AN: Sorry about the wait! I had some things come up that made it hard to find the time to write but it's here now, and wow is it long! It just had to end at a particular point. (You'll see!) I know it's been a while but here's my promise to you, it will have a proper ending no matter what. There's a bit of all the boys in this one.
"Paige. Paige it's late, c'mon now."
"No."
I don't know what it is about the rawness of my mother's voice that peels my eyes open, but before I can make sense of the shadows and shapes of the room the door swings open, leaving shards of light across the floor.
"Can't you at least consider—"
"No, Uncle Beau. I can't." My mother's form seemed to spring toward my bed, ripping back my sheets so fast it made everything inside me jump. "C'mon, Baby, we have to go." I didn't know what to do but cling to her as she peeled me up, her arms wrapping so tight around me I was sure I'd never breathe again. "We can't stay here as long as that man is under Gigi's roof."
Uncle Beau seemed to shorten with sigh as he reached over to peel a blanket off the chair behind him. "You've met him before. I know he's a little…off." He said gently, tucking the blanket around me. But when Mama only shook her head, Uncle Beau spoke again, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "What changed?"
"I know who he is now."
"So do I."
"No you don't!" Mama cried, stilling her hand on my head as my cheek rested into her shoulder. "He's—he's not what you think." The light in the hall was so blinding I had no choice but to bury my head into the overhang of the blanket until Uncle Beau grabbed Mom's shoulder. "What are you not telling me? What do you know?"
"I can't—"
"Paige!"
"I'm sorry, I can't. I-I have to get her out of here." Without another word, Mama fled down the hall, trying to balance my weight in her arms as she rushed down the stairs.
"Where we going, Mama?"
"Home. We're going home."
"Paige René, stop this foolishness!" That heavy command all but froze my mother's fingers to the door. "Why? Tell me why?" I couldn't help but wince at that willow of a shape that was all but floating down the stairs. "The offer was a gift. It could save that baby's life! Why can't you see that?!"
"He didn't tell you about the side effects did he? What it could do to her? Oh, Gigi, how do you even know that man?!" My mother's words were enough to stop the dragon from advancing. She just paused there in that faint light looking more like a frail little old lady rather than the dragon everyone tiptoed around.
"That's too long and old of a history for anyone's ears." The sound of the door latch giving under my mother's hand seemed to swallow foyer. "Do you know what I've gone through to ask him such a thing?!" Gigi cried, paying no mind to the hum of the sea just outside her door.
"It doesn't matter." Mama whispered. "I won't accept the offer."
Delilah was still untangling herself from the tendrils of her dreaming when the shadows began to take shape. The more the darkness ate away at the memories of that alabaster house, the more aware she became of the pain that was buzzing through her knobby joints. What offer, Mama? With the sound of the sea still whispering in her ears, the girl let her head lull to the floor watching the soft pale glow of the moon reveal the hidden contours of the world around her. One. Two. Steady now. Wait…one of the shadows didn't belong.
"That was graceful."
Pressing her hands to the floor, she could feel her pulse coming alive as the shadow unfurled from the windowsill, bringing with it the soft flecks of melting sleet and smell of the briny sea. Jax never alerted me! Where's Jax?! But before she could even utter a sound, let alone scramble from the twisted sheets, a cold hand knotted in the front of her shirt, hoisting her from the floor just high enough to smack her into the bedframe.
"What the fuck were you doing there tonight?!" Jason. But the words only fled with her knocked breath. The feel of the bedpost mashing into her spine was enough make her eyes water as she stumbled to find her feet. Her weight seemed to be hanging in his cold hard hands. "Answer me!"
With the balls of her feet finally meeting the chilly floor, Del forced herself to blink the wetness away, letting the blurry shape of his creased face take shape. "Look at you trying to command me like you're my dad or something. Who the hell do you think you're talking to?!" She snapped wringing from his grip. The daze was all but spent now leaving her raw, cheapened and cheated out of sleep.
"I'm nothing like him!"
"Clearly."
Irritating little—He wasn't sure what drew him to his feet. Was it the flash of anger or that snotty bite in her voice? He couldn't let her slip to the darkness. He couldn't let her disappear to a place where he wouldn't be able to reach her. So he grabbed for her, wrapping his hand around her wrist just as she turned to flee for the darker corners of her room, or worse…some place where the light could touch.
The bones of her wrist seemed so slender in his fingers. So frail—breakable—just like the rest of her. Okay, maybe that was only half accurate. Those pointy knuckles were anything but delicate. He hadn't expected her to ball her fist and swing any more than she expected him to knock her legs out from under her. He could see those pale blue eyes widening as his hands shot out, fisting in her shirt before her body could hit the floor. Between them those ragged exhales plumed and faded. "What were you doing there?" He asked, mashing his teeth to keep his voice from rising as he let her flop to the floor.
"Funny." She spat, working herself back up to her feet, trying to ignore the hum of anger in the air. Jason was permanently angry…but this? "That's what I should be asking you." But as she tilted her head up at him, all she found were the dark creases of his face and glimmer of his eyes, eyes that were looking blacker than blue. With the feel of flurries skirting across her bare feet, Delilah let loose an exasperated breath. "Bird's my uncle…" She whispered, watching the snow flake at her feet slowly melt into a nothing but a drop of water.
"What?"
"Benjamin 'Bird' Larson is my mother's older brother." She said, not sure why she felt an unsteady laugh bubbling in the back of her throat. "God, I'm related to Bane's lieutenant."
"Did you know that your uncle's involved in Nine Circles?" The soft hysterical laugh died right there, leaving in its wake a face absent of color and that deer eyed stare. Of course she didn't know. She was still so innocent—still untainted. How long before Gotham killed everything inside her? How long before it hollowed out her soul?
"Are-Are you sure?"
"He took me there with some of his pals." Jason murmured. "Lovely bunch. I only want to kill them once or twice a night."
"You've been there? Actually been inside?!"
"I really hate repeating myself." No sooner had the words clouded the air, did the girl dig her fingers into his coat, grabbing him as if she were holding on for dear life.
"Jase, I need you to take me there." Who was making the commands now?
"How about…'no'? I like no."
"Jason."
"It doesn't work like that, Pipsqueak. I don't know the way in. They're at least half smart- or Bird is, he doesn't trust me enough. Not yet." He said, prying her dagger like fingers from his coat. But no matter how she tugged, he wouldn't let her hands slide from his grip. He'd know the feel of her hands anywhere now. "I can't have you getting in my way."
"How the hell was I in your way?! It's not like I knew you were going to be there! You're the stalker, remember?!"
"Damn it Del!" She could feel her breath hitching as he shoved her back, letting her scarred palms slide through his fingers. She half expected to feel the corners of the bedpost stab her in the back, and yet all she could focus on was the feel of Jason's cold fingers gripping and uncoiling in her tangled hair. "I almost blew Val's brains out on account of you." He murmured, as the weight of his body pressed their shadows closer. "Don't make me do something we'll both regret."
"Val…is that the sleaze-ball that said I had the face of a dog?"
"Valentino Carbone. That'd be the one. Guess who the sleaze-ball works for?"
"Bird…" She muttered dubiously.
"Yes, but who else?"
"Falcone?"
"Little girl deserves a cookie." Jason mumbled. "And the balding giggler—who happens to be a gun runner, guess who his main squeeze is."
"Other than you?"
"Don't be a shit. That's my job."
"Maroni? You're kidding me. You mean to tell me that men from both sides are answering to Bird?!"
And if they were to find out it was you who showed up tonight…game over. Working his hand from the tangles he created, he let that callused hand cup the point of her chin, lifting that fiery gaze higher. "Now do you get it?" He asked, watching those long dark lashes flick closed at his words. Her hands were pressed flat into his chest, a weak defense…or maybe it was a way to feel the words come life. "I don't know if Bird can protect you from the Roman and the Boss."
She could feel his weight all but resting against her. She could feel his chest bowing when her own fell, filling this strange darkness with delicate clouded breaths as flurries wandered in from the open window. The feel of his exhales brushing against her skin only made her want to run for the darkness and yet he wouldn't let her go, not when she felt his head come to lean against hers. "Don't go back there." She wasn't sure what it was that made the chill roll down her spine, forcing her to jolt against him. Cold air, warm breath—breath that smelled of whisky and yet he was drawing her closer.
"You promised…"
"I lie-"
"Been drinking haven't you?" Four words, that's all it took to break this frail reverie and send him backward, filling the air with a strangled kind of laugh. It was the sort of sound that made the hair on her arms stand on end. Was he really that close to crumbling? "Jason, you can't—"
"Excuse me for not being able to suppress my emotions! I needed something to take the edge off! I'm not like him, remember?!"
"That's not—"
"You don't know what I saw! " He snapped, frowning when his voice rose a notch too high. "I watched a girl your age fight for her life. I watched her stab her opponent again and again while she wailed like a banshee." He uttered, watching Del's arms droop to her sides. "Kids are fighting kids while people bet on them like they're betting on dogs."
"This girl…was she a redhead? The same one from the bus accident?"
"How the hell-"
"We were able to track her little sister after she was sold-"
"The blonde? Is she safe?" Watching the girl nod, Jason blew out a breath, more than aware of the sour aftertaste of whiskey on his tongue. But as he turned for the open window, her words all but stilled him.
"Jase…I hate to ask…and I'll even call in the favor, but how deep in this can you get? I want to see the circles broken."
"Save it, Baby Bat." He said with a grunt as he hopped on the windowsill. "I plan on it. Don't waste your favor." As his feet hit that ice slicked roof, he could still feel her eyes wandering across his back. If he took the chance to look back, what would he see in her eyes? Judgement? Resentment? Disappointment? He just couldn't chance it. She had her father's eyes after all. "The guitar…what was that all about?"
"It was my grandfather's. I figured Bird had more right to it than I did."
"And now you've told him you know exactly who he is." She'd lost her element of surprise. But what about the old man? Does he know about her? Does she know about him? "Del…" But no matter how many times the words lined up at his lips, they stalled. "Never mind. Keep an eye on Blondie. And uh…" He couldn't stop himself. "…stay close to the Dickhead while I'm gone." What the hell was he saying?! Dick was an ass! Then again, He wasn't like Bruce either. Sure, they were both assholes but at least Dick would keep her alive. "And don't go back." He added, listening to the sound of her bare feet skimming across the floor. "Please."
"Did I just hear Jason Todd say 'please'? Oh, be still my heart."
"No wonder I hate you."
He never looked back, he simply leapt into darkness, leaving the girl standing there at that open window with snowflakes landing on her bedroom floor. "You lie, Jase. You lie."
There would be no sleeping after that. Not after the snow had littered her floor. Not after her bare feet lead her down into the humid briny warmth of the cave. Not after that creature came off the table, forcing her father to jump between her and the corpse that was anything but a corpse. He was heading toward the fifty-one hour mark. Two days and three hours without so much as a catnap. Batman was grouchy—and in desperate need of a shave. But he seemed even more desperate to separate her from that pale skinned thing with the liquid black eyes. But before he could banish her to the world above, Delilah noticed one disturbing detail…his head, the head that she had kicked in herself…had regenerated.
"He just didn't want you to be seen, Miss." Alfred said softly, willing the girl to peel her eyes from her milky tea as he peered at her from over his shoulder. "You were unmasked after all."
"I know. Stupid on my part. But I didn't think it would still…"
"Be coming to life?"
"Yeah…" The girl uttered, watching his deft fingers crush up the pills on the counter. Her father had been awake for more than two solid days. Alfred always got a little edgy after that. Come to think of it so did he. Maybe he knew his next meal or swig of coffee was going to knock him on his ass.
"And why pray tell, are you out of bed?" Alfred asked, letting his dark eyes slide from the powder he'd created.
"Fell out of bed. Couldn't get back to sleep after that." She muttered, twisting the stool toward the stacks of dusty crates behind her. Ah, Christmas decorations. It was the middle of December after all.
"This doesn't have anything to do with running into your uncle this evening, does it?" Alfred asked as he twisted toward the cabinet for a mug. "He called me that night you know…" He said slowly, tilting his head at the girl as her chair swiveled back around. "Couldn't get ahold of your mother—"
"Did he tell you why?"
"No. But I'd never known the man to be as panicked as he was. By the time I contacted your father, he was on his way there. I never understood that phone call." He said, letting the mug sit there on the counter as he hunkered down on his elbows across from her. "Not until now. He and his young charge should be arriving in Gotham in a matter of hours. A meeting with Commissioner Gordon, I believe."
"How could you possibly know that…wait." But the man was pulling himself up, taking the empty cup to the grumbling coffee pot. "Dad said you and my grandmother were kind of an item." She said gently, smiling into her cup as the man's spine went rigid and his cheeks flushed ever so slightly. But just as his composure might slip, Alfred coughed into his hand and straightened himself out. "Makes sense. I mean, Bailey and Beau Devereux were twins." She stated, pausing only to polish off her cup. "It was you." She said, letting her cup settle into its saucer with a clink. "You were the one who bought all the shares from Devereux-Verre. I'm sure Uncle Beau gave you the inside information. So in reality, he helped you blackmail his own mother. And the cards—the Christmas and Birthday cards. Those weren't from Gigi. They were never from Gigi. He sent them. And he knew exactly where to send them because you told him."
"Well done." Alfred said glancing away from the cup he was filling long enough to see the teen shoot him a smirk. "You could be a detective."
"Cheeky Devil." Delilah teased, sliding from her stool to set her cup in the dishwater. "But I wish he'd told you everything. Maybe something could've been done about Nine Circles then."
"You're not the first Wayne to deal with Nine Circles, you know."
"What? Has Dad run into them before? He didn't mention it."
"No, no. He was only three or so at the time. Of course he wouldn't mention it to you. There was nothing Martha Wayne abhorred more than child abuse. With the help of a young cop by the name of Gordon and yours truly, she had her own covert detection agency for some time." He said, watching that wispy thing sag against the counter under the weight of his words. "I don't think Martha dreamed of it delving into the human trafficking world like it did. But after the deaths of your grandparents, the agency fell apart. Nine Circles was the last ring your grandmother ever saw pulled apart."
"But now it's back…"
"Now it's back." The man lamented, watching the girl sink her teeth into her lip. "I don't know if I put much stock in destiny and fate, but I do find it ironic that Martha's granddaughter is following in her footsteps without even realizing it." He said as he lifted the tray with the steaming mug and pot. "It's strange how much of your grandmothers I see in you." He added, pausing at the door as the girl slid away from the counter.
"I wish I could've met them." Delilah whispered, feeling Alfred's gaze on her back as she slipped her coat from the hook by the door. "Do you think…" The softly stated words were enough to make the man pause in the breezeway. "Do you think you could tell me a little more about Grandma Bailey sometime? I don't want to pry or anything it's just…"
"I would be happy to. As far as this very moment goes, I'm curious as to where you think you're going at such an hour."
At that, Del stopped wrapping her scarf around her neck. "For a walk."
"I've heard that one before."
Holding up her father's recorder, the girl could see Alfred's thin lips mashing together. "Really, I'm just going for a walk. Stare at some Christmas lights or something." She stated turning back only to collect her woolen cap. "I'll help you decorate when I get back…maybe then?"
"Yes, Miss. Do stay warm."
"Of course, Alfred."
"You have your phone, yes?"
"Yeah…why?"
"I have to placate the bat with something."
"Beware the Court of Owls that watches all the time. Ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch, behind granite and lime. They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed. Speak not a whispered word about them, or they'll send the Talon for your head. I hadn't believed in talons and the Court of Owls since I was a boy. Maybe I never should've stopped."
She wasn't sure where her feet were leading her as she marred the stark white streets with her boot prints, she only knew the more she listened to that gravelly voice humming in her ears, the more lost and tangled her thoughts became. Court of Owls? Talons? Those weren't phrases she'd heard before. And the more her lips mouthed the words, the more foreign they felt. More of her father's little secrets? But that would explain the owl motif in the man's gear. Not that the thing on the table even resembled a man anymore. And there are more of those things out there…
Pausing under the haze of yellow twinkling lights, Del let out a breath, watching the air claim it into a soft wispy cloud as she lifted her head, staring up at the small batch of stars that were peeking through the holes that had been punched in that ash gray sky. "Looks like the body contains a high amount of electrum—a mixture of alloy that one wouldn't normally find in a human body. Only cooling agent seems to slow down its reactions. Still regenerating. The skull was…completely kicked in."
Was that…hesitation in his voice? Did he think she wasn't capable of such a thing? Or was there something more to that exhausted ache? "But it's completely reformed now." She couldn't remember peeling herself from the soft shimmering glow for the darker shadows of the street. She didn't blink when she felt the last of the snowfall grazing her cheek. But when she felt that hand gripping into her shoulder, Del could only let her breath hiss out.
"It's five in the morning, what in the world are you doing?" Tugging the headphones from her ears, she turned the recorder off, silencing her father's voice as she peered up at Beau Devereux's creased face. Wait. She was at the cul-de-sac. Blinking the snowflakes off her lashes, she could see the man's shoeprints wandering down the street to reach her, leaving behind the gray haired housekeeper and curious blonde child who were still sliding from the car. "What? Are you trying to turn into a popsicle?" He asked, cupping his warm hands on her icy cheeks. "Bless your crooked little head."
"Geez, you sound like Mom." The girl muttered. "I was just taking a walk. Woke up way too early." Beau Devereux seemed unperturbed, he simply swung and arm around her and twisted her toward the cottage.
"Sure I sound like your mom or did you mama just happen to sound like me?" He asked, watching that silly little smile brighten the dimness. "Alfred said you might—"
"That traitor! Are you two pals or frenemies?" She asked blinking in that soft yellow glow that was pouring out across the snow covered yard.
"We play whatever part is necessary." He said, tilting his head to the sky as he let a veil of air from his lungs. "He did a great service to my sister before she died. I'll never be able to repay him for it." He said, pausing to knock the snow from his shoes.
"Oh yeah? What was that?"
"He loved her." There was something about those simple words that seemed to make her pull her head up from her boots so fast it made all the blood rush. But the man only gave her a sad simpering face. "He loved her at a time she was sure love and life was all but done with her. The doctors only gave her six months to live. She made it almost a year and half. I think he had a lot to do with that extra time." He said as he shoved open the door, letting the warmth wade out to greet them. "What? What's that face?"
"We're talking about Alfred…"
"Is that so hard to believe?"
"He's just so…Alfred." No sooner had the words slipped out of her mouth, did Beau lift his head and laugh. Melodic, rough and warm, it was enough to make her lips curl into a smirk as he pulled her through the front door.
The warmth barely had any time to eat away at the cold that lingered about her flesh before the man lead her to another part of the house. "How is she?" The girl managed, breathing in the soft scent of hickory wood and leather bound books. If any part of this house belonged to Beau Devereux, it was this small library lined with photos and warm oak panels.
"Clara's…adjusting." He murmured, his chest rising and falling as he gestured to a pair of chairs by the window, peeling the girl from the walls and the unfamiliar faces she should've known. "We Devereuxs are an acquired taste." He added, the side of his mouth twisting. "As soon as Commissioner Gordon is through with us, I'm taking her back to South Carolina." He could see Del's lips parting as she eased into the burgundy tufted chair, but he held up his hand. "I don't want anyone recognizing her. It's not like I can hide her, she's a child."
"It can be done. Trust me."
"Jesus, ma petite, I'm sorry I didn't mean—"
"What are you sorry for? You didn't do it to me." What am I saying?! To silence her tongue, she stabbed it with her teeth, watching the man sink into the chair across from her. It was too late to take the words back. "It's not like he wanted to hide me like that…" She whispered, picking up an ivory pawn from the chessboard between them. "But I understand. I'm sure Gordon will too."
"I just hope she does. I know she wants to find her sister."
"Children's faces change quickly. I'm sure in time she can…"
"In time." The man said with a nod let his fingers fall from the ebony piece beneath them as he tilted to his head to the soft creaking above their heads. "So what really has you up at this Godforsaken hour?" No sooner had the words fall from his mouth did he see the girl's thick lip disappear beneath her teeth.
"Nothing."
"Oh, liar, liar, pants on fire. You lie like your Mama—means you can't." He said giving a nod to the frosty window as movement caught his eye.
She wasn't sure what she was supposed to see as she peered through the snow covered shrubbery to spy on that dull gray world. But as she spotted the trim lines of an inky black suit, the girl found herself forgetting about the weight of the piece in her hand as she pulled herself closer to the icy panes. The short gray hair, the thick black brows, the broad nose—are you shitting me?! "What's Falcone doing here?" The teen asked, wincing as the heavy pawn slammed down on the board.
"That's a good question…for the dragon." And yet he wanted her to see the man? "How about the truth now, Little Bit?"
"Have I ever been to the house in Carolina? With Mom I mean…" In the soft reflection of those slick white pawns she could see the Beau's eyes moving from the board to her, letting his thick fingers tap on his mouth as if he were putting his thoughts in order.
"A couple of times."
"Did she cut one of those visits short?"
You look so much like your mother. So much, it almost hurt to look at her, hurt to watch her tap her slender fingers on her chin as she plotted his demise—the same way she used to. Only a few moves in and the wheels were already turning he could see it in that careful gaze. A finessed aggressor. But who had taught her to be so aggressive? Falling back into his chair, Beau let a sigh slip out as his fingers turned loose of an ebony pawn. "How could you possibly remember that?"
"I just…I just…do you know why?"
"Gigi had an old friend drop by that Christmas." He said letting the popping of logs eat away at the soft palpable silences between them. "Your mother didn't like him. Didn't trust him. She didn't think you were safe there."
"And what did you think?"
"That she knew something about Ra's Al Ghul that I didn't." He said carefully, not batting an eye as a pawn slid from Del's fingers clipping the board before it hit the floor. "And so do you it seems."
"He didn't tell you about the side effects did he? What it could do to her?" The Lazarus pit! That was the offer! Gigi…what did you do? He wouldn't offer that for nothing. Realizing that the silence had grown too thick, Del forced herself to sit up, shaking her head as she swallowed the knot in her throat.
"I'm curious, what do you know?"
"That she was right not trust him. How does Gigi know him?"
"How do I know who?" Hearing that soft lyrical voice rise about the hissing of the flames, every muscle in her body jerked. She never heard the door open, never heard her small feet on the carpet, but standing there in that clean black and white suit was Gisele Devereux herself. "She's a charming little creature, Bébé. A touch shy perhaps."
"She has every right to be shy, Mama. She doesn't know us from Adam and God only knows what she's been through."
"True." The woman said with a sigh as she crossed the room, setting those familiar eyes on Del. "How you got this one through the door is a mystery to me." She said, setting the fine glass bottles she clutched right there in the empty space of the board. "I see, you'll visit with him but not your grandmother, is that how it is?"
"I like him."
"Easy now, Little Bit."
Listening to the woman's soft French curses the girl could only roll her eyes, watching her uncle reach across the board for one of the small glass bottle. "Pick one would you please?" Gigi asked finally as she peeled her gaze from the beams above their heads.
"Isn't it Marcella's Job to handle the fragrances?"
"And where do you think the samples came from? Or would you like to trade places with your sister?"
"More like she wouldn't want to trade places with me. Out of the three of us, I'm the one who puts up with her the most." He said, leaning in to snatch a sample card from the woman's wrinkled hands. "Your great-uncle Alexandre ran off to New York to sharpen his teeth and claws. And that great-aunt of yours? She scampered off to France as soon as she could." He muttered, smirking as he won a curl of the lip out of the girl.
"You wound me."
"Unlikely." The man coughed, sputtering as the wet shards of perfume ballooned in the air. "Those scales are tougher than that."
Delilah wasn't sure what possessed her to lift the closest bottle, letting the soft curves of glass fit into her hands as she lifted it up to glance at the bottom. A small fleur-de-lis marked with a D. "You make the glass too, right?"
"Glass is the first priority, the girly stuff came later." Her uncle managed, grimacing at the small scent cards he made. "I think she's just trying to torture me."
"Alexandre wouldn't complain."
"Oh of course the little dragon wouldn't!" Beau sneered, letting Del steal the cards from his hand.
"So…Uncle Alexandre is the next Dragon, huh?" The girl asked, knowing full well those familiar hazel eyes were watching her so carefully. "How did you end up with that nickname anyway?"
"That, ma chère, is a very old and very long story."
"Did the Demon's Head give it to you?" She could see the surprise roll through the woman as if it came from her very bones.
"How-how do you know Ra's?" Gigi asked, her gnarled fingers slamming down on the table, knocking down bottles, rooks and pawns all at once.
"It's…complicated."
"Bullshit!"
"It's not like I've met him personally!" Delilah snapped, as her Grandmother's cool fingers curled around her wrist. "But you have…you've always known more than you let on, haven't you? Grand-mère, what did you promise him?! What did you tell him?!" But no sooner had her words began to rise, did the old woman seemed to be falling. Her tight face was suddenly ashen and slack as she fell to her knees with the fallen chess pieces. Before Beau could even pull his alarmed self from his chair, Gigi clasped the girl by the face.
"Listen to me. Listen to me, Bébé." Why was that word so familiar falling out of her mouth? Why did it make her want to crawl in someone's lap? Why did it make her hear the sound of the sea and the soft drawl of voices? But as the girl blinked, she could find nothing but those eyes staring at her. Wet and worried. "I don't know how you've come to know that name, but stay away from it." With that the woman pressed her thin lips to her forehead as she rose to her feet. "Promise me. Promise me, Delilah."
"I can't. I said it was complicated. His grandson…is my little brother."
"The boy—the boy that was with you?" Just as Del gave a nod, a peculiar sound seemed to bubble out of her grandmother, forcing the woman to squash her laughter with her wrinkled hand. "My great-grandchild and his grandson in the same house? Fate is merciless."
"Mama, why don't you sit down and explain-" Beau started, twisting his head the double doors when a soft knock echoed through the room.
"Mr. Devereux, Commissioner Gordon is here…" The soft plea of a child was enough to send the trio into silence.
"Come in then, ma petite."
Delilah could feel her lungs start to ache when the girl slid through that door, bringing with her the white haired Gordon. "Mr. Devereux. Mrs. Devereux." Oh, but when those dark eyes spotted the teen parked in that chair, the man seemed to pause. "Miss Wayne…I'm not entirely sure I'm glad to see you."
That was enough to get a raised brow out of her uncle. "Been seeing a little too much of each other huh?"
The teenager only slouched in her seat as she watched Clara ease herself on the sofa. "Understatement." She said with a sigh, letting Gigi peel the glass from her fingers. "But I had something I wanted to discuss with you after you've taken their statements." She could see the man's shoulders falling, as if he were waiting for the boom, but Del only found his gaze and held it. "About the group who broke up Nine Circles some years ago." She said pulling herself up straight as Gordon's face sobered. "I'd like to bring it back."
The sidewalks were all but littered with shoeprints and bundled forms in hats and colorful scarves. Any day now the city would start to come to life, shedding its ash and soot for snow and brightly twinkling lights. But no bystander seemed to notice the girl staring out that large bay window, watching the world become caked with white.
"There's a very fine line between love and hate. If you remember nothing else from me, please remember that." The tale Gigi had told was a strange one, one that only reminded the girl of what an extraordinary life the woman had lead in these last ninety seven years—and the man who seemed to be weaved through it.
He was just a researcher—or that's what he'd told her father when he became one of their many tenants on their sprawling estate. He was the one who gave her the name 'Dame de dragon'. After all, who would believe a human could live five hundred years and not see a dragon? The man disappeared just as quickly as he came, leaving behind nothing but a nickname that the girl grew into.
In time she clawed her way to the top of her father's business and found herself placed in an arranged marriage with a man across the sea. But just as life seemed to be coming together, it all toppled with the fall of France. She'd seen her own home overtaken by Nazis. And had no choice but to watch the father she admired crumble and die. Gisele was left with only one choice- escape or perish.
But just as she thought the darkest moments of her life had begun, there that man was, pulling her by the hand as she fled from Europe. She hadn't known that her savior had left one of his own children in a concentration camp to rot or how he felt about this world—and maybe that was for the best.
By the time they'd reach the shores of the United States, she had a choice. Marry the fiancé her father had chosen for her, or stay with this eccentric man who she loved and feared all at once. She chose the former and never looked back. She came to love her husband, became a mother, made her husband's legacy into an empire and fought to keep it after his sudden death. And Ra's? Ra's had never forgotten this betrayal. Who knew finding a small measure of happiness could be an act of treachery?
Over the years the tit for tat relationship decayed, leaving scars and stained hands as souvenirs. Sure there were moments when Gigi would pause to blink away the glaze on her eyes, no doubt skipping details she didn't want her grandchild to hear. But one thing was certain. Ra's Al Ghul may have given her the name. But she was the one who gave the dragon life.
"I'm sorry I don't think she's paying us any attention." Feeling someone's foot nail her shin, Del hit the table, rattling plates and cups as she jolted in her chair, tearing the reverie to shreds. Damn you, Damian! But as her fingers fisted around her fork ready to stab the boy in the arm, she found all eyes on her. The fork hit the plate with a clatter. Lunch with Powers. Whoops.
"We must be boring her with such shop talk." Or I'm just not impressed.
"I'm sorry, my mind keeps wandering elsewhere." Del said gently, winning nothing more than an arched brow from across the table. But at least Derek Powers seemed to buy it. Now smile and pretend you're just one of those silly girls that's more interested in spending your father's money than his business. When she was sure she had the scheming man hooked for the bait, she shoved her chair back, half watching that dark haired head pass by the window while she untangled the Doberman from beneath her chair. "Excuse me, I need some air." She murmured, tugging the lazy creature as she darted for the door, her father's call to turn up her phone chasing her out into the plaza. At this rate, she'd never be able to catch him. Before she could think to call out to Tim, Jax tugged, yanking the leash from her ungloved fingers; he was off like a shot. Damn! Damn! Damn!
"The Jaguar of Verdeza."
"Isn't that the last piece?"
"It's the first collection I ever attempted at putting together." Jack Drake murmured, as he turned the statue over in his gloved hands, well aware that the boy was leaning in. "Never thought my first one would also be my last." He mused, watching Tim's lips tighten in the cat's topaz eyes. "It's not the labor I miss. It's outsmarting the other archeologists. We study the civilizations and yet it has a way of bringing out human nature in ourselves. You could always expect the worst sort to make the dumb decisions." He added, glancing over his shoulder. "That's when you claim the prize."
"And how did you find this one?"
"It was in someone's private collection. I didn't think he'd go for letting it join the rest of the collection here at the museum. Surprised the hell out of me."
"To be fair, it surprised me that you knew I had it." Glancing up from the statue in his father's hands, Tim peeled himself from the table as he stared up at the familiar face. Beau Devereux. "Sorry, the curator said you'd be back here."
"Not at all, Mr. Devereux. Not at all. Though I'm curious, just how did you end up with it?" But the man was shaking his head, keeping his eyes on the small blonde haired child who was tip toning through the room.
"You have your trade secrets." Beau said, as he stood across the table. "I have mine."
"Still wanting to leave it as an anonymous donation I assume?"
"Just as we agreed." The man murmured, his brows knitting as he lifted his chin. The quizzical stare was enough to make Tim turn to the window, spying a black coated dog pawing and sniffing in the small strip of snow covered green between the buildings. Without hesitation he hit the side door, letting flakes and flurries scatter across the floor.
"Jax?" Just as he suspected, the Doberman's head shot up, leaving him to prance and pounce there in the snow as Tim slid from the doorway. "She's gonna kill you." He sighed, spotting the end of that leash peeking through the snow. "Where is your owner?" The closer he got, the faster that nub on his rump wagged, but no sooner did he reach for that dragging line did the canine dart around him. "Man, you are a jerk." He breathed, the warmth of his breath leaping out to join the air as he watched the dog crouch with his front paws in the snow—like it was nothing but a game to him. The dog jived left, he went right, watching that leash slither through the snow. "I've got you now, Pup." But as he swung down to grab it, his hand landed right on a set of long cold fingers, mashing the end of the leash beneath them.
"Jax, Sit."
"No way it's that simple…" The boy grumbled, rolling his eyes when the dog turned, walked right to her side and sat, staring up at her with that shit eating dog grin. "You're still a jerk." He muttered to the creature. The leash he realized was limply hanging on her fingers—icy fingers that were still trapped in his own hand. "Hi." What else could he say? It'd been a couple days and the only thing that had passed between them was the far off stares of disappointment. "Um…about the other night…"
Her chest heaved with a breath. "Can we not talk about it?" As cold as her fingers felt, her breath was warm. How long are we going to tiptoe around this? She completely lost control of herself. But at least she wasn't yanking her hand away…"I mean your dad's staring… and so is my uncle—why's he here exactly?" At those words, he let her fingers drop as he peeked at the window; sure enough they had an audience. Without another word, he seized the girl by the hand, pulling her and that ridiculous dog of hers through the door.
"Wait. I don't know if a dog can be back here." She protested, but Jack was shrugging.
"As long as he doesn't chew on the fossils, the curator won't give two shits—pardon the expression." He said lifting his head as the girl gravitated toward the table and the statue.
"Beautiful."
"You've never seen this?" But as the girl shook her head, the man only lifted his. "Huh, you do keep secrets don't you? Not even your niece knows you had it." Beau's only response was to give a one shouldered shrug, watching Del's gaze flick down to the gold name plate. "Tim, can you wheel that case over here?"
"Two times in one day?"
"I thought you were catching a plane?" Del asked, easing her back along the wall beside her uncle, half watching Clara peer into the cases around her. But even as the little thing tried to keep a stoic face, he could see the muscles of her pert little mouth giving in to a frown.
"Shortly. I just wanted to make sure that the statue got here."
"So why anonymous?"
"Because I was never supposed to have it in the first place." He murmured, giving the girl a sidelong glance. "It was a three way trade—it didn't go as planned." Black market antiquities? Were you seriously laundering money?!
"What were you trading for?"
"Another life." He whispered, letting them both go quiet as they watched the father and son team move the heavy statue over to its new home. "It could've bought a few more…I almost turned him away."
So that's why they were meeting in Metropolis! "Just how many lives do you think you could've saved if you'd gotten caught? What changed your mind?" But her uncle only patted her on the top of her head, peeling himself away from the wall as he was called to the small group that was hovering around the sculpture. He knew who she was; why in the world would he admit that to her?! Ballsy Bastard! Blowing out a breath, she let Jax pull her forward, watching her reflection build behind the little eavesdropper. "Hello again."
"Can I ask you something?" The child murmured, turning away from the soft glow of the case before her. "Are you really his niece?"
"Sad but true." The teen murmured, watching Jax press his skull into the girl's leg, willing her small fingers down to the top of his head.
"Sorry, it's just—that's what he tells people…about me. And when he introduced you this morning…I mean—I know who you are…" Clara said, her frail shoulders rolling with a shrug. "I've been in Gotham all my life I've seen your face, I know the stories—just don't know which ones are true."
"Very few—I'm not adopted. I wasn't a publicity ploy. I didn't come from the street or off the market. I guess I could be called a 'secret love child', but then they don't know squat about my mom."
"Then how do you know so much about Nine Circles?" The girl asked, whirling around on her heel. "How could someone like you even know they exist?!" In the reflection of the glass she could see Tim and Beau lifting their heads. Her shoulders were all but shaking under Del's hands. With so much happening in the last couple days, how could she blame her?
I don't want tell her about the dead girl in the snow, and I can't tell her about Anabel. All that's left…is me. "I'm gonna tell you something, something only a handful of people actually know. So it'll be our secret, okay?" Watching Clara's head nod, Del eased herself to her haunches. "I know about Nine Circles because the man who killed my mom almost sold me to them. Uncle Beau just happened to stumble onto their bidding site. He saw my picture. I guess he's been bidding on people ever since." She said gently as Jax worked his way between them to plop at the child's feet.
"I thought Batman was the one who saved you? That's what the magazines always say."
"He did. He stepped in before anything could come of it. I was seriously lucky. I know it's not the same as having to actually live through it…"
"No one killed our parents to get to us either." The girl said pointedly, dropping down to rub the dog's belly.
"I was an afterthought." Del uttered, forcing herself to look away when she realized Tim was staring in their direction. Geez, it was like he knew—like he could hear her whispers going thick or see her swallowing the sudden knots. "I don't want to see anyone else swept up in Nine Circles."
"So, what you and the Commissh' were talking about—you were being serious? You really want to assemble a team?" Watching the girl nod, Clara shot to her feet. "Can I help?"
"You already are, every little detail you remember is a help."
"Yeah but… Mr. Devereux's making me go back to South Carolina with him. I have to find Aiden."
"He's just trying to keep you safe. What if someone from Nine Circles recognized you? We'll help you find her, but you have to let lie low for a little while."
"He said that too. But what if I remember something or—"
"Then you tell him, or you call the Commissioner." Delilah said, dropping down to the child's height. "I'll give you my number and you can even call me if you want. I'll leave it with Uncle Beau. You can call me any time- even two in the morning."
"Sorry, but If I gotta call someone at two in the morning, I'm calling someone else." The girl said, giving a bit of crooked grin as her fingers wrapped around that locket hanging from her neck. "How exactly do you get in touch with Batman?"
"Get in major trouble." But the child only giggled, lifting her head when she realized Beau Devereux was closing the gap.
"They have their cat, it's time for us to go. We have a plane to catch." But the words seemed to linger in the air as Del reached over and retrieved the cellphone out of his hand. "Well, excuse you."
"Put this number somewhere she can get to it."
"And there she goes, bossing people around again." Tim lamented, giving her a cheeky little grin as he leaned against the table.
"She was bossy when she was three…some things never change." The man said with a sigh, leaning in to peck the girl on the cheek. "Behave yourself, Little Bit."
"You first." She rebuked. Blackmail. Money Laundering. Human Trafficking—all the wrong things…for the right reasons. It's not always black and white, sometimes the right thing is a murky shade of gray.
She could hear them long before she could see them, their melodious laughter rising into the air like the steam that was floating above the streets. They were a tangle of limbs and waving scarfs, stumbling and slipping through the packed sidewalk with their gloved fingers laced together—oblivious to the darkness and the girl crouched on the ledge. So…you've kissed him, haven't you? Are you guys like a thing now or what? She could still see Sam twisting around in her computer chair, her lips curling into that knowing smile when the blood started to rush up to Del's face. No? Yes? Maybe? One moment whatever this was seemed to be on the verge of tilting into something more…and now? Now they could barely look at each other.
Feeling the weight of someone's hand on her head, Batgirl raised her chin, peering up at that lanky bat-eared form. "Be nice to be that oblivious." He commented, resting in the empty space beside her. "Is there a reason your communicator is turned off?" And yet, you were still able to find me, Dickybird.
"Just needed a minute." The girl answered, watching the couple's shadows mingle together as they continued down the street. What would it be like to actually be so insensibly happy? To cling to someone as if your fingers had frozen together? He didn't let go of your hand today. But that look was still there, the sound of disappointment still hung in his voice.
"Link off."
"He's gonna flip his lid."
"Let me worry 'bout the big bat, so what's really going on here, Squirt?"
"It's not that big of a deal…" The girl muttered, watching the snow stick to the ledge beneath her feet. "He's so damn disappointed—like he's waiting for me to admit that I completely lost control of myself or something. But I don't think I did anything wrong! I did what I had to!"
"Just who are we talking about here?"
"T-Red Robin."
At the sound of that name stammering out of her mouth, the man in the bat-suit seemed to shorten. "Oi. I knew it."
"Yes! When the thing's neck snapped I freaked out! There was second I thought for sure I'd actually taken life from someone else." She said, tilting her head at the strange moving shadow that was just out of reach of the oblivious pair. "But then…it got back up. I just-I just reacted." She uttered, feeling for her grappling guns. "Now he looks at me like I'm a ticking time bomb or something. Like I'm about to lose my shit and just start slaughtering people…like I'm—"
"Someone else we know?"
Like Damian? Jabbing her teeth into her lip she could feel nothing but that bitter tingle of cold flesh. "It's not even that! I mean, sure—"
"You and the demon spawn are more alike than you think." Dick said gently, holding up his hands when the girl whirled around on her heel. "But that's not the point." He added. "I don't know if you lost control or if you simply let your emotions take over. You put your friend in harm's way and the situation got hairier than you anticipated. Were you in the wrong? Yes."
"But-"
"For getting your friend involved. You should have called for one of us the moment you put that cowl on. But do I think you were in the wrong for reacting the way you did? No. Can't kill something that's already dead—I mean something else already beat you to it." He said, making the little bat smirk.
"The red bird still sees the world in black and white. It's right or wrong and there's no middle ground. But he hasn't seen half of what you have. He's just…he's just worried about you. That's all." He uttered, letting that heavy gloved hand fall back on her head as he peered over her, watching the unfamiliar form slip out before the couple on the street. "So kiss and make up already." He chided, letting his hand fall to his grappling gun. "But if actually he kisses you I'll have to break his face." He said, sending the line to a nearby pipe. "Last one down there is a rotten egg." But before the words could even climb into the air the girl was falling to the ground.
"Egg laying is a Robin's job!"
Little smart ass. Wasn't long ago that you were afraid to let go of my hand. And now… And now the girl was all but twisting herself around a light pole, planting her booted feet into the man's chest, when that flash of silver left his pocket. Watching the knife hit icy concrete, he could feel a breath slithering out of his lungs as he landed in a crouch watching the mugger twist his head to stare at the angry batgirl, rather than paying attention to who he was about to run into. But the time the poor sap turned his head, it was too late. "Let's put you on ice." He hissed, knocking the fool to the sidewalk with one good swing.
Batgirl was shaking that long eared head as she bent down to retrieve the purse from the perp's half gloved fingers. "If I'd heard Batman being so cheesy," she said, reaching out to the pair with the woman's purse dangling on her fingers. "I'd be making that face too." Without waiting for a response she set her hook into the nearest building and let the line yank her into the clouded darkness, knowing full well he'd be right behind her.
"Cheesy? Who are you callin' cheesy?"
"Isn't it obvious?" She called, feeling her lips pull into a numb kind of smile as the winter wind rushed through the edges of her cowl. The cold could make her throat sore and her lungs ache, but it couldn't take away that flash heat in the tips of her fingers as she spread her arms into the air. For just a second she could forget that she was falling—for the space of a breath she flew, forcing herself to reset her line or else let the city below rush up to meet her.
"Could you not freak me out?" Dick grumbled, setting himself in the space beside her.
"You first." She teased. "You're the one who's always telling us to have fun."
"Yeah, just don't go kamikaze-bat on me or anything." He muttered, watching her spine straighten as if he'd just poured ice down her suit. "Let me guess, it was something I said?" But as his words seemed to sink in, the girl just shook her head.
"No. Link on." Have you and Jason…? Nah, no way in Hell.
"Anyone there?! Where the hell are you guys?! If you two turned off your communications links, Bats is gonna be the least of your—"
"We're here, O, what's wrong?"
"Robbery in progress at the Gotham Museum! Geez, I've only been trying to alert you guys for the past few minutes!"
Why? Why did it make her stomach want to clench? Feeling the tips of her fingers itch with adrenaline beneath her gloves, the small bat fled to the air, listening to the sound of that heavy Kevlar cape billowing out behind her. "I think I know what they're after."
At the sound of glass crunching underfoot, Robin lifted his head, peeling his knee out of the body beneath him. "You're late." The boy snapped, not hesitating to put a foot into the man at his feet.
"What are you doing here? You're not on duty."
"You weren't doing your job." He sneered, jutting his chin at the impromptu bat. "I thought I'd show you how it's done." But out of the corner of his eye, he could see that sister of his weaving her way through the ensnared bodies and piles of glass.
"This collection hasn't even been on display for twelve hours." Someone knew—someone was waiting. "Where's the cat?"
"I left that for the idiot to recover." He scoffed. "Quite frankly, I wanted him out of my way."
"You mean someone actually ran out of here with it?!"
"Do I need to paint a picture for you?" But just when he thought the girl might have a retort she simply turned about and began to flee for the jagged opening in the window pane.
"That statue takes at least two people to move it. Either the person who ran out of here with it is extremely strong—or someone switched it." Tim would know that. "We need to find Red Robin, and we need to do it now. O! Can you tell me where the Redbird is?"
"He's—at home? Why in the world would he be there at a time like this?"
I know this smell. The scent of fire and burning metal was enough to make the young bat's stomach clench, but it seemed to propel her toward that familiar door oblivious to the awkward darkness that had consumed the hall. Be wrong. Be wrong damn it! Why the hell was this building so deafeningly quiet?! Or was the sound of a shot echoing beyond the walls just that loud?
He knew the statue was a fake, and so did someone else! As if summoned by that nearly inhuman cry, the man beside her shot forward, not even hesitating to kick in the door, splintering and popping hardware as the sudden nauseating smell of blood wafted from the Drake's apartment. Maybe a small part of her ego told her she was ready to see whatever lay beyond that door. But as batgirl finally crossed the threshold, she realized that was a lie.
"DAD! Dad, C'mon! You gotta stay with me!"
It's not the open window that's making the flesh rise beneath your suit. It's not the blood pool that's spreading across the floor. It's the boy. It's the boy kneeling in that red puddle trying to stop the blood from escaping from between his fingers. And you know…you know it won't work.
"Please…please. I-" She wasn't sure what made her heavy limbs move, it didn't matter that the tips of her cape were drawing lines through the tacky substance at her feet, or that the knot in her throat kept her from speaking. She just let herself sink to the floor, pressing her gloves over Tim's blood soaked fingers as his tears just continued to fall.
"Tim…" But the teen just shook his head, pressing his forehead to the knot of hands over his father's limp body as the pulse beneath them faded. She couldn't remember seeing Batman move from the door, or even seeing him crouch down to take Jack Drake's vitals. But the second that bat-eared head lowered with a sigh, Tim peeled his hands away, forcing himself to stand. For a moment she was sure he may've uttered something, but he said nothing as he continued to tear away his mask. "Tim…"
"Dana's…she's uh…she locked herself in the bedroom." He said, stopping to swallow the sudden knots that kept thickening his voice. Del could feel her fingers stretching across the air, but it was too late, in an attempt to blot away the over flowing tears, he only managed to mar his cheeks. But before either bat could utter a sound, Tim's pale green eyes fell to his stained hands. "I wasn't here." The whisper could've impaled her, but the girl slowly rose to her feet, watching the tremors of shock work their way up his limbs. "He needed me, and I wasn't here! I could've stopped it…I could've…" Saved him. The thought seemed to spear its way through her, bringing with it the sharp sting of salty tears coating her dry eyes Oh, Jesus Tim. With one slip in that crimson pool at his feet the boy wobbled, forcing her to reach forward as he all but collapsed in someone else's arms.
"I've got you." Watching him all but crumble in Batman's arms, Del forced herself to look to the ceiling, forcing the overrun to spill inside her cowl as she stared up at the blood splatter that coated that white paint like webbing. She may have been forcing herself to look away from Jack's body, but nothing could stop the blood soaked bird from unleashing that gut wrenching sob.
"I'm…I'm gonna check on Mrs. Drake." She uttered, ignoring that hitching breath as the sound of grief and sirens rose together. It was an eerie concophany, a marker of the end. It was a sound she was sure she'd never hear again. You know it because you've made that sound yourself. It's how you know a part of you has died.
"What idiot takes off like that?" But no sooner had the words floated up into the air mixing with the sound of the piano, Damian's fingers paused. "Never mind, look who we're talking about." He said, tilting his head as his sister lifted hers, breaking her gaze from dreary gray world and the pellets of freezing rain that had all but littered the ground.
"As if you wouldn't have done the same in his shoes." She murmured, her fingers moving across the keys without even looking at the sheet music. It was enough to make the boy beside her twist his face in disgust as she reached up and turned the page. "That was a C you missed." Damn her, she wasn't even looking.
"Tch. It never would've gotten to that point." He said dryly, forcing his fingers to unfold across the keys. "Serves him right, now he knows what a pathetic excuse of a Robin he is. With luck, Father won't find him." The second he lifted his gaze from the inky black notes, he found those pale blue eyes, narrow and shimmering with anger. He never saw it coming. Him! Had he become that complacent with her? The sound of flesh smacking flesh seemed to assault him first before the sting spread across his cheek. "You're dead-"
"Be quiet!" She cried, shooting up from the bench just as he jumped to his feet. "No one deserves that! God forbid you ever have to feel that kind of loss!" When her hands fell on his shoulders the boy seemed to jump beneath her palms. Always ready to fight. "We all have… Tim. Jason. Dick. Alfred. Dad. Or did you forget why Batman became necessary?" Hell, did he even know why Batman came to be? Shaking her head she let her grip slide from him as she twisted toward the window, pressing her hand into the icy pane. "You're smart. You're skilled. But when it comes to empathy, sympathy or compassion, you might as well be brain dead."
"I resent that."
Somehow the words only seemed to summon a scratchy sort of laugh from the girl, making her drop her arm and lift her head to cloud the glass with her puffs of laughter. "I'm glad you do. I guess there might be hope for you yet. " She said, peering through the curtain of rain and beads of ice to watch the iron gate swing open. No car? Then…who?
"You didn't list yourself." He said, watching her grow still—as if she wasn't even breathing. But it didn't seem like his words were the reason she ripped herself from the window, leaving behind a perfect print of her palm. Life lines. What a crock. When soft steps suddenly echoed into the sound of jogging feet, Damian peeled himself away from the piano just in time to see Del fling open the front door.
It's him. It's gotta be him. "Tim…" She barely recognized that soggy shape, pale and crumbling. There was no telling what he had done in those hours he'd slipped from the scene. Didn't he know how worried they'd been? Didn't he know that Dick and her dad were still out there looking for him? Skidding down the ice slicked stairs, Del let the wind yank her umbrella from her grip tossing it behind her like a toy. The rain felt like needles, and yet she couldn't think about the water soaking through her clothing or the sting of ice pelting her exposed skin—she just wanted to get to him before he dissolved into nothing right before her eyes.
"Tim." His name all but tumbled out of her mouth as she slid, crashing to earth just as he fell to his knees and into her open arms. Her arms were tight around him, her nails felt like claws digging into his shirt and his skin, but at least it made him feel something. With every tremble she only seemed to squeeze tighter, gripping him as if he were about slip from her fingers.
"I don't...I don't know where else to go." She felt him speaking more than she heard the words. His ragged breath was all but pooling against her neck, trembling like the body that was all but melting into her with the pounding of the winter mix.
"It doesn't matter. I'm with you."
That's two snowy funerals I've seen. "These look great, Del." Sam said suddenly, dragging her from the crows in black suits and heels. Blinking, she couldn't see the snowcapped markers anymore, or that sullen faced boy hanging his head at her father's side. Instead she could feel the paintbrush still resting in her hand, the ache in her legs reminded her she was still sitting cross legged on the floor before that half-finished canvas. Taking a side long glance she spotted Sam flipping through the small sheets of colorful paintings she'd made at the girl's request. "I don't know why you're not in the art club or in the art classes, you're really good at it."
"It's…it's just something I do to relax. If I did all that for school, it'd take the fun out of it for me. I'm not as good as my mom was though…"
"What'd you know? One of you actually has a hobby." Sam teased, stilling her hands over the leather she was working with, as the silence ate away at the room, letting the bars of jingle bells grow louder and louder, so loud she practically never heard Alfred enter the room. "Is that…what I think it is?"
"That depends on what you think it is, Miss Cleary."
"The Mp3 player of a certain someone." Hearing Sam's answer, Del could only tilt her head back, giving a devious grin as the man set the object down beside her. "Did you seriously just pull one over on the resident ninja?" When the man only gave a cheeky little wink, the girl shook her head at the ceiling. "Next you'll be telling us you're MI6 or something."
"I leave getting it back in place to you, Miss." Alfred said as he straightened himself back out to eye the painting before the girl. He didn't realize he'd gone quiet until he found the girl on the floor staring up at him. "And just where did you get this?" He asked as he cleared his throat, letting his dark eyes return to the half painted portions of a child in a tutu holding a man's hand.
"Mom…she had it stashed away with her art stuff. I just…I just wanted to finish it." She murmured, letting her eyes return to the paint. Strange, every time she looked at it, she could feel a hand swallowing hers whole. She could feel the sand melting under her feet.
"He still has that blasted shell you gave him."
"Wait! So this is a real moment?! This isn't something Mom cooked up?! I mean I kinda remember someone holding my hand at the beach but..." It was Dad. "He still has the shell?"
"Goes in his pocket every day—well, when he actually has pockets. Usually sets it on the dresser." Alfred confirmed, making the young Wayne go still in front of the canvas. "Quite the Christmas present." He said gently, watching carefully as Sam reached over and snaked away the music player.
"And just what were you going to do with this?" She asked, rattling the thing.
"Just wanted to see what he listens to."
" Oooh, But wouldn't asking suffice—never mind, it's Damian. May I?"
"Have at it." Del said, shaking her head before setting her eyes on the old butler once more. "Has Tim even tried coming out of his room?" She asked, watching the smile fall from his deep dark eyes.
"No, Miss. Master Tim has taken to locking his door now it seems."
"Uh…Del? I don't think you're going to believe this." At that the pair lifted their heads, forcing Del to reach up and catch the flying MP3 player, aware that music was all but leaking through the headphones. But as the girl put the earbuds in place, the player slid to the floor.
The artist and album may have read as unknown, but she knew these soft sharp notes. She knew when they'd rise and when they'd fall…because she had played them. "It's…it's me." Del uttered. "This is from my recital when I was eleven, you know, the one I messed up on and went improve to try and fix it?" Offering the headphones to Alfred, she could see the man's wrinkles going slack, forcing him to eye the display screen.
"My word. By the dates, they've been on here for years." He said, handing the device back to her, letting her see the dates for herself. He would've been six years old. He's been listening to my music all this time. There's no way Talia would've allowed that…if she even knew. "Master Damian is full of surprises." The man murmured, casting an eye to the softly knotted book cover under Sam's diligent fingers. "Just what do you have there, Miss Cleary?"
"A book for my brother. To teach me Irish, Gramps used to tell me stories. So I've been translating them for Jordon."
"Alfred, you can speak Irish, right? Do you think you could give Sam a hand?"
At that the girl with the book beneath her hands gave a foolish kind of grin. "Writing and reading it is another matter for me." She stated.
"I would be glad to, Miss Cleary, however you'd have to suffer sitting in the kitchen with me while I make tea. You should join us,Miss Wayne."
"Sure…but let me check on Tim first."
He wasn't sure when he became aware of that rattling door, or when the sound of tumblers and metal tore him from the thought of his father's casket sliding into that frozen ground beside his mother. "I could've sworn I locked that door." He said bitterly, not even bothering to peel his head up from the deep set windowsill and the gray sea just out of his reach. It must've been Alfred trying to force some food down his throat again.
"It was." Her voice seemed to pry his heavy eyes open. "I picked it." She said, sounding quite amused with herself. But then again, was he really that surprised?
"You not going to gripe at me for not eating, are you?" He muttered, letting his cheek rest against the windowsill as he strained to listen for her feet moving on the carpet. He never heard a thing.
"No." The word was soft and almost as warm as the palm resting at the base of his neck, eating at that dull ache of his unmoving muscles. But before he could so much as lift his heavy head, he could feel the cushion giving beside him.
"What are you, a monkey?" he asked, as the girl sank in the empty space behind him, all but hugging him from behind as her legs dangled beside his. "You're warm." He uttered, feeling her head rest into his back as her arms snaked around him, as if she were pressing her hands into his heart.
"You're kinda cold." She answered, letting her hands run up and down the chilly bare skin of his arms as if she were trying to warm them back up. As if she were trying rub the life back into him. But she said nothing more, it was like she knew he just wanted to exist and nothing more. Nothing but a lump of limbs and tangled hands, it wasn't hard to let his lungs fall into sink with hers. If he sat still enough, he could feel her pulse hammering away as if it were working for them both. He wasn't sure how long she'd lulled there with him before something actually came out of him.
"You should've seen how excited he was about that damn statue. It was like—like watching him come back to life. I mean, he'd been undone for so long. I didn't even see—I was so wrapped up in my own shit that I couldn't—I was so mad at him! I was mad at them both for so long and for what?! So much time wasted for nothing!"
"It wasn't 'nothing'." Del said suddenly, her warm breath coiling at the back of his neck as she worked her chin over his shoulder. "Or did you forget I was at the museum? I saw the way you two worked together, the way you guys would kinda smirk at each other like you were speaking in code. That wasn't 'nothing'. Maybe it took a while for you two to come to an understanding, but at least you made it there, didn't you?"
"Yeah…it just—it just seems so short." He whispered, flexing his fingers over hers. "I get it now." He said suddenly, lifting his head. "Why you let go the way you did. It hit me last night when I just couldn't look for the bastards anymore. I can even understand why Bruce thinks the way he does…" The teen said, "And that scares me…being able to think like Batman."
"I know." She murmured, pressing her lips to the crown of his head. "But understanding a thought process doesn't mean you have to entertain it." She said gently, feeling his hands slide up her arms. "Look on the bright side—at least you're not related to him." She said, getting a dry chuckle out of him.
"There is that." He managed. "I can't believe that they'd planned this arrangement. I always thought my dad hated him. I never thought he'd be brazen enough to ask Bruce to…take me in. I mean, I'm sure a part of him was a little jealous, that I'd spent so much time with the man during his coma."
"And here you're hanging out with his daughter, oh, joy."
"You kidding me? He liked you—most of the time. He'd tease me so bad. Poor Dana never had a clue." Dana. At the sound of the woman's name coming out of his mouth the boy let his head hang. Shit. It'd taken him a while to warm up to her…and now it all seemed like a far off memory. Losing her husband had broken her beyond repair. "I wish there was more I could do for her…but it's like she doesn't even know who I am." Shaking his head he let it rest on his hands, feeling that warm mouth press so lightly on his ear. "I just feel so fucking useless."
"You're not useless. Besides, it's not like I can take one of my brothers to Pike's party. How awkward would that be?" The champagne bottles, how could he forget about those?
"Awkward? Try creepy." He uttered, prying her hand from his chest so he could inspect the paint splatter. "What's this?"
"Been working on Dad's Christmas present." She said with a sigh. "I know Gotham probably thinks we go nuts around the holidays, and maybe we did when I was little, but it's usually a more thoughtful, smaller affair—it just never seems to actually take place on Christmas. We get to it when we get to it." But no sooner had the words all but fall out of her mouth, did it hit her, this would be Tim's first Christmas without his family. "Aw, shit. Tim, I'm sorry I didn't even-"
"It's fine. A good chunk of my holidays were spent without them. So that part will feel kind of normal to me. I know how that sounds…" He said, letting his words trail off when her lips pressed into his neck. It was just a just a soft flash of heat, but it was still enough to melt his thoughts into nothingness.
"Well, you've never spent the holidays in the same house as Dick before, so this should be interesting." She all but purred, wiggling her eyebrows at him when he gave her a sidelong glance. It was enough to make a laugh burst out of him—a sound he seemed so unsure he'd made at all. "Sorry I picked your lock." She added, feeling his lips warm the top of her hand.
"I'm not."
One night of patrol led into another, blending the days together, and for that short span of time it was easy to forget. Forget about the blood spreading across the floor. Forget about the feel of that weakening pulse under his hand. Forget about fake statues, missing relics and the long sorrowful looks people gave him behind his back. But the moment it was over, the moment he realized the sun had beaten down the darkness—it all came flooding back.
At times, when he found himself hunkered down by a window he'd see that shapely form leaving tracks in the snow to get to the frozen pond. The same girl who'd skate until her face was red and the trees were all but ablaze with the sun was the same girl who continued to pick the locks on his door. The same girl who came toting sandwiches or coffee, and would just sit there beside him, paying no mind to the drafts that leaked through the edges of the window or the peels of warm sunlight that stretched across their faces. Everyone let him brood…but she never let him do it alone.
Was it the sound of feet sticking to the tile that made his eyes spring open? Or maybe his brain wasn't ready to shed the night's events. Resolutions, glitter, one soft wet kiss and poison—copious amounts of poison. Unable to keep his eyes closed, Tim forced himself from his bed, ignoring the slivers of pale gray sunlight that was stretching across the floor. The door came open with a small groan, forcing the teen to wince as he peered into the half eaten darkness to stare at the wet trail of footprints that trailed toward those familiar doors. Del…
"I have the bottles, but there's a problem." It was the last thing she wanted hear, her lips were still tingling from where Tim's had been, her sigh slipping into the whoops of joy and glitter that was falling into her the little Robin's voice all but made her blood run cold. "One of them is missing." Oh no. It was enough to make the both of them lift their heads as the sound of popping corks rang out into the chorus like gunshots. Flutes were everywhere. We're too late, there's no way to tell which ones…which ones are poison. "Sam! There's a water sprinkler system! Can you-"
"On it!" But the sound of screams seemed to reach her before the sprinklers above their heads spat down upon them. No sooner had the room erupted into shrieks of terror and dozens of soaked teens began running for the exit, did the girl spot a body on the floor.
And they're just…trampling over her! Just to get to her, it was like pushing against current of scared wet bodies, but the girl skid to her knees aware of the water that was turning pink around her as she reached over out to turn the girl over, feeling everything inside her jolt when she stared into a familiar face. Marley Glozman…one of the seven.
"I don't know what's happening…to me." Del wasn't sure how she understood the words over the noise and the soft gurgling of blood that the girl was choking on. You're overdosing on MDMA. "It burns! It burns so bad!" In the midst of her thrashing the girl latched onto her, forcing Del's gaze from the flashing of lights that was cascading through the window. She can feel the venom too? "Help me…please help me…"
"I want to. I want to help you. But I don't—I don't know how!" Del cried, grabbing ahold of the girl's wet hand as it lost its grip on her dress—the red pool around them only seemed to be growing. I don't want to look into her eyes…I don't want to watch her die. Her dark brown eyes were already dull, the whites turned pink by her bloody tears. Del wasn't sure if Marley was even gripping her hand anymore. But when she felt someone grip her shoulders, her entire body jumped.
"Del. Del, you have to get out of the way." Lifting her head up to the shadow that was all but leaning over her, she could see the uniforms that had built up behind her—their faces were as pale as the gurney that had been wheeled in with them.
"Don't…don't let go…"
"I have to let them through…they could…" But as that limp hand slid from hers, Delilah could feel her stomach dropping to her feet. "…save you."
He could feel the music pulsing under his feet long before he reached those doors. She certainly wasn't worried about waking the dead or anyone else for that matter. It wasn't like anyone else in this empty place ever slept. It was only in that long stretching hall of rattling windows did he find himself pulled to the only open room like a moth in search of light.
Squinting into the broad bands of sunlight, Tim paused by the open doors, watching as the girl leapt in the air to lash out at the floating orbs around her. "They only disengage after they've been struck the amount of times you've set—and I'm not talking little love taps either." Sam was awfully proud of her little creations, but honestly they looked like mini death stars. And Del was holding them off—all five of them.
Wading into that icy bright room that smelled faintly of chlorine, he watched her duck, strike and twist toward the next object causing the sheen of her blade to dance across the ceiling. Only when she smashed one of the little death stars into the wall, did he notice the droplets at her feet. Was it from the wet strands of her hair? Or was she… But just as Tim felt himself peeling away from the wall, the music shut off, forcing Del's head to pop up as the orbs suddenly fell dead at her feet.
"Sam thought I might need this. I think she was right." She'd been so quick, fluid even, and now? Now the girl seemed to be shaking as she held her weight up with the hilt of her sword. "Certainly doesn't look like your floor routine." Dick added from the doorway, still wiggling that small remote in his hand.
"I was fine."
You're not now. Tim thought, watching her hand reach up to her face to swipe at the edges of her eyes before the tears started to escape. "So this is what fine looks like?" Dick asked, as he slid through the threshold. "If crazy is the new fine, we're in trouble." He said, kicking the sword from her grip. The air was lodging in Tim's lungs, but before his feet could reach the edge of the mat when he thought the girl might crumble, but Dick never let her.
"I should've known how to help her! I-I couldn't even lie to her!"
"That's probably a good thing. You're a terrible liar." Tim wasn't sure what he heard muffled into Dick's chest, a laugh, a sob or something in between. But for a long moment, the two seemed to be melded together, casting one large lumpy shadow on the wall.
"For once Grayson's right." The sound of Damian's voice only seemed to make the shadow break into pieces. "But only this once." Damian added, letting his eyes flick from the motionless orbs on the floor to the girl who was mopping her face. The silence he brought with him only seemed to deepen as he moved across the floor, his fingers clutched tightly around something bound in cloth. Without a word he thrust the object at her.
Unknotting the binding, Del pulled the black material away, revealing a black and yellow hilt and a shiny new blade stretched out in her grip. I know this pattern...this is Sam's pattern but…
"Damian bound the hilt himself." The teen could only glance up at the girl who was slithering along the wall, ignoring Damian's face as it twisted into a sneer.
"You weren't supposed to tell her! What the hell are you doing here anyway, Fatty?!"
"I got a call—someone thought Del might need a friend." Sam said simply, letting her shoulders slide down the wall as she shrugged. "I don't get up this early for my health—and just who are you calling fat?!"
Letting the cloth pool at her feet, Del twisted away, letting the blade cut through the air with a hiss, unlike that thing Talia had left for her, this piece of steel felt light in her hands. "Who do you think? It wasn't like I was talking about Miss Thunder Thighs."
"Careful, Damian, let's not forget she snapped a neck with those thighs." Dick warned.
"Guys, I can hear you."
"I know, I wouldn't have said it otherwise." The boy hissed, letting his eyes slide down the blade as the point came to rest under his chin.
"If you wanted a fight, all you had to do was say so." Without wasting any time Damian swiped the fallen sword from the ground, letting the room fill with the sound of metal scraping against metal. If Del didn't know any better she'd say that creepy little smirk was pulling on his mouth.
"Then I say so, Thunder Thighs."
"Del…didn't we just cover this?" Dick asked with an exasperated breath. "You know, the whole 'fine doesn't mean crazy' thing?"
"But crazy runs in this family, I thought you knew that?"
"Shut up Grayson, I just want to make her bleed a little."
Dick seemed to roll his eyes at th ceiling while the shadows circled around the walls. "I see your point."
It was like the rest of Gotham was waking from a drunken stupor, the streets were nearly empty say for the vacant footprints in that exhaust colored snow. And those who actually braved the cold seemed to be gray in the gills. How many had even seen the headlines awaiting them when they staggered for their coffee pots? Marley Glozman, the heiress of Gotham's own publishing house…was dead. What a way to start the New Year. The Glozman's had to bury their only child.
Del could feel the frown weighing her lips down before that thick arm caught her by the neck, pulling her away from the frost covered glass of the paper rack. "C'mon, Squirt. Don't let it eat you alive." The feel of his whisper melting the cold off her ear forced the teen to rip her gaze from that familiar face. "We'll figure it out." And just like that he was tugging her back into the fold, back into the soft laughter and clouded breaths, back to the feel of snow on her cheek and the smell of pancake syrup that was lingering in the air from the diner they'd just left.
"I hope so." Who would want to poison people like this? And why? But the more she tried to think of it, the more she found herself being squashed into Dick's side.
"So what are you going to do for your floor routine? You don't have a lot of time to work on it you know."
"I hate floor."
"Really?" Sam chimed, twisting her head back at the pair as she skipped along the cracks in the sidewalk. "I happen to like your routines."
"I don't mind the skills, it's all the frilly choreography in the middle that pisses me off. I just want to do something different than that synchronized mat rolling." Delilah said bitterly, glancing as Damian stretched his arms lazily behind his head—completely oblivious to the world. He's still listening to that player I gave him.
"Well, what you and Damian do looks pretty cool—minus the blood…and the collateral damage. I mean…I know what you guys are doing is meant for combat situations, but all those aerial skills?" With that Sam shrugged. "With this sibling stuff you guys kinda skipped the beginner mode and went straight for hardcore." She said as she twisted about to shoot Del a grin. "Just what the hell did you put on that thing?"
At that Del stole a glance at that dark haired head that was strolling in front of them. "Just music and pictures." She said gently, pausing to listen to the notes that were humming out of the boy's headphones. She half expected him to make some smart ass comment, but he simply stopped dead in front of another paper rack.
"What the hell is that?!" He snarled suddenly, ripping the earbuds out of his ears, not even sparing Sam a glance as she tried to hold her manic giggles behind her gloved fingers. Del could feel the blood rushing to her face as Dick suddenly staggered beside her.
She could still remember Tim's shirt crinkling under her fingers when the dug into him. She could still feel the glitter sliding down her eyelids, and the feel of his breath skirting across her face just before his lips found hers in that that moment of darkness.
For just that moment, they had all but melted together—there was nothing but the feel of her sinking into his chest and the weight of his hands when he'd captured her face. But in that brief minute someone else had captured the moment…and sold it to Gotham Noir. Now the entire world could see Delilah Wayne kissing Timothy Drake. Oh shit.
"When I said you guys should kiss and make up I didn't think you'd take me seriously!" Dick cried, turning on his heel to the pale faced teen that was at his back, fisting his hands into the boy's coat. "Just remember I can make anything look like an accident." He grumbled, letting the collar of Tim's coat slide from his fingers.
"Screw that, I'll kill him now." But as Damian came charging toward them, Dick held up his hand, pushing into the boy's chest to stop him.
"You kill him and that means we won't get to see him squirm when Bruce finds out. Oh, this is gonna be good." The man chided, not even trying to hide that wicked grin that was spreading across his wind bitten face.
"Oh come on it's not like you and Barbra didn't do that kind of stuff."
"They still do." Sam said with a droll.
"Yeah, but Barb isn't related to the big guy." With that Dick thumped the pair on their heads. "You guys make a guy need a drink." He grumbled, ducking from the street to the convenience store they had stalled in front of. "Anyone else?" But when he got nothing but a couple of flushed faces and silly giggle he ducked inside shaking his head as he went.
"You know what he's going to say right?" Dick asked later as he wrangled that red faced sister of his by the neck. "No dating. Just justice."
"Geez, no he's not!" There. There was that sound of her laugh peeking through that voice that'd been coated by cold. At least for this second she wasn't thinking about the dead girl and the nagging of self-doubt. Glancing ahead he could see Tim squeezing the back of his neck as Sam skipped around him, poking and laughing like a troublesome sprite.
"So are you guys serious or something?" He asked, twisting the cap from his bottle.
"I don't…I don't know." Then again, had she ever had any examples of a healthy relationship? Bruce wasn't exactly the best role model in that department. And neither was he. He and Babs seemed to be stuck in this on again off again kind of pattern. Maybe in time she'd figure that out for herself."That better not be a Zesti Cola."
"No Mom. It's not." He groaned, showing her the label of the lemonade bottle before he took a swig. "Can I give you a little bit of unsolicited advice?" He asked as he gave that silly thing a squeeze. He wasn't about to let her jump subjects. "Enjoy the moments when they're good and don't you dare feel guilty for them, no matter what relationship you're in."
Feeling Dick stagger, Del peeled her eyes from her gloved fingers and the mashed snow of the sidewalk. "Okay…" She muttered, glancing up when she felt the weight of his arm sliding from her. The bottle in his hand fell to the pavement, forcing the glass to break right there at his feet. "Dick? You okay?" She asked. Her breath had barely begun to swarm into a cloud before that long legged thing crumbled to the pavement, dotting it red with the blood that had trickled from his mouth. "DICK!" No! No! No! This isn't real! This isn't happening! But as the girl hit her knees and scrambled to his side it hit her. Her bird was broken. "Dickybird!"
AN: Next chapter - Deal with the Devil
