Archive of Our Own ^beta

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His first thought to that was; shit. The second; who the hell changed me? Because he was wearing his batsuit and he was pretty sure he hadn't been before. That and it felt weird, like it had been tugged onto him rather than fitted on with the machines and skilful coaching from gauntleted hands.

The window smashed inwards, too many Talons to count jumping through. Searing pain in his head. The female Talon had played him like a fiddle and he'd been clueless the entire time.

They'd knocked him out with a hit to the head if his headache said anything. Which meant he couldn't fall asleep anythime soon, just to be sure he didn't have a concussion. (He didn't think he'd be sleeping anytime soon anyway.)

His cowl was on and he felt safer with the Bat Computer connected lenses in it so he had no woes about standing and looking around himself. The lenses (they were in the cowls eyes but he was now also working on contacts to wear outside of the suit.) would analyse everything anyway (being connected to the Bat Computer as they were which fed them all the information they needed).

The lenses were working but without some sort of connection he was clueless as to where he was. They didn't need a connection to actually work just to give information sourced from the computer. He could still use them to pick up on the smaller details.

He wasn't called a detective for nothing.

Judging from the distinct smell of sewage and the marble he assumed he was near (or, in) the sewers and far away from civilisation. The marble looked to stretch and twist for yards. He was in a maze. And if he had to make an educated guess, he guessed he was in the Court's Maze.

He knew that didn't bode well for him. If he didn't die of starvation or dehydration, insanity or a Talon would get him first. From his current track record he could safely say a Talon would probably get him first. (Possibly even The Talon, the apparent leader of the assassins.)

The marble was bright but the sheen was dulled a tad by his lenses, allowing him to see a few feet into the adjoining corridors that extended out from the circular room he was in. It all seemed to be made out of white marble, with a huge statue of an owl standing in the middle of the eccentric room. It's wings were flared defensively and its beak opened to unleash a constant, steady stream of water that according to his lenses scans contained hallucinogenics.

He had actually been captured by the Court of the Owls.

His instincts kicked and screamed at him, saying this wasn't a good idea to stand in the open. There was too much at stake to stand around where they could see him. He knew how to survive in shadows, he had been for years as Batman, so now was no different.

Setting off on the furthest passageway to the left, with his cape licking soothingly at his heels and wrapping around him, Batman resolved he'd get out of the labyrinth.

Even if it killed him.

He had a city to save after all.

-/-/-

It didn't take him long - three days, if his lenses digital clock was true (he regretted not adding a date to the display as well, he'd add that when he got back) - to find the room of photos.

It was a small boxy room. With walls lined with endless photos marking and showing the people before him, how they'd lost themselves to the insanity the fountain offered, how they lost their reasons to live and just gave up. It smelt of damp and death. It disturbed him and Batman had wandered onto the next corridor as soon as possible.

He tried to ignore the flash of light that came from another camera as he stalked out, it surprised him and had him slamming sidewards into the darkened corner.

A quick glance back had him seeing a second one for him pop up, the others had at least fifteen so he knew he was fine for now. They all looked to go insane around the ten or eleven day mark. Batman knew he'd last longer than that. He had to.

It was there and then, hunched in a darkened corner, Batman promised himself - if not for him, then for Alfred, Gotham, the Justice League (if it came down to it) - that he wouldn't die there.

-/-/-

Five days in he stumbled upon a fork in the current corridor he'd decided to explore. An arrow of black blood marked the way left.

Blackish blood dribbled from her mouth.

Scowling, he turned around and explored the next corridor.

-/-/-

He felt like crying as he gazed at his reflection in the water. He'd torn his mask after falling over at the sudden surprise of a camera flash, his cape was torn and stretched after he'd caught it on a chipped piece of marble and the kevlar felt sweaty and smelt of stale sweat.

He looked like a druggie who'd went too long without a fix.

He looked like he'd fallen down a hole and had given up hope of climbing back out.

Batman wondered how long it had been. Was Alfred home yet? Or had Gotham already crashed and burned? Was this even real? He ended that train of thought where it was, narrowing his eyes at his depressing thoughts. He watched as his one white masked eye and other ripped, unmasked, bloodshot eye narrowed as one. The dehydration and starvation was getting to him.

His gaze drifted to just the rippling, sparkling clear water that was - confirmed traces of hallucinogenics. WARNING: Do not drink.

God, he was so thirsty.

A little sip.

Just a little...

It couldn't hurt.

It wouldn't hurt, surely not.

Just a little.

He shoveled his gloved hands (he wouldn't dare let go of his gauntlets, not in this place) into the clear, clean water (oh god, yes!) and gulped it eagerly down, relishing the feeling of the cool water rushing down his so, so dry throat. Done and feeling fine, he slinked off back to the shadows.

Where they couldn't see him.

-/-/-

His great-grandfather, Alan Wayne, had went crazy in his later years, Bruce recalls at some point. The man had ranted and raved about seeing owls and them apparently nesting in his home despite pest removal being called multiple times and clearing the place out.

He'd been written off as insane and at a point he'd went missing. They found his body in the sewers, claiming the man had fallen down a manhole.

Bruce shivers at that point and doesn't dare think about it any longer.

-/-/-

He should've known (no, he thinks absently staring at a chip in the marble from his current shadow. I knew. I just didn't care.) that the water was drugged because almost immediately after, he started seeing the hallucinations.

They started off as nothing more than brief flashing glimpses of Alfred, beckoning, calling (sometimes screaming, looking so pain stricken it physically hurt him to see) for him to come home but then they grew bigger. They grew and grew until he could see the Justice League tutting at him for failing so terribly, until he could see and hear his mother's pearls running down the sides of the scarcely lit corridors where he hid. They vanished down fake, made up drains in the walls or floors. That didn't stop the heart wrenching pain of the memories, it couldn't stop him as he growled at the surfaces and (sometimes just sometimes) screamed and punched and kicked at them until he collapsed back into a corner.

He didn't like this.

Not one bit.

So, when he came across that now flaky and dried, black blood arrow, he stared at the direction it went in and sat down. He felt like he was waiting for something or someone but he didn't really care anymore. He just didn't want to walk into another room to be greeted with the flash of an ancient camera that should've stopped working years ago, to be reminded his pictures were nearly halfway. (He would've yanked them off the wall and burnt them but he'd already done that three times and they kept coming back.)

All the pictures stopped at the same spot, which gave Batman a sick feeling because if his calculations were right (and they usually were) that meant no one had lasted over two months in this hell hole.

And that... That scared him.

He would've laughed at the irony of his throat wasn't screaming.

The Big Bad Bat was scared.

Scared to die.

Though he didn't dare tell himself he might, could, if he tried, live longer than the rest because he wasn't sure he wanted to.

-/-/-

He'd been there for over two and a half weeks. He wasn't too sure on that though. Batman had made it a point to mark off the days, about a day in, with tally marks in the underside of his gauntlet. He'd been dedicated too, watching the clock closely, setting timers, keeping notes for how long he napped. But somewhere a week in he'd gotten messy (it had been the water) and the scratches had all blurred into a big scratch. He'd given up after that.

Eventually he ran into the arrow again after too long of screaming at the cameras and going in circles. Deciding the worst that could happen was death (even that would be a blessing right about now) he followed it.

What it led to made him want to gag. It had to be the cruelest, most disturbing thing, yet. Far surpassing the flashes of light from cameras over 50 years old, running straight past the falling pearls and even worse than his horrifyingly dead looking reflection.

It led to death embodied.

A room of coffins.

Batman felt his insides twist when he saw her. Sitting on a coffin at the far edge of the huge room close to the middle: pale skin with black veins standing out like light against the dark with the dead look in her cerulean blue eyes rivalling his own. It was the female Talon. Only now she looked worse, sick and tired and close to becoming suicidal, if not already.

Upon seeing him she perked up, tilting her head tiredly and standing and jolting in a poor mockery of a bow. He strode forward, meeting her dead on, a few feet from the oak coffin that sat with half of itself open. He assumed it was hers. (Disgust and anger boiled within him. That was just wrong. To make people, even Talons, sleep in coffins. Utterly disgusting.)

He made no move to speak, waiting for her to react and after a few minutes she did. She blinked at him, her pupils contracting with hate as she hissed. "Weeks ago. The arrows were there, why'd you take so long?"

Batman blinked at her and winced when his bloodshot eyes gave a twinge of complaint. The coldness of the room didn't help, instead making them water. He couldn't flunk this, so he finally said after a moment of thought, "I was exploring my options."

The Talon gave him a look of dead amusement, her pupils expanding in postive emotions, but it was wiped from her face in an instant. She gazed at him blankly again. "We'll deal. You want free? We'll free you."

His insides contracted painfully and his stomach rumbled silently, sending vibrations through his weakening body. It reminded him how hungry he was, how he'd been surviving by drinking a pool of water he'd found in a dark corner only surviving disease by using his water purifying straw. Batman desperately wanted to agree but years of paranoia kept him back. She'd said it was a deal, that meant she wanted something out of it too. He doubted she was doing it from the good of her heart.

"What's your price?" He rasped. He really was desperate, he supposed. At this point he'd probably give up a limb. Which was either good planing on her behalf or just sheer luck he'd been this run down when he'd followed the damned arrow.

"Kill me after you fly."

He hadn't even taken a second to think, nevermind process that, before he was nodding. "Of course."

About a week into Bruce Wayne's kidnapping (of course Alfred had covered it up so that he'd conviently went on a business trip for possibly a few months so no one but he and the Founders knew. The only thing missing from the rouse was that there was no Batman and crime had climbed in Gotham) the Daily Planet caught news of the Drake's holding a fancy fundraiser ball that somehow they'd been cleared for one of their reporters to go to. Siezing the opportunity like a lifeline, Clark's editor had sent him, claiming he'd been shifty lately and needed some air.

Finding it the perfect opportunity to go see Alfred as plain old Clark Kent, The Daily Planet reporter, he went. It had been fancy, extravagant and loud but he felt he'd handled it well. Especially when a young, inexperienced waiter had dropped the six layer celebratory cake that had no doubt cost a fortune that Bruce would've scoffed at had he been there (and he would've been. Everyone invited Bruce Wayne.) In the end, Mrs Drake had had a fit that could've rivaled the Dark Knight's temper. At least it had given him a story.

The fundraiser otherwise had been filled with shifty people (it made him wonder if he'd been like that all week) and Clark had immediately escaped as soon as it was over. Alfred hadn't been surprised to find him standing at the gates either, if his sigh and almost resigned tone was anything to go by. Clark could even say he had possibly been expecting him. No doubt thanks to the sensors planted all over Gotham connected to the Bat Computer. He really hated that thing sometimes. "The gates will be opening now, please step back as to not impale yourself."

The mansion was as luxurious as ever, everything sparkling and shiny. Untouched. Alfred stood in the hallway, arms crossed with his wrinkle free, steam pressed, suit soaking up the light from the grand chandelier hanging above him. It gave him an ethereal sort of look that rivaled Batman when he was looking diabolical. "What can I do for you, Mister Kent?"

Clark stopped and tried to offer a smile but it fell short on the smile department and ended up in the grimace one. "I was at the Drake's fundraiser for the Planet just there and I thought I'd pop by. To, y'know, see how things are going."

Alfred looked at him like a tiger sizing up a mouse and instantly Clark knew why Bruce liked Alfred. "I thank you for the visit but I'm afraid I'm very busy. It was a nice visit and I thank you--"

Interrupting Alfred was a death threat but he did it anyway.

"Superman could patrol Gotham in favour of the Bat if you'd like." He said a tad too rushed to be considered calm. Inwardly, he scolded himself.

Alfred's look was sharp and it would surely haunt his dreams for years to come. "I thank you, Mister Kent, but no thank you. Gotham Police are doing their job, as they should. And Gotham will stand firm until the Bat returns and most importantly, I will stand by Master Bruce's rules. Goodbye, Mister Kent."

"But, I-" He was given an icy glare. He gave up forming an excuse. "Goodbye, Alfred."

He could see a veiled threat when it was one.

Falling back onto Superman's speed he was out the door and heading back to Metropolis in the blink of an eye.

-/-/-

Batman followed the Talon as she stumbled her way through passageway after passageway until finally he seen the first ounce of natural daylight in weeks.

He was out, finally. He was out.

Alfred.

He needed to get to Alfred, now.

He had to protect his home, his city, his safe little haven that he'd created in his time of darkness.

The Talon stopped at the end of the passageway that led into the sewers, staring expectantly at him. Unsure of what to do, he stared back at the goggled mask that was radiating cold disaffection. The girl had put it back on once he'd agreed to her terms. He'd been fine with it at first, but now it just made him twitchy.

"You agreed." The Talon clicked, gesturing to the sewer in a wide wave of her arm before placing her hands on her hips and tilting them to look menacing. "Fulfil your agreement, Bat."

A sinking feeling filled him and he felt as if his body was made of stone. Yes, he could kill her but killing wasn't in his ways like it was for her and she looked young. Like she had her whole life ahead of her. He didn't want to cut that short.

"I have a few more things for you to do before I carry out our deal, Talon." He said instead, trying to salvage the conversation before it got out of hand.

Talon sighed, sounding annoyed as she tilted her head mockingly. "Yes?"

This was the perfect opportunity. "Tell me your real name and take off your mask permanently." It was dirty and underhanded but there was no other way around it. If he wanted to help this girl, which he did, he had to take baby steps.

Annoyance and confusion filtered through her body language but the Talon did as it was told.

Pulling its mask off cleanly resulted in an unruly mop of tangled, ebony hair flowing free. Batman could say for sure it had to reach to her kneecaps.

He wondered how she shoved it all into that mask.

Her eyes, still a dull blue, had brightened at the sudden light and flashed a quick gold before turning into a soft ocean blue. The only thing Batman could safely say was that she looked better than she had in that room. "The Talon."

(He pushed the brief surprise down at the sudden addition of the, The. No way this girl was the leader of the Court's Talons.) Which meant it was, by default, the same response as before, this was where Batman didn't want to mess up. She claimed to be Talon but maybe, just maybe, she thought of herself like she thought the Bat and Bruce Wayne. "What's her name?"

The Talon's eyes widened, flashing a stunningly iridescent gold, before a grin broke out on her face and she giggled. It was the first thing close to a laugh that didn't sound insane. In her sudden fit of mirth (Batman wondered if this was healthy) she started laughing properly as she bent double, her thin arms wrapping around her tiny waist as she sucked in air in a desperate attempt to gain ground.

"He knows," She whispered with a feral sort of glee that made Batman want to tense, his finely tuned instincts kicking in. Thanks to his self-control he managed to restrict the response to a mere finger twitch. "He knows. He knows! Bat wishes for a name. Name. Name!"

She was bouncing on her heels now as happiness overtook her features. Before Batman knew it she was lunging towards him, engulfing him in a huge, tiptoed hug. Now only shaking from joy or something else, Batman didn't know.

"We call her Rachel Grayson," Her arms went limp suddenly from where they'd been hooked around his neck and Batman found his tired arms shooting up in some hidden parental instinct, to slip under her to keep her up. Her next words where a whisper filled with so much terror it made both Batman and Bruce want to punch whoever hurt her. "But.. they'd.. they called her Grayson."

A growl bubbled from the back of her throat and Batman felt it vibrate as her head landed limply on his one good shoulder. (Somewhere aling the line he'd scratched the other one and now, as it stung like hell had spat on it, he suspected it was infected.) "We don't like that name. So, Rachel. Call me," Her voice broke as she attempted a better string of words. "Call me, Rachel."

Batman nodded as he shifted her dead weight into his good hip. "Alright then, Rachel, which way?"

He liked this kid. He liked her a lot and honestly she reminded him of himself when he was younger. Lost and alone with no one to guide them.

He felt Rachel smile through the now thinned neck kevlar as she snuggled her face into his neck, going completely lax in his grip and leaning into him. She did look young, maybe 15 or 16. She was Romani too, if the recognisable yet dulled accent meant anything. "Left, right, left, left, right, right, left. Then you're home."

Thank you, he thought as he managed to rub her back as he cradled her closer to his chest. Making sure to keep a good hold on her so she didn't fall. He'd help her if it was the last thing he did. Hopefully, someday, it will be yours too.

She deserved to live. She had a right to.

And he was sure the villains wouldn't mind him getting a partner, he'd just have to keep an eye out for Alfred.

-/-/-

When the security system for the manor's sewer connection gate blinged at Alfred when he sat down in the black leather chair in the Cave he was sure it was a glitch. No one knew of that door and it was well out of the way of the mainstream sewer tunnels.

It had to be a rat.

Yes, a rat. Until Master Bruce's voice came over the comm link for that very door and Alfred - along with the bats resting overhead - nearly had a heart attack.

Bruce's voice was scratchy and raspy and despite his effort he sounded very tired. "Alfred, I need a tea, medical treatment and the maps of Gotham's entire sewer system now. Old and new. Oh, and open this door before that rat that's eyeing us decides to pounce and rips off what's left of my cape."

Alfred would've scolded the younger man he saw as a son for his manners but no one else was there. With the Justice League stiffly awaiting him to crack under pressure (yet keeping their distance, there was a reason he was still the Wayne butler) Alfred sort of wished they had been there, if only be able to smirk at them and say I told you so. They were good people, of that Alfred had no doubt, but they were stubborn in the stupid, illogical way Bruce was not.

If anyone thought he would lift Bruce's strict rule of No Capes in Gotham then they were stupider than Alfred had assumed.

Although Bruce had cursed. Alfred recognised that particular tactic as a stress reliever. Which meant something had happened in the three weeks and five days he'd been missing.

Alfred just hoped he'd misheard him when he had said us. There wasn't much tea left from his rather stressful binge drinking of it and he feared the worst: that he would appear as a bad host. God forbid.

-/-/-

The door between the Wayne household and the sewers was protected state of the art, the best Batman could make, security measures.

Sometimes Alfred thought that maybe Bruce was a tad paranoid and honestly do we really need that? Then one of his villains decided to go for Mr Wayne and the security actually came in handy. Alfred had just learned to stop glaring at them so obviously.

Bruce had been gone for a week and possibly 5 days, give or take two to three, and more than once had that security protocols and measures came in handy. At least three times something had tried to smash in the study window, in the exact same place where the glass had originally shattered from where Bruce had disappeared. It had given Alfred quite a fright whenever he'd returned three days later to find a damp, wreaked study. Somewhere where a fight or at least a struggle had taken place if the black goo (it reminded him a tad of blood, from the way it had dried and its odd texture) in the wall was of any indication.

"Master Bruce!" The sewers were dark and smelly but if Alfred squinted as he bumbled down the stairs he could see the outline of that oh-so-familiar black cape.

Sure enough, at his name Bruce turned around and even in the dark Alfred could very easily see the girl resting on his hip either unconscious or asleep (inwardly he sighed, this was so obviously the stray. Secretly, he hoped the young girl was asleep. He'd never be able to live down the shame of not having enough tea.) His suit was, indeed, in tatters, with his mask ripped just so that you could see one bloodshot, almost grey, eye. His cape, battered and stretched and torn, was barely still connected to his chestpiece. The main kevlar of the suit looked to be thinner than what it should've been and Alfred was sure if he focused he could see Bruce swaying back and forth ever so slightly. Whether from exhaustion, an injury or to possibly calm himself or the girl, Alfred selfishly hoped it was the latter. Still, he asked. "Are you alright, sir?"

Bruce's grin could've blinded a lesser man and Alfred thanked god that he wasn't one. Shuffling forward and not bothering to mask a wince as his hip popped loudly in the smelly silence, Bruce nodded at the little metal box that was the keypad making an aborted shrugging motion. "I apologise for calling you Alfred but I don't know the code and I didn't want to risk anything."

Alfred could've laughed but he felt drained from the past few weeks and he ended up tiredly snorting as he typed in the code. The lasers slowly disabled and vanished with a hydraulic hiss and a few metallic clangs. Relief bloomed in him, slicing away the shock and it was a challenge to keep his voice even with his eyes shinning. "That's quite alright, sir. Do try to not give me a heart attack again, though, Master Bruce."

He got a sheepish smile in response. "It's good to see you too, Alfred."

She remembers dismissing the pained, knowing, sad, look Mr Haley had sent her as her great-great-grandfather had shown up. She remembers the way she'd recalled the words her tătic had spoken years before: "Blood; family blood is good. It keeps you alive, if you stay with it and trust your instincts you will live, my baby girl. Follow no one else's hopes or desires. Just your own, make your own path."

She remembers the way her belly had tingled like something was going to happen, the way it had before mami and tătic had fallen. She remembers the heartaching pain she felt at thinking about her parents and she remembers ignoring the feeling in her belly, ignoring her instincts, going against her tătic's words.

Thinking back on it, she realises she ignored a lot that night.

-/-/-

Anca had been a naive child. She'd recalled only the advice about following and going with family blood, dismissing the tacked on urge to trust her insincts and the last tid-bit of worth-while advice.

She reasons, ten is a young age to fully understand that great tagged onto a title should mean the person behind it should be pretty old, nevermind with two of them. The information flutters in one ear and out the other as a young, looking around 30, man appears on the circus's doorstep and smiles happily at her.

The man's eyes are burdened with the same stress her tătic held in his strong frame, in his hulking, mammoth like gait, the same pain is etched into the man's face when her mami's face scrunched up whenever she talked about her mami, Anca's bunica. Something about the stricking familiarity raises a feeling of calm in her ten year old self and she smiles back: even if there are tear teacks down her cheeks, her smile is dimmer than normal and her eyes are watery.

"William Cobb," he introduces himself as, crouching down on her level and doing a funny little bow that makes her giggle sadly. His smile is the kindest she's seen directed at her from someone she doesn't know. Maybe that makes her like him more too and he's funny. "I'm your great-great-grandfather, Anca. I'm your mami's..." He hesitates here and probably decides that saying something like, I'm your mami's tatic's tatic's tatic, is a bit weird even if she's in a bit too much shock to realise if he's lying, even if it's as clear as day. So he continues with, "Fratele."

"Mami's fratele?" She asks and Cobb nods and smiles. Her mami's brother had came for her, she'd been overjoyed at the time.

"Your mami asked me to take care of you if anything ever happened. Would you like to come live with me, little Anca?"

That was the day she sealed her fate. At least, she thinks later on, at least I sealed it with a smile. "Yes, please!"

When she does the maths nine years later she finds out Cobb is actually her great-great-grandfather and there's no chance that her mami knew the bastard. She's happy about that, not because she's found her mami didn't know him but because that means she can kill him knowing her mami never knew nor loved him.

-/-/-

She'd never been the only Talon. Sure, she'd been The Talon but that didn't mean she was a single force. Being The Talon meant she was the head, the leader. She couldn't be a leader if she was alone. (Though, she huffs to herself, she had never been The Talon, it had. Red had been The Talon.)

The other Talon's preffered to roam the corridors of the Maze, fluctuating among the route of the statue, the training room, their tacky make-do living areas and the arena where the Courtiers sat high up in rows of red, silken seats, where they gave them their orders or where challenges for The Talon's mantle took place.

Rachel preferred to stick to the shadows and the high alocloves carved into the Maze's marble walls. She preferred to watch.

So she watched. She watched as the other Talons went about their buisness, not as mindless as they all let the Courtiers think.

They went about jobs: learning healthcare (incase one of the new Talons got sick, as they were prone to be), or learning a fellow companions mother tongue (god knew there were many different mother tongues mingling in their nest), or maybe playing games. The Courtiers (and Cobb, who thought much like them - arrogant and snide) believed it was wrong for the Talon's to play together, playing meaningless games like eye spy so the Talon's changed it up, saying they were practicing team building efforts. Going so far to only play tag and other stamina boosting or vision enhancing games when Cobb was around.

Some more caring Talons stood by and offered advice, gave help, smiled reasuringly in the corridors and even occasionally smuggled in alcohol for a few birthdays of the younger ones. But after a while, Cobb caught on, and when Cobb caught onto something you could be assured the Court would know within the hour. Eventually, all these self dubbed helpers vanished to the coffins. They weren't woken up, deemed the worst punishment. When one was frozen to the core it left scars. Rachel knew, she'd been... curious for her first years, constantly toeing the line of rules. She'd stopped after they froze her for a week. Honestly, she didn't know what she would've done had they kept her in there longer.

There reaches a point where there's one helper left. He's Romani, like her, and he's old, over three centuries, leading him to want to help the young ones. He's kind and everyone likes him, (maybe not Cobb but then he doesn't like many).

His name is Horace Monook and after a while the Court realise he can hold power. And thus, in reaction towards the Talon's more flighty nature's, they name him a supervisor. Still a Talon but he is more like their guardian, where Cobb stands as their trainer.

His reception is grand and every Talon is buzzing (except for Cobb, although he does seem to respect Monook a tad more) to have a Talon up in high command, where Cobb, the Master and his closest Courtiers had stood before. They rejoice at the chance for a stake of power, no matter how much of a slither it really is.

-/-/-

She tries to banish the memories of what she had to do when she'd failed a mission. She tries to forget what she'd had to do because she was starving and close to death.

There's a reason she's vegetarian in later years. She'll never forget that poor man.

-/-/-

When she was 40, when she'd been with the Court for 30 years and had been under Cobb's careful eye for the entirety of that time, Rachel snapped. The stress came down and her personality split.

It started off as eye twitches everytime she killed. She'd be swinging her beautiful sword (sometimes daggers) down in a glinting arc, aimed to cut her targets head clean off, when she'd involuntarily blink. She had always been enraptured in the way a human's blood spurted when their head vanished and she'd always made it a point to watch but this time she'd blinked without meaning to.

To say she was dissapointed to miss the man's end was a truth, but he was one of many on her hit list. And when the involuntary blinking kept happening she'd went to a medic who'd shrugged and reconmended another few hours of sleep.

It molds into finger twitches next, her blade is aimed for the heart dead center one moment and the next it's a few millimetres off. It annoys her enough that when she misses she rips the target's heart out if only to hide the complete and utter shambles she'd made of the kill. The other Talons give her space during this time, thinking she's just getting annoyed at the lack of targets because for some reason around the start of spring, (when their target schedules are changed and updated), the target number drops and stays like that for a while. She can't say she's pleased at the space but she's not annoyed by it. Her eyes are twitching more and more by the day. She's becoming too paranoid to talk to the others.

One day, she wakes up and she's stiff all over. It puts her in a bad mood and everyone steers clear of her path. She's begun to attract the confused attention of Cobb and the Courtiers.

When her world dims she begins to panic. It's subtle, a hint of grey lurking in the sides of her vision constantly, so much that she thinks she's being stalked by the Batman even in the dusty confines of the Maze. She'd heard the rumours of how good the man was and she'd learnt the hard way to never underestimate anyone. Cobb had seen to that.

Within three weeks the grey has went from lurking in the sides to giving her headaches from the strain in her eys. Sometimes a black figure stands infront of her a distance away, at the end of the corridor sometimes, and each time she has to blink hard three times to regain focus. Or sometimes the shadows dart out in front of her, when she's alone or walking down the busy corridor. It irritates her beyond words.

Monook makes it clear everyone's concerned about her one bad week when she's had to sit down in the corridors five times, she's fainted twice and she's been told she sways from side to side quite a bit. She's too annoyed by her blurry vision to take his concerns seriously and she pushes him, and anyone else who tries to help, away.

She falls into a coma, one day, suddenly, scaring everyone. When she wakes up she's different. She's a new person.

She's not her anymore, more so, an it. (A monster.)

That is the decade Red is born.

-/-/-

They distance around it when it awakens. They claim they don't know the thing with red blood eyes that can change to the usual gold at a moments notice, but it knows, it sees the recognition in the other Talon's eyes when it feels something -an urge, an unsatisfied whisper- and does it, even if out of its character, may it be an action or a figure or phrase of speech. It sees their pain when they realise it is still there.

The helper, Monook, is kind enough. But even it can see the pain in the man's eyes as he looks at it. Cobb is the same but he seems more angry, for taking away his 'niece'. It doesn't understand what he's talking about until something clicks, like a bridge in its head and a woman, broken and scarred, tells it what she thinks has happened. It continues on in the woman's place and decides to fufil the woman's full potential because it seems like it's going to be there for a while.

The other Talons begin to commonly call it Red because everytime it returns from a mission it comes back with claws dripping of red. It found it liked the name, very much so.

-/-/-

It challeges The Talon, currently recognised as William Cobb, more notably known as simply Cobb. Red challenges him for his throne, his rule because it's annoyed the way the younger ones keep coming back with arm length gashes in their stomachs and are expected to heal from them in preparation for the next days lesson. It's irritated how he demands so much, too much.

(Because the Court changed the formula for their blood to something weaker for the youngsters, so they could truely kill them if they hit them hard enough. So they could instil the true fear of death in them, to control them.

It knows, she knows, he knows and the younger ones know too.

Everyone knows.)

The fight is thrilling yet boring at the same time. Everyone gathers in the arena, Talons seperated and forced to sit on one high seated tiered side, under strict commands to not interfere or move, while the Courtiers and the Master sat on the other, grander, side.

It's like a game has begun with its fuse cut short when the Master whistles for the challenge to begin after his cup-bearer fills his glass with red wine. Red thinks it is fitting for such a momentuous occasion.

It swipes at Cobb, lunging at the man with brutal force and accuracy keeping its strikes aimed at the man's throat. Of course, he dodges easily, using the infamous Talon speed to whip around behind it and deliver a cutting underknee kick. Red topples forward, catching itself in a handspring that it uses to its advantage to kick him away when he lunges. Cobb darts towards it playfully, pulling back at the last moment to circle Red as he grins. Red fingers its daggers by its thigh sheaves and traces the man's movements as he circles it, baring its teeth in a silent promise.

It'll kill him.

They all know it.

It holds no sentiment for the weak.

He silently lunges, so quick Red frowns as it strains to keep track and see him. The only thing that keeps the sword from slicing through its neck is its cunning intincts that flare up in warning and force it to raise a blade to block the blur of silver light.

They both parry and block in ruthless attempts to get in hits while simultanesouly trying to outdo to other in terms of skill. Constantly, it finds itself being forced into upping its game whenever the blur of a blade skims too close to its neck for the woman's comfort.

Red's patience vanishes for the short game whenever Cobb hits it so hard it tumbles back and has to somersault to stay standing. Anger and irritation rising, it shoves the blade through the man's throat before anyone can blink.

If the Master likes the loser enough (though extremely rare) he'll freeze them in their coffin for an eternity. Barely a punishment at all compared to their failure. Red thinks the loser should die and it will happily accept death for such a thing, though its not sure the woman inside its head wants to die just yet.

Of course, when Cobb falls the Master is quick to announce he is freezing him but Red is too caught up in the alien feeling of glee at having won.

The game is over relatively quick and it finds itself frowning at the lack of fun, glee mixing in with it, it feels weird, odd, but the roar from the Talons behind it and the fast claps from the Courtiers break that thread of thought as it focuses in on its victory. Red can hear the woman thanking it for winning as it preens in the basking glory of being handed the mantle of The Talon.

It rules now.

-/-/-

Monook is standing outside its coffin when it returns from being given the copper infused adimantium talons, its true prize. Red's buzzing with the woman's joy but that quickly dulls and vanishes at the sad smile Monook gives it.

"Congratulations, my friend." He says, clapping it kindly on the shoulder in what the woman explains is a non-threatening gesture when its thoughts leap to hypersensitivity, readying a plan to strike the man down the quickest.

"I wish you luck, Red." And then Monook's gone, nothing but a whisp in the ever silent wind. It doesn't see him for a long, long time after that.

Years later, it thinks back on that memory and silently appologises as Red waits for the Bat to find it. The woman's been down here too long and it has a feeling in its gut that spells good bringings should it follow its instincts. There's a snipit of a memory from the woman as it thinks that, it smirks and repeats it aloud:

"Trust your instincts, not others good intentions, for they will keep you alive." Red hums, its talons tapping on its coffin's wooden lid. It's heard good intentions pave the road to hell, but that's false because it's been in hell for a while without any good intentions making a road. It wants -no, needs, it needs- out. Red knows for a fact, she is ready to come back.

"That we shall." It says in jeer and leaves it at that.

Its inhumane cackle makes the room feel colder than it is.

Rachel, dressed up in her sparkly red sequin dress, turned to refuse. To ask how she -an ex-assassin- would go about possibly talking to her because last she'd checked she tended to scare away most remotely sane people, but B was already gone. She brought her red gloved hand up to hide her frown (god forbid a reporter take a picture of the heir of Wayne scowling at her father's Charity Gala) as she scanned the crowd. She found B engaging in a conversation with some posh, rich man she didn't know the name of.

That really left her one option. She let her hand drop as she turned around, a fake happy smile plastered on her face once more, as she spotted Gordon. Damn it, she thought as she began the walk over to the girl.

She'd befriend this girl if it was the last thing she did.

She swore on it.

-/-/-

It was known that Barbara being out of her comfort zone equalled failed social situations. In fact, it was practically a printed, set in the stone, fact by this point. Rather than someone's assumption. It was a huge, big bullet point in her no-no book.

Even worse, Barbara had been out of her comfort zone the moment she stepped out of the house and that didn't make for a happy Barbara. In fact, if she were to rate it on how she felt being there - ten being the I feel great, it's going great option, one being the I messed everything up one- she'd have to give herself a two on how well everything had went so far.

She felt like one wrong move would blow everything up in her face, like social outings usually did.

It wasn't like she'd never been to business outing with her father before, she'd just never been taken along to one of Mr Wayne's Galas (and this was nowhere near the level of 'business outing', this was much more important. Complete with nosey press and arrogant rich people). Apparently her name had been on the invitation and her dad hadn't wanted to ignore it, he'd said she needed 'fresh air'. Barbara wasn't sure how being in a stuffy room with a bunch of posh-o rich people was called 'getting fresh air'.

"It's good manners." Her father had added when she'd raised an eyebrow, raising an eyebrow back at her when she said she didn't want to go. She vaguely thought about saying she was busy but that was a lie, her dad knew she wasn't busy. Barbara never was. "It's not like you've got anything better to do, right?"

She'd given in at that. Really, she had nothing better to do other than stalk the internet for that new vigilante who operated by Batman's side: Nightwing.

Nightwing. Nothing more than a black and red blur in the sky. It had been rumoured they were female. The very prospect of a female vigilante -a hero- excited Barbara beyond explanation. Sometimes, on the lonely nights when her dad wasn't yet home, still at the office at three am because the Joker was still running around ("I can't do that to them, Barb. I can't just abandon my men at three in the morning for my bed simply because I'm tired. The Joker is dangerous. Too dangerous to let this City's police sleep at night. I'm the Commissioner for a reason -to help.")... Sometimes Barbara wished she could help, become something better than just the Commissioner's daughter. She wanted to be the one to deal with the Joker (well, okay, maybe not him exactly but she'd gladly deal with others), she wanted to be the one who let her dad sleep at night. She wished she could become a hero.

But she knew what that was.

Nothing more than a childish dream. It was something everyone wished for at some point, anyway. She was sure. She'd grow out of it.

"Hello there."

Barbara blinked, being pulled from her thoughts as a soft feminine voice fluttered behind her. She could've sworn she recognised it.

Turning around with a smile Barbara found Mr Wayne's only (adopted) child, Rachel Wayne, standing there. She was pretty by all the meanings of the word with her luscious, wavy black hair, her cerulean blue eyes and her petite figure making her a teenager to die for. Personally Barbara didn't know anything about her past the articles in the paper and those all said she was 'an angel of innocence'.

Barbara wasn't one for stereotyping, but usually the papers got it all wrong.

That didn't make her feel any better.

"Oh," She said, making sure to sound welcoming. Her dad might just kill her if she made Wayne's kid run away crying like she'd done to that eight year old a few weeks ago. She smiled at her. "Hey. I'm Barbara, you?"

If Wayne recognised her she didn't show it. "Rachel Wayne." Her smile was as sweet as ripe cherries and as fake as the shiny (painted) gold picture frame in her bedroom. "Nice to meet you, Barbara."

There was a lull in their conversation where both girls didn't quite know what to say. Barbara started to mentally curse her dad for bringing her and, instantly, abandoning her.

Eventually, Rachel piped up with, "What's your favourite colour?"

Barbara blinked, taken aback at the sudden question and took about moment to think. "Green, maybe." For her mum's eyes. Yeah. "What's yours?"

Rachel let a flicker of a vicious grin fly across her face and time slowed as Barbara caught sight of threatening sharp canines. She shook it off when everything went back to normal. Her anxiety really was a curse, sometimes. "Red, probably... You're the Commissioner's daughter, aren't you?"

Barbara couldn't help but smile back, if uneasily. She tried to hide that though. "What gave it away?" She asked. She knew it was too much to ask for the millionaires kid to know her by first name alone. "It was the hair wasn't it?"

"The name actually," That surprised her. Rachel continued, "I knew the Commissioner had a daughter named Barbara I just didn't realise it was you immediately."

It came out of her mouth before she could stop it; she laughed. "You're weird."

Barbara stopped laughing as Rachel blinked, looking more confused than anything.

Fudging crapple sticks, she'd already messed up making friends with a girl she'd just met.

She scrambled to apologise. "Oh, I'm-"

Rachel burst out laughing. Startling everyone, including Barbara, around her. It wasn't the sort of quiet, shy giggle you'd expect to hear from from a girl such as her, instead it was loud and heartfelt. When she'd stopped she'd was gasping for breath and Barbara was left playing as the dumbfounded one.

"That-" She gasped, bending forward a tad as she smiled for real. "You're the first person to outright say that to my face." She straightened, still smiling, as she put a small hand on Barbara's shoulder. "You're hilarious."

Barbara didn't know what to say.

Rachel spoke for her, "I like you. You wanna come over to my place tomorrow if you're free?"

Barbara blinked, struggling to keep up. With the girls sudden mood changes had she not known for sure she wasn't, she would've assumed Rachel was bipolar or something. (Because seriously, a millionaires kid being loopy? It would make the news instantly). "Uh, sure."

Rachel's smile became smaller, grim almost, yet it stayed genuine. "Great."

With that she was gone, skipping happily back over to her dad.

Barbara stood there for a second, trying to process just what had happened. She felt like laughing when she figured it out: she'd made a friend.

By insulting them.

God, she was weird.

-/-/-

Bruce heard as Rachel burst out laughing halfway across the room, immersed as he was in his conversation with a nobody rich man who thought he had a great idea. Mr Doory (that was the man's name if he remembered right, an odd one too - Marshfield Doory, some CEO for a Californian company hoping to dig down roots in Gotham) stopped speaking for a second as Rachel burst out laughing genuinely and after staring at Rachel for a second (and after a look from Bruce himself) went back to the line of conversation.

Inside Bruce felt like smiling and laughing and (maybe) jumping about. He knew Rachel would get along with Jim's daughter. They were both odd spirits, unique, and they both tended to march to their own beat (more so, Rachel in that case). And Jim had mentioned how it was hard for Barbara to make friends. Bruce was sure neither of them would care a bit about the inevitable year age difference. Because as far as they (or one of them) knew: it was only by one year.

Sure enough, Rachel bounced over, the graces of a real smile on her lips as she bundled over to him. "I made a friend, daddy!" She said, cutting Doory off mid sentence uncaringly. Bruce wanted to thank her, the man was beyond annoying, going off on over-exaggerated stories that were ten times worse than Hal's. In this instant he was thankful her exaggerated childishness at these events tended to scare away most of the annoying million and billionaires that wanted to talk to him.

"Oh?" He smiled, casting what he hoped was an apologetic looking glance at the man. He put an arm around Rachel's shoulders - she was getting taller. Sprouting from the little girl who barely came up to his abs to a girl who stood just below his armpits. She'd grown exceptionally with the proper food and with her necessities fulfilled. Seventy or not, Rachel just loved to defy physics and the realm of possibility. "I assume you like Barbara then?" He asked playfully.

Rachel giggled, glancing up at him. "Yeah, she's fun. I invited her over tomorrow."

He felt a flower of pride bloom within him for his little girl. "Very good! Did she agree?"

Rachel tilted her head, looking at him as if he were a puzzle. She spoke as if it was obvious. All part of her act, Bruce knew, but still, it helped him feel like he was bonding with the usually so silent girl. "Of course, silly!"

Bruce realised he'd been ignoring Mr Doory as the man cleared his throat. "Well, I suppose we can continue this conversation later," He nodded his head. "Mr Wayne."

Bruce smiled at the man, glad to get him out of his hair. "Of course, Mr Doory. It was nice talking with you."

Rachel tugging on his sleeve brought his attention back to her, "Can we get some punch, tata?" She asked.

Bruce's eyes trailed up to the punch bowl: it was big, fruit filled and not at all child (well, she wasn't really a child, he reasoned) friendly. He looked down to say no when she gave him the puppy dog eyes. He sighed, past the point of arguing with that face. Resigned to his fate, he smiled. "Of course, sweetie."

She smiled as she dragged him over to the refreshments table.

God, he adored his little girl more than his heart could accept.

"Of course, mami!"

Her tătic chuckled as he ruffled her long hair. "Good because we're up next."

She smiled happily, jumping on the tips of her toes. "I'm so excited! I can't wait to swing with you two!"

Her mami and tătic laughed fondly.

"I can tell, birdie." Mami smiled and the curtains opened.

"Stop!" She shouted, more of a gasp than anything, as she bolted upright. The blankets pooled around her waist as the moon's bright light shone in through her curtainless windows and cast shadows over her scars. It was a full moon.

A bat fluttered by her window leaving a long, sharp shadow in its wake. It's wings fluttered as it squeaked. Her heart seized at the very sound.

Scared now, are we? Red whispered tauntingly.

Rachel didn't grace her with a reply as she shivered and pulled her blankets back up around herself, curling into a ball. The moon cast her shadow onto the opposite wall and Rachel stared at that, trance-like, as she mulled over her thoughts.

That was the fourth time this month she'd had that nightmare. Her parents dying, over and over again. Tonight's one wasn't as bad as normal, usually she had to stand up there on that podium and watch them fall, usually she was made to listen the the crunch of bones and the screams of the audience that followed not seconds later. Like every other time, she ignored the men who kept her back, calling for her, ignored the Wayne who stood in the crowd and left like the others, and she usually ended up screaming herself awake with Cobb's smiling face signaling the end.

B wasn't there to hear her wrench her throat out and Alf was too far away, down in his self-chosen servants quarters in the furthest wing. She was fine, fine for another night. All alone in a Manor that felt too cold yet to be called home.

(Not that she had ever had one.)

Instead of dwelling on memories she'd lived through for lifetimes, she let her mind wander.

She wondered what Batman was doing. If he was still patrolling - a glance at the clock, 1 AM, said he probably still was. She wondered who he'd fought, if anyone. That brought her to her next annoyance.

She'd been benched. Benched. B had benched her over something as simple as a misunderstanding (and sure, maybe it wasn't that simple but it sure as hell felt that way). Rachel didn't understand and Bats refused to explain.

Alfred was staying out of their now nine day long misunderstanding. He said it was a mere squabble. Like she hadn't secretly wept herself to sleep over paranoia of being cast out and forgotten by the world once again. Like she hadn't been shooting up right in bed, panting and minutes away from heaving.

Like she hadn't been doubting if Wayne really was a good name to have taken after all.

All of which brought her to a new topic; sidekicks. Bats insisted she was his partner the first night they'd went out and still remained firm on that detail, but he was insistent that she had to talk to people other than him, Alf and Hal (who sometimes came over to say hello with sweets). He wanted her to join a team, premature and unformed but the ideas had been in the workhouse for quite sometime and Bats believed she could lead them.

She didn't want to lead kids.

Sure, she'd lead adults - Talons - and she was absolutely fine with that because they were experienced. Not that the newbie baby sidekicks weren't but Rachel prefered time earned skill over less experience and dramatics. Some of those kids really were dramatic.

Kaldur'ahm, the Atlantean boy, looked promising but his stature was too firm and his skill too sloppy. He let down the fort when things got complicated and although he could lead he was terribly inexperienced with newbies. He could lead the elders, the ones who knew what was up, but not the learners. He would've been the appointed leader had she not been introduced to the equation, Rachel planned to train him to become the leader as soon as possible. So she could leave.

Roy Harper, Speedy, was an orphan adopted by Oliver Queen (a man she had yet to meet) and for his accuracy with a bow was astonishing, his temper was crude and short. He wasn't one to listen to orders and he had a track record for going off the rails. Rachel was sure there was more to him than mere recklessness but she hadn't yet met him.

Miss Martian, M'gann M'orzz, was a Martian. Much like the Manhunter, she held all the same powers and looks. She claimed to be his cousin and honestly, at this point, that excuse was getting old quick. Aside from her apparent childishness and unfamiliarity with Earth, she would be an adequate asset if she actually had control over her powers.

Kid Flash, Wally West, was young but then so were all of them. He'd been hit by a duplicate of the accident that had happened to Allen and had subsequently gained the man's same powers. Allen adopted West when his parents (Allen's wife's sister and her husband) were killed so he was now legally Wallace 'Wally' Allen. Childishness came with his age (only twelve) and his reckless nature could be dealt with and tamed.

Aside from all this, Rachel had not met any of them. She did not look forward to it. Especially since the meeting was set for Saturday at 2:30 PM which was technically later today.

A knock on her door startled her our of her thoughts. Alfred's head popped in a second later. "Morning, Mistress Rachel. It's time to get up, breakfast will be served in ten minutes."

Rachel shot the clock on her bedside table a look and groaned. She'd been up since 1, it was 8 AM now. She hadn't gotten any sleep other than those two hours before her nightmare.

-/-/-

"Be nice," Bruce advised, pulling up his cowl as he buckled himself in. The Batmobile's engine revved as Rachel jumped in too, domino clutched in her hands as she pulled down the belt. "They're only kids. Allen is twelve - the youngest - while Kaldur'ahm is roughly equal to fifteen human years. They're inexperienced and have time to learn. Nothing like Talons."

Rachel didn't understand why he kept bringing up that point. Did he think she thought they were highly trained soldiers? Because she sure as hell didn't, definitely not after seeing video footage of the Kid Flash disobey orders and get his ass kicked.

She nodded anyway. "I understand."

"Good," Bruce said, lense covered eyes set dead ahead as they sped out into the tunnel under the harbor. "Because I want you to remember that this is not a punishment but an experience."

"And a great opportunity," She bleakly added. Bruce had went over this speech five times during the collective thirty minutes of breakfast. She was already sick of hearing it.

The only good bit about this all was that she got to wear her Nightwing uniform. She'd missed the way the cape hugged her and tapped at her heels whenever she walked.

"Indeed." He nodded and Rachel was tempted to tap the radio on just to tune him out. She still didn't see why she had to go and why she had to lead. Why not just give the Atlantean boy a chance?

They do not respect mistakes. Red murmured and while Rachel was annoyed at the butt in she was greatful for the point. Red had been poking her head in less and less lately too, with varying moods - one day she was snarky and snappish, the next she was smooth and calm and maybe even happy.

You got that right, she responded back. Bunch of stuck up assholes if what B spouts is true.

He's not exactly reliable though.

True, true.

"We're here. Domino on." Rachel blinked herself back into the world of the living and realised she'd zoned out for at least a good forty minutes. She disliked time passing without her knowledge.

Grunting an affirmative she slipped the domino on and relished in the feel of it adjusting to her. With glee, she watched as the lenses lit up, images filtering through them as her comm sinc'd up with the fabulous tech.

Stoic and straight backed she pushed the Batmobile's door button and stepped out, face blank as the flashes of light from cameras grew ten times in intensity at her and Bats simultaneous step out. Anxiety curled in her gut like out of date milk but she pushed it down and walked on, brushing past the screaming reporters.

Two out of four were already waiting for them in the little room to the side of the main hall. Unsurprisingly, the Atlanteans and the Archers were there. The speedsters were not. The Martain was not going to be publicly announced to be on their team, she was the backup secret. The public was having a hard enough time getting over the fact Superman was an alien, why bother giving them more to complain about?

"Hey, batsy!" Green Arrow smiled, his blond moustache twitching with the motion as his beard glimmered in the light. Batman stopped a few feet away from them and Nightwing came to a halt beside him. Queen nodded to her, "Pleasure to meet you..."

"Nightwing," she said, voice low and serious. "The pleasure is yours and mine to share."

Speedy made a confused face and Nigtwing realised she'd lapsed back into her olden day talk. Arrow seemed to enjoy it though, as he laughed, looking a tad impressed.

"Some nice phrasing there, kiddo. Where'd you learn to talk like that?"

Nightwing smirked ever so slightly. "I get around." She changed the subject. Nodding to Speedy. "Pleasure to meet you as well."

Speedy spluttered and crossed his arms in a last act of defiance. "Yeah, sure."

Queen awkwardly coughed and lightly elbowed his son. Luckily for them, Nightwing didn't really care and Orion stepped up to take her hand at the same time.

"I must say," Orion grinned, his perfectly shaped teeth shined in the bleached light. "I am honoured to meet one such as yourself, ma'am."

She took his hand and gave it a firm shake. His eyebrow raised in approval. "I too am honoured, your majesty. It is not everyday someone like me gets to meet a monarch of the seas."

He smiled happily, flustered as he stepped back a step and gestured to the boy to his left. It wasn't everyday land dwellers complimented and respected another land's king. "Thank you, Nightwing. This is Aqualad, my esteemed protégé and loyal follower."

"It truly is an honour," Kaldur'ahm said, tone serious and eyes steady and firm. His grip was strong and his hands flapped. "Nightwing."

"Indeed it is," she agreed. "I have heard many a good thing about you, Ahm of Kaldur."

The boy blushed lightly at the high praise of his name. Atlantean customs were odd. "Please, just Kaldur."

"Rachel." She said and the silence reigned for a very long time.

"Rachel?" Speedy asked first. "Wait, is that your real name?"

"Yes." She said. The cameras would pick up on none of this and she knew for a fact the visitors up at the window would be gone in a few seconds. The Hall of Justice was only open for a limited amount of time. "I already know all of your names, so why not let you know mine?"

Harper looked begrudgingly understanding at that. Queen opened his mouth to speak when the door flapped open and in sped the two missing speedsters.

"What've we missed?" Allen called as he stopped with a trail of lightning following him. Kid Flash was not as lucky and ended up skidding to a halt, digging two very ugly marks into the carpet.

Rachel knew for a fact that this carpet was rare and cost over two hundred thousand dollars. Bruce knew that too (because he'd paid for it) and it showed on his face.

"Ah!" Kid squeaked, zipping around as he scuffed his shoes over the marks trying to make them vanish. They didn't look like they were going to any time soon. "OhmygoshI'msosorryIdidn'tmeantodothatIjust--"

"Kid!" Allen said, laying his hand on the boys shoulder. He smiled reassuringly, "It's fine, it's only a carpet. It can be fixed."

Nightwing watched them for a second, taking in the happy smiles and the obvious trust between the adopted father and son. She and B held no trust that she was aware of, unless it had been gained during the time which she'd fainted which she was unsure of. That suggetion alone was highly improbable.

B saved her the pain of dwelling on it, as he cleared his throat. Immediately, the two speedsters glanced over at him, matching cheeky grins on their faces as they blushed in good-natured embarrassment.

"Sorry for being late," Allen said.

"And for ruining the carpet," Kid added sheepishly.

"Let's get on with this." Bats announced, avoiding looking at the carpet for too long before it became obvious he was cringing at having to get a new one. Rachel smirked to herself. "The visitors are gone. The cameras are off. Introductions."

A firm glance to Flash had him nudging his son who gave the flustered look of a lamb at his highlighted position.

"Uh- um.. Wally. I'm Wally, Kid Flash otherw-wise." Rachel resisted the second smirk that pulled at her lips from the way Allen held his back breakingly straight. He pulled back his cowl to reveal a freckled face to match the ginger-red hair. His hair kinda reminded Rachel of Barbara's, only hers was a much deeper red whereas Wally's was more ginger.

"It is an honour for you all to be my first friends on land," Kaldur was saying as Rachel tuned in again. He bowed a little which she thought was cute. "I am Kaldur'ahm. I hope to help you all."

"Miss Martain will be here later, along with J'onn." B grunted, looking meaningfully to her.

Rachel gave a quirk of the brow and peeled off her mask.

"Rachel Wayne. Nightwing."

Silence for all of two seconds.

"You're a Wayne!?" Wally screetched instantly, getting a well mannered whack on the head from his adoptive father.

"Indeed," she said at the same time as B growled, "This information does not leave this room. Understood?"

Wally squeaked, "Sir, yes, sir!"

Wally offered her an excited grin.

"Wondered how long it'd take you to get a kid on your path, Bats." Queen smirked, resting his hands on his hips. Rachel shared a wicked smirk with B for all of three seconds before all threes League Communicators pinged. At a shared galnce they excused themselves over to the corner of the room.

Harper cleared his throat, desperate in trying to start up the conversation none of the other boys cared much for.

Rachel nodded for him to go as the group shifted to the seats. Wally dropped down into one of them with a whoosh, Kaldur with a simple awe and Rachel with silent grace. Harper shifted awkwardly over to the final chair around the coffee table and lowered himself into it.

"Roy Harper. I'm Speedy." His mask came off to reveal two gleaming blue eyes. Rachel looked at them a second longer than she should've, remarking mentally that they were nice. Harper caught her gaze and gritted his teeth, looking away. "14."

"Oh!" Wally smiled, "I'm 12."

"My age is equivalent to 15 human years," Kaldur smiled.

Rachel paused. How old was she?

"Around 60, I believe."

Harper gave her an odd look as Wally laughed, thinking it was a joke. Kaldur did nothing but nod.

"You look well," Kaldur smiled jestingly.

"Yeah right," Harper snipped, attitude peeking through. "As if she's 60; You don't look a day over 17."

"The public believe I am 16," she replied, not at all offended by the boys mistake. "I was The Talon before Bats appeared. I age slower than most, if not all, humans."

Wally whistled, "Sweet."

"I take that to mean you will be the leader, Rachel?" Kaldur said her name like it was the most precious thing in his world. It made Rachel feel a tad more wanted, if not flustered.

"Indeed," she agreed, bundling her domino up in her hands as she looked down at it. "I have led before."

"So?" Harper snipped. "That doesn't mean you'll definitely be able to lead us."

"Quite true, kid." She said, he glowered at the name. "But right now I'm the only one with experience in this little group so you'll listen to me or get your ass kicked. I'll let you decide which one you want to do first."

Harper quietened and sunk back into his seat, blue eyes alight with frustration, just as the huge monitor buzzed to life, drawing everyone's attention.

"Superman to Batman, repeat, Superman to Batman - Zatanna has requested backup. The sun's about to explode."

Rachel settled herself into the seat more comfortably and listened intently as everyone's heartbeats sped up in panic.

"I was going to attend to a CADMUS Labs fire but this is bigger. Any one able to pop in for a little damage control?"

"It's been dealt with, Clark." B grunted. "We'll be up with you in a bit, Batman out."

Superman's serious face vanished from the monitor as it went black. Rachel knew exactly what B was thinking as he turned to them importantly.

"It seems you've got your first mission; CADMUS Labs in Metropolis seems to need a bit of help."

Rachel sighed and resigned herself to her fate. Wally cheered.

-/-/-

Nightwing had the door open in a matter of seconds with the rest of them hurrying in after. They paused at the sight of a human boy in a longer pod. A huge K emblazoned on the front.

"Creepy," Kid squeaked, flashing around the room as if he were looking for a way out. Sure enough, "There's no other ways out."

"It seems we are stuck here for a while then," the Atlantean said. "I wonder what they do."

As he said this, Kaldur'ahm motioned towards the alien looking creature like just like Wally's description had glowing horns and emanated a humming sound.

"They are the G-Gnomes." A voice, silken and low, said from behind. Roy turned with a jump, arrow notched, as Wally and Kaldur'ahm went with a shout. Wayne was silent, as if she'd been expecting something, but the quiver in her hands that held her swords said otherwise.

Roy held back his disgusted sneer as he seen the humanoid blue figure. Thin and scrawny with horns sitting on his egg-like head, Roy didn't dare lower his guard. The white dress that seemed too much like a hospital gown flowed in an unseen breeze.

"Please," he said, motioning downwards with his hands, trying to act peaceful. "I am not here to cause harm, merely to warn you all."

Roy found it ironic the thing didn't claim it was harmless.

"I do take questions," he said, smiling now. Roy involuntarily took a step back. He's ashamed to say he would've dipped had Wayne not given him a look somewhere between a glare and an order.

"Why is this here?" Kaldur'ahm asked first, water bearers clutched in gilled hands.

"Under CADMUS?" The thing asked. "Why it is because this is CADMUS' Project. That is why."

"Then why not do it where everyone can see?" The Kid asked and the thing laughed.

"Secrecy is sometimes good, my child," it said and the door behind him burst open. Roy became painfully aware of the fact that the room was probably sound proofed.

Huge hulking monsters, muscled-like-tanks, tusks by their mouths like elephants, roared like horrific creatures of horror movies. Roy honestly had to hand it to the sound proofing - it had to be good if none of them heard any of this.

"Stand down!" The Guardian called, golden helmet reflecting the red lockdown lights painfully. Roy wondered when the lockdown had even went off. "You kids are trespassing on private property!"

"W-well about that.." Kid started, wringing his hands nervously. He was about to spill- he was about to spill--

Wayne kicked Wally to shut him up, throwing a small metal ball at the Guardian's feet. Roy yelped at the sudden smoke that exploded outwards and made everything cower.

A hand tugged at him, strong and desperate, and Roy went with the flow as the Atlantean's slippery hand clutched at his shoulder and pushed him along too. They ended up in the vents, cold and shivering as the monstrous troops scuttled along beneath them, unaware of their presence as they babbled along in some weird language.

"What do we do?" Wally asked, the whites of his mask shining in the dim light source that came from Wayne's gauntlet. Said woman was tapping quietly away at it, as she had been for the past few minutes, she'd already attempted to call the League and had been met with nothing but barriers and static. Nothing would get through these walls and that alone made Roy's heart race.

"We will need to move soon," said Kaldur'ahm, shifting ever so slightly. "Before they find us."

"Indeed," Wayne said, speaking hushed and quiet. Roy was sure the panic he heard was a figment of his imagination.

It had to be.

"We can't risk being caught, any and all stealth tactics are to be employed."

Her voice stayed firm this time and Roy settled his eyes on the rise and fall of her chest. Technically if she looked 16 that was okay, right?

"Archer," she snapped suddenly, voice louder than it had been a few seconds before. Roy's eyes snipped up and he realised belatedly that he'd been staring at her boobs. "Answer the question."

Roy's mind ran a thousand miles as his mouth ran dry. "What was the question?"

Wayne seemed rushed, "Can you hit the gnomes that sit on their shoulders?"

Roy thought of the small gimpy creatures and shivered. "Of course."

"Good," Roy had been wrong before, she seemed annoyed. Frustrated, even. Wayne clicked on her projected screen and showed them a live feed of the camera directly below them. "This is a live feed from below us, I think that these G-Gnomes are acting as a communication network, supplying all of these things with an up to date take on the situation at hand. We take out a couple and everyone will know so we have to make this fast."

"Why must we take a few out?" Kaldur'ahm asked, voicing everyone's question. "I thought the goal at hand was to get out alive."

Wayne hissed, snarking, "Of course it is. The chances of survival are higher if we buy ourselves time and aren't running out there in the open, so that means we have to give them a blackout zone. At the very least if we take out a couple at once we can temporarily take down this part of the network and make it through undetected."

"But if we do this we'll have been detected anyway," Kid protested.

"But only by the few below us." Wayne said and Roy spared the feed another glance. There were seven of then down there, all small human sized foot soldiers that had odd claw like hands. Their gnomes eyes were closed, bodies like hummingbirds as they glowed.

"That is better than all of them. Of course, the others will know we were here but they won't know exactly where if we do this right."

Roy had to admit, she made a good point.

"We got a good game plan, then?" He asked, tapping his bow nervously.

"There's a vent to your left, Archer." Wayne announced, "We'll pull that up and you'll hit as many gnomes as possible at the same time that I drop down along with Aqualad. Kid Flash'll stay up here until the gnomes are all out, if any do go off - don't hold back. If we fail, it's death and torture that awaits."

Roy shivered and they pulled the vent up.

-/-/-

Noise exploded in her ears as the vent lifted and as one, Rachel and her team cursed and slunk low. They'd been found too soon.

"Out!" Nightwing ordered, watching as Harper jumped out the vent opening. Lights were flashing - big bright lights that spelled death if found. They couldn't afford to be caught so they had to run.

That was okay. Rachel knew how to run. What she didn't know was if the others did too.

Soft little taps drew her attention, almost too quiet to be heard over roars and alarms but she heard it. Something was in the vents too, searching for them no doubt.

Rachel despised the way her heart pulsed like she was dead in the making. They'd make it out of this. They had to. She didn't want to die. Not yet, not so soon after getting out into the real world, not after— after eveything...

Allen made a noise as he followed Harper through and probably came face to face with the soldiers. They were running out of time, Rachel knew as she tapped Kaldur'ahm reassuringly on the back.

"Go," she said and frowned as he didn't. He was frozen in place, shaking - Rachel didn't have time for it so she pushed him and herself out, sealing the vent just as two beady red eyes appeared at the end of the corridor.

She hit the ground, collapsing into a roll just as Allen zipped by her, carting something over his back and tumbling it into the sturdy concrete wall. The green thing went limp and Rachel avoided looking at it as her stomach floated up into her mouth.

Harper shouted something but the sound was dimmed by everything and Rachel couldn't tell until it was too late that the soldiers were retreating.

With Kaldur'ahm still frozen, hovering in the corner like a fish out of water, Rachel spared him a dash of sympathy and sprinted forwards. Stuttering to a stop when a door slammed down right in front of her nose.

"What's happening?" Allen shouted over noise noise noise. There were things stomping in the corridors around them, loud roars echoing, the thing in the vents skittered evilly and retreated back a bit before it started banging through the metal and wall.

Rachel sucked in a breath and hollowly realised that this was all her fault. If she hadn't have went on and urged the younger ones to explore because she was impatient from being benched they all wouldn't be here.

Her eyes prickled and she swallowed her spit as Wally repeated himself, "What's happening?"

He sounded scared.

Rachel silently begged his father for forgiveness that would not be reaped.

Gas poured into the room from unseen holes and Rachel couldn't help but close her eyes and pretend it wasn't real. God how she wished it wasn't. Allen buckled into himself as Harper sunk low against the wall. Kaldur'ahm leaned into it and put up no fight.

Her eyes opened suddenly, not realising when she'd closed them, and Rachel gasped, realising the gas didn't work against her. It was tinged with the sickly smell of electrum.

She coughed, legs shaking as she pulled herself upright with the help of nothing but the floor. It was hard but she managed to stand, body quivering in the familiar way it did when she interacted with electrum. She felt weak, weak, stupidly and terribly weak. Her heart beat betrayed her and rang in her ears, shorting out half her hearing as she gasped to herself.

Rachel wondered what CADMUS was doing to have electrum gas in their pockets, ready to be deployed within seconds. Whatever it was, she knew it wasn't good.

She coughed again, this time her throat going dry as she was forced to spit.

TAP  TAP T AP

Rachel looked up, heart pounding at the sound. It echoed, carving out the layout and walls of the room and it scorched into her soul, making her feel heavy with the weight of fear.

A thing burst through the metal door, slamming to a halt in front of her. Rachel's eyes widened as the white suit gleamed in the smoke and red light. The K burned like an emblazoned mark that screamed death, pain, doomed.

Rachel didn't bother to beg as his fist whipped out and hit her in the side of the head.

She opened her eyes to the tinted side of a sealed pod. Something dangerous welling up inside of her chest before she even fully took in the scene. It felt like hell had plunged it's unforgiving depths of torment into her bones and had swelled there, bubbling and corroding her from the inside. In simple terms, she felt terrible.

Kaldur'ahm was stretched out, back straight, on a metal table. Wires leapt and tangled around him, his eyes closed. A pained grimace painted his face and Rachel would've tightened her fists and struggled had the needles poking into her veins not tightened and drawn blood.

The world swirled and the shadow of the thing that punched her into oblivion appeared in front of her, sneering as she stared into the cascading fire of his eyes.

He felt no remorse, she could tell. Only anger and seething. A lust for revenge.

She shivered at the pure emotion that swelled in those orbs. The needes and their lines shook with her and pulled down painfully. A voice spoke and the K moved away.

"How good to see you awake, Nightwing." A man, gaudy and grey haired with a white lab coat strode into her view. Dr. Conners, Rachel realised him as, she'd seen his profile in the system. He was a scientist, researching god knows whatever CADMUS deemed as top secret. "It is Nightwing, right? The public don't see much of you, I'm afraid, so I'm not entirely sure."

Rachel kept quiet, balling her hands into fists under the shaded part of the pod screen. She wondered what they'd pumped into her to make her feel so damn sluggish.

"Ah, don't worry," Conners hummed, nodding along as if she'd actually spoken. "I understand it's hard to do much now but don't worry! I won't be playing around with you just yet anyway."

A G-Gnome jumped onto his shoulder amd sat there like one of the gargoles that guarded Wayne Tower. Rachel squished down the rising panic that loomed ominously like a tsunami rearing up, ready to strike.

"In fact," Conners continued, walking away to circle the table where Kaldur lay prone. "Your little Atlantean friend is what currently intrigues me."

This time hot, red panic rushed through her veins like water through a tap. Rustled movement drew her eyes to her left and she found two more pods, identical to her own in which Harper and Allen were cuffed in too. Like her, their arms were held under the half screen of the pod and wires arched above them. Two metal strips were buckled over their chests, keeping them held back.

Rachel wondered why they hadn't done that to her too but she didn't dare ask.

Harper, clearly of a clearer mind, struggled in his cuffs and shouted something that Rachel's ears were ringing too much to hear. Whatever he said, Conners laughed and picked up a scalpel.

Kaldur screamed as the small, sharp blade cut into him and Rachel felt sick, unable to look away as Conner split his forearm's skin in two. He pulled up a tray of needles and took blood from each vein as was possible and while he was at it, stuck his scalpel down and cut out a bit of muscle.

He screamed again and Harper's betrayed howl followed him for time. Allen was silent but he shook and his head hung low. Rachel couldn't believe the man had the gall to do this in front of her, she'd kill him - she'd rip out his throat and she'd enjoy it. When that was done and he was choking on his blood she'd pull out his intestines and feed them to him, watching as they wiggled through the gaping hole in his throat. She'd kill him and--

Electricity arched around her and Rachel screamed, back bending off the cold back of the pod as the volts speared through her like a dagger through skin.

Conners shook his head, looking sad. "Now, now, Nightwing. We can't have you getting angry, now can we?"

He smirked at her disbelieving glare, "What? You think I haven't heard of the Court of Owls?" He laughed and the crooked, brittle sound sent body wracking shivers up her spine. "Yes, they seem like such good soldiers too. I've been pushing CADMUS to find a few for me but the ones we've caught all self-destructed within seconds of being caught."

Rachel coughed as she choked on her spit. Conners sighed, "Such a shame those were. We worked so hard to get them, too." His deary expression turned proud and horrifiyingly happy. "But now I've got you, so I can experiment as much as I want!"

The scalpel dived down and nicked a vein that Rachel knew meant Kaldur would bleed out in minutes. Slowly, Conners glanced down at it, made a face and shrugged. "Well, that was fun while it lasted."

He bent over his tray of tools, each horrific and gruesome in apearance and no doubt usage too. Kaldur whined pitifully as Conners brought up a long cylinder-shaped metal object. Rachel swallowed at the sight of it and forced herself to look away, grief boiling in her stomach. She knew what this one did, she knew and she wished she didn't.

Kaldur screamed louder this time, for so long that even Harper grew tired in his struggles and sagged low. Allen spared the table and Kal a glance and looked down quicker than Rachel had ever seen him move.

Rachel didn't look.

Conners broke into hysterical laughter suddenly and swung around the cylinder-like object, shaped too much like an oversized syringe for anyone's liking. "Look what I got, look what I got!" He sing-songed, bouncing around like a maniac. "I spy with my little eye an Atlantean eye!"

Rachel swallowed the bile that rose. Allen, from the sound of it, wasn't so lucky.

-/-/-

The boy shivered in the Batmobile's passenger seat and Batman felt a tad of remorse that he had no blankets on him. He glanced over and regretted it immediately, the image of the girl that was meant to sit there lingering in his mind's eye.

Nightw- no, Rachel had been missing for two days. Batman should've known something would go wrong, surrounding a seventy year old Talon with a bunch of kids but he'd gotten carried away by Allen and Queen's nagging to do something with their overly enthusiastic kids that he'd pushed his daughter along, regardless of weither she wanted to do it or not.

The worst thing was, no distress signal had been received. Whether or not one had been sent was a different matter all together.

"Master Batman," Alfred's voice crackled over the inner radio of the Batmobile and Batman tensed. Alfred knew he'd picked up a boy and knew bot to call unless it was important. (Ivy had been wreaking havoc downtown and Batman had returned to the sight of the boy stealing -or trying to- his tyres)

"Copy," he grunted, keeping his voice low but not so gravelly as to hurt his throat. God knew he had to keep the gravel for the League or else they all sat around like idiots. The only reason he'd left his Cave (more importantly, his computer) was because he didn't trust any of them to deal with things in his City.

Complete dickwads the lot of them.

"It seems the weather is quite nice over in Metropolis today," Alfred said, awfully non-sequitur like. Not that it was odd for him, it just stood out in a time where urgency was key. "Superman remarked on that himself, in fact."

It clicked and Batman got ready to hit the speed, he'd intended to take the kid to the Cave (what? He liked the brat's spunk) but that could wait if Alfred was saying what he thought he was.

"Is that so?" He said, what's happened?

"Nightwing's distress signal was picked up by the Satellites computer." Alfred said and the line went dead because Alfred knew him well enough to know he wouldn't be speaking now of all times.

Batman hit the speed, aiming straight for the nearest zeta-tube. Seems he was headed for Metropolis.

Goddamnit he hated Metropolis.

He spared the boy beside him a look, saw him staring, and snapped his gaze back to the road. And he had a tag-along too.

Great.

Batman pushed that to the side and focused on saving his partn no- his daughter. He focused on saving his daughter.

"Take the body to the incinerator," Conners said and Rachel could've cried.

The boy was dead. Dead and as he'd bled out he'd murmured things, so many things, from curses for the Doc, mantras in Atlantean tongue and wishes for them, they lined Rachel's ears and kept her mind buzzing with grievious sorrow.

Kaldur'ahm was dead and Rachel hadn't even known him a day. And that wasn't even the worst part, the worst part was that she'd watched it.

Rachel, and Allen, and Harper, had watched him die. Watched him bleed out and they'd stood there, bound and sore, but still, they'd stood there and watched. Watched.

She watched now, with Allen in a fitful drug induced sleep and Harper somewhere between heaven and hell, as the soldiers -weird muscled green-blue things with soft horns curving along their jaws and arching along the tip of their heads- picked up his body and prepared to cart him away. Kaldur's head had lolled to the left when he'd lost his grip, eyes still open as his lips turned blue with time.

It was horrible. The sight was horrible. Everything was horrible.

Rachel thanked whoever was listening Allen hadn't been awake. She didn't know what she'd do if- if--

This whole team thing was off, she'd already decided. B wasn't going to push her into this again, she'd leave if she had to but under no circumstances would she be part of a team ever again. Partners she could do, team members she could not.

Allen could kick and scream all he wanted and Harper could complain and moan but Rachel wouldn't come back. Never again, she muttered and Red popped up and tried to sooth her from the brink of tears.

It didn't work and as she fell on Red for an emotion crutch, the pod wall proved to be as cold as ever even with her constantly leaning against it. The tears ran down her checks, collected in her mask, ran through a gap in the glue and dripped to the ground. Her head dropping low and hanging there as the soldiers shuffled by, Kaldur'ahm clutched carelessly in their grip.

She sucked in a breath that didn't help anyone -it never would, not now, not with Kal dead and the other two incapacitated- and pretended she could still feel the cold, gnawing feeling of guilt-ridden realisation that had long ago formed. She was the one who'd killed Kal and doomed them all.

It had been her.

Numbness met her head on and as she tackled for emotion, Conners entered the room, K trailing behind him like a lovesick puppy.

"Aww," he said and Rachel's head snapped up, neck twanging and checks burning from both tears and surprise. "How sad, is our little Talon crying?"

He said it so viciously, with so much contempt and anger and seething that Rachel's bones tingled and Red growled within. Red stepped forward in her mindscape and said she'd protect her.

Conners laughed cruelly as she didn't respond. Then, a G-Gnome jumped onto his shoulder and glowed fiercely.

"Ah," he said, and nodded. He turned to K, "One of my assistants needs a little helping hand, watch her."

With that, he strode out of the room, leaving Rachel alone with K.

-/-/-

One definitely couldn't say K was dead, or emotionless, but the way he stood in front of her for a good three minutes, watching her mutely, gave Rachel the impression he was just a bit dull without the help of a G-Gnome.

Five minutes later, when it seemed Conners wasn't coming back any time soon, K stirred.

"You are..." it -he?- said, shifting his stance out minutely. He trailed off. Embarrassingly Rachel hiccuped, the tears now dry on her face. He jumped and squinted at her face. "...Crying?"

Rachel didn't answer.

He blinked and looked around the lab-room-type-thing before disappearing from view. He came back holding her belt and swords.

"Yours?" He asked, and this time Rachel nodded, feeling drunk as her head swayed and the world spun at sudden movement.

"Yes?" He tried to clarify.

"Yes," she gave in, voice cracking as she croaked out the syllable. Her throat hurt and she wished she could swallow something other than her own spit.

K nodded and pulled open the right cylinder that was a transmitter in disguise of aesthetics. He glanced up at her and she stared back, eyes wide behind her amazingly still on mask.

He hit the button and something pinged on her gauntlet.

It had worked.

It had worked when her previous attempt in the vents had not.

"Signals are allowed through here," K said. "Conners likes listening to the radio in his private study, so the walls have to allow it through and out."

Rachel swore if she didn't wake up from this absurd fantasy dream she'd choke to death.

"You have a name?" She said, and reveled in the proud feeling that welled up within as she didn't slur too much.

K blinked, delving into a deep bow that Rachel was sure was intended for humours sake. "K, at your service."

"Why mine?" She asked the question she wouldn't have if she was fully in the ring, "Why do you talk to me? And help?"

K smiled so softly. Rachel got the feeling he hadn't learnt that from Conners. "There are good people out there and bad people," he said. "You can decide which one to be."

Then he nodded to her, crushed the belt into pieces and snapped the swords over his knee. Rachel spluttered as he smirked at her and walked over to the control panel for the electric shocks.

She couldn't even scream as her muscles contacted and burned.

The tears ran anew. Stunted but anew.

He hauled himself out of the Batmobile, not sparing the kid a glance as he jumped out with the agility of a cat. Jason was the boy's name and he'd insisted on helping out so Bruce had thrown him one of the adjustable dominos and one of Rachel's capes that'd been cut in half the last time they'd duelled with Two-Face.

All in all, the kid had made a decent costume that covered his nameless identity and was sadly perfect enough that Batman had no reason other than protesting he was merely a child to not let him go. Even then, Jason was a stubborn boy with a sharp, unforgiving wit. He'd thrown right back at him that Nightwing didn't look any older than twenty. (Apparently the boy also considered 20 to be a child but Bruce let it go.)

He was a good fighter too. Batman knew that, his thigh still twinged from where the kid had startled and kicked him in surprise.

And Jason was as stubborn as a mule. So Batman let him tag along.

As a sidekick only.

"B," Hal nodded, offering Jason a strained smile. Bruce silently thanked him that he didn't bring up the fact he'd never seen the boy before. "Transmission came from a hundred plus feet deep down under and cut off not even ten seconds in. If she's been caught... our best bets are to assume the kids are dead."

The words stirred the others, who'd crowded round, and the fear became tangible as they shifted. No one wanted a dead child on their hands, and for the public to find out, nevermind the press -if it did unfortunately happen they'd have to keep it on the down low. A death could spell disaster for hero and villain alike.

"We need in, quick and fast or official?" Barry stopped to ask before they all stormed in. Batman was honestly surprised Clark hadn't tried pushing this off by noting how Metropolis was usually so quiet and CADMUS so inconspicuous.

"Official at first," Diana said, leading the brisk charge with Batman and Jason -"Hmm, my codename'll be Robin!"- hot on her tail. "We'll mix it up if they protest."

-/-/-

The lady, Janice according to her nametag, at reception didn't exactly allow them entry or access but Barry got the feeling she'd been too intimidated by Bruce's constant angry scowling rather than anything else and had just pushed them onwards to get the seven -eight (sorta) if you counted the kid Bruce had brought along- heroes out of her hair.

Honestly, Barry didn't degrade her for it. It was an unspoken thing that an angry Bruce was a scary Bruce.

And the kid said man had brought along? No one mentioned him, either out of fear for that glare being placed accussingly upon them or worry for the other missing (by two days) kids, Barry didn't know what the others were using for their excuse but he knew he was sticking firm to the latter.

It wasn't even an excuse.

His son had been missing for two days.

Two days too long.

He just hoped -with his soul, his being and all his willpower (even if that was more Hal's forte)- that they weren't too late.

"Yo, Bats!" The kid called -Robin, had he said? His words drew attention to him like a moth to a flame only because everyone else had fallen into an uneasy silence as they searched the floors for anything suspicious. "Isn't this one'o those 'xpress 'vators?"

Barry glanced to what he was pointing to and relaxed upon finding he didn't have to work out what the kid had said through his thick Dead End accent. It was an elevator. An express elevator.

Aka, an elevator that looked way too expensive to be in some lab and testing facility. It was one of those ones that travelled through like a hundred floors in a few seconds too if Barry remembered right.

Now that was suspicious.

Barry wondered how none of them had seen it before. How ironic of them, relying on a kid to find some more kids.

The thought alone set a feeling in his stomach like a boulder had been dropped in it.

"Good eye," Bruce said, stunning them all with his praise. The boy didn't show any outward surprise but preened under the gauntlet that ruffled his shaggy black hair.

The elevator was open within seconds of Bruce's cable being slid into the wires behind the broken off panel. He grunted as they all filled in, (minus Kal who claimed he'd keep watch).

"Nightwing's been here."

The words instantly pulled their defenses up. Barry's teeth worried at his lip, what if they were taking the exact same route the kids had?

Two days is enough to kill someone, a tiny voice whispered in his head. You know that, Allen. A few minutes is all it takes. They've had over 30 hours.

The pit grew wider.

"Oh?" Hal said, the only one brave enough to ask. "How'd ya know?"

Robin squinted his eyes at the holographic display, "She left a signal."

"A signal?" Diana asked, all innocent curiosity. "Of what sort?"

"One to alert me to her previous presence should I ever enter a database. They've been here, all of them." Bruce growled.

"Really?" Oliver perked up at that. Barry almost felt sad for him, his son of a few months was missing and possibly- possibly... oh god.

"Indeed," Bruce interrupted his spiralling thoughts. "She left a map," he paused and squinted. "They're being held in a laboratory of some sort."

"How can you be sure?" Orion asked.

Bruce stood up to his full height as if he were being challenged. "Because I trust my daughter's distress signal is accurate."

Barry noted those words carefully despite his current ongoing anxiety powered delirium.

I trust my daughter's distress signal. Bruce had said, not: 'I trust my daughter'.

-/-/-

Bruce had always been secretive and Hal had always understood that. Borne from losing his parents too young and taking on a nametag too soon. He'd never had a good childhood - in fact, most of the Core hadn't. Barry, Kal and Diana were probably the only ones to know what that meant (even if Diana's was slightly skewered).

But to bring a child into this, as soon as he had lost Rachel so quickly, was disgusting. They were here because -gods forbid anyone know he thought this- Bruce had ordered the mission, he'd let them go without so much as a 'be careful' and here they all were.

Trying to save a bunch of kids that were probably dead.

Dead because of Bruce.

J'onn gave him a knowing look and he shifted his gaze to the ground in shame.

Or was it his fault? Bruce had asked him if he was available for backup at the meeting - to at least show more of the League supported this team. Hal had been attempting to sleep off a hangover though (a bad one too, after a hard drinking night with Carol) and he'd rejected the offer with a snort. He loved Rachel -who couldn't? The gleam she held in her eyes was adorable in the way he supposed only a Space Cop could find cute and she smirked with a fatal essence of fearlessness- but even love has a limit.

He was really kicking himself right now. Seriously, he imagined the bruises he would've had were he not wearing the suit. (The bruises he deserved.)

The hallway they were lurking in wasn't any better. Bruce had looked at his gauntlet 'graph with a critical eye and had proclaimed they were stopping at floor 111. The kids had stopped at floor 112.

111 was concrete walls, labs and offices galore. Keypads guarded all doors and as they ducked under the bulletproof glass window panels in the metal doors, Hal used the ring to scan for life signals.

The feedback was worrying, if anything: 16 unarmed human life sigs, aka scientists; 18 unidentified, ambiguous life forms, which was bad news and the rest of the Leaguers that crouched behind him.

"Recon," Bruce growled, voice like gravel. Barry straightened his back as they got to a clear stretch of a hallway and with a nod disappeared.

He reappeared not five seconds later, eyes wide. "You won't believe this, but..."

-/-/-

"CADMUS are making clones," Oliver gasped.

"Holy shit," Hal breathed.

"By Athena's fury," said Diana, tone some mix of outrage and worry. "We should proceed with caution."

Bruce seemed to disagree. J'onn spoke up, over the scowl of disapproval.

"We should search for the children while it is still possible," the Martain hummed, speaking for the first time in a while. Those words pulled the mood back down to earth and grounded them all severely. "Before we are found."

"Of course," Orion nodded. "J'onn holds a valid point. Let us move with the swiftness of the currents."

Hal vividly imagined the smooth, curling current of the lake back home. He remembered how its cool waters had lapped at his feet when he was younger and how he'd went there with his brother to swim during the warm summer months. The Green Lantern decided to not pipe up that not all currents were so swift as the Atlantean King seemed to think they were.

"Directions, Batman?" J'onn asked as they started along the hallway.

He was ignored as Bruce paused at a door guarded by two keypads. "Cover me," the man grunted, pushing in his USB cable before he began to hack the thing.

The moment he hit his screen the third time alarms rang off, Bruce's screen flushed red and he growled lowly before yanking the cable out.

Hal didn't need him to speak to know what had happened as a crowd of blue-tinted people appeared at the turn of the hallway and locked eyes with them. They charged with screams of thunderous volume.

Hal reacted first, slamming up his shield as J'onn nodded to Bruce and floated through the floor. The blue people had yellow eyes like Avatars and purple (and some green) markings that swirled in various patterns and shapes. There were twelve of them, only twelve of the eighteen unknown life sigs.

Diana placed her small but sure hand on his shoulder and he dropped the shield. He slammed two of the probable clones into the wall with a giant light hand as the Amazonian rushed six of them with an adrenalized, blood curdling roar.

Barry whipped right up the wall, running up halfway to elbow slam a group of three that went down with low screetches.

Hal took out the last one with a smooth trail of hard light as three hulking beasts roared to rival Diana's. One charged, large mammoth-like horns mowing straight through a section of the wall it slammed into thanks to Orion's spear knocking it off course. The two others stomped forward, arms as long as their legs and even going so far as to touch the ground like limp appendages of hell.

Their blue skin shined in the now red and flashing lockdown lights. Bruce threw a blinking batarang and one vanished from sight, becoming a hardened puff of yellow solidifying solution.

"Hurry!" J'onn called as he passed his hand through the two keypads, completely disregarding the laws he consciously abided by. He seemed spooked if the wildness in his eyes meant anything.

"Go!" Bruce shouted in sync, shooting Barry a glare to get moving as the male sped over to the cheeto puff of a monster. "That won't hold it for much longer!"

Sure enough, it cracked as a roar rumbled within the compounds confinement. The one behind it spared a second to stare dumbly before it roared, rearing up on its hind legs and slapping its chest like a gorilla before charging forward and making the ball slide forward slightly. It edged closer to them like a fast travelling glacier.

"C'mon, Flash!" Hal pulled him along and they all made it into the metal stairwell just as the orange cheeto puff collided with the wall at the far end of the hallway. The last blue creature bellowed, anger clear as it stomped by, completely oblivious to the cowering humans in the stairwell. It's steps echoed in the distance.

"That was close," Diana said, brushing off her skirt as she began following Bruce and J'onn who were already scaling down the stairs. Barry blinked and offered a weak smile at Hal before nodding and zipping forward to join the rest of them.

Hal frowned but followed. He had a bad feeling about this. Orion clapped him on the back in reconcilation.

"Let us find the team and leave, Jordan."

The Atlantean King was grinning from ear to ear and not for the first time, Hal wondered how he did it. How he stayed so happy.

"Now," he said, voice hitching as he rubbed down the crease of her elbow with alcohol wipes. "This will hurt a bit, maybe sting, or burn. I'm not too sure, the big guy didn't really give much detail."

Rachel's heart was in her throat. Her pulse was too fast, too arythmic. Conners patted her wrist lovingly, cooing something nonsensical that she tried to ignore, tried to drown out as background interference.

The thin slip of metal pushed into the vein and released its contents. It burned like hell; burned as if fire had dropped down on her chest, swallowing and constricting her lungs and ergo, her breathing. Her eyes dried before watering, her fingers twitched frantically of their own accord and before she knew it her eyes were rolling back, her vision fading to the point of nothingness. Conners said something indecipherable.

The world returned to normal and shakes Rachel hadn't known were there ceased, leaving her body weak and shivering from an imaginary cold draft. Her stomach twisted with despise (or was it fear?).

"That was good," Conners said, face floating in the edge of her eyeline. The leather straps around her wrists were tightened by a lurking K and Rachel felt as if those veins were about to pop from the pressure.

"Short reaction time," K grunted and spoke on but Rachel was hiccuping now, lungs expanding with each other breath that made it hard to find air. Her diaphragm ached, shivering unceasingly as she mentally begged for oxygen.

"Indeed." Conners said and his approving, slightly curious tone spelled disaster for her. Rachel almost wished she'd heard what K had said but Red's calming rumble pulled her into her head again, setting her thoughts on triumph once more.

The second needle pierced the other arm and Rachel found she had no air in her lungs to let her scream as freezing, violet fluid flushed into her bloodstream like a glacier flushing into a valley dam. Her entire left arm felt stiff, cold as ice and her legs went numb first. Then her torso before it crept up into her arm and head, making her everything pound furiously.

A hand gripped onto the Nightwing insignia. Sharp, daunting scissors grazed the fabric.

Her heart felt numb. Conners grinned down at her as the suit ripped by the scissors easier than kevlar ever should've.

"I'll leave this on," he hummed, scalpel that was suddenly in his hands flitting over her sports bra. "Out of professional courtesy, of course."

Relief flooded what bits she could still feel, making her world fuzzy. Still, that didn't stop the alcohol wipes, nor the scalpel.

It sliced down, black blood that rushed forth not even spooking Conners. If anything, it seemed to fascinate him.

"Interesting indeed, seems he was right." The scientist muttered. "Even when your blood hits air and gravity - everything - it remains black."

"Due to an oversaturation of electrum?" K asked, the head tilt the only show of personality.

"Yes," Conners said, picking up the needle and drawing more blood despite what was pooling on her chest, seeping into her suit, into her bra. She held back the wince as it flushed over her neck, cruelly recreating the feeling of a warm, safe blanket. "Those foolish Owls obviously know nothing of the effects of such toxic chemicals."

His scalpel was pushed in again, thin blade slicing through skin and muscle that seeped black poison readily. The cut was long, deep and thin, straight down the middle like a symmetrical line splitting a portrait in half. He poked around in Rachel's chest for a bit before sighing and pulling back.

"I was going to see if I could get any bone samples but your chest has been a bit reformatted by Chemical E," He picked at the edge of her bra and ripped it a bit. "So I'll just have to cut some from your ribs."

He readied the point and dived down, slicing thickly through the skin just below her breasts by a few inches. Rachel gasped for air, the sickly feeling of metal in her never receding no matter how much she tried to ignore it. The blood on her chest was merely running through her bra now, having completely entrenched it, almost corrosive-like as it ran down the hem and skunked into the edges of her suit, gathering down her sides. Her side fizzled where the doctor poked as the blood from her chest slithered over the fresh incision.

Conners scowled as he grabbed a wad of wipes and pushed them across the blood, drawing the black mess away from the slit where he was scratching at her bone painfully.

"Come here," he muttered to K, arrogantly flicking him over. He pushed the wipes over to the clone. "Apply pressure to that with something, I thought she would've healed by now."

Yes, she thought, panic lacing everything as pain mingled with her nerves like an old friend. Why haven't I healed?

The injections, Red purred, tone soft in a futile attempt to calm her. Clawed hands ghosted over her legs. The hot one dulled my influence and the cold one has almost halted The Talon's powers completely. If left long enough you could begin to age like a normal human.

But it won't come to that, she thought, worry climbing along her spine. Right?

Red didn't answer.

"Day dreaming on us, little Talon?" Conners smirked as the pain of pressure on her chest pulled her back with a yowl. "Can't have that, now can we, K?"

The doctor looked over to the clone who shook his head obediently.

"Of course not," K said, voice a cold humoured thing. "Doraleous forbid."

Doraleous? She questioned, vision blurry as the pressure increased.

Conners seemed as equally confused but shrugged it off, "Right then, why don't we--"

The door slammed open with a green train leading the way.

Rachel's heart thumped in her chest, writhing pace renewed as Hal shot through the opening, ring glowing with his power.

"Stand down!" The Green Lantern shouted, showing his ring as K readied his fists and Conners jerked away from her.

"Surrender, criminals!" Orion howled and the guilt settled in like a wave.

Wally jerked awake in his pod as Roy blinked and came to. Rachel curled her fingers into a fist despite the shooting pains and hoped no one actively held how weak she was against her.

Conners began laughing as Diana strode into the room, and it turned hysterical as B and Allen followed her in, the latter zipping about and freeing the other two boys instantly. Rachel's chest exploded with shame.

"Stand down, Conners." Bats growled, voice rough, and getting even rougher as a child, wearing that cape of hers which had been ripped in half thanks to Two-Face and an expandable domino, followed him in. His black hair shined in the murky lights of the lab and Rachel's stomach was in her throat as she realised who he was.

Her replacement.

Bats had replaced her.

Red screamed from within.

It couldn't have been a week yet Bats had already went fishing for another scoundrel. Was that how much he cared for her?

Her headache got worse, so much so, that when Conners moved to hoist the scalpel above her chest she didn't even notice.

If anyone asked, she was heavily drugged. Definitely.

The League stiffened funnily as the scalpel hovered peacefully a few inches from the skin above her heart.

"Anyone moves and she's dead," Conners hissed, voice as steady as his hands.

Her replacement frowned as everyone else did, he looked around discreetly and Rachel found herself watching as he murmured something low to B. It was a credit to her lowly state that she couldn't hear him speaking.

Batman put one foot in front of the other and took a step forward. Rachel felt like crying as betrayal welled up inside of her. Why would he move? Why would Bats move when Conners had explicitly made it clear she would be killed should he make a move?

Was she really that unimportant?

So expandable that she could be sacrificed without a second thought?

"What are you waiting for then?" Bats sneered as Conners' hand wavered. "She knew what she was getting into when she started."

Batman's honest cruelty seemed to shock the heroes around him and Conners. Rachel swore even K blinked. She didn't care though, the weight on her chest felt like it had doubled even without the wipes or K's hands there. The angry sorrowful pain encrowded her, making it hard to see as tears lined her vision.

Her chest heaved as she fought for breath.

No one spared her a second glance, though the tension in the room rose significantly.

"Are you sure you're so ready for her to die?" Conners called, a last ditch attempt before he did the deed.

Please, Bruce. She begged silently.

Never beg, child. Red emitted strength from within. It warmed her heart but not her soul.

"When did I say that?" A batarang flew out from nowhere - the kid's pulled on utility belt, Rachel would find out later - and knocked the scalpel out of Conners' hand.

Conners shouted in surprise and reeled back. K lunged forward for Bats, Aquaman intercepting him halfway, initiating a full out brawl between them.

Bats let Wonder Woman off at Conners to tie him up with her lasso, before approaching her with the calm stride of a man familiar and unafraid of death.

"You were captured," Batman said lowly into her ears as he pulled out a lazer to cut at the straps practically melded to her wrists from blood.

Yes, she wanted to say but her throat hurt and the betrayal still stung deep down. Everything hurts.

Please, dad, she wanted to call but the way he'd let the scalpel hover over her heart without so much as a twitch of pain (or any other emotion) crossing his face deterred her. The scene haunted her.

"Can you stand?" He asked, voice suddenly a bit softer as he checked over her chest and other still bleeding wounds briefly. He applied a scrunched up bandage to her chest and pulled her arm up to hold it there despite how it bled.

Rachel wanted to nod so terribly bad.

"Don' think she can, Batman." The kid said, hair glistening in the now red flashing lockdown lights. Rachel wondered when they'd turned on and realised it had probably happened when the door had flew off its hinges thanks to Hal. But that— she coughed harshly and its wet sound had her shivering.

Bats didn't respond to her replacement, instead pulling off the straps and everything tying her down and pulling her into a bridal carry that had her clutched close to his chest. The only up side to that was that he radiated body heat like a mammoth.

"Grab the swords, belt and claws." He said a few seconds later to her replacement. The boy lingered nervously, "Now, Robin."

Something sharp, simultaneously too hot and too cold made a spearhead to her heart as Rachel heard the name.

"R- Robin?" She coughed out, throat screaming with the bloodied burns on her chest shifting with each laboured breath.

God she hoped she'd heard it wrong.

Her mami's nickname for her...

The boy turned around mid-step, face alight with purpose, hope and recognition. "Yeah?"

....ruined.

If Bruce felt the tension as she sunk low into his traitorus chest, he didn't remark upon it. Instead, "Let's leave."

And god damn, Rachel should've been happy at that - especially as the two others were coming too - but she felt so numb it was like she'd lost the ability to feel.

Robin— no. The boy grabbed her gear and they fled. Orion's enraged shouts followed them out.

Rachel stares at the tender cuts carved into her body in the full-body mirror.

"They'll scar, sweetie." The private hospital's doctor had said - the one payed enough to simply dismiss any and all questions from everyone with a simple 'just a sprained wrist'.

Even then, that was partially true because she had bandages on her wrist. Because it was sprained.

Oh, the irony.

Rachel found it depressingly funny that still two weeks later her injuries plagued her like a broken record player. Running hand in hand with her problems.

Not only would the electric burns and cuts on her chest scar, her wrists were perpetually going to be ruddy, lumpy tissue from the too tight, skin splitting straps that had been wrapped around them. Her ankle felt weird and her ribs ached at night when no one spoke enough to keep away the sharp cold metal against her skin. She also had a phobia of needles if the horrible panic attack she'd had upon seeing one meant anything.

And somehow, the heartache didn't end there. B had taken in the kid - her replacement, Robin - and now he lurked about too, sometimes checking in on her, all arrogant naïevty and forlorn innocence. His Dead End accent drove her up the wall of hate and into eternal loathsome despisement.

The brat had stolen her place.

Apparently, she was too ill to go out. (And since when had a couple scars and cuts ever stopped a Talon?) So Bruce had organised for the boy to be Robin and take her place, having training on the go.

("A broken arm won't kill you," Cobb's slimey voice hissed in her ear.)

If that all wasn't enough, Alf seemed to like the boy more too. So did B.

God B loved him.

A knock on her door pulled her out of her thoughts and she pulled down the loose shirt (loose because everything hurt when pressure was applied, loose because her heart was wound too tightly and she couldn't handle anything else, because she was still reeling from the betrayal, and the heartache of traitors walking among and beside and around her) just as the heavy wooden door swung open.

"'Sup," The kid himself called. He hung in the doorway like a broken wire, looking just a tad lost.

"What do you want?" She snipped, deciding to just pull on a pair of those loose fluffy socks because she couldn't really bend and breathe at the same time.

"Alf sent me to get ya," he said. "Said it's lunch time."

She turned around to grab a belt to keep up her sweats and when she turned back around he was gone.

-/-/-

"Rachel," B smiled, all worry and charming gentleness now that he was out of the cowl. Honestly, Rachel had been beginning to lose sight of the man, she'd been beginning to forget how kind the man behind those pinched eyes was. The wonder of reality clashed with her head though and she found herself wondering far too often if Bruce Wayne really was real because recently he was looking an awful lot like a human cover for the Bat.

"How are you, sweetie?" He asked, standing and easing her down into the couch corner before returning to his individual couch. There was a board game splayed out on the table, pawns splattered everywhere, faux game money standing in piles around the coffee tables' edges.

Jason was at the end opposite to B. He smiled at her awkwardly - the way only a teenager could pull off - before focusing back on the game. It was Monopoly.

"I'm okay," she hummed, a softer side coming out that she hadn't felt in far too long. Clawed hands ghosted along her shoulders, dipping in at the stress points and shuddering down to give the impression of a massage. Red growled in her ear.

"Very good," Alfred said, appearing in the doorway, a tray held in his hands. "Okay enough to stomach some of my soup, I hope?"

Rachel pulled up the smile easily enough but it felt stiff; forced. "Yeah, should be."

Alfred smiled back, his eyes twinkling as he crossed the room and pulled up a pillow to rest on her lap before placing down the tray. He pulled off the lid and nodded down at it, "Sweet potato and leek soup, my mother's esteemed recipe."

Apparently these people couldn't tell a forced smile from a real one; how disappointing.

The soup was lovely, though. Probably the best food she'd had in a while, even if one took into account how all food had tasted better since CADMUS. Even if it was harder to swallow.

Rachel appreciated the sentiment as B and Jason stayed in the room with her, munching on sandwiches as they worked their way around the board, Alfred occasionally popping in for odd bits and bobs.

She finished the soup and as Alfred appeared and took it from her, smiling all the while, Bruce looked over to her.

"Would you like to join, Rachel?" He smiled sheepishly. "Possibly to help me?"

Rachel looked at the board, at the kid's pile of money that was growing by the second. She noticed how Jason's grin had turned cocky and god she needs to win. She needs to best her replacement.

Needs to prove her worth.

"Sure," she says and Bruce pushes the table closer to her. He pulls his couch along a bit and Jason shuffles along the floor.

They win the game and for a moment, Rachel is happy enough to believe everything will be alright. That everything's going to be fine.

Then the side effects kick in a week later.

Thanks to the serums Conners injected her with, no doubt, Rachel assumes. And although she hasn't yet told anyone, she suspects Alfred already knows.

Because the glint in his eyes is too sad to mean anything else.

It begins with shivers. Shivers so shallow and meaningless that Rachel dismisses them as the beginnings of a cold simply because it wouldn't be surprising to find her immune system has failed with all the unwanted chemicals inside her blood.

Over the period of two days the shivers, small and nothing, become something. They shake her so bad, Bruce worries and even Jason knows there's something wrong at this point. She bursts into sporadic shivers at dinner one night and she ends up dropping the spoon (because Alfred is still keeping her on soup) and storming out as well as her stiff limbs can allow.

Bruce visits her that night before his patrol and finds her curled up in bed.

"If you ever want anything," he'd said. "Please don't hesitate to ask, kiddo."

She did ask. But she hesitated, instead of saying she wanted help, she froze up inside just like that second injection ("kid.") and merely asked for a hug. At least it had been warm.

The shivers go on to become headaches, and the headaches turn to migraines that keep her in bed, curtains drawn until the light of day recedes. She starts seeing golden eyes lurking in the corners of her room and moves all the furniture one day - when she has the energy - to the middle parts of the walls. Decor be damned.

Bruce checks up on her more, despite how Wayne Enterprises is booming and how he's well on his way to becoming a billionaire for sure. Alfred worries and shows it in the form of hot food and constantly plump pillows and luxuries she could never have asked for.

Jason stops visiting, instead choosing to spend his time more wisely. He trains. He trains in the Cave, according to Alf, whenever he can, no matter the day.

The migraines stop and in return she's hit with blood stopping hallucinations that she doesn't speak of. She sees Cobb some days, his curling brown auburn hair and his vicious grin, other days, its Conners with his shining glasses, or K with his blank face. Or Kaldur'ahm and his lifeless body and glassy eyes.

Rachel dreams too, she dreams when she sleeps and she sees things no other should. Sees things others haven't. A sane man would call these things nightmares, for with them she wakes up panting, sweating so bad she has to change the damned bandages that have lurked too long. But nightmares these are not. They follow her into the day's light, into dawns abode and slink around in dusk's territory.

She's heard of this before, what it is when you see things of the past and feel things that's happened too long ago. A few in the Court had been discharged - killed by the Grandmaster's wish - for it.

It's Post Traumatic Stress.

Rachel has PTSD and it doesn't stop there.

Her ribs ache even though they've long healed, and though they took their time in doing so, Rachel has seen recently that her Talon's powers have been dulling. Her healing takes longer to kick in - shown by the papercut she got the other day that stuck around for a full five hours instead of the usual five minutes. Her eyesight is degrading despite her tendency to sleep more and more and her hearing is dulling, becoming clogged almost as she listens to nothing but silence and creaking floorboards as Alf walks for hours. Her arms ache with the hot firey pain and the cold frozen one sometimes too often.

In short, Rachel's loosing it.

-/-/-

The first time the owl passes by her window she thinks she's actually dreaming for once, asleep as she relives her worst nights. It's day though and B is busy at WE and Jason is at school. Alf is downstairs likely, doing whatever he does and the small rays of sunlight reflecting within her room are too real - too warm - to be fake.

The white barn owl perches upon the windowsill and hoots curiously, pecking at her window and spooking itself. It flies away in a cluster of feathers and a white gleam.

Rachel dismisses it and rolls over in bed, away from the window as her eyes buzz.

-/-/-

The next time the owl is human.

Rachel wakes up to a long figure draped over her bed as a shadow. She shifts, as if in her sleep, and rolls over enough to catch sight of the all too familiar helper.

"Monook," she coughs, voice rough as her throat is dry. Horace pulls his gaze up from where he stands gazing out her window, over the grounds, turning a glimmering smile on her.

"Red," he says and pauses just enough for her to frown. "Oh? No? Anca again?"

"Rachel," she grinds out and Horace looks oddly surprised as he crosses the room and hands her the glass of water on her bedside table as she pulls herself up to sit, leaning heavily against the headboard.

"Very well," Horace says. "Rachel."

He nods, then, "I heard you were Nightwing."

"Oh?" She says and her throat is better, her voice not as scratchy. "From whom?"

"A little birdie." Horace smiles and sits on her bed with a grunt, putting the glass that is handed to him back on its coaster.

Something about her gives away her annoyance. Horace shakes it off with a laugh, "No one, little fată. I figured it out myself. But she has went missing, has she not?"

Rachel swallowed.

"What happened?" Horace asks, voice soft like he's reassuring a cornered animal.

"CADMUS," she says and Horace seems to understand now but she fires on because she needs to get this off her chest. "There was a little team of sidekicks -copii, really- I was assigned to lead them. We went down to the lowest floor and we..."

Horace placed his hand on her shaking one and his eyes said it all, it's okay. You don't need to go on.

I do, she responded in her own.

"We were captured. One of the copii was killed, his father..." Orion had been engulfed in a rage so deep he'd nearly beaten Conners to death. He probably would've had it not been for Superman and J'onn's combined efforts of intervention. "His father was not happy. I was..."

"Torturat." Horace murmured, whisper-like. Tortured.

"Da, am fost." Yes, I was.

Horace sighed and bent forward, elbows on his knees as he rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms. "I apologise."

"De ce?" She laughed, why? "You did nothing wrong." 

"I just... I feel like I should've known."

Rachel pulled up a quaking arm and patted the older man's shoulder. "Don't worry about it, what else brings you here?"

"My owl said you were ill," he admitted. "I was worried."

At that, the eyes in the corner reappeared and Rachel's breathing hitched. Her vision blurred and suddenly she was blinking herself back, Horace's calloused palm holding her head up.

"Femeie?" He grunted, worry lacing his words. Woman? "You are burning up, copil. Are you alright?" Child.

Rachel blinked, finding she didn't have the strength to sit up by herself anymore. Horace seemed to realise this too, and pulled her blankets back to settle her down again before pulling them up over her shivering form. He grabbed onto her hand and muttered a lullaby in Română.

A needle pricked her skin and warm fluid washed into her blood. Rachel didn't have time to ask about it as her eyes slipped shut.

Rachel started, reeling back before she was even in the room. Cobb grinned at her, his eyes unblinking. Affrightened panic clawed at Rachel's insides and suddenly Horace was speaking.

"Don't worry, fată," the man soothed, pulling her into the room so the door could close. He knocked on the ice that covered Cobb's entire being that Rachel hadn't seen before in her fear. "See? Rock solid. He's not getting out any time soon, yes?"

She was frozen, heart pumping petrified arythmic beats still, even as her common sense and logic waged wars on how Cobb could get out of that mere block of ice. It wasn't like Rachel hadn't seen him get out of things worse.

"Da?" Horace pressed when no response came.

"D- Da." She ground out, fingers already twitching for a blade on instinct.

"Good, good." Horace dragged her over to the Owls seats and pushed her into one, him taking the one opposite. "I see you have been very sick lately, da?"

Odd. Rachel thought. The man knew she was sick yet still kidnapped her and brought her to the fucking place that had ruined her life.

The man was weird to say the least. Even on his... good days.

"Yes," she said, feeling bored now because what else was she to feel? That scare not five minutes ago had drained her and she particularly wanted to just go--

But did she really have a home?

We haven't had a home since 1940. Red snarled, tone like steel. Don't fool yourself otherwise.

Rachel didn't.

"What do you want, Horace?"

"I assume little Nikko told you of the Remnants?"

"He did," Rachel said, not quite liking the smile that had grown like weeds over Horace's face. "And?"

"Well, I have a proposition."

"You might want to tell me of it before I get bored." She snarked, leaning back in the chair like she had the energy to kill him on the spot just like before. Pretending like she wasn't dying because she knew she was.

Horace smiled like the entire world knew except for her. "I can cure your sickness, in return you will help lead for five years, da?"

"Three," she said, then reconsidered mentally.

Horace's smile slipped a tad, "Four."

Rachel tilted her head like she was even considering that fucking ridiculous offer. "Two. Or I'm gone."

Horace gaped. "Surely you will be wanting to--"

"Two," she said decisively. "No more."

He sighed and stood, hand outstretched to pull her up from the surprisingly plush seat. "Very well, come now. Let me show you the cure."

-/-/-

The lab was dank and stunk of chemicals. It put Rachel into an even worse mood as Horace took his sweet time pottering about, 'looking' for the cure.

"Found it!" The larger, older man called, an odd lilt to his tone that had Rachel reconsidering his sanity. "Here, here!"

A needle - oh god a needle - was thrust into her hands and Rachel had to fight the urge to drop it instantly.

"What's in it?" She hissed, squinting at the ominous glowing blue liquid. It looked suspiciously like--

"Electrum!" Horace cawed, grinning. "It can help."

"Really?" She said, because when did Electrum ever help? It had turned her and many others into Talons with iffy side effects and was known for how it could burn your skin should it come in contact with it.

By all the laws, Electrum did not heal.

"How so?" She indulged the man, if only because his grin was growing and growing and shit, do you feel this, Red?

Yes, Red slithered the same time as Horace laughed - a deep, cackling thing that sent shivers down even the catcus-in-the-corner's back.

He's insane.

"Electrum is good, see?" Horace chirped like everything was alright and Rachel's world wasn't falling away from her because damn it, she had just walked right into this, hadn't she?

"It can help."

Then he was lunging for her, grin splitting his face in two as he cackled.

Rachel just about dodged the flying needle headed for her chest.

"Come here and be healthy, fată!" Horace crowed, his simper growing by the second. "Come here!"

She ducked under a bolted down lab table just as Horace charged, slamming right into the wall. To her horror, the man merely shook himself off like a bull and laughed down at her, peeling the needle from the wall it had embedded itself in.

Her wrists had been captured before she knew what the pressure on them meant, the sensitive skin tingling as Horace beamed down at her like an expectant - but insane - five year old.

"Calm down, copil," Horace whispered, transferring her wrists to one hand as he readied the needle. She struggled like a wild animal, pulling and--

The needle peirced skin, hot liquid - cold liquid - her arms burned - one for each - help me - one dead already - just waiting for saviour - burning like fire - cold burns too.

Rachel gasped, reeling back even as the electrum filled her veins. It bubbled inside her, like the old serum and suddenly Rachel realised that that was what it was. The Old Serum.

Hello darling, a voice nothing like Red's cooed. The voice of the Serum; of insanity.

Horace had injected her with that fucking taboo Serum despite how the Court had supposedly burned each and every last vile.

Had he recreated it? Or had the Court not been as honest as they'd claimed?

The Court were never honest. Red got in and already Rachel could feel the two voices fighting each other for control.

Point taken.

You're mine now, said the new voice and Rachel drowned with Red.

Her wrists burned and suddenly the needle was gone from her wrists, her hands numb as she held it. Rachel grinned at the contraption and coyly flicked her gaze up to Horace's face.

The man's grin was gone in an instant, long before he realised he was choking on his own blood. She twisted the needle, watched as the blood welled up, his throat ripping to shreds as she pulled and tugged. She watched as it failed to clot and laughed.

Rachel laughed until Horace was long dead. She froze him with his monsters. Left him to rot.

"The Remnants, hmm?" She hummed, tone sickly sweet. "They're mine now."

It was an odd night, tonight. Neither warm like it usually was in Spring and not cold like it was when the seasons encroached into Autumn. Maybe it was a sign, Jason mused. A sign that something (namely, shit) was about to go down.

"Robin," Bruce growled, voice low like it was when he was playing Batman. Really, Jason just thought it sounded like the guy was hacking up a lung but apparently the criminals didn't think that. Ha, they obviously didn't because they ran with their tails between their legs! "I hope you're paying attention, Joker's been spotted."

Ah, well damn. Maybe Jason should watch the weather more often. It obviously knew whatever secrets there were to the art of fortune telling. (Or future... telling. What ever the fuck was the difference between the two anyway? Was there even one?)

"'Course I'm listenin, Batm'n," he grinned. "I ain't got anythin' else ta do out 'ere."

Bruce didn't look too convinced so he toned down his 'shit-eating' (as Catherine had called it one too many times) grin, transforming it into a small smirk.

"Trust me," he added, teetering on the edge of the skyscraper they'd taken a momentary residence on. His black boots blended well with the sleek gravel on the top, and the only thing that actively made him stick out was his bright amarillo cape. "How long've I been out 'ere wit' ya? A year?"

Bruce gave him a side glance, "Barely half of one."

"Aha - but still half a year!" Bruce fell silent after that so Jason counted it as a win.

Ten minutes later, their comms binged.

//There's been another sighting of the Joker, Master Batman, Robin.\\ Alf said, his voice crackling in Jason's ear.

//Ping me the coordinates, Agent A.\\ Bruce grunted, hunkering down into a squat as he poked at his gauntlet screen. Not a second later, "He's over by the old cigar factory. We'll have to take the Batmobile."

Jason laughed, glad to be getting away from the clammy weather as he fired his grapple to the nearest alley where he knew the car to be. "Yeah well, ya don't see me complainin'!"

-/-/-

The cigar factory looked ready to fall down any second if the wind hit its old red bricks the wrong way. The inside of it wasn't much better either: dusty, mouldy and definitely not warmer than it was outside. Abandoned bits of machinery were left lying to gather dust and house rodents. Chairs were flung about as if the people had been in a hurry to get out and half the building was nothing more than charred stabilizers that had miraculously survived the harsh years and bitter weather. In short, the once nice building was nothing but a husk of its former early 1900's glory.

"The place shut down in the late 80's," Bruce had grunted on the drive there. "After a mysterious fire broke out on the second floor, taking half the interior with it. Be careful of weakened floorboards if you go upstairs."

Jason had laughed, "From your description, Batm'n, this place sounds like it should'a fallen down years ago. How come none o' y'all rich'ns have did it up since?"

"Not all billionaires like to mess around with big old buildings." Bruce had answered.

"Guess it takes an acquired taste, huh?"

Now that they were here, trudging through sludgy remains of desks, chairs and anything and everything from clothing and even bits of the damn roof, Jason wished someone had pulled it down. As if the building had been waiting for that very thought, the walls gave an ominous creak.

"What does the Joker want that's makin' him hang round this place?" Jason sighed, hoisting his glow stick up further in the damp, particle thick air.

"Good question, kid!" The devil himself called. His voice that echoed around them, from who know's where, was lathered with such fake cheer it sounded like a toilet flushing. To Jason, at least. "Can you tell 'em, Harley?"

"Sure can, Mistah J!" The female wanna-be jester cooed, lovestricken. She appeared out of nowhere suddenly, her huge wooden hammer raised high above her head, ready to swing.

Jason vacated his previous spot just in time to see the dust fly high from the hammer hitting the ground. Harkey winked at him before following him up too, arching her body to be more aerodynamic as she hefted the immense weight of the hammer up again and nearly wacked his head off in the exact same breath.

The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on their ends, doing circus tricks of their own as Jason mustered up the rhythm to back flip away from the looming danger. Barks that sounded more like howls sounding from the corner alerted him to the rather new and pressing danger of fucking hyenas.

Thank dios for grappling hooks. For never before than in that heart thundering moment has Jason ever needed one more. The sides of the building proved to be as sturdy as ever for Jason to cling to, using loose bricks jutted out of place to haul himself up onto a windowsill that was so high up he wondered why it was even there.

"What happened sweet little Nightwing, Batsy Boo?" Joker cackled, appearing to be standing on a bigger, lower windowsill just to the left of Jason's position.

Jason seized the opportunity without a second thought.

The grapple landed before Joker could even realise what he was doing and by the time he was reeling back, thinking Bruce had come after him, Jason was already on him, birdarang held threateningly close to the troublesome man's throat.

"She's busy," Jason hissed. "I'm Robin."

"Robin!" The man howled, shaking from laughter as he pulled his head back, despite the birdarang positioned at the base of his throat. It scraped him in the movement and a bead of blood welled up before trickling down the side of his leathery bleached skin.

Jason looked up at unforgiving silence and saw serious blue eyes staring back at him.

"You cut me?" Asked Joker, smile replaced by a frown that would surely haunt Jason's dreams for years to come.

"Robin!" Bruce shouted and suddenly Joker had pushed him off the windowsill, smiling down at him as he waved, and oh mi dios he was going to die from the fall -- the height alone would kill him, nevermind the force of the impact -- oh dios -- oh dios--

The familiar bulk of Bruce's suit slammed into him, an arm wrapping around his shoulders as his grappling hook fell slack. Next thing Jason knows they're slamming through the brick wall with a loud crunch and the building's shaking as it crumbles in on itself.

The dust is terrible. His nostrils burn from the shit.

Jason blinks at it all with surreal, unbelieving eyes. "Did that ju-?"

"Yes," Bruce grunted, helping him to his feet - as wobbly as they were - and brushing his own black and grey suit off from the white clingy dust. He peered back at the building from where they'd ended up in its backyard court area. "It appears we'll have to find them again."

"Huh?" Jason asks, gaze snapping to the building as two white human figures limped from the building, three dog-like hunched animals following them. Joker and Harley were escaping. "Why don't we just--?"

"No," Bruce's gauntleted hand closed down on his shoulder and a rare smile pulled at Batman's lips. "It's okay. All that matters is that we both made it out safely."

Guilt swamped him and Jason looked down in shame. "Sorry, I just -- I don't even know what I was thinkin'--"

"It's fine, Robin." Bruce cleared his throat. "Let's call it a night, yeah?"

//I'll have two mugs of hot chocolate prepared and waiting, Masters.\\

Jason smiled as Bruce led them back to the Batmobile.

"You called, Ma'am?" Nikkola said as he pushed open the grand doors. He was greeted with the sight of Rachel, draped in but a silken red nightgown, pouring herself a glass of alcohol by the glass cabinet to the right of her desk.

"I did, Nikko," she smiled, nudging at the empty glass beside hers as an offering. "Would you like some?"

"What is it?" He asked, coming forth to sit in the seat on the visitors' side of her desk.

"Only the best Polish Vodka," she grinned, pouring him a glass.

Her long legs peeked through the silk as she strode over to him, attempting to nudge the glass into his hands despite his well-mannered protests. She placed the diamond cut glass in front of him on her desk when he refused to take it.

The light looked good on her skin, giving it a golden glow. Suddenly, Nikkola was very jealous of Eudarv.

"What was it you wanted?" Nikkola asked, not bothering to beat round the bush.

Rachel smiled, red lipstick thickening her lips as she bumped up against her desk, casually leaning upon it. "Not something I want. A warning must be given, Nikko."

That peeked his curiosity. "To whom?"

"You." Her breath was against his earlobe suddenly, her hand curling around the nape of his neck softly as she leaned down.

"Eudarv is doing well," she hummed, not noticing - or maybe, not caring about - the stricken emotion that crossed his face. "You on the other hand... you are falling behind."

Nikkola didn't dare speak as she pulled away to sip at her vodka. He was thankful that she'd set his on the desk beforehand, as now his hands shook like a land undergoing an earthquake.

"At this rate," her finger jabbed into his chest painfully. Nikkola suppressed his wince. "You'll be-" her voice lowered to a deadly whisper, her eyes flickering coyly as she leant back, "-demoted."

Nikkola wasn't stupid. He knew what that meant.

She'd kill him if he lost his appeal.

"How could I prevent that, my Queen?" He asked, using the name she adored.

Rachel smiled at him like she knew his ploy but still played along. "Joker was not dealt with like I said. I want him brought to me."

Nikkola gulped, "That is not my field--"

"Get it done," she growled, half filled glass clattering on the desk as she dropped it to grip at his collar, forcing him to stand, not a drop spilled. "Get it done, Nikkola, or mark my words you'll never see the light of daybreak ever again."

He stumbled as she pushed him back, snarling at him as if he disgusted her. Nikkola attempted to brush himself off, to regain his composure but she screamed again.

"Go!" She howled like an angry wolf. She pointed towards the doors and her intention was clear. "Do it now! No casualties or so help me!"

"Yes, my Queen."

Nikkola fled.

-/-/-

The thought to run while out in the open swam in his innermost treacherous mind. The urge was large, backed dauntingly by the promise of death should he fail but Nikkola stood (more like, crouched) his guard on the  iron railings, waiting.

He'd found Joker's most recent hideout after the devil had been chased quite literally away from the cigar factory that was nothing more than dust now. It was a surprise Batman hadn't yet caught wind of the rumours and investigated but Nikkola wasn't in the mood to tempt fate.

Nor did he have time to.

Presently, the clown was with the jester. Nikkola was unsure of what they were to each other, as it was much of a laugh-hate-kill relationship. Nikkola wasn't a councillor either so it didn't quite matter now that he thought about it.

The glass he watched them through was good and resilient. It let no sound through and no doubt protected them from the wind that constantly battered New Jersey's Gotham. He'd been crouched out here on their upper floor balcony for a good hour and they hadn't yet noticed.

So they were either drunk or they just didn't care. (They were insane anyway and for all he knew both options could be applied.)

The wind licked at his TIC's silver armour - a special endowment upon him thanks to his position - and made it no further than the thermal layer he'd had the foresight to slip on before he left.

While the Talon suits were good for flexibility and quick or aborted movements, they were thin and whilst the armour was decent (one was expected to dodge all hits anyway, so the Court had deemed heavy armour a waste of resources) it was terribly made and so the ruffles of metal plating along the chest (to replicate an owl's puffy chest) let in an awful breeze.

He hadn't even started on the metal plate trousers where the metal froze his tender (thermal leggings covered) skin and covered everywhere but the joint.

Either miserable people or terrible designers had had a part in making these shambles of a uniform.

(Or both.)

Truly, it was ghastly. Absolutely terrible.

Joker stood from where he sat inside, approaching the open landing where the window was situated  - inside where it was warm and cosy looking, even in this bottomless warehouse-turned-apartment. Nikkola snapped himself out of his day dreaming just in time for his hood's Owl Eyes to adjust, showing heat signatures.

He was about the normal temperature for a human, if a tad colder, aside from a rather gun shaped slodge in his hand, hidden by his body. The man was definitely moving into the open area opposite the window.

Nikkola reacted before the first gun shot pierced the chilly night air.

"Get it, Mistah J!" Harley was screaming inside, cheering drunkenly as she lounged on the couch, a bottle of untameable bacardi in her hands.

Joker got three shots off in quick succession, all of which turned out to be pot shots, painting an outline of where Nikkola had once been.

His adrenaline stained his veins, pulling them out and making them bulge as his inner Talon rushed forth, screaming like a demon in Nikkola's head.

"Shame," Nikkola cooed, digging his greedy mental claws into a speed he hadn't used in the years after the Court's fall. He stood before the fool in a moment's notice. "I thought you'd put up more of a fight, Clown Prince of Crime."

His silver claws traced the man's racing pulse, one retracting gently to catch the gun before it was shoved into his sternum. Unfortunately the shot went off, spraying his blood behind him in a shower.

Not to worry. His healing was up to notch and he spat out the bullet, the wound sealing instantly. Harley screamed in abolished glee behind him, coming forth with her hammer after staring wide-eyed at the bloodied bullet for a second, dumbstruck.

Nikkola suppressed his laugh as he whirled them around, Joker out in front, ready to take the hammer's hit. Harley stumbled back just in time to merely crack the wooden floorboards instead of her partner in crime's head.

"Careful," he sing-songed, a darkness he hadn't met in years seeping out of him in his excited words. "We wouldn't want anyone to loose their head here, yesss?"

"Who're you?" Harley said, sounding more vulnerable than a newborn kitten now that she'd put up a fight and lost. "What d'ya wan' with Mistah J an' me?"

Nikkola let himself laugh this time, catching Joker's hands to squeeze them in a near bone breaking grip as they came up for an uncoordinated punch. "Just Joker, sugar. My Queen requests his presence in her Court, if all goes well, he will be returned to you by Midnight."

Harley looked stuck between pissing herself and rushing to help Joker, who was wincing and squirming in his grip. "A- An' what if he ain't?" She asked fearfully.

Nikkola cocked his head to the side in a show of insanity that made most back up and sprint for the prayer book and beads; and in some cases, the holy water. "Then he will have been declared as unimportant. You may find him in the Reservoir."

Harely squeaked at that foreshadowing.

"What if I tell some'n?" She asked, mustering up some foolhardy courage. "What'll y'all do?"

"I'm sure you're well aware of the phrase, 'Snitches get stitches'?"

Harley paled and that was answer enough. Nikkola let his Owl Eyes glow brighter before he flung the needle of sleeping drugs at Quinn's neck.

"Hey--!" Joker choked out before he too got a needle in the neck.

Nikkola cackled. Oh, this had went so well. Her Majesty would be pleased.

Rachel entered the Arena's Seated Tiers and everyone fell silent.

"Good to see that you all could make it," she announced, standing before her throne. With all eyes on her, she couldn't help but grin. "As I'm sure you've heard, Nikkola went out to see if he could get our most recent pest; the Joker."

Murmurs swept through the ex-Courtiers seats that now seated her Talons-- no, her Remnants.

She clapped her hands once and silence washed over everything. The sight was beautiful, (of course it is, whispered that voice in her ears) over a dozen gaudy yellow eyes staring at her from the mass of shadows that bathed and writhed in their stands. Their armour caught on the odd beams of light reflected from the scarred marble of the fighting arena and glimmered a most mesmerising gold, just a hint darker than those pure, bright eyes.

"Now," she said after too long a pause. One that had only garnered tension and ruffled already sparse patience. "We will see if he has succeeded!"

She banged her hands off the ornate wooden railings in front of her, the ones that used to separate the Grandmaster from his Courtiers. The sound was more than enough to have the room coil in noise; hollers and jeers sounding everywhere, ones that barely even died down when Nikkola flashed into the arena, a limp Joker by his side. The man peeled back his hood to show a cruel grin that stood out like a wolf's snarl.

Anger flushed her as for a moment Rachel thought he'd killed the clown against her orders. Then, the man stirred and Nikkola dropped him, rolling his neck to signify his power of speech.

The Remnants fell silent.

"As per the Queen's wishes, I have collected Gotham's and our most recent plague. The one we know as the Joker!"

Cheers erupted once again, loud dreadful things that had Rachel smiling.

"Such an easy task," Eudarv suggested from behind her. "I don't see why they're so lively of it."

Rachel walked away from the railings, disappearing from her spotlight. She sat in her throne, Eudarv standing a vicious guard to her left.

"Their moral has been low recently-" the accusation was there, clear as day, and Eu bowed his head. Moral was his job. "-give them this, before something worse comes."

"Such as?" The man asked, quickly adding, "Majesty."

Rachel spared him a glance. "War."

Because she had plans.

Eudarv sputtered beside her, choking on his saliva as Nikkola appeared on her right. Rachel turned her attention to him.

"Nikko," she called, snapping the man's gaze away from the still coughing Eudarv. Nikkola's head bounced down to meet her eyes, a wild sliver of bloodlust beating in those ivory orbs. A well known feeling of want curled in her gut. "Well done."

The man smiled, falling down to one knee, catching her hand on the way. He pulled the back of her hand to his lips and kissed it, a wicked glint burning in his eyes. "It is my honour, my lady. I live to please."

Go on, the voice goaded. You know you want to.

Rachel pulled Nikkola closer, smelling the tantalizing scent of blood. "Come to my bed with me tonight, da, my Second?"

Nikkola preened, "It would be my pleasure, my lady."

Rachel turned to see her people's eyes staring at her expectantly. She stood and strode over to her stage again, her veins thruming with vicious glee.

-/-/-

His head hurt like a bunch of Jack-in-the-Box's were whacking at it.

Joker peeled his eyes open to a rugged, cold marble floor and bright, bright lights. Jeers of substantial volume echoed around him.

"What will we do with the scrounge that dirties our City?" A voice boomed, built out of confidence and madness.

"Kill it, kill it, kill it!" Jeers rang out, voices screaming from the dark, dark shadows that swarmed like angry hornets from back home. Joker swallowed his spit and sat up, listening keenly to how the cheers turned into anger filled howls of death bringers. "Kill the scrounge!"

"What will we do?" The confident voice shouted again, goading the howlers and their reactions.

"Make him watch as we burn him alive!" Something - someone - screamed and Joker couldn't help the laugh that bubbled forth.

"You find this funny?" A new voice thundered, all critical hits and utter hatred.

"No, no." He giggled, pulling up a leathery hand to smush at his lips to try and stop the sounds. "Don't pay too much attention to me, say where is that chap who caught me?"

"You speak of the SIC," the very first voice hummed, a sweetened tune to their song as they too cackled. The crazed hint to it out matched anything he'd ever heard by far. "Yes, we hope he treated you well, Jack."

Joker's blood ran cold. His smile dropped. "What?"

"Thought we wouldn't know who you are, Napier?" Someone added from the sidelines where nothing but shadows and pinpricks of yellow shuddered.

"We know who you are!"

"The Remnants know everything that happens in their Glorious Gotham!" Another shout added and the shadows bustled with life, ready to shout once more.

"Silence."

Everything fell into a deafening hush where Joker could barely breathe. He was in some sort of an arena, the walls adorned with blood splatters and ornate ludicrously carved pillars of older design and taste. The floor was checkered with black and white and had scores marked into it, blood welling in some of the deeper cuts.

It was amazingly horrific.

Joker loved it.

Except for the fact they knew his old name.

No one was meant to know that. At least, no one alive.

"Do you know why you're here, clown?" The first voice boomed again, sounding distinctly feminine now as the sounds retracted and bounced off the circular room's walls. (Or did it have walls? Maybe it just had one, it was a circle after all. He'd never really cared for that math much.)

"I overdid my stitches?" He laughed.

"You walked on our turf. You wronged Gotham's ground and thus, Jack Napier, Joker, you wronged us; the Remnants."

Joker giggled, festering in nervous energy as his fingers scratched at his palms, an old nervous habit coming to light. "I've never heard of these Remnants, care to explain to little old me?"

"We are the survivors of the Court," the feminine voice twittered with deadly excitement. One that meant people were to die, if Joker knew well enough, going from himself. "We purge our City of filth by night and by day we hunt like the Owls our ancestors never were."

Joker didn't know what to say to that.

He knew of the Owls though. He'd heard of them. They'd been all the rage in Blackgate, it was all ol' Two-Face could talk about for weeks.

The Court of Owls, he'd shouted. They're planing something, I tell ya, they're planning! They'll burn us- burn us all before any of us even see freedom--

And then the warden had drugged him. He hadn't said a peep for the next three days.

That hadn't stopped the rumours though. The rumours that 'what if he was right', 'heard Batman's hittin' a spot of trouble with someone who calls 'emsleves the Court. Think it's got somethin' to do with Harvey's ramblin's?' and, then, 'heard Batman's gone missing. It could be them.'

Joker pushed back the urge to clap and grin and smile because this was them. The ones who'd very nearly burnt beautiful, lovely Gotham to the ground but had been halted by Batman. Here they were, talking to him with hopes of... protecting 'their' city.

"So y'all're protecting Gotham now?" He chuckled. "I thought you all just wanted it burnt?"

"That was the Court," the angry voice said. "We are new. People and demons reborn onto this world to rule it's axis. We are the Remnants."

"Right, right." He raised his hands in what was hopefully a peaceful action. "I get it but doesn't that just mean you're filled with all the evil those old boys had, too?"

"You misunderstand, Jack." A woman appeared before him, skin aglow with colour, eyes burning a bloody red, dress pleated so many times it looked like she was a royal from years before their time. She flicked her hands out, long lithe fingers caressing along his jaw. "The Remnants are mine. Gotham is mine. We stand here and we kill those who disobey our rule. We slaughter those who stand in our way and you, Napier - you are in our way."

The arena exploded in screams. Everyone chanting things in low gutteral sounds that Joker couldn't and didn't want to make out.

"If you wish to live, Jackie boy, you'll do us a few... favours. Yes?"

With a heart he'd thought long gone thumping in his ears, Joker agreed to the howls of the Remnants that surrounded and choked him.

"O- Of course."

The woman smiled, her eyes glowing with fire. "Very good, Jack. You may call me your Queen."

"I mean, think about this, who goes about with a missing kid and doesn't do anything about it?" Barry knew he was on unstable ground, Clark's pained look said enough, but this had to be said. With Hal off-world for at least another month, Iris busy with the paper over in Indonesia for a good two weeks still and Wally nagging him about where Nightwing had gone, he was getting stressed.

One, because Iris could handle Wally better than him. Now that she was gone, off trying to write a story to garner awareness on the conditions the residents of Indonesia lived in, Barry was left alone to deal with their son's puppy eyes and stubborn questions.

Two, because Wally didn't seem to understand the meaning of MIA despite Hal's constant talk of it (and subsequent explainations).

Three, Nightwing - Rachel! - was Missing In Action and Bruce wasn't doing anything about it.

Or was she even missing? God, with the Bat it was hard to know what was happening but Bruce had clearly stated Nightwing would probably be back in action soon (he'd repeated it to them all like a mantra when they'd individually asked about the man's daughter). But then, with Gotham Teller saying (along with various other Gotham Newspapers) that Nightwing had went missing - or as they said, "hasn't been spotted in over five months" - Barry had gotten worried.

Because Bruce, despite how they all tried to make him open up, was as stubborn as a clam when he was shut. And no one had found the right knife to split him open yet so Barry couldn't help his worry. Bruce was an unknown surrounded by knowns.

That spelt danger of all sorts.

"We do not even know if the girl is missing, Flash." J'onn calmed, blank eyes somehow placating. "Batman would've told us otherwise, do you not think?"

"Yeah, but I bet we only knew about CADMUS because our kids were there too." Oliver said, bracing the storm that came with that reminder.

They all fell into an uneasy hush. Surprisingly, it was Orion who broke it.

"I say, if Batman needs help, Atlantis and I will freely aid him." The King announced, just as the doors flung open, the Dark Knight himself stepping into the room, Robin following behind at a cool, sedate pace. There was no Nightwing but that wasn't unsurprising. It probably would've been more surprising had she been there.

Bruce's eyebrow raise was practically visible to everyone around the table despite the cowl. "What was that about aid, Aquaman?"

"Pre'ty sure he was say'n' he'd help ya, B." Robin drawled, jumping up to sit on the table with his back to everyone but Bruce. Bruce didn't reprimand him for it, much to Barry's ire. The boy merely smirked at his glare.

"Indeed, I was." Orion confirmed. "I wish to let you know, Batman, that should you or your family need help, I will come."

The boy grinned, showing his canines. Bruce merely nodded.

"T'at's nice," Robin squinted at the hologram that popped up from the table at Bruce's beckoning. It was about their next topic of discussion, currently showing their logo of 'JLA' as Clark (who was in charge of this meeting) hadn't yet sent his talk plan to the computer yet. Talk about unprepared.

"Well," the boy sighed, jumping off the table and heading for the door. "Ping me when you're done, B. I'll be getting ice cream."

Barry watched as he left.

"How old is he?" He asked with more venom than intended when the doors shut. "Huh, Bruce? How young are you willing to take this after nearly losing your daughter?"

Bruce seemed wholly unimpressed, "Robin chose to do this of his own accord. I had no hand in it."

Diana spoke up for the first time, "We're sure, Bruce. Barry is merely concerned, much like the rest of us."

"There is no cause for concern," Bruce snipped, "By any case, Robin is older than your child, Allen, if that helps."

The topic of Wally's age stung like it had for so long, with newspapers and media all asking the same question. Wally was the youngest sidekick out there by far and he wasn't spared harsh words because of it. Barry opened his mouth to fire back.

Clark cleared his throat awkwardly, interrupting their spat. "Why don't we start? Our first topic is— ah— rising pollution rates; namely, Gotham's."

Bruce stood up and left, his cape wallowing after his steady footsteps.

Diana sighed. "We tried."

J'onn asked, "Did we really?" He disappeared through the floor.

Damn it. Barry leant back in his chair, his head hitting the back.

"Jack," she droned.

"Joker, please." Jack said, his eyes dialated. He hadn't stopped fidgeting since Rachel had brought him to her office, obviously trying to not turn around and look at the door guarded by both Nikkola and Eudarv.

He looked like a frightened puppy, cowering as he was before her on the floor. She'd been worried for a moment that he could see her panties from where she sat on her desk but a scared puppy had no reason to disobey the rules even further and risk greater punishment.

He was just a puppy after all.

Minus any and all cuteness.

It was the dogs you had to look out for, too.

Joker was just a harmless little puppy that got a little hyper from no attention. That was all.

"Very well, Joker." She ammended. "These favours will expand to how many I so wish, understood?"

Joker seemed hesitant but he gulped before nodding. Rachel took that as a yes easily enough.

She nodded anyway. "Firstly, you will stay away from my territories of Lower Gotham. Da?"

"Y-Yes." She glared and he spluttered to compensate. "My Queen."

"Good. Any input, boys?"

Nikko stayed silent as Eudarv smirked.

"Perhaps we could play around with him for a bit, Majesty. Ja?"

Rachel scowled at him. That wasn't the response she'd wanted.

The puppy cowered further.

"Later." She said with no intention to truly uphold it. "Joker."

"Ye-Yes, my Q-Queen?" He'd begun to tremble at some point. Of when, Rachel didn't particularly care but at the rate he was going he looked ready to drop dead.

She couldn't have that, not with a war on the horizon.

Blood paints the streets, the voice whispered. I see it and soon it will come. Soon, you see this glorious sight too!

"I want your word that you will stay loyal. You tell a soul about this, even Harley, and everyone within a twenty block radius will be dead in a second, you included. Understood?"

"Of course, M-Ma'am!" He was whiter than he'd been when he'd first appeared. White as a sheet now, he was.

The Clown Prince of Crime was such a funny man.

"Dismissed. Deal with him Nikko. Eudarv stay."

A second later Nikkola was gone, the Joker toddling along behind him, and Eudarv was striding towards her, pouting in what he thought was a cute way.

Maybe once upon a time, it had been cute to her too.

"I thought we were going to have some fun, Majesty?" The man huffed, pulling up a hand to caress her thighs as he neared.

Rachel peered at him. She flicked her hand over to her glass drinking cabinet. "Fetch us a glass each, and some wine."

It wasn't a question but Eudarv shrugged and sauntered over there like he had a choice in the matter, his hand lingering. That had always been something she'd liked about the man; he had his own casual wave to things. Unfortunately, he'd been failing recently, failing both to do his job and to please her.

It was sad really, but what needed to be done had to be done. There were things called rules. Rules of which Rachel had set. They were not to be broken.

Or else there was no point in her rule and that just wouldn't do, now would it?

A Court always needed its monarch's rule. Even if her Remnants were no longer the Court, they needed an iron clad rule to start with, rather than descending into anarchy amd having to pull itself up from its ashes.

She figured she'd save herself the trouble. It was good to set an example too.

No one was beyond death.

Not even her boy toys.

"You seem happy today," Eudarv smirked pulling up close to set the glasses on her desk, just off to her left, nestled in around the bottle of red wine. It was her dearest bottle, a good batch only for celebration.

It was a bad choice for there was nothing truly to celebrate. They were no further along the food chain than the Court had been ten years ago. She'd faked Nikkola's failings to get him motivated to catch her a toy; a toy that had raised moral.

Raised the moral that Eudarv was in charge of.

Maybe she'd freeze his body.

Yes. He was pretty and it would be a terrible waste to dump those muscles in the sewers.

And it got suspicious if too many bodies showed up in the sewers. It was why they'd had to burn half those runaway-wishers and dump the rest of them in Ethiopia.

"I do?" She asked.

"Indeed," Eudarv smiled, nudging her legs apart and pulling her closer by the thighs. His breath was making her sweaty, too warm on her neck. "How about we have a little fun--?"

One of the two glasses was broken in a heartbeat and stabbed through his neck in the next. Eudarv choked, eyes wide as he clutched at the base of the shard.

It was then Rachel realised Eudarv had the Old Serum in him. Killing him was definitely going to be too much of a hassle.

The gun stashed in the second drawer of her desk was easily located. Loading and aiming was elementary school level and firing was by far the easiest step yet.

Eudarv slumped against the carpet, bleeding out on it, unconscious for now as his heart stitched itself back together, literally. Rachel tilted her head at his still form, evaluating on how to pick him up and drag him to the freezers without getting his vile blood over her dress. A kick to his face had him being proven as unresponsive so she took to merely dragging him along behind her by his leg.

Seems she needed a new boy toy.

Good that we have just the one in mind then, da? Rachel laughed with the voice, uncaring as to the crowd that disappeared to the shadows upon sight of her.

Whispers followed her to the coffin room where she freezed him in his coffin.

Nikkola got a promotion.

Selina peered down at the familiar body of a white skinned demon she knew the name of all too well. Jumping down to the narrow ledge of the bridge he was lying on, she blinked at the slack face of the Joker and wondered if he was truly dead for good this time.

Alas, Lady Luck was not yet her friend; Joker choked in a breath at a sharp kick to his ribs that had him simultaneously seizing and coughing up what appeared to be salt water.

Selina wondered if he'd went for a little swim. Wondered if the psyco's suicidal tendencies had finally gotten to him.

His eyes peeled open and he squinted at her. "Wha-?"

"Ya alright, Jokes?" She asked, deciding to speak up now before he could start making assumptions that would benefit neither of them.

"Who-?" He blinked at her before recognition passed through his eyes. Really, at this point, his eyes were the only expressive thing in the monster he'd become. Even before, it had been hard to find things that equalled joy, now it was even rarer to find emotions other than insanity, hatred or a deformed amusement in those irises. "Selina?"

"The one and the only," she took a mock bow, leaning on her staff. The diamond necklace in her belt reminded her of her plans and spurred her along. "Taking a nap, J?"

"A nap?" The guy questioned, looking around him for a brief second before grinning and nodding excitedly as he jumped up to his feet, clapping his hands. He rubbed them like he was brewing a plan.

A plan Selina did not want to be part of.

"Why yes, my dear." He chuckled, not his trademark laugh but a soft thing that he only let out around other conspirators. "Say, would you want to help me with a little something?"

Selina edged back to the safety of the hulking structure of the bridge as Joker seemed to stare right through her, eyes stuck somewhere between his contraction of hate and dialation of glee. He looked unhinged and it sent Selina's instincts roiling.

"What would that something be, exactly?" She asked, not really wanting to fall into anything she couldn't easily climb out of.

"Oh, per say, the killing of a certain boy wonder?"

Selina's eyes widened behind the mask. "You're suicidal."

"Thank you for noticing," the man grinned. "Well, what do you say?"

She swallowed, already getting ready to jump back up to the podium she'd jumped off to get down to him. "I'm gonna lie low for a bit, Jokes. Pulled off a couple of big ones there and I'll be lucky if Bats doesn't show up on my doorstep in a few days."

Thankfully, Joker nodded in understanding. "Very well, I understand. Well, it was nice talking to you, Selina. See you soon."

"Sure," she said, freaked out, but he was already gone, having jumped off the ledge into the river that separated the city of Gotham from its countryside embankment.

Joker was fucking insane.

Well, she thought. He's called a psycho for a reason.

He was arrested three days later. The Boy Wonder lived and Selina eventually brushed off her worry, forgetting about the whole thing.

Joker was only crazy after all. Nothing more but nothing less.

Joker knew what he needed to do. He knew what game to play and what route to take to win.

And if he pulled out a few cards he'd had stuffed up his sleeves, nobody knew.

So, when he was evidently captured and sent to Arkham, he plotted. But he didn't plot like usual, planning to toy and/or kill Batsyman. Nope.

He plotted to kill his bird.

Because Batman was nothing without his sidekick and his sidekick was nothing at all.

With the Boy Blunder out of the way, Joker could handle Batsy and take his rightful rule over the City. He'd kill that bitch "Queen" too, while he was at it.

Killing two birds with one stone, as they would say.

"Or three," he giggled, a cold grin spreading over his butchered lips. The sudden noise and movement earned a grunt from Harley.

"What time you thinkin' 'bout doin' this?" The one and only Two Face asked, large body nearly dwarfing Joker as he sat down beside him on a cafeteria break. He kept a good distance so not to arise suspicion but it was small enough that they could still talk in hushed tones.

"Oh," he hummed, "around twelve-ish tonight."

"You know that's when the Bat prowls." Two snarled, keeping his voice low but statement clear. He pushed his soup around in his bowl, sloshing the slush around the sides of the plastic and staining it. "That's suicidal."

"Aren't we all a little though," Joker laughed softly. Riddler sat down opposite and looked ready to spout some riddle. "There will be nine of us getting out, three for distraction and six big ones."

"Whom is whom?" Riddler murmured, picking at his special boy bread.

"I would be a main boyo," Mad Hatter grinned, collapsing down beside the questioner. Riddler twitched back, away from Joker's lunatic in arms. Funny, Edward never had liked Jervis.

"Indeedy," Joker dropped his smile as a guard sent them a customary glance. It wouldn't be good to act suspicious the very day before they got away, now would it? "I am also, with ol' Two Face here, Scarycrow, Riddle Kid and Crocy."

"Croc's in special containment today," Jonathan put in as he strolled over with his gluten-free crackers. "The big oaf decided to throw a fit about his new cell mate."

"That the one that tried to blow up Town Hall with a balloon?" Hatter rolled his eyes. "He should've at least tried to teach him a lesson on explosive chemicals beforehand. Everyone knows liquid fluoride isn't explosive, just like water isn't acidic."

"It ain't?" Two asked.

"No," Riddler shook his head before Hatter could express his peeved looking emotion at the failure of scientific teaching. "It is not. It is a compound and holds a neutrality of seven, completely balanced on the PH Scale."

Sometimes Joker wondered why Nygma didn't like Tetch. They were practically one in the same.

Riddles came with party jokes after all.

"Right, I didn't come here for science lessons with preschoolers," Jonny hissed, sitting down at their round table. Ha, round table. Like the Knights of the Round Table, only they were no Knights.

Nah. They were criminals.

The Criminals of the Round Table-- or how about, the Villains of the Round Table. Yeah, that last one sounded better.

"You going to let us in on your plan or not, Clown?"

"That better be said lovingly," Joker smiled but continued on anyway. "And if I must, I will. It's simple, a payed off guard will accidentally be caught by Hatter, be knocked out, have his keys stolen and Hatter will come around and let us all out."

"And if he don't?" Two Face snarled, sending Hatter a glare. Jervis mockingly raised his hands up in a grinned surrender.

Joker said, "Then he'll have to get out of here alone, with the Bat on his coattails."

Mad Hatter nodded, "I can diddly-do that plan."

The whole escape expedition went well, with Riddler letting loose a few unimportant low-liner criminals to keep Batsy busy when they ended up taking longer than wanted to get Croc out.

In the end, Joker had broken off the little Round Table Villain's Comitee and they'd all went their separate ways.

Currently, Batsy and Robin were ransacking the building he was hiding out in. Which was great because it was exactly what he wanted to happen.

He hadn't waited four years for nothing.

Joker was loyal, if crazy.

(He was simply different though, not - dare he say- crazy.)

The Clown Prince of Crime was no runagate.

He'd rounded up a few old gang members and had planted them around the building for Batsy. So, with Daddy Bats busy, he decided to cut his time bar down and just take Robin out now.

He found the boy tying up one of his clown-masked men behind a bar counter on the fifth floor. Batman was still on the third, dealing with about twelve men.

Joker had time.

"Robby-Boo," he called, skulking up behind him. The boy jumped and whirled around at his footsteps, stance spread defensive and teeth bared in a show of the animal he was. "How nice to see you so soon after last time."

"Last time?" The boy growled.

Ah. Of course, the boy didn't know of the Queen's death warrant on his head. He wondered how it had been kept quiet so well.

(Maybe he'd hallucinated it but he still dreamt of her and her cruel eyes and her vicious smirk, so he'd bet Quinn she was real.)

"Last time, when you put little old me away, Blunder Boy." He said instead.

"It worked well enough," Robin fired back. "Kept you away for four years. Why now?"

"Now?" Joker cackled.

Robin snarled, "Why break out now of all times? Why not when Mad Hatter broke out three years back, or when Two Face was having a killing spree?"

"Ah, dear boy." He stalked closer, aware of the boy's vicious snarl. It reminded him painfully of the Queen's. "You see, they were destined to fail, but now... now I can kill you without disruption."

Robin shouted something, springing back as Joker lunged, hands outstretched, coat jacket heavy. They broke into a flurry of punches and kicks, with Robin attempting a roundhouse that Joker caught and used to slam him into the ground. Robin lashed out at his arm and, hearing something crack, Joker flounced away as he shoved his hand into his jacket. Batsy's sidekick curled up on his legs, ready to pounce.

"I'd suggest you give up now, Boy Blunder." Joker pulled out one of Jonathan's presents for him -a small can that looked like deodorant spray- and sprayed the kid in the face as he hurdled forwards.

He dropped like a fly.

Joker laughed.

And laughed.

And laughed.

Batman appeared in the doorway and Joker watched gleefully from Edward's van's cameras as the man punched the wall in anger.

"You're so dead," Nygma said, shooting the rarely seen snarl of enrage on Batman a look of concern.

Joker chuckled, patting the sack the Boy Wonder was safely incapacitated in. He'd held his word to the Queen, no doubt she'd be off his back.

"Don't worry about a thing, Riddles. Just drive."

They drove.

She wore a kevlar suit draped in red and black mist as she stalked along the murky corridors of her Remnants' Maze. A feather light, heavily armoured cape licked at her heels and for some odd reason it soothed her as she treaded through the cobweb covered mess.

“You fell." A deep, monotone voice hissed startling her. It's tone was unheard of in her presence; sheer, utter hatred. She looked around her Maze, eyes alight with fury as the voice chuckled, the sound booming through the walls and ground like an olden day's train clattering over the sewage system like it had not fifty years ago.

Rachel jerked as the scenery changed. Blurring into a crescendo of bright lights and unfamiliar moving shapes that disoriented and irritated her. A shadow stalked forward from nowhere, all courage and no power.

“The first appeared, an angel of Spain hidden in plain sight. From pain and loss, hecollapsed.” The shadow latched onto her arm as a boy appeared from the depths of swirling colour, face blurred but head adorned by lovingly bright red hair that was cropped ever so slightly. His posture was proud and confident and Rachel felt something in her chest reach out to him before he half vanished in a swirling hole of colour.

Not thinking she ran forward, tugging out of the shadow's grip, hand outstretched as if she were to catch him. She tumbled through the hole left by him with the grace of a bear.

The shadow smirked at her as she fell, twisting in fake air as it disappeared into black smoke.

“The second was born, only to be brushed off as dust. They burned.” She heard a different voice whisper in her ear as she saved her landing by rolling, coming to a stop and standing.

Another, younger looking, boy appeared to her left and she whirled to face him. He was skinny, short and his hair was black as night. His face, too, was blurred. Rachel attempted to walk over to him but her feet were stuck, held in place by forces that always remained unseen. A frown burned her face.

“Another joined, but they were doomed.” It said again and a young female with long, stylish, blonde hair appeared as the boy melted into the ground. The blonde stood proudly in a purple and black suit. Her chest tightened as the girl waved at her, a cheeky grin plastered on her face, visible even through the blurs. She disappeared in a mess of black that looked like a rushed stroke of paint from a brush.

“What is this?” The last voice had spoken in Kalderash so she returned the favor, speaking loud enough so that her voice echoed around the empty cloud ridden area she'd ended up in. She knew none of these people and the confusion was rife in her veins.

No more blurry-faced people appeared and she was left staring down at a blood soaked suit hanging on a ragged mannequin.

It wasn't Bats’ nor was it the one from before - the girls - nor was it the one she wore. The suit was red and black with a long yellow-insided cape. A proud chestplate adorned with a sharp symbol of ‘R’ sitting firm on its chest. Something about it lit a flame in her head and subconsciously she decided she liked it, despite the blood.

Her surroundings fell from a light misty blue to a greying black that swarmed ferociously like fire. Rachel wondered when it had turned blue.

The first boy, with red hair that was turning black, appeared wearing it. Rachel's arm reached out to touch his shoulder - as if of its own mind - but he distorted before her eyes into a corpse. He stood there, blood gushing down his charred face, as a hand shot up, grabbing her shoulder.

She had no time to scream at the contact, at the steel bending grip, before the second boy appeared as the first disappeared. Now, he screamed insanities and was laughing mad. A handprint of ash burned a metaphorical hole in her shoulder as the shadow swirled up to cover her eyes, its grin recognisable even past her blindness.

“Would you like to see the fates of more?”

“Stop this," she growled. "Get out of my head.”

The second boy vanished, but not not before crumbling onto his knees, crying hysterically. Something akin to pity welled up inside her before she remembered no one offered her as such and pushed it down. Anger clenched her fists as the shadow swirled away, clouds sticking to it like a dress.

“They trusted, they loved and you failed. You were soft and let them crumble for that they will be taken.”

“No!” She bellowed, voice going hoarse in her panic. "You will not take any more from me."

A girl with long black hair stalked into a now whitewashed room, twirling a dagger not of the Remnants' in her nimble hands. “Sister,” said the girl and this time Rachel screamed.

“Begone! Go away!” She hit the ground in her swivet, a hard thump that brought her back to her senses.

Rachel watched, suddenly transfixed by fear, as the girl burst into a grey cloud of dust that swarmed forward like angry bees that had her cowering. When she opened her eyes again the girl was replaced by a young boy with short ruffled black hair and a katana slung on his hip.

He smirked at her uneasily, a damningly hopeful look on his young face. “Rachel? Is that you?”

She clawed herself backwards and screamed, eyes too wide for their sockets.

Rachel burst upright, chest burning as she forced air through her lungs. Her body shone in the darkness, covered in sweat. She felt like she'd died as she slowly pulled her head back down to earth.

A nightmare. It had been a nightmare.

The white blanket that pooled around her waist sent a glaring reminder of the dagger twirling girl into Rachel's head and the whitewashed room that accompanied her. She shivered and suddenly she could feel that thing in her head again.

Calm yourself, it whispered. Its being thick and sticky as tar in her head, a looming weight that pulled her further down towards Hell's gates.

She wouldn't be welcome there anyway. After four years of nothing but killing and parading about as a "Queen" she was nothing better than the filth she'd set out to destroy in the very beginning.

How many of her own had she killed in her stupid little quest?

Too many.

How many had she betrayed, faking power, hounding and pulling them about like dogs as she pleased?

The answer was not near as pleasant as she'd hoped.

How ironic this happens after three years, she thinks brokenly. Horace, once upon a time, had bargained with her, originally wanting her to rule for five years. Rachel had only agreed for two, and yet she was. Still here.

It was 2000 for god's sake.

(Maybe Horace had known something she didn't.)

Once secretive, always. Hummed the call of the Old Serum. It had been fading recently, and for that Rachel was pleased, and what if her veins hurt a little more than usual because of it?

It was a price she was willing to pay.

Empty words, whispered the voice of rebellion - a voice she'd been hearing a lot more recently. War will come soon, don't fret child.

But what if I do not want a war? She asked herself, despite how she'd been so ready for it years ago, even taunting of its coming to Eudarv (the bastard) it had not yet came and she'd grown weary.

(As all do, she reasoned.)

One will come, the voice whispered. For it is needed. It may not be yours but it will come.

Set in stone yet? Because maybe she could change things before that happened. Not that she believed in that bullshit in the first place.

Long since, the voice chuckled. Someone will die and it will set the tide for the next decade.

Sounds lovely, she thought just as her quarter's doors burst open, a furious knock resounding even as the doors slammed loudly.

Nikkola was panting, red in the face from running and not from seeing her naked, though he did have the decency to look away slightly. (Not that it was a new sight, but still.)

"Rachel," he gasped, long down the road of formalities. He was loyal and good company. Which was probably the two reasons for why he was still alive, she remarked. That and he could do his job.

"What is it?" She asked, worried as their eyes made contact.

Nikkola was horrified. "Arkham's had a break-out."

"What?" She spluttered, confused. "I do not see why you deem this necessary information to rush."

"It's war," the man rushed to explain. "Two Face has taken over Falcone's land at his fresh sprint, whispers say they're set for gunfire tomorrow. Killer Croc has taken up residence of the sewers and Scarecrow is roaming the streets with Mad Hatter."

Croc would make it hard for her people to move around and with a gang war set to wage—

A war that was not hers was too dangerous.

(Or maybe, just maybe, this was the war the voice had spoken of.)

Rachel made a decision:

"We'll drop off the grid, alert all patrols immediately; the Remnants are going silent."

"Yes, my Queen." Nikkola bowed and vanished.

The things Conners had injected her with had been given to him by Monook. She had found that out much later, after the man was long dead otherwise he would've suffered much more than he had. Rachel knew of the effects this could have upon her, so that was why she was here. In the labs.

(Certainly not because she'd been feeling faint recently. Nearly passing out when she'd been walking the halls.)

(And assuredly not because it had taken her six hours longer than normalto heal from a broken finger, after she'd fallen on it in training.)

It was like she had that damn sickness once more. Although, blessedly, without the migraines.

(Headaches were a commodity when one leaded.)

"Your Highness," her scientist nodded. The first vial in her hand was a dead beat black gloop; her blood. In the second sloshed a swarmy blue liquid; the result of the separation tests. These two things were what was in her. "I performed the tests as asked and have found your blood contains a shocking amount of antidelectrum."

She raised the vial with blue liquid and something clicked in Rachel's head. Suddenly, she understood.

They'd made up antidelectrum, together; the two shots Dr Conners had given her so long ago. Being the two main serums to make the posion, because of course. She knew this, had known this deep down because nothing else could stunt a Talon's healing and the Serum's influence like that shit.

The doctor had babbled on about how he didn't really know what they were. He'd mumbled and grinned when the results had became clear.

He hadn't known because someone else had given him them. Someone with connections inside the old Court, someone with ties. Or someone, someone, that had been in the Court.

Horace.

Horace had set her up for sickness and death so that he could force her into ruling—

The scientist ducked back as she smashed the vial of her blood against the table. She could barely see past the red in her vision, it hurt, everything hurt. It was like a flashback, she could see Horace lunging at her with the injection of the Old Serum in his hands.

He'd known.

He'd known and she had trusted him.

She had trusted him.

And yet he'd tried to kill you, the voice mumured. It sounded like Red and for the first time in a very long time, Rachel missed her alter ego, as dangerous as she was.

"Will— will this affect me in the future?" She asked, hand aching against the marble of the countertop. She stood up straighter, staring down her worried scientist.

"This kind of antidelectrum is a sample; it was never fully formed, a formula half-complete. The side effects are unknown currently, aside from the known pains and trouble healing that all antidelectrum brings."

Well, she had defintely had trouble healing. Then Horace had given her more of the Old Serum and that had stopped, along with her sickness. Fuelling her body with more chemicals had saved her, healed her.

Perhaps she'd gotten sick thanks to the antidelectrum.

(What was she thinking, of course she had.)

"I'm running a test right now," her scientist went on. "It should give us an idea of what's happening with it and whether or not we'll need to do something—"

A loud ping cut her off.

Rachel stood there, staring at the sickening blue gloop sludging over the table as the scientist peered into the miscroscope. She gasped and Rachel looked up, into wide horrified eyes.

"I think you need to see this, your Highness."

Frowning, she strode over, bending down to peer through the little peep holes. Her mouth opened in shock at what she saw.

The blue molecules, obviously the antidelectrum, were destroying -no, eating- her blackened -because apparently electrum destroyed the creation of hemoglobin, or at least, shortened its levels, and hemoglobin coloured the cells- red blood cells. Her black red blood cells that just happened to carry the electrum— the Old Serum.

The antidelectrum was eating the Old Serum.

It was killing her.

"This could, if left to advance, completely annihilate your Talonated powers," her scientist said, pale. The very thought of her, the Queen, losing her powers and lifeblood to this was sickening. "You'll need to take regular doses of the Old Serum to combat this, to keep the electrum in your system. God forbid should you loose to this."

"How many shots will I need to take?"

Her scientist shook her head. "I'll need to run tests but I'll give you a dose today and you can come back next week to see how fast it eats through it. Satisfactory?"

Rachel nodded, trying to hide her heart thumping fear. "The gods will reward you."

Her scientist smiled, "I wish."

She ended up needing a fresh dose of the Old Serum every two months to stay alive, to keep her powers and not become a boring, regular human that would die once they reached eighty. Rachel was already nearly a quarter of the way there anyway.

"Why do you lead us, Rachel?" Nikkola asked, sitting down beside her with a grunt. The noise of the feast washed over them as she took that in, watching her Remnants laugh and talk amongst themselves. It was Passover holiday and with a few of her ones being Jewish everyone was happy to partake in a feast.

"What do you mean?" She asked, staunchly avoiding the lamb on her plate. The man who'd served it, Mudan, a large man in his own right, had been generous in his portions, meaning there was a lot of it to avoid. Rachel sipped at her wine to ignore her imaginary-Alfred's disappointing gaze.

"Surely you are not here of your own benefit, we have been underground for nearly two years, and in that time we have been quiet as mice." The man said. Rachel couldn't detect any intent to steal her crown (yet) so she let him speak. "You had Eudarv by your side, yet when he came close to being King, you killed him. Is that not an encumbrance and setback?"

"I froze him," she corrected. "There is a difference there, Nikkola."

"Are you so sure?" he challenged and her walls began rising.

"Death does not come as easily to us as it does humans," she said.

"You did not answer my question," he noted.

"Did I not?" She asked rhetorically. "I froze him, what tactic other than threats could I have dissuaded him with?"

"You could've turned him down, spared his feelings and kept the moral of the Remnants up. You should've but you didn't."

"Are you insinuating a failure in application?"

"I'm implying that you may not be fit for this position." Nikkola said calmly.

Rachel felt a cold, piercing feeling shroud in her gut. It arced up from her core and shot down her legs and through her arms. Her heart felt like it was being squeezed.

She'd kill him. Kill him for even stating such a thing.

"Of course I'm only repeating what the others are saying," the man said in her silence. "This does not mean I too have become upon this conclusion, merely that I worry."

"Eudarv has been supplanted," she answered. "I do not see how I am to fault for his own shortcomings."

"Their postulation is wild, Rachel," Nikkola snarled. "They worry they will be next and when they come to me for guidance I cannot even give my assistance for neither I know."

"If they fear death they are not worthy of the Talon power." Because she tried so hard for it, took shots every two months to keep her lifeline, it was so unfair that these peasants could keep what they did not even want.

"This is not a power we've been bestowed, Rachel," Nikkola's voice rose over the clatter, people's heads turned in curiosity. "It is a curse, a damnation that has spread from our veins to our hearts. Why should we kill simply because we have the power to?"

A low murmur swept through the congregation of Remnants. Rachel flushed red though she did not know if it was thanks to anger or embarrasment.

"I agree," someone said. A small lady by the name of Delores. "We should have the right of man and be able to make our own decisions."

"Aye," an Irish man shouted, hooting his words in mockery. "The Court's gone, why should we listen to the call of the serum for any longer?"

Rachel had been under the impression all the ones left were loyal fighters, dedicated to the cause. Apparently, she'd been wrong.

So terribly wrong.

Nikkola stood shouting, "All say aye for a new code, a new law of no killing. We can save Gotham, we do not need death nor this woman! Revolt with me and see the light!"

He was creating a rebellion. An usurping. Rachel would not acknowledge this. Disobedience was unacceptable.

Slanderous treachery.

Treason.

"Sit down," she bellowed as they all stood. They flushed forward like a wave, crashing against the podium of which Nikkola and her sat, banging against it, howling obscenities. "Stop this at once!"

Nikkola smirked at her as the pitch rose. "Seems they really didn't like it."

Nikkola was a nice man. She'd always liked him, being able to laugh and joke around with him occasionally. Who would've thought he would be the one to go against her, to repudiate her.

"You'll be assured to see the light," she growled, eyes stinging with hate. A dagger was thrust through his chest with one forceful shove.

Nikkola's lecherous grin dropped, flopping into a frown as he looked down at the dagger. His hands gripped it for a moment before pulling it out. It dripped green. "What have you done?"

She may not have been happy about his rioting but she'd been prepared for it. Bruce had taught her the paranoia of the Bat well.

"That green substance is poison, the only thing in the world known to kill an Old Serum user." It was antidelectrum. Now it was her turn to grin. The crowd below raged at what was happening, vectoring frantic in their screams. "Too little and it leisurely, if gradually, eats away at the serum; too much and it's instantaneous death."

The former was happening to her. The latter, currently to Nikkola.

"How- How much did—?" Nikkola's eyes had went wide and suddenly Rachel felt misplaced.

The world seemed to dim as Nikkola dropped forward, down onto his knees. Rachel gaped, a horrid shame filling her. She tried to apologise, "I- I'm—"

"Save it," the man gurgled, blood boiling. It surged upwards from his nostrils and ears, pouring out in slobs like hot buttermilk that had curdled. "I'm past this world, lord riddance."

He sighed happily and his eyes grew dimmer each passing second.

Rachel didn't understand why she'd done it. Her stomach doing sommersaults as she thought about it, cradling the dying man in her arms. His blood painted her skin and she wept, forgoing the screams as she shook.

She'd killed him. Killed him over something that all should have; free will.

Maybe it had been a bad idea, all this killing and whatnot.

Now that she looked back, she didn't know why she'd left. Horace had dragged her away but she easily could've gotten up and went back— back home.

Why hadn't she?

(She ducked under a bolted down lab table just as Horace charged, slamming right into the wall. To her horror, the man merely shook himself off like a bull and laughed down at her, peeling the needle from the wall it had embedded itself in.)

The serum, a voice like Bruce's -strong and sturdy, stout- whispered in her ears. It dragged you down and you lost even yourself. She had. She'd lost herself and here she was. Here she was dictating life itself.

("He is dead," she said and they all bathed in silence.)

She didn't want to do that.

She wanted a family, she had a brother back home. She wanted friends, knce upon a time she'd attempted a team but her selfishness had driven her away and one of them was dead.

(His lifeless eyes stared at her. No, right through her.)

Kaldur'ahm had died. Such a kind, loving boy; dead at her fingertips. He was dead because of her arrogance, because of her.

There was so much blood on her hands. Too much.

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed, sliding shut his eyelids with shaking fingers.

She cried.

And cried.

And cried.

The Remnants, whom now she peered at, the Remnants who were nothing more than lost souls, clamoured round. Calling for Nikkola. Calling for saviour. Calling for words that would not come from a burnt throat and closed eyelids.

"The Remnants are done," she said, not knowing when she'd stood. She didn't remember doing so. "Nikkola is gone. Go."

Silence held the air in its thick, devastating hold, choking all the oxygen out to replace it with carbon dioxide.

"We- we can leave?" Someone at the back whispered, heard by all in the room.

She nodded. "Yes. Go, live normal lives. Enjoy the life you were never given. Never come back."

They were all New Serums anyway. They'd all die like humans.

"Let us leave," one man nodded in decision, grabbing a candle from the table and dropping it on the cloth. The linen went up almost in slow motion, the flame roaring its way through delicately embroidered patterns, proclaiming freedom.

"Freedom is ours," a woman hooted.

Rachel stood there as they all ran out, stumbling and cheering in their glory.

The Court had burned and it seemed the Remnants would too.

For some reason, she was alright with that. Content with letting a movement she'd spent three years building crumble to dust at the click of a dead man's fingers.

Or, more accurately, letting it fall at a dead man's call.

It was time to go home. It was time to meet her brother properly.

It was time to be a better person, for herself and everyone. Red was gone, the Queen was gone, now Rachel was here.

And she was here to stay this time. No matter what.

She walked out of the hall to the fizzling of the marble reacting to the heat as the wood frames in the room went up.

Cobb had been put back in his coffin, alongside Eudarv. His horrid grin was stark in contrast against the rugged red of the casket.

She'd been calling them coffins all this time whilst they were caskets.

"Whoops," she said, quite unapologetic as she stuck her tongue out at Cobb. She felt younger than normal, probably thanks to the adrenaline rush that had spurred her emotional responses.

Her eyes were still red and puffy from earlier. She could tell, the ice reflected her reflection back at her almost perfectly.

The Court's abode was burning from the inside out, thanks to that candle and she was making her rounds, shunning the memories of death and spitting in the face of them.

That was why she was here; to say goodbye.

"Years have passed," she still had no clue how Horace had pulled the block of ice from the casket. "And although you are still stuck in the past, I've forgiven. Maybe you should too."

Yeah, that was enough. She needed to save some emotion for an apology to her father, brother and butler. An apology to her family.

"And you, Eudarv." She sighed, tilting her head at his slack expression. At least Cobb had died with a bit of excitement. "Your abs were nice, your personality not."

And last, but not least, she went to the labs. They were just beginning to see the begins of smoke, rotten and coarse. Everything sat in still silence, eerily dead looking without anyone roaming.

Her scientist had left, long gone.

Rachel sighed in the gloom, skulking forward. She stopped as she reached the furthermost wall from the door, opening up a cupboard that only opened up to her DNA signature.

Bottles, small medicinal ones the size of small drinking cans, lined the shelves. There had to be twenty of them.

Each and every one had three doses of the Old Serum in them.

Lugging her briefcase forward, Rachel set it on the counter and twisted in the code. It opened with a click.

Carefully, one by one, uncaring to the spreading sizzling fire outside, she placed the small, delicate bottles into the case, lining its special paded shelves. Thankful they all fit, so she turned around and pulled up a large floortile.

Rachel peered down, into the darkened space and reached into it. It took her a moment but her tingertips eventually grazed a smal military style lockbox. Grunting, she bent down and pulled it up.

She knew the code to this one too, so she opened it. It whirred open with a cough of dust.

It hadn't been touched in years, after all.

Rachel grinned at its contents.

A small, aging slip of paper that had scrawling cursive scribbled neatly in a corner; the Old Serum formula.

She tucked it safely into a hidden pocket in the briefcase and snapped it shut.

"Goodbye, my Maze."

She left and never returned.

Bruce stared darkly into his now cold coffee, listening stoically as reports of something bursting to flames in the sewers had caused an ungoldly amount of smoke to rise from the sewer's manholes. The news was saying it was something like an old fusebox that had sparked and exploded, lighting up some old sewage, which was highly plausible.

But he didn't believe it, meaning Batman would be out there later, patrolling.

Alfred shot him a look, like he knew what he was planning and calmly repeated what he'd been saying for years. "I hope you are aware of how kevlar shrinks, Master Bruce?"

"Of course, Alfred." He said, not really feeling it in him to joke. He hadn't felt it in him since the Manor had fallen into the sickly silence of the years where his mother and father had been dead, a shrewd mirage of death once more. It hurt his chest, tugged at the charred husk of his heart and squeezed so tight Batman had became the only thing he deemed fit of his time.

Because if he didn't drown himself in cases he'd be drowning himself with water and he couldn't to that to Alfred. Maybe when the older man died, but not now.

Not when the butler still subconsciously baked an extra batch of cookies for grabbing hands that were long gone and then cried over them in the dark of night, when Batman was out, punching faces in to get rid of the thumping, aching feeling of not being good enough, of not being fast enough, you were too slow, too late.

The security gates pinged as they were pushed open but Bruce paid it no heed. It was probably the postman. He was expecting a package from Hal who was currently slumming it out in Africa, for reasons unknown. Bruce wouldn't put anything past him for the Lantern's incentive but he honestly didn't care so he didn't ask.

"Would you like a refill?" Alfred asked, hand no doubt hovering over the coffee pot that steam still rose from.

Bruce flicked to the next news channel, the international one, and listened to how Clark and Diana had saved the president from an assassination purely by 'chance'.

"No thank you, Alfred," he grunted, gulping down the rest of his coffee to stand. The postman would be knocking in a second, if he didn't dawdle, and he could get the door and then slink off to the Cave. The dinosaur's jaw had fallen off the previous night, thanks to the bats stirring and flying into it, breaking one of the hinged latches. He didn't think he'd get any free time out of an hour, if two fixing it.

He nodded to Alfred who seemed forlorn, no doubt at the half-full, half-empty plate he'd left sitting. The butler nodded back anyway, not saying anything.

It took the postman five minutes more than normal to make it to the front door than usual, and even then it usually only took a maxium of ten minutes to walk down the drive.

Bruce had retreated to the chair beside the paintings, picking up one of Jay's books -Hunger Games- and leafing through it. He would've spent hours staring at the boy's handmade bookmark, made from a slither of a cut up Robin cape. But it hurt to look at the fabric, hurt to think of his boy and Robin and his chest burned, the heat was back against his arm and his cape was billowing out in front of him, suddenly lashing back as the shockwave hit him—

A knock on the door startled him from his memories.

Shaking himself mentally, he sighed and stood, striding over to the door and opening it without a second thought.

Bright baby blue eyes that he hadn't seen in years greeted him, matched with a sad but hopeful smile. His baby girl clutched her suitcase handle tighter and appeared to suck in enough air for Clark to put out a hurricane.

"Hey, dad."

Bruce's mind wasn't working. He was ill. He was seeing things.

He had to be.

And yet his mouth opened and closed, he breathed in assuredly real air and ground the flooring under his slippers. It was real, real, real— "Rachel?"

She smiled at him nervously, like he would turn her away. Like she didn't know how his heart had ached for her, like she was unaware of how he'd hoped and hoped and prayed that she'd be alright and possibly, maybe, hopefully come back home whenever she found herself.

"That's me," her voice broke but Bruce was too busy pulling her into a hug at that moment in time. He'd regret this later, scold himself for not checking then double checking that it was her and not some phoney fake but right now he just hugged her tighter. He buried her face into his neck with his hand, rocking them back and forth and smiled, his eyes stinging.

"Rachel, egads I've been so worried about you." He pulled back to hold her at arms length, taking in how she looked older, how she looked like she'd been living it rough with her hair longer and her clothes ratty. He checked her over for injuries and found none. She was slimmer though. Too slim. It reminded him of how he'd first found her, scared, hungry, alone.

He wished— hoped his daughter hadn't been through that again.

(Later she would sit him down, wipe tears from her eyes and say how much she missed him, how she hurt all over and how she had missed him so, so much. He'd return the sentiment, feeling something other than hate or anger for once, since Jay's death. Instead, he'd feel love for the first time in far too long.)

(Later on, after that by a few weeks, she'd stop him before he went down to the Cave for patrol. She'd look at him and ask to go with him as Nightwing -because Batman needed a partner- and he would agree because her puppy eyes were just too good.)

(A year in, she'll tell him how she needs injections to live, during a particularly bad spell, after she'd pulled the cloak off the Robin costume display in wonderance. He'd hug her and start making the Old Serum in a far off cavern, long sealed off to the world. They wouldn't speak of it again but when she runs out of the bottles more will show up and she'll smile extra bright at him the next morning.)

((He lives for those smiles.))

But for now, he takes in his daughters tired, older appearance and feels worry bloom in his gut like an old friend. "How are you? Are you hurt? Are you hungry? Come in, Alfred will get you—"

Rachel laughed softly, shyly, and shook her head. "I'm fine, B. Really, where's my little bro— I think it's time for a proper introduction, don't you?"

"Jay—" Bruce's voice cracked and he had to swallow. His chest screamed in upheaval. He was surprised she didn't know. Where had she been? "Jason's been dead for a year."

"Oh," she said like her world was crashing down around her. "Oh."