A/N: The boys totally ran away with this one. I'm just going to say I wasn't expecting Jason or Damian to take it hostage. (And Bruce...but he's Batman so...he does what he wants.) it didn't quite end the way I was expecting. Hope you like it.
He didn't remember his body aching this much the last time he'd peeled himself from the suit. Hell, he didn't remember there being such a mess when he left either. "That girl…" He muttered shaking his head at the broken case just out of his reach.
As Alfred Pennyworth righted himself with a dustpan full of glass shards, he could only sigh at his master's rueful smile. "Is stubborn like someone else I know." The old man said with a jut of his chin. "She has nothing but good intentions. You know that as just as well as I do, Master Bruce."
"The road to Hell is paved with good intentions, Alfred." The man said suddenly, before working a clean shirt over his head. "I'm trying to keep her off that road."
"Speaking from experience, Sir?"
"She just won't listen." He said, too aware that his own voice was echoing through the space as he collected up the pieces of his suit. "She's worse than the boys! She defies me at every turn! I give her an inch and she takes off!"
"Who would've thought a cute little girl could be worse?"
Setting his suit back in its case he could see the smirk brightening up Alfred's face in the reflection. "I could've lost her…" He murmured, watching his own breath fog up the glass. If the old man behind him had anything to say about the fingerprints he left behind, the man said nothing.
"But you didn't Master Bruce." Alfred said gently, not daring to take another step forward. "And had it not been for her…recklessness as you see it- what would've happened to those people tonight? What would've happened to Master Tim?"
"I don't know." Bruce uttered with a shake of his head. "I just don't want her sacrificing herself-"
"Like you? Not to wound you, Sir, but selflessness doesn't come as naturally to you as is does your daughter. Your penance is her passion." He said, watching the man slide his suit back in its case. Whether the Bruce Wayne wanted to hear it or not, he was a selfish man in the beginning—a man who had to be taught how to be selfless.
"Like her mother…" The words hung there for a moment, clinging to the glass in a thin sheet of fog. Even now, watching that man press his fingers on the case, Alfred could hear the regret building in the man's voice. How long before he'd finally forgive himself for losing her? "I just don't want her making the same mistakes…"
"If you want her to learn from your mistakes, then perhaps you should show her how." Alfred said softly, watching Bruce's hand fall to his side with a nod of his head.
"Where is she?"
"Just follow the smell of popcorn, Sir." Watching him slide behind the wall without so much of a sound, the old butler felt something tighten inside his chest as he eyed what the master had left behind on the glass. He never did bring himself to wipe Ursa Minor from the case.
"Faster Mama!"
"Hold on, Baby Girl."
He expected to hear anything, anything in this world, but the moment that voice slid from under those double doors—he couldn't move. Even with the blithe laugh of an excited child squealing echoing out after it, Bruce felt his hands grow still on the latches. I never thought…I'd hear you again.
Wait! Batman! You can't go in there!" God their voices felt like they were miles away. He was dreaming right? He was going to wake up soon from this nightmare. He'd realize that this weight wasn't the cape. Maybe he was strangling himself with the sheets again? But the closer to the room he became, the louder his heart thumped in his ears. I have to see her… The only thing that made the Dark Knight pause there in that hall was the sight of Thomas Elliot backing through the door with his bloodied hands. His narrow green eyes rounded at the sight of the caped crusader, but as he peeled the gloves away, he started to shake his head.
"You can talk to her…" He rasped, peeling the scrub cap from his head. "But I don't know how much help to you she'll be. I couldn't stop the bleeding, so I made her as comfortable as I could." You've known her for almost as long as I have… "I guess neither of us could save her." But as Tommy slid away from him, raking his damp red hair, the man paused. "She has a daughter…where is she?"
"Safe. The girl's safe."
The doctor nodded. "Thank God. Excuse me…there's an important call to make."
Waiting for the nurses to file out of that low lit room, he couldn't take his eyes off of her. This is it. Why the hell was his throat so tight? The second that door closed behind him, her lashes lifted showing him those bright eyes.
"B…"
He didn't even remember taking the steps to get to her bedside, he just remembered ripping off his gloves and letting those cold fingers slide into his.
"Del…where's-"
"Shhh. She's safe. Alfred's taking her to the manor as we speak." He murmured. It isn't supposed to happen like this. "So…Tommy said-" But before the words could even escape his mouth, one of her hands untangled from his to cup against his lips.
"You can lie to the world…" she whispered, paying no mind to what those lips were doing to the inside of her palm. "…but you'll never be able to lie to me." How could she smile at him like that with those tears falling into her hair? "Big ol' Batman's not afraid of a little girl, is he?" She asked suddenly, letting her teeth sink into her lip when the man all but pulled her body into his arms. Even now she felt so weak and limp in his hold, trembling like her lips.
"You're her mother. She needs you, not me." He murmured trying to ignore the stinging in his eyes as his mouth moved against hers. This armor…it could be hurting her. He thought to release her and yet, he could do was focus on of her fingertips tracing over his knuckles. He hadn't been able to take his gloves off at the scene…but now…
"All girls need their fathers. Keep her safe…keep her happy…and love her. It won't be easy…but I know…I know you can do it."
"Stop. Stop talking like that." He groaned, not sure if the tears he tasted were hers or his. "We were supposed to do this together. Stay with me. We'll find some way-"
But as her trembling lips pressed against his, mixing the taste of her with tears and blood, the words were all but swallowed between them. "As long as she's with you…you have all of my heart…my world. I'll always be with you." She whispered, forcing him to jolt when the warmth of her breath slipped through the edges of his cowl to touch his cheek. "She's the best thing I …ever made. And I made her…with you." She uttered, bringing her hand to his chin. "You can't let anyone…take that away. Promise me. Promise me you'll do those things..."
Her body was starting to feel so light, God, like it was losing a part of her a little at a time. And yet all the bat could do…all the man could do—was cup the back her head in his hand and bend his face into her, feeling those shaky breaths as they reached out to touch him. "I promise…I promise. Just stay. Stay with me."
"That's…Tommy." She croaked as the phone in his belt began to hum between them. If he didn't know any better he'd swear that laugh was hanging around in her voice. "Remember…how we met?"
"I remember how you fell on me." And yet the snarky words had that feeble body shivering in his arms as a hoarse laugh tried to escape from her.
"I never…apologized." She said weakly. Even in this light he could see her lips slowly breaking into a rueful smile. "Kinda like…how you never said you were sorry for stealing that kiss."
"Still not sorry." I'll never be sorry, not for that.
"Neither am I..."
If I had known that was the last thing you'd hear me say, I would've said something else. Standing there with the crown of his head leaning on the doors, all he could feel was the heaviness of his own words. I was selfish. I didn't once think of how afraid you must've been… Even as his hands pressed down on the door handles, he could feel the weight of her body slipping from him. He'd never known a soul could be so heavy until hers had left—hell up until that point he wasn't even sure he believed in such things. Huh. That would be just like her to try and prove a point at the very end.
Forcing a breath in and out of his lungs, he shoved a door open. He didn't expect Del to look so small…or so frail. Maybe it's the soft sheen on the cannulas that bothered him most. In the glare of the TV her eyes were almost glassy.
He almost wanted to pause there in the middle of the room and watch the pair on the sand caked horse. You've always been fearless though haven't you? He mused, watching the woman grip the reins in one hand and clutch that wide eyed toddler with the other. Like someone else I know. Del had her little arms stretched straight out, she was laughing so hard she had to tilt her head back into her mother to hold it up. It was like she felt she was flying. Even Bruce Wayne could feel his lips parting to smile ever so slightly.
"I was riding by myself at that age." Damian muttered, twisting away from the desk he'd overtaken to lean in and snag the untouched bowl of popcorn.
"Sure you were." The girl sighed, winning herself a glower before he turned back to the piles of paperwork and the confiscated popcorn bowl.
"Damian, give us the room." The boy just sat there staring at him, giving him the same hard glare he had on his face when he stopped the boy from pommeling Jack Drake. What Bruce didn't expect was for his daughter's slender arm to reach out and touch Damian on the shoulder.
"Please? He's just here to lecture me. You want to hear two in one night?" Watching the boy's lip's form into a snarl, he shoved himself up from the computer chair. "Take the files if you want. You can debrief Dick when he gets back. Just don't lose-"
"I know how to handle paperwork! I'm not stupid like you." He snapped, as he stuffed everything back into the expanding folder and stormed his way out the door with Perry's files under his arm. "Let's go, Mongrel." That's all it took to have the Doberman crawling off the bed and following the boy out the door.
"He needs his own dog." The girl mumbled, face pinching as she forced herself to sit up. "I want mine back."
"Why aren't you sleeping?" Bruce asked, easing himself in the still warm chair. When was the last time he sat in this room? Pressing his wrist to her head his frown only deepened. "You're a little warm."
"I'm tired, but my brain won't shut up." She said simply, feeling the side of her mouth purse as she glanced at the purple mark that had taken up her father's cheek. Jack got a good one in. "How would you know what sleep looked like anyway?" It didn't exactly make the man smile, but it was enough to get him to pry his eyes from the screen. "How's Tim?"
"Bruised and a bit broken, but he'll live."
"And Jack?"
"Angry. Confused…and scared for his son. It's expected. I can't say I'd act any differently if the shoe was on the other foot."
"Do you think…do you think he'll let Tim…will he…will he come back?"
"Jack made him give up the mantle in exchange for his silence." Bruce said calmly, not liking the bitter taste of the words that were lining up in his mouth. "And you too." No matter how slow the words came out, there was no taking them back. Sure there was something between them, you had to be a fool not to see it. But as his daughter sank into her mound of pillows, clutching her fisted hands to her chest, the feeble thing said nothing at all. She kept her eyes forward, as if he wouldn't be able to see her struggle to keep her emotions in check. "He's doing what he thinks is best, that's his prerogative as a father." He said, listening to the hiss of her exhale.
Without Tim…I don't know if Dick will be able to cut himself free. "I see." She whispered, paying no mind to him at all as he lifted himself from the chair. It was moments like this she'd run to Dick or even Alfred, but in that moment…all she had was him. "It's not like…it's not like we were..."
"Alright, Miss Thing, you want to give it a try all by yourself?"
"Yes!"
"Move over, Kid." Before the girl could carefully pick her words, Bruce shoved the popcorn bowl at her as he stole one of her pillows. True, the movie buff hadn't enjoyed a movie (Or any social interaction involving popcorn.) since Jason. His daughter certainly didn't know what to think of it. This was Dick's area of expertise. And who did she think he learned that from?
"Popcorn needs salt."
"No it doesn't." If he had any complaints about her using him as pillow, he said nothing. "I bet you're one of those freaks who like it slightly burned too." Del added, biting back her confusion as her ears welcomed that familiar sound of air rushing from his lungs. I feel so small again. She thought as they watched her mother her two year old self onto the bareback horse. Both child and animal were soggy-glittering with sand, soaked with sweat and yet Del's grin could've rivaled the Cheshire Cat.
"Sit up nice and straight. Perfect, just like that. Now squeeze with your heels and what do you say?"
"Paige, I don't know if I like this. Surely there's a more suitable mount-"
"Walk on."
"Oh, come now, Mama, she's fine. Aren't you, Little Bit?"
"You like him." It was enough to make Del recoil her fingers from the popcorn bowl—enough to make her body feel as if it weren't breathing. It wasn't like he asked her a question, but with her so unwilling to make any sudden moves, the man didn't have to.
"He's-he's easy to talk to." She uttered, more than aware of that hard stare that was looking down at her now. "And we think alike…sometimes...he's my friend and I…" Even in this faint glow he could see her chewing on her bottom lip before she all but buried her head in his side. "I don't want to talk about it! You'll think it's stupid!" She groaned, peeking out so she could watch the child on the screen ride in careful circles around her mother.
What? Did she think he couldn't see that faint flush creeping up her cheeks? "It's not stupid." He murmured, letting his gaze drift back to the TV, Paige and that beaming smile on her face.
"Yeah, well, I still don't want to be talking about it with you." Oh for Pete's sake, I rather you lecture me!
"You two just act stupid when you're together."
"DAD! I had to! He would've-"
But there's one more thing, Kid." He said, squeezing that frail thing to his side as he watched the horse toss its head and pick up into a trot that the child didn't ask for. Before anyone knew it the horse was bucking, kicking up sand and sea water as the he unceremoniously dumped his tiny rider right into the surf. "You won't be going out there for a while either."
"You said light duty!" She cried wincing as her voice edged out into nothingness.
"I changed my mind." He said firmly, catching her by the chin when that incredulous look began to sour her face. "You're only going to get in the way."
"Dad-"
"You don't have the same stamina or strength you had before. You have to rebuild it."
"See! This is exactly why-"
But as Bruce glanced up, he could see a hand reaching out from behind the camera. She wasn't crying or screaming. She was just sitting there in the sand completely and utterly dumbfounded. "Just a bit of sand burn, that's nothing."
"You alright, Del?"
"Y-yeah."
"Anything broken?"
"No."
"Alright then, get back up and dust yourself off." As her mother brought back the sulking bay horse, little Delilah did as she was bid and peeled herself out of the wet sand.
"You've fallen." Bruce said evenly. "I know you'll get back up." He said, letting his gaze wander to the screen as Paige bent down in her cotton dress to lift the child onto the horse once more. "I just want to make sure that the ground is solid beneath your feet when you do." Letting his hands fall he could see the sheen of tear tracks on her cheek. "Make no mistake, Del. This city is going to do everything it can keep you on your knees."
"So where do we start?"
"What was the bouncy one he was doing before he got all ornery, Mama?"
"A trot."
"I wanna do that one again."
"Well, Baby Cakes," Paige said as she put the reins back into her daughter's small hands. "The trot comes after the walk, so let's start from the beginning." With that Paige backed up, letting the coils of the lunge line loosen in her hand.
"Like your mother said…from the beginning." That was enough to make a soundless laugh spill out of the girl. Only when her shuddering stopped did she use the ends of her sleeves to wipe the wetness from her cheeks.
"I wish I could remember this…"
"I'm sure you do, just not the way you think." After all, he wasn't the one who taught her how to get back up after a fall. "Where'd you get this?" He asked, stopping to clear his throat as he watched that triumphant smile cross the child's face.
"When we ran into Mr. Drake…he was with Uncle Beau. He gave it to me."
"Jack Drake and Beau Devereux?" Now, wasn't that curious?
"I know, I don't like it either." Delilah muttered, watching the clip fade from one to another. Another time and yet another place she couldn't remember. "You didn't happen to bring a book with you, did you?"
"No."
"Ah, so this was lecture time, huh?"
"I'm not that predictable." Bruce scoffed, trying to ignore the wispy grin that was crawling across his daughter's face.
"Um, yeah…you kinda are."
"Says the child who always manages to weasel her way out of my lectures."
"I do not!" Del shot back. "But I always try…"
"Try my patience."
"That too." Del mumbled, pretending she could feel her father's glare on her shoulder as she pulled her blanket around her. "So…do you have a story for me or not?"
"No. I have a lecture for you if you want to hear that."
"Aw, c'mon. You gotta have one. Just one. It'll help me go to sleep. Please?"
You don't know what's coming for you. The public had only seen the mysterious child as a dutiful daughter and citizen. The whiplash was coming and he was bracing himself for it. The ripples that had been caused were still so small, but they wouldn't stay that way. Before this, he was prepared, prepared to warn her about the coming storm, to chastise her for her recklessness. But the weight of her head only flooded him with nostalgia. "One." Damn it, she got me again, the little weasel. Maybe it was just as well, the girl was going to need all her strength.
"One good one."
Demanding little brat—"The first time I ever saw your mother, I remember thinking that her eyes were more green than brown. I recall thinking to myself that she was going to fall out of that tree she was climbing. Like a fool, I never bothered to move…"
The days were starting to bleed together, Del wasn't sure if it had to do with the medication, the sleep, the gut wrenching headlines or the colorless skies. The medicine had only stripped of her appetite—and the stress…that ate everything else, leaving behind a wraith looking creature. She looked sick. She certainly felt sick-sick of feeling weak and useless. But at least Alfred said everything looked like it was healing properly—slower than he liked, but she was mending. The cardiologists came and went with nothing new to report other than to wade back into her activities slowly. Slowly? Who the hell had the time for that?
It was news neither she nor Damian wanted to hear. A week into this slump, and child was moody as ever. She'd hoped that maybe practicing with Dick would keep him pacified...it only went so far. If she wasn't the one sneaking out, it was him. Go figure. No one ever expected that her condition would have such a profound effect on him. The question was, why?
When the need for oxygen slipped from her grasp, her father began to slide her into an agonizingly slow routine. Up before the sun—before the city, before Wayne Tower came to life, she'd run the stairs. A simple task in words, but a task that had her newly trimmed lungs ready to burst. When she could finally reach the penthouse without melting into a vomiting—shaking- pile of shit—he'd let her move on but not before.
-Two weeks after the Incident-
"Why are they turning on her like this? It's not like she's the one who-"
"Master Dick, please…"
Pulling her knees, to her chest, Del let herself settle on the rooftop, more than aware that her Wayne Enterprises sweatshirt was patched with sweat. Gotham was barely awake and yet the city was already showing its claws. Even from here, she could hear Dick wadding the newspaper. It's not like I'm the one who pulled the trigger. The thought was just as bitter as the coffee in her cup. Of course the girl knew that they were looking for someone to blame. It happened in her home, during her party—so why not her?
"Bruce should've at least let her go to the funeral. You know how bad that looked."
"She could hardly stand up that day, let alone stop vomiting." Despite the howling wind that tugged on her ears, Dick's ragged sigh seemed louder. Always worried about me, always trying to protect me, how long do they expect me to hide here? She was sure sick of the place. Everything was gray. From here, sitting so high in the clouds, she could usually see the sun slowly setting fire to the darkness, but now? Now even the sky was gray, promising to turn everything white with the coming snow.
Letting her cup settle in one hand, Del let her fingers fish through the soft downy of her pocket, feeling relief prick her numb skin as she let the daylight see the tiny piece of rolled paper. It was just a little strip that had been rolled into a tiny scroll; a scroll that had traveled from Tim's pocket to Dick's and had very quietly slipped into hers. By now the oils in her fingers had rendered it as soft as cloth, but she could still read the ink. Still with you. "Silly Bird." So you're still in the rabbit hole with me?
"Batgirl and Birdbrain are heroes and Delilah Wayne is the new social pariah. Irony's a bitch." Oh, she knew that voice, though it'd been a couple weeks since she heard it. She didn't even bother to twist her head, not when she could hear the gravel crunching under his boots.
"Where've you been?" She asked, tilting her head to see if she could still hear the voices rising from the penthouse. Rolling the little paper back up, she let it slide right back into the safety of her pocket as his cold shadow came to linger over her.
"Miss me?" There was no mistaking that devilish face and the soft white hairs that stuck out from that raven colored mop of hair. At least he looked like he was in better shape this time. "I've been around." He answered at last, letting a bit of smirk peek out the corner of his wiry lips—almost like a child who'd been up to no good.
"What are you doing here Jase?"
"I was just dropping by." Yeah…right. But Del simply folded her bottom lip behind her teeth as he eased himself down beside her. "Checking on you."
"How'd you know I'd be up here?" She asked, narrowing her eyes at him when he reached over and snagged her coffee cup to take a big swig.
Jason could feel his face creasing as he stared into the cup. "Like a little coffee with your cream and sugar?" The second she reached for it, he yanked it back. "You're always up here." He said, taking another sip. "You're up by four, you run the stairs and you sit up here until the sun's in the sky. Have been for the last week and half." He could see that dubious face staring at him from over the rim of the mug as he took another swallow. "Disgusting."
"You've…been watching me? Oh my god! You freak!"
"Just watching your back."
"I have a stalker. That's just great." The girl groaned, letting her head slip into her hands. "I don't…I don't need anyone protecting me. I don't need anyone checking up on me. I don't need to be babied!" She cried, snatching her half empty cup away from him. "My coffee." She said with a growl as she took a sip. It was just two sugars and a splash of half and half. What the hell did he know?
"Don't get your panties in a bunch." Jason muttered. "It's not like I'm clipping your picture out of magazines and tacking them to my wall." Damn, she looked so mad. "You're not that hot." He added stealing the warm cup out her hands just as she balled her fist and put it in his arm. "Hey! Don't make me spill the coffee!"
"Asshole."
"Better to be an asshole than a whole ass."
"You'd know." She grumbled, not bothering to keep an eye on him now that he was all but draining her cup. She let her eyes slide back to the skyline, aware that it wasn't the same shade of gray it was before. Make no mistake, Del. This city is going to do everything it can to keep you on your knees. No kidding. Feeling the wet patches of her sweatshirt start to cling to her skin, Del tucked her knees under her chin, trying to stave off the violent shuddering of her muscles when she felt a pair of arms snaking around her. "Let go!" But his arms only seemed to grip her tighter, pulling her until her back had sunk into his jacket, until she could feel his chest rising just behind her spine. She wanted to rip away from him. She wanted to put her fist right in his face, and yet…he was warm. This isn't…this isn't...God, why does he do this?
"No. You're shivering, you knucklehead." He murmured, feeling the girl flinch in his arms as his breath rose to the sky in in puffs of mist. Even now he could see her teeth stabbing into her lip. What are you biting back? "What's wrong with Gotham's new pariah?" He asked, pressing his chin on the top of her head.
"Why'd you kiss me?" Maybe it was best she couldn't see him smirking. Maybe it was best she couldn't see his deviously dark eyes. After all, all it took for the chills to roll down her spine was the feel of his breath on her ear.
"Because I wanted to." It was simple as that. He'd told her as much, right? How many ways can a person misinterpret the words, 'I kinda want to kiss you right now'. It's not like that nagging little desire ever went away. "You don't find yourself thinking about it all the time do you?" He asked, feeling the fragile body in his arms grow utterly still. Hell, she wasn't even taking a breath. So… that was a 'Yes'. "You need a new hobby."
"You're such a jerk."
"Well, if that boy toy of yours would kiss you like he's supposed to, you wouldn't be fantasizing about little ol' me." He went on, feeling his lips break into a grin when her bony elbow shot into his ribs. He made sure to grab that part of her body…those things weren't exactly done healing. "Look, I'd like nothing more than to bite that lip for you," He whispered, watching her wind bitten face grow red. "But I don't have enough time for that. So I'll promise you this, I won't kiss you anymore." He said, letting an arm fall from her as he dug around in his pocket. The second he dropped the small burn phone in her lap, Delilah just stared at it. "Unless you ask me to. Though I'd prefer it if you begged a little." Jason said as he let his hold slide from the girl before he worked himself to his feet.
She didn't return his smile, she just stared at him, anger confusion, embarrassment. It was all there on her face wrapped up in a wide eyed glassy stare. Kinda cute really-like a puppy or something. "I have something to look into, no thanks to you. So I won't be able to watch your back like I have been."
"What kind of something?"
Jason wagged his finger at her. "Uh uh. Remember what happened the last time we worked on something together? You got me shot."
"You got yourself shot." She spat, slapping at his hand as his lanky form crouched down in front of her, snatching her face into his cold rough palms. "And as I recall, you shot me first. So... serves you right." But as her venomous words slipped off her tongue, it only seemed to make him smile. "What are you up to—really?"
"Classified." Before her lungs could snatch at the air, she could feel his breath skirt across her cheeks. Still warm—and vaguely smelling like coffee. "Hell, you might even be proud of me by the time it's over." Whatever she'd cleverly planned fell to the wayside as the ache of his words burned into her chest. Jason… "So, I'd appreciate it if you didn't go off and get yourself killed." Feeling the warmth of a hand slip from her cheek, Delilah let her gaze slip down to her lap, aware that he was shoving the phone in her pocket. "Call and I'll come."
"Jase…"
"Stop looking at me like that. It's not like I'm going to get myself killed."
"Better not! You still owe me!"
At her words, Jason tilted his head to the sky, letting something sound like a curse hiss out. "Bitchy, boobless socialite." Even in the shadow of his own head, he could see her pale blue eyes going wide as he bent down to crush that plush bottom lip with his own. The taste of coffee and sugary chap stick was well worth the feel of her fingers clawing at his chest-the feel of her collapsing into the gravel. The second she opened her mouth wider, he was more than ready to show her just what she'd been missing, and yet he hadn't felt her take a breath either. He let her free, trying not to revel too much in the sound of her ragged gasps. "You said-"
"I lied."
She wasn't sure how long she sat there staring at the shards of the fallen coffee cup as the city woke below her, bellowing out in squealing breakings and blaring horns. If she was still enough, if she was quiet enough, maybe she could still hear that voice in her ear.
"You alright, Del?"
"No. But I will be."
"Anything broken?"
"Not anymore."
"Alright then, get back up and dust yourself off."
"Okay." By now her own legs were numb; she couldn't feel the gravel digging into her as she staggered to her feet. The warmth of the penthouse felt like fire to her skin as the girl sank down the steps, letting those familiar voices reach out to her.
"Bruce, c'mon, what else can we do? There's got to be something—"
"Lie low. It'll blow over. I've seen to it that she gives interviews to the right sources. It's going to ripple, we knew that."
"Alfred?" Her voice felt like a squeak, and somehow it had summoned the attention of everyone at the table. "My school uniform, you didn't happen to pack that did you?"
"Y-yes, Miss, but surely you need more time-"
"No." The word rushed from her louder than anticipated, forcing even Damian to lift his gaze from his breakfast. Realizing that everyone was staring, including her father, she marched her way to the waste bin, trying to ignore the tinkling sound of porcelain as the shards trembled in her hands. "No…" She said softer. "No more hiding. No more laying low. I need to get back to my routine. I need to show them I can and will bounce back."
"How far did you make it today?" Her father asked suddenly prying her gaze off of the old butler's back as he slipped from the kitchen.
"Three fourth of the way." Almost. Almost there.
"Alfred?"
Alfred Pennyworth paused at the mouth of the small dark hall, barely twisting his head toward Bruce's call. "Yes, Sir?"
"Set out Damian's as well."
"Yes, Master Bruce." The tension could have burst like a bubble, and yet all Del could manage to do was stare at the man, more than aware that Dick was but choking on his coffee.
"The League of Assassins has taught me everything I need to know!" The boy spat, filling the space with the sound of his hands coming down on the table. Bruce Wayne however, didn't as much as flinch as he turned toward the coffee pot.
"If they had, you wouldn't be here." He said dryly, letting his eyes settle on the kid over the rim of his cup. His daughter was still mauling on her lip, when the boy shoved his way from the table, leaving plates and chairs in his wake.
"Hey!"
"Shut it, Grayson!"
As the breath finally slid from her lungs, Del could feel her teeth letting her captive lip free. She turned for the cabinet and fresh cup. "You're making him go…because of me." She said softly as she made a reach for the coffee pot. "I don't need to be-"
"Yes you do." He muttered into his cup as he lifted his weight from the counter knowing full well that his words were finite enough to stop her argument.
"He certainly-"
"You know just as well as anyone that it's not about his intellectual abilities." Bruce said, letting his gaze drift to the girl "You didn't start attending that school for yours."
"But it's different, Dad." Del shot out, catching Dick's wincing reflection in the sheen of the refrigerator. "I wanted to socialize, I wanted to be around people my own age—but Damian doesn't want that."
"It's not about what he wants."
" I don't need my sister fighting my battles!"
"And what about the champagne?" Dick asked suddenly, forcing the rising voices to still. "Or did you guys forget that there's a couple of bottles out there that could poison someone else?" He asked, waving the newspaper as if it were a flag of surrender. "Four more people are dead because of the tampering. And the three of you want to stand there bickering? Who has time for that? Whoever took those bottles doesn't."
Stepping through the doors of Gotham Prep, Delilah could hear nothing more than the bat and bird on her boots clinking together with her steps. This was how you silenced a room. This was how you know…everyone was talking about you. It's not like I can't hear you whispering. It's not like I can't see you hiding your lips behind your hands. "This way, Master Damian." Hearing Alfred's voice, Del forced herself to take a breath, reminding herself of Damian's presence as the man lead the way to the office. Maybe it was the boy that had them staring, but a few steps down that hall alone, the thought all but dissipated.
"I can't believe she'd come here after…"
"…A lot of damn nerve…"
"Selfish Bitch, it's her fault Carlotta was hurt…"
They want someone to blame. They want someone to feel their fear. Just keep going. Just- Spaying Sam standing by her locker, Del couldn't help but let her jaws clench into her cheek. "Del…" The girl slowly let her arm fall from the metal surface, the paper towels in her hands were as red as her fingers, and yet no matter what Sam had done, she couldn't remove the blemish there.
"Move."
"Wait-"
"Del." She hadn't know he was there, she hadn't heard his footsteps, she didn't see his shadow. But the second she felt Tim's hand snatch her back by the strap on her messenger bag, she twisted, all but slamming against his chest. Even you're trying to protect me. Let me go, Tim. Just let me go.
"Hiding it isn't going to make it go away." She hissed through her clenched teeth. "Let me see." She snapped, wringing herself away from the lanky boy and snaking toward the locker all at once. And yet, the moment she could see that red dripping paint on her locker, her muscles felt as though they'd gone completely slack. Murderer…
Does it have to be red? They weren't the ones on the floor, they couldn't hear the blood gurgling in the back of Doc's throat. There's no way they could hear it over their own crying. Their noses didn't burn with the smell of gunpowder, they didn't see didn't see the terrified eyes of a man who knew he was dying…
"Who's the kid? What the fuck is he doing here?"
"Aw, he so cute I wanna pinch his cheeks!"
"You're not lost are you, Little Boy?"
"Yeah, the middle school is on the other end of campus."
"Tch." Delilah wanted to socialize with these ingrates? For what purpose? None of them were even worth the effort to converse with! Yes, she was an idiot, but even her intellectual capabilities surpassed what he found here. But with these ridiculous faces peering in on him, the boy offered more than a sigh of exasperation as he worked his feet onto the desk, watching the classroom fill a few at time. "Im circumdederunt stultis ." The blank stares only made the boy roll his eyes. Wasn't this class based on Latin?
"What did he just say?"
This was going to be a very long day, he decided, blocking out the murmur of idle chatter as he set his gaze on the window. A gray world, darker than a clear sky, and yet not quiet dark enough. Only when a cookie was shoved in front of his face did he strip his eyes from the bare trees. "Quidem." Indeed. Lifting his scornful face up, he said not another word as he all but snatched the cookie from Sam's hand. Hell, it was still warm; the chocolate chips were probably still gooey. It'd be impractical to let it go to waste.
"Hey, Cleary, what does...Cirum- what the hell did you say?"
"Circumdederunt stultis?" The inflection in her voice could almost make him smirk. "Roughly, I'm surrounded by fools." At a glance he could see the girl sinking down into her seat a few chairs across from him, he wasn't especially worried about the flushed stares or blank faces. He was more interested in the small parchment paper bag on Samantha Cleary's desk.
"You know this kid?" Someone asked, the boy didn't bother to even look; he just reached across the aisle toward Sam's desk, until someone's annoyingly large shadow pushed over his personal space. Damian et the wandering limb drop as he sat up to face the blonde haired boy.
"Yo, what's your name, Punk?"
"How is my name any business of yours?"
"I'd like to know the name of the little shit in my seat."
In the soft reflections of the window beside him, Damian could see Sam shoulder's slumping, as if she were preparing to duck for cover—at least she was learning. "Oh? This is your seat is it?" He asked, half watching the people who were still filing into the classroom. What the hell was taking that thing so long? "Not anymore."
Feeling the guy's fingers grip into his shirt, the boy let his own fingers curl around the first object they could find. "You wanna bet, you little asshole?!" The room was watching…but who would be close enough to hear him? The second his fingers fisted into the blonde's shirt he watched the boy's eyes grow large and fearful. Yes, there's something sharp against your neck.
"I bet I can move faster than you." The boy whispered, paying no mind to the stillness of the room that made the blonde's swallowing seem so loud, surely he could feel that little rivulet of blood rolling down his neck. "It's mine now." With that he shoved at him, letting the knife slide down his sleeve before anyone caught on.
"I'll just let you have it, Shorty, I'm feeling generous." But Damian said nothing as he worked his feet back over the desk. He was still half watching the guy move across the room and half settling his head behind his folded hands, when he spotted Sam's hand out of the corner of his eye.
"That deserves another cookie." But as the boy reached back to accept he saw nothing but red marring her hands. Just what had he missed? He could feel his mouth falling open when the crowing of idiots stole his silence.
"The Ice Queen cometh!"
She looked pale, but her eyes were hard. To her credit, she didn't even give the ingrates a glance. She stood up for them. She faced the clown for these fools. What good did it do her?
"Ice Queen, hell more like 'She's a killer queen, gunpowder and geletine-"
"Guaranteed to blow your mind, right?"
"Aw, you're skipping lines!"
"Oh, she'll blow your mind alright. All over the floor I bet."
Even from his spot, he could see his sister's spine straightening as her books all but slammed on her desk a couple rows away. You're letting them get to you. You're letting these peons….
"It was his heart. Not his head. But how would you know? " The sudden voice made the boy lift his chin as Timothy Drake worked his way down the row. "You weren't even there." In silence he watched the young man as he worked his way down the same aisle, he even stopped to work his way around Delilah, but his eyes never once landed on her, and she never turned toward him.
"But a lot of us were." A dark haired boy said suddenly, breaking up the building silence. "And what about Carla-"
"Alright, alright, settle down." The room seemed to lull under the presence of a thin balding man. "Miss Wayne, so glad you could grace us with your presence." The man said dryly as he let his things settle on the large desk at the front of the room.
"Oh, I was just dying to come back."
"Very funny, Miss Wayne." The man muttered, peering at her over a pair of glasses before scooping up the paperwork on his desk. "Looks like we have a new student…" The man said slowly.
Strange, from here, he looked like an insect. Insects are easily squashed. Damian could see the man lifting his head to gaze at him, and then he put his eyes back on the paperwork. "Damian…Wayne?" The man let his arm slide to his side as if the of his paper were weighting it down. "Are you sure a highschool Latin class is a good fit for you? You could hardly be ten years old." He asked with a sigh. "And please get your feet off the desk."
Glancing at Del, he could see that knowing look crawling across her face as he let his feet slide to the floor. "It's not." He said simply, watching the old thing blink his big bug eyes. "I'm only here because I must be, there's nothing you could possibly teach me." With the classroom all but erupting around him, the boy simply leaned back with an outstretched hand, making sure to snap his fingers.
"You're gonna make me run out of cookies."
Look up, C'mon, Del, look up. But just as he thought she might lift up her gaze, someone sat across from him. "You're still doing it…" At the sound of the soft words, Tim could only sit up to shake off he daze. He knew those big dark eyes, and somewhere, somewhere under the fabric burn mask there were tendrils of that soft yellow hair.
"Doing what?"
"Watching her." Carlotta said with a sigh. "They all do really." With her words the girl twisted in her seat, letting them both watch as Pike approached the table. Any other time, Tim may have laughed at Damian's sour face, but then, as he watched the guy seat himself so casually on the table top beside Del, he found himself hoping that the demon child was getting ready to stab him with his fork. "…he's no exception."
"Wait a minute… you and Pike are-"
"Not anymore." One of the girl's beside him supplied. "It's sick really. Watching him fawn on her after what she did."
"Didn't she even stop at your house or something Carla?" But the girl was too busy watching Pike try to smooth things over, forcing the girl to cup her mouth as a laugh tried to spill out. "This is so revolting, I can't even watch it." The girls at the table may have turned away, screwing their faces in disgust, but there was Carla…still watching.
"Caro." Tim wasn't sure what made the girl peel her eyes away-his hand reaching out to hers or the sound of her old nickname falling out of his mouth. Damn, he hadn't called her that in years.
"You haven't called me that since elementary school." The girl murmured. "Tell me, Timmy, why her? What's so damned remarkable about her? Why does he…"
"It's her name."
"And you? What is it about her that makes you watch her the way you do?"
"Something entirely different."
"She did stop by my house…" Carlotta said suddenly, peering over her shoulder once more. "I-I couldn't. I didn't want to hear her. I know she was just contacting everyone just to make herself look good. I don't think she's really that sorry. First my friend then my face…now my boyfriend."
"She never stole me from you." Tim scoffed. "You dropped me the moment Drake Industries went under." When the girl tried to tug her hand away, he kept it, leaning in despite the silence that was rolling across the table. "You and I stopped being friends long ago. I didn't make that choice. You did."
"You left!"
"You weren't the only one who was in and out of boarding schools."
"Timmy, stop it, you're being mean." Carlotta whined, her long dark lashes seemed to be fluttering, trying to keep that sheen at bay.
"No I'm not. Truth hurts. As for your face, a sick, twisted man did that to you. You honestly think she wanted anyone to go through that? That she wanted that to happen in her own home? Yes, she contacted everyone after the party. But out of everyone in this school, you're the only one she went to visit personally."
"Tim-"
But as the boy held up his free hand, the words died there on her lips. "You're boyfriend? He's just a prick. The world's full of pricks and bitches Caro. You should know that by now." He said letting her hand free. "Because you're being one." With that the boy pushed himself away from the table, aware of all the wide eyes and hanging mouths that were sitting around him.
"YOU'RE AN ASSHOLE, TIMOTHY DRAKE!"
Hearing that name yell across the cafeteria, she felt compelled to look up. Even Pike twisted his head to watch the girl in the pale blue burn mask bolt from the table with a flurry of skirts chasing after her.
"Aren't you going to go after her?" Del wanted to know, half watching them flee down the hall and half watching Tim's back as he hit the outside door, flooding the space with that pale winter light.
"No. Now she just looks like the monster that she actually is." Pike murmured, as he rubbed his thumb over his lip. "Look, I just wanted to say that I appreciated the phone call afterwards…you know? I think that blew my parents away." He said sliding off the table, watching the girl as she focused her eyes on that lanky shadow just outside. "Hey…are you doing anything for New Years?"
"No…" She said slowly, letting the sound of his voice drag her gaze back to him. "I'm almost afraid to ask why." No sooner had the words started to slip out of her did a not so subtle smirk begin to wind around Pike's long mouth as he pulled an envelope from his pocket.
"Well, my parents are doing the whole cruise thing—they'll be gone. So there's going to be a bash at my place."
"Somehow I don't think I'd be that welcome-"
"Since when did you care what everyone else thought? Hell, bring Cleary, it might be an eye opening experience for her—bring whoever you want, but leave the little brother at home." With a wink, Pike strolled away, leaving Delilah Wayne with that thin gold envelope. But no sooner did she stash it away, did the teen shove herself from the table.
"On that note, I need to go wash this bitter taste out of my mouth."
It's just an act. You're doing what you have to. Her own father wasn't above using disguises and aliases—he wasn't above living in those white lies. What the world knew of Bruce Wayne had been carved out of them. It's just the nature of the beast. And yet somehow these little dishonest things left her mouth bitter and her soul feeling slightly cheaper than before.
Sliding into the girl's bathroom, she all but crumbled against the door, forcing her unwilling chest to rise. Pike's New Year's Eve party. No parents. That meant only one thing—booze and copious amounts of it. No, the fingerprints found on the crates didn't come back as a match, but that only checked those who had a reason to be fingerprinted in the first place. If Pike didn't have the stolen champagne bottles himself, someone would bring them. If we don't get our hands on them first…people are going to die.
Staggering her way to the sink, Del could have winced at the sound of her charms clinking and clanking as they battled together, but the moment she cupped her hands under that icy water and splashed it in her face, she heard something much different. You forgot the cardinal rule—always be aware of your surroundings. By the soft sound of sniffles, the girl knew she wasn't alone. What do I do? Do I ask them if they're okay? The idea of being caught crying in public, let alone in a bathroom was humiliating.
Biting her cheek as she agonized over what to do, Del reached for a towel, more than aware that the stall door behind her was coming open. The second the teen glanced up, she saw those big dark eyes peeking out from behind that fabric mask. Carlotta immediately ducked her head as she wandered to the open sink.
"You okay?"
The girl beside her seemed to shudder as if the words were abrasive. "Do I look okay to you?! Do I Wayne?!" She cried, wincing under the weight of her own echo. "I can't look at my own reflection, my mother refuses to…my own father? He couldn't look at my face without vomiting." Carlotta whispered, letting her fingers curl into the edges of the sink as the door behind them creaked open. "And the way Pike looks at me…"
Somehow Carlotta's words made her want to hug her arms to her chest. And while she could hear that voice telling her that the girl deserved it, Del couldn't stop herself from wondering, What would I do if I couldn't hide my scars?
But as Delilah felt her arms crushing down on her own chest as she stood there trying so desperately to find the right words her ears were training in on the sound of shoes crossing the threshold—lots of shoes. The teen hardly took a glance in the mirror at all the stoic faces at her back before she felt the weight of something hard and heavy smacking into her head. Stunned, her body only lurched forward, forcing her to smack into the mirror in front of her. But as the glass began to crack beneath her cheek, she could only focus on those bitter words. "This is for Carla, you bitch."
There's so many. The thought came instantly as the girl twisted around, trying to ignore the dull ache that was throbbing through her head or the feel of the blood rolling down her cheek. Carlotta Van Helton made not a sound; she just stood there, still as a stone staring as if she were watching a tragic accident that she just couldn't bring herself to look away from. The second, Delilah felt someone's ringed fingers fist in her hair, she forced herself to breath, as she cocked her fist. "Walk away." When the taller girl made no such move, she swung, not caring that she could feel the rings catching in her hair as the girl's head went back.
But as her assailant staggered back cupping her bloodied mouth, Del found herself facing grim odds. This wasn't just a fight between girls Seven to one? This is gonna hurt. As the largest boy among them came at her brandishing the back end of his lacrosse stick, the girl twisted, deflecting the blow to the side of her body so she could wrap her hands around his weapon. The second her fingers were coiled tightly enough, she kicked, putting her boot into his gut. Only when he seemed to be crumbling did they all come rushing, punching, kicking-tearing at her like wild animals on a kill that was still fighting to live. For a brief the girl could've believed she'd come out on top, if not for the sole of a boot that took the very breath out of her lungs.
"If you're that worried about her-"
"Don't be ridiculous." The boy sneered, peeling his eyes off the clock. "I just don't see what she's sulking about." He added, winning nothing from Sam but a shake of her head.
"Whatever." The girl sighed, letting her gaze return to her book. "If you don't understand…then why don't you ask?"
"Tch." The girl didn't even lift her head as he pushed himself from his chair. "It was a rhetorical statement."
"So…where are you off to?"
"How's that any of your business?"
"It's not, I was just curious." She said, watching him sling that blue blazer over his arm as he twisted his face at her. "It's normal you know—not liking it when someone other than you gives your sister shit. It's a part of the sibling thing. It's okay for you to call her names, push her buttons and pick fights with her- it's not okay for someone else to do it, because if someone else does it, they're overstepping their bounds. " She gave the kid a smirk. "If you ask me, anyone dumb enough to do that is just asking for a beating." Without another word the boy ducked for the hall.
"I wasn't asking."
This place, this place was strange. In the hours that lead up to this, he saw nothing more than a rift. There were those who openly thanked his sister for her idiotic bravery. But of course, there were those who damned her too—blamed her for the deeds of someone else's hand as if she herself had brought chaos into their lives. Were they really that blind? Had these pathetic children never tasted the world's bitterness? Had they never seen death so closely before? She and father are even more alike now. The thought had the boy clenching his jaw as he slammed into the girl's bathroom door. That's it! I'm kicking her ass! I'll show her where her place is!
"Hold her down!"
"God Damn, she's squirmy."
Feeling the toe of someone's boot smashing into her ribs, Delilah found herself sinking to the floor. Hell she couldn't even feel the grooves of the tile digging into her knees. She was too busy trying to pull herself from all the hands that were tugging on her, and yet, she felt her body bending to the floor. What's that wheezing sound?
"Not so pretty now, are you Delilah?" Swallowing the blood she could feel welling at the back of her throat, Del could only stare up at the faces that were crouching around her. The heavy weight on top of her was all but keeping her from breathing. That sound…it's me.
"You got the acid or not?!"
"Yeah, wasn't easy getting it out of the chemistry lab."
My arms are above my head. There are multiple people sitting on my body. How the fuck can I get out of this one? Half watching one of the girls lift a small tube from her bag, Del could hear nothing more but her heart humming in her ears, as she forced herself to try and tug free. "So should we scar her pretty face or something else?"
"I say we do the entire body." It wasn't the words, any more than the feel of someone's hands pushing her blazer back. No! No! STOP! But the girl could only close her eyes as she withered and tugged there on the floor, listening to the sound of buttons as they popped from her blouse. Suddenly the air was touching her, making her go rigid under the collective gasp. They can see everything…
"Jesus Christ."
"Fuck. You're pretty until you take your shirt off."
"What's with all the scars?"
"God that's so gross."
As Del let her head fall to the floor, forcing her jaws to clench together, she could see Carla just standing there, staring down at her with her big dark eyes shimmering beneath that burn mask. But the girl only looked away, just as that tube was lifted above the air. "Well I guess her face will just have to match."
But just as Delilah began to brace herself for the feel of acid eating away at her skin, the door slammed open. The second the room went still was all the time she needed to lean up and plant her head into the guy who was all but pressing his weight down on her. She didn't need to look over him to know. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Damian.
Feeling the weight on her body shift in their surprise, Delilah used her captor's weakened lapse of judgement to pull herself off the floor enough to bash her head into the boy closest to her. The second his weight tilted, the tube slipped from girl's hand, giving Del nothing more than a space of a breath to rip her arms free and roll to her side before just as the tube burst on the floor.
A part of her wanted to rush to close her shirt, and yet, the girl could only focus to getting to her feet, half watching the acid begin to eat its way through the tile and half watching Damian's round housing shadow as the bodies began to press in between them. But Delilah soon locked her eyes on the girl closet to her, letting her own arms react when the thing went to strike her with an open hand. Feeling her own fingers tighten around the girl's wrist, she waited for the girl to attack with her free hand, before twisting her arm into a block. By the time Delilah had released her first offending hand, she hand the girl by the scruff of her shirt and blazer, feeling her breath hiss out with every strike to the gut her knee made. No sooner had she shoved the girl into the wall did she feel someone's weight rushing into her side, it was enough to make her gasp for breath, and enough to make the floor come faster than she ever thought it would.
Get up, you have to get up. But maybe the action that seems so simple is much harder when you have someone planting their foot into your stomach. Biting back the vomit that was rolling up the back of her throat, Del forced herself to breathe, feeling her eyes tear out of necessity, when she heard the sound of the lacrosse stick whistling through the air. Glancing up, the girl could only see the red streams of blood flying through the air the moment that lacrosse stick hit him across the face. The boy's heavy body slid down to the floor, crawling under his hands and knees to get out from under Damian's shadow and the and his striking range.
Breathe. Just breathe. In the blur of her stinging eyes, she could see that blue masked girl sliding to the floor, cupping her hands over her mouth as if to force herself to keep her words. Is she overwhelmed? Or she just afraid of Damian? At the thought of her vicious little brother, Del could feel his shadow lording over her. She expected a few things. His disdain, maybe a little smugness and a few insults—she wasn't expecting to feel his foot connect into her side, knocking a gasp from her.
"GET UP!" But as the girl only vomited there at his feet, the boy only kicked her harder. "UP!" he snarled, not even waiting for her to collect herself. "Are you my sister or aren't you?! GET UP!" The moment she felt that stick crack across the back of her shoulder, causing her own arms to shake, she thought to curse him—or at least beat him with that stick the second she could. "Who are they?! Who are they to put you on the ground?! GET UP!" Even now, as Del worked her knees beneath her, she could still see a couple of girl's crouched in the corner of with horror on their faces. With a glance, she could see that stick coming down, and maybe it would've hit her in the face…if she hadn't reached for it first. "If you ever let someone get you to the ground like that again, I'll beat you within an inch of your life!"
"I'm going to shove that stick so far up your ass…" Everything tasted like blood, but shakily she was crawling back to her feet, more than aware that the adrenaline was forcing her muscles to spasm.
"Anyone else?!" Damian all but barked. Even with his voice echoing over the sound of the lacrosse stick spinning in his fingers, the sound scurrying feet sounded louder. "Boring." The boy grumbled, paying no mind to his sister's shuffling feet. "You look like shit." He said, watching her inspect the bloodied cut on her face in the cracked mirror. But in the corner of his eye he could still see that blue masked girl balled up against the wall. "You!" But no sooner had he pointed the stick at her, did Damian feel his sister grab his hand.
"Not her…"
"Jesus! They're couple of psychos!"
"I got the whole thing on camera too. Who knew she looked like that."
The cold had yet to pry itself away from him, he could still feel it melting in the warmth of hall, unlike his thoughts. Even now, they were still circling back to her, not even the cold could numb her from his mind. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad one… "Delilah Wayne—dominated. About time someone put that bitch in her place." Somehow hearing the clipped words, Tim felt his steps growing shorter and shorter. But as the boy began to hear the sound of replay, he found himself all but charging toward the pair. "No crying, nothing. Like a robot."
"Jesus Christ."
"Fuck. You're pretty until you take your shirt off."
"What's with all the scars?"
"God that's so gross."
Catching a glance of the girl on the floor with her scarred flesh for the world to see, Tim felt his stomach drop to his feet. Before he could think any clearer, he reached in between the two and snatched at the phone, hurling it at the wall. "Drake, what the fuck man-"
But before the redhead could utter another word, Tim had him by the shirt and was shoving him into the wall beside the busted phone. Leon…this kid's name is Leon. A follower—wants to be with the in-crowd. If I press hard enough he'll relent. "Is that all you have?!"
"Y-yeah."
"Leave him alone, Drake. If you want to fight, I'll give you one." He didn't have to glance at the jock to know the guy was sliding off that letterman jacket. But Tim never bothered to look his way.
"Where is she?!"
"Bathroom. She got what she deserved." Balling his fist, Timothy Drake didn't hesitate to plant it in the kid's nose, making sure to smack the big guy behind him with the point of his elbow. Dropping Leon to the floor, he turned striking out with a kick, forcing his friend to stagger into the lockers across the hall.
"Yeah, and so did you." He said, swiping up the motherboard and SD card of the phone. He wasn't sure what he expected on the other side of the door, but he wasn't expecting to see so much blood, vomit or glass. And there, trying to hold her torn blouse closed as she washed the blood from her face—was Del.
"You're late, Drake." At the sound of Damian's dry words, Delilah all but froze, her fingers trembling as she tried to keep her blouse together.
Without another word, Tim let his bag slide to the floor. Tossing the components at the boy who was crouched on the floor, he hurriedly ripped away his jacket.
"Tim—it's…it's okay."
"No it's not!" He snapped, peeling his top layers down to his t-shirt. Only when he'd gotten his dress shirt free did he hold it out to her, trying not to let his eyes wander down those lines that marred her body. Only when her fingers clutched her shirt tighter did he realize he was staring. Turning away, he could hear the shreds of her blouse coming loose as she struggled to slip the shirt over her head.
"What's this?"
"Someone recorded the whole thing. Couldn't let that get out."
"Who knew you were capable of using common sense?"
Tim thought to roll his eyes, but stopped himself when he heard her voice. "Are you alright? It's okay, you can take my hand." Whirling on his heel, he could see Del stretching out her hand to Carlotta Van Helton.
"I-I-I didn't know…I didn't know."
"I know." She murmured, as she helped peel the girl to her feet. "It's not your style. You're more Mean Girls, less Carrie."
"I haven't decided if you deserve it or not." Carla said suddenly.
"I know that too."
"You're strange, did you know that, Wayne?"
"You're just stating the obvious. Now get out."
The girl didn't even look up, she just rushed for the door, leaving Tim's eyes to take in the bloodied thing that was sagging in his shirt. "That looks pretty deep." Tim murmured, trying to mind his hands as he tilted her cheek toward him. "C'mon. I'll take you home." He murmured, throwing his jacket around her shoulders.
"What about—"
"It's been a while since I've skipped class. I'm due to miss a few."
Damian could only sneer at Tim's back as he followed them down the hall, watching their hands bump together, only for one of them to rip their hand away. Stupid, both of them.
Suspended. It's not like Dad was that surprised. Hell, he didn't even seem angry about it…until Damian gave him the SD card that Tim had confiscated. Wincing she could still hear the hum of those voices echoing through the hanger. She could still hear the sound of the buttons scattering on the floor. It almost felt shameful. And knowing that her father had watched every second of one of her worst moments….Weak! You're weak! And the way he just stared at that screen long after the clip had ended—the way he seemed to avoid looking at her. If it hadn't been for the darkness, Delilah was sure she'd be red in the face. "I want their names—all of them." He didn't raise his voice or say anything more, and in some ways, she wish he had. She knew how to handle his brooding and his tantrums…but this quiet rage? There was something terrifying about it.
The cold, the noise of the traffic, the bright glimmer of Gotham, none of it seemed to be able to untangle her thoughts. He's never going to let you pick up the cowl again. "God damn it!" Heaving her coffee cup at the door to the roof, the girl barely caught the sheen of someone's eyes as they ducked under the shrapnel.
"You missed."
"Wasn't aiming for you." She grumbled, watching Damian's dark form take shape as he inched closer with soundless feet. But what exactly did he have in his hands? "Shouldn't you be on patrol?" She asked with a sigh fleeing from her in a wispy cloud. Ah, she could see the lines of his face now.
"Stuck here no thanks to you." Oh, yeah, that was going to stop him. But as the boy stepped closer she began to see the form of the staffs in his hands, with just a glimpse at them, Damian was suddenly throwing one at her. No sooner did she feel the heavy thing smack into her hand, did she feel the point of Damian's weapon smack her on the stitched cheek. "What happened today is never going to happen again, you got that?" He snapped, stepping back into his stance. "You train with Father—you do as he says, but now you'll do as I say."
"So bossy." But as the girl took her stance, she could see his lips twitching just ever so slightly. It was kind of creepy really.
"I hear it's a family trait." The boy stated, forcing her to step back as he came at her with his first strike, but before she could move, he was dropping down and sweeping her legs out from under her, knocking her to the ground. He wasn't about to take it easy on her. "No one has the right to make you fall. No one but me." He told her, stepping back as she hopped to her feet.
But before the girl could lurch forward, someone grabbed her staff from behind, forcing her to dig her feet into the gravel to stop herself. "Your hands are too close together." Dad! Even Damian rested his staff, curious as to what the man was up to, but the girl moved her hands. "This staff is a little heavy for you, but we'll make it work." He added, pushing her feet out with a nudge of his foot. With that he stepped out of the way. "Make him fall."
A/N: So technically Damian is the master thief of this chapter. The moments I was dreading didn't quiet make it, but it's coming. Next chapter - Broken Birds We'll get a peek at what Jason's up to. Tim fans may have a reason rejoice finally! (Maybe? We know how those two are.) And I'll have to put my foot down and do the dirty deeds. -.-
