What Happens Undercover, Stays Undercover

Fights and Flights

A/N: Hey guys, it's finally here *waggles eyebrows*. I could say a lot about this chapter, but for now, let's just let it speak for itself. It's a long one, so I apologize in advance. (Or do I?)

PLEASE BE ADVISED: there is some mild language in this chapter. 

Disclaimer: Don't make money, don't own 'em (Do I have to keep telling you that? Jeez.) (I'm only kidding, it is here intentionally)

---

"You think that just because you're the son of Bruce Wayne, that you can get away with anything." This varsity-jacket-wearing dumbo in front of them was practically fuming. "Well, you're Gotham's little princess after all, aren't you?" He added with a sarcastic smirk as he took one heated stomp closer and closer and closer towards a placid Damian. "Did you know, Damian Wayne," he spat, "I was the hotshot around here before you showed up?" He cracked his neck, rolling it with a wicked smile. "I'd rather keep it that way."

Raven exhaled slowly as her eyes darted around the hallway. Azar, it seemed like all of Gotham Academy was watching. How did Damian's mere action of bumping into this hotshot get him into this predicament? Undercover her ass. This was Damian Wayne! If he tripped over and broke his nose on the sidewalk (not that he would, ever) it would be all over the Gotham Academy newspaper! Of course he would bring attention to any and everything he did — especially running into this sleazebag jock.

Jeez, she knew it wasn't on purpose either but she knew Damian, and she knew (as a solid fact, she might add) that he was entirely enjoying this soon-to-be sprawl.

And as predicted, when her eyes shot over to Damian, while he wore an overall composure of calmness, there it was, right on that smug face of his.

Damian's signature remark — the first thing she noticed when they battled together. That stupid thing she hated to admit that she...kind of liked.

His signature defiant smirk.

Azar.

"Please," Damian purred, his voice low and husky and so...nevermind, "enlighten me as to how you plan to do that."

He sauntered slowly, lips pursed into a tight line, bright eyes aflame, eyebrow quirked, neck bared, and anger vein exposed. How could someone possibly be dumb enough to pick a fight with Damian? The Bruce Wayne's son? And even as just Damian he was a type A "I'll kick your ass if you speak to me" type of person, let alone the separate brat entity that was Robin.

She wished that she was next to him like in battle, ready to beat up this asshole in front of her, but in the rush of the spectacle, she was shoved into the audience. Just a mere spectator — like the rest of the students. Basically...all the students. The next class had already started too, but apparently no one could resist the urge of watching the battle of Mr. Hotshot versus Damian Wayne. She swore even some professors were there watching, too.

Damn, she didn't want to be just a spectator, though.

She wasn't just a classmate to him.

But here...apparently she was...or had to be. Isn't that what she just told him not even five minutes ago, anyways?

"Do you really want to know, princess?" Mr. Hotshot cooed. There were a few snickers from the crowd. Probably from the other jocks.

They were maybe only a few bodies apart now, and she could see Mr. Hotshot's fist clenching, let alone feel the anger that was seething from his body.