A/N: I own nothing you recognize.
Content warning, I think? There is a point when Lark is in a fight she cannot win, but nothing super explicit.
6.1 - Rise of the Coalition
Location: The Batcave, beneath Wayne Manor
Date: Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Time: 0322 EDT
The trio of Gotham heroes stepped out of the Zeta-Tube, having wrapped up a mission debrief with the Team regarding the safety of Dr. Roquette and the status of the Fog. Robin made a beeline for the changing room, stifling a wide yawn, and Lark trudged more slowly after him, stepping into her designated changing area and ready to call it a night.
She removed her cape, unclasped her utility belt and thigh holsters, and stepped out of her boots. Once her mask was removed and the front zipper of her one-piece uniform unzipped, she peeled it off her arms and then down her legs, kicking aside the bundle of material.
Naomi raised her arms to strip off her sports bra, but a slight sting on her ribs halted her movements. Turning to the full-length mirror, she twisted slightly to get a clear look for the first time at the claw marks White Tiger had left.
They were already clotted, though when she touched her finger to one of the puncture wounds, it came back slightly red as they were aggravated due to her excessive motions. They were shallow, thankfully, though Naomi had a feeling if she had been wearing street clothes, it might have been a different story.
Wondering how anything might have pierced her suit's special armored weave, she stooped to retrieve the claw that had been left behind from White Tiger's glove. She carefully removed the claw from her utility belt with a bit of tissue on the off chance there was any physical evidence that could be gleaned from its surface. A cursory glance revealed nothing special, but perhaps there was something a microscope could pick up. Setting it aside, Naomi finally divested herself of her undergarments and stepped under the hot water.
She emerged from the changing room the same time as Dick, and together they carried their dirty uniforms to the laundry basket and set the rest of their accessories on their designated hooks. Dick started heading for the elevator but paused when he saw Naomi wasn't with him.
Instead, she walked past Bruce—who was seated, as usual, at the Batcomputer—and toward the Science Station.
"What's that?" Dick asked, his head tilted in confusion.
"A possible lead," she said as she set the claw beneath the microscope, which then appeared magnified on the large screen in front of her.
Exhaustion forgotten, Dick bounded up the steps to the Science Station to hover over Naomi's shoulder. Bruce joined them more slowly, coming to a stop on Naomi's other side. While she observed the claw through the microscope as she slowly began to rotate it, Bruce and Dick watched on the screen.
"What exactly is this?" Bruce asked once Naomi had done a complete rotation of the claw.
"It's from White Tiger's glove," she said, leaning back in the chair and shifting her attention to the large screen.
"Whoa, how'd you get it?"
"It got caught in my uniform," she answered without looking at Dick, knowing that as good as her poker face was, the Manor residents always seemed to see straight through her. (Though, to be fair, she could do the same to them.)
Bruce, of course, noticed what Naomi wasn't saying immediately, and his eyes narrowed slightly. "Where were you injured?"
Naomi rolled her eyes. "It's no big deal," she said. "Already checked it out while I was showering. The thing's obviously not poisoned since I'm fine. No need to worry."
"Let Alfred be the judge of that," Bruce said firmly. The butler-medic was there in an instant, and Naomi groaned but hopped onto the table beside the microscope. She lifted her oversized shirt, careful to keep her rather small and unimpressive bust covered, and leaned back slightly to let Alfred examine the four puncture marks on her ribs.
After a quick check, Alfred nodded. "You're all set, Miss Naomi. They look clean and since you have no trouble moving, they don't appear to be deep."
"See?" she snarked, letting her shirt drop and lifting an eyebrow at Bruce.
He held up his hands in surrender, but still said, "You can't fault me for being cautious."
Naomi rolled her eyes but huffed and stood from the table. "All that to acquire something of White Tiger's, and there's not a hint of anything useful."
"We know what it's made of," Bruce countered. "And it explains why it was able to penetrate the Kevlar weave."
"Tungsten?" Dick deduced.
"Okay, but we could have figured that out regardless of if we got our hands on it," Naomi said with another eyeroll.
"Don't be so negative, Mimi," Dick said chipperly, grinning widely at her scowl. "You never know what we might find. Fingerprints, maybe?"
"I've been careful not to touch it directly," she nodded. "I guess we could check to see if there's any trace of something helpful."
"All of which can be done first thing in the morning," Alfred interjected when it appeared that all three heroes were about to pounce on the claw. Dick and Naomi didn't need to be prompted twice to head upstairs, but it took a very stern and pointed look from the butler to get Bruce to budge.
Pleased that all his charges were actually listening for a change, Alfred allowed himself a small, self-indulgent smile before he followed them upstairs.
Location: Infinity Island, Headquarters of the League of Shadows
Date: Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Time: 0522 ECT
"Tiger, wake up. We're here."
He was aware; he had never fallen asleep. Too much had been weighing on his mind. But he opened his eyes slowly all the same to find Cheshire staring down at him. She was without her mask and her sharp cat eyes were narrowed.
"You held back," she muttered accusingly as he got to his feet.
He didn't give any indication that what she said bothered him, his movements languid as he stretched. He pulled off his own mask to look Cheshire in the eyes as he leaned down and whispered, "And what about you, hmm? There was something going on between you and that blonde archer."
Cheshire's poker face was nearly as good as White Tiger's, but he saw the slight tick in her jaw, and he smirked as he brushed past her.
"This isn't over," Cheshire hissed after him, and he just lifted a hand to wave over his shoulder without bothering to look at her.
Sensei was waiting for the four of them—Cheshire, White Tiger, Hook, and Black Spider—and they bowed in greeting before following after him as he wordlessly led them inside the compound. They filed into the mission room, and while Cheshire led the debriefing, White Tiger remained silent.
They were dismissed, and as per usual after missions, they were given relative free rein with their time, allowed to sleep or train or really whatever they wanted. Hook was headed for the kitchen, Black Spider walked in the direction of the living quarters, and Cheshire's destination was the training hall.
White Tiger made a beeline for the Science Division.
Despite the age of Rā's al Ghūl, the man was dedicated to understanding the world around him, everything from the arts to magic to science. After all, he wouldn't have bothered to abduct Doctor Serling Roquette if he had no use for her expertise in nanorobotics.
When he entered the main lab, he waved down a Shadow. "Can I have your absolute discretion?" White Tiger asked in a low voice as soon as the Shadow reached him.
"From the League of Shadows? Of course. From the Great One—"
"Right, of course," White Tiger muttered under his breath; of course Rā's al Ghūl would keep tabs on everything that happened on Infinity Island. He huffed out a sigh and held out his glove, the one stained with Lark's blood. "I need you to run a DNA test on this."
The Shadow took it, careful not to touch the blood. "And what exactly am I looking for?" she asked.
"I need to know if there's a familial match."
"And do you have a comparison sample for me to test?"
In response, White Tiger pulled the other glove out of the belt around his waist. He extended one claw and slashed the pad of his index finger.
The Shadow's eyes widened at what White Tiger was implying and she quickly scrambled for a test tube to collect his blood. "I'll get right on this," she said. "But I make no promises; it might be difficult to extract the blood from this glove."
"Just do the best you can."
Location: The Batcave, beneath Wayne Manor
Date: Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Time: 1746 EDT
Bee-beep! Bee-beep!
The residents of Wayne Manor stopped what they were doing to turn to the Batcomputer, whose emergency alarm had caught all their attention. Naomi and Dick stepped off the training mat to stand on either side of Bruce at the computer while Alfred stood behind them.
"What triggered it?" Naomi asked.
Among many things the Batcomputer was capable of, flagging suspicious behavior was one. The beauty of the coding also meant it could track not only individual movement but compile those suspicious movements to form a bigger picture. Of course, like all programming, some things were missed and others exaggerated. But it had proven useful before, and Naomi had to admit those were often the most exhilarating busts.
"Looks like a last-minute shipment," Bruce said as he pulled up the files that the computer had put together. "A cargo ship was rerouted and made an unscheduled stop at a port favored by animal smugglers."
Naomi's lip curled in disgust. "Let's get these bastards," she all but growled. "When are they due in Gotham?"
"Pulled into port about an hour ago," Bruce read from the shipping schedule. When she glanced at the clock, she grumbled; they'd have to wait until at least midnight for a bust, because no self-respecting criminal organization moved their contraband in the daytime.
"Do we know who's behind this?" Dick asked.
"New player in Gotham, it would seem," Bruce said with his own growl. "An organization called the Coalition of Four."
Naomi and Dick shared a look, trying to recall all they knew about this Coalition of Four. It turned out, their knowledge was surprisingly lacking.
"A criminal organization in China that dates back centuries," Bruce filled in for them. "Most active throughout Asia, with a prominent presence in Australia and the west coast of the United States."
He initiated a deep-search for anything related to this Coalition of Four, and after a few minutes, as results began to pile up, Bruce read out some of the highlights.
The organization dated back centuries, its estimated foundation older than even Rā's al Ghūl. As its name suggested, it was originally founded by four families, each with their own organizations, who decided they could amass greater power and resources if they banded together. The four heads of the families used to rule together as a council, but it eventually became a power struggle.
As the generations went on, the strength of the individual families began to falter, and finally, in the 1880s, one family declared themselves sole leader of the coalition. The head of the family took on the mantle Jade Emperor, and that title had passed down through the generations.
There was very little on the Jade Emperor as an individual, with no way even to know for sure how long the current leader had had the title. Each emperor was consulted by an inner circle, and there was a hierarchy of enforcers.
Naomi's eyes widened at the name: Tigers. What was more, the highest-ranked enforcers were dubbed White Tigers. She wasn't the only one who recognized the name.
"White Tiger?!" Dick exclaimed with wide eyes.
"He's working with the Shadows, though," Naomi pointed out, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
"Coincidence?" Dick asked, though by his tone, he knew what Bruce's answer was going to be.
"I don't believe in coincidence."
"But that would mean the Jade Emperor and Rā's al Ghūl are working together," Naomi said, "and since when has Rā's ever worked with anyone?"
Silence settled over the Batcave as its inhabitants pondered that.
Another thought came to Dick, and he asked, "Wait, so is this their first push on the east coast? Or have we had run-ins with them and not known it?"
"This seems to be their first real push," Bruce said, skimming over more articles, documents, and files. "They've cemented themselves as one of the largest players in the west, so it seems they've decided it's time to try their luck out here."
"Seem's odd they'd wait this long to get in the game here," Naomi voiced. "There are plenty of triads and gangs with ties to Asia who have flourished all along the east coast for the past century, at least."
It was an observation that Bruce and Dick had made, as well, but there was only so much any of them could speculate, so they simply nodded and hummed in agreement.
"What do they deal in?" she asked next.
"Arms and drugs, mostly. Prostitution, but with a strict no-minors policy, which makes them not as...popular as some other organizations."
"Oh, look, they have morals," Dick muttered sarcastically.
"You said this alert was put out because of an unscheduled stop at an animal smuggling port?" Naomi asked.
"Yes, which is the strange thing," Bruce admitted, his brow furrowing. "They have no history of animal smuggling or poaching."
"Maybe they're expanding?" Dick suggested.
"But why the sudden interest in the trade?" Naomi countered. After a beat, she huffed out, "This whole thing doesn't make any sense."
"I agree, the timing is odd, but we'll give it a look anyway. Maybe one of the smugglers can provide us with answers."
"Come on, Dickie," Naomi said, turning away from the computer. "We have hours to kill before we leave for the harbor, and I need to burn off some extra energy."
"Don't work yourselves too hard, young masters," Alfred requested, speaking for the first time since the alert had sounded. "I would hate to see you tire in the field and then have to patch up injuries that could have been avoided entirely."
"No promises!" the wards called back simultaneously, which just earned a quiet sigh from the butler.
They arrived at the docks just after midnight. They weren't expecting the cargo to still be on the ship, since it was protocol to unload all goods and store them in warehouses if they were not scheduled to be picked up within a couple hours.
"Lark, do a sweep of the port. Robin, head to the main office and check the surveillance video for any unusual activity in the hours since the ship docked. Rendezvous at the warehouse our target cargo was stored in, fifteen minutes."
The two birds nodded at their assignments and took off while Batman headed for the ship itself.
The docks were unusually quiet. With crime being as bad as it was in Gotham, in addition to harbor patrols and dock security, many crime outfits kept a handful of goons around to protect whatever interests they had. Typically, it was easy to determine who had product coming in because there would be an uptick in that group's activity. For the most part, though, as long as everyone kept their noses to themselves, the docks were pretty neutral territory.
But as Lark moved along the dock, she ran into the minimum security, both official and not. This Coalition of Four must have offered a pretty penny to keep their rivals and possibly even the police as far from the port as possible.
Lark was just getting ready to radio in and inform her partners there was no unusual activity at the moment when three moving figures caught her attention. She quickly slipped into the shadows, positioning herself so she could get a better look at them as they passed under light.
As they drew closer, her ear twitched at the familiar tones of Mandarin. They were still speaking too lowly for her to hear exactly what they were discussing, but they were all male, roughly mid-to-late twenties, and only one of them sounded like a native Mandarin speaker, though Lark could tell the other two spoke it regularly.
When they finally passed by her, she got a clear look at their clothes for the first time. Like any good goon, their outfits were dark, but unlike most dock thugs, it was clear they had been issued a uniform.
They were dressed head to toe in black and if Lark hadn't known better, she would have thought they were dressed like ninjas. But they were slightly more armored than your average ninja, with thin padding on their torsos and outer thighs.
Each was also armed differently, presumably with their favored weapons: one had a jian strapped to his back, one had two long-bladed knives strapped to his thighs, and one had a whip coiled at his waist.
But several details jumped to the front of her attention as they became illuminated by the flickering exterior warehouse lights.
The frist was that each had the outline of a paw print stitched into the left sleeves of their shirts in jade green thread.
The second was that, contrary to first impressions, their black clothes were not plain, but in fact had a very faint stripe design in a lighter hue of black.
And third, their masks covered their foreheads, over their eyes, and down their noses in matching black, and if Lark was not mistaken, they resembled that of a tiger's face.
The lowest rung of the Coalition of Four's enforcement body. The Black Tigers.
"Wrapping up in the office now." Robin's voice was loud in the otherwise quiet evening, and Lark barely managed to not jump in alarm. "After reviewing the footage, it looks like the crates from The Jungle King were unloaded in Warehouse Ten, and no one suspicious has gone near it since."
"Understood," Batman replied. "Make your way there now. I'm on my way. Lark, report."
Lark held her breath until the three Tigers had turned the corner, and then whispered, "Just spotted our queries. It looks like they're heading toward Warehouse Ten."
"Robin and I are on our way. Wait for us on the roof."
She confirmed his instruction and began to slink her way toward the target building. She reached the warehouse first and grappled to the roof, where she crept around the perimeter to check out the scene below.
There were two large garage doors, each on opposite sides of the building, and two Tigers were stationed at each door. Each wore the same garb as the three Lark had spotted earlier, and each was armed. Tip-toeing her way to the large skylight in the middle of the roof, she peered into the warehouse.
More Tigers loitered below. The majority of their forces were stationed around their cargo, but they were smart and had others patrolling the warehouse floor, always in pairs. After watching for a few minutes, she found the pattern in their rotations, and she made a note of them to share with her partners.
She glanced around, a little surprised it was taking them so long to rendezvous. The comms were still open, and there hadn't been a warning or any other indication either of them had run into trouble.
Lark wouldn't have admitted it to anyone, but she was getting a little nervous. She pinched her bottom lip between her teeth as she contemplated her next move. She was grossly outnumbered, so busting the Tigers by herself was absolutely out of the question. But maybe she could gather some more intel.
From her utility belt, she pulled out a small microphone on a long wire and her tiny diamond-tipped glass cutter. There was a suction cup on one end, which she stuck to the glass of the skylight. Setting the diamond tip against the glass, Lark applied gentle pressure and dragged it in a circle around the suction. Once she had cut through the glass, she carefully extracted the perfect circle from the surrounding glass and then dropped the microphone into the hole.
She hooked the cable up to her holocomputer, which would play the audio into her comm, and then slowly lowered the mic until the chatter below began to become discernible. Three Tigers were conversing in low tones in Mandarin, and they seemed to be as bored as Lark was nervous.
{How much longer do we have to wait?} one of the men asked.
{You heard the boss,} his partner, a woman, scolded. {We wait as long as we need to.}
The third Tiger, a male older than both his partners judging by his voice, grunted. {We're just waiting on the girl, now. Patrols reported just now they've managed to subdue the others.}
Lark's eyes widened. Batman and Robin were down? There were more patrols than Lark had spotted? Was this her fault? Had she not been as vigilant as she should have been? What had she missed?
She took a deep breath to calm her spiraling thoughts. That won't help me now, she scolded herself firmly. Calm down and think.
She returned her attention to the chatter below, which was almost drowned out by a sudden flurry of activity.
{She's been spotted! The camera's picked her up!}
Too late, Lark realized they were talking about her. She yanked back the microphone and unceremoniously shoved it back in her utility belt. She sprang to her feet and spun around, only to find herself face-to-face with three Tigers. Two were dressed in all black, just like the ones Lark had spotted on the ground, but the middle Tiger's coloring was different. Instead of a black mask and stripes, his were dark red, though the paw print on his left sleeve was done in the same style.
She quickly took a fighting stance, and the two Black Tigers immediately followed suit. The Red Tiger didn't budge, simply tilted his head as he studied Lark. After a moment, he nodded his head, and the two Tigers flanking him went on the attack.
Lark dodged a vicious downward swipe of a katana, then ducked into a roll between the two Black Tigers. She popped back to her feet and took off, trying to radio Batman and Robin.
"Does anyone copy? I'm at Warehouse Ten and—"
She yelped when something suddenly snagged her cape, halting her progress to the edge of the building. Someone kicked her feet from under her, and Lark landed on her tailbone. Looking over her shoulder, she saw one of the Black Tigers had caught her cape with his hook sword and was now hauling Lark toward him.
She clawed at the snaps that attached her cape to her uniform, trying desperately to free herself. A sheathed katana came down across her stomach, and Lark grunted, curling reflexively at the blossom of warmth that began to spread. Before she could attempt to detach her cape again, a hand closed around her throat and then lifted her in one smooth motion. It was over almost before Lark even had time to register what happened, and she suddenly found herself pinned to the glass skylight.
She heard the glass begin to fracture beneath the combination of her weight being thrown against it and the force being exerted by the Tiger holding her down. He moved his hand from her throat and was now holding her down by the upper arms, restricting her movements.
{Her belt,} the Red Tiger commanded calmly, and the second Black Tiger managed to unsnap Lark's utility belt even as she twisted and kicked, trying to dislodge the Tiger above her. She didn't even have time to panic at her predicament—outmatched and now without her trusty utility belt—before the Red Tiger strode forward, unsheathed his sword, and brought the pommel down, hard...on the glass beside Lark's head.
The cracking glass gave way, sending Lark tumbling into the warehouse. Before she could right herself mid-fall, she crashed into a shipping crate and she cried out in pain, the sharp edge of the large metal container no doubt leaving its mark along her spine.
The impact did slow her fall somewhat, and she had enough wits about her to grab the edge of a catwalk. Recalling every trapeze lesson Dick had ever taught her, she managed to redirect her falling weight to swing under and then onto the catwalk platform.
She landed with a heavy clang on the catwalk, her arms shaky and vaguely numb from the effort. Lark lay still for a moment, steadying her breathing. Below her, shouts were starting to permeate the haze around her brain, and she used the commotion to drag herself out of her fuzzy brain.
Somewhere in front of her, Lark heard three set of feet land soundly on the catwalk, the vibrations sending buzzy tingles through her limbs. She lifted her head and saw that her friends from the roof had joined her. She ground her teeth and pushed herself to her feet.
In the close quarters of the narrow catwalk, long-ranged weapons would be a burden more than a benefit, so Lark decided against pulling out her jō staff, and she decided to keep her kunais as a last resort. Shaking off the last of the numbness in her arms, she took up a fighting stance.
The first Black Tiger charged. He was fast, faster than the average low-level thug, and Lark only succeeded in blocking the first swipe of his knife before an upper slash caught her by surprise. She barely managed to jerk back, but the tip of the blade still caught the front of her uniform, leaving a gash in the material and a nick on her collarbone.
A knee came up in the middle of her back, catching the bruise from her fall, and she grunted in surprise and pain, twisting around to face the new assailant. The Tiger with the knife came bearing down on her, his blade aimed for her shoulder, and with a little twisting, she caught his knife-wielding wrist while evading a kick in the stomach from the Tiger in front of her.
Dropping low, Lark pulled the Tiger over her shoulder and onto the catwalk. He grunted softly at the impact, and the second Tiger flipped over them to land behind Lark. She whirled around, still crouched low, and when the Tiger brought her leg down toward Lark's shoulder, the bird braced for the impact and, ignoring the rattle it sent down her arm, stood, her wrist clamped down on the Tiger's ankle. She flailed in surprise before she landed on her back, the breath escaping her lungs in a rush.
Lark suddenly found herself flat on her back, the back of her head and her tailbone aching again from the impact of her fall. There was a slight strain on her shoulders, and she figured she had been yanked to her back by her cape. She finally managed to unsnap it from her uniform and rolled before the fist could make contact with her nose.
A foot came down on her ribs, though, not hard enough to break or even crack, but certainly enough to bruise. Fingers threaded through her hair and hauled her to her feet. Lark's arm was twisted behind her back and her head craned back at the position.
{Let's see what you can do,} the Tiger in front of her said. She tossed something in Lark's direction, a small pellet, which exploded when it came close to Lark's face. On instinct, the young hero jerked back, which only exasperated the position her arm was in and she grunted at the strain on her shoulder.
The pellet, it turned out, contained some sort of ink because it blinded Lark's mask. Her arm was released, and she rubbed at the substance in vain. The blackness faded only the slightest, and before she could try again, she was prodded forward by the tip of a blade.
Lark was led blindly to the warehouse floor. Her vision was still mostly obscured, the black lingering and reducing her world to vague shapes and outlines. She could tell that she was being led to a space clear of shipping crates, and that Tigers were drifting toward her, but she couldn't tell exactly how big their arena was, nor could she get a definite head count.
The next few minutes were a blur of confusion, pain, and then anger. It boiled hot in the center of her chest, and spread throughout her body, warming her limbs and rendering all the nicks, cuts, and bruises distant memories.
She was being played with, she realized as her vision began to grow dark. She was surrounded on all sides, and no one was fighting her. Blades of all sorts were nipping her skin, somehow piercing her uniform. Punches and kicks were coming from all sides, but they weren't like the punches and kicks in a bar fight. Instead of heavy and constant, they were quick and sharp. They were targeted, aimed at already-tender spots. This whole thing…it had been orchestrated and ordered from up high.
There was a crack of a whip, and Lark cried out in pain, possibly even screamed, as she went down to one knee. She braced a fist on the cold cement floor, her eyes screwed shut against the flames of pain that radiated from her thigh, where the whip had lashed. Her eyes flew open again when the flat of a sword blade cracked down across her back. The whites of her mask narrowed and her vision went black.
The next thing she knew, Lark was collapsed on the warehouse floor. She blinked sluggishly, scowling when she saw the black inky substance was still mostly obscuring her vision. Somewhere in the distance, she thought she heard her name being called, but the sound was muffled, like she was underwater. She slowly pushed herself into a seated position and then took in her surroundings, trying to make sense how she had gotten there.
Black Tigers were strewn across the floor or leaning against shipping containers, looking stunned and shaken but otherwise unharmed. The long metal containers in her immediate vicinity were no longer lined up in neat rows. Instead, it looked like a powerful force had shoved them across the floor despite the large rubber pads that were supposed to prevent unwanted slipping.
By the time Batman and Robin finally came into view, Lark had pushed herself to her feet. She took a step toward them only for her to stumble as pain like she had never experienced rushed to the front of her awareness.
With a wince, she became aware of just how injured she was as the last of the fog around her brain disappeared. She swayed a little on her feet and Robin reached her in time to brace her before she could collapse.
"Are you okay?" he cried out, the whites of his mask wide as his eyes swept over her body, taking in all the blood and tears in her uniform. "What happened?"
Batman remained stoic as he observed the scene around him. He noticed that the Tigers appeared to have been flung back uniformly, as if struck by the same force simultaneously. The containers, too, bore evidence of a single strike, and as he turned in a slow circle, his eyes widened slightly when he realized Lark was standing in the center of a perfect ring.
Lark moistened her dry mouth the best she could, only to croak out, "I-I don't know. It's a-all a bl-blur."
"Robin, will you be able to access the security footage from the Batcave?"
"Not for the interior cameras," Robin admitted.
"Then do what you have to in order to download the footage, then meet us at the car." The young bird nodded. To Lark, Batman asked, "Can you walk."
Gritting her teeth, she nodded; she refused to be carried out like a damsel in distress. Batman looked skeptical but fell into step beside Lark as she started limping her way out of the warehouse.
The Batmobile was sitting just outside, and Lark wondered when Batman had pulled it around, but she was grateful she didn't have to trek all the way to the entrance of the docks. The top slid open and she collapsed heavily in the front seat. Robin appeared a moment later, and Batman floored it.
Lark's eyes drooped as exhaustion washed over her. Every part of her felt fatigued, and when they finally reached the Batcave, it took a great deal of effort for her to move her heavy limbs.
Alfred opened the car door for her, and she mumbled, "I forget the Batmobile has doors." With his help, Lark swung her legs out of the car, and then leaned heavily on Batman once he had rounded the hood.
"I have called Dr. Thompkins; she should be here presently."
"Thank you, Alfred."
"What about you and Rob?" Naomi asked sleepily as she got situated on a cot. "Don't you two need medical attention?"
"Nowhere near as much as you, Nomi," Dick said from where he sat on the other cot.
"Alfred? Bruce?"
Leslie Thompkins came down the steps, her medical bag in hand.
"Will you please assess Naomi?" Bruce asked immediately. "The injuries that I can see don't match her level of fatigue; I'm worried I might have missed something."
"Of course, Bruce." Leslie stepped up to Naomi's cot and drew the curtains around the frame. To the girl, she asked gently, "How are you feeling? Where's the pain?"
"Everywhere," Naomi admitted as she started divesting herself of her uniform.
Leslie watched with critical eyes. She clocked every wince and hesitation as Naomi moved and made note of every injury as it was revealed. She made sure to keep her expression neutral, but inside, she was horrified by what she saw. When Naomi was down to her underwear and sports bra, she let out a soft grunt when she tried to peel off the bra.
"Can you get the scissors?" she asked Leslie. "These things are a pain on a good day."
"Of course, dear." Leslie ducked out of the curtain and came back a moment later with a pair of heavy-duty scissors, which made quick work of the confining material. She passed Naomi a cloth to cover her chest, and once she nodded, Leslie opened the curtain.
"Oh my god, Nomi!" Dick exclaimed when he saw the bruises that were developing all over her torso and back, and all the little slashes and nicks along her arms and legs.
"Full scan, now," Bruce ordered, his own eyes widening at the extent of her injuries. "We need to rule out internal bleeding."
With Leslie's help, Naomi stretched out on the cot again, and Bruce brought the scanner around. It started at her head and moved down to her toes, the scan appearing on the computer screen above the cot.
While the adults consulted the scan, Dick pulled up a chair next to Naomi's cot. "How do you feel?" he asked as he took one of her hands.
She huffed out a laugh, which made the pain along her ribs flare up, and she winced slightly. "Just peachy."
"You look like a bruised peach," Dick nodded in agreement, which got an eyeroll from Naomi and another painful chuckle.
"The good news," Leslie announced, "is you show no signs of internal bleeding." Dick let out an audible sigh of relief.
"What's the bad news?" Naomi asked.
"Based on the bruising, I'd say it will be a week at the minimum before you're fit for duty."
Naomi pouted, but honestly, she was too exhausted, and everything hurt too much to put up much of a fight; she wasn't sure how Bruce powered through night after night.
"More good news, though, is all of your wounds are superficial and won't need more than a disinfection."
Naomi nodded even as Bruce asked, "What about her thigh?"
"Oh, yeah, I forgot about that," she muttered, flexing the muscle in question almost as a reflex. It was definitely one of the more painful of the injuries she had sustained, but given how battered and bruised the rest of her body was, it had faded into the background once she had stopped moving.
"Just a welt," Leslie assured. "An ugly one, but skin wasn't broken. It looks a little swollen, but that could simply be due to the nature of the weapon." All eyes turned curiously to Naomi.
"A whip," she supplied.
The doctor nodded. "Nothing special for that," she confirmed. "But if it stays this red and inflamed for more than a day or two, give me a call and I'll drop by." She got to work disinfecting all of Naomi's wounds, and silence settled over the Batcave as Alfred started tending to Bruce and Dick, who had indeed fared much better than Naomi.
"Thank you, Leslie," Naomi said with a small smile once Leslie set aside the bloodied cotton swabs, and the older woman placed a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder. She pulled the curtain closed around Naomi again so she could put on her sleeping clothes, this time a baggy long-sleeved shirt and thin cotton pants rather than her usual oversized t-shirt.
With nearly every inch of her bandaged or wrapped, Naomi felt unusually self-conscious of her state. She had never been so badly beaten in a fight, and the sight of the bandages felt like an ugly reminder of her defeat, even more so than the pain that settled deep in her bones.
Bruce thanked the doctor once Leslie drew back the curtains, and Alfred escorted her up to the Manor and then to the front door.
"Can I sleep in my bed tonight?" Naomi asked. "Or am I confined to the cot?"
"How mobile are you?"
She shrugged. "Enough."
"And your leg?" Bruce glanced at her covered leg and Naomi winced. He nodded and said, "Let me see if I can find a crutch the right height." When he couldn't find anything in the Batcave, he gestured for Naomi to wait another minute while he checked the Manor.
Dick settled into the chair beside her cot once more, and she sifted a little from her reclined position. "So I texted Roy," he said out of nowhere, and Naomi would have shot upright if it hadn't pained her so much.
"You what?" she exclaimed. "Why?"
"Because I figured you wouldn't want to worry him," he shrugged, though his smile turned a little smirkish as he added, "and it seemed like something he'd like to know."
"Completely unnecessary," Naomi said, shaking her head. Dick just shrugged and they fell into companionable silence.
Alfred came down a few minutes later with a crutch the correct height for Naomi in hand. With Dick's help, she carefully dragged her legs over the side of the cot before using the crutch to stand on her feet.
It was slow going, and by the time she, Dick, and Alfred had finally made it to the Manor, Naomi was exhausted and covered in a thin layer of sweat. She had a feeling she was still on her feet only because of the pain meds Leslie had given her before her departure.
The trio reached the stairs and Naomi groaned. "I can't believe all of the renovations to the Manor over the years never included an elevator."
"I can help with that."
Naomi couldn't whirl around because of her crutch, but her head did swing around, even as she winced at the dull throb that started in the muscles in her neck.
Roy was stepping around Bruce, and based on the older man's expression, the redhead was clearly not obeying orders.
He made sure Naomi was steady on her two feet before handing the crutch to Dick, and then in one smooth motion, Roy had Naomi swept up in his arms and he was starting up the stairs.
"Roy, this is really unnecessary," she rambled, ignoring Dick's teasing grin and Alfred's slightly quirked eyebrow. "I can just sleep downstairs. And you know Dick, he'll make it some sort of sleepover, with elaborate forts and lots of pillows and blankets and snacks and—"
"I always find I recover the quickest when I get to sleep in my own bed," Roy said simply. His smile was warm, but the tension around his eyes spoke volumes about his worry, and Naomi sighed and said nothing else as he climbed the two flights of stairs to her room.
Roy pushed open her bedroom door with his toe and crossed her room to her bed. He carefully set her on her feet, and while she sat at the small chaise lounge at the end, the redhead pulled back the covers of her bed.
Dick slipped in and propped the crutch beside Naomi. He leaned against one of the posts that made up the canopy above her bed and grinned as Roy fussed with the pillows. Naomi poked him in the ribs.
Once all the layers on Naomi's bed had been pulled back, Roy returned to Naomi's side. He offered her a hand, and with his help, she hobbled over to the bed. She carefully situated herself and then dragged the covers over her legs.
When she looked up again, she saw four sets of eyes on her. "Uh…"
"Would you like anything else, Miss Naomi?" Alfred asked from the doorway.
"My phone and laptop?"
The butler nodded and disappeared down the hall.
"Naomi, it's late, and I'm sure you're exhausted," Bruce said, stepping into her room. He was out of his uniform, but his glower was no less dark. Roy cleared his throat, wilting slightly under the intensity of it.
"Bruce—"
"No." He cut Naomi off sharply, his narrowed eyes relaxing as they turned worried. "Look, you can have people over tomorrow, after you've had a good night's rest. You were…" He trailed off with a wince that was echoed by Dick. Naomi sighed.
Beaten, is what Bruce was omitting. Beaten up, more specifically. The beating was made crueler when considering it could have been a whole lot worse, because why would they hold back unless it was a statement?
Dick plopped down on Naomi's bed and wiggled closer. Naomi looped her arm through his and he took that as an invitation to rest his head on her shoulder.
"Dick, I expect you to sleep in your own bed tonight," Bruce said, his tone firm but his expression soft as he gazed at his two wards. The raven-haired teen nodded against Naomi's shoulder, his eyes already closed.
Alfred slipped in with Naomi's phone and laptop, as requested, and Bruce took them from the butler and strode to Naomi's side. He set them carefully on her bedside table and then leaned down, placing a quick kiss on the top of her head. She startled a little at the unusual show of affection but smiled up at him. He gave her shoulder a brief squeeze before turning and pausing in front of Roy, who had remained at the foot of her bed.
Bruce clamped a hand on Roy's shoulder. He leveled the young man with a stern look and then jerked his head toward the hallway. Roy gulped but nodded. He paused long enough to pat Naomi's foot over the blankets and then followed Bruce out of her room.
The door was closed gently, and Roy opened his mouth to speak but Bruce motioned him further down the hall. Once they were a few doors away, Bruce said, "I appreciate you being here for Naomi, but next time, please wait until morning to stop by."
"I would think you'd want Naomi to have all the support she could get."
"Of course I do," Bruce huffed. "But it's late, and this is a family matter. I don't need or want people thinking they can drop by unannounced at all hours."
"Dick invited me."
"Then I'll have a talk with Dick," Bruce said, meeting Roy's scowl levelly. "In the meantime, it's late," he repeated. "You'd better get going."
Roy glared at Bruce for a beat longer before turning on his heel and marching down the stairs.
"You were a little harsh, don't you think?"
Bruce turned to find Dick standing behind him. "How's your sister?" he asked.
"Sleeping now," Dick said, rolling his eyes at Bruce's evasiveness. "About Roy—"
"I wish you had let me know he was coming over," Bruce interrupted. "I'm glad he was here for Naomi, but couldn't it have waited until morning?"
"I'll keep that in mind," Dick nodded, though both he and Bruce knew that was a lie. Bruce sighed and shook his head a little.
"Get some sleep, Dick," the older man said. "We'll discuss everything in the morning."
Dick wondered what constituted everything, but he just nodded again and headed for his room.
Location: Wayne Manor, Gotham City
Date: Thursday, August 12, 2010
Time: 1054 EDT
When Naomi finally came down to the kitchen, she found not only Bruce, Alfred, and Dick, but Roy also seated at the island.
As soon as the archer saw her, he jumped to his feet before Bruce or Dick could budge and hurried to her side. "How are you feeling?" he asked solemnly, his dark azure eyes even more serious than usual.
"About as well as can be expected," Naomi said with a small smile as he helped her hobble to the island. She eyed the tall stool and jerked her head in the direction of the breakfast nook, which was usually utilized for homework more so than eating.
Once everyone had resituated themselves in the sunny corner, Alfred went about fixing Naomi's breakfast while Bruce got down to business.
"We need to discuss what happened last night."
"Oh, honestly, Master Bruce," Alfred sighed from the stove. "Doesn't the young mistress deserve a nice, peaceful breakfast before delving into the dreadfulness of last night's events?"
"It's okay, Alfred," Naomi called. "I'd rather get this over with."
The look Alfred gave her made it clear he was unhappy with her decision, but he turned back to the stove and Naomi turned back to Bruce.
"The thing that's been bothering me is the fact they were toying with me." All eyes snapped to Naomi. "What?"
"Toying with you?" Dick parroted.
"What do you mean?" Bruce frowned.
She sighed and rubbed her forehead. "I've fought my share of bad guys. And I could just tell that all the Tigers last night were holding back; they weren't fighting at one hundred percent."
"But why?" Roy asked.
"I have no idea."
"Uh, I think I know…"
Now, all eyes turned to Dick, who was staring wide-eyed at the screen of his laptop. Wordlessly, he turned the machine around so it faced the rest of the table occupants.
The screen was split in two. One side was a webpage for the Gotham Insider, the feature video paused but the caption read Rare Lark Spotting! The other half of the screen was the front page of The Gotham Gazette's website, whose headline read Is There More to Gotham's Lark Than Meets the Eye?
The accompanying picture of Vicki Vale's front-page story looked to be a still from a security video, and Naomi recognized the warehouse.
"I thought you said you couldn't find any footage from the warehouse interior," Bruce said sharply to Dick.
"There wasn't," Dick insisted, his expression now a mix of worry and unease. "When I checked the warehouse office, the cameras had been cut!"
"It was a set up," Naomi said numbly, having now scanned the Gazette's report. It explained that the footage had been received by every major news outlet in Gotham, both television and print, in the wee hours of the morning, and it showed the fight between an unidentified gang and Batman's sidekick Lark. The kicker was how the fight ended: with the gang members flying backward by a mysterious shadowy dome that had exploded outward with Lark at the center.
"But to what end?" Dick asked as he took back his laptop. Naomi tried to keep it in front of her, but her arms felt like lead so he was able to easily snatch it back.
"Who are these guys?"
"The foot soldiers are Tigers," Naomi said. "They fight for an organization called the Coalition of Four."
Roy tilted his head. "We've had run-ins with them. I thought they only operated on the west coast."
"It seems they're expanding."
"But why?" They seemed to always return to why: why the sudden expansion, why the specific interest in Gotham, why target Lark, why toy with her, why cut the cameras only to turn around to leak footage. It was driving Naomi up a wall.
Roy, who was seated next to Naomi, turned fully in his chair to face her. His arm was draped over the back of her chair, and his fingers had started to idly play with the ends of her dark hair. Naomi was so absorbed in questions she didn't notice, and the action seemed so second-nature to Roy that he didn't notice either.
But Dick and Bruce certainly did. The former seemed giddy at the prospect, because even though Naomi was his sister and as her brother, he was supposed to hate any potential boyfriend, Roy was his friend too and he really liked the guy. The latter watched with slightly pursed lips, trying to figure out how he felt about the dynamic between the two young heroes. Bruce respected Roy as a hero, but he wasn't the biggest fan of his quick temper.
Naomi sat forward as Alfred placed her breakfast in front of her. Her hair slipped from Roy's fingers, but he kept his arm across the back of her chair. She ate in silence as Dick and Bruce poured over the news, and Roy kept sneaking worried glances her way.
She barely managed to finish her meal before letting out a big yawn. Alfred whisked her plate away with a stern, "Head upstairs, Miss Naomi. You need your rest." She wanted to argue, but she knew he was right; her limbs felt rubbery and absolutely useless.
Before she could move a muscle, Roy pushed back from the table and swept her up in his arms. She meant to protest, to insist she could make her way upstairs herself, but she just sighed and rested her head on Roy's shoulder.
Bruce grumbled a little at the sight but Dick just grinned brightly.
Roy settled Naomi into her bed, and she sleepily thanked him as she burrowed in the blankets. He smiled softly at her peaceful expression, and he gently brushed a lock of hair off her cheek. The tip of his finger lingered at her temple, but he jerked his hand back like she had burned him when her bedroom door creaked open again.
Dick came in with Naomi's crutch, which had been left in the kitchen. When he saw his friend's red cheeks, he smirked.
"Not doing anything untoward with my unconscious sister, are you?" he joked, quirking an eyebrow.
"Shut up," Roy grumbled, but there wasn't any heat in his voice.
"Just be glad it was me and not Bruce or Alfred," Dick grinned as he leaned the crutch at the foot of Naomi's bed. "You would have been banned from the premises until she turned twenty-five."
"The public sure doesn't appreciate how protective Bruce is of Naomi," Roy chuckled.
Dick rolled his eyes. "Please, Alfred would ban you until Naomi turned twenty-five. Bruce would just go a few rounds with you in the boxing ring." Roy winced, which made Dick cackle.
Naomi stirred under her covers, and she winced slightly in her sleep as her movement bothered her thigh. Dick and Roy froze and stared wide-eyed at the sleeping teen, hoping they hadn't woken her. She settled back into slumber, and they sighed quietly in relief.
Dick waved Roy toward the door, and they tiptoed out of her room. They walked in companionable silence down the stairs, and when they reached the foyer, Bruce was waiting for them.
He nodded at Roy and placed a hand on the redhead's shoulder, squeezing briefly before dropping his hand again. "I appreciate you coming over," he said gruffly. "I know it means a lot to Naomi."
"Of course," Roy said solemnly. "I know I hurt her when I stormed out of the Hall, and the silence afterward, so I only hope this makes up for it."
Bruce nodded once, then turned toward his office. Roy and Dick shared a look, and the latter shrugged. "That was effusive for Bruce," he said. "He likes you."
"Tell that to his face," Roy muttered, but he felt warmth bloom in his chest at the prospect. He glanced at his watch and sighed. "I guess I'd better go. I'll catch you soon?"
"If you come around more often, definitely."
"I'll make a better effort to be here for you and Naomi."
Roy had said that before, directly to Naomi, but Dick could see the sincerity in his friend's eyes and knew he would definitely be keeping his promise this time around.
A/N: I think this is the longest original chapter I've ever written. It's a scene that has lived in my head for months now, in one form or another, and I've been tinkering with it for ages because it's important to Naomi's story and character development.
Thank you so much for everyone who is interacting with this story. Naomi has been with me for nearly ten years, and I am so proud of this version of her. I'm debating removing the older versions entirely from ff, but I haven't decided yet. If you have a preference, let me know!
Any and all feedback, comments, or questions are appreciated! Thank you again for your interest in Naomi :)
Until next time.