The Girl Behind The Scenes

by JustASomewhatNormalKid

Allison James comes from a rich and negligent family, lives in a city where the criminals almost outweigh the civilians, and is close friends to a family with insomniac issues and a major bat-fetish. / What happens when an ordinary girl too smart for her own good discovers one of the most well-kept secrets in the world? Extended summary in Chap. 1

11. The Chef Who Cares

Chapter 11: The Chef Who Cares

"Miss Allison."

Allison doesn't turn around.

"Miss Allison, you have to leave now unless I am mistaken?"

Allison doesn't respond.

"Miss Allison, you have been here for nearly a week. Returning home and seeing your parents, even if for a short time, would be good for you."

Allison closes her eyes as if she is in pain.

"Miss Allison—"

"They can't make me leave him," Allison's soft voice interrupts Alfred. "They just can't."

"Miss Allison, your parents are unaware of why you are spending time with us. They must be worried."

Allison laughed. It was short and bitter. "They probably are. But they aren't worried for me."

"Miss Allison, I believe it would be best for you—"

"Best for me?!" The girl shouted. She finally turned away from the limp body she was facing. She knew by doing this, Alfred could easily see her bloodshot eyes, her knotty and oily hair, her tear-stained cheeks, and her poorly hidden expression of anguish. She didn't care.

Allison didn't care about a single thing besides her best friend who was lying in a coma right in front of her.

"What's best for me doesn't matter, Alfred! What's best for my parents doesn't matter! Our business, the stupid Worthings, it all doesn't matter when Dick…"

The fury began to melt from her face, displaying the excruciating misery hiding beneath.

"When Dick…" Allison turned to look back at her friend and felt the relentless tears make their reappearance.

"Allison, my dear girl," she looked over to see Alfred making his way towards her, sitting in the adjacent chair and taking her hands in his own, "I admire your loyalty, but sitting here for the past week has only succeeded in making you suffer. Master Dick would thank you for staying with him, but he would want you to take care of yourself more."

Allison's lip trembled. Tilting her chin down, she glared at her hands as if they are the reason for making her cry. "That's not totally true. I haven't just been sitting here for the past week."

"No," Alfred said. "You've also visited the toilet along with your bedroom. And that's only when I manage to convince you to rest."

The young blonde's lip twitched in an attempt to smile. "Well, I suppose that is true."

"Allison, you cannot do anything here."

That was harsh. It was also the truth.

Despite that, she stubbornly shook her head. "I can be here for when he wakes up."

The old man beside her sighed. Allison has never seen Alfred look so old. "You could. We do not know when he will wake, nevertheless."

"I'll stay for however long it takes."

"You could," Alfred repeats himself, "but before you decide to spend the rest of your undetermined future in this empty manor, consider one question."

Allison hesitated, thinking the offer over. She cautiously nodded her head for Alfred to continue.

"What would Master Dick want you to do right now?"

Her eyes closed. "I thought you already asked that," she whispered.

"I did, but I know you forced that thought out of your head as soon as it entered."

Allison couldn't gather a response to that.

Allison couldn't gather a response to that because she knew what Dick would say to her right now. He would tell her to get her depressing butt out of his bedroom. He would tell her to take a shower because he's pretty sure they could smell her from Metropolis. He would tell her to return home and embarrass Liam until he can't show his face in Gotham anymore.

But above all else, he would tell her to take care of herself because he knows she isn't doing well and he's worried for her.

He's not awake for her to tell him that she's worried for him, too.

When Allison got to the cave that night, Doctor Thompkins was already treating Dick. Bruce sat outside the door on the floor, lost in his own mind and disconnected from reality. It was the most vulnerable she's ever seen him. She didn't notice it then, however. All she noticed, all she knew, was the open door that allowed her to see Dick.

When she signed up, she knew there would be a risk. She would have been naïve to think there wouldn't be. But she never imagined this could go as far as it did. Being a vigilante is dangerous. She knows this. She's been hurt on the field before. Yet, this is different.

He was still in his tattered suit. Blood matted his dark hair and covered nearly his entire body. Bones broke through skin. The sheets under him that should be white were a deep, crimson red. Vicious bruises were littered all over his body.

She knew that she couldn't even see the worst of his injuries.

The worst part was that he was awake. His groans and cries of pain ringed deafeningly in her ears. Someone screamed and began to sob loudly. It took her far too long to realize it was herself.

Alfred rushed past her with something in his arms. She didn't know what it was because she was falling to the ground with her hand covering her mouth. She was trying to stifle her sobs. It wasn't working.

Once Alfred hurried into the room, the door swung shut. She couldn't see Dick anymore. He disappeared behind the door and he's hurt. He's really, really hurt.

Her tears came out faster.

She's always been terrified that Dick or Bruce would come to the cave one day and they wouldn't be able to fix them. She has always been terrified that one day they'll be too hurt and they can't save them.

She's never allowed herself to think about the worst. She couldn't bear thinking about it.

But she saw Dick before he disappeared behind the door and he doesn't look okay.

Her breathing came out faster and faster.

He's not okay. He is not okay. He's hurt. He's too hurt and—and—

"Allison," she jumped. Bruce had kneeled in front of her without her realizing, "he's going to be alright."

"Dick," she managed to stutter out in between her attempts to breathe, "he, is he going to…"

Allison realized later how young she sounded. Allison realized much later than that how young she truly was.

"You can't think like that. Focus on breathing."

Despite the advice, Allison cried louder. "But Dick—he's not okay and, and I couldn't, he's in there and I can't, and he might—"

"Allison, control your breathing first. Remember the exercises we did. Control your breathing," Bruce calmly ordered. He was focused on her eyes, trying to get her full attention locked onto him. Allison thought back to when Bruce taught her some meditation breathing techniques. She used to think they were stupid. Now, she rushed to repeat the techniques.

Her breathing became more controlled.

She opened her eyes. (When did she close her eyes?) Allison saw Bruce was still kneeling in front of her. He was poorly concealing his own grief and worry. She briefly glanced at the door behind him and felt the tears begin to gather in her eyes again. She didn't lose herself to the panic this time. Instead, she threw herself into Bruce's arms.

He was obviously unprepared for the sudden attack but hesitantly returned her comforting hug. Allison could tell they both needed this.

"Bruce," she whispered, "tell me he's going to be alright. Tell me he isn't going to…"

"He'll be alright," Bruce responded after a moment's pause. He then added more quietly, "He has to be."

She doesn't think Bruce meant for her to hear that.

Allison hasn't left the property since. She stayed inside of the cave when Dick was down there and followed him upstairs to the manor when he was moved to his bedroom. She refused to leave his side.

Bruce, on the other hand, has barely stopped by to see Dick. He spends the majority of his time in the cave or the city. The few times when she can see him, Bruce is bloodier than when he left.

It's not his blood.

Allison has kept an open ear on the news. She's heard that the amount of criminals being rushed to the hospital has increased. She's able to determine the reason for that. Gotham has been able to, as well.

Gotham and the world are convinced Robin is dead. Allison knows how close they were to being right.

She felt anger rising inside of her.

She hated her city's rogues. The criminals are fine since most of them are just desperate. But the rogues, the main and utterly insane villains of Gotham… she hated them. Insanity can be an excuse for only so long. It's when the insane person finally does his or her worst that causes people to no longer care about their state of mental health. Insanity can be an excuse for only so long before the worst happens.

"We still have many battles to fight, don't we?" Allison softly asked Alfred.

"That we do. And I believe you have a battle you need to fight today," Alfred said this as more of a fact than anything. It was a fact, actually. She does have a battle she needs to fight once she returns home.

Allison couldn't bring herself to look away from Dick.

Alfred said, "Young Master Dick also has many battles to fight."

She nodded. She hopes what Alfred said is true.

Her lip quirked up sardonically. The one thing they have at this point is hope.

They all know that hope is no guarantee.

Allison forcefully tore her eyes away from Dick and stood up. Alfred walked with her towards the door. She didn't pause at the door nor did she look at the limp figure of her best friend behind her. The sight would only tug on her heartstrings and bring back the tears.

The tears have vanished for now and anger has replaced them. Allison willingly welcomes the anger in its steed.

OoO

When Allison knocked on the front doors of her home and was let in by a surprised staff member, her parents immediately led her to her room so she can start making herself presentable.

Her father didn't ask her why she was gone for a week. He was asking her why Liam Worthing still wants to talk to Allison even after a week of no contact.

Her mother didn't ask her why she hasn't been physically taking care of herself. She was asking her why she allowed her hair to get so oily and if she realizes that they only have time to apply dry shampoo and perfume.

Neither of her parents asked her why her eyes lacked emotion or why her nose was so red. They were instructing her to play nice for when Liam and his father came to see them.

For some strange and bizarre reason, Allison was almost thankful for their lack of questions. In return, she didn't have to provide any explanations. For a moment, she's able to remove herself from everything and pretend to be somebody else. She's able to be somebody else who only has to worry about making relationships and supporting her parent's ambitions.

In a way, it gives her a sense of normalcy she didn't know she needed.

OoO

Mr. Worthing and his son soon arrived at their mansion. Her father led Mr. Worthing to his office immediately to discuss business. Her mother excused herself to the kitchen to make 'snacks.' Allison knows she won't be the person who will make the snacks.

As for Allison, she escorted Liam to the longue just as her parents instructed her. She sat on one of the loveseats. On the other side of the coffee table in front of her, Liam sat on a different loveseat.

She hasn't forgotten their last encounter and it appears Liam hasn't as well. But she wasn't the one who reached out and requested to talk.

That was Liam.

Liam requested to speak to her which gives him the right and responsibility to begin the conversation.

Suddenly amused, she notices how Liam isn't aware of that socialite convention. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, tugging at the cuff of his sleeve and glancing around the room.

She tilts her head to the side. He clearly doesn't know what to say to begin this conversation.

"So, Liam," she decided to be merciful to the poor boy, "what did you wish to discuss with me today?"

Liam sighed and composed himself. Allison did the same. She felt the cool mask which she reserves for socialite events effortlessly slide onto her face. However, she didn't allow herself to become utterly void of all emotions like she did with her parents. While she doesn't know what kind of relationship she has with Liam, she's aware of how unique it is. One of the few things she knows about him is that he values a genuine person.

Because of that, she allowed some of her vulnerabilities to appear. She didn't hide the grief in her eyes nor relax her lips which were pressed together in a stressed line. But she refused to show the full extent of how she's been feeling recently. She'll only do that in Wayne Manor.

She may be with Liam Worthing and she may be in her own home, but she doesn't trust her setting to relinquish her guard completely.

If Liam recognized the grief and weight in her eyes, he doesn't show it. Allison is begrudgingly impressed.

"I wished to talk to you," Liam said uncertainly as if he was carefully deciding each word.

He probably was.

"I see that," Allison's eyebrow rose in amusement. "Why, though, did you wish to talk to me?"

In a burst of confidence, he straightened his shoulders. "I want to continue our previous conversation."

"Alright," Allison nodded for the boy to continue.

"You never did answer my question on the balcony."

"Yes, I was," Allison hesitated and tried to find a proper excuse that wouldn't raise too many questions, "well, I desperately needed to be somewhere else at the time."

Liam quirked up an eyebrow in curiosity but decided to not question her on that. "Do you remember what I asked you?"

"Seriously, Liam, why do you have such little faith in my brain?"

The boy chuckled and gave a helpless shrug with a sheepish expression.

Allison smiled at him.

He really is cute.

A couple of weeks ago when she first met Liam, she would have thrown out any complimentary thought regarding him. However, she can't ignore the obvious.

That doesn't mean that she has to act like a 10-year-old with this interaction. She's smarter than her age.

She remembered him asking, "Who are you, Allison James, and why won't you stop being someone you're not?"

Allison can't exactly tell Liam Worthing the truth about her personal life. But if she was being honest, she isn't sure who she is.

Is she a daughter of socialites? Is she the awesome best friend of Robin? Is she a kid genius? Is she a heartbroken kid who is learning how to grow up far too fast?

Is she Allison James or Blue Bird or somebody in between?

She doesn't have an answer for Liam and she genuinely wishes she does. So rather than answering, Allison asks Liam, "Who do you think I am?"

Liam didn't give any reaction of having his question thrown back at him besides narrowing his eyes. He scans Allison, taking his time to answer.

Allison sits patiently. A part of her, a very loud part of her, frantically yells at herself to finish this conversation so she can sit with her friend. This part of her demands to be there for him when he wakes up and not a second later. He'll probably be in pain and he definitely won't be able to rest easy after what happened.

But a more rational part of her brain realizes that she wouldn't be doing any good at Dick's bedside.

Allison hates the more rational part of her brain so much.

Liam leaned back in his chair which signaled to her that he was done scrutinizing her.

"You are Allison James, the very, very wealthy daughter and heir to James Industries. You are, as people claim, a light in the dark and dreary Gotham socialite world, although others your age claim otherwise. I suspect they do so in pure jealousy and indignation. After all, you don't often give others the time of day."

Allison considered that last statement for a moment before conceding it. He isn't wrong.

"You don't do it because you think you're better than them. You do it because you know you are above them. There's a difference. You're a literal genius for your age, and you're quite pretty. But anyone can see that."

She tried to fight the blush from appearing on her cheeks. Judging by the slight smirk on Liam's face, she didn't succeed.

"But the one thing that makes you different from others in this city, the one thing that makes you stand above them, is that you have a side to you that I don't think you let anyone see. It is almost like… It's like you carry a weight from something. I don't know what, but it's there. And you—you see the world so differently... I have to be honest and tell you that I have done my research on you."

Ah, so he must know about the thing that happened between her and Mad Hatter. And also the thing with Miss Veronica. And also the multitude of other occasions where robbers decided to be bold and try to gain something from the rich.

"You've experienced things most others haven't. I certainly haven't been, what, kidnapped by a psychotic villain who is convinced I'm some story-book protagonist! And while this all changed who you are, you aren't letting it make you worse."

During this analysis of herself, Allison hasn't allowed a single reaction to erupt.

Though she can't help but be startled by what Liam is saying.

Liam pauses for a moment and seems to be gathering his thoughts. He looks off to the side for a moment almost in disbelief. He sighs and turns to stare at Allison. He looks directly into her eyes as he says the next part of his answer.

"I can describe what I see when I look at you, Allison, but for the life of me, I have no clue who you are. I mean, I have more questions about you than answers, and I like to think I am decently observant."

"Then ask your questions," Allison interrupted softly.

The boy in front of her slowly shook his head. "Something tells me that you won't answer most of them."

"You are right. You are decently observant."

Liam barked in laughter. "Yeah, well, I guess I am."

"Did you discover any answers so far?" She asked.

He looked at her steadily when he said, "Not as many as I hoped for, but I think I got some."

Allison nodded, yet she had no idea what was going on inside Liam's head.

"I'm an actor," the boy starts. "I'm not the genius billionaire CEO my dad wants me to be. I haven't grown up in this world and I was at first grateful for that."

"You should be," Allison points out.

"I still am," Liam corrects, "but I can't ignore the disadvantage I'm at compared to everyone else here in Gotham. My dad wants me to take over his business and someday live here. The one reason he allowed me to grow up away from here was so people wouldn't think I'm a threat."

"Everyone is a threat."

"Who taught you that?"

Allison wants to say Dick or even Bruce, but truthfully, neither of them taught her that.

"My father."

Liam Worthing nods as if what she said reinforced his point. "You know this city. You've grown up here and you know how all of this business stuff works. So here is my proposition."

Allison crossed her arms and allowed her expression to become a bit more shielded. It appears Liam is here for more than to satisfy his curiosity.

"I will inevitably take over my father's business just as you will inevitably take over yours. Gotham has shown me how terribly unprepared I am to one day become a CEO. I have a lot to learn and I have to be careful to not be taken advantage of. But one thing I've learned so far is that nobody succeeds in this city without a little help."

Liam trailed off, staring at his clasped hands on his lap.

She stared at him steadfastly. "What are you asking, Liam?"

The sunny-haired boy looked up with a new, strong resolve in his eyes. "I'm not asking to be friends. Another thing I've learned is that there is too little trust in this society for friends. But I am proposing an alliance."

Allison pretended to think over Liam's offer for a moment, when in reality, she already knew her answer. Perhaps it was a wise decision for his father to allow him to become a successful actor. He kept his composure in front of her, not squirming in his seat or showing any sign of unease. But like most people, he had his nervous tick and she was able to spot it easily.

She spotted it during the first minute of their conversation.

"I underestimated you, Liam, which I recognize was your father's ploy. I do have to ask, however. Was this proposition also your father's ploy?"

He continued doing his nervous tick unintentionally, something Allison took note of. "I think we both know why our parents are so enthused by the idea of us being familiar with each other. I also think our parents don't know that whatever relationship we have is not for them. I'm not asking you to be my dad's ally nor my business' ally. I'm asking you, Allison James, to be my ally."

Allison nodded in understanding. She thought she knew it, but she wanted confirmation.

"Alright," she said candidly.

Liam paused and looked at her in doubt. "Alright?"

"Yep, I accept your proposal, Liam Worthing. Now, because you came up with the proposal, you have the right to offer the stipulations of which we can negotiate. But I suspect you aren't prepared for that, are you?"

Liam looked alarmed. "Ah, no, I'm not. I'm really sorry—"

"Don't be," she interrupted. "I already thought of some, if that is alright?"

Allison waited for the boy to nod. She then continued.

"The stipulations that I offer is that you will support me and my business in future deals, negotiations, disputes, and controversies. You'll inform me of possible alliances or opportunities to boost my business or the influence of my business in any way. This way both of us will have an equal chance at gaining it. You won't spread slander or misinformation about me, my family, or my company. Nor will you encourage any slander or misinformation, and you will inform me if you hear anyone speak it. Lastly, and I will end our alliance if you fail to uphold this stipulation," Liam looked anxious before she allowed a small smile to appear on her face, "you will provide me a form of entertainment through your company at any and all future galas, fundraisers, and basically every social event we are at together."

Liam laughed and readily agreed to the last stipulation.

Good.

"In return," she said, "I will do the same for you in everything I mentioned. As well, either of us can offer more stipulations in the future and I'll give you advice on socialite and business matters when you need it."

Liam's smile lit up his face, allowing the boyish personality he hid during this conversation to shine. "I agree to your stipulations, Allison James. And thank you."

His sincerity and honesty made Allison squirm in her seat.

"Yeah, don't worry about it," Allison waved at him dismissively. "It was pretty obvious that you need a lot of help."

Liam rolled his eyes and sarcastically said, "Thanks, I really appreciate it."

"No seriously. The amount of socialite conventions you've just stomped to the ground during this conversation alone utterly terrifies me. Like, imagine you were talking to someone who actually cares about that crap. All of Gotham would have known every bit of this conversation by tomorrow. From your disrespectful mistakes to your treachery against your father."

"Wait, treachery?" Liam looked panicked.

"Here's a lesson for you. Everything in Gotham is always blown out of proportion. Think of the first insulting tabloid about you as a welcome gift."

"Any other lessons, oh wise teacher?" Liam joked.

She smirked. "Actually, yeah. Look at your right foot."

He looked incredibly confused but looked down at his right foot. The same foot which has been furiously bouncing up and down for the entirety of their conversation. Liam's eyes went wide and he forced his foot to stop bouncing.

Allison struggled to not start giggling. "You may be an actor, but everyone has a nervous tick. It's always best to discover your tick early on and gain control over it so you won't lose power or credibility in a conversation."

Liam appraised what she said before saying, "You are good at this whole thing."

She shrugged. "I've learned from the best. I'm still learning."

He opened his mouth to say something, but the sound of footsteps and loud conversation outside of the longue interrupted him. They both turned their heads in the direction of the noise before looking at each other.

"I suppose that means our conversation is over," Allison said.

Liam nodded. He looked disappointed. "I suppose it does."

Allison stood up and began to lead her new ally to the door. She stopped right outside the door before facing Liam.

She stuck her hand out for Liam to shake.

He purposefully glanced at her hand before mockingly extending his arms out wide. "What, no hug?"

There was a playful glint in his eyes. Allison allowed for an amused smile to show on her face, but the playful glint did not reflect in her own eyes.

"No, I don't think we're there yet," Allison teased back.

Liam laughed and took her hand in his own, and the agreement they made solidified. She now has an ally. She doesn't think she can necessarily trust him fully, but she is aware that for now, he sincerely wants this alliance and won't do anything to betray her trust.

When they broke apart, Liam's lighthearted mood gradually transformed to be more serious and attentive. His eyes scanned her face. She could see he was puzzled and trying to understand something.

Before she could speak, either ask what was wrong or suggest that they should leave the room, Liam spoke.

"Are you okay, Allison?"

Her breath got caught in her throat, surprised by the sudden question. She could feel the already weak mask on her face begin to crumble. She didn't try to completely hide that she was a vulnerable and emotional mess, but she never expected Liam to not only notice it but also to voice his concern and ask her about it.

She wondered what he was seeing. He was clearly observant. She wouldn't be surprised if he could detect the ranging emotions flying across her face.

She closed her eyes and took a slow, steady breath to ground herself. She attempted to grasp the uncontrollable panic creeping into her helpless heart and force it to a place where she could forget about it for now. She shoved the desolate thoughts and fearful predictions into a dark crevice deep in her mind.

Allison has shed way too many tears the past few days and she is almost grateful that her eyes still feel dry. If she could cry, she is convinced that she couldn't have stopped the tears from making an appearance.

When she opened her eyes feeling like she has a bit more control over herself, Liam Worthing looked significantly more concerned.

Allison realizes that she didn't answer his question.

She took a final deep breath. Despite herself, she smiled. "No, I am not."

Liam's eyebrows pinched together. She isn't sure if it is in confusion or worry.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Maybe she said what she said next because honesty has been a reoccurring theme in their conversation. Liam has been honest with her and she feels that she owes it to be honest with him. Or maybe she said it because he's now her ally and he deserves to know.

But she probably said what she said next because she is tired of lying about something that weighs so much.

"It is better if you do not know."

She waited a moment to watch Liam's reaction before opening the door behind her and walking through it. After a moment, Liam followed behind her.

OoO

"—they are leaving in the morning, something about Liam performing in his last movie before he steps up and takes a more invested role in his father's business."

"Perhaps we will be invited to the premiere of this movie," her father said with an arrogant shrug.

Her mother gleefully giggled. "Oh, Terrence, we would be bragging to everyone at that point! But… I cannot say I am against it."

The two of them laugh as Allison smiles.

The small family sits at a table in one of the high-class Italian restaurants in Gotham, Barolo Ristorante. The food is divine and the environment is elegant, yet peaceful.

Barolo Ristorante is the perfect venue for a celebratory dinner.

Allison's parents tap their wine glasses together with a grin. Ever since Mr. Worthing and his son left their house mere hours ago, they have been simply over the moon. Their uncharacteristic enthusiasm is a welcome surprise for Allison, who is having difficulty believing she isn't dreaming.

She can count on one hand the number of times she and her parents went out to dinner with just them for the sole purpose of going out to dinner as a family. There were no other adults, no one to impress, and no ulterior motives.

While she is stuck in disbelief, she can't force the smile off of her face.

Terrence and Juliet have been laughing all night, riding the high of their success. But the crazy part is that they are including her in this celebratory dinner.

When her parents announced they were leaving for dinner, she sighed and wondered if Alfred would allow her to return so soon. However, she was shocked when her mother turned to her with a victorious and somehow gentle smile as she offered to help Allison pick out her outfit.

She could only dumbly nod in response.

Her parents turn to her after tapping their glasses together as if waiting for something. Allison gawked for a moment before rushing to pick up her glass of water. She tapped her glass with her mother's and then did so with her father's.

This was so bizarre.

Allison briefly wonders how long this is going to last, though she doesn't want to ponder that for long.

"Allison, dear, what did Liam wish to speak to you about, anyhow?"

She hesitated and then said, "He wished to say that he would like to stay in touch. Once he returns to Gotham, he wishes to reconnect with me and perhaps try and attend the same parties so I can introduce him to everyone."

Her parents share a glance.

Her father said, "We will discuss that later with you."

Allison barely refrained from rolling her eyes. There was nothing to discuss with them.

Terrence continued. "But Allison, we acknowledge that we could have never succeeded in creating this valuable transaction and alliance without your help."

Juliet leaned forward in her chair. "I knew you were capable enough to apply everything your father and I taught you so you could achieve this."

"Your mother is correct, my daughter," Terrence said. "You have gone beyond our expectations."

Allison smiles at her parents, feeling the compliments elevate her heart. But for some reason, a chain connected to her heart stops it from flying too high. The chain is strong and unbreakable and holds her heart in a state of cautious happiness.

This is everything she's ever wanted! She's getting recognition and acceptance from her parents. Why is she not rejoicing alongside her parents? Why is she convinced that none of this is real?

She isn't dreaming. She isn't hallucinating. She knows she is awake and that this is happening.

Why does something not feel right?

Unaware of her conflicting emotions, her father says the words she's always wanted to hear.

"We're proud of you, Allison."

And then she understands.

Allison is distantly aware that she half-heartedly thanks her father and mother. The two move on with the conversation, but Allison is still stuck on what her father had said.

They are proud of her. Hasn't she waited years to hear this? She is meant to feel unending joy now. The chain holding her heart in place is meant to snap at the weight of her love and happiness and relief. The chain is not meant to suddenly tug her heart down to the ground, to reality, where it forcefully collides.

Once her heart was brought back to the ground, Allison was brought back to reality.

She's always known this. Even in her desire to hear her parents tell her they are beyond pleased with her, she knew it was impossible.

They are not, and never will be, proud of her. They are only proud of what she can do for them.

The rest of the night passed by in a blur. She couldn't tear herself away from what she realized she always knew.

For the first time, though, she is accepting it as a fact.

Allison allowed herself to almost be fooled by the pleasant and welcoming demeanor her parents presented tonight. She realizes now that this is what her parents are best at.

Their kind, deceiving words bring people close to them. The more useful a person is to them, the closer that person becomes to them.

Most people have no warning or ability to shield themselves from this deception, but Allison knows that she knew better and it was her own fault for almost being tricked.

For all that they are, Terrence and Juliet James have never once tried to deceive her about their skills in deception. It's a bit of a paradox. She has known for years that they have made their fortune from deception and lies. Her parents never shielded her from that. She even recognized the few occurrences in the past when her parents would try to deceive her.

It hasn't happened often, only when she could be of use to them.

They need her. Because they need her, Terrence and Juliet did what they do best and attempted to lead her into a false security of family and love.

Allison knew what they were doing, but she didn't want to admit it. Ever since the Worthings arrived, her entire being craved to embrace the sense of family even if it was false. She allowed herself to be dragged to dinner. She allowed herself to laugh and joke with her parents. She allowed herself to knowingly be a pawn in her parents' game.

But worst of all, she allowed herself to hope.

She charmed the Worthings, all three of them. She did what they asked. She even returned to be used by them amid of her grief and all for what? She didn't achieve the reward of family and love as she foolishly believed she would. All she achieved is shattered hope.

Allison is starting to realize how deceptive hope can be.

The night has ended. The three of them walk out of the car and into their home. Juliet James stops her before she trudges upstairs to give her a fragile hug. Allison lethargically returns it. They break apart and Terrence James rests his hands on her shoulders. It's a heavy weight. He gazes into her eyes, blue clashing with green. Terrence nods at her and walks away with his wife.

She sluggishly walks up the stairs. Once she reaches her room, she lightly sits on her bed.

The smile which has been present on her face the entire night has long since vanished.

Allison wants to feel betrayed and angry. She wants to scream at Terrence and Juliet about how unfair all of this is. She wants to find a way to alter their minds so maybe they'll act differently.

A small part of her even wants to continue to believe the deceit. If she believes the deceit, she could continue to exist in the idea that she is living in an authentic, caring family. She'll feel love, acceptance, innocence, and happiness.

The only reason she is willing to be tricked again is because she is terrified at the detached, dazed, and dead numbness growing inside of her.

She understands that she has been stretched too far in too little time. Everything that has happened, it's too much for a 10-year-old to handle.

Abruptly, she stifles a sob.

She thought she could do this. She was convinced she was strong enough. She's a partner to Batman! The difficulties and pain and conflict, she naively believed she could rise above it all.

Allison thought her eyes were too dry for tears. She supposes she was wrong about that, too.

The threats against her best friend, the numerous sleepless nights trying to find a lead in vain, the hostility between her friend and her mentor, her parents using her as a pawn, her being fooled time and time again that her parents could selflessly love her, a boy she cares about being tortured because that's the truth of what happened to him…

…not knowing if Dick is going to wake up.

Allison releases a shaky breath. She decides she won't leave her house tonight. She could go to the Manor tomorrow to check on… Allison pushes that thought away. For now, she'll simply go to bed early.

Allison turns her head to the side. The curtains to her windows are open, showcasing the entire outside world. Any other night, she would take a moment to observe the beautiful and mysterious stars scattered across the sky. Instead, she weakly rises to her feet and inches her way to the windows. The banging of her heart increases the closer she gets to the windows. She discovers that she can't control her breathing, yet she still trudges forward. Her hands are sweaty. She doesn't like being this close and she is only getting closer.

The outside world is merely within reach. She could extend her arm and open the window and then—

Allison quickly draws the curtains close. Her trembling hands are left gripping the silky cloth. Without the cloth in her hands, she would be exposed to what lies behind it.

For tonight, she thinks she'll keep the curtains drawn close.

She stands still for a few moments more, giving her heart plenty of time to ease from its previous rapid pace. She then methodically walks back to her bed and lays on it, tucking herself immediately into the safety of her comforter.

Her room is still dark since she never turned the lights on. To banish the creeping darkness just a little, Allison reaches for the remote on her bedside table. She turns on the television in her room, content to listen to whatever may be on. At least, that was until Gotham Night News turned out to be the channel her television put on.

She hurriedly reached for her remote again and turned it to a completely different channel. It was some odd reality TV show, one she would normally mock. However, she didn't mind it being on tonight.

Allison laid in bed, bundled in the comfort of her blankets. She still wore the refined black pants and sophisticated yellow blouse she had on earlier. They weren't uncomfortable. Honestly, she couldn't bring herself out of bed to change. She laid on her side looking toward the television, watching the colors flashing upon her face with unseeing eyes.

Allison is pretty tired, after all. She'll just stay in her room for tonight.

OoO

Carl is proud to say that he knows most of what happens at his place of employment. He works five days a week and always arrives early to prepare the morning meal. He'll be told how long he is meant to stay that day and if there are any possible events. Even though there are some days when he could go home earlier, he never wanted to be a lowly kitchen staff forever. So he steadily rose in the ranks of his employment and is pleased to state that he is the head chef in the James Household.

Because of his position, he is well aware of the many rumors and tidbits muttered around the mansion. The James Family does not employ an excessive amount of staff for their house nor do the staff members normally spend the majority of their days working. Therefore, each and every member knows each other personally and the gossip of the day spreads like butter.

Not that any of the gossip spreads beyond the confines of the mansion. They all value their jobs far too much.

But because of his position, he cannot directly help those involved in the rumors. No matter how much his conscience urges him to intervene in some way, he never forgets the reality of where he stands. He'll stay in his place even despite the heart-wrenching gaze of disappointment and sorrowful acceptance in the eyes of the youngest James.

After all, what can he do?

Today is a Wednesday and Carl hasn't seen Miss James since Monday afternoon during the meeting with the Worthings. And before that, well, it has been a while since Miss James had been inside of the mansion before that Monday. The only problem is that Carl doesn't remember Miss James leaving the property. Normally, she always stops by the kitchen for some sort of meal. If not that, he is at least able to see her walk past the kitchens to leave.

The troubling fact is that he suspects Miss James is still inside the mansion. Testimonies from other staff members help him to come to this conclusion. The sneakers she always wears are still in the closet adjacent to the front door, not one person has seen a hint of her, and the door to her bedroom remains closed.

The rumor that Miss James hasn't left her room since Monday night has widely circulated throughout the James Mansion.

Because of his position, Carl knows he has no place to check in with Miss James or ask her about her previous prolonged absence. He can't ask her about the red eyes or knotty hair she showed up with on Monday. He can't ask her about anything.

So he decides that he should go to the people who can ask her.

Carl steps onto the balcony facing the wide expanse of trees and property where Terrence and Juliet James are currently sitting. The two face the horizon, enjoying the quiet and relaxing ambiance of the early morning.

Carl sets his shoulders, exuding more confidence than he has. He takes a step forward and clears his throat.

"Mr. and Mrs. James," the two in question turn to face the head chef, confusion and slight annoyance set in their expressions, "I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time?"

The husband and wife glance at each other. "Certainly," Juliet says, simultaneously flashing a charming smile at Carl and a warning glare at her husband. "We are never too busy to talk with the help!"

Carl's eyes twitched, but since he was used to degrading comments such as those in his area of work, he easily pushed aside the indignation. "I thank you for your generosity. I merely wished to bring to your attention a potential issue, if that is alright with you?"

Terrence stared. "Get on with it."

"Yes," Carl took a step forward, "well, I have reason to believe your daughter, Miss Allison, has not left her room since last Monday. I do not think she has eaten since that night. I was wondering if—"

"Oh, you do not need to worry about her. She is undoubtedly enjoying her alone time. You know how children get," Juliet smiled.

"She snuck out of the house is more like it. I doubt she is even in that room of hers," Terrence mumbled under his breath.

Neither of what his employers said eased his concerns. "But I don't think she left—"

"If you are so worried, then bring her some food if you absolutely must. However, if it will impede you from your responsibilities, then refrain from doing so," Terrence nodded as if what he said solved the entire problem. He immediately turned away from Carl and began a new conversation with his wife.

Carl can recognize a dismissal when he sees one.

He stiffly turns around and exits the balcony even if he wishes he could stay and do more. He wishes he could lecture the two on their terrible parenting skills or prove to them how their behavior is harming their daughter. If only he could show them the error of their ways and forcibly change their minds.

Carl realizes he can't do any of that as he walks into the kitchen. But what he can do is get Miss Allison something to eat. After all, if she's been inside her room since Monday, that girl must be starving.

When Carl makes his way to Miss Allison's bedroom sometime later, it is the young girl's favorite meal he carries on a silver tray: scrambled eggs with fresh pineapple juice.

The chef effortlessly balances the tray on one hand as he knocks on the bedroom door with the other. "Miss James? Forgive me, but are you awake?"

He silently waits for a response. He frowns when he receives none.

"I've put together some scrambled eggs for you, Miss James, and we recently bought more pineapple juice. I recall you asking for pineapple juice previously when, in fact, we had none, so I presumed you would like a glass now that we do have it."

Carl shuffles closer to the door, practically sliding his ear up to the wood in order to hear whatever he can from the inside.

All he receives is more silence.

Carl glares at the doorknob.

He glances down at the eggs. They'll get cold soon.

"I'll leave the dish outside your door for when you are ready to eat. Off to the side, of course, so you don't accidentally step on your meal. You won't have me making you another batch if you do," he jokes, yet a tense edge to his voice betrays the carefree nature he's attempting to display.

He sets the silver tray on the ground, knowing it will remain untouched but still greatly hoping for the opposite.

"Remember, Miss James, eggs get cold very fast if you don't eat them in time. It's also a beautiful, sunny day if you don't already know. It would be a shame to stay inside and miss it."

The door stands before him, stationary and silent.

Carl forces himself to take a step back from the door, but cannot bring himself to leave just yet.

"I know you haven't left this room for a couple of days. If you need someone…" Carl clasps his hands together behind his back, "well, I'll always be available to cook up whatever your heart desires. I hope you remember that, Miss Allison."

With that, he straightens his uniform and leaves the shut door and uneaten eggs behind him. However, he's well aware of each step that takes him farther and farther away.

Unbeknownst to Carl, once his footsteps cease to echo in the elongated hallway, a young girl shifts her head and glances at the same door the loyal chef stood outside of moments prior. An undeterminable time passes before the girl returns her gaze to the television.

She doesn't move after that.

Later that day when Carl is minutes away from clocking out, he offers to put newly-cleaned sheets away for one of the maids who looks particularly stressed. He paid no attention to the shocked and slightly hesitant stare the maid gave him; instead, he promptly snatched the cloth from her hands and strolled down the second-floor hallway to the living quarters where the sheets are stored.

If anybody asked, it was an utter coincidence that he passed Miss Allison's bedroom on the way.

Carl is thankful he decided to put aside his pride and assist the maid in the end. After all, if he hadn't done that, he never would have seen the uneaten plate of eggs that have long-since grown cold sitting outside of Miss Allison's bedroom door.

When he first caught sight of the tray, he froze. His mind raced in an effort to deduce what the best course of action would be. He hurriedly paced across the long hallway towards the door, but he froze again when he came to an important realization.

He's done all he could. Carl the Chef tried in the ways he knew how. His current place of employment has as many drawbacks as it does benefits. Yet the most substantial drawback must be that he as who he is cannot directly help Allison James on a significant level.

Feeling quite helpless, the loyal chef reflected on his previous attempts. His subtle act from earlier yielded no results. Therefore, it's clear something more direct must be done. He, himself, cannot barge into Miss Allison's privacy and demand what troubles her when he is well aware that he has no place to do so. The only people who could do so are the young girl's parents, yet Carl knows they would do no such thing.

He can't think of many people Miss Allison would trust and who would be capable enough to help her. His options are limited. His desperate musings narrowed down to one person who he could best rationalize. After all, there must be a reason why Miss Allison spends so much of her time away from her parents and that reason is not solely because of the tension between the three.

Having come to a decision, Carl turns around and assertively walks back the way he came. He raced to the foyer, shoving the bundle of sheets still in his arms to the first passing maid he saw. (She looked rather disgruntled upon receiving the sheets, but Carl paid her no more than a glance before he was gone. He had a phone call to make.)

He threw open the telephone directory, suddenly thankful for the normally obsolete item. He cycled through the pages and began to intently scan each line once he arrived at the necessary section.

He soon discovered the number he needed. He spared himself only a second to prepare himself for the conversation he was about to enter before he dialed the number on the James' home telephone.

"Hello! Yes, I-I'm a chef from the James Household. I'm afraid that something might be wrong with Miss Allison and I didn't know who else to call. Please, I need to speak to Mr. Wayne."

OoO

Allison lays facing the covered windows, attention long-since lost from the soft sounds and dim light of the television. Her blanket, a warm and fuzzy comfort she normally brings out during the winter, is pulled up to her ears. There is enough space for her head to peak out in between the soothing blanket and the soft pillow. Her eyes trace the pattern on the curtains and her fingers gently comb through her blanket.

A knock at the door slams cognizance back into her. Allison tenses. Her grip on the blanket tightens as she attempts to make herself smaller. She forces her knees to come closer to her chest and her shoulders hunch together.

Allison closes her eyes at the second knock on the door. Unlike minutes prior, she now desperately focuses on the sounds emitting from the television to distract herself from the unwelcome disturbance.

But the television is not enough to block the sound of the door opening.

Allison is suddenly aware of every little happening inside of her room. But while she can imagine the whoosh of the door swinging open and the creeks of the floorboards she hears are occurring miles away, she cannot hide from the air that rushes in from the outside. She can feel the filthy, corrupt air filling every corner and edge of her bedroom as it stalks closer and closer to her bed. She immediately holds her breath and tugs her blanket over her head in a vain attempt to protect herself from its poison. But like the plague it is, the Gotham air won't be stopped by a silly attempt from a powerless ten-year-old girl.

And so, Allison is once again exposed to Gotham with the lesson learned that she never truly escaped from it the first time.

Allison doesn't know who entered her room, but she knows that she doesn't like it. Every step that draws closer to her is a reminder of the battle she has no way of winning. The clock is ticking and she can identify no moves which will lead to a path of victory.

The footsteps stopped by her bedside and no more sounds were to be heard.

Allison felt no anger when she first realized her hopeless truth. She originally meant to feel nothing, actually, before this unknown invader decided to mock and torture her with their expressive silence. How long has she peacefully spent hidden away from the reminders of her failure?

Allison can't quite recall, but she misses it. Because no matter how hard Allison is attempting to fall back into the equilibrium she constructed, the intrusion is resurrecting old, unwelcome thoughts.

(…You can't do anything. Dick was hurt because of you. You can't wake him up. You can't help him. You can't help Batman. You can't fix this city. You can't make your parents love you. You have no more options. You're useless. You have no family. You're alone…)

She ignores those thoughts as soon as they arrive, but they succeed in drawing her further and further away from the confines of her mind. They get harder to ignore.

She can't think this. She needs a distraction—anything to help her ignore the reminders.

Questions! She'll—she'll ask questions! Allison latches onto the solution desperately. After all, the mysterious invader still has said nothing and she is curious.

Questions are good. Allison will be safe with questions.

Who is this person and how did they come into her room? She thinks she locked the door so they must have a key. Allison thought the only people with a key were her parents—

What time is it? Allison quickly decides this question is more important. It may be night since her room seems darker than usual, yet she is convinced that it must be morning. Then again, it could be the afternoon because—

(She hears a sigh.)

—because it very well could be the afternoon! That would explain why she thinks it must be both the morning and the night. The perfect balance!

What's the weather like outside? Oh, that's a great question! It is summer so—

"Allison."

She recognizes that voice immediately. New questions flood her mind.

Why is Batman here? Allison hasn't seen him very often recently. They haven't spoken since the night—

Does Batman hate her? He must, especially since this is all her fault and she can't do anything to fix it. If she wasn't so distracted by the Worthings and her parents, then she would have been at the cave and rescued Dick and he wouldn't have been hurt and—

Is Dick okay? Batman hasn't talked to her in so long. Why is he here now? Is Dick alright? Is he—

A soft touch on her shoulder makes her flinch. Batman says, "Breathe. Remember the techniques."

Allison remembers. She also remembers that the last time she used the techniques was on that terrible, terrible night.

The hand on her shoulder grips tighter. "Concentrate."

Concentrate. She can concentrate. She concentrates not on the questions or reminders. She instead concentrates on her heartbeat and the fuzzy blanket she tightly holds in her hands. She concentrates on her breaths and diligently counts in her head when to breathe in and when to release.

She concentrates on the grounding weight on her shoulder, something she never imagined could be so reassuring.

When her breathing measured, she heard Batman say, "I'm sorry, Allison."

She was confused.

"I'm sorry," he repeated himself, "that I was blinded by the suffering of one of my kids that I couldn't see the other was also suffering."

When Batman entered her room, those thoughts she has been cowardly hiding from since the first night Dick has been in his coma relentlessly began to slither into her head. However, the mention of who's at fault was the spark needed to light the once-suppressed thoughts into a furious explosion.

"You aren't allowed to blame yourself!"

While Allison often takes pride in the strength of her brain, it has never been as fast as her mouth.

"You're wrong! You're just wrong. How can you even apologize when I'm sitting right here? Stop having the biggest guilt complex around and accept the facts! I was the one who screwed everything up and Dick might not wake up because of me! Not you. Me!"

"Why?" Batman interrupted her swiftly.

She sardonically laughed. "Why? Because if I wasn't so consumed by my own selfish problems, problems might I add that pale in comparison to the severity of what has been happening, I would have been there to save Dick. He would have been healthy and safe and fine, but that's not what happened! I failed my job. I failed Dick. I'm supposed to be the backup! I have to protect you both because who else is going to do that?!"

Tears were flowing down her cheeks. She had jumped up from her cocoon under the sheets to face Batman. She freed her hands to gesture wildly.

Allison didn't realize any of it.

"I was supposed to be there to save him, but I wasn't! And where is he now? He's in a coma and nobody knows when he's going to wake up. He's in that coma because of me. And I can't even fix it… I failed and I can't even fix the screw-up I caused! I can't do anything. All I can do is helplessly sit at his bedside and wait for him to wake up. How useless is that, huh? That I couldn't do the one job I had. I can't protect Dick, I can't wake him up, I can't stop you from the spiral you're going down, I can't even make my parents love me! They must know how useless I am because now it makes sense why they can't love me. I can't do anything right even when I try. I can't fix it and—and Dick is in a coma and I'm all alone and I can't do anything to fix it! When I didn't have my parents, I had him. If I don't have him, who do I have? He was the one person who I thought could be there. And because I didn't protect him, he suffered!

"So why are you sorry when this is all my fault? Because I'm all alone and I failed so why do you apologize when I'm the screw-up?!"

When she finished, all that was to be heard were the soft noises from the television. However, in Allison's mind, the television seemed to be muted as a heavy, fragile silence overtook the room.

Taking deep breaths to calm her racing heart, Allison stared at Batman. The vigilante stood where the dim light from the television couldn't touch him. Though the darkness shielded him, she could make out his intimidating figure at the side of her bed. She tilted her chin up defiantly, although she doubted he could see it.

She dared him to refute her words.

And yet, he didn't speak. Minutes went by and he has yet to speak. Allison continued to kneel on top of her bed, unmoving as she waited for something to break the overpowering silence in the room. Previously, all she wanted was to exist in silence. Now, she was almost growing desperate to escape it.

Since she spoke those words aloud, they finally were able to exist outside of her mind. They are now real and substantial. She can't hide from them anymore.

Allison wiped her sweaty hands on her pants. She bites her tongue to force herself to not plummet into more useless chatter.

Then Batman sat on the edge of the bed and the light from the television engulfed him. Except, it wasn't the Batman in front of her.

Allison had to take in the comfortable black turtle neck, the uncharacteristic messy hair, the dark bruises under the eyes, and the concerned furrowed brows to realize it was Bruce.

Bruce is a lot different than Batman.

Bruce watched her closely and said, "I avoid relying on belief alone, but I know Dick will come back to us. I wish I can say I know when that will be… What I can tell you, Allison, is that until he wakes up, you have me and you have Alfred to be there for you. And you'll continue to have us even when he wakes up."

Allison's chest seized, breath filling her lungs, heart pounding so loud it was almost deafening.

A distant part of her was amused at what her face must look like, mouth and eyes wide open with a dumbfounded expression, but Allison was completely helpless in bringing her thoughts together to utter a word.

Bruce must have recognized her inability to communicate. Instead of smirking in amusement, his eyes crinkled at the edges. Allison, even in her state, could tell he grew more concerned.

She still couldn't bring herself to talk in order to alleviate that concern.

"I should never have allowed myself to go down that dark path. I wasn't patrolling the city… I was hunting, and I was unforgiving. Because of that spiral, I was unable to be there for you. For that, I am deeply sorry," Bruce apologized again.

Allison sunk from where she was kneeling to sit on her feet. Her heartbeat and Bruce's words were ringing in her ears.

She was wholly unprepared for his next words.

"But I won't leave again. For as long as you'll have us, we will be there for you. You aren't alone anymore, and you won't ever be alone again."

Upon hearing those words, words she never imagined could be said to her, Allison shot off her knees and immediately flung herself at Bruce. She wrapped her skinny arms around his massive shoulders and erupted into sobs. Allison continued to cry, too far gone to feel remorse that her tears were creating a stain on Bruce's shirt but aware enough to notice when Bruce wrapped his arms around her exceptionally tiny shoulders.

And so Bruce stayed. He stayed when Allison continued to relentlessly cry and he stayed when she finally quieted since her throat hurt too much.

And when Allison's stomach grumbles and she realizes she doesn't know when she last ate, Bruce only asks if she is ready to leave.

Allison nods.

And so Bruce leads her towards her bedroom door and although her nerves scream at her to turn around, she sets her shoulder and enters the unwinnable battle.

After all, Bruce said she isn't alone to face this.

And when Bruce leads Allison out of the James Mansion into a warm car partially parked in the grass and ends at a bar stool at the Wayne Manor's kitchen table with a kindhearted elderly butler handing her hot chocolate and comforting food, Allison was ultimately beginning to believe that Bruce wasn't lying.

OoO

"…and Alfred told me it was Carl. I'm not sure if you remember him, but I owe him a thank you of some sort."

Allison sat next to a sleeping Dick Grayson, curled up in an auburn-colored armchair which is deceptively comfortable for how old it must be. She may have been in this exact position multiple times recently, but she knows she's in a completely different headspace than before.

"I've been trying to be with my parents more. You know, hang with them outside of the occasional meals. They aren't exactly acting differently than before. They're still thrilled about the Worthings so I guess that helps them want to be around me more… It's hard, but I'm trying to find a way to make it work."

She stared at the window across from her. It was open, allowing the warm late afternoon breeze to flow into the room. Allison took a moment to breathe in the fresh air.

"I still come back here at night. My parents had a security system I didn't know about so that's how they knew I was sneaking out. It wasn't difficult to figure out how to disable it temporarily for when I need it off."

Realizing something, she snorted. "You're not going to remember any of this. I'm probably going to have to tell you again when you're back," Allison tilted her head. "Actually, you know what, I'll wait until you ask me questions about it all before I tell you. Definitely me trying to hide from everything, but hey, if it gives me more time."

She took her attention away from the window, turning her head to face Dick. However, when she did just that, she caught sight of the ever-present medical machines standing vigilant at Dick's bedside. While it realistically takes up a minuscule fraction of the room, its presence is crushing to Allison.

She diverts her gaze to her hands, cracking her knuckles and attempting to focus on solely that. She opens her mouth to continue but closes it promptly after. She has to repeat the action numerous times before she can speak.

"Alfred said it's not my fault. I think Bruce agrees. He never really did say much besides that while we both have large guilt complexes, Superman will always have us beat," she chuckled, still looking down at her hands, but then became subdued. "I don't know if I can believe them."

She allowed the sentence to hang in the air, not knowing how to continue. But once she realized she was treading at the gates of dangerous thoughts, she quickly retreated. She glanced at the clock, noting the time. She slapped her hands on her thighs and stood up from the chair.

"Alfred won't let me at the computer if I don't come down to eat pretty soon. If for nothing else, you need to come back for Alfred's food. I swear I didn't think it was possible, but it's gotten better."

Allison chuckled, her spirits lifting ever so slightly even though she's aware it's entirely bittersweet.

"It all still sucks. It sucks a lot. It's impossible to accept everything and even more impossible to find a way to live with it all. Nevertheless, I'm making it work."

She picks up her phone from the armchair. The screen automatically turns on and reveals to Allison the date. For some reason, it sends streaks of shock through her. She's conscious of the fact that it has been many days since that night. But knowing the exact number…

Allison lets out a breath. "Thirteen days."

She doesn't look away from the screen at first. After a few seconds when she eventually does, she sighs. "Please come back to us soon, Dick."

As Allison leaves, she isn't overwhelmingly angry or afraid of the world. She can freely turn around and look at her comatose friend without bursting into tears and she can also exit the door and not feel the need to retreat from the outside.

She wishes more than anything that all the terrible things could be easily solved. She was once petrified when she understood how that prospect can not come to be.

But now is different. She's going to find a way to make it work.

OoO

The hum of the Bat-mobile fills the cave, echoing throughout the deep caverns and triggering the bats hiding within to scatter across the ceiling. Allison, who sits in front of the computer and is intently observing the statistics displayed, notes the new presence but maintains her focus on the screen.

After the main excitement of the night had concluded, Alfred instantly focused on setting up medical equipment at a nearby table. Bruce insisted that medical assistance was unnecessary.

Although there's no way he's getting past Alfred without being checked over. Allison doubts Bruce made it out of that fight unscathed and she knows Alfred believes the same.

Regardless, even when Bruce exits the vehicle and is inevitably pressured by Alfred to receive medical help, her eyes do not stray from the numbers in front of her.

But she can see Bruce being tended to by Alfred in the reflection of the screen and that reflection is all Allison needs to become successfully distracted.

With elbows on the counter in front of her, she throws her head into her hands and sighs. She massages her head with her fingers, attempting in vain to ease the headache that has been consistently rising throughout the entirety of the night and which peaked when she first caught sight of the statistics currently in front of her.

She pulled up the statistics thirty minutes ago and her headache has not lessened one bit.

It feels like her sigh reverberates inside the cave.

Alfred and Bruce weren't too far behind her so they easily heard her. The soft and unimportant conversation they were having stopped.

"Something needs to change."

She runs her hands over her face before turning around in her chair to face Alfred and Bruce.

"This is an article from Gotham Gazette describing the current increase of the reported crime rate in Gotham. They didn't conduct the research. Pew Research Center did. Gotham's rapid increase of crime is going national and it's at a record high since Batman first came to Gotham. We may have control of everything now, but that control is too fragile! A single attack from one of our rogues or a tiny gang dispute or one drug deal gone wrong could lead to war and chaos. We have to do something."

His cowl already off, Bruce rises from leaning against the table. "The numbers look bad, but it is getting better. If we continue to patrol—"

"You were almost overwhelmed!" Allison interrupts. "Bruce, you have to admit that tonight was too close."

He stiffens. "It wasn't too close."

"If the cops didn't get there when they did, the gang members either would have escaped or they would have seriously hurt you. You were already injured in that fight, but fortunately it was minor. Where would we be if it was worse?"

Bruce sighs. Allison knows he has no way of refuting her point. "I have thought about the situation. What we can do is start patrol earlier and situate more of Gordon's men around the city. There's nothing else."

"That won't solve anything. The police are already stretched too thin."

"It's the best we can do. Patrol ended late tonight. I think it's best if we both turned in."

"Oh, no. There's no way you are deflecting, mister. I'm part of this whether you like it or not. Now we both know that simply telling the police to do more will only backfire. And starting patrol sooner? Sure, that's great, but it also won't do much."

While Bruce nods and she can tell he agrees, she also knows he is as aggravated about their lack of options as she is. "What do you think we should do?"

She opened her mouth but paused. Allison growled to herself.

They can do nothing.

"Perhaps," Alfred's gentle voice interrupted, causing both of their heads to swing towards him, "the Batman needs another person to be out there with him."

Bruce instantly shuts down the idea, denying the attendance of any other heroes in his city.

However, Allison isn't listening to Bruce's rant. Alfred's odd suggestion piqued her curiosity.

Alfred knows better than to advocate for outsiders to be brought into Gotham to help fight crime. He knows that would make everything much worse.

But who else could he have meant?

As Allison ponders the question, considering if any native Gothamites could step up and help, her eyes unintentionally strayed as she thought. She wasn't looking for anything in particular. It is simply a habit of hers whenever she reflects on a particularly curious topic.

Suddenly, her eyes lay on the display case and with a sinking heart, Allison realizes what needs to be done.

She considers it more even though she knows it's their only viable option. It truthfully could be far worse and she knows she is downright selfish for not thinking of it sooner, but she cannot deny that she doesn't like what she must do.

She purses her lips and carefully inhales.

That doesn't mean she gets to not do it.

Allison nods to herself, deciding there and then to go for it. She looks back over at Alfred who is staring right at her. He must have been for a while.

"Alfred's right," she cuts Bruce off from whatever he was saying, "and I know who we need."

It may not be what she wants and Bruce will definitely be against it, but at the end of the day, Allison has a responsibility.

OoO

Captain James Gordon stands on top of the GCPD's headquarters, vacantly looking at the skyline before him. He patiently waits beside a large projection lamp with his hands buried in the pockets of his trench coat.

Sometimes he waits for half an hour, other times it takes a single minute. Yet it is certain that Batman will always eventually come.

Though he doesn't always make his presence known immediately. That's why, on a complete hunch, Gordon said, "Evening, Batman."

After a moment passed where Gordon believed he was wrong, a figure crept out of the shadows in his periphery. He can't stop himself from becoming smug, a small smirk forming on his face. "Any news?"

Gordon keeps relatively close contact with Batman. At the least, he is the person who has the best contact with him in Gotham's police department. And Gordon is a pretty good detective if he says so himself. But despite those factors, he is as clueless as everyone else regarding the status of Robin.

His theory is that Robin is alive, but he doesn't know anything else. While Batman's recent violence has been the topic of serious conversation, that violence has begun to lessen.

Batman has refrained from giving Gordon any news on if Robin is even alive. If he hasn't told Gordon, then he definitely hasn't told anyone else.

Jim doesn't know why Batman is keeping this secret, but he isn't going to stop asking. After all, he is worried for that boy. Robin has proven his strength multiple times over the years. It isn't easy to knock that boy away for this long.

But as much as Gordon greatly wants to know if the boy is alright, Gotham can't afford him to not focus on the current issues at hand.

Batman knows this as well as he does. He gives no response regarding Robin's health. Instead, he deflects. "What do you need?"

Gordon doesn't sigh or give any reaction of disappointment. He didn't expect an answer. "The cost of crime is projected to increase by 48% from what I've been told. The violent crime rate has nearly doubled, and nonviolent offenses tripled. More of my officers are going to the hospital, leaving me with fewer men every day. Those I do have try and continue their patrols, but they either miss the crimes or they're being paid off. And a man from the Mayor's office estimated that only half of all the crimes are being reported because the people doubt they'll get justice."

Batman remains silent. He stays half-hidden in the shadows and makes no indication to move forward or to contribute to the conversation.

Gordon had already predicted Batman knew all of this, but it's still essential to communicate it just in case.

This time, Jim does sigh. "We're doing all we can, trying to come up with new ideas. I'm wondering if you have any plans in the works?"

He paused for Batman to answer, yet as the seconds passed, he still did not indicate to speak.

Gordon frowned. "If nothing changes, if a single thing goes wrong, the governor threatened to send in state troops to Gotham. We're on the brink of complete chaos and we both know state troops would be a declaration of war."

Batman abruptly shifted his head marginally to the side as if he was looking behind Gordon. He caught onto the slight tell, but before he could look behind himself, Batman spoke. "You're late."

A youthful voice rang out behind Gordon. "Sorry, B! I wanted to see how many flips I could do jumping in between buildings."

When he turned around, Gordon saw a person he hasn't seen in quite some time.

Blue Bird, who stood fearlessly on the edge of the roof with her blond hair free to blow in the wind, attaches her grappling hook to her belt. The last time he saw her, her getup was certainly less than mediocre. But now, it is clear the young vigilante received an upgrade.

The girl wore what appeared to be a zipped-up leather jacket. While it was slim and tight to her skin, Gordon wouldn't be surprised if layers of Kevlar were beneath it. A deep royal blue bat emblem sat proudly on the center of her chest, and the base color of the jacket was a black as dark as night, although accents of blue shined through the shadowy leather jacket. The jacket went from just above her collarbone on her neck and ended at her hips, where a utility belt the same shade as the base color of the jacket was fitted. Her cape attaches to her shoulders and ran down to her ankles. At first glance, it was predominately black, yet a more careful glance would reveal the undercoat held an ombré that went black in the center to blue at the ends. She had what seemed to be motorcycle or tactical gloves, and it laid over the sleeves of the leather jacket. It was a darker blue, almost a navy color. Her pants, which appeared to be spandex, were the same blue as the bat emblem. It had thick black stripes on the sides of her legs which ran over cargo pockets. Her knees and shoulders were padded and her knee-high tactical boots, which were the same color as the gloves, were equipped with laces and secured by straps.

While some would claim the blue domino mask with white-out eyes would be the most prominent feature of the young girl, Gordon knew the title went to her exceedingly animated and vibrant grin.

Her suit was a definite contrast to Robin's colorful and flamboyant suit. Gordon knew why that was so. Batman clearly focused on stealth and concealment in the creation of it.

"Don't you worry, Cap. We got a plan."

Although he was concerned, he couldn't stop himself from chucking in slight amusement for her enthusiasm.

"Blue Bird," he greeted. "I do admit that I didn't expect to see you out here."

While he hasn't seen her in weeks, Blue Bird has always kept near-constant contact with his department. Gordon used to be the only form of contact between the police and Batman. However, with the inclusion of Blue Bird, the connection between the two has vastly improved. Her addition was a welcome change that allowed GCPD to respond to situations faster and with more knowledge.

Except he was under the impression that she was restricted to working exclusively on communications.

Blue Bird's wide grin strains. In false excitement, a clear difference from her previous eagerness, she says, "Well, when life gives you lemons."

Gordon is about to continue the conversation, perhaps voice his concern, when both vigilantes freeze. He waits. He has enough experience to know when a person is listening to their comms.

He makes a note to check in with his officers to see if there is an issue he needs to know about once this is finished.

The message presumably having been given, Blue Bird says, "Talk to you later, Cap!"

Blue Bird pulls out her grappling hook and immediately swings away to venture deeper into the city. Gordon turns back to where Batman was, expecting him to have already vanished, but is surprised to see he hasn't left.

He shouldn't be surprised. Batman must have known Jim wanted to talk to him privately.

He takes advantage of the opportunity. "Are you sure about this, Batman?"

He's never been one to hide his opinions from Batman. He made it well known how much he disapproved the addition of Robin in the beginning. While Gordon's trust in the man has grown, he needs to know that Batman is confident about Blue Bird's ability and that he'll ensure her safety.

Batman nods, but it does little to ease Gordon's fear.

He can tell Batman isn't completely sure.

Gordon suddenly hears distant laughter erupt behind him, causing him to instinctively turn around. He can't see her, but he knows the laughter belongs to Blue Bird.

He quickly looks back to Batman and isn't alarmed to see nothing there.

Gordon takes a moment to push his worry aside. Despite his doubts, all he can do is trust that Batman knows what he is doing.

He hopes that he does. He doesn't know what would happen to this city if someone else close to Batman gets hurt.

We love Carl so very much. He is awesome.

I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I really enjoyed writing it.