I can't stop seeing his face, why can't I stop seeing his face? Even now, she could still feel that pulse fading under her fingers—feel the scalpel weighing in her hand. "Can we discuss—things here or…"
"Oh? Evie here won't say anything, will you now?" Feeling that heavy hand squeezing the end of the gauze in her fingers, Evelyn Cleary had no choice but to swallow the balling knot and pray that these strange people couldn't see the holes in her strength. "I'd hate to take those organs back."
"That won't be necessary." She uttered, feeling the relief well up from the pit of her stomach when his grip slid, leaving her free to continue unwinding the gauze from his face. It's not like I could run to Jim now. My hands are just as filthy.
"What are we going to do about the brats?"
"Careful now, one of those brats is my grandson." That voice—a voice of so many places but it had an allegiance to none. Nothing in this world could make her glance in his direction as the flesh on her back rose beneath her shirt. "We'll simply collect him."
"Not that one. Delilah, what are you going to do about her?" Delilah? Sam's friend? What would they want with her? The chaotic thoughts beg the woman's fingers to fish for the half-finished letter in her pocket, and yet she could only let them fall to the tray of dirty bandages, willing her trembling hands still as a gruff sort of laugh boomed from the corner of the room. Even the doctor let his hands slide from peeling his own wrapping away. "Laugh all you want, that one will be troublesome." He grumbled, reminding his fingers of their task. "Just like her mother."
Peering through the rooks and pawns, Damian frowned. "You have me in nine." The boy griped as his fingers plucked away one of his sister's pieces for the keeping. The peculiar creature before him just blinked—she might as well have been a million miles away. Lifting her hands she let Jax shift half his body into her lap as she leaned forward, returning her fingers to the ivory pieces. "Alfred didn't teach you." He said at last when her eyes were no longer clouded with thoughts. "I've beaten him."
At that there was something…a sliver of a smirk or makings of a smile too unwilling to cross her mouth. "Actually…" She began, shoving one of his knights from their space. "Doc taught me." Claiming the knight to her side of the board she tilted her head. "I was playing at one of the stone chess tables in the hospital gardens…" She uttered, sinking back into her chair as she let her hands trace the Doberman's thinly pointed ears. "He just sat down and set up the pieces. It's like the game never ended." Watching the boy's lips fall to his fisted hands, she smiled. "There's still a way out of it." She said, watching him tilt his head. "But I'm not about to tell you how. You have to think like your opponent."
"I can feel my IQ dropping already." He sneered, weary to pry his fingers away from the piece under his hand. "So about these…relatives of yours…" The words were enough to summon a lamenting breath from her. "Who are these people? Devereux—Verre's stock's climbed significantly over the last five years. Maybe not now. Why would they use their own glassworks if it'd hurt their bottom line?" He asked, watching her lean forward into her own fists.
"I don't know." The words were nothing more than a whisper as she finally made her move. "That's a part of the problem. I hardly know my mother's family. I've seen more of them in the last couple months than I have in my entire life. I don't know what they're really capable of—what the Dragon is capable of." Moving her next piece without hesitation, she could see his dark brows furrowing. "And I…" She said lightly, shoving yet another one of his pieces aside. "…have a question for you. How did you learn about me? Did someone tell you?" Someone like Ras?
But the boy only sniffed. "And I'm the narcissistic one?"
"Without a doubt."
"An internet search. I was looking up information on Father and you came up. Bruce Wayne's secret child." He said with a hiss, slamming the piece he snagged on the side of the board. "Why are you so curious all of a sudden? I'm clearly the bigger secret."
"It seems that the old Dragon Lady and the Demon's Head…" She started, shoving yet another of his ebony pieces out of the way. "…are very well acquainted."
"And how do you know this?" He asked. Leaning back in his chair, he could see his sister's fingers tapping on the ivory queen. Waiting to go in for the kill are you? He could resign, but where was the fun in that?
"She told me as much. With as little information as possible of course."
"So you're wondering if she told my grandfather about you. Is that it?"
"Exactly it. Checkmate."
"That was less than nine." He grumbled, batting her hand away when she moved to reset the pieces. He was still playing out her last moves when the announcement that they would be landing in just a few minutes filled the space. "If she did…" He said, looking up from the small ivory and ebony statues, "He never mentioned it to me. Common sense would dictate that you ask her." He said sweeping the pieces from the board. "Not me." With that he grabbed his Katana from the side of his chair and tugged on his seatbelt, paying no mind to the pieces rolling at his feet.
"Was bringing that necessary?"
"You brought yours. Will it be?"
Watching the pale Antebellum mansion rise from the mist, Del could feel her fingers coming alive—as if she could still feel the sun warmed window beneath her fingers—feel her mother's smooth cheek pressing against her own as they peered into the sun drenched world of coppery horses and fields the sun had set ablaze. Closing her eyes, she imagined she could hear more than the rain lazily tapping on the cab. If she thought hard enough—listened hard enough she could still hear the soft tinkling sound of her mother's earrings. With a deep breath she could almost smell her. The soft scent of sweet peas mingling with the notes of her citrus shampoo, it was there still teasing her memory when the door came open, washing it all away with the bitter fog and the sharp salt of the sea. Mom's eyes were shimmering, she thought. But at that moment she couldn't tell if it was from the gold ribbons of sunlight she remembered cutting across her mother's face…or something else.
Just as quick as the familiarity came, it abandoned her in front of a bone tired house. The fields she remembered as thick and blazing were matted, wet and dead. Gray skies replaced the sapphire hue she recalled. The sun? Perhaps the sun had forgotten this place.
She was vaguely aware of the sound of Damian's door coming open, his scoff rivaling the hissing sea at her back. But before Del could twist toward him with a ready glare, the bright red door popped open, letting the air fill with spices and chatter. Who's that? Her mother's question was still echoing in her ears when those arms engulfed her, squashing girl and her hidden katana into a broad chest that smelled of smoke, peppers and unnamed herbs. As unfamiliar as it was, the tightness of his arms lulled instantly. "Uncle Beau." I do remember you. You were waiting for us.
"I was wondering when you'd pop in."
"I'm sorry I called so early-"
"Never." His big paw like hands were warm on her chilled cheeks, forcing the numbness to fight back with that painful tingle. "I called an old colleague of your mother's." He added his voice deep and soft as the pale green rings in his hazel eyes seemed to darken. Maybe he could feel her shuddering. Maybe he knew she was fighting back the cold that had her gut clenching.
"From venom one?"
"I hope you don't mind…but I also told him about your brother's case." He said, letting his arms flop to his sides. "He'll be dropping by later this afternoon. I assumed you'd want to talk to him yourself."
With an automatic reach for a certain nosy dog's leash, Delilah could feel her heavy head giving in to a nod, aware of Damian's contempt burning into her back. I told him too much. Del let the unease slither from her lips and lift into the sky as the front door came open again, an unknown face popping out into the wet gray world. "Hey! You gonna cook this mirepoix or do I need to do it?"
"Keep your dick skinners away from the food! I don't know where they've been!" With that the man shook his head, a mixture of French and English tainting the air before he finally gave a ragged sigh and snagged the girl around the neck with an arm. "Just a warning, the house is full." He said leading the Wayne children up from the soggy drive to the porch. "They can smell fear."
"Who said I was scared?"
"So there's another reason you two have weapons on you?" He asked, mashing the katana into her spine when he gave her a smack on the back. "At least this time you'll use the door." He said, giving a small wiry smile. "C'mon in here. I'll introduce you to the next dragon and his delightful brats—I mean your cousins—some of them removed-lucky you."
And anyone of them could be guilty.
Inside the aching white house, the noise level rose. It was kind of noise Delilah Wayne always imagined that could fill such a place to the brim. Screechy arguments and booming laughs mingling with French words and southern twang. It was all painfully familiar. She should've known these faces—these people who embraced her and kissed her cheeks remarking on how grown she was—as if they'd always known her, as if they hadn't watched her grow up via gossip rags and entertainment pieces. It'll make it easier, she told herself. It'll make it easier to cut them loose.
Following Beau into the quietness of the kitchen, she found herself breathing in the fragrant clouds of steam hanging in the air. Peppers, garlic, lemons and brine, and yet it was simply the smell of coffee that had her pausing in the beams of pale light.
It was the same smell that led her to the kitchen so long ago. Her feet were all but sliding in her boots, the tops swallowing up her calves as she snuck into the kitchen. The rising light cast colorful shapes of fluttering gulls along the walls, but her eyes were on the man at the coffee pot. "What we gonna do today, Uncle Beau?" She whispered, her small fingers clutching up to the counter top as she wormed her way to his side, watching him fill his coffee cup as if the motion was automatic.
"Well, I imagine the horses are probably hungry." He offered, winning a big cheesy grin out of her. "And we need to check the pieces in the kilns. See if they're cool enough to pull out." He said, holding a madeleine out to her before he popped one into his own gob.
"Go put on your boots on then." She said, the words garbled by the cookie in her mouth.
"You stop being so bossy, Miss Thing." Hearing her mother's weary command, the girl twisted her head to the woman who was all but staggering to the coffee pot.
"You know that runs in this family." The man muttered into his cup, watching his niece grope around the cabinet for a mug as he slid another cookie in the child's direction as if it would keep her mouth busy. "And from what I know about him, so is he."
"Uncle Beau…"
"I was hoping for something better, for all of you." He amended. "A man doesn't travel hundreds of miles for nothing." The pot in her mother's hand shook, summoning curses as coffee splashed in little puddles around her cup. Her shoulders were curled, as if she might sigh or throw her hands in the air, but she simply shoved the pot back into the coffee machine and spoke.
"Baby Girl, why don't you grab Uncle Beau's boots from the mud room?" But as Del skipped out of the kitchen, she could still hear their murmuring humming over the sound of a spoon clinking against the sides of a coffee mug.
"He should've asked you. This arrangement is ridiculous. No decent father-" She could almost imagine the look her mother shot him. Her hazel eyes narrow, mouth grimacing over her coffee. Because the next thing she heard was a heavy sigh. "I've said my piece. I won't say anymore."
"He did." Her mother whispered, the rawness of her voice all but froze Delilah's fingers to the tops of her uncle's boots. "I wanted to say yes. I just…I couldn't. The timing was all wrong."
"Paige…"
"I know you don't understand. I know it doesn't make much sense—"
"I know you're still in love with him, that much is plain to see, Bébé."
"I don't know if you remember the last time you had a crab boil-" Beau's words slid, when he realized she hadn't moved from the threshold. She was simply staring into the emptiness, her pale blue eyes wide an unblinking—fingers curled into the doorjamb. "Little Bit? You alright?" He asked, the color brightening that pale slack face as her fingers flexed carefully in her pocket. A few rapid blinks of those long dark lashes, and she was free from what ever thought had tangled her up. With the slightest of flushes she gave a nod. "It's a lot to take in," He said quietly, wincing as a mass of cheering calls echoed from another part of the house. "Game day. Just stick with me and you'll survive the crazies." He said adding his own sigh to the air. "Isn't that right, Clara?"
The child in question was tucked into the corner of the same table they'd sat at just weeks ago. Her body was all but cradled into the walls as if she were trying to make herself look as small as possible. At his words, the little blonde gave a smile rueful smile. "I don't know what he's talking about." She said sipping at her cup. "He's one of the crazies." Snagging a cookie from the plate in the middle of the table, she shoved the plate away, closer to the boy as if that would lure him from behind his sister. It worked. "At least he's tolerable."
"Can't take the heathen out of all of them." Beau said wistfully watching the boy sink down at the table, aware that his great-niece was filling the space beside him at the counter. "I know you came here for something else." He uttered, watching her fingers finally disappear into the pocket of her coat to lift out a small bag with shards of broken bottle. But then her free hand was clutching at the counter as if it were rooting her in place. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"It was in his drink." She whispered, half listening to the whooping laughter that was vibrating through the walls as she ignored her jellied limbs. The man set his wooden spoon across the pan before him and lifted the bag from her fingers, frowning as he pulled it closer to the overhead light above the stove. "I recognized the fleur-de-li." She said, aware that his chest was all but concaving. "I didn't know that Devereux-Verre was making the bottles for Zesti Cola."
"Well—"
"Oh, go ahead and tell her." At the sound of the new voice, Del could feel the weight of the small bag sliding back into her pocket from her uncle's fingers. "He's not exactly a fan of the new Zesti Cola contracts, but our bottom line's never been better."
It was hard to dispute that the man in the doorway was related to the man beside her now. They had the same stocky build—broad shoulders and chests, arms thick and sinewy, but unlike Uncle Beau, the calluses on his hands were all but softened his skin pale as if the sun hadn't been able to wear him down.
At the stove, Beau Devereux was bristling. "Alexandre—" But the man in the rain dampened shirt just shook his head as he raked his well-manicured fingers through his soggy brown hair.
"Don't start getting pissy. Is that Jambalaya about ready? The pot's almost ready to be pulled."
"I don't know if you've noticed, but Devereux-Verre's stock has been nose diving. So stop trying to blow smoke up her ass." Damian said with a hiss, ignoring Alexandre's glare with a smug pursing of his lips.
"Who is this brat? He's not one of ours."
"He's one of mine." The sound of that rich raspy voice made the flesh beneath Delilah's coat ripple. I know that face. It wasn't the black hair that had gone gray at the temples. It wasn't the goatee or the sun licked skin—it was those eyes, wide and hard as jade.
"Ra's Al Ghul." She wasn't sure what pulled the name from her hesitant lips, but it summoned a sharp dangerous smile to the man's mouth. This man—this monster, was the leader of the league of Assassins—league of shadows. The man who trained her father. The man who wanted to destroy humanity in the name of 'balance'. Damian's grandfather, the Demon's Head.
Stumbling back she could feel, Beau's hand fisting into her jacket, and yet she couldn't shake heaviness or the wayward thoughts in her head. Chemical warfare. Assassins. Genocide. Chaos. And the man who started it all was standing in her great-grandmother's kitchen blurring in her vision.
Her fingers may have been groping for something, anything that could hold her still as the blood rushed to her head. But she found nothing but air as her knees crumbled, forcing her weight to hang in her coat alone as her body sank to the floor.
She wanted to reach for her mother's arm. She wanted to sink into the sound of chattering voices and boisterous laughter. She wanted to follow the smell of charring sugar. Any excuse would do if it freed her from view of this green eyed stranger and his probing stare.
She had no choice but to watch the transformation he took with every flicker of the firelight. The light and dark shaping him into something she couldn't name. Something inhuman that could see every little secret she ever tried to keep. The heat of the fire was all but licking up her back and yet, she couldn't will her limbs to move. She was a captive.
"Regardez pas, c'est mal poli." Free. Could he see her chest collapsing with relief when her mother's arm sank around her? But Mama's muscles weren't loose or relaxed; she was as taunt as a guitar string. Did she see the way he stared at her?
"Delilah, don't stare, that's not nice." Her mother chided softly, paying no mind to her little fingers as the burrowed into the pocket of her jeans. Something needed to hold her here. Hold her to her mother's side where it was safe. "I'm very sorry, she's just—"
"Delilah, is it?" His voice was peculiar—raspy and marked with strange sounding vowels, but not quite like Gigi's. Her name wasn't even the same coming out of him. "Quite the curious little dragon." He remarked, teeth gleaming as his face twisted into a smile—like a beast showing its teeth. "They usually run away by now."
"It's the hair, Mon ami." Gigi teased, shaking her head when he raked his fingers through the receding peaks on his balding head. Feeling her great-grandmother eyes resting on her, Delilah filled her lungs. The dragon was giving her an out, right?
"You're either confident or crazy with hair like that." The child piped, feeling the fingers of a chill poking at her in the spine as the prattle was suddenly quelled.
"So which is it, blue eyed dragon?"
"I don't know yet. I hardly know you."
"Yet." To that the man sank back in his chair, resting his chin in his long fingers. She could hear the ebb and flow of laughter but it did nothing to thaw the uncertainty. What could he see that she couldn't? "That's very wise of you. Nothing is ever what it appears to be."
The laughter was still lingering when Delilah pried open her heavy eyelids. Shivering at the touch of cold air, she let her consciousness stir as she took in the unfamiliar room. She could smell nothing but saltwater and ink as peered at the shelves, heavy with books and glittering pieces of glass. She didn't recognize the faces hanging on the pale blue walls—and yet she could see bits of her own likeness in them. A study maybe?
"She's weak, Gisele." The sound of his voice made her jaws clench, and yet, as the girl turned her head to the pair at the chess board, everything went loose. My katana! There, leaning against Gisele Devereux's chair was her yellow sheathed sword. "That could've been fixed long ago."
"It wasn't my decision." Gigi said at last, lifting her fingers from the pale white piece. "What would have me do? Force her?"
"Yes. A debt is still a debt, is it not?"
"Then you didn't know my mother," Del spat, forcing the two to look her direction as she slid from the chaise. "If you think for one second you could've forced her to do anything." Those eyes. There was a time she'd been afraid of that stare. There was a time he could've paralyzed her like a snake preparing to swallow her whole—but now? Now there was nothing. He'd lost that power the moment Damian came into her life.
"She has a point, mon ami."
"I know she was rash." He said, watching the teen stiffen at the side of the board. Even Gisele lifted her head, hand and piece still dangling in the air. "Just like all the other dragons." And of course, the woman never told him he was wrong. "She could have saved you. Instead…" he started, sliding his fingers from the slick black piece to snatch up another captive. "…she was selfish."
No sooner had Del's fingers wrapped around the hilt of her sword, did she feel Gigi's cool palm pressing down on her hand, long fingers tangling over hers with surprising force.
"She could've turned me into a raving lunatic." Del said flatly, lifting her eyes from the board. "Or worse. She could've turned me into something like you." She could hear Gigi's sharp chiding breath before she snagged the woman's hand, stopping her from making another move. "I know a lot about your friend, Gigi. I know about the Lazarus pits. I know about the organizations. And I also know," she said, eyes shifting down to the pieces. "That he'll ambush you in a heartbeat."
Gigi's neat brows furrowed at the chess board. "Why you cheeky bastard!"
"Getting rather slow in your old age, my friend." He said, watching the woman redirect her move to evade capture—another stalemate. Like always.
"Old?! Just who are you calling old? Hmm?" The woman chided, ignoring that wispy half smile that was pulling at his lips. "Pah! There. Old he says. And you. How do you know—the boy."
"As I said, slow in your old age." The man murmured, easing from the chair in one fluid motion, ignoring the girl's grimace as he leaned in and pecked the woman's cheeks.
"Maybe next time you'll beat me, eh?"
"Perhaps. My grandson and I shall be on our way then."
"Damian's not going anywhere." Del snapped, yanking her hand out from under her grandmother's fingers when the man whirled around on his heel. "You won't be sticking your claws into my little brother anymore."
"Ah, so the little dragon thinks she has teeth." He whispered, watching the girl's fingers dig into her arms as if she were struggling to keep them to herself. "The Dragon won't always be with you. I wonder what you'll be then."
"Ra's. Leave the boy." It was Gigi's soft sigh that brought the man's attention to her, watching the silver haired woman round her great mahogany desk. "He came here with Delilah, he needs to leave here with her. I don't want Wayne on my doorstep. I quite like how well we ignore each other." She said, her delicate hands splaying on the edge. "Besides, I'd like to meet Talia's son myself. I can't very well do that if you take him, now can I?"
Watching the man close his black lined eyelids, Del couldn't help the breath that caught her lungs as the man's shoulders sagged with a sigh. "Very well." Did Ra's Al Ghul just yield?!"Jusqu'à la prochaine fois."
"Yes, until next time." But just as the man pulled the door open, letting the jabber and chaos waft through the threshold, that bell of a voice came again. "And Ra's? Make sure you don't leave Ubu behind this time." She said lightly, not even trying to hide that sly smile. "I don't think my young ones would take very kindly to him. I'm afraid they wouldn't return him to you in very good condition." She said while she had him trapped there at the door. "I'm not so slow am I, my friend?"
"Perhaps not. But we shall see, won't we?"
She-she knows Talia?! And Ubu?! "Yes, yes we will." Del could see the woman moving to close the door. She could even follow her words. But could she move? No. She could just stare at the woman, feeling her own eyes going dry. Only when she felt the woman's cool hands on her cheeks, did she force herself to blink.
"How are you feeling, ma petite?"
"I'm...I'm fine now." I think. Unless I've died and gone to Hell. "You know who Talia is? You've met her?"
She came to miss the feel of the woman's hands when they left her, giving her no choice but to twist about as she moved behind her desk. "I've known Talia since she was very young. I was the one who taught her French." The old girl said as if it were just a common fact. "She's not quite as young as you think."
"And Ubu?"
"This one? No. They change you know. There've been quite a few Ubu, I only know one or two very well."
"My father…did you tell Ra's who my father was? Before Mom died, I mean. It seems like he knew. Like he always knew…"
"Ra's is always suspicious, it's his nature." Gigi said softly, giving a tilt of her head. "Come to think of it, he was rather cross with me when the world finally learned of you. You'd think I was holding out just to spite him. But no, your mother told me the truth in confidence. We may not have agreed, but I would never betray her."
"And Damian?"
"Why don't you sit down, Delilah? You look rather pale." When the girl just stood there, gripping her katana to her side, the woman shook her head. "Sit, sit."
"Did you know about my brother?!" She hadn't expected the words to come out in a cry, as she sank into the chair the woman was motioning to. And by her sudden stillness, neither was the Dragon.
"I knew of him, but I've never met him myself." The woman said shaking her head. "I didn't know who his father was until you brought him to my home. I should've known then who he was—they have the same eyes—" She said tilting her head to her gray faced grandchild. "Are you sure you'll be alright?"
"Where is he now?"
"Outside with Remi and your dog." The woman said waving her off. "I couldn't have him sitting in front of the door like he was."
"Remi?"
At that the woman's lips twisted. "Do you honestly expect me to call my youngest son 'Beau'?" She asked, giving girlish giggle. "My son is handsome, but that's the most backwoods name I've ever—" Her words trailed as her eyes caught a face on the wall. "That was my Felix's doing." Gigi whispered, gently plucking a framed face from the wall behind her desk. "I was quite incapacitated after I had the twins." She stated, her thumbs tracing the thin black frame. "When I came to—my babies were named after his favorite hounds! Oh, I didn't speak to him for days." She said, letting the frame slide to Del's fingers. "He drove me absolutely insane…and I loved him."
"Guess that makes you a little insane too." Del uttered, giving the friendly looking face a ghost of a smile. "And Ra's?" She asked, sliding her great-grandfather's portrait back onto Gigi's desk as the woman jolted.
"I don't know what you think you—I didn't invite him here if that's what you believe."
"Then why do you—Gigi, it's your house! You're the Dragon Lady!" But as her words began to echo, the old woman leaned over the desk, taking up Delilah's scarred palms.
"Ah, ah, Bébé, no. Always keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Always. Do you understand?"
"Then why—"
"He took something very dear to me." She said softly, untangling her fingers as she clasped her husband's portrait and went about putting that dimpled smile back on the wall. "He had a heart condition too, did you know that?" She asked, watching the little wraith's reflection. "An enlarged heart. I suppose that's why I took such an interest in you. Why I made the deals I did." She said aware, of the soft tap of the Delilah's fingers on the hilt of the yellow sword. "Is that truly yours?"
"Yeah...Damian had it made for me." Del uttered, the muscles in her brow pinching together as the woman hastily turned to the cabinet behind her chair. The second she pulled out a pair of emerald green sheaths, the breath went whooshing out of her. Just who was this woman?
Without hesitation, Gisele slid the smaller of the two toward her. "There. Now you shall have a pair." She whispered, curling her hand over the girl's reaching fingers.
"Were you... did..."
"I was never one of his assassins, no. But my hands will never be clean again. I was his student. I owed my father some deaths and Ra's helped me see to them. No more—no less." She murmured, giving those coarse fingers a squeeze. "It took your great-grandfather quite some time to accept what I'd become. After all...he was expecting a French refugee. A daughter of a businessman. Not a—"
"Dragon."
"I don't know why you need to carry a sword, Delilah, it's not my place to ask. But please, please be careful. I don't know how or why your father tangled himself in these people. Frankly, I don't care. " She said simply, catching the girl by the chin, long fingers prying the chain she spied dipping into the girl's sweater.
"But you…" Her grandmother started, words tumbling as she found a heavy key hanging from the chain. "…you are different. You are all that's left of my Bay. All that's left of my Paige. So listen to me, Fille-Dragon. If he wants to fashion you into something weak, let him. It will be his mistake."
The woman's lips felt like butterfly wings on her forehead. Before she knew it, the warmth of her hands was gone, the weight of the Wayne Station master key was hanging in the center of her chest and that scaly sword was fully in her grip. "I'd give you the Katana, but I am not quite done with it.." She murmured, and as much as the teen's tongue wanted to ask she knew better than to go poking a dragon. "So then, Remi said you had something you wanted to discuss? Something about the glass?"
It was dizzying—the way the glassworks buzzed like a hive. Smocked bodies and hairnets all worked in tandem, tending to the shiny glass bottles that were being turned out at an alarming rate. Standing on the floor was like being inside a thunderstorm—the rumbling of conveyer belts and hiss of cooling glass was enough to dull the roars of dragons overhead. "I said shut it down! Now! NOW Alexandre!"
"Why?! Mama, we had the bottles tested the moment this madness began! They were clean! What?! Is because that little girl said something to you?! Is that it?! Damn it!"
"Do you have the paperwork on these tests?" Damian. His voice was so calm, so finite, that when she heard her uncle's frustrated breath, she found herself whipping around to peer up to the second floor, ignoring the dog who was tugging on her arm.
"Of course I do!"
"Go get them, Alexandre."
"This is your fault! You were the one who had that girl put in Mama's study. I hope you're fucking happy with yourself, Beau." If the man had anything to say, she couldn't hear it over the sound of Alexandre's footsteps pounding on the metal stairs, the rumble of machinery masking his slur of curses.
"My name is Delilah." The girl said plainly, twisting around in time to watch him create a rigid shadow as she absently tried to rein in her curious Doberman. He was starting to make her arm ache. "Just in case you forgot who's really to blame." She said, aware of the weary gazes that were trickling their way. "But that won't make the issue go away, will it?" The words were clipped, leaving her to frown when the weight on her arm was suddenly slack. Jax had wrestled his head out his collar and was darting under the belts.
"Jax!" But the dog was off like a shot, leading her through the working bodies and billowing clouds of steam. When her fingers finally sank into the scruff of his neck, the bile shot up the back of her throat when she realized what he was pawing at beneath the conveyer belt. The little birds were stiff—beaks open in soundless chirps, wings forever frozen in a motion to flee. Something isn't right, don't let him touch them.
In the midst of dragging the determined canine back, she found a solid wall of muscle at her back. "Jesus! I'm so sorry!" She shot out, watching the man raise his gloved hands, his dark gray eyes crinkling as if he might be smiling beneath his respirator.
"No harm done!" Wait…why was he the only one in the entire factory wearing a respirator? Slipping the collar around the dog's neck, she pulled the animal to her side, toeing the poor dead things further under the belt, watching the scoop a white powder into the vat before him.
"What is that exactly? I mean, what is it you do in this area?! She called, half afraid her voice would get caught In the whirr of cogs and the hiss of hot bottles as they were dumped into the vat.
"It's soda ash!" He said, glancing down at the fine white powder. "Bottles are formed up the line and are dumped here to be washed."
Soda ash? Soda ash was about as harmless as baking soda…but then why was he wearing a respirator? Why did the birds die here? Get away. Don't breathe it in. "Jax! Away!" The Doberman bolted down the aisle, even in the steam she could see his muscles shuddering as he took a stance some distance away, waiting for her next command. Her feet were itching to flee, fingers hesitant. "I see." She said, voice rising over the thunderous noise. "Thanks for showing it to me!" She called, eager to wrap her scarf around her mouth and nose. You're already lightheaded. If this was it. If this was the mixture—it wouldn't take much to stop a heart like hers.
Her feet were like led, and when she felt those dusty fingers digging into her shoulder like claws, everything became heavy. "Don't I know you?!" He shouted, forcing her scarf holding fingers to pause. "You've got a really familiar face!" I should know those eyes… "Wait! You're Delilah Wayne, right?!"
Unable to shake the sudden wave of unease, Del forced her head to nod. And as much as she wanted to give one of her practiced smiles to smooth it all over—she couldn't lift her lips. She just wanted to flee. "DE-LI-LAH!"
Both their heads snapped up just in time to see a small boy leap over the second floor railing. She never saw him land. The weight of an arm gripping around her neck stole her attention. "Someone really wants you dead." She knew what the object was the second she the prick of the needle on her neck. There was nothing to but react. Stepping back, those sinewy muscles only seemed to squeeze tighter, like a snake terrified of losing its prey.
But as Del drop her shoulder into him, the needle bit, digging into the skin like a fang as she moved her foot behind his legs and continued to struggle to twist her head out from his hold, aware of the blood that was rolling down her neck. But before the girl could even gasp for a breath, he released, shoving her into the boy who was racing toward him.
No sooner had their bodies collided, Did Del roll away, watching him catch his staggering feet. "Don't breathe in the powder!" The words came like a shriek, aching and raw. I'm covered in it. The thought came and went, dashed by the sound of steel scrapping against a scabbard, as the boy tucked the collar of his hood over his nose he did nothing more than step over her.
"Your ass is mine!"
Through the blur she could see the boy giving chase, corralling the panicked man into a wall of angry dragons before a shadow spilled over her. "Are you alright?!"
"Don't touch me! Not without gloves and a respirator! It's not soda ash!"
"Evacuate! NOW! It was in the confusion of sharp screams and running feet that the crack of a shot rang out over the sound of dying machines. The man at the edge of Damian's blade sank to his feet in a heap, forcing the group that'd circled around him to scatter.
I have to know. With the concrete biting into her knees, Del shrugged herself from her uncle's grip as she staggered toward the unmoving body. "Del!" But the warning went unheard as she sank to the floor, gulping at the bloody air and the smell of soot. Fingers shaking she peeled the respirator away, trying with all her might to ignore the new hole in the center of his head. The fear of being shot to death forgotten as the mask fell to the floor.
He wasn't sure what to make of it, watching the wet tracks begin to race down his sister's scraped cheeks. The way her mouth contorted, as if it were struggling to hold back the sobs—it was unattractive to say the least, but it pulled him forward, curiously watching her rip at his gloves like an animal ripping at hide and flesh.
"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" No sooner had she shot to her feet, did she start putting her booted feet into the body on the floor, making it come jolt to life with every kick of her foot. "YOU WEREN'T SUPPOSED TO GET OFF THIS EASY!"
"Delilah! Stop it!" Beau snapped seizing the girl in his arms. She flailed. Only when her screams were dry and her limbs were loose could Beau Devereux rein her in, mashing her into his chest.
"He should've suffered!"
"Take it easy, Bébé. Just take it easy."
No one moved. For a split second it was like no one was breathing. If anyone had any objections to him crouching down by the body and spreading pull of blood, no one said a word. She knew him. He thought, staring down at that unremarkable face.
Glancing at the flashing lights just outside the door, Damian shook his head and pulled himself up by his katana. "Who was he?" He asked at last, when Del's hysterics had slid into the sound of shuddering angry breaths.
"Gillespie." The name went through the empty factory like a ripple, eliciting gasps and curses alike.
"He's in prison!" He wasn't sure who said it. One of his sister's cousins maybe? It was enough to make his sister pry herself from her uncle's arms and summon her forward. She simply pointed down at the man's ungloved hand and the strange scar that ran across it.
"That's from my teeth." She spat. "God knows I bit him hard enough." Standing beside that dusty thing, he could see her fingers clenching, shaking with the need to wipe the evidence of tears away. "You should've died screaming." If she saw him lift his gaze, if she felt it lingering like the tears that were rolling off her chin, she never showed it.
You were cheated. With the thought intruding upon him, Damian ripped his eyes away from her. Wincing at the weight that could only be empathy, he stared at that pathetic body at their feet. She played by father's rules and yet still felt the need to avenge her mother. Maybe they were the same. After all, they were from the same tree, so maybe, just maybe she was made from the same bitter—rotten fruit. Just like him.
It was like nothing happened. It was like the sky hadn't been split by sirens and lights. Like the blood stains and chalk lines on the floor of the glassworks didn't exist. These people, these strange creatures in human skin—were cracking claws and stuffing their gobs. They were filling the air with the sound of smacking lips and blithe smoky laughs. They could rival the crashing of the waves with their humming chatter. Never once did someone mention the sound of gunshot or the smell of blood. No one told her how lucky she was to be alive. She wasn't sure if it was ignorance, arrogance or just plain defiance.
"Eat, Delilah. Eat."
The command all but stilled the girl's fingers in the air, stopping them from touching the medical tape on her neck. She could only wince at the old woman at the head of the table, aware that the prattle had hushed under her words. The lanterns and the darkness seemed to brush together like paint when she shook her head. Eat? How could she? "I don't think I-"
"Nonsense." Gigi said, shoving her own chair back. Del could feel herself straining to hear the woman's footsteps as she circled around. But there was nothing but the thud of that heavy bowl sitting down in front of her. "If you think for one second that I won't shove this down your throat, guess again, ma petite." The woman commanded, forcing the girl's chilled fingers around a fork as she leaned in, her breath warm against the teen's ear. "Remember what I told you." She whispered, paying no mind to the quiet that fell across the tables.
"Let them fashion you into something weak. If they want you to be the damsel—fine. Be the damsel who needs saving from the dragon. Never let them know that you are a dragon and will eat them whole." With that, Gigi slid away from her and made her way back toward the head of the table, pausing only for the space of a few words. "By the time they know the truth about you, it'll be too late for them. Now eat, no one sits at my table and refuses. Not even a Wayne."
"Bossy, isn't she?"
Three words and Beau snapped the tension, ushering in a chorus of snickering laughs and choking. How can they even…eat? Damian certainly had no qualms about it. He was decapitating crawfish and plucking tails with the best of them, unaware of the bile that was sliding up his sister's throat. She half expected him to turn his nose up at the lack of refinery. Newspaper for table cloths, red solo cups and close quarters with her crazy family. But then, He almost seemed to enjoy it- the way any ten year old boy would enjoy pulling the legs off a cricket or the butt off a firefly. For a split second, he was normal as could be. That was until he opened his mouth, reminding the string of tables that nothing was ever as it appeared.
"Can the venom be dried like that? Is it still effective?"
The man beside him paused, pulling a napkin across his mouth as he swallowed. Even in the fain light of the veranda she could still make out the patch on his arm. Venom One. This was the old college her uncle had mentioned. Chris Donavan fell into the family like an old friend. It made the girl wonder how many times her mother brought her team home for dinner. Made her wonder if her mother had sat here at these very tables, carrying on like everyone else—like she hadn't spent the day working with creatures that could kill. Like she hadn't spent the day trying to keep others from rotting from the inside out.
"Certainly." He said at last, clearing his throat. "Just because it's dry doesn't mean it loses its potency either. It's actually more dangerous. It becomes concentrated without the fluid." His words quieted the chaos like a wave, quelling everything but the sound of cracking shells and coughs.
"And if it's ingested?" Alexandre wanted to know
"Tough to say. It really depends on the venom and what its purpose is. Usually someone's safe as long as it doesn't enter the bloodstream. But any kind of opening—a tear in the digestive track, an ulcer, a sore in the mouth..." He shook his head. "The prognosis isn't good. I'm sorry, this probably isn't a good table discussion."
"You're fine, Christoph." Gigi murmured, letting her fork rest along her bowl. "We should know what we're dealing with, and what that means for anyone who drinks from the bottles we've made. You said it depends on the venom's purpose, what did you mean?"
"Well," the man started, "There's hemotoxic venom. It makes the blood clot. It attacks the circulatory system and the heart. Neurotoxic which affects the nervous system. And cytotoxic. They type of venom that attacks the muscles and causes tissue death. That's why it's so important to know where the venom came from, so the right anti-venom can be given."
"And this venom? Is there any way to tell which—"
"After seeing to Mr. Grayson today, I'm afraid to say it's all the above." He uttered, watching the Wayne children grow as stiff as driftwood. "
"Have-have you ever seen anything like it before?" Delilah asked, not sure if she recognized the hoarse words coming out of her. But the man was silent, letting the seconds drag as his thick fingers rubbed against the brown stubble on his chin.
The second her fingers reached up to touch the tender square of medical tape on her neck, the man lifted his dark doughy eyes as if he'd finally decided what to say. "I have. " He whispered, fingers picking at the shell of a crab gently, methodically. "Paige was tasked with creating anti-venom from something that was found in the Caribbean. A new species, something so rare that she had to recreate the venom from a sample and make an anti-venom from it." He said slowly, keeping his gaze down at the newspaper.
"Did she?"
"I'm not for certain." He uttered. "I don't even know how it fell into her lap." He went on, glancing at the pale faced teen. "The government big wigs jumped in, thanked her for her time and stole her research out from under her. She left shortly afterward."
"Why'd my mom leave?" The girl pressed, watching the man shake his head.
"Something completely different." He said plainly, eyes falling to the pile of shells on the table as the silence rolled across the porch. No one was eating anymore. "She was being harassed." He murmured, wincing at the sharp bleating of the pager on his hip. "She had a stalker."
"Who?! Mom never would've let someone get to her like that!"
The man's chest seemed to collapse as he rose slowly to his feet. "I thought so too. But that makes us both wrong, Miss Wayne. Paige was no push over. But neither was this stranger, especially if he could scare someone like her."
She couldn't think in that hurried murmur of voices. She couldn't stand to hear them chat about her mother as if she were nothing more than a bit of gossip.
"She ran to Gotham the second she had a chance."
"I never thought she was like that. Her father ran from his problems, is it that far of a stretch?"
"Hell, she ran away from Wayne didn't she?"
"Why didn't she say anything?! We could've helped her!"
Del ran to the darkness the moment she could. Only the stars could see her shivering in a set of clothes that didn't belong to her, her nails digging angry half-moons into her arms through the thin sweater. Strange, how a bit of pain could numb it all away. "My mother wasn't a coward." The girl spat, watching tide roll in as if it were nothing but ink. She wasn't sure how long that shape had been there, head tilted to the patchy sky.
"No. No she wasn't. Don't hold it against them, Little Bit. It's how they process what they don't understand." The man uttered, breath rising to sky like smoke. "I'm sorry you didn't get the answers you were looking for."
"He was scared wasn't he?"
"I believe so."
"He didn't tell us everything."
"I don't think he could." Beau whispered, letting the sound of prattle laughter echo over their silence.
"What will this do? To Devereux-Verre, I mean? What about them? What about—"
"Don't worry about that. Our legacy isn't all fire and glass and pretty French words." The man said gently, tilting his head toward the shadows that were wandering down the beach. She could only imagine what the Dragon Lady had to say to Ra's Al Ghul's grandson. "It's survival. Always has been. The source of the contamination was found, that's all that matters."
"They must've tested a bottle that hadn't been washed." But why? Why would someone go through all the trouble of getting Gillespie out of prison to do it? Dad's probably there now.
"Maybe, but it seems irresponsible." The man grumbled, blowing another misty breath into the darkness. "Or it was tested that way on purpose. Like or not Little Bit, you are a part of this family. " He told her, watching her press her arms into her chest as the thought began to sink in. Shaking his head he slung a jacketed arm around the girl and pulled her to his side, giving her bony shoulders a squeeze.
"It has everything to do with Mom..." The girl croaked. "She's the only thing that ties us all together. Dad. Me. This family. The venom." The words were tumbling out of her faster and faster, as if that would shed the ache off of them. As if it would loosen the tightness climbing up her throat. "I hardly knew her. I hardly knew her at all…" Before she knew the tears were spilling.
"No, no, Bébé. You knew all the best parts of her and you still do. I see them in you all the time. Your mother was the type who gave this world everything she had, be it kindness or sass. And yet, as brutally honest as she could be, she still managed to look at this world as if still had magic left—still had hope." He murmured, looking over the girl's head as his mother and the boy climbed the stairs back into the light of the veranda. "She never gave up on a soul the second she saw something good in them. She was stubborn like that. You just got short changed on time with her, ma petite. We all did." He murmured, watching her pull the sleeves of the sweater over her hands to dab her eyes.
"Sorry. I just—God, I must seem like a psycho." The teen laughed, summoning rough kind of sound from her uncle in return. "One second I'm saying how much someone should suffer and the next I'm crying like a little girl who misses her mommy."
"Psycho? Oh, please, Darlin' you just said what the rest of us were thinking." He objected, giving her a wispy smirk. "You're just like the rest of us. We're nothing but a bunch of proud heathens." He teased, feeling that slender body shake with a laugh.
"Can I ask you something?" The girl whispered, tilting her head to the sky and stars once more. "You said to Mom that a man doesn't travel hundreds of miles for nothing. What were you talking about? You were talking about my dad. Did…did she really run from him?"
The man beside her seemed to be shrinking with a careful breath. For a long moment she was sure the man wouldn't answer, and yet he was patting her arm. "He came here for your mom once." He said suddenly, feeling her grow stiff under his arm.
"Wait—let me back up. After my sister died...Paige came here. She had to be half way through her pregnancy with you. And the only thing she'd say is that Gotham wasn't safe for her and that your father would come for her when he was ready." He said, pausing to tilt his head to the half cloudy sky.
"Your father had quite the reputation then. I thought maybe she was ashamed. Or maybe the playboy wasn't ready to grow up and be a father. It pained me—" He said slowly. "To watch her wait for him. I hated him for it-she was like a daughter to me. I never once thought she was in any real danger. It never occurred to me that he could've been trying to protect her—protect you both. I just didn't know, and your mother never would say.
"And then he just showed up, out of the blue." He said giving a shrug. "I half hoped they'd amend the situation. But the only thing that came out of it was an agreement to pretend he hadn't fathered you at all. I couldn't wrap my head around it. She was so in love with him, it was excruciatingly obvious. She told me later that he did in fact purpose. She just couldn't do it. Something about the timing of it all—knowing what I know now, Little Bit, there could've been a slew of reasons they did what they did." He said softly, letting a hand perch on the top of her head. "That's something you'll have to ask your dad."
"Great…"
The man just simpered at her. "I do know they were just trying to protect you." He murmured, half tilting an ear to the twang of strings that was echoing out to sea. Even now, he could see the teen closing her eyes as if the sound was welling up the same memories. "I know Chris was vague, but it did put a theory in my head." He said, watching those big eyes fly open. "I wonder if Paige started working on her project before or after her brother resurfaced."
"The venom was from the Caribbean. And Pena Duro..."
"Ah, you know about Benji." He said lightly. "Pena Duro Prison is in Santa Prisca." He said giving a nod as if he knew she was connecting the dots. "Wonder if he's still holding down that little hole in the wall."
"You know…"
" Of course, I try to keep tabs on everyone in this family. I just can't force them to make the right choices. He wasn't always such a bad egg. But when he finally came back…he was changed. "
But how much about Bird did the man know? Did he know about his involvement in Nine Circles? Or his association with Bane? If he had he would've mentioned it, right? And as much as her mouth wanted to open and her tongue wanted to move, she couldn't seem to make it happen.
"Can I ask you one more question?"
"One more."
"Would 'more than' mean anything to you?" Delilah asked, watching the shadows inch across his face as his brow pinched together. "Regarding Mom, I mean." She put in, grimacing at the faint light of the porch as he twisted her away from the sea.
"Not off the top of my head—you found something…didn't you?" He probed, releasing her at the stairs. But the girl just shook her head and stomped up the steps, letting the faint light of lanterns and the sound of music lead her way.
"Uncle Beau, are you sure you shouldn't be the next dragon?"
"Name the dog."
"You bought the dog, you name it!"
"He's a gift, Damian."
"A distraction more like! How stupid do you think I am?! I want to go on patrol. I belong out there, same as you!" The boy shouted, slinging his arm away from the slobbering Great Dane puppy at his side. He could see that shadow pause on the stairs. It seemed to be collapsing with a soundless sigh.
"The dog is a gift. Your self-control has improved, I want to see that continue."
"There's already a dog here!" Damian spat pointing at the Doberman who was curled up beneath the heavy metal chair at the bat-computer. But no sooner had the child's snapping words echo through the cave, did the creature unwind himself. Giving the pup a wide girth and a low growl he staggered for the stairs, snorting and sniffing with disdain. Not even a dog could get any shut eye in this place.
"Your sister's dog."
"What's hers will become mine. It's inevitable." Damian hissed, listening to his father's soft footfalls and the scratching of a canine's claws. "This was her stupid idea I bet." He said aware the man had hesitated, brief as it may have been. "You tell her if she's done sulking and ready to get her ass handed to her again I'll be waiting. The longer she makes me wait—the more it's going to hurt."
"Name the damn dog!" The man called, slamming the door behind him. The last time he gave a ten year old a dog, the child was excited. But then Del wasn't as openly suspicious as the boy. "Just can't win with that kid, can I?" He muttered, watching the Doberman still long enough to stretch and yawn before wandering up the grand staircase dead set on the light that was spilling into the hall.
When was the last time he slept? Two days ago? Or was it going on three? Hell, he wasn't sure anymore. He was sure however, that he hadn't left the office light on. As he caught sight of that weary eyed thing sitting on the floor in front of that gaping safe, he could only slide in closer, watching her pull the master key from around her neck. "I was wondering where that disappeared to."
At that rasping, Del tilted back her head, letting those wide eyes settle on him. "Sure you were. I bet you knew exactly where it was."
"From day one." He said, watching the Doberman collapse to the floor and deflate like a balloon against the girl's leg, paying no mind to her pinched face as his head settled on the bruises that Damian had left behind. "What you and Damian were doing—"
"How's Dick?"
"No worse." He offered, letting his weary bones sink into the empty desk chair. "And no better. Barbra's with him now." The girl only hung her head, making that white patch on her neck visible in the lamp light. "And what about you?"
"Alive." The girl uttered, casting her eyes anywhere but upon him. "Someone out there really—really hates me." She added, watching his shadow jolt along the wall when a strangled laugh burst out of her aching throat. "I must be annoying as hell. This is what? Attempt three?"
"Del-"
"Who's Cassandra Cain?" She asked suddenly, stealing the words from his lips as she looked down to the small document in her lap.
"What are you doing with that?" He snapped, snatching the article from her. "Stop evading my questions."
"Right, like you're the only one in this house that can do that. My bad, I forgot." She muttered, rolling her eyes when that narrowed gaze fell on her. "You know where I picked that up, don't you?"
"Didn't say I had to like it." He griped, letting the paper fall to his lap as his mouth fell to his hand. If she could feel the weight of his gaze she never looked up, the girl simply sat there, staring at the creases in her hands. "She was someone I tried to adopt years ago. A girl who came from the league of Assassins. Cassie was worse off than Damian ever thought of being."
"It was my floor routine." The words were dry, as if everything in that shell on the floor had been used up and burned. The day was finally catching up with her. The flights back and forth, her mother's whirlwind family, the attempt on her life and practice. "Tim's not exactly well versed with aerobatics. Dick's—" She stopped and shrugged. "That leaves the demon child."
Damian's idea of practicing a gymnastic floor routine was no different than a one sided sparring match. But he had a feeling she knew that. "Looked like he was beating the stuffing out of you."
"Pretty much." The girl sighed. "But I can take it. I'm sorry it didn't work out for Cassie." She uttered, peeling the paper from his fingers and hiding back into the safe where she found it, saying not another word in their loaded silence. She didn't ask and he wouldn't say. "He hasn't named that dog you got him, has he?"
"Nope. Thinks I have ulterior motives."
"You totally do. You actually think a puppy is gonna keep him to the house?"
"Worked on you."
"Only because I let it. Damian won't." Del said plainly, pressing her back into the drawers of the desk. "I was trying to be good. I thought if I was a good girl, Dad'll be happier. He could care a less about happiness. But he does want your respect."
"And how do you…"
"Dad—don't make me hit you." Delilah warned, face creasing as she pulled her bruised legs into her chest. "It was Clay Face who took Gillespie's place in prison, wasn't it?" She asked, pressing her chin into her knees so she couldn't see her father's mouth flopping open. Didn't he know those were the only two things she ever wanted from him?
"Yes." Someone was going through a great deal of trouble to make this happen. It required time. Time to watch the shift changes and cell counts. And money. Enough money to pay the guards to look the other way. Enough money to set St. James free and entice Clay Face to impersonate not one but two people. First Jason, now Gillespie?
"You're going out there again?" Her voice, it seemed so small in their silences. It was enough untangle him from his winding thoughts and lift his head from his hand. "I could go too. I know that I'm not—I just wanna—"
"I know you fainted today." He murmured, watching her crumble closer to the floor as if the words were weighing her down
"Damian! That little snit-"
"Gisele called me."
"You didn't mention that when I called you about the soda ash." She grumbled, ignoring his smug silence. Yeah, yeah, you don't have to tell me anything, you're the God damn Batman, I know! The thought to retort further dissipated the second she felt the weight of cool fingertips on her neck, skin pulling with peeling tape.
"So about you and Tim-"
What? did you think he was going to ignore that? "It was just a kiss, Dad." Del groaned, not able to stop the wince as he tilted her neck closer to the lamp light.
"That's how things start." He said flatly, unsure if he was frowning at the angry cuts the syringe had scraped into her neck or that rushing pulse that was sinking into his fingertips. She was lucky. She was damn lucky. "We should talk about that—eventually." He murmured, listening to that annoyed breath fill the space between them. It wasn't like she didn't have a decent head on her shoulders, but even so… with a boy he worried about one idiot. With a daughter he was suddenly weary of them all.
"Dad?"
"I want Alfred to redress this—"
"—did you ever propose to Mom?"
He had every right to go still, every right to let the question go unanswered. But when she heard his chair squeak as if he was peeling himself from it, the quiet left her feeling hollow.
"Once." He uttered, pressing the patch back into her skin before reaching around her and into the darkness of the safe well aware his fingers knew what they were reaching for. There was a time he never wanted to see this box again. Of course Alfred always seemed to know better. Setting the thing in his daughter's hands he shook his head, looking away when her slender fingers pulled it open. "She turned me down." He added, well aware that the leotard clad girl was twisting the little ring over in her hand.
"Why?" She whispered, prying her eyes from the diamond to the man who'd gone still as stone beside her. "She loved you." She said, the words cracking and squeaking as if they surprised her just as much as they wounded him. "And you clearly loved her—I don't get you guys. What? Did she give you an ultimatum or something? Was it because you're Batman?"
"No—"
"Then what was it?! What?! What was it?!"
"You!" He snapped, watching the color drain from her face as she lurched away from him, smacking into the desk. "Damn it, Girl." The man growled, rubbing his fingers over his mouth as the girl curled in on herself like a creature who'd just been struck. "This isn't coming out right." He rasped. "She chose you. And if you'd keep that trap shut for a second, you'd know that you were the only choice she had." He murmured, watching her slide the ring back into its box.
"Bane was giving me a lot of trouble back then." He stated, watching Delilah lift her head out of the corner of his eye. "Your mother was starting her second trimester when he broke my back. He didn't want to just break the bat. He wanted to destroy me and everything around me. He was digging into my life—my personal life—I couldn't let him find out about her. It wasn't safe for either of you."
"So you sent her away. That's why she went back home."
"Yes."
How did they manage this time and time again? How could they fill the air with so many unsaid things that it almost made it hard to breathe? "I should have left her there." He said suddenly, aware that Del had tilted her head back against the desk, setting her wide eyes on him—a heavy thing that gaze of hers. "After everything, she was the first—" But then Bruce Wayne simply shook his head. "It was pure selfishness..."
Under her father's murmur, Del let herself back sink into the jutting handles of the desk drawers, too fixated on the man's candidness to move. She was the first woman who didn't turn out to be an enemy. She was the first woman to accept him for all his jagged pieces. She couldn't blame him for not wanting to let her go. He'd never had that before. Someone he didn't have to hide the truth from, someone who loved the man bats and all.
"I asked her then. But she just closed the box and gave it back. It's not that she didn't want to give me the answer I wanted. She couldn't. She just gave the box back to me and said, not yet."
"Not because of Batman…but because of Bane."
He nodded. "She was aware of the risks. She was willing to take them, but she wasn't about to risk you. You understand?"
"Bane could've used us as leverage against you." The teen whispered, watching her father close his heavy lids as if the truth made him ache. But he nodded. "Against her brother too…" She said softly, letting her hand flop down to the sleeping dog pressed into her side. "That's why she raised me by herself. Why I have two birth certificates—and why one of them says 'father unknown'." She said nodding to the safe.
"She gave Alfred the real one. Just in case. She didn't want Bane to suspect anything. I mean, Bird was her brother so if he told Bane he had a sister, if he knew about her... she didn't want anyone knowing the truth."
"I wasn't very keen on that. But yes."
"She was protecting us." Delilah said hoarsely, the weight of the words causing her stomach to sink. Her father never took lightly to someone else protecting him. A kick to his pride perhaps. "Did it ever seem safe enough?"
"I thought so. But you know what they say about fools." He murmured. "You were growing up so fast—I—" But the man shook his head. "Do you remember the day I came to your mother's house?"
"Yeah...it was the first time I'd ever really met you. I mean, I knew who you were—I saw you around the office." The girl stopped and shrugged. "You helped me butcher that pumpkin."
His smile was tight and small, strained like the sound that came choking out of him. "It was a part of the plan…to let us get to know each other. Before I asked her again. She didn't just want to throw you into the deep end."
Even in the faint light he could see the wrinkles marring the teen's brow. "When were you guys..."
"The Friday after you were released from your surgery." He murmured, his shadow lording over her as he peeled himself up from the chair, aware of the sudden tension that had flooded the room.
"Mom was buried on a Friday." The whisper all but forced her father to pause. He didn't just bury the mother of his child, or his friend. He had to put all that was left of that stolen life in the ground with her."You'll be back in time for the flight tomorrow…right?" She asked, catching the man at the door as she pulled herself up from the floor.
"I promised, didn't I?"
"But now you have another reason to go to Santa Prisca, don't you? You're going to pay Bane a visit, aren't you? You think it was his venom Mom was recreating—"
"Make sure you lock up. No leaving this house. Is that clear?"
"But—what about Dick?"
"Straight home afterward." He called, disappearing down the hall.
"Dad?" But as the girl rounded the corner, the man was gone. If Bane was the next target, who was he going after tonight?
"Del! Del, you have to come with us!" It was just a moment—a second when she found herself looking away from her staff wielding opponent to glance toward that tight voice. A split second was all it took to realize her mistake, before that whistling staff smacked across her cheek, forcing her eyes to tear from the sting and her mouth to fill with blood. "Oh, shit."
Spitting the blood at her feet, Delilah slithered back from the spring loaded mat, just as Tim's blunt fingers sank into her tender shoulders forcing a surprised yelp out of the girl as he yanked her from Damian's striking range. Tim had no choice but put up his arm and take the hit "Yo! Is this really necessary?!"
"You distracted her." The boy said flatly giving Tim a jab to the chest. "It's her own fault. She let you distract her. Now, get your hands off my sister, Drake, or I'll break your face." He hissed, tilting his head as the disdain began to roll across the older teen's face, but no sooner had he taken that step forward, did his sister's long fingers clutch into Drake's shirt. "In your case, it'd be an improvement."
"You little-"
"Tim. It's okay. I'm okay. He's just trying to help me."
"Help you?! Looks like he's beating the crap out of you!" He cried, his voice still echoing when her fingers wrapped around his sinewy arms. "You're all bruised up, Del. Look at your legs. There's gotta be another way. Why didn't you ask? I would've helped you."
"You would've been way too soft on her, Drake. She's breakable, but she's not glass." Damian sneered, tossing the staff to the side as his sister's hands slid from the idiot.
"I need you to come with us. I think you need to see this."
"Let me throw some track pants on or Alfred will blow a gasket if he sees me like this. Damian, we're taking a break."
"Better be a small one." He snipped, watching the girl trot over to the small bench where her things sat, leaving him to stand there next to Drake as the girl worked the pants over her leotard. "As weak as she is, she's still too much for you."
"Observation of yours? No one's ever going to be good enough for your sister in your eyes."
"No, a fact. Though you may be correct." Damian said, glancing at the older boy. "Don't look so pleased. You still fall in 'not good enough' category."
"Good thing it's not up to you. Because what you see and what I see are two different things." Tim said, leaving him there as he strolled right up and threaded his fingers into Del's hand, leading her and that friend of hers through the door.
"Not up to me? Tch. That's what you think."
"I need you to bear with me, okay?"
She wasn't sure what he was doing when he led her to the foyer, but as his fingers slid down her elbows, she had no choice but to nod and swallow against the sudden knot that was bobbing in her throat. She wanted to twist her head, she wanted to see where Sam and Damian had wandered off to, and yet she was caught—held by those sea green eyes. Was he hesitating?
"Where was the Joker?" He started, fingers griping tighter on her knobby elbows when the surprise rolled through her. "Where was he standing exactly, do you remember?"
Did she remember? How could she forget? When she didn't trust her mouth to answer, Del nodded, closing her eyes as if she could suddenly see the man standing in her home once more, his laugh shaking the manor for everything it was worth. But just as she might be swallowed by the sound echoing through her memory, that voice was there, wading out to her.
"Can you show me?" He asked, the warm puff of his breath was close enough to reach out and touch her. "Please?" Only when his calloused hand gripped around hers did the teen lift her head, letting a steady breath ease from her aching lungs as she stepped back, counting her steps as she led Tim through her memories. Only the pulse of his reassuring hand seemed to root her to present.
"Right...here." She uttered, pushing him back into position until her hand could no longer reach him. For a long moment he didn't say a word. As if he knew she was wading through the smoke and the blood splatter they could no longer see.
"Alfred!"
At the sound of his name, the old man poked his head out of the kitchen, brow knitting as he caught the children of Wayne Manor standing so still in the entrance hall. "Of-of course, Master Tim." The man said, said, knocking the kitchen towel over his shoulder.
"Can you move Alfred to where Dr. Elliot was standing?" Again Delilah nodded, paying no mind to the old butler's wrinkled brow as the blank faced girl led him to that fateful spot on the floor.
"Now," Tim stated, the air sucking through his teeth as she faced him with that dead eyed gaze. She wasn't in front of them. Not really. "Can you move my arm just like the clown's was when he—" He couldn't even finish the request when her fingers latched onto his arm, but now the girl's brow was arching when she realized what was in his hand. A laser pointer.
"Alfred's about the Doctor's height, right?"
"Yeah. Pretty close."
"And this was where everyone was standing?"
"Yeah…" The girl whispered, watching the old Brit look down at his chest when that red dot appeared on his body.
"Then how in the clown manage to shoot him in the heart when this is barely clipping the bottom of Alfred's ribs?"
"The bullet—"
"Miss?"
"It should've hit the wall behind you…even if he had shot you."
Alfred's dark brows rose. "But it wasn't the wall that needed to be repaired, Miss Wayne."
"No. It was...that tile at your feet."
"Okay, Sam!" Turning about, Del could see the red line of another laser pointer streaking across room. But this line was hitting Alfred square in the chest, angling down to the tile at the man's feet. Sam was lying on the floor above them, her light peering through the banister railing.
"The Joker didn't kill Dr. Elliot. He couldn't have made the shot." Damian put in suddenly, rising from his seat on the stairs.
"Look at that." Tim mused. "We actually agree on something."
"A statistical probability that was bound to happen. Don't start getting ahead of yourself, Drake." The boy muttered, watching his sister pace across the foyer with her phone squashed between her ear and her shoulder.
"Call me. Immediately." The words were quick and sharp, like her meandering steps. "Alfred, have you heard from Dad at all?"
"Not in the last few hours, Madame." Pennyworth murmured, watching her stare down at the phone as if she were expecting it to come to life.
"He always ignores you." Damian said giving yawn as the girl redialed again. "I would too."
"Not when I call him back to back like this—" She started, her body shrinking with relief as the phone hummed in her hand. It was a part of their code. A way for him to know there was a problem. "Dad! You need to hear me out—"
"Hold it, Little Bit." She could've crumbled right there.
"Uncle Beau. I'm really sorry, but I have to—"
"I think you need to hear me out, Ma petite. I've been thinking about what you asked me. About your mama and the 'more than' thing? You know what it means."
"I do?" The girl paused, sucking up all the air her greedy lungs could take. "Uncle Beau I don't have time for games-"
"You should! She only said it to you every night."
She wasn't sure how many pieces her phone had become when it hit the floor. She just remembered tearing through the house, semi aware of the excited voices calling from behind her as she sprang for the darkness and those familiar squeaks and chirps. Her mother's voice was still whispering in her head when the girl leapt from the stairs and stumbled for the bat-computer. How much do I love you?
"More than all the stars, Mama. More than all the stars." The whispers came, breathy and automatic. Had her mother been grooming her with the right answer all this time? The thought put a sour taste in her mouth as she tore the chair out of her way, vaguely aware of the sound of feet following after her.
"Mom knew-that this could—would happen—she knew." One attempt left. Fingers shaking, the teen put them to the keyboard, unsure if the collective breath she heard was even her own as she slowly put in the string of letters. The enter key sank and everything went blank, throwing the cave into darkness.
"No-"
Access Granted.
"You look exhausted."
"That's a nice way of saying I look like crap." Delilah uttered, watching their breath flee to the sky in wispy clouds as they stumbled through the crusty snow. If it wasn't for Tim's hand weighing her to this world, her body could have floated away. Maybe that was just the lack of sleep playing tricks on her.
"Déjà vu."
At that her lips couldn't stop the small smirk. She wasn't too sure what Timothy Drake had planned when he roused her from her thinly veiled sleep and mountainous blanket in the bat cave, beckoning her beckoning her with a couple sets of skates. It didn't seem like the right time—but how could she say no?
"I only found the bat-mobile." Tim said suddenly, as if he knew where her thoughts were wandering off to. "You know that doesn't mean much."
"It's not unlike him to go off the grid—he does it all the time." Del murmured, fingers unwinding from Tim's gloved fingers as they both eased onto the frozen pond bank. "It's just…it's not like him to ignore me—ignore the code." She shook her head, relieving Tim's fingers from the weight of her skates. "Thank you for going out there and looking for him." She whispered, listening to his fingers still in the knots of his shoes.
"If I didn't, you would've tried—" He stopped and shook his head, ducking under the narrowing of those pale blue eyes. "The anti-venom is more important." He said quickly, holding up a hand before she decided to sock him. "It's your mother's documents—" He shrugged. "Demon child doesn't seem particularly worried."
"No." But he didn't know all the little ticks and mannerisms they shared either. "I wasn't either…not until…"
"Alfred called Clark." Tim put in, easing up on his blades, holding his hand out to the girl as her fingers fell from the knots of her skates. They both knew it was boy scout who sent Tim back. The question was, why?
"You hate this."
"You don't. And I-" He started, pulling the girl up. But he didn't expect her weight to come crashing into him. Hands panicking, he clutched her, mashing her warm breath into his neck as her blades dug into the ice. "I thought you could use a few minutes. No bats. No venom. A small break where you're not trying answer all the questions I know you've got running through your head." He said, aware that her fingers were slowly prying from his coat. "You just gotta promise to help me back up when I fall on my ass."
To that the girl grinned. "Sure. Right after I finish laughing at you." He would've rolled his eyes, he would have stared at the ice covered branches of the pines above their heads, listening to her teasing giggle spill out into the darkness—if her gloved fingers hadn't reached up to his cheek, pulling him down until her lips were caught between his.
"What is this?" She asked, when their lungs could no longer hold out, leaving them gasping for the thin icy air.
"It's called kissing last I checked." Tim teased, aware her lips were breaking into a smile against his mouth. "Alfred might call it snogging or something."
"No." The word was breath and threaded with a giggles. "What is this we're doing? Does it have any meaning to it?" For a split second she founder her fingers digging into the lapel of his coat, as if it might root him to the ice, as if it might keep him from running away. But when he pried her hands away, a weight she didn't know she had began sliding to her feet.
"Do you want it to mean something?" He asked suddenly, clutching her hands between them. She couldn't know…he couldn't let her know how hard his heart was hammering. He couldn't let her keep these slender cold fingers on his chest.
"I-"
"What are you two dorks doing?! Ooo!"
Hearing Sam's call, Delilah had no choice but to swallow the words as they both turned toward the car that had paused at the end of the drive. Even in the dark she could see the girl's devious grin. "Where are you running off to?"
"To grab Barb a fresh set of clothes and some real food. I'll link back through the computer and give Damian a hand as soon as I can."
"I'll come relieve her in a few hours."
"Wait, you're not going to Santa Prisca with Del?"
"And leave Dick unguarded? No way in Hell."
When Samantha only nodded, Del waved her off, watching the car slid through the gate, taillights slowly disappearing down the dark winding road. "You're the only person I trust with him—other than Barb." The girl uttered, closing her eyes as his lips brushed the top of her head.
"If you want me to go-"
"No, you're right. Someone has to be with him. He's always protected everyone else. Especially me." She said, feeling the breath catch when he pulled her further onto the ice.
"And I will. So let me take that burden." He whispered, paying no mind to the ice shavings that were skirting around their feet. "Now, c'mon, we've got ten minutes. Before Alfred will come looking for us."
He made it easy—easy to melt the thoughts that had all but seized every waking second she had to herself. He made it easy to laugh, spilling opaque clouds into the sky with only the stars and swaying trees to hear. By the time they slipped their way back into the house, they were soaked and shivering—frost bitten and flushed by a new wave of stubborn shyness.
"Do you want it to mean something?"
Why now? Why did his question haunt her now? Peeling away the wettest layer of her clothes, she could see that boy in the corner of her eye, the firelight dancing across his cheek as he pulled his damp sweatshirt over his head. She knew a great many things—she knew that a simple look at him had her heart running away. She knew that he had the kind of laugh that delighted her, when and if she could hear the scarce thing. She had his ear when she needed it and when she thought she'd have to wade through the trouble on her own, he was there. You already mean something to me I just don't know what that is. Love?
The thought only made her skin prickle. Who did love really worked out for? It didn't seem to stop Barb and Dick from breaking apart. What great example did she have? Her parents? They were romantic in their own way, letters and all. But what had love done for them? She could see its affects. She could see the way her mother's memory weighed on her father—the way it wounded him. If love wasn't so dangerous, why was it so hard for him to love his own child? Love was beautiful and the most painful way to injure someone else. I don't want to hurt you.
Shaking off the thoughts, Del eased herself to the floor, letting her head sink to Tim's shoulder as he pressed his back into the side of the couch. The last thing she could remember the feel of his chest rising beneath her cheek…
"Miss. Miss Wayne, you need to come with me."
It was Alfred's shaking that pried her away from the warm spot she'd hollowed out for herself in Tim's side. By the time she pried her eyes open, the den had changed. The fire had died to embers and the darkness was a paling gray. "Did Dad come home?" She asked, willing her jellied limbs up, aware that Tim was all coming awake.
"Just come with me."
The urgent whisper all but shook daze from her as she followed the man out to the foyer and up the stairs, unsure why the air was getting harder to grasp into her lungs. When he simply paused by the office door, Delilah pocked in her head, feeling her brow pinch as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. The office was in shambles, and there, ripping and tossing things from the safe, was her father.
"Where is it?! Where?!"
"Dad?"
She could see the ripple rolling through the man's broad back as her voice reached out to him, forcing him to ease out of the safe, and tilt that face toward her. The lips, the cheeks, the chin, the forehead-all the same. But his eyes. There was something about those eyes. They were blue, but they weren't the right shade.
"You okay?"
"Fine. I'm fine, Del." He said, chest collapsing as he loosened his breath and climbed to his feet.
"Don't forget, we have a flight today." She said, anxious to twist for the door, but surprised to see that face crumble with confusion. "You forgot." She sighed, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. "We're going to Santa Prisca today. Reginal competition? You promised."
"I did, didn't I? Sorry, Sweetheart, totally slipped my mind." He said, following her out to the landing. "Alfred, my coat, if you please."
"Of course, Master Bruce."
"You'll be back in time for the flight, right?" She asked, watching Tim pause at the bottom of the stairs.
"What time was it again?" Her father asked, sliding into the coat that Alfred had brought him.
"2pm."
"2pm. Got it. I'm just gonna run to the office. I'll be back in time." He assured her as he turned for the stairs, pausing to peck her on the cheek.
"Yeah, wouldn't want to miss out on the bikinis."
"Very funny."
"Tell me I'm wrong."
"Can't." He said, twisting around and flashing her a smile.
"Eww, whatever. 2pm! Love ya, you gross old man."
" 2pm. Love you too."
The second the shutting door echoed through the house, Del could feel her fingers digging into the banister, listening to the sound of a car door opening, closing and tearing down the driveway like a bat out of Hell.
"What the hell was that?"
"I don't know." Del hissed, as she all but flew down the stairs. "Dad's only called me sweetheart one time. Just one time. And he's never been able to just fling out a 'love you' like that. He can't. I don't know who that was, but that's not my dad."
"Damian! Damian wake up!"
His cheek was still numb from pressing it into his arm when he lifted his head, unsure what had that thing he called a sister buzzing around like a bat on crack.
"What's your major malfunction?" He groaned, stretching as he watched her snatch the suits from the cases. "I don't get it. Father's particular. Your mother was just aa thorough. What's your excuse?"
"Up! Now! Grab everything you have on the anti-venom. All of it! We have to put the cave on lockdown!" When the boy glowered at her, the sleep still crusted in his eyelashes, she paused. "Someone came into this house wearing our father's face. He'll be looking for this place next. We can't let that happen."
"What was he looking for in the safe?" Tim asked, as he hurriedly tossed supplies into an open duffel bag.
"I don't know. It doesn't make any sense." Delilah shot out. "Barb has supplies, and if Dick's apartment isn't compromised, we'll raid his stuff if we have to-" The words faltered, stilling the maddening clack of the keyboard as the girl froze by the table. There, sitting in that little glass box was that crudely made bird of stone. "Bane's favor. Son of a bitch. I'll have to see the man myself."
Hurling the glass box, Del scavenged the stone from the broken glass, and shoved the thing in her pocket. "And just how are you going to get to Bane?" Damian called, watching the girl turn and flee up the stairs with the dogs chasing after her.
"I have a way!" She cried tearing through the house, aware of the clack of claws that followed her as if the great chase was nothing more than a game. "Please be there, please. Please." She chanted, her feet aching as she flew threw her own hall only to crash into the bedroom door.
Stumbling over her bags and her dirty clothes she fumbled her way to her desk, ripping the upper drawer from the frame until her hand could fit on the inside. It had to be there! It just had to be! Surely her father hadn't found it yet. Finding a bit of duct tape, she ripped the burn phone free, paying no mind to the pair of wet noses that were crowding around her. "Please pick up. Please. Jase, please."
"How about another round?"
Jason all but slid his empty shot glass toward Bird. He wasn't sure what made him frown more, the fact that this was shot seven, (Or was it eight?) Or the fact that something in his pocket was vibrating, but it wasn't his normal phone. Now wasn't that sobering? "I have to take this. Sorry, guys." He uttered setting down his cards as he shoved himself back from the table. "Or she'll be mad as fuck."
"Let her be mad," The old man said, taking a puff of his cigar as they watched the young man work himself out of his chair. "We're in the middle of a game here."
"Not someone like her. She's a good girl."
"Someone's got his balls in a vice grip."
"Leave him be. Go answer your damn phone." Bird snapped. "Besides, good girls are the worst ones to piss off."
He could still hear them bantering and bitching over the clicking of chips as he slid into the empty bar, fingers fumbling on the tiny buttons. "Talk."
"Jase, I need help. Something's wrong. I need you."
AN: This one took forever, I know, sorry! I had to rewrite this one twice. It took a while. There's plenty of Damian snark to go around. There's a few juicy revelations as well. This should answer a few questions about Gigi and Ra's relationship, as well as why Delilah is so unsure about the concept of love and relationships herself. Next Chapter - Bane
