A/N: Oh my goodness, I've been writing and rewriting this thing since the last update. There's a lot here, and every part has it's own bit to play in the next chapter or two. I'm still not thrilled with some parts but if I kept toying with it, I'd probably never get it posted! I'm sure some of you will be thrilled by the events. :) (And others not so much, but just hold tight.) I hope the sequence isn't too confusing.


The streets of Gotham were all but covered with the slush of shoe marked snow, evidence that people did indeed reside on these soot choked streets. All the decent people were at home by now. Decent people…like the Cleary family. The thought makes the air thinner, and suddenly there's a weight on my chest that I can't dislodge. I simply crouch along the rooftop, paying no mind to the bits of snow the wind was shoving through the city. Sam. Jesus. For just a moment I can't see the steam rising from the streets. I can't see the glow of ancient neon lights or the shimmer of lamp light from the windows. I can only see Sam's face—see it twisting with guilt and horror in the light of the bat-computer. Her new organs did indeed belong to Collins.

I'll be honest; I didn't know how to relate. I can't even fathom what I'd feel knowing that I had the organs of murdered man. That the only way I'd live—was for someone else to die. I could only collect the broken pieces when she fell apart. "I didn't want it to be true…" she had croaked to me, when her body had finally finished emptying her stomach of its contents, and her tears had long since dried on her glasses. "Now what do we do?"

"We?"

Sam had always been so shy, so careful around my father, but the moment his voice reached her ears she worked herself to her feet without hesitation. "I'm already in the cave, Boss-man, it's a little too late. " The words came out evenly; I'd even dare to say it was the same no-nonsense tone she used on her own family. It was certainly enough to get the Bat to turn his chair around. "I owe it to the man to help. If he hadn't died…I—I just I owe to him, okay?" Dad just sat there, analyzing her from his fisted hands.

"You have no skills." I could hardly glance in the direction of that yawn filled voice before Sam just shook her head at the boy who was working his way down the stairs, wiping the remnants of his short sleep from his eyes. I couldn't stop the laugh from sputtering out my lips. I guess I hadn't told them much about little ol' Samantha Cleary.

"Boy, just because I can't open a can of whoop-ass like you do, doesn't mean I don't have skills."

Skills indeed. The girl had been on the watch-list since the tender age of seven. She had an identic memory from Hell. I mean, what could we expect from someone who spent most of her waking hours at the keyboard with Barbra? She was like a mini-O.

As if the clock tower knew where my thoughts were wandering, it tolled, pulling me from my memories and back into the rushing winds on the rooftop. I can't help but to pull my cape around me as I listen to the clank of Red Robin's grappling gun.

"You find anything?" He asks, coming to land beside me. I close my eyes, shutting out all the dim lights of Gotham, if only for the space of breath. Fuck, I still can't get this weight to leave me. "I smell chloroform…"

Forcing myself to inhale I can catch the sweet scent of chemical still lingering about my person. "I had to use it to smoke Elliot's study. His dog was in there." I murmur.

"That takes a while…"

What could I tell him? Tommy Elliot had always been kind to me. He was one of the few people who knew about me. I didn't have to hide from him when he popped by the Manor. But those visits became less and less and soon the relationship between my father and his childhood friend was stale.

Glancing from the bare streets I can see Tim sitting there regarding me as he stumbled to find the right words. I knew what he wanted to say, that chloroform takes too long. But maybe…maybe I just wanted to give myself to the option to back out. Of course all the nagging suspicions were too loud to let me simply walk away.

"Maybe I should've gone to the Elliot house and you to Gotham Memorial."

"No. I knew the layout, you didn't." I bite my lip the moment the snapping words leave my mouth. "But I didn't find anything useful. He has copies of his patient's records, but it's the same stuff Sam pulled from the database for us." God, my lungs feel like they could be on fire, the oxygen tank in my cowl is empty. I can't tell him that.

"It's been pretty quiet, you two call it."

I could only thank my lucky star as I pulled myself from my haunches. Oh, if Dick only knew. "Call if you need us." I croak, trying to shake off the soft blurring edges of my vision. What I can't shake away is Tim and that look on his face; even with the mask I can see that concern building.

"You okay?"

"Did you find anything at Memorial?"

"I found the form with the with Sam's donor information, they have it as a John Doe. And according to the nightshift, they had an EMT rush in with the organs. They thought some wires had been crossed, I mean it was never called in, but he had all the correct information about Sam. There wasn't any time to second guess it, not if they wanted the organs to stay viable."

"So they didn't even know where the organs came from. They just paged Dr. Elliot and prepped for surgery." I want to bend down to make myself breathe, but I only tilt my head back. "We still don't have the right answers." I grumble to the haze filled sky.

"Maybe we're not asking the right questions."

"He's turning into a fortune cookie."

"Give me a break, its 4 am." Tim managed with a grunt. "Elliot's going to be at the party tomorrow, right? Maybe we can get a bit of info from him."

"He's gonna wonder why we're prodding." I couldn't help the dry words, or how they seemed to make his shoulders fall. "But maybe we shouldn't be the ones asking…" I add, letting my eyes settle on the alley below, and while I know the shadows are empty, I can still see the wide blue eyes of the dead girl's stare. Jane Doe. How does someone so small slip through the cracks like that? Forcing myself to shake off the sudden memory of her frozen little body, I let my cold fingers fish for the trigger of one of my grappling guns, trying not to wince when Tim's heavy hand falls on my shoulder.

"Hey, we'll figure it out." He murmurs, his words leaping into air in the form of a warm breathy fog, as his own gaze prods the alley. "Are you still going through with visitation?"

God, did I want to sit at a table with Nick St. James? No. Not really, not when I kept seeing myself grabbing the back of his head and smashing it again and again. I wanted to see blood. I wanted him to feel pain. You're no better than he is. The nagging of my conscience forces my mouth to fill with the bitter taste of bile, and I have no choice but to swallow it down. "Yes." I don't recognize the sound, half strangled and sore as it rips from me in one hard syllable. Saying nothing more I send my line to the nearest building and leap into the darkness before Red Robin can probe me any further. It's not the meeting with Nick St. James that makes my nerves itch. Somehow coming face to face with the monster inside me worries me more. If I let it free…I know it'll swallow me whole.


Earlier That week…

I'm packing Mom away… At the thought Delilah couldn't help but let her fingers linger of the strings of the pale blue guitar in front of her, letting the instrument ring out with a twang. The single note made her mouth ache with a smile. How many times had she danced around in her socks to her mother's strumming? Bedhead? Pajamas? Off key? It didn't matter. We were so happy. It was just a moment, but wasn't that moment enough?

"Hey, that was the last of it. All that's left-another guitar?"

"Mom's." Del said thickly, dabbing her eyes with the back of her hand before she closed the case. From the soft blur in her vision she could see Sam's face brightening with that half smile as the girl lingered in the doorway.

"Definitely a keeper."

Del could only nod as she worked on getting her heavy tongue to move. "Yeah." She uttered, letting her hands slide down the creases of the leather case. "So what's left?" Oh, she knew the answer and yet her heart wasn't ready. It's not time. It's not time, I'm not prepared.

"Your Mom's closet." Ready or not, it was time to let it go. Time to let another family make their own memories in these empty rooms. Empty rooms that were far from vacant of her mother's memory.

"I'm such a horrible person." She croaked. "There's a part of me that wants to back out." When Sam's neat brows only knitted together, the girl found the words rushing out of her in painful waves. " All that's left of her is in these boxes! If I leave this house…if I never come back-how much of her am I going to forget?"

"Listen to me, Wayne-Badger. You're not a horrible person just because you want to keep your mother's memory intact. You were told about a family in need and your first instinct was to help them. If your mother had the means, what would she do?"

"The same thing…"

"Alright then, let's go check the closet."

For a long moment, Del could only listen to the sound of their shoes echoing through the hall as they made a beeline for her mother's room for the very last time. "Thanks, Sam."

"Hey, I've had a couple meltdowns in the last twenty-four hours. You're entitled to one yourself." The girl said, stopping at the edge of the mattress to watch the girl as she hesitated at the closet door.

This is it; this is all that's left. There, lingering under the scent of mothballs and cedar was the scent of her mother. It was enough to make Delilah scoop up the clothes and bury her face in them. God, it'd been so long…it was almost gone.

"Wow, your mom sure had some nice taste." Sam said gently, as she crept into the space beside her friend, watching her fingers leaf over the fine things still left hanging in the closet.

"Yeah, she'd go to galas for Wayne Enterprises." Del murmured letting the fabric in her hands slide from her fingers. "I'll probably donate most of the clothes. There's a lot of work attire in here. Interviewees might be able to use them."

"Don't want to keep anything?" Sam asked, pushing the hangers back as she spied a couple of high end gown bags hiding in the back of the closet. "What are these?"

"I'll probably take silly things. Her Yale T-shirt. Her boots and her paint spattered flannels and her favorite cotton dress—I-I don't know. Open them."

"Oh, my God. These are…"

Del could only stare at the intricate gowns. Lace, beading. Such small illustrious details. "I've never-"

"I don't think they've ever been worn." Sam gasped, pulling the small tag with the measurements into the light. "Oh, oh, they're going with you." The girl said quickly, carefully pealing the two bags off the railing. "Yes?"

"Yes."

"How the heck did your mom go from being a medical student to wearing stuff like this?" Sam called as she set the gowns aside.

"I don't know the full story, but she and my dad are alike that way. She started getting into all kinds of different degrees. Journalism, marketing, economics, international business—she even had an associate in psychology."

"On top of the medical school? Jesus. Why so many?"

"I think the business stuff was to make her family happy. She really wanted to work with the venom response team. She worked with them during med school…but I don't know what made her stop. I mean she always used to say it was the blood but now…"

Sam seemed frozen in the doorway. "Wait… your mom was on the venom response team and was ultimately killed by venom?" She asked, watching Del's eyes slowly grow larger and larger as the idea began to sink in. "Maybe this goes further back than we know."


"What's that?"

The simple question was enough to make Bruce pause, his fingers still clasped around the knob as his eyes followed Damian's hand to the bottom of the door. Suddenly the wind was gone and his lungs were straining to inflate. Her nail marks were still on the door. Why didn't she say anything? And how the hell could this child know the difference between the claw mark of an animal and that of a desperate human? Perhaps he didn't want to know. "Only your sister knows." He said gruffly, listening to the soft notes of a piano leak out into the world as he shoved the door open.

Spying his daughter's seated shadow sprawling across the carpet; he came down from the instep. Strange, his feet still knew this house even after all this time. But the thought slipped away as he quietly crossed the space to the piano, trying to ignore how the bitter sweet notes drew up the hair on his arms. The house was full of furniture and yet it felt so empty.

His daughter made no move to look at him as his weight sank on the bench beside her. Her body only continued to sway with the rhythm of the music. When was the last time he'd heard her play? Out of the corner of his eye he could see Damian moving about, and yet he couldn't help but keep his eyes on Del's hands as her fingers unfolded across the puddled keys. A small part of him wanted to reach out and smudge the glossy tear track he could see marking her cheek, and yet his fingers only reached out to turn the page of her music.

It was strange, sitting here in this room beside Del with these sad sweet notes humming around them, it was almost like—like she was there. If he breathed deep enough he was sure he could almost smell her perfume, but instead he only continued to turn to the last page, trying to pretend he couldn't see the sudden teardrops landing at Del's fingers tips.

As the last notes slowly faded from their ears, his daughter only tucked her chin, letting her hands still across the keys. "She's gone." He hadn't expected the words to come out so clearly and yet the girl only blinked the tears out of her eyes, took a breath and pulled the cover back over the keys. "I didn't know you could read music." She said quietly.

"I can read music, I just can't play." He said, giving the girl a small smirking smile. "I'd be lucky if I could get through chopsticks." He added watching her reach for a worn piece of leather that was sitting on top of the piano.

"I found this in the bench, but that's not Mom's handwriting. There's sheet music inside…but it's not finished."

It was enough to have Bruce Wayne peering at the small sticky note. For Alfred, with love. "No, that would be Bailey's."

"You mean…my grandmother? Why would she be leaving things for Alfred?"

"It's a little known secret that Alfred Pennyworth and Baily Devereux were quite the item."

"Ah, that's why he knows so much about Mom's family."

"I think you should finish it for him." Hearing Sam speak up from her perch on the ottoman, Bruce set the folder in his daughter's hands.

"I'd hate to make the man cry." Del murmured, rubbing her fingers across the soft leather as she worked herself up from the bench.

"And miss the chance to tell him to keep a stiff upper lip?"

At that Del let a laugh spill out, aware that she could hear Sam uncurling herself from the ottam to answer her phone. "Awe, Dad, that's mean." And yet here she was still laughing.

"I think it would be a nice gesture nonetheless." The man added as he worked himself up from the piano, aware that Damian had pulled the front door open and was back to studying the marks on the door. "Aren't you taking anything with you?" He asked, realizing that nearly everything was still in its place.

"We picked up Sam's car before we came here, so between us and Alfred, we got everything cleared out. Mostly sentimental stuff. Alfred just took the last little bit to the manor for me not too long ago. The only thing I want is this." She said, gently tapping the piano with the flat of her hand. "I know we have one at home…"

"I'll make some calls to have it moved." He said lightly, lifting what looked like an inventory list off the piano top.

"That's for Dotty. So they can figure out what the family's still going to need."

"I'll be there in a few, Jor, don't touch anything." Hearing Sam's prickly words, Del found herself floating away from the piano.

"Sam? Everything okay?" But Samantha only shook her head.

"You girls go, I'll take this and the keys over to Page for Parents after the piano's moved." His daughter only nodded, her lip finding its way beneath her teeth as if she had something more to say. But instead she simply turned for the door, dragging Damian with her.

"C'mon. You're coming with." She stated, ignoring how the boy was twisting her hands this way and that, no doubt tracking the scars that stretched across her palms to reach her fingers.

"And just why do I need to go with you?"

"Because I'm not the only one who has to say goodbye." She said softly, letting the boy's sleeve fall from her fingers as she shut the door behind her for the very last time. "And I'm sure he'd rather do that alone."


There was something in the way that Sam leaned in the driver's seat deflating like a balloon in the driveway of her parents' house. "Sam, whatever it is, I'm gonna help you."

"You don't have to." The girl said quietly as she squeezed the bridge of her nose with her fingers. Before her mouth could even utter out anything more, Del was already out of the car and shutting the door.

"Damn it." She hissed, paying no mind to the sound of Damian scrambling out of the back seat of her little sedan. "Just don't…please don't judge." She murmured, leading them up the walkway. They hadn't gotten far before a wide eyed Jordan Cleary flung open the door, letting the stench of stale greasy bags, cigarette smoke and alcohol waft out to greet them.

"I tried calling Mom, but she wouldn't answer." He jabbered, letting his vowels hang in the air as Delilah and an unknown boy filed in after his sister. He looked straight at Del. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"She came to help, so shut up and deal." Sam snapped, wrinkling her nose at the odor. "Where is he?"

"Living room."

Del froze in the doorway. Not once in all the times she'd been in the Cleary household had it ever been in this shape. The living room was a wasteland of empty liquor bottles, wads of fast food bags and trays of piled cigarette butts. What alarmed her was the multitude of guns and ammunition lying about.

"You've got to be-"

"Damian, not a single word. Either help, or go sit in the car. They're already embarrassed." Del hissed as she worked her way through the litter and vomit stains to the innards of the living room, watching Jordan as his hand reached out for the glock that was closest to his father.

"Jordan Matthew Cleary, I will beat you senseless."

"Are they loaded?" Del asked, watching the girl pick up the gun her bother was reaching for only to eject a fully loaded magazine. Even though Sam was standing she could see the girl crumbling as she rolled the heavy thing in her hand.

"Yeah…I bet most of them are. Jesus fucking Christ." She said shaking her head. "I thought they'd gotten through this already."

"Jordan, go to the kitchen and grab some trash bags." Del said gently, as she picked up the next gun and went about unloading it. But the boy just stood there frozen to the doorjamb.

"Jordan. Move it." At his sister's command the boy fled in the other direction.

"I think the kid's in shock." Del murmured, watching Damian as he picked up the last gun and unloaded it himself.

"Yeah well, watching your hero hit rock bottom kind of does that." Sam said quietly, glancing over at the man who was passed out of the sofa in his sweat soaked stupor. "I'm just all out of fucks to give." She muttered as she fished around the mess for the lock boxes, more than aware of how quite the Wayne children had been since they entered the house. "Your Dad doesn't drink like the papers claim, does he?"

"Dad doesn't drink at all. He's a complete teetotaler." Del said softly. And looking at this, she was glad for it. She didn't have to drag her babbling drunken father up the stairs. She didn't have to clean up his puke, or pour his half empty bottles down the drain.

"Sam, I'm sorry, I didn't know what else to do. I came to visit Dad and everything was like this."

Samantha paused with the half empty bottles in her arms, without warning she threw them to the ground, not even batting an eye as a clamor of glass echoed throughout the room. She simply stepped over the newly filled trash bags and seized the boy by the arms.

"Don't apologize. Don't ever apologize for calling me. I don't care what Mom says or what Dad does. You can call me at any time. I don't care if it's three in the morning. Whatever the problem is, we'll take care of it together. Okay?" When the boy finally nodded, she let her hands fall.

"What do we do now?"

"First we're going to finish cleaning up, and then I'm going to call Gramps."

"WHAT?! Sam! Don't! Don't call him!"

"We don't have any other choice."

"But he's gonna be mad!" the boy spat.

"Mad at them. Not us. Now go check on Dad and make sure he didn't roll over on his back."

Jordon only stood there, dumbfounded. "Why?"

"Because if he throws up again, he'll choke." Sam said with a sigh. Why? Why the fuck did a ten year old kid have to go through this? Why the hell did she? When the kid turned for the stairs, Sam crouched to her haunches too aware of how heavy her head felt in her own hands, or that there was a hand on her shoulder. "He's right. Gramps isn't gonna be happy. He's in Ireland visiting his brother, and if has to cut his trip short because of this shit….fuck."

"Will he come?"

"If I call he will. He'll come and stick a foot right up Dad's ass."

"What else can we do?" The girl could hear Del's words and yet her eyes were on the only gun that didn't have a lock box. Pulling herself up, she swiped the weapon off the coffee table, letting her fingers fish around in her pocket for a clip.

"Grab the bottles." She said, jamming the magazine home.


"There's no way she can hit that." Damian said with a sniff, seemingly not as affected by the November wind as much as his sister. But Del only shook her head, gripping her arms into her chest so hard it nearly made her ache. The sun had set the field behind the house to the color of fire. The targets on the hay bales were barely visible in this light.

"I didn't know she knew how to shoot."

"Dad taught us…" Jordan said lowly, breaking his silence with the just a few small opaque clouds. "Well, he taught her. He was supposed to teach me too…but…" The boy just shook his head, as he watched his sister set up the last of the bottles. "She'll hit them." With that the kid stuffed his red ragged hands in the pockets of his coat, watching the girl beside him dig her fingers into her arms as the sound of shots shattered the quiet.

Watching the bottles explode in a plume of liquor, glass and smoke, Del hardly noticed the soft glare of the flashing lights bouncing off the house. "Samantha Leanne Cleary! What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Destroying her father's demons. But the words kept hidden in the back of her throat as Commissioner Gordon came trudging around the side of the house. Apparently the noise hadn't gone on unnoticed by the neighbors.

Without even looking back, the girl lifted the gun, positioned her hands and smashed the only bottle left standing. Only then did she eject the magazine, check the chamber and hand the gun directly to her sour faced uncle without so much as a word.

"Well that's a perfectly good waste of crown." Del could only glance up at the officer as he placed his hands on his hips, his toothpick bobbing in his mouth.

"Perfectly good waste of a man too." Del murmured, trying not eavesdrop as Jim Gordon's voice rose to the air. But Sam only looked as if she were shrugging him off.

"Whatever!" She snapped, wheeling around on her heel. "I'm done! He'll just buy more of the shit anyway!"

"Sam…" The girl was in the midst of walking back when her uncle's hand grabbed a fist full of her jacket, forcing the girl to turn. "Sam…you can't save him. This isn't going to make him stop." He said keeping her rooted with his large hands. "He has to want to save himself." Watching his niece shrink with just an exhale, the man raked a hand through his pale gray hair. "Where's the rest of them?"

"I put them in the lock boxes, except for the one I gave you." She said, slipping her hand into her pocket for the keys. "He doesn't need them back." She added setting them in his outstretched hand. "Where's Mom? Jordan said he called her and that she never answered."

"She left for her shift a few hours early. Said she needed the overtime."

Sam only bobbed her head. "I put Dad in bed. And I called Grandpa. He's taking the next flight out. It's probably best that Jordan stays with you until he's done ripping Dad a new one. I'm still hanging out at Barb's."

"Alright, Kid. Alright." The man sighed, tapping the girl on the cheek with his cool palm. "Jordan! Grab your things."

No sooner had the boy scampered off, did Del wrangle her friend around the neck with her arm. "Remind me not to play paintball with you." She uttered, forcing a strangled laugh to blurt out of the girl's mouth as they worked their way back to her car. Maybe what Jim Gordon said was true. Not everyone could be saved. They had to want to save themselves. Maybe that applied to more things than they knew.


This place. It hadn't changed much. Okay, that didn't include the crazy top hats, the life sized props or the chattering gossips behind the masks who were squealing and ogling over the room. You think they've never seen a bubble machine before. The thought didn't stop him from popping the nearest bubble as he claimed a vacant piece of wall, watching the pint sized princess and dragons chase down the bubbles that were floating down from the ceiling. God, that's probably more laughter than this place had ever known. He had gotten so caught up in watching the masses that he never saw Dickhead slide right beside him. "Gave Security the slip, huh?"

"Awe, Dickey gonna turn me in now?" He sneered, flinching out of the way of Dick's balled fist before it hit him in the ribs. "I thought the whole point of the masks was so that you didn't know who everyone was?"

"Yeah." Dick said, shrugging his broad shoulders before reaching up to Jason's green and gold mask and peeling it just a couple inches from his face. "But I'd know your dumb face anywhere." He added, letting the thing snap back. "I know you're here for Del, so I don't rightly care." He said letting his body collapse against the wall with a sigh.

"Nothing's really changed here…has it?" He asked, watching the man burst a wandering bubble with his finger.

"Nope. He's still just as grumpy." Dick murmured, watching the bodies lurch from the walls the moment movement was spotted on the staircase. "The only one that's changed…" he said, blinking against the brilliant flash of the camera's as a girl—scratch that—young lady came floating down the stairs. "…would be the squirt." He said, glancing away from the girl in the form fitting gown that was intricately woven of lace and pearls to the wide eyed fella in the mask beside him. No sooner had Bruce reached out for Del's hand from the bottom of the stairs did Dick's balled fist connect with Jason's gut. The room was too busy watching the heiress in the champagne dress to notice the man who had all but doubled over against the wall. "Harm a hair on her head, and I'll kick your ass from here to Kingdom Come."

For a second Jason's lungs didn't even want to work. "Look at you," he coughed, pressing his hands into his knees. "Getting all brotherly and shit, that's so sweet I could puke." But Dick simply slapped him on the back, the fucking ass hat.

"Glad we had this chat."

"Dickhead."

"I mean it, Jason."

"Yeah, yeah…" Lifting his gaze from the soft line in the marble at his feet, he spotted a dark haired kid watching them. "Groupie of yours?" Jerking his chin in the direction of the teen as he slipped right back into the masses.

"You could say that. But then, you'd know, wouldn't you? You were my first groupie."

"Fuck you." Jason grunted. "Groupie, hell, I was the improved version." He said, letting his eyes adjust to the light as the room dimmed to a softer light. "So he's my replacement, huh?"

"No one's replacing you, you idiot." Dick murmured, watching the father and daughter pair. Funny, was this the first time that Bruce had ever danced with his daughter? "The clowns. Was that your handiwork?"

Jason didn't take his eyes off the girl, even though Dick's words were all but beckoning his attention. He could only imagine what kind of stupid shit Bruce was muttering to make that smile spread across her face like that. "You seriously have to ask that?" He asked, watching the girl tilt her head back and laugh. Even through the music he could follow that full vivacious sound. The kind of sound that teased the corner of his own mouth to smile, but of course, Captain Buzzkill was still standing there beside him.

"Why? Why do you have to do it this way?"

"Because you guys won't. It's the only way this cycle is ever going to stop. Don't you get that? They're just going to keep coming. It's never going to end unless you end them yourself."

"But at what cost, J?"

"Takes a monster to catch monsters I guess." At that the man shoved himself away from the wall. "What's it matter? I should be dead anyway, right?"

"Jason-"But the man slipped into the throng, and before Dick knew it he was nothing more than one of the many shadows in the room.


He could still see that little girl crouched by the banister, peeking through the railing as if he couldn't see her there, peering down at them with her big blue eyes. But he knew, the second he titled his head up to look at her, she'd collect her Batman and flee. And then he'd have to pretend he'd seen nothing at all.

But there was a moment once, that he'd managed to slip up the stairs unnoticed, leaving the clink of champagne glasses and idle chatter behind for the soft inky silence of his daughter's hall. He only meant to remind her to mind herself. But as he inched closer to the light the pooled out of her bedroom, he found himself caught in the doorway, watching the little girl in her twirl around in her nightgown with a stoic faced Batman in her outstretched arms. Monkey see, monkey do indeed. "Mind if I cut in?" he asked peeling his leaning body away from the doorframe as the girl froze, dropping her stuffed friend to the floor.

"Okay…" She said, her little toes wiggling as she looked up at him, so unsure if she were in trouble or not. "Am I in trouble?" She asked suddenly.

"You need to be careful." He said gravely, not minding the weight of her small bare feet on the tops of his shoes.

"But no one saw me."

"I saw you." He chided softly, watching their shadows make slow toddling steps around the walls. "It's not safe. We've talked about that haven't we?" He asked, dropping her little hands as he reached down to lift her chin. She suddenly seemed so fixated on his shoes. "Haven't we?"

"Yes, Sir." When she gave him a nod of her head, his hands engulfed her small ones.

"No more spying for you tonight."

"Can we read more about Alice?" She had asked it so hopefully that it was his turn to pause. "After everybody leaves?"

"It may be too late for that." He said as gently as he could manage. God, he didn't know what to do with the crest fallen faces she'd give him. "But maybe we could pencil in a few chapters tomorrow before dinner."

"That pencil of yours needs an eraser." What could he say to that? The man just shook his head, more than aware that there was an old face leaning on the doorframe.

"Perhaps, Miss Wayne would settle for Paddington Bear for the night?" Alfred asked, winning a gleeful look out of the girl. "Miss Bambi is dancing on the piano." He said with a droll as Bruce lifted the girl up by her hands and set her to her feet.

"Ah. Duty calls, I suppose." He said as he flicked Del on the tip of her nose. "Behave yourself. No more covert operations."

"Oh, alright." She moaned rolling her eyes for effect as her father started his way to the door. "G'night, Dad."

Her small voice was enough to stop him, he could only turn to the curtsying little thing and bow. "Night."

"Mind your shoes, Master Bruce." At the warming the man looked down, spying the small prints of Del's feet there on the tops of his shoes. He could only buff them off with his hand before he could start for the end of the hall, listening to the old man and the child.

"Did you see that? He danced with me."

"I most certainly did, I had to pinch myself."


"Earth to Dad, come in, Dad."

"Wh-What?"

"And there he is. Where'd you go this time?"

"Nowhere in particular." But his daughter was only shaking her head at him, causing the large tendril of hair that had escaped her updo to skim across her cheek. "Your mother would be proud of you." The words seemed to make her grow still, rooting her to the floor as he tucked the wayward strand behind her ear.

Before her mind could race to the right words, he was reaching into his pocket, shedding light on the long thin box he'd hidden. "It's not a traditional sweet sixteen gift…but..." The man just shook his head and put the box in her hands.

But as Del carefully pried the lid open, she felt the fingers of her hand pressing into her lips. "Dad…are you sure?" She uttered, so aware of the whispering current that was wrapping it's self around them as she peered down at the long strand of pearls. When she made no move to pluck them up, her father pulled them free.

"Your Grandmother would've wanted you to have them. I want you to have them."

Feeling the pearls fall around her neck, Del could hardly swallow the knot that had taken up residence in her throat. These…these were important to him. "But, Dad-" The words were wet and thick in her mouth and here they were in the middle of the room with all these people watching them.

The second he cupped her cheeks, her words faded, gobbled by the murmuring. "I'm proud of you." He added, feeling something wet trickle over his fingers, as he pressed his lips to the top of her head. "Stiff upper lip, remember? You keep doing that your mascara's gonna run."

"You jerk! You made me cry!"

"Says every girl in his life."

"Gee, thanks Tommy."

Listening to the crowd ebb into a chorus of laughter Del all but buried herself into him, feeling his laugh vibrating through him as her own was muffled into his tux. Trying to hug the man was like trying to get her arms around a tree trunk that was just too big to hold. "Thank you." She croaked, as she tried to untangle herself from him. But the man only smudged the blobs of dark tears with his thumb.

"Greet your classmates. Mingle with your friends, and try to pretend you're having fun. You might have some on accident." With a small smile dawning across her face he let her go, listening to her as she turned to the crowd.

"Screw the crying, let's party."


Tim pressed his elbows into the banister, well aware that Wayne Manor was all but under siege by everything and anything that could crawl its way out of a fairytale. But even through the glittering lights, crazy wigs or even the towering performers on stilts, he could still find her.

"What'cha looking at, Timmy?" Oh, fuck. It wasn't the blonde's voice that peeled him from the sight of Delilah Wayne as she fell to her butt on the dance floor, half clinging to Dick and half dissolved into a puddle of laughter. It was the subtle scent of alcohol lingering on Carlotta's breath that forced him to turn his head.

Tim could only feel that exasperated sigh whooshing out of his lungs as the Cinderella clung to the banister to keep herself from falling out of her shoes. Surely one of her friends would come collect her. "Oh, look at her fake ass." The girl said with a snort.

Fake? No, this is the real Delilah. He thought, watching that smile reach her eyes as she reached out to drag any spectators forward by their hands. I know that feeling. It only took a thought and he could feel her icy hands gripping his.

"Oh, come on, Tim."

"But-I-I don't dance." But to her, his words meant nothing. She only answered him with a devious smile as she continued to pull him closer to the small band of street performers. "Del, I'm serious…" But that smile only lit up her face. And at that point he knew there wouldn't be any way of getting out of it.

He certainly wasn't going forget the number of times the word 'sorry' came out of his mouth when he stepped on her feet. At that point he could only thank the stars that she'd decided to stop and buy a pair of shoes rather than continuing to run around Gotham in barefoot. Nor was he going to forget the nervousness that crawled up his back when she placed his hand on her waist. Even now he could still feel the texture of that dress on the pads of his fingers. Somehow, through all the blunders, the sound of her laugh melting with the sound of the cello in the city streets…it made it all okay. This girl. This impulsive, big hearted, stubborn ass girl…

"Soooo..." Feeling Carlotta's weight hanging from around his neck, Tim had no choice but to return to the madness and the unmistakable smell of alcohol mixing with the cotton candy smell of the girl's perfume. "Did you hear her sing with all those nobodies?" The girl asked, squeezing around Tim's neck like a python with a mouse in its grip. "They were all around the kitchen counter banging on it, tossing around solo cups and junk. You would've thought she was a nobody too."

I did. But the words never left his mouth. He watched her slide right back into her choir as if she'd never left at all. He'd seen how easily they bantered, how quick they were to come together. How happy she was. God, he'd never seen that happy before. They were just a group of kids from different schools who liked to make music together. She was no different from them, and they were no different from her. They were a team.

"Babe, if it wasn't for the name, she would be a nobody."

Pike. "Get her away from me." Tim hissed, more than certain he was probably as blue as her ball gown.

"I can't believe you wanted to date her!" If it wasn't for his pride, he might've thanked the guy for unwrapping her from around his neck. "Did you know, I knew Timmy first?!" Now it was Pike's turn to sigh and laugh it off.

"What? When you guys were like five? Now, you coming or not? The girls are looking for you."

And just like that, he had the little drunken leech at his side. Tim immediately started to scan the crowd, looking for that trademark smile or the curvy form in a champagne gown. Except…now he couldn't find her. "Happy Birthday, Ice Queen."

The cheerful words made the boy's spine go rigid. Sure enough, there she was right there on the stairs. He could see her chest rising and falling with a breath before she let out a practiced smile. No sooner had the pair gotten a couple stairs below her did she stop. "I may be an ice queen…" She said easily, peering over her bare back at them, "But I'm a queen. Don't forget it." Oh, the look on their faces. Tim could've let a breathy chuckle slip, had it not been for the flash of anxiousness he saw flickering across her face. That duality was always going to be there. Before he could even open his mouth, it was gone and she was peeling his green and gold mask from his face.

"I'm on my way to see my grandmother."

"Didn't she slam a door your face?"

"Yeah…something like that." Her glossy lip disappeared between her teeth as she shook her head. The night was only halfway through and her hair had already started to fall in wide wavy bands. If he dared to admit it, he could even say he liked it. "Save me a dance?"

"Alright… though you know I might-"

"Promise?"

Might step on your feet. But Tim could feel his lips upturning as he slid the mask on her head back over her face. "I promise. Now, go slay the dragon will ya?"


I don't know what to say. Del could feel her feet sliding in her shoes as they sank into the carpet of the office, well aware of the lean wraith like thing that had her back to her. The woman only seemed to tilt her head up, peeling her eyes from her withered hands as she heard the door click closed.

"You will address me as Grandmother, or Gigi. I don't care which." With the woman turned, her gown swishing along the tooth of the carpet. "You have questions for me, don't you?" The words were soft and prim, but even still Del could grasp the soft lilt of a southern accent hiding on the fringes of her voice. Why? Why the hell was she so nervous? This was her home. They were in her father's study for crying out loud. With her fingers reaching up to feel the pearls around her neck, Del couldn't help but steal a glance at her father's parents. "Well? Out with it." No. Don't let her make you feel inferior. You're the Wayne.

There wasn't any time to study the color of the woman's eyes, how they mixed green and brown all at once. Her mother's own eyes. "Where were you?"

The simple question was enough to stagger the woman, make those eyes widen under her long dark lashes as she wringed her hands tighter in front of her. "I beg your pardon?"

"I could have used a grandmother in my life. I had one, I had one all along, funny thing is, and she didn't want to be bothered with me until this very moment. I want to know why."

Just like that the woman angled her chin as if she were staring at insolent child. "Perhaps that's a better question for your father." The woman said primly, making no move to close the space between them as the silence built up around them. "After your mother died, I came here to collect you." The words had Delilah narrowing her eyes. "But your father and I couldn't agree. I wanted to raise you myself. You would've been raised in the same house as your mother. He just… he was too stubborn to do what was best for you."

"Don't you dare!" The words came out like venom, and for all the numbness in her throat, they very well could've been. "Don't you dare try to pin all the blame on him. You're damn well old enough to know better. I know a great deal about you, Miss Gisele Renee Devereux. I know that when the dragon lady wants something, she doesn't stop until it's hers." Del could feel the heat in her cheeks as the woman's face grayed to the same color of her pixie cut hair. "So, if I was so important, what the hell stopped you?"

"Pennyworth, he's been filling your head, hasn't he?"

"Oh, no you don't, Gigi, answer the question."

"Alright, but I'll tell you now you won't like the answer." She said evenly, setting those familiar eyes on her. God, why, why did she have to have Mom's eyes? Why did she have to look at her with such disappointment and disgust? "The second after our little confrontation he slipped in and bought enough shares to control Devereux-Verre. The jewel of our family, we survived so long because of the glass we create. I was promised that I'd receive the shares back once you turned sixteen. By then you'd be old enough to decided." Watching the girl's chest heave, the woman simply shook her head.

"Did you get them back?" Dad…blackmailed her?

"Of course I did. Why do thing I'm here now?" Listening to the sound of Gigi's sigh meld into the hum of the music downstairs, Del could only wring her hands.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did he have to buy up the shares? He doesn't do anything without a reason. Why?"

"He didn't want me to take you. And I would've done so by any means necessary." The woman said darkly. "I was merely allowed to visit." She added with a sniff, paying not mind to the slack look on her great-granddaughter's face. Did the woman just openly admit that she would've kidnapped her? "It was ridiculous. We don't bend ourselves to the will of others."

"But you never came…"

"Of course not!"

"So you went and sulked like a sore loser." Del stated, feeling the words scrape their way out of her throat. "What? Couldn't hurt your pride, could you? Not even for me? Everything is about control isn't it?"

"You're a Devereux, you should've been with us-"

"Bitch, I'm a Wayne!"

"Del!"

"Uh-uh. Only family calls me Del. From where I stand you're nothing but a stranger to me." Delilah shot out as she turned for the door. "It wasn't supposed to go like this." She grumbled, trying to ignore how the words made her mouth ache as she stood there with the knob in her hand.

"What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know. Maybe, I'm sorry, I should've been there for you." Del said as she wrenched open the door, letting the sound of music and whoops of joy leak into the room. "But you'll probably die first, right?" With that the girl shoved herself out before her tongue decided to run away with her again.


What did I expect? Did I really think it was going to be all happy tears and hugs or something?

"Oh, shit, Pike, I can't believe you broke it."

"Well, it's not like I meant to! Why'd you put it on the floor anyway?"

Hearing the whispers from the parlor, Del couldn't help but poke her head in, unsure of what to make of the hushed giggles and bitten curses. That was until she spotted a blue guitar piled in the midst of the group. "I just wanted to play on it you dope-" But Carlotta's words seemed to hang there in the air as she realized that everyone in her little bunch was staring at the doorway, staring at Del, who was staring at her mother's guitar.

"I'm so sorry, I'll get you a new one."

Of all the instruments hanging on the walls, they had to pick that one? But before the girl could even clear her throat, she could feel a hand steadying her elbow.

"I'll clean it up, Miss."

Hearing Alfred's words, the girl could only blink at the guitar; it was like looking at a wounded animal that had no chance of surviving. The girl could only manage a nod as she turned on her heel, feeling the sting of tears glazing over her eyes. I need to get out of here. Before she knew it, she hit the door to the terrace, letting her lungs grasp greedily at the air as she fumbled her way to the railing. "God Damn shoes!" She cried, ripping off the heels as fast as she could, letting her feet grow numb by the touch of the icy concrete beneath her feet.

He couldn't help but watch her. There was something amusing about watching her climb on the handrail so she could tilt her head up to the sky. Maybe it was the bare feet, or the soft flutter of that flattering gown. Or Maybe it was just the look on her face. After all, if anyone could master a look between being broken and being filled with wonder, it was her. He'd only meant to keep an eye on her, and yet he found himself slipping out of the iron patio chair in the shadows to fill the void beside her, letting the wind tease him with the soft scent of her perfume.

"Tim." The word came out easily as she caught that flash of the metallic green and gold mask out of the corner of her eye. With him standing so close, she was sure she could feel the warmth radiating off of him, but the girl only returned her eyes to the sky and the brilliant lights above their heads. "Hey, a shooting star." The words came out like a sigh as she twisted toward him. "Make a wish." But in the midst of turning she caught her foot on her own dress, and before she braced herself for impact, she found herself pressed back into the railing. He was holding her there. "Thank you. One of my dorkier moments." No sooner had her feet touched the ground, did she feel his cold hands cupping her cheeks. It was happening so quickly, her brain wasn't sure how to react, even when his shadow dipped closer to hers, bringing the soft wisps of his breath along with it.

She wasn't sure what kind of sound came out of her, a stupid sigh maybe. But as the soft touch of his lips gently warmed the spots were her tears had fallen, Del was suddenly unsure of what to do, knowing full well that his mouth would touch hers by the end of the breath. By the time his lips skimmed over her own she could have all but melted right there into a puddle of nerves. Kisses were strange things, warm, wet and not as soft as her imagination thought it would be. His kiss wasn't unkind, but it was nothing shy or sweet as any previous daydreaming had made her believe, not that her shaking knees seemed to mind.


"Uh, oh…that looks like Paige's guitar." Hearing the good doctor's words, Sam couldn't help but follow the man's gaze to the shattered instrument in Alfred's arms. It only made her stomach drop to her feet.

"Alfred, please tell me that's not what I think it is." But despite her wisp of a hope, the man's chest only seemed to cave with the expulsion of a sigh.

"I'm afraid so."

"Excuse me, Mr. Elliot." Without another word, the girl followed the old man into the kitchen, well aware they had a shadow trailing them along the wall. "Oh, this is gonna break her heart."

"She already knows." Alfred said gravely as he set the broken thing on the counter. What did those boneheaded children do? Trample on it?

"What's going break her heart?"

Sam only glanced over her shoulder to see Tim lifting his mask from his face. "Del's guitar was practically smashed." Sam said, helping Alfred lay out the tiny splintered pieces. "It used to belong to her mom." It was as if the words reeled the boy in, forcing her to give him some space as he bellied up beside the instrument. Learn anything? He mouthed. But Sam could only shake her head, letting the boy set his attention back on the guitar.

"How's it looking?" Tim could barely had to lift his head to recognize Thomas Elliot's shadow, but no sooner had he glanced at the man looming in the doorway, did his gaze slide back down to the fragile piece in his hand.

"It's been obliterated." He muttered.

"That's a shame; Paige had that thing since college."

"Wait…you knew Del's mom?"

At the girl's surprise, Tommy set his glass down as he reached out to one of the finer shards. "Sure did, she and I went to the same med school. She used to sit in the rec room and play on this thing." He answered, turning the thin piece of wood over in his hands. "What do you think, Alfie, can it be saved?"

Old Pennyworth only seemed to blow out a breath. "It would take some steadier hands than what I possess, unfortunately."

"I can put back together, but it's gonna take some time…" Tim murmured, as he turned the body of the guitar over. "She probably wouldn't be able to play on it either…but at least she'll have it."

"Did you do your clinicals at the same time?" Sam could feel Alfred bristling beside her, and yet she kept her eyes on Elliot, watching him as he set the frail piece of wood back down on the counter.

"Clinicals, you must know someone in the medical field yourself, don't you?"

"Mom. She's still in school." Sam stated, watching the man's eyes narrow. But then he only simpered as he picked up his champagne glass.

"Let me guess she wants to be a registered nurse, doesn't she? It's a shame; you know we have about the same amount of schooling by the end of it." Elliot shook his head. "No. I wouldn't touch Paige's unit with a ten foot pole."

Sam could feel her brows knitting together as the man practically spat the words, but as she watched the doctor drain the rest of his glass, she could feel Alfred's thin fingers tapping her on the shoulder.

"Miss Cleary, would you be so kind as to fetch Miss Wayne. The dance performance should be starting soon."

"Sure, Alfred, where'd she slip off to?"

"The terrace."

Why did it feel like Alfred was warning her? Was she prodding too closely?


"Hey, Del, the performance is about to start."

Turning toward the beam of light that shed across the balcony, Del found nothing but her shoes still piled on the concrete. Where the hell had Tim gone? Slipping from the railing, the girl simply worked herself back into her shoes; half certain that Sam could see the flush she felt still warming her cheeks. "From the stairs is probably going to be the best seat in the house." She mumbled, feeling her skin tingle as the warmth of the house began to eat away at the chill in her bones. But even over the fire in her nerves, she could still feel the soft touch of his lips on her face. Her lungs still felt as though they were waiting on an exhale from the moment her lip became trapped between his.

"You're unusually quiet." She heard Sam whisper, jarring her from the memory. Hell, she didn't even remember climbing the stairs. She had barely begun to press into the banister, when the house grew dark, pulling a few surprised yelps out of the crowd below.

"I'll have to tell you later." She murmured, watching the girl's attention get caught by the Ballerinas in LED strip costumes. She wasn't sure when he slid into the empty space beside her. Feeling the music through the floor, she certainly couldn't feel his footsteps. What did she do now? Still so uncertain, she let her hand crawl across the rail until it found his. He certainly didn't seem to mind letting his own fingers tangle themselves up in hers.

"I know, I know, I still owe you a dance." The words barely skirted around her ear before he turned his gaze back to the brilliantly lit dancers.

"So what? You kiss girls and runaway?" She half expected to see that mouth break into a slow curling smirk. The kind that was just a breath away from being smug. But he only seemed to rear back.

"Huh?"

Wait…

"Weren't you…on the terrace about ten minutes ago?" She asked, letting her eyes drift back to the show.

"Um…no. I was just in the kitchen with Alfred and Sam."

As his words finally made it to her ears, Del felt her heart fall to her feet. If that wasn't Tim…then who did I just kiss? Feeling her nerves begin to make the tips of her fingers itch, the girl squeezed her free hand around the rail, trying to concentrate on the show. The crowd was still ogling over the high wired dancers, giving thunderous applause as the creature they created fell apart, scattering glowing pieces across the stage. This was the part where Sissy was supposed to pick up the helmet, put it on her head and continue dancing…but before the child could bend down to scoop it up someone snatched it off the floor.

Del didn't have a chance to make a sound as short screams began to echo around them like sirens. The performers that had been walking on stilts all evening suddenly collapsed, spilling out clowns by the dozen.

And there…holding out the helmet to a terror stuck Sissy, was the Joker himself.

Del could feel her lungs catching, as Sissy carefully took the helmet from him, placed it on her head and finished.

"Well, that was a plot twist, right folks?" He cried out to the crowd, smacking his hand on Sissy's helmeted head. "Now, where's the birthday girl?"