Cora pov:
I watch the monitor in the cave intently. Batman is fighting with Harley and Ivy. Dam- Robin is currently held up with the Riddler.
Although Tim is hacking beside me, he looks very calm for someone uploading evidence of adultery and corruption. It actually helps me keep calm as I keep an eye on the two in the field.
"Hey, batsy! I got a question for ya!" Harley yells as she flips away from the sharp batarangs flying towards her.
"Ask me on the way back to Arkham," Batman grumbles. I think that may be his normal voice.
"Funsucker. Anywho! Do you actually know that Cora kid? She was talking some pretty big game!" Harley says with glee. I feel my face flush. I had almost forgotten about that.
I almost definitely shouldn't have told him that I knew the bats and the Wayne's. Not my smartest move but the look on his face may have been worth it. Although just thinking of it makes me shudder. Tim looks up at me with a raised brow.
"Who told you that?" Batman growls. I'm still not sure if that's just how his voice sounds.
"Word spreads fast in Arkham. Apparently, that kid has guts! She used you and your sidekicks as a threat!" Harley laughs maniacally. I place my face in my hands.
"You did what?!" Tim laughs, obviously amused. I groan loudly.
"Is it true?! Is it?! Is it?!" Harley says excitedly. She tries to sweep Batman's legs.
"I keep an eye on her from time to time," Batman admits. Well, that's one less lie I have to keep straight if I ever actually end up doing therapy with her.
"Would you break some bones for her? That's what she saiiiid!" Harley sing-songs. I run my hands through my hair. Why is she telling him this?
"I'd rather just throw you back in a cell." Batman diverts. Well, now I want to know.
I notice that Robin has been quiet for a small time. I look at his screen and it seems he's just handing over the Riddler to the Arkham guards. That was fast.
Thankfully, Batman knocks out Harley before she can say more. Poison Ivy has been wrecking the city streets while those two were chatting.
I notice dandelions coming from the sidewalk cracks. Is she doing that on purpose? They don't look threatening. Maybe I can ask her.
Robin swings onto the scene. I start to feel the usual amount of fear and worry, but I have to keep calm. This is his job, this is what he does. He's good at this.
I watch, mesmerized, as he swings and flips through the jungle of vines and rubble. He cuts through what he can and climbs around what he can't. As nervous as I am, I still like watching him fight.
It doesn't take long for the two villains to be given over to the tender mercies of Arkham. I wait for the rumble of the engine that resounds through the cave.
I look over the railing and give them a wave, which Robin returns. Batman is stoic as ever. I can't help but feel nervous that he's going to be mad that I said I knew their alter egos. I definitely wasn't thinking of the consequences at the time.
"Cora, I need to speak with you." Batman rumbles. His voice sounds like it does when he's talking to criminals. That's not good.
"Okay." I agree, trying to keep calm as best as I can. Damian gives me a pitying look as we walk away. I feel my heart slamming against my chest.
"I assume you heard Harley earlier?" He asks. I take a deep breath as I walk in step with him.
"I did," I say. My chest feels tight and I'm probably breathing heavily.
"Was she telling the truth?" He asks again in the same tone. I almost pause.
"Yes," I say as simply as possible. I feel the need to explain but I don't think I can speak right now. I keep my eyes straight ahead.
"Who did you threaten? And what's more, what did you threaten?" He asks. I swallow thickly.
"I, um, it was, well, um, the Jo-" I stop myself. "The J-mm." I try again. "Harley's ex," I say. I just can't say his name. I can't.
"What did you say to him?" He asks, I almost didn't hear him over the thudding in my ears.
I try to remember and I feel tears spring to my eyes. I force myself to remember it. If not the images then the sound of his voice. I grip onto my arms so tight I think I might draw blood.
"H-he." I take a deep breath to stop my jaw from trembling. "He asked if I would scream," I state through grit teeth.
"And what did you say?" He presses simply. We've stopped walking, but I'm not sure when that happened.
"I told him that he would be the one screaming. All that was on my mind was trying not to seem scared, I promise I didn't try to name drop or anything." I say quietly. My eyes are drowning in tears that absolutely will fall if I blink.
"I believe you. Who did you name?" He questions, his voice sounds just a little softer. I take a very deep breath, focusing on keeping my voice steady.
"You, Nightwing, Red Robin, Red Hood, and Robin. It was a detailed threat." I laugh pitifully. The tears fall and they continue to prick at my eyes.
"That's alright. As long as our identities are safe we have nothing to worry about." He says calmly. He doesn't seem mad, but he's also great at masking emotions.
"Okay. Um, I'm just going to-" my escape gets cut off.
"Hey, Bruce! We got a call from Arkham- Whoa! Cora are you okay?" Tim asks, running down the steps. I wipe at my face furiously.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just some waterworks." I say casually, forcing a smile onto my face.
"I don't believe that for a second, but the call is for you actually," Tim says in a deadpan. That shocks me enough to stop my tears.
"Why would Arkham want to talk to me?" I ask. Tim shrugs. He hands me the phone, which I hesitantly accept.
"Hello?" I say, holding the phone up to my ear.
"Hello, is this Cora?" I hear a serious voice ask me.
"This is she," I reply.
"You have a request from an inmate. Harley Quinn." The voice states. I blink dumbly for a long moment.
"What's her request?" I ask hesitantly. I see Tim and Batman looking at me expectantly.
"She's asked that you visit her either tonight or tomorrow. You would be fully supervised and guarded at all times." They say.
"Did she say why?" I question, trying to decide if I should or not.
"She mentioned that you're overdue for a therapy appointment." I pause. Did she seriously request to see me in prison because of a deal made months ago?
"I'll have to check with Mr. Wayne. I can give him the phone if that would work better." I say, looking directly at Batman. He pulls off his cowl and accepts the phone.
Damian walks down the steps as Bruce is talking to the person. He wraps an arm around my shoulders, most likely noticing my red-rimmed eyes. I see Bruce hang up and he looks up with a tired expression.
"We're going to Arkham. Unless you don't want to." He says to me dimly.
"Um, okay. Sounds fun." I say, trying to lighten my mood. Damian's arm holds me tighter.
"Why are you going to Arkham?" He asks lowly. I place my hand over his.
"Therapy apparently," I say. Damian takes in a deep breath and holds it for a very long time before letting it go.
"I'm coming with you." He states. I nod. I could use some moral support.
"Can I come too?" Tim pipes up. I actually smile at that.
"I don't see why not," Bruce says.
We make our way upstairs after Bruce changes out of the suit. It's probably around midnight by now.
We climb into a car and I lean my head on Damian's shoulder in the dark. I see the city lights flash by, but they don't distract me from being nervous about my 'therapy session'.
I've never been to therapy before. Add in having the session in an asylum full of supervillains and you get stress. A lot of stress.
We pull up to the gate, not stopping for long before the gates let us through. We climb out of the car and I try to put on a brave face. I clutch Damian's hand for dear life. He doesn't comment.
We walk through the doors and, after talking to the secretary, we are led to a cell. Guards are posted almost everywhere. The fluorescent lights are almost blinding with the white walls.
Me and Damian step through first, I barely hear Bruce and Tim behind us. Harley Quinn herself sits in her cell, clad in orange.
Her hair has been pulled into a bun instead of pigtails. She sits with her ankles crossed on a bench. She's in a cage. This looks like 'her' cell from Suicide Squad. It's odd to see it in person after having watched it on screen.
"Cora. I see you brought your housemates." She says pleasantly. Her accent is just barely slipping through. Definitely weird. I notice a chair in front of her but I don't want to let go of Damian just to sit down.
"I did. Um, hello again." I say awkwardly. How am I supposed to act in this situation?
"Hello. Have a seat please." She says, gesturing to the chair. I take a hesitant step towards it, I slowly release Damian's hand. I walk over just as cautiously.
"Would you like them in the room for this?" She asks. I notice that she has a clipboard and a long crayon. I guess a pen would be too sharp. I sit down stiffly in the chair.
"They can stay. But, you won't tell anyone else what I say?" I question. I've heard of patient confidentiality.
"Anything you say will remain in this room. The guards aren't big on gossip." She says with a smile. I nod quietly.
"So then, how does this work?" I ask. I think my hands are shaking, so I clasp them together. She notices but doesn't say anything.
"We can start with some basic questions and then go from there. Other than that, is there anything you wanna start with?" She asks, leaning forward. It's still odd to think of her as a villain.
"Not that I can think of," I say, willing myself to calm down.
"Alright then. What's your full name?" She asks.
"Cora Marie Das Sanchez."
"How old are you?"
"13, but my birthday is next month." I hear a noise come from someone behind me, but I don't turn around.
"Have you ever been to therapy before?"
"No."
"Alright, then can you tell me any possible traumatic events in your life that you can remember? I know you have at least two." She states. I take a deep breath.
"Um, alright. I dislocated my knee last year. I'm not sure if that was traumatic, though. There was the whole thing with my parents. And, I was kidnapped, twice. I was only tortured once though, which you would know." I say as calmly as I can. She looks up from her clipboard.
"You were tortured?" She asks, her gaze piercing and I feel my heart speed up again.
"Yes." I reply quietly. I watch her close her eyes and take in a deep breath.
"Alright. I suggest you tell your pals to leave for this next part." She suggests.
"I'm not leaving." Damian states lowly. I turn around to look at him, Bruce and Tim.
"Damian, she is the doctor here. I get the feeling this won't be pleasant for anyone and, well, I think I need to do it on my own." I say, rising from my chair on unstable legs. He frowns deeply.
"She's also literally crazy. I don't trust her." He says with narrowed eyes. He sighs. "But I do trust you. So if anything happens or you want to leave we'll be right outside." He relents. I offer him a small smile.
"Thank you. And I should be okay, it's just talking. Uh, right?" I say, turning back to Harley. She tilts her hand side to side, so kinda.
"We're here if you need us, Cora," Bruce says, placing a hand on Damian's shoulder.
I watch them walk out, the door closing behind them sounds out like a fired gun. Comforting.
I sit back in my chair. I look back up at Harley, she's waiting patiently. Her face looks, kind, like this. Still unnerving.
"Okay, let's start with a quick check-up. Have you been eating regularly? And drinking water?" She asks. I nod. "What about sleep? Have you been getting any dreams?" She questions.
"Only sometimes. Most of the time I don't dream." I report.
"Alright, what have they been about?" She turns back to her clipboard.
"They change every so often. Sometimes I see the- I see- um. I see the card guy." I say. I still can't say it. It's starting to get frustrating but I just can't.
"Understandable. What does he do in these dreams?" She presses cautiously. I swallow thickly.
"He uses the card. I think it used to be white, but it's brown now. It's always brown." I say. I can't just say it. Saying it makes it real.
"Is that what he used, when he had you?" She asks softly. I grab my arm and grip it tightly. I nod mutely. She scribbles something. It must be hard to write with a crayon.
"How have you been feeling about that?" She questions. Answering an asked question makes this easier.
"At first I felt relatively fine. I could talk about it easily. I still can to a certain degree. But when I actually think about it, or remember it in detail, I start to feel overwhelmed and anxious." I say.
"That could mean you're repressing the memories. It's a common reaction to trauma." She explains gently. I nod.
"Damian thought that too," I comment. She gives me a look.
"Do you usually talk to him about these things?" She asks. I nod.
"Yeah, he's probably the person I trust the most," I say easily.
"Do you trust the other people you live with?" She questions.
"Of course. It took a little bit, and I'm not entirely sure where I stand with Mr. Wayne, but I trust all of them." I state.
"How many of them are there?" She asks, although it sounds more curious than professional.
"There's 5, 6 if you include Alfred," I explain. She nods.
"Can you tell me a little about them and their relationships?" She questions. It should be okay, right?
"Well, there's Mr. Wayne. He's the one taking care of me but we're not too close, so he's kind of an authority figure." I start. She scribbles something down with a nod.
"Then there's Damian. He's my boyfriend. And he's Mr. Wayne's biological son." I continue.
"Tim is like a brother to me. He's one of Mr. Wayne's adopted children. He still lives at home so we're pretty close." I mention. Harley motions for me to continue.
"I have a biological brother too. His name is Jason." I explain, remembering my cover story for him with Heather. "He doesn't live with me and the Wayne's, he's older by a lot."
"Dick is the oldest. He is also Mr. Wayne's adopted son. He doesn't live in Gotham but he visits as often as he can." I state. Harley nods along. "Alfred is the Wayne's butler, but he feels more like a grandfather most of the time."
"Sounds like you have a pretty good support system. Taking our current situation into account, I think you might benefit from group therapy. The group is your family." Harley prescribes.
"How does that work?" I ask, utterly confused.
"You sit in a group, you talk about the things that are bothering you. Because these people are close to you, they should have a rough idea of how to help you in some way." She explains patiently.
"I can suggest it."