Confession time: I'm a shit kid. Every year I make another pledge to myself that I will be a saint. On the whole I make plenty of pledges that I don't keep.
"You're not being reasonable."
"I hate you! It's your fault Dad left."
"You're selfish and thoughtless. I'm not the irresponsible little girl who spends all day in her room with her head berried in her laptop!"
"You're such a hypocrite, I work just as hard as you do for this farm, and I didn't drive him out!" I yelled.
"How dare you."
"No. You are the worst mum ever!" I had yanked the car door open.
"Stop. Don't you... don't you get in that ute, girl!"
"Move!" I shoved past her. "Oh! This is so unfair!"
"Huh! Unfair?" She tries the close the car door but I rip it from her hands. I'm stronger than her, I have been since I hit puberty.
"You were never there for me! When I had trouble in school, Dad was the one that helped! You pushed and pushed, but I was already doing my best. Do you ever bother to ask what I want? No! I want my dad back! You walk around telling me what to do, what not to do! Trying to make me be like you! Well, I'm not going to be like you!"
"Ach! You're acting like a child!"
I turn on her. "And you're a beast! That's what you are!"
"Gisela!" she scolds as I get in the car.
"I will never be like you! I'd rather die than be like you!" I screamed at her as I started the car.
"You get in that car, you don't come back! You hear me!" she yelled. "You hear me, Gita? Don't come back!"
That was the last time I saw her. It's one thing to lose a mother. It's another thing to never say goodbye.
Someone is shaking me.
I open my eyes; I've passed out at the Batcomputer and Damian is standing over me. He's hunched over, his Robin suit stained red from blood.
"Shit Dami!"
"Well," Damian says, "the zombie lives."
"What happened?"
"I was shot," he says in a 'duh' voice.
I roll my eyes, but the sarcasm doesn't help the grown worry growing in my gut. "Damian..."
Damian doesn't say anything but averts his eyes, his face set in expression that reminds me of a lost dog. Quickly and carefully, I pick him up and carry him to the med bay. Slipping off his cape and armour, I get a clear view of the open wound.
I don't know where Alfred is, but I could really use his help.
"Since when are you the reckless idiot?" I ask, bring out the first aid kit and anastatic.
"Do you even know how treat a bullet wound?"
"Alfred been teaching me, but this is my first real case. Not staged." I put on some rubber gloves before I press a warm clothe to the wound. I see clearly with all the blood, but at least he left the bullet in until he could get proper - or close to proper - attention to it.
He hisses as I numb the area, injecting the anastatic around the wound. "You have a horrible bed-side manner."
"This is going to hurt," I say and raise an eyebrow. How's that for bed-side manner? I take the scalpel and tweezers. "Do you trust me?"
"I trust you," he says, laying back on the table. He doesn't have healing abilities like Jason and me, his forehead is covered in sweat, his hair soaked. I'm afraid he'll go into shock and die.
How am I supposed to explain that to Bruce?
Damian copped it, sorry.
I make a small cut to widen the exit point before swapping the scalpel for the tweezers. Damian grits his teeth as I reach in and quickly grab the bullet, which thankfully wasn't too deep. Gently I pull the bullet out.
"League of Assassins, huh?" I say to distract him as I start to stitch. "Would've thought they taught you how to dodge bullets."
"Tch. They did."
"Can I ask what it was like?"
Damian doesn't meet my eye, but he begins to speak, explaining the League, and I listen. He would stop ever now and then to wince of suck in a breath. He explains his mother and grandfather, Ra's al Ghul. Just like in Son of Batman, Slade Wilson came after the League and Talia al Ghul sent Damian to live with Bruce.
By the time I'm done with his stitches, he's finished the story. I wrap bandages around his torso and chest, and over his shoulder. "Also, just so we're clear, no patrol until this is fully healed up. Got it?"
"Tch, Kelly, I am-"
"No. No patrol. I'll tell Bruce about it. Until then, you're on monitor duty with me and Alfred," I say. He grumbles about it and tries to get up. I push him back down and pass him a spare shirt. "Go to sleep Damian, you need rest."
"I'm not a child, Kelly" he says.
I sit next to him on the bed. "Yes, you are. And you don't have to act like nothing's bothers you. You're ten years old - you should be skipping school, having a Ferris Bueller's Day Off - and I know you were born and raised to be this weapon, but emotions are good. I know you won't admit any of this, so just lay here. Sometimes the best we can do is break the cycle."
Damian sighs and repositions himself so his head is in my lap. "Fine, but only because you stitched me up."
I smile, running my fingers through his hair. He doesn't try swat me away. "Atta boy, Dami."
"You don't talk about your family much," he says as I brush my fingers across his cheek. I pause. "Tell me about your mother."
"Let's try that again with some social skills, capeesh?" I run a finger down his nose.
"What is your mother like?" Damian asks, politely as he possibly can.
My hand goes back to his hair. "She's very much a lady," I say. "She used to rub my like this and I told her when I was nine, I would be too old to need back rub." Another pledge I didn't keep. "But sometimes even nineteen-year-olds need back rubs. She'd sing Edelweiss when I was scared of monsters in the dark."
It was a memory like this that kept me sane in the Lazarus Pit.
"There's no such thing as monsters."
"I seen Mukkine when I fucked around with blackfella business, and Taylor Pete said he saw Ngayurnangalku on walkabout."
"Whatever," Damian mumbles. "How did your parents meet?"
I've heard the story a million times. "They both went to St. Martha's. He boarded there like me and Darren, and Mum lived next door. Naturally she hated Dad's guts and used to bash him up. Broke his nose once. Made his lip bleed. I think she was also the one who knocked out two of his teeth."
"Your lady mother?"
"The very same. Of course this was when she was a foot taller than Dad and he led a terrorist gang in the street. Then one day he grew taller and she decided to become a lady and all the guys in the street fell in love with her. They called her Prissy Chrissy. They thought she was a snob, but she was only shy. Deep down, of course, Dad knew she secretly loved him."
"Of course," Damian mocks.
"She did," I insist. "They were fourteen and infatuated. Probably more mature than you are now."
"Fourteen," he scoffs.
"Uh-huh. Then, when they were sixteen he heard her crying in her garden shed while he was fixing his car on the other side of the fence. Dad asked her to come over and they sat in the school grounds keeper's shed and became best friends. She told him all her problems and he told her all his."
"What were her problems?" Damian asks.
"She was forever in trouble with my grandparents. God knows why, because she was such a perfect daughter. All I know is that she lived in the same house with a man who didn't talk to her and she couldn't understand why."
"And your dad's problems?"
"Skye Walker's mother. He danced with the girl at a wedding and her mother saw wedding bells. She'd come and visit his mother all the time bringing over stuff from Skye's hope chest. If he'd married Skye, Damian, he would be sleeping on purple satin sheets," I say before adding, "Imagine waking up to them with a hangover."
"So they became friends?" Damian asks, wanting to get back to the subject of my mother.
"The very best. Mum forgot she was shy and Dad remembered that he had a crush on her and they became mates. Over the next few months, it kind of changed. They became closer . . . and then they went into something they shouldn't have."
I look down at Damian gently.
"I can't say it wasn't worth it, because me and my brother were the result, and they can never regret us as long as both of them live, but it was a thing that they couldn't handle. Kids shouldn't play grown-up games. I don't mean the having-the-babies bit either, because I don't have kids so I don't know how hard it was. I mean the sex bit. It was a whole new ball game for Dad, because he was involved emotionally and not just physically. What they did made her feel so ashamed and him so inadequate. He wasn't making her feel good as far as he was concerned, so he hated her."
I trace my fingers down Damian's arm. "But Dad did the right thing and married her. All his mates thought he was crazy for it, but I really think he did love her. Her parents didn't like his parents because they used words like "wogs", and we just happed to be "wogs". Nonna and Nonno didn't really like Dad either cause the first time he met them he rocked up on a Harly Davison."
"Do you have a boyfriend?"
"No, I don't."
Damian yawns. "Well, I suppose I approve of you and Todd."
"Are you feeling okay?" I ask pressing the back of my hand against his forehead. He swats my hand away. "Nonna would have a fit, and that's just because he's not Italian."
"But didn't Darren court Natasha?"
"Patriarchy, Damian. And they're "good people", as Zio Ricardo would say," I say. "Besides it wouldn't be fair to start something with Jason when I'm not going to stick around." My mind flashes back to that night after my nightmare when Jason held me. I want that. I want his rough voice and his rough skin and his rough personality, and I want his warm hold and his soft words and his blue eyes.
But I can't stay here.
Damian frowns. "What then? What happens when you go home?"
"I'll run the farm, maybe have a couple of ankle biters of my own. Maybe start a riding school."
I try to get up but Damian clings to my shirt. He leans on my shoulder with his arms around my neck. Biting my lip, I close my eyes and place a kiss his forehead as I pick him up. I take him up to his room and tuck him in, singing Edelweiss even though he's not scared of the dark and there's no such thing as monsters.
Once I'm sure he's asleep, I head back down to the cave. Alfred's there with a tray of tea and biscuits. "How is Master Damian?"
"Sleeping," I say. "Does it ever bother you that he's only ten?"
"Every day, Miss Gita."
"Robin, come in?" The computer switches on, Batman's voice echoing through the cave.
"Ginger ninja here, what do you need the Demon Spawn for?" I say, voice cold.
"Did you just call yourself the "ginger ninja"?" Jason asks.
"We're out numbered, Bluey," Duke says as gun fire cracks through the background.
"You do realise I just PULLED A BULLET out of him," I say. "Call Dick, or Tim."
"They're on missions in Bludheaven and Jump City," Bruce says, being the only one not too stubborn to say it. "We need Robin."
"Okay, okay," I say, making a plan. "Where are you guys?"
"Sending the location now. Get Robin here as soon as possible." Bruce signs off and the screen goes dark.
I turn to Alfred. "Is there anything in the cave that'll fit me?"
"I think we might."
>>>><<<<
"Seriously Blue, you broke the sacred Bat Covenant tonight," Jason says.
"Shit fuck!" I grip his hand as Alfred snaps my bone back into place. I wish I could take a beating like Matt Murdock and walk it off. "What the fuck are you talking about, Jay?"
"Language, please, Miss Gita," Alfred says in a disproving tone.
"Sorry Alfie."
"You used the door to enter the building when you came to back us up," Duke explains. He took three bullets to the ribs. Thanks to his Kevlar suit, he managed to walk away with only a few broken ribs and some major bruises. But still, it could've been a lot worse.
"There are so many better ways to gain entry than through a door," Jason continues. "People expect these things from us, you know. It comes with being a Bat."
"But isn't the point to do the unexpected? To keep our enemies off-balance?" I ask. "If everyone expects us to come through the skylight or whatever, isn't using the door actually the most unexpected thing to do?"
Jason goes silent.
"I've been trying to tell them for ages," Duke say.
"I'm going to high five you when my arm is better."
I look back to Jason, his free fist is clenched in rage. He blames himself for my arm. Three bullets to the ribs, a broken arm, a concussion, and countless other injuries we knocked up trying to save this stupid city. Gotham will live another, it will go about its business, spawning in the scum of the earth, more grimy thugs and horrifying criminals. And Jason and his family will continue to fight them, continue Bruce's mission to rid Gotham of crime.
It wasn't the Joker that ambushed them and shot Damian, it was some other group of crazies. But they were close enough. Copycats. Some people have taken advantage of the situation to spread more fear. The problem compounds. The fear spreads. Reminders that the Joker is out there are around every corner. Everywhere you look. Anyone in their right mind wants just one thing... to get off the streets and get to safety. Because the Joker has a tendency to attract anyone who's not in their right mind.
Not just the obsessives, the nihilistic fanatics looking for a hero. But the depressingly ordinary as well. The ones who finally have an excuse to give into their darkest urges. Who need nothing more than a little inspiration. To give them that one final push.
The Joker said it himself in 2008: "I took Gotham's white knight and I brought him down to our level. It wasn't hard. You see, madness, as you know, is like gravity. All it takes is a little push!"
A bunch of scumbags dressed up in Joker costumes with a plan to get their idol's attention.
It made Jason crazy. It made him sloppy. Which made me pull his arse out of there and what led me to getting my arm snapped.
And it doesn't help that Bruce say there's more of them out there, more copycats in in the disgusting cult.
I want to get up and go back out to hunt then down one by one - but I can't. At least not for a while, because Alfred is putting a cast on my arm, and Bruce isn't happy with me.
I squeeze Jason's hand, silently assuring him that I'm okay.
"You did good tonight, doll," he says and entwines our fingers. Alfred's eyes shift between the two of us, but I pretend I don't see it.
"No, she didn't." Bruce's voice rumbles across the cave. He walks over and his shadow completely engulfs me. I've never felt so small. "You deliberately disobeyed me."
"Why are you yelling at me?"
I want to hide.
What did I do wrong?
I feel Jason shift beside me and I place a hand on his shoulder. Stay down. I pause - count to three - and advance on him. Two baby steps only, to make him feel advanced on. Still enough of a distance, a meter perhaps, that he couldn't use his height to his advantage. "You needed a Robin, you got one."
I'm wearing Stephanie's old Robin suit.
"What you did was dangerous and reckless. You are not trained to handle the emotional stress and still work effectively," he says.
I immediately shrink into myself at his disapproving tone.
I can handle it.
I did.
"That's bullshit," I say softly. "I'm finally good at something and you won't even give me a chance."
"You shattered his collarbone!"
"They shot Damian!"
"Give her a break; like you said she isn't trained to sit every time you whistle," Jason snaps, stepping up to Bruce. He run his hand through his hair, making the white streak fall lazily over his eyes. "Pull your head out of your ass for one goddamn minute and see that she helped us tonight."
"Forget it," I say, turning my back on them and begin to walk away. "You obviously don't need me around, and I won't stay where I'm obviously not wanted."
I'm only couple steps from the door when Bruce speaks again. "How are you planning on getting home?"
I freeze. He wouldn't...
I want you to go fuck yourself, I want to say, I want to hit him ~Don't~ I know I won't be able to land a punch on him. I'll just embarrass myself ~Control~ I can't go down the rabbit hole. The stabbing pain in my chest is coming back ~I'm not good enough~ words hurt no matter what people say. I want to hurt him back ~Begone voice~ control.
I keep walking, not even stopping when I hear Jason calling for me then yelling at Bruce. I get to my room as fast as I can, change out of the Robin suit and start packing all that will fit in my backpack. It's getting into the cooler months, but I can handle it.
I can always handle it.
I'm better on my own.
"I'll come with you," Jason says as he steps into my room.
"No. I need some time alone," I say and zip up the bag. "Might go to Central City - heard the rent is cheap and the Flash might need a hand."
His eyes flash hurt before he completely covers it up completely, causing my chest to crush itself.
The real reason that I am not letting him come is because I know he will comfort me and that is the last thing I want right now; I want to be mad at Bruce and everything that's happening, but I'm afraid that the world will burn with me. I don't want to hurt anyone apart from those who deserve it. I hate who I am when I'm angry, and just want to blow off some steam. I know how to handle my anger, I did it back then, I can do it now.
"Were you abused?" he asks out of the blue.
"What?" I ask.
"Were you abused?" he repeats.
"I live in an ethnic household, of course I've dodged a few sandals," I say, crossing my arms. "Why would even ask that?"
"You can take a beating without one damn complaint, but as soon as Bruce starts yelling at you, you shut down," Jason explains.
"The first part's the Catholicism."
"Abuse isn't always physical, Blue."
"You a shrink when you haven't got the Long Johns on?" I snap back, skin prickling with irritation. "Stop digging, Jay. You're searching for landmines with a hammer."
His eyes flash with that same emotion, causing me to regret being so defensive. I didn't even mean it. I'm pretty chill, unless you attack my loyalty. That is something I pride myself in. Loyalty means everything to me.
I mightn't stick around, but I'll always be there when you need me.
Uncle Gordon said I was a lot like my dad in that way.
"Fine," he says, before breathing out. "Just please be careful."
For some reason that hurts like a physical blow to the gut - I'd acted like the biggest arsehole on the goddamn universe, pushed him away, basically telling I didn't want to put up with his family's drama - he still wanted me to be safe. There wasn't any anger, or double meaning, or spite to it.
That's when I realise: Jason is the person that means the most to me.
We go silent for a few moments, and I take the time to study his face.
From such a close distance, I can see his face set deep in thought, the lines between his brows from frowning so much, the scar that runs down his jaw. It moves when he speaks. His jaw is straight like a knife, and the edge makes a nice curve. I offhandedly decide if I'm I ever going to kiss him, I'll kiss him on the corner of his jaw, then work my way up to his ear and maybe take it further...
He breathes out a long sigh through his nose, before taking hold of my finger in his palm. The sudden show of what I'm assuming is affection surprising; Jason's not the touchy feely type, neither of us are drunk or crying.
He fiddles with the pads of my fingertips, his nail grazing smoothly over my skin. Neither of us say anything, the silence becoming a comforting blanket over our shoulders. The sounds of the manor echo around us, the sounds are drowned out by the hammering of my heart.
Jason's rugged hands can't seem to stay still, the roughness of his battle worn skin causes mine to prickle with goosebumps. His eyebrows are furrowed slightly, eyes sparkling with something I don't recognise.
The dull light in the room dances across his cheeks, the shadow of his jawline more prominent than ever. A five o'clock shadow has started to darken it. His blue eyes twinkle as he raises them to meet my graze.
One of his hands leave my own, moving to tuck a strand of loose hair behind my ear. We both remain silent, his fingers gently tracing my jaw. His body shifts, his eyes not leaving mine, not even for a split second. He stands taller than me slightly, his head tilts down, resting his forehead against mine.
"What?" I whisper, my voice barely audible. His eyes flutter, his bottom lip finding its way between his pearly whites. I cup the side of his face and scratch the stubble, feeling it prickly under my nails.
"Nothing," Jason mumbles, his voice like sandpaper. "You're just - you're so damn beautiful."
I snort as my eyes fall to our feet, and his lips slowly start to form that stupid smirk of his. I shoulder my backpack and swallow my nerves.
I lean in and press my lips to the underside of his jaw. He must have a sweet spot there, because his chest rumbles with a low groan as one arm snakes around my waist and the other cups the back of my head, pressing me to him.
"I'll be back in a few days, Jaybean. Promise." My lips brush against his skin as I speak.
He shivers slightly and caresses my face again, his fingers leaving warm trails down my cheek. "I don't want to rush you into talking, but I want to make sure you know you can talk to me about anything. Nothing you say will change the way I feel about you. I won't pity you or treat you differently. I just want to know how to help you. But I want you to tell me when you're ready."
My eyes widen. "I'm going to snap," I mumble. "There's a bit of drywall in my head holding everything back, but it's coming down. It's better if no one's around when it does."
I pull back. He looks worried but nods.
I get on the subway with a ticket for Central City. It's not until the doors on my car close that I relax and start dismantling my watch for the tracking device, and every other precaution so I'm not followed.
I spend half a day heading west through hills, over rivers, past amber waves of grain. The rest of the day I spent alternately pacing the length of the train (because I had a really hard time sitting still) or looking out the windows.
On the way back from one of my pacing trips I step back into my car and find someone waiting for me.
A slim black woman sits poised - dare I say, regally - one leg crossed over the other in a trench coat on the opposite seat. Her dark curly hair is cropped close to her head. I know I'm in deep shit. In her coat is a 9mm handgun. She looks like if Nick Fury had both eyes. Her eyes bore into my soul, somehow dark and bright at the same time.
"My name is Amanda Waller. I think it's time we tied up loose ends."
Meme of the day