Chapter Text
Gabrielle Gomez
first person
FRIDAY, AUGUST 30, 2019 DOCTOR DONNA LOGANS OFFICE, SHIELD COMPOUND. HARLEM, NEW YORK. 8:21 AM
MY FOOT HITS THE GROUND impatiently. It’s a thing I do when I’m nervous or bored, I’ve been doing it on and off since I was six. My mother used to say she was going to beat the habit out of me. She tried and I’d stop for a while, a couple months (once even a year, it was impressive), but it’d always come back. She was never fully successful.
Nowadays, I don’t have a mother to beat my nervous ticks out of me. Instead, I have a therapist telling me my feelings are valid and that everyone has nervous ticks. I’m not exactly grateful for that fact. Sometimes I wish she’d just take the pen she was using to jot down every time I do something ‘concerning’ and stab me with it. That’s part of the reason why I’m in therapy.
It was times like these, when I was sitting in a therapists office in a specific part of the Shield Compound I resided in, that I missed my mother.
Even if people told me she was a psychotic bitch.
“Can I go back to missions?” I ask, my voice loud. I’ve always made sure to not have a low voice when asking a question. It was trained into me from a young age. One of the best things my mother taught me, actually (besides how to shoot a gun). ‘You will always be looked down upon, treated as if your opinion and questions are stupid. You are a child’ She’d said ‘But, you are my child. So it is important that your voice commands respect, not questions it.’
Doctor Donna Logan has been my therapist since I first showed up at Shield a couple years ago. I go to her whenever Nick Fury (the director of Shield) and Agent O’Ryan (my ‘handler’ of sorts) decide I’m too fucked up to go on missions. Mainly, Fury is the one enrolling me in therapy. I had been doing good the last year or so, not a single failed mission and I had done nothing to induce a therapy session. That was until the mission in Dominican Republic. Now, I’m stuck seeing Donna two times a week.
“I’m not seeing any improvement, Gabrielle.” Doctor Logan tells me.
“I told you I don’t have nightmares anymore. I’d consider that improvement.”
“Really? Cause I’d consider that lying.” Doctor Logan sighs, putting her notepad down to look me in the eyes. “I can’t help you if you don’t let me.”
“The only ‘help’ I need is for you to clear me for missions.” I tell her. “It’s been two months. I want back in. Fury won’t even let me look at a damn file.”
“You can’t get ‘back in’ until I know you’re mentally prepared for what’s going to happen, Gabrielle.” Doctor Logan’s voice is full of pity. Pity. One things I hate. Also, one of the only emotions she’s never been able to withhold. Doctor Logan talks a lot about how it’s okay to express emotions but, personally, I’d consider her the biggest hypocrite on Earth. She’s trained in psychology and emotions, the mind and the body. But she wasn’t trained like I was, she wasn’t trained to note every emotion on someones face, the slightest change in someones body language.
Sure, she could notice that I had issues. I’m glad she’s putting her degree to use. But I don’t have a degree and I know her whole life’s story, I could trick her into confessing issues she has with her dead mom if I really wanted to, but I don’t because Agent O’Ryan informed me that that’s considered an invasion of privacy and that it will make her want to not clear me for missions even more.
“I went on a mission. I underestimated the psychological impact my mom had on me.” In other words, I freaked out. “Just let me go on the easy missions. Like the ones inside the country.”
Doctor Logan is silent for a minute. She flips back through her pages of notes she’s taken on me. “I need this.” I tell her. It’s true. I’ve felt useless doing nothing. Sitting around at the compound in unenjoyable, training is unenjoyable when I know I won’t be able to put any of the skills I learned to use, my entire life in unenjoyable without a mission. Because without a mission, what purpose do I have existing?
Okay, maybe I shouldn’t tell her that last bit…
“That’s the issue.” Doctor Logan informs me. “Why do you think you need a mission?”
“Because I do. Why do you have to look into every word I say? You know, Doctor Logan, this is why I don’t talk.” I put my lips together and shrug. She doesn’t find me amusing.
“My job is to look into every word you say.” You’re pretty shit at your job anyway, I think to myself. She looks at her notes once again, adds something probably along the lines of ‘thinks she needs mission to live’ followed by an underline ‘stems from mommy issues???’.
“Logan,” I use her last name because I’m no longer going to call her ‘Doctor Logan’ out loud until she does good ‘Doctor’ shit, like clear me for a mission. “I have issues, everyone does. I’ll keep going to these stupid sessions, just clear me for a mission.”
I’m aware I sound like an addict but I can’t help it. I blame my abusive mom. Or my absent father. Whatever answer makes me look better. Doctor Logan lets out a loud sigh. She gets up and grabs her keys then walks over to her drawer. It’s where she keeps her patient files. Once, when I was thirteen, I broke in to see what exactly she had on me. All it said was ‘Nice try.’
I’m pretty sure that was the day I decided I hated her.
I watch her pull out a file, she sits down in her chair and places the file on the desk, sliding it towards me. I give her a confused look but she only shrugs. “You want a mission, that’s your mission.” Okay. Maybe Doctor Logan is a good doctor.
I try to hide my eagerness as I pick up the file—the last thing I need is for her to try to psychoanalyze that (‘Now, why do you think you were so happy to get a mission? Does it take you back to when your mother used to give you missions?’).On the first page of the file theres a school. East Lake Academy. Under it, a bunch of stuff is written. I skim it, trying to get the gist of it.
East Lake Academy is a boarding school in Fares, New Jersey. It’s known for producing lots of lawyers and doctors. There used to be an art division but it shut down recently. Theres no mission objective or mission goals section in the whole file. I look up to Doctor Logan with a raised brow. It’s a good thing she’s not an agent. She’d be terrible at that job. “Whats the objective here, Doctor Logan?”
“The objective is to attend East Lake Academy,” An infiltration mission then. Not my favorite but I’ll make do. “And figure out how to be a normal student.”
My emotions shift immediately. I toss the file back on the desk and watch as papers fall out of it. “What the fuck.” I say. “Why would you do that? I thought it was a real mission.” You got my hopes up dies on my tongue as I send a glare her way. I feel like she heard it anyway.
“You’ve had a difficult childhood.” She collects all the papers that fell out. “You don’t have a father, your mother was abusive. She trained you to become her assassin from a young age.”
“Are you going to tell me my whole life story or is there a point?”
“Then you came here, where you were told everything you had learned was wrong. That your mother was a terrible person because of the things she did, for forcing you to go on missions and kill innocent people.” I roll my eyes. It wasn’t as if I didn’t enjoy what she was making me do. “Then Shield hired you to do the exact same thing. I understand how hard and confusing that can be.”
There was nothing confusing about it. Shield tried to let me be normal, I went to a couple foster homes for a bit. After a year they realized it wasn’t working out and used their brains to put a logical plan together. Why let skills like mine rot and run dry in foster homes when they could be put to use to do good?
“You never had a chance to be normal.” Doctor Logan continues. “This is your chance.”
I don’t say anything. It’s far too late for me to be normal. I think I’m incapable of doing such a thing. I can’t have a normal life with no adventure, no dodging bullets and shooting people who deserve it. I don’t know how to live a life like that. “Fury and O’Ryan agreed to this?”
Doctor Logan nods. “Neil picked out the school.” I reach for the file again. If O’Ryan picked out the school it can’t be that bad. “I know you don’t like this idea but I think it’s crucial.”
Crucial for what? My treatment? To be a normal fifteen year old kid? “If I do this,” I say as if I have a choice. “I can be cleared for missions.”
“Eventually, yes.” Logan nods in agreement. “You’ll still have to attend these sessions. We’ll fit it into your schedule. If you participate in these sessions and go to school, I can have cleared for a mission as soon as November. So long as we make progress.”
November. That’s months away from now. “And if I don’t?”
“I’m not sure I’ll be able to clear you for a mission otherwise. But I am sure that I won’t have you cleared by New Years.” She answers honestly.
I swallow and nod. “Fine then. I’ll look over the file, tell O’Ryan he can enroll me.”
Doctor Logan smiles victoriously. “Good. I’ll see you off before you go.”
We sit until the hour ends. She tells me about East Lake Academy and I listen to everything she has to say. When the sessions over, I leave rather quickly. It’s no surprise I find Agent O’Ryan outside. He looks at the folder in my hand and smiles. “She clear you or is that what I think it is?”
Agent O’Ryan is in his thirties or forties, I’m not sure, but he looks relatively young. He has blonde hair and a charming personality. He’s considered my ‘handler’ because when I first left my assassin lifestyle, I ran into him. He turned me in, he placed me in every foster home, he suggested me to Shield, and—apparently—he claimed responsibility for any mistake I made while I was on probation. Not that I made many. Maybe one or two accidental kills in the beginning. They really should’ve specified that when I had a ‘target’ it didn’t necessarily mean to kill them.
I push the file into his chest and he looks through it. “In all fairness, I thought that she was bluffing when she said she’d put you in school.”
“Jersey. You picked a school in New Jersey.” I tell him. “I’ll have a dorm mate. I won’t be able to get any training done. I’ll fall behind.”
“You’ll go the gym and keep up.” O’Ryan corrects. “Don’t act like there aren’t loop holes, Gomez.”
“I’m going to school in Jersey. That’s literal hell. You’ve put me in my own hell, I will hold this against you for life.”
“Look, Fury was gonna pick a school for you here in New York. I put you somewhere else, gave you a little distance.” He explains. “Give me more credit before you start complaining.”
“Distance. About one hundred and fifty miles of distance.” I specify. “I’ll have to come back for sessions with Logan, do you know how annoying that ride is going to be?”
O’Ryan rolls his eyes and smirks. “Someone hasn’t looked into the school.”
“Oh, no. I don’t have to. Logan told me all about it. Did you know that East Lake Academy produces the highest numbers of lawyers, engineers, and doctors compared to any boarding school in all of America?” I say as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world.
“Yeah,” O’Ryan scans his Shield badge, a level eight—four above mine—and opens the door for us. “It’s a good cover, hides what I really sent you there for.”
I give him a look. He simply smirks and hands me the file. “Why don’t you do your own research, Agent Gomez? Have a little faith in me. You and I are very similar, we thrive on missions.” O’Ryan walks away and I continue on to the section where my room is.
I guess I have to figure out everything about East Lake Academy now.
Damian Wayne
first person
SATURDAY, AUGUST 31, 2019 GOTHAM CITY, NEW JERSEY. 2:45 AM.
THE NOISE IN MY COMM IS loud. Spoiler and Red Hood talking over each other, arguing about something mundane. It is annoying to hear multiple people yelling. If you are going to yell, at least have the courtesy to switch channels. Like Batman and I. The moment my father opens his mouth, I switch channels. For a peaceful second there is only silence. Then there is yelling
“You lack discipline. You lack responsibility. It is like you have never been trained a day in your life!” My father yells, which is absurd. I have trained every day of my life. Even if I was ill. I have never missed a day of training, if I didn’t have training scheduled with a family member, I’d take it upon myself to train. That is just who I am.
Behind the man in the Batman suit is Nightwing, whos avoiding eye contact with me. Coward. He calls Batman to reprimand me but cannot even look me in the eye? I’m not surprised. For a while, around a year, Nightwing was my Batman. Then my father returned and Nightwing decided he couldn’t be a, as Timothy had dubbed it, ‘father figure’ to me anymore.
Or maybe he just didn’t want to be. Maybe he was relieved my father came back. I don’t know. And a part of me doesn’t want to know.
“Batman—”
“No, Robin. This is it. You’re benched.”
I suck my teeth in annoyance. Benched. I’ve been benched numerous times. Being benched I can deal with. It will probably only be for a week or so anyway. Batman leads the way to the Batmobile. “Nightwing, stick around. Make sure the police pick them up.” Nightwing nods and leaves without a second thought. I go into the passenger seat. The moment I do the car starts moving. We’re in silence for a total of one hundred and seventy-two seconds before Batman breaks it. “Do you remember the school we talked about?”
It takes me a moment to answer. Saying ‘we’ is very off-putting. I had only said one thing, he had talked a majority of the time. The school he was referring to was East Lake Academy. It was roughly three hours away from Gotham. Father had suggested it as a school, apparently it was extremely good. In response, I told him I much rather attend Gotham Prep. I assumed that had been the end of the conversation. It was stupid of me to be that naive. “Vaguely.”
“We should revisit the idea.”
“I disagree.” I tell him immediately, clicking my jaw together. I look over at the man avoiding eye contact. I see where Nightwing gets it from. I suppose it is true that mannerisms can be picked up from parents. It is a good thing Batman is rarely there for me as a father. “I do not want to attend East Lake Academy. It is all the way in Fares. I will not be able to operate as Robin during the school year.”
Batman says nothing to that. That makes me think that's the idea. “Father, for how long exactly am I benched from being Robin?”
“This will be good for you Damian.” Batman tells me.
“Evading is not like you, father.” It is actually. My father almost always evades giving me direct answers. It is my greatest issue with him. Or, one of the many, I suppose.
“Until further notice.” Father glances at me for a second, gauging my reaction. It is good I still have my mask on. I’m good at masking my expressions, I always have, but recently I’ve noticed my eyes can sometimes give me away. They display too much emotion, it is quite upsetting. My mother would be disappointed.
My grandfather would kill me.
“If I am already benched for who knows how long then why do I need to go to another city? Is benching me not enough?” I look at the man I call father with annoyance. That is the only emotion I will allow to show. Annoyance. And, perhaps, a bit of anger.
“This is a matter of discipline. You don’t listen to me, you don’t listen to your siblings—”
“What on Earth does this have to do with them?” I cut him off but he ignores me and continues on anyway.
“—You don’t listen to your teachers or peers. This will be good for you. I went to a private school.” Batman points out as he pulls into the Batcave and exits the car.
“A private school and a boarding school are two different things.” I exit the car as well. “You are being absurd.” Batman takes off the cowl and walks away but I follow after him, ripping off my own mask. “I can train more father, I can be more responsible. I will do whatever is necessary, just do not send me to this school.”
My father turns to me. He looks tired. He’s frowning like he feels bad, like it isn’t his decision when we both know it is. My schooling is one of the many things in my life that he is in control of. “It’s already been decided, Damian. You leave soon, you should pack your bags.”
Without another word he enters the locker room, presumably to shower and rid himself of his suit. I stay there staring for a moment, before turning quickly and punching the nearest wall. This is about Alfred. It had to be. He still blames Pennyworths death on me, I can’t say I fault him for that, but sending me away because I remind him of the failure he made me into?
I punch the wall twice more, leaving a fist sized dent.
“Jesus,” A voice interrupts me. “What’s got you like that?” Red Hood must have entered in on his motorcycle. His mechanical voice annoys me to no extent. I figure it annoys others too. Most of us change our voices slightly, since I’m good at mimicking it is easy for me but, for the most part, I just try to avoid talking in front of civilians.
“Nothing. It is none of your business.” At that, Red Hood nods taking off his helmet. He must’ve returned just after us.
“Ah, no worry. I speak pissed off Robin.” Jason smirks. “So, for how long is the little bird benched for this time. A week?” I give him no reaction and move to put my sword in it’s rightful place. “Two weeks? Wait, don’t tell me it’s for a month.”
I groan in annoyance. I know that’s his goal. To annoy me until I tell him. Normally I would play along until I got bored but tonight I do not have the patience. “I am benched until father sees it fit.”
Jason winces slightly at that, letting out a dramatic low whistle. “So that’s what your hissy fits about? Come on, I’m sure Bruce will give in after a week of seeing you sulk.”
I snort at that. ‘Seeing’. “Father won’t be seeing me at all, much less seeing me sulk.”
“I’m sorry, come again?” Jason gives me a confused expression. "Is this your weird way of saying you're running away? Cause I support, but you know Dick will have something to say about it."
“He plans to ship me off to boarding school. He told me to pack so I can only assume that it starts within the next few days.”
“You’re kidding.” Jason’s face goes blank. “He’s shipping you off?”
“Yes. To Fares. He is under the impression that it will show me discipline and responsibility more than he could.”
“Typical,” Jason scoffs. “So fucking typical. Things get hard and Bruce decides to not be a father anymore. What an asshole.”
I swallow a deep annoyed sigh. The last thing I want is to be at fault for a family argument or for Jason declaring himself an orphan again. “It is not a big deal.” I say. That is the only attempt I will make at calming him, there is nothing else to say and he’s not my responsibility to tame. “I am going to go shower.”
Without another word or glance to Jason I go upstairs. I will shower in my bathroom to avoid father. Though I won’t be able to avoid the man for long.
This was going to be a great year.
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 2019 GOTHAM CITY, NEW JERSEY. WAYNE MANOR. 8:55 AM
“DAMIAN, DO YOU NEED HELP PACKING?” I look over to see my eldest brother leaning against the doorframe of my room. My room is, for once, a mess. Though compared to my siblings’ rooms I’d say it’s a neat mess. There are three luggages in my room, all of them open. My clothes are all separated into groups.
“That is not necessary, Richard.” I say as I fold one of my dark gray turtlenecks and place it in one of my luggages. “I told you that yesterday.” Last night, Jason sent a message to me saying he’d try to convince Bruce about the boarding school but it wasn’t working out too well. Followed by a bunch of messages that were particularly vulgar. My phone was on the table and the message was visible to Richard, who was beside me at the time.
Since then, Richard hasn’t left the manor. Usually, he’s insistent that Bludhaven needs him. Now he seems to think that I need him. Which I don’t. I never have.
I don’t need anybody.
Richard doesn’t listen to me, instead entering my room, grabbing one of my pants, and folding it into a luggage. I pause my folding to sigh, gripping the luggage in front of me out of annoyance. “Richard.”
I hear him stop moving and turn to look at him. “I’m trying to help you, Damian. What Bruce did—”
“He did not do anything.” I go back to folding my shirts. “He sent me to boarding school. It is not a big deal. Drakes father sent him to a boarding school when he was younger, did he not?”
“He did, but Jack Drake and Bruce aren’t the same person. Neither are you and Tim. And Jack wasn’t using boarding school as a punishment.”
I wasn’t around during that time but I’m pretty sure Drakes father was using boarding school as punishment. Perhaps Drake and I are more similar than we first imagined.
“Why are you acting as though I can change his mind?. I cannot. Trust me, I have tried. Father stands firm in his decision to send me away. It is not my choice.”
I actually hadn’t spoken much to Bruce. I didn’t speak to him at all yesterday. I spent the first day arguing with Bruce over his idiotic decision but when I noticed Bruce wouldn’t budge, I focused on ignoring everything he did. Bruce would try to talk to me and I would walk away. Bruce would cook and I would order take out. Bruce would order take out for two, and I would cook for myself. It was a petty thing to do but I didn’t have any other option available.
Richard stays silent as I finish packing the luggage. He just sits on the floor of my room staring at a pair of pajama pants with a single Nightwing symbol in the corner. Typical. So full of himself. At least he isn't packing. Richard could not fold clothes if his life depended on it. “Will you be driving me there?”
“Oh,” Richard looks over at me. “I can if you want. I’m sure Bruce won’t mind.” Of course he wouldn’t. He’s sending me away.
“I do not care who takes me.” I go to another one of my luggage’s. The dark blue one. I start putting pajamas followed by some shoes in it.
I take the pajama pants out of Richard’s hand and place it in the luggage. “When do you return to Bludhaven?”
“Tomorrow.” Richard says. “Well, today technically. But if I drive you then I’ll get there tomorrow.
I shake my head and finish packing the dark blue luggage. “It is not necessary. Someone else will do it. Or perhaps father will allow me to drive myself.”
“Maybe.” Richard gives me a half smile and I acknowledge it as I shut my luggage and move onto the one he was ‘packing’.
“Is this really what you call packing?” Everything was thrown in messily and disorganized. Pennyworth is rolling in his grave. “It is a good thing you keep clothes here for whenever you visit. This,” I gesture to the luggage as I empty it out. “Is how you wrinkle clothing.”
Richard laughs as I restart the packing of the last luggage, a simple dark red one, from scratch. I don’t understand what he found funny, I was being completely serious. When I’m done packing I grab the backpack I intend to use for school and Richard assists me with bringing the luggage’s down.
Father is leaving the kitchen while I’m at the front door. He looks at me and says, “Are you done?”
I say nothing and take two of my bags outside. I don’t put them in the trunk, only near the car. A moment later Richard joins me. “Are you gonna keep ignoring him?”
“Yes.” I respond simply, earning a sigh from the older man. We stand there awkwardly for a moment then I grab my luggage from him and return to the remaining two. I take two of my luggages in one hand, leaving the third luggage in my other hand. “Goodbye, Richard.”
“Bye Dami. I’ll see you for Thanksgiving, yeah?”
“Perhaps.” I agree even though I know I will more than likely to return for Thanksgiving. I watch Richard return back into the manor, presumably to argue with Bruce, and move to put my luggage into the trunk of Bruce’s car.
When I’m done I stare at the manor. I can remember my first years at the manor, the absurdity of them. The confusion of American standards, attempting to kill Timothy, cooking with Pennyworth.
All good memories.
I’m pulled out of my thoughts by the honking of a horn. I turn my head to see Jason’s car, when my eyes look into the front seat I don’t see Jason Todd but instead, I see Duke Thomas. “Need any help?”
Duke moved out of the manor on a month or so before his eighteenth birthday. I haven’t really talked to him since. It is…odd. There was a time when I didn’t go a day without conversing with the daytime hero. Now, I have gone weeks. We haven’t spoken since his birthday, August thirteenth, when we had a small family lunch. Just father, Duke, and I. Then Duke went to visit his parents.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, ignoring his question and looking into the car.
“Jason told me Bruce was shipping you off. He also told me you were ignoring him. I figured you’d need a ride to this boarding school.”
“Richard is here.”
I watch Dukes nose scrunch up. Duke has always disliked Richard, for reasons I’m unsure of. It doesn’t go as deep as the rivalry Cassandra and Jason have and it’s not as loud as Timothy and I had been in the past years. It was more of a silent, one sided hatred.
“Well. Let’s be honest here, Damian. Would you rather take a what, two hour drive, listening to Dick,” Duke put an emphasis on his name. “Whine about how sorry he is for you and look at you all guilty while listening to annoying pop songs. Or would you rather come in the cool-kid car and listen to cool-kid music? Choice is yours.”
I don’t tell him that Richard isn’t the one taking me. That his competition is Richard, it’s father (and that he’s winning by a landslide).
“Can I pick the music?” I question, even though I already decided to join him. Music was something Duke held dear, like most people. I don’t have any particular hatred towards listening to music, nor do I require it to enjoy myself while driving.
Duke thinks it over. “You can pick one song and, I’m saying this now, I’m not listening to Beethoven.”
I roll my eyes but open the trunk I had just shut and place all my baggage into Duke’s (Jason’s) car. When I get in the front seat I put on my seatbelt. “Knew you’d pick right. Dicks a dick sometimes.”
I don’t confirm nor deny this. It’s best not to fuel Dukes hatred or to get him started on it. I made that mistake once. Never again. Duke hands me his unlocked phone. “One song.” Duke reminds me.
When we start to drive away I can see my father’s figuring watching us. He looks a little annoyed, a little bit guilty.
I pick The Architect by The Chamber Orchestra of London and Andrew Skeet. I had found out a while ago Duke didn’t mind classical music as much as the rest of my siblings did. In fact, sometimes it looked like he enjoyed it.
I glanced over at Duke who was tapping on the wheel to the beat, hyper focused on not hitting the curb.
Duke Thomas was probably one of my favorite siblings at the moment.