the door and slammed it shut. "Maybe you're used to being with a bunch of guys, I don't know, and I don't care, but you'll knock from now on."
The kid didn't even miss a beat he simply turned to the door and knocked on it, glowering as his sister put her hands on her hips. "Ass."
"I may be an ass, but I'm still an ass that's smarter than you. Now. What are you doing with that?!"
"Playing dress up." Oh, little brother wasn't amused. "Okay…" the girl sighed as she disappeared into the danger zone that was her closet. "That's only half true. Jason gave it to me." She said simply, frowning at the next dress in the rack. "I have t-shirts that are longer than this…"
"Jason?! You were with Jason?!"
"Hey, Ninja Boy, keep it down." Del pushed by him to throw yet another dress on the pile that had begun to take up her bed. "His argument was uh…stimulating."
"Stimulating?" Oh, why so dubious?
"Like—a gun to the head stimulating. He's the one who was tasked with killing me, Damian, not you."
"And he hasn't…because-"
"Because I removed that chip. I don't know about you, but I'd like to keep my brain. I'd hate to have it scrambled by a bullet."
"Not that there's much there to scramble." He grunted, as he lifted a dress of her bed as if he were touching road kill. "So the sample—"
"I got it from the site of Dad's fall."
"Right, because Jason's so innocent. Don't be dumb, you and I both saw him there with our own eyes."
"What was it-the sample?"
"Are you even listening to me?!"
"Sample, Damian."
"Clay! It was nothing but clay." He snapped, watching her throw yet another dress onto the pile. By the look on her face, it wasn't what his sister wanted to hear. "You still think he could be innocent, don't you? He's playing you for a fool, and you're letting him!"
"I'm not letting that man do anything! But I have to go with my instincts, and they're telling me to trust him."
"What about me?! What about all that garbage about you having my back?! You said you trusted me! This is so unfair!" At the sound of his roar, Del all but froze her blue eyes wide. Had she heard him right? Did this really come out of him? Did he think she was choosing Jason over him?
"Damian, I-"
"I knew better than to believe you." He hissed at her wrenching the door open. What the boy didn't expect was for his sister to rush after him. To knock his feet out from under him and drag him back into the room despite all his kicking and flailing. Huh, when did she learn to do that?
"I do. I do trust you."
"Then why won't you trust me when I say-"
"Because it's your turn to trust me. Do I think Jason is completely innocent? Fuck no. But I have a feeling that he's being played—and so are we. Something bigger is happening here and we can't see the forest through the trees." She said rising to her feet as Damian's head lulled against the door. "I've gotten stronger because of you. Dad can't credit for that, and neither can Dick. I trust you, but I have to trust my instincts too. They've never led me astray." Okay, so they made her impulsive, got her in heaps of trouble, but hey at least they weren't wrong. That was a plus, right?
Damian only stared at her outstretched hand; this girl was such a pain in his ass. "Finally admitting I'm the superior brother?"
"Don't push it." She grumbled, yanking him back up to his feet. Truth was, she found herself learning from all of them. Her father had given her a foundation, he had taught her how to think ahead and on her feet. Dick had shown her compassion, gave her confidence. And Damian? The kid pushed her when everyone else was afraid she'd break under the pressure. He had shown her just what she could endure, just what she could do.
"Don't hide that from me." He said suddenly, pointing at the gear. "I want to know everything. If you trust me, if you trust me like you say…you'll tell me. If you betray me…I'll kill you."
"Sounds fair." Del said, watching the boy frown at the pile of clothes on her bed.
"You're my sister; don't you have anything more tasteful?" He complained. What? Like she was going to hurt his reputation? Oh, this child! Damian's brows knitted together as he picked up a piece of fabric only to let it fall. "Something with a little more class and a little less…ass. You may be a Wayne, but you're a girl; can't you show just a little decorum?"
"Oh, then why don't you go, and I'll go on patrol instead."
"You have a better chance of seeing Hell."
"Too late, already there. More class less ass. Cute."
"So glad I amuse you."
"Class…Damian, you're a genius!"
"You're just now noticing?!" He snapped watching her rush from the bedroom like a maniac. "You're so dense it hurts to admit we're related." Tch. Why did he even bother? So this is what a sister was like. Oh, joy. Maybe he should kill her.
"Shouldn't you be getting ready for patrol?"
At his father's words, Damian Wayne only glanced up from his spot on the floor as he leaned against one of the double doors to his sister's room. "Waiting on the diva. And by diva…I mean Grayson." He said dryly, pulling his hood further over his face. "I'd knock if I were you or she'll nag you to death. I'm sure there's less torturous ways to die." He added, listening to Bruce's knuckles echo through the hall.
"It's open!"
Stepping into the space, Bruce was sure he had walked into a warzone. Clothes were everywhere. He could see Dick sitting cross legged on her bed. At first he didn't see his daughter; he simply saw shoes and belts flying out of her closet.
"So…is that a yes?"
"Dick, my ribs are cracked, and my arm looks like it went through a meat grinder."
"So? That hasn't stopped you yet. It's not for a few months anyway. Besides, I already told them that you'd fill in."
"DICK!"
Dick's face seemed to light up as he unfolded his long legs. "That would be my cue to leave." He said lightly, ducking under a flying heel as he ambled for the door, leaving Bruce to shake his head.
"Please tell me you're somewhere close to being ready."
"You sprung this on me remember? Don't you dare rush me." Del snipped, emerging from the closet with a pair of white pumps in her hand. "And I hope I heard right about the cocktail attire, because if not—I'm screwed."
The second Delilah had slipped into the white swing dress; her lungs seemed to sigh all on their own. No, there was no denying that that it hailed from the 1950's with its wide scalloped neckline that that was just a breath away from being off the shoulder, or the long flaring skirt with its gentle pleats. But it hugged her waist nicely, giving her plank of a body something of a figure. And while it was her grandmother's she did try to make it her own with a red belt she had dug up from the depths of her closet and the red bottoms of the white Louboutin's. But when Del spotted that sorrowful look working its way across her father's face, the relief she had felt was forgotten.
"You look fine." He said softly, watching her wring her pale fingers until they were red. "That was one of her favorites." Oh, God, he did recognize it.
"Then you don't mind that I-"
"No...But something's missing."
Staring at the open door, the girl had to will herself to follow him, listening to the swish of the skirt in their silence. He's not mad, but-
"So what were you and Dick talking about?"
"One of the girls at the gym I pair with broke her ankle…"
"So you'll be able to compete?"
"Looks that way…" Why? Why did the silence between them have to seem so loud? Crossing through the threshold of the office the girl immediately moved closer to the mantle, staring up at painted gazes of her grandparents. I hope you don't mind. She mouthed, listening to her father's shoes scuff across the carpet as he kneeled at the safe behind the desk.
"Bruce if she doesn't get ready soon we'll be late!" She? Right, she means you, Del. The teen could feel her shoulders falling; it wasn't like she wanted to go to this stupid party. Hell she didn't even know who or what it was for.
"Little does she know that I invented the term fashionably late." She heard her father say, as he lifted a small black box from the depths. "Here, try these." He said, handing the box to her when he staggered in her direction. With uncertain fingers the girl pried the top open, revealing the small drop earrings that were hiding inside. Rubies. "Another of your grandmother's favorites. She always said she made her best memories when she had them on."
Del could only stare at the jewels, fingers afraid to stretch out to them. Her father never broke out her grandmother's jewelry just because. She had worn the strand of pearls once, but thinking about it now, it seemed like something he had done just to soothe her fears. After all, that was the same day she had come face to face with St. James. So when her father plucked up the earrings and gently set them in her tender ears the girl couldn't breathe.
"Perfect." Oh, this new weight in her ears was a little more than terrifying. What if something happened to them? Oh, God. Please, please, please no. But as her father's fingers thumped her on the tip of her nose, the thoughts dissipated. He was just staring at her, face soft and thoughtful. She had learned just how to deal with a broody Bruce Wayne. But this? This was out of her element. Why was he looking at her like he had so much to say? And why the hell wouldn't he just come out and say it? Unsure of what to do, her eyes slipped down to her hands, aware that the tips of her fingers were turning a purplish-red under her own grip.
"You always look away from me." The words were soft and yet she could still catch the firmness in his voice, steady like the cool fingers that pulled her chin back up to his gaze. "Why is that? You don't do that to anyone else."
"I don't know what to say I guess."
Her words seemed to drag his lips into halfhearted smile. "I'm not good with words either." He murmured, holding out his arm for her. "What do you say we get this over with?" At least she wasn't the only one who wasn't exactly thrilled about all this. Letting her fingers curl into her father's arm she let him escort her to the door.
"Dad?"
"Hmm?"
"Thank you."
Maybe I should've let Damian Kill me. The thought had hit her once or twice as she leaned on the fringe of the drunken frenzy, taking up a spot on the wall that let her see the entire room. Every now and then, she'd hear Jet's bell like laugh cutting over the chatter and plumes of cigar smoke.
"Hmmm…the littlest Wayne is a wallflower. I never would have guessed."
Selina Kyle. Oh, she knew the woman who was leaning beside her with that short black hair and equally dark gown. "Drunken ass kissing just doesn't appeal to me." She said dryly, listening to the chatter hum in the room like a hive. Just what would Selina Kyle, AKA Catwoman want with the likes of her? Oh, she heard a tale or two about the woman's alter ego and that love-hate relationship she and the Bat seem to share. It's not like Del ever asked her father about the woman, yeah, like that wouldn't be an awkward conversation.
"Aww, Timmy, don't be like that." Prodded by a familiar whining voice, Delilah found Carlotta Van Helton's fingers wrapped in the lapels of Tim's jacket. What's he doing here? I thought…I thought he was going to… Tasting a bit of blood in her mouth her teeth set her lip free, the sharp ache breaking the thoughts into pieces.
"Something seems to appeal to you."
"I didn't know you were a comedian, Miss Kyle."
"A girl has to call it like she sees it. You know…if you want something, you have to take it."
"I don't-"
"Oh, well, I guess you have him trained to come to you." Selina said lightly, tilting her head as Tim started to cross the room. "Kind of cute…like a puppy." With that the woman pulled herself from the wall. "Have fun, Wallflower." No sooner had the woman slipped right back into the crowd did Tim take up her spot along the wall.
"So…"
"So?"
"What do you say we blow this place?"
"What? You don't want to wait for Carlotta?"
"I was kind of hoping we could split before she noticed I was gone." He said, his fingers pulling a familiar piece of pink paper from his pocket. "There's still time." She was still staring at it when she felt his fingers grip around her wrist. He didn't forget? With a yank he was pulling her across the fringe of the crowd. "We'll just 'Mick Jagger' it."
"What?"
By the tilt of his dark head she had the distinct impression that he was rolling his eyes. "You mean you're Bruce's daughter and you don't know?! You come in through the front door, and you schmooze your way out the back door. You just have to make sure no one actually sees you use the back door."
"Why, Timothy Drake, I believe you've done this before." She teased, as they weaved their way through the crowd, ducking around the intoxicated as they made a break for the nearest exit.
"Just a time or two…or twenty. Stick with me and you'll be slipping out of parties like a boss."
"Miss Wayne?! Miss Wayne!"
"Like a boss, huh?!" Del quipped, feeling her body lurch forward as the boy grabbed her hand and proceeded to pull her down the sidewalk with the paparazzi lighting up the sky behind her. The back door he had spoken of happened to be blocked by the parental unit, forcing them to hop out of a second story window right into a backyard with the owner's two oh, so precious dogs. Two slobbering things that were kind enough to chase them over the fence and right into the swarm of cameras that were camping out.
"Minor setbacks, Miss Popular."
With her shoes in one hand, Del could feel the pavement digging into her feet. If there was glass and debris she couldn't feel it over the drive to get away. "Oh, shut it, Drake." She snipped, feeling his hand missing from hers, as he began to rip his jacket off. Before she could even ask what the hell he was up to he dragged her into a lightless alleyway, pulled her down into a crouch and threw it over them.
"You can't be serious."
"Shhh…"
In the midst of listening for the sound of shoes colliding with the pavement, or for the sound of a familiar voices, Tim found himself taken by the soft sound of her exhales, more than aware that their own breath had made the almost too thick to breathe. Strangely enough if anything was going to suffocate him, it was going to scent of her. He would have died happily if it made him forget the stink of this city, a stench that was part ash, part rust and covered in that briny fog that enveloped Gotham like a like a blanket—or a body bag.
"I don't think I hear them anymore, do you?"
The feel of her breath tickling his cheek made the boy strain to listen, but when he heard nothing but the sound of garbage scrapping across the concrete he pulled the jacket away, letting it pool around her shoulders. "I think we're clear, but we'll have to take the long way around."
"Gotham Theatre is on the other side of town!" But Tim's broad shoulders only rose and fell.
"We'll just take the train." He murmured, watching her eyes widen as he pulled her to her feet.
"That'll be a first…"
"What? The train?"
But Delilah Wayne made no move to look at him, she simply continued to brush off her feet and slide them back into her shoes. Was she kidding? Oh, come on! She had to be kidding.
"Well, it's not like I've never been on a train…" She supplied, feeling Tim's gaze weighing heavily on her. "I rode the bullet trains in France…"
"Hold up, you're telling me that you've lived in Gotham all your life and you've never-"
"Ironic right? My grandfather put the train in and I've never stepped foot on it." Del couldn't tell if it was a patron saint falling out of the boy's mouth or a curse. Snagging her hand he gently tugged her into the faint light that gleamed off the sidewalk.
"I say we fix that."
She didn't mind this. She didn't mind their shadows blending together as they walked side by side. She didn't mind the sound of her shoes echoing around them, or the strange lull that had taken hold of the street. She didn't even care that his hand was warm and clammy around hers, but it still made her wonder when he would realize that he was still holding her hand even though he wasn't guiding her anymore. Unsure of what to do she let her fingers rest there in his palm. Could he feel the scars on her hands? Oh, my god, you're over thinking this, just chill. Chill! It's just Tim. But then again…she had never held a boy's hand before. Sure, Dick held her hand plenty of times…but this?
"This is gonna sound stupid, but for a long time…I thought I made you up." At the sound of her words, Tim peeled his eyes away from the shadows they cast along the buildings. With her head tilted back it was if she were watching the steam billow up from the streets only to get lost in the gray sky over their heads. "When we first met…I mean." She said softly, her thin fingers reaching up to push loose strands of her hair behind her ear. "I used to go to the cemetery just to see if I could find you there. I'd find flowers and footprints nothing more." She couldn't tell him that he was the only child close to her age that she knew at the time. That just…felt pathetic.
"I was still in boarding school back then…I used to walk to the property line to see if I could see you, but then the gardener would chase me off. Or Alfred-I think he ran me off a time or two. I don't know if he remembers that. When I finally stopped, these flowers started showing up on my mom's grave." Perhaps they were both chasing ghosts. Feeling the strange curve of her hand still wrapped in his fingers Tim had to fight to shrug and not look down. He was sure she'd untangle her hand any moment. "I know you've been asked this a lot, but was your health really as bad as they said? I mean you run around on rooftops now. You beat up on Damian…"
"…hah, more like he beats up on me." She quipped softly. "Sometimes. I'm sure a lot of it could be chalked up to Dad being a little over protective."
"A little?"
"Okay, a lot. It's wonder I don't have Stockholm syndrome. He threatened to send me to boarding school once. It didn't fly. I had to beg him to let me go to school. I think I begged him for two years straight." If she didn't know any better, she'd swear Tim was smiling to himself. Okay, so she probably made it to class maybe three days out of the week and the school totally let her get away with it. No wonder all the other kids hated her. "Hey, I do my homework like everyone else and it's always on time." She said as if she could read his thoughts.
"I didn't say a word."
"You didn't have to. I don't throw my name around that much do I?"
"Not really, but it's always implied. You're one of the most powerful people in that institution and you're not even an adult. I think everyone's just standing back waiting to see if you use your power for good or evil before they make their next move. And the fact that you don't really socialize with anyone-"
"Hey! I talk to Sam." She said defensively. "I just…can't relate to most of them. Dad always compartmentalizes his life. I can't do that. I can't pretend to be two different people."
"But you do. I don't know if you realize it, but you do." Taking another step, he felt her weight keeping him from moving forward as she stopped dead on the sidewalk, looking so lost.
"We discussed this before. At school you're detached and sharp; you've got these walls that are like a thousand feet high. Why do you think everyone calls you the 'Ice Woman' behind your back? You won't let anyone in that school get close to you, except for Sam." As his breath slipped out in soft opaque clouds he could see her shoulders slumping under the weight of his jacket or maybe it was his words. God damn it, he didn't want to hurt her feelings. Way to be an asshole.
"Everyone one's just too scared to approach you or they're too damn lazy to make the climb." He said, watching her eyes slide to the creases in the sidewalk. "And I know that's not what you're like. I've seen it myself. You're kind of amazing when you think no one's watching." He had gotten a peek of that girl, the one who was kicking up leaves without a care in the world. And he spied her again, watching her face come alive with her rolled up sleeves and work gloves. That girl, the girl who would go out of her way to change things - that was the real Delilah Wayne. With a gentle tug he got her walking again. By the sound of the silence, he was sure he'd done irrefutable damage.
"So what was boarding school like? Were you a naughty kid or something?" He could see a small wisp of a smile trying to brave her wind bitten face.
"Not really." As the smile faded from her, Timothy found himself clenching cheek between his teeth. If he could take the words back, would it erase the way she was looking at him? If he closed his eyes, would that look still be there when he opened them again? "You ever feel alone in a crowded room?" He asked softly, feeling their arms swing like a pendulum between them. "That's what it's like. Or at least that how it was for me." He said biting his tongue when he heard the familiar hum of his phone. It wasn't in the pockets of his pants. Shit. When he watched Del's delicate fingers pull the humming device from the pocket of his coat, he was sure his lungs would collapse.
"Your dad." She said, cheeks flushing as she handed it to him. "Sorry, I shouldn't have—"
"Its fine, it's not like I'm going to answer it anyway." He grumbled, aware of how she was studying him when he jammed it in his pocket.
"Not on good terms, huh?"
"Understatement. I live in a house I barely know with a man who's a bit more like an acquaintance than a father." The words were spewing out, hard and cold and as bitter as Gotham itself. "My parents loved each other, they loved their work, and they sure loved to travel. I was the kid who almost never went home…and when I did…it was like I was living with strangers." Why was all coming out like this? Like word vomit? And she just said nothing; she only continued to walk beside him, her fingers squeezing gently into his hand. "They gave me everything." The whisper all but clawed its way up his throat. "But even if I had…them and nothing…" I would've been happy, right?
"Sounds lonely."
He wanted to look at her, and yet he kept his eyes on the pools of lamp light ahead them. "It was…I guess that's why I'd get so obsessive about things. First it was Batman, and then when I found the old pictures we took at the circus of the Graysons, it became Robin. It let my brain go somewhere else…even if it was just for a while..." But even now he knew that his thoughts wouldn't stay preoccupied forever. They always did circle back to his parents, leaving him still to hope and pray that maybe they'd acknowledge him at some point. "Then…Mom died. Dad was in a coma. There I was…officially by myself. And along came Bruce Wayne of all people."
He could feel Del's eyes boring into him at the mention of her father's name. "He'd pop in at the school to check on me. That stopped when Dad woke up two years ago." Oh, by now they both knew why.
"I didn't know he—he never said anything…"
"No? I asked him about you once…" But the words slid off in the air to die. It was like she knew; he could see it in her face. "We're not that different are we?" It was the only thing his mouth would let him say. In the midst of watching Del shake her head, Tim could feel the phone coming to life from the depths of his pocket.
With a slight bump into his shoulder, Tim could feel his grimace slipping. "Maybe you should answer it." She said lightly, as the stepped into the dingy light of a street lamp. "Or…do you want me to reach into your pocket an answer it for you?"
"You wouldn't."
"I wouldn't? Are you sure about that?"
No. He had no doubt that she would. With the shoulders of his shadow rising only to fall he dug the device from his pocket. "The powers of good or evil I mentioned…this would be evil."
"A necessary evil." She said, giving his shoulder another bump as he sigh fled into the air.
"How come you're not being called left and right? I'm sure he knows you flew the coop by now."
"I'm sure he does." She said simply. "I left my phone in the car…on accident."
"Yeah, accidentally on purpose." He grunted, watching that devious smirk brighten her face. Oh, so she knew how to play this game a lot better than he thought. "Yeah, Dad?"
"Where the hell are you?!"
"Taking a walk."
"If you're not back here in ten minutes-"
"That's not gonna happen. But I promise we'll be back by the end of the party."
"We?!" As the giggles started to slip out of the girl beside him, Tim found himself poking her with his elbow. "Timothy Jackson Drake! Are-are you with a girl?!" Someone kill him. Just kill him now. Even with Del's free hand pressed over her lips he could still hear the light spurts of laughter tumbling out of her. The boy couldn't tell if he was blushing or if the color was draining from his face. Jack Drake actually sounded surprised. "For the love of God, stay out of trouble."
Hearing nothing more, Del watched a bewildered Tim let the phone slide right back into his pocket. "That didn't seem too bad." She said, tugging his hand to get them moving again, but the boy seemed rooted in the small circle of light, his own pulling beckoning her closer in turn. Only when the girl looked ahead did she realize that someone was standing just out of their reach.
"Awww, look what we have, fellas. A pair of lovebirds." The voice had barely begun to scratch its way up her spine as the figure edged closer and closer to the touch of the light, letting the dingy yellow glow etch its way across a familiar mask. A twisted yellow smile tucked into a pair of blood red lips, it had to be clowns.
Without even twisting her head to look behind her the girl could hear the sound of heavy soles scrapping the sidewalk. There were more. Maybe a few too many. It was then Del finally untangled herself from Tim's steely grasp. Whatever happened next, they were gonna need both hands.
If you don't learn how to keep yourself from being eaten alive, this city will swallow you whole, body and soul. His father had never spoken truer words, and considering the source it was almost comical. Noah Larson couldn't speak the truth if his life depended on it. But he was right. Gotham was that place in the world, that place that drew in the ambitious and the hungry. It could make great men…and it could make great men fall. He had left this wretched city so many times, and yet it called him back each and every time. It was either home…or he was just glutton for punishment.
"I think I'm just a glutton, Talon. Just like the rest of them." He could feel the falcon's claws poking into his shirt, but by now his skin had been so marred with scars he could hardly feel it. Talon only seemed to twitch his head, his sharp eyes darting after the filth that the wind swept down the streets. Streets that seemed all too quiet. If a street was quiet in this place…there was a reason. And that reason was just up ahead. Bird had come to know what to expect from this city, he knew this stretch of town was the Joker's main squeeze. But with his ass stuck in Arkham, that left his cronies to run around the joint as they pleased. So to see them crowded around a pair of unsuspecting strangers hooting and hollering wasn't new.
They didn't pester him, and he wasn't going to bother, but as the man got a closer look at the pair of kids with their backs against the wall, he felt his guts slide down to his boots. Ah, hell. Only one girl could resemble his sister so well. Damn it, damn it, damn it. This was going to fuck things up. "Go." Talon was off.
The air felt like it was twisting a knife in her lungs. Feeling the grooves of the brick digging into her back, Del had no choice but to force herself to breathe. This position sure as hell wasn't ideal, but at least it meant that no one come up from behind her. Trying to keep her eyes on Tim's back, she ducked under a fist that was thrown in her direction, listening to the sound of his knuckles crumbling against the wall where she should have been. She had closed her eyes just long enough to miss the dusting of rubble. But a split second was all one of the hooligan's needed to get behind Tim.
"Behind!" She cried, grabbing the head of the man in front of her and launching her knee into his chest again and again, until he slumped to the ground. With one man hanging around his neck and another in front of him, Tim was all but turning purple as he tried to block the coming swings. Before the girl could even react, the street was filled with the sound of a strangled scream. A falcon was pecking and clawing the top of the man's head, streaking the pale white mask with wide bands of blood. In his panic to dislodge the bird, he released his grip from Tim's neck. It was all the boy needed to head-butt the man in front of him.
A falcon?! Then it has to be-
"Wha-What the fuck?! Bird! This Ain't you're part of town."
Chest heaving, all Del could do was stare at the man as he lifted his arm to summon the bird back to him. That day at the ice rink…He had the same blonde curly hair, the same narrow blue eyes. This was her uncle. Benjamin "Bird" Larson.
"Eight of you for two teenagers? Now how's that a fair fight?" He asked stepping across the man in front of Tim as if he were nothing more than a rug. Without warning he snatched Tim by the collar of his shirt. "I'm feeling generous, take the girl and go." He said letting the boy go with a shove.
"Now what makes you think that we're going to let them go?" In the chorus of expectant laughter, Del could feel weight of Bird's eyes on her as she bent down to gather her shoes. Except Tim reached out and snagged her, letting a shoe drop to the sidewalk with a clatter.
It was all chaos from that moment. A mixture of curses and falcon screams with the sound of feet on the pavement. There wasn't even time to look back. "I don't know what the fuck just happened, but I'm going with it." Tim hissed, as they darted through the streets of Gotham more than aware they had a couple clowns at their heels.
As the sound of gunshots barreled through the city, only Tim's guiding hand kept the girl from looking back to see where the gunfire had come from. Bird didn't use guns did he? At the sound of shrieking, Del was forced to pay attention as they darted into the crowd that was streaming out of the mouth of the subway.
"You can parkour or freestyle right?!"
"What kind of stupid question is that?! Dick Grayson's my brother, of course I can!" She cried, so unsure why the boy was smiling as he released her from his hold. Instead she simply kept pace with him as he leapt down the thick concrete railing of the stairs that lead the world deeper into the subway. Hopping from one flight to the next she caught her fall with a tumble to the floor before matching him in a leap over the turnkeys.
"Hey! God Damn Kids! Del turned to look at the security officer who was starting to run in their direction when yelps of panic began to echo down the giant stairwell. She had just caught a glimpse of a clown mask when she felt Tim's hand latch on to her wrist, dragging her to the open train car. They had just stumbled inside the car when the doors clamped shut with a hiss. If it hadn't been for Tim holding her up, she may have collapsed right there. Instead she watched the clowns reach the platform just in time for her to blow them a kiss as the train pulled away from the platform. So long suckers!
In a cloud of ragged breathes the girl finally allowed herself to look around the car. There were only a handful of people, most with their heads down in their I-phones or books. Say for one little old lady who was sitting in quietly with her purse on her lap. "Del." The girl shuddered, feeling Tim's breath brush across the back of her neck, but as he gestured to the wall plaques in the car, the girl found herself drawn to them, beckoned by the photographs that had grown yellow with age under the thick bold letters of her last name.
The old map exploded over the page like veins, but in the soft reflection of the plastic covers she could see Tim's reflection behind her. "We're on the original route now." The route her grandfather had put in.
"They don't use half those routes anymore." The soft thick voice forced Del's eyes to the little old lady with her purple coat and red purse. "First time on the train?" She asked, watching the girl's fingers touch the print of the late Thomas Wayne. Of course someone else had come along and drawn a monocle and a top hat on the man with permanent marker.
"Oh, yes ma'am. Well, this one anyway."
The old woman's eyes seemed to crinkle as she smiled. "Back in the day, this train was some hot stuff. Everything was still shiny and new back then. It was supposed to usher the city into a bright new future." The woman said waving her wrinkled fingers in the air. "Things were much more hopeful in those days." She said with a sigh, letting her dark round eyes fall to her hands for the briefest of moments. "A different time I suppose. Most of the old routes were reclaimed by the subway and then one by one they shut down. Some big to do about property rights for the big wigs, never mind how the everyday person relied on it." The woman stopped, covering her thin ruby lips with her frail fingers. "Oh, don't mind me I'll ramble on and on!" Del could only manage to smile as she looked back at the old map. Hopeful?
"Del?" Feeling Tim's fingers under her chin she let her head turn to the doors. Was that her sigh she heard? Or his? Was she even sure she was looking at Gotham? Its towers seemed to glow bright in the dark, letting her catch glimpses of the stone creatures that still clung to every corner and nook like guardians of another age. Surely this wasn't her city of rusted steel and crumbling stone. Even Gotham River had been transformed, still and studded with glittering reflections. This can't be the same city.
Hand resting on the railing above his head he leaned into her. "You should see your face right now." He murmured, watching a shade of crimson roll across her cheeks. If she could just see the way she looked at this city. It was like she was staring at it for the first time ever. A city she had grown up in. She looked at it like it still had something in it worth saving. Even now, he could see the gears turning in her head. I told you, you're amazing when you think no one is watching you.
As soon as the view came, it fled, and yet Delilah Wayne didn't budge from her spot. Shoe still dangling in her hand, she could only imagine the look on her face as her thoughts crawled elsewhere. What if there was a way to give that feeling back to the city? Why had her grandfather's trains fallen out of grace like this? Why did her father just let it happen? The squealing of the breaks reached her ears long before the sudden lurch of the car. One second she was standing just in front of the doors, the next she was pinned against the old plaques with Tim's arm around her waist.
"That was close." He murmured, feeling her sharp exhale slide against his cheek. Her fingers, he realized, were fisted so hard into his shirt that her knuckles had almost gone white.
"I see you use your powers for good."
"I try." He murmured, so aware that only a breath seemed to separate them. It wouldn't take much for his lips touch hers, even if just for a second. One blissful second. As his lip touched her's, felt her body stiffen against him, so unsure, and then just as she seemed to surrender—the car lurched forward again, forcing the pair to smack their heads together as the train screeched to a full stop. There was nothing they could do but laugh.
"Jesus! What is it about this night?!" He cried, watching her rub her head as she all but dissolved into a puddle of laughter.
"I don't-I don't know. Ow. You've got a hard head, you know that?"
"Yeah well, so do you!" He jested as he untangled himself from her. "You're the most suborn person I know."
"Someone's been hanging out with Dick way too much."
"Hell! Look what happens when I hang out with you!"
There was something about the smell of gunpowder that made his nose itch. It wasn't nostalgic or anything, even if his father was gun happy. But as the man watched the sidewalk slowly turn from a shade of gray to blackish red, Bird could only stare at the guy in the leather coat.
"Huh. Was that really necessary?" He asked dryly, letting his fingers preen the top of Talon's head.
"You helped her, and that's the only reason I'm letting you live."
The gun still felt warm as it poked him in the chest. Would this guy pull the trigger. Oh hell yes. The bodies at his feet were proof enough of that. But oh, no, something was curious about this one. "What do you care about a little rich girl?"
"What's it to you?" he snapped, pressing the gun harder into his chest. "You gonna tell me you were just feeling generous? I know about you, Bird. That's not your style."
"You've got me there, Red. But that's my personal business. Now, excuse me, I don't want to get blood on my shoes." Huh, why would the Red Hood be so concerned about his niece? Now that was curious… Stepping over the closest body, Bird eased his way down the sidewalk; it'd have cops crawling all over it before long.
"Stay away from her, Bird."
Feeling Talon's claws dig up his arm as the falcon moved to perch on his shoulder the man couldn't help it but pause. "I will if you will." He called back, listening for the sound of the man's boots on the pavement, and yet all he could hear was the distant cry of sirens. So, the Red Hood was concerned about his niece. Oh, he didn't like that. He didn't like that one little bit. It meant one thing…whoever he was…he knew the girl personally. Now, wasn't that just curious as hell?
