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Whiskey on the rocks is her preferred choice to finish the night.
Having her own Omega Milk Bar is a dream come true, but certainly she couldn’t have predicted how tiring it could be to manage it. The business deals? That comes natural to her. No wonder why she is a survivor of Gotham’s streets. She’s self-made alpha woman that took Gotham by storm, dazzling anyone that comes her way, and to the ones she doesn’t enchant… let’s say she makes them disappear from her business map.
Thank God for Harvey Dent! What she would do without him and his questionable methods? Well, she would ask Oliver Queen for help. That’s how it goes. She keeps her friends close, especially if they are the grey type. Not too noble to judge her actions, but not too bitter that they are unkind.
Who would have guessed that business and finances are not what required her undivided attention. No. It’s the heart of the bar: her omegas; If someone had asked her before she opened the bar, she would said that she was in no way a possessive, overprotective alpha. Dinah comes from Gotham’s streets, after all. She has seen what jealousy makes alphas do. The pain their insecurities cause.
Nevertheless, this job has made her seem things from a closer view that she doesn’t wish upon anyone. That way in which some alphas treat omegas. As if their lives are worth nothing. As if they are simple possessions—Toys without feelings. Just thinking about it makes her blood boil.
That’s why she ends her nights with whiskey. It soothes her soul and desire to murder other alphas. It wouldn’t be good for the business if there were rumours that she hunts down her nasty clients… That’s what stops her. And good old Harvey that does the hunting for her, taking them down in court.
But see, Dinah wouldn’t have it other way for her troubled past prepared her well to care for her omegas.
(And if she ever had doubts, that night will prove them wrong.)
"Ma’am," one of the members of the security team says, carefully walking towards her. Everyone knows she dwells in silence after the bar closes, so if he dares to interrupt, it must be something important. "There is something you need to see, Ma'am."
What could it be? He sounds scared. "Pardon me?"
"There’s someone outside. Someone dangerous." The guard looks around as if he’s looking for someone overhearing their conversation. But there’s no one. It’s past four in the morning of the last week of December. If someone is outside the bar at this hour, that person isn’t dangerous. That person is drunk and homeless.
"Alright," she sighs, following the sturdy alpha. She smiles to herself. Sometimes the big ones are the scary cats, she thinks.
Outside the back door of the bar, there is only one young man, lying down on the floor, covered in a filthy coat. He couldn’t be more than twenty and he can’t weight more than one-hundred fifty pounds. It’s bad for anyone in his age, but if she judges him by the sweet traits he reeks under his filthy sweaty odor, then it’s even worst. Omegas need more nutrients than any other dynamic.
"Is this poor man your fighter, Rodrigues? Are you fucking kidding me?" When she uses her sarcastic alpha voice, most alphas shiver, but he doesn’t. Instead, the source of the fear on his eyes is the omega. For sure, that’s eerie. An alpha terrified of an apparently helpless omega is something you don’t see. Not even once in a lifetime.
"What’s wrong with him?" She whispers not to awake the poor thing.
"He came looking for work early but we told him the bar wasn’t hiring. Then he came back and he stood there, saying he wasn’t going to leave until he talked to the owner. We told him that we’d call the cops and then…"
"Then what?" She demands because she wants to all the details, but honestly, she can imagine that the homeless omega probably went feral, terrified of the dirty cops Gotham is famous for.
The answer she gets, though, it’s something she couldn’t have guessed.
"His eyes turned yellow. Yellow, golden yellow." Finally, the petrified look on his face make sense. "He passed out—Dehydration. Blood loss. Who knows? We need to get rid of him before they come for him."
Golden yellow eyes are the last thing all the victims of the Court of Owls see. Golden yellow eyes declare a death sentence. Golden yellow eyes are what Gotham’s scary tales are made of.
"A Talon?" She asks, puzzled. "He can’t be. It doesn’t make any sense." It truly doesn’t. Years ago, The Batman and the Commissioner had reported that the Court was taken down.
At least, that’s what Dinah knows. Yet, she can’t understand why Batman would lie to her about something that dangerous. He may lie about anything else, but he’s always serious about the mission. Besides, even if Batman hasn’t told anything regarding the Talons, the Black Canary would have heard something.
"Ma'am? What are going to do?" Rodrigues asks with clear intentions of putting the omega in the trash.
"You? Nothing. I am taking him with me."
"But, ma’am, if they find out you have him, they are going to kill you."
She appreciates his concern, however, she’s a tough cookie. The Black Mask gang tattoo on her arm is proof of that. Moreover, the Court of Owls might have been the most dangerous criminal organization of Gotham for centuries, but their time has passed. Whoever has remained and had abused this poor omega, they would pay.
"Save your worries, Rodrigues. Go home, and I’ll take care of him."
Taking care of someone in Gotham can mean a lot of things. That seems to calm down her guard, who apparently believes she’s going to send the omega away. Maybe even take his out.
Whatever, she thinks. It’s better if he thinks that. The less anyone knows about the whereabouts of the Talon, the better.
She takes off his wasted coat, revealing a skinny frame. The poor thing is wearing a light black t-shirt and a pair of old sweatpants. Wrapping him with her coat, she carries him on her arms. The omega doesn’t move. He doesn’t wake up. He’s completely vulnerable under her care, and that thought makes her heart ache. If other alpha had found him…
She couldn’t lose focus now. She still has to drive home and get him medical attention. Poor Leslie. She can’t have a free night of masks asking her favors.
"Just hold on, little man," she says to the unconscious body, sitting next to her, safely held on with the safety belt.
She doesn’t know his name. For all she knows, he is actually dangerous. His metal program of loyalty to the Court must be gone by now if he is, indeed, looking for a job. However, a Talon without their handler could be a bigger threat. Who is going to stop him if he goes full feral mode?
No doubt, Oliver is going to kill her.
The nameless omega sleeps silently. No nightmares. No whines of pain. Nothing. It’s like he is death. And the fact that Talons have extremely low heart beating doesn’t help at all to soothe her apprehension.
Fortunately, Oliver isn’t home, so she can pick that fight later. However, their alpha son is. Regardless of his past troubles with drugs, Roy is a good alpha. He’s always been caring and friendly. So it doesn’t surprise her that he volunteered to assist the unknown omega.
"Are we going to ignore the yellow eyes and blue veins on his face?" He asks.
"Until we know who he is and what he wants, yes. We don’t judge others by their looks, remember?"
"Hear loud and clear," Roy grins, taking lightly that there is a Talon on one of the guest’s rooms in their mansion. He has the blissful ignorance of someone who has never fought a Talon.
Dinah wishes he could be ignorant too. "Thank you for helping me, but I’ll handle it from here."
"Why?" He says without hiding his suspicious. "Why do you want to get rid of me?"
She wants to say, "Because he might be dangerous and I’ll never forgive myself if he hurts you." The words get caught on her throat. Instead, she smiles with the fondness she deserves for her family and says, "Because the breakfast is on you, and if you don’t wake up lately, Roy—"
"You will suffocate me with a pillow. Right. Good night, mom." Saying mom teasing is better than saying nothing. That’s what Dinah tells herself.
The moment Roy leaves the room, closing the door behind him, she starts undressing the omega for a second time. It’s such a violation of his privacy. Dinah hates doing it, but she has no other choice. The first time, it was necessary to bathe him and get him clean clothes. But now, that Roy is gone, there’s one more thing she needs to do.
All Talon have a master, and all masters have a special breed of Talons. Some Talons are branded with the family crest’s of their owners. Others, the weaker Talons that haven’t earned the branding, only have the bite of their alphas or wear collars.
Something is off with Talon. His body has no marks, and he hasn’t been bitten. Not even once. His virgin mating glands are rare among Talons. Either he used to be terribly loyal to the Court or his performance didn’t impress anyone.
"But who are you, little Talon?" If he doesn’t wake up any time soon, she might have to use the facial recognition program, but she doubts she will find something about him.
The Court must have erased all the information of his previous life as a Talon. And he’s been looking for a job on his own, even if his current health is decaying, which tells Dinah that he is alone. No support. Probably without friends.
"Guess, it’s your lucky day, Talon," she says, brushing his messy hair. Now that he’s clean, his facial structure is easier to admire. He’s beautiful. And once he gains weight, he will be quite the attraction in her bar because no, Dinah is not leaving this poor soul alone. She doesn’t know him yet, but she isn’t giving up on him either.
"You are hired."
The blonde woman leaves too soon for Dick to open his eyes, move his lips like a normal person, and try to speak. Talons don’t need a voice. They don’t have to speak, but Dick has learned English, Romani and a little bit of Spanish. Talon is good, but Dick is better. Talon’s greatness was motivated by serving the Court, but Dick has better reasons.
All the pain he has inflected in others, all the unspeakable things he has done. He will fix it somehow. He will make amends. He will wash the blood away from his hands, even conviction is all he possess for he has nothing left. No one. They are all dead.
But if by any chance fate still believes in his redemption, her words must be a sign: "You are hired."
Hired. His first non—assassin job. Dick grins in victory with his dry lips. He might be too weak to open his eyes or move his limbs, but he signs for his insides.
Dick Grayson. Former acrobat. Currently alive. No longer a living assassin corpse. Hired by a former enemy. Not that Dinah knows or even recognizes who he is. And for his luck, he hopes she will never know.