The Inheritance: Part 1

Chapter 1

She shouldn't have ever set foot in Gotham again, but the kid had been so insistent, so convincing, that she thought she'd actually be able to do some good and help Bruce, but all it's done is bite her in the ass.

Like she'll ever do him a favor again.

Silently, she curses Tim for his persistence and for wearing her down. She had her own problems, her own city to take care of, and now she's here in Gotham, running her old patrol routes while Tim's off in Timbuktu preparing to take on the mantle of Robin or whatever. God only knows what'll happen to him when he gets back.

She shakes her head. She shouldn't be so pessimistic. It's just her emotions getting in the way again.

On nights like these, when the air is crisp, the weather mild, and moonlight breaks through the overcast sky, she misses simpler times. Back when she and Bruce were both figuring the whole vigilante thing out. Back when they relied on each other for more than just field support. And when they both had a more positive outlook on their war on crime.

Before Jason.

She fumbles, rolling a landing instead of sticking, and snaps back to her surroundings. Patrol. Right.

She checks the time and decides to loop back to Crime Alley. No doubt he's already passed through twice tonight, so it's not necessary, but it'll be a way to feel like she's actually accomplished something tonight instead of just running around with her head in the clouds.

Besides, it's on her way back to the cave.

The road is still. Not quiet – a dangerous term to use – but as though the city were holding her breath in anticipation of something big. It's ominous, foreboding, and not a good sign. And yet, a small victory tonight is an easy one.

She takes the opportunity to visit the Wayne Memorial. A bouquet of flowers, fresh, lies beneath the plaque. It's a beautiful arrangement with white roses, purple statice, and red gladiolus. All tied together by a black ribbon and set gently on the ground. Bruce had definitely been here. Only he'd leave such an expensive arrangement in such a place. And yet there's something odd about it.  He doesn't leave flowers at this time of year. Usually, he leaves them in the spring.

Unless they weren't meant for them.

She crouches down, inspecting the arrangement with a keener eye. Flowers were never her specialty, but she knows there's meaning in them. She counts a dozen roses – expected for a memorial – but also seven red gladiolus and fourteen statice. Definitely not for his parents.

Seven and fourteen.

It comes to her: seventeen years, fourteen months.

She checks the date. Sure enough, it's half past two on August 16th.

They're for Jason.

There's no card, no other identifier or clue as to why they'd been left, and her knowledge of the "flower language" is too poor to discern more from the bouquet itself. All she knows is that Bruce has more of a heart than she'd thought.

She stands back from the memorial and scans the alley for any activity. Nothing. So she gives it a detailed pass from the ground. She rarely sees it from this angle, always taking the higher perch, but it brings back memories of all the times things had gone wrong here. There's the dumpster she'd hid in after her first exposure to Scarcrow's fear toxin, the storm drain where she'd lost the keys to the Batmobile, and the fire escape where she'd gotten herself tangled in the line of a prototype grappling gun.

This is also where she'd taken Jason the night she'd snuck him out of the manor for patrol to spite Bruce.

A weight tugs at her heart. She fires her grapnel and heads back to the cave.