I didn't choose the fan life

After a moment, a woman, he silently congratulated himself on calling that, with long dark hair emerged from the driver’s side door.  Her long, white skirt flared out as a gust of wind hit, striking a stark contrast against the darkening night as if the night wanted to focus all attention on her.

He almost just drove by her.  If she was coming to see Brucie Wayne, it would be a shame to deprive him of the opportunity to swoop in as an overdramatic civilian hero and amaze her with his magnanimity.  But as he got closer, he saw her gaze around uncertainly, pulling her cardigan closer around her, her wide eyes darting toward the sky like she was searching for something.

She was in luck though.  It wasn’t going to rain on her.  Gotham hadn’t seen a clearer night in years.  If she was going to break down, it was actually a pretty good night for it.  Amazing setting to be rescued.

When she turned her eyes toward him, somehow meeting his gaze even through his helmet, his mind was made up for him.  He pulled to a stop next to her car and took off his helmet to meet her gaze unobstructed.  “Car trouble?”

For a few moments the only sound was the crickets surrounding them, singing their final songs before sleep.  Her eyes were locked on his and the longer it lasted, the darker the blush on her cheeks became.  Finally, after a few seconds, he allowed a raised eyebrow at her, though he suppressed the smirk that wanted to burst through.  The movement shook her out of her stupor.  “Hm?  Oh!  Oh, no.  I’m here to see the Perseids!” she explained.

Jason blinked at her.  Of all the things he had expected, that was not one of them.  He looked her up and down, letting his eyes linger slightly.  She didn’t look like she was dressed to search for an obscure animal.  “And the Perseids are…” he prompted.

“At peak tonight!” she exclaimed excitedly.  Any shyness she may have displayed earlier was completely lost.  Her hands started moving rapidly, seemingly not even in time with her words and her body was shimmying about.  “And it’s a new moon.  And it’s completely clear skies.  Who knows when conditions like this will appear again!  And you can’t see them in the city.  There’s too many lights.  My friend recommended I try here.”  She motioned toward the field and started examining the area like she was creating a plan of attack.  “They’re supposed to be really inspiring and…” she let out a breath before turning back and meeting his gaze again, “… I could use some inspiration right now.”

He nodded with a hum at her observation.  Now that she mentioned it, he had heard something about that.  The Watchtower was packed with people, and aliens, who wanted to see them closer.  Unfortunately for her, she was confined to the Earth.  And he had to agree, the field was a much better spot to see the sky than anything in Gotham, though still not ideal.  “I hope you find it inspiring then.”

He looked around dubitably.  Hopefully that’s all she found out there.  “Kind of isolated out here though.”

She raised an eyebrow at his observation and, hearing it out loud, he could see how that could be taken wrong.  He raised his hands in supplication.  “I’m a Gothamite.  I’m always suspicious.  Just be careful.  If something happens, there’s a house that way.”  He motioned vaguely up the road.  “There’s a gate, but if you buzz. They’ll let you in.”

She scoffed.  “If something happens, I’m getting back in my car and running over the something.”

Jason barked out a laugh.  She was full of surprises.  Beautiful, sweet, a bit violent, funny…  He shook his head and put his helmet back on but kept his visor up so he could maintain their eye contact as long as possible.  “Have fun.  Maybe if I get done before you leave, I’ll run into you again.”

She nodded, a small smile back on her lips, like it belonged there, and Jason decided he quite liked seeing it there.  Though her excited smile from earlier seemed to fit her better.  “Thank you.  I think I’d like that.”

Luckily, his visor hid the goofy grin her statement caused, though he suspected she could tell judging by the way her smile widened.  He pushed down his visor and started his bike.  “Good luck.”  He couldn’t be positive, but he thought she might have snorted at that.  When he glanced back at her before taking off again, it was a different smile on her lips, an impish and teasing, despite having nobody to tease.  He shook his head and pulled away.

Curiouser and curiouser.

><><><><><><><>< 

This was the worst night of Jason’s life.

Not only was this research completely fruitless, with every dead-end he hit, Jason’s mind reminded him that he could be out watching the stars with a smoking hot chick.  Instead, he was at the batcomputer, cursing so many things; his luck, the Riddler for having apparently learned to cover his tracks and not leave evidence, for once, and the stupid name for the batcomputer.

Dick had been given too much naming power when he started and Bruce needed to grow a spine with his kids and say no occasionally… to someone other than just him.

He let out a frustrated breath.  Maybe she’d still be there if he left now…

His daydream, if you could call it that at night, was interrupted before he could fantasize what he could do with the woman, who’s name he was also cursing himself for not getting.  He shot up in his chair at a flash of white on the cave exit cameras.

None of the animals around the area were white.  There should be nothing white around the batcave entrance.  He brought up the internal cave cameras and started panning back and forth, his mouth going dry at the sight.

As if his thoughts somehow manifested her, the woman from earlier was there.  Standing in the batcave looking just as gorgeous as she had along the road, but now soaked, sans cardigan and even from his distance, he could see her shivers, despite her arms being wrapped around her chest like it could stave off the cold in lieu of her cardigan.  Her previously flowy skirt hung heavy and clung to her legs, moving awkwardly with each tentative step.

He stared at her as she slowly made her way further into the cave with tentative, unsure movements, trying to figure out how she had found the entrance, before she got far enough to turn the final bend in the road and he would no longer be hidden.

The entrance was expertly hidden.  Someone would have to look very intently for a long time to find it, or had been following them when they returned from patrol.  And that was so unlikely, it was laughable.  Maybe if she was in the League or a competent rogue, who had enough history with them to have had searched in the past, he could believe she found it, but that was almost as laughable as someone following them back.  That woman didn’t look remotely threatening, or even look like she was pretending not to be threatening, a ruse he was a bit too familiar with women pulling on them, sometimes successfully, thanks to Dick.

But she was either the world’s greatest actress or she really was just that lucky to have just stumbled onto the entrance, apparently while running from something based on her hesitant movements.  But more than that, they were fearful, which may be expected of someone who wandered into a massive cave like this, but the way she kept moving further into the cave seemed like she was moving away from something rather than towards it.

Her movements were steeped in fear.  She would take a moment to look around her in wonder, but then the wonder would turn to fear as her eyes darted over her shoulder.  Then the pattern would repeat every few seconds.  Each time her eyes darted, she would move closer to the sides of the cave wall, like she thought it could hide her, as though her stark white dress didn’t announce her presence like a candle in the shadows.

He leaned closer to the monitor to analyze her better, his chair squeaking quietly at the movement, but in the quiet of the cave, or perhaps the paranoia clinging to her, the noise was enough to draw her attention.  Her head whipped toward his area of the cave, still not able to see him quite yet.

Her movements slowed even more as she padded toward him until she edged around the bend in the road.  As soon as she saw him, her eyes widened comically and her body tensed in shock.  “Oh shit,” she uttered, no louder than his chair squeak, but loud enough to echo through the cave.

She started to back away from him but whirled around when a noise sounded behind her.  Whatever fear or shock she’d felt upon seeing him appeared to have been forgotten, which was, frankly, a bit insulting.  He may not have been wearing his full Red Hood regalia, such as his helmet, but he was still in his suit and domino mask, or at least his shirt and domino mask, and he had never needed the helmet to intimidate.

He moved swiftly, crossing the considerable distance in a few nearly silent moves, though apparently, not silent enough because she whipped around as he landed a few feet away from her.  She jerked back at seeing him, her eyes darted between him and where he had been moments before.  She pointed toward the old spot, opened her mouth and closed it a few times. 

Before she could formulate a question, another noise, like a rock falling sounded throughout the cave and she snapped her head toward the entrance again.  She shrank away from the cave entrance, inadvertently moving closer to him, her breath coming in short pants.

He looked past her searching the dark for any indications of intruders, but he saw none, just the regular cave noises.  He hummed not loudly, but apparently just loud enough to drag her attention back to him.  She whipped back toward him, close enough to her now her face almost met his chest.  She batted him away.  “Stop doing that!” she huffed.

She let out a frustrated breath and pushed her sopping wet bangs out of her face.  This close, he could see not just the shivers she’d somewhat managed to contain, but also the goosebumps along her arms.  Her eyes drifted for just a second past him to where he was before then snapped back to him.  “Are you a Super?  You moved really fast.”

He scoffed loudly but before he could make fun of her for such an insulting insinuation, her eyes settled on something behind him.  “Is that the Batmobile?  Wait, are you Batman?”

His face scrunched with disgust at the suggestion.  He thought the ‘super’ comment was insulting.  This was character assassination.  “God no!”

She apparently considered this to be the wrong answer as she took a step back when he said it, but she clearly just didn’t realize that ‘no’ was a significantly better answer than ‘yes’ would have been because first, Batman would be a lot angrier about a stranger being in the batcave.  And second, if he was Batman, she would be dealing with Bruce and that was a torture nobody deserved.  “Wh… who are you then?” she stuttered out.

“Lucky for you, not Batman,” he scoffed.

“You said that already,” she replied with a forced calmness that wasn’t remotely convincing, even less so when she took another step back.

There was the intimidation he’d been looking for, but it felt wrong.  The fear in her eyes didn’t belong there.  He sighed and straightened up.  He didn’t like it there, but he would use it, because there were still pressing questions he needed to have answered.  “Red Hood,” he answered curtly.  He stepped closer, looming over her without having to try.  “Your turn,” he growled.  “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“Well, I’m not here on purpose,” she snapped, fear instantly disappearing as she straightened up as well, though it barely made a difference.  “I don’t even know where I am,”

“Why did you come here?” he repeated.

The defiant fire in her eyes instantly doused at a loud sound near the entrance again.  She whipped her head toward the sound, her entire body language shifting from impudent to fearful.  Her shoulders curled in on themselves and her head lowered.  Her breath came harder even as she wrapped her arms around herself in an ineffectual attempt at self-soothing.  But he noticed she didn’t do it in a manipulative way, a way that pushed her chest up, which was definitely something the women he knew would do when trying to distract or garner sympathy.  It wasn’t absolute evidence of her innocence, but it certainly lent credence to it.

Jason cleared his throat quietly to get her out of her head, effectively, as it turned out.  She continued facing the entrance but her eyes darted over to him in acknowledgement.  “A sweet guy I ran into earlier said if I had any issues I should head this direction for a house.”  Jason barely stopped himself from raising a shocked eyebrow and blushing at the description, because all kinds of adjectives had been used to describe him, but nobody described him as ‘sweet’.  “I didn’t see a house,” she continued oblivious to his reaction, “but I found a waterfall.  I was just going to hide behind it but then found whatever this is.”

An involuntary shiver wracked her body and her breath caught for just a second before she continued again as though nothing happened, her arms wrapping tighter around herself the only evidence it had.  “I was just trying to find a different exit that would lead me away from him.  Oh!” she perked up suddenly, her eyes snapping to him.  “Is this your lair?  Who knew Red Hood had a lair?”  She looked around quickly taking in the area again.  She scrunched her nose and bobbed her head to the side.  “Yeah, this is about as creepy as I expected… fewer guns.”

Jason’s expression dropped.  If he wasn’t wearing the domino mask, she’d be able to see the flattest look he could manage.  “They’re hidden,” he snarked.

She shivered again.  “Colder than outside, too,” she noted.  “How is it colder than outside?”  She looked down as she rubbed her hands over her arms, seemingly just noticing her wet clothes.  “Oh yeah.”  Her brows furrowed as she looked around again.  “So, how do you keep your electronics dry in here?”

He raised an eyebrow.  That was really the questions she had?  He opened his mouth but closed it and shook his head.  He needed to focus.  “What was the issue?”

She looked back at him and blinked a few times, waiting for the meaning to become clear.  “What?” she asked when he hadn’t elaborated.

“You said the amazing guy told you to find the house if you had issues and you tried to find the house.  So, what was the issue that drove you to try to find the house?”

Her eyes softened and she nodded almost resigned to explaining the situation.  “Someone found me.”  She grimaced and faced him again.  “Don’t tell the cute guy.  He warned me it could happen and I laughed at him,” she tried to joke.

 “Who?” he growled.

She shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting toward the entrance then rested on the floor.  She let out a breath.  “Classmate.  Don’t know how he found me.  I didn’t tell…”

She suddenly eeped and jumped behind him at the same time as she pushed him toward the cave entrance.  She poked her head around his bicep slowly to eye the entrance.  “…him,” she finished shakily.  “Oh, come on, that was definitely a footstep,” she pouted.

Jason eyed the entrance as well, though he hadn’t heard anything suspicious.  “And why was he after you?”

“Because he thinks I’m super cute and can’t take no for an answer?” she scoffed, keeping her eyes glued in the direction of the entrance but moving closer to him, her shivers more prominent now, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or her fear.  Her labored breathes indicated the latter though.

Jason eyed her carefully looking for any indication of lying but only found the beginnings of a panic attack.  He narrowed his eyes and pinched her.  Not hard, but enough to get her attention.

“Ow!  What the hell?” she demanded, jumping away from him and slapping his chest.

“You said you were a super,” he shrugged, a smug smile tugging at his lips at the indignant look on her face indicating his plan worked.  “I was testing that.”

Her jaw dropped and she smacked him in the chest again.  Definitely not hard, in fact he could probably barely feel it, but enough to make a point.  “I said maybe he thought I was super cute!” she huffed throwing her arms out in exasperation.  She narrowed her eyes and stepped closer.  “I asked if you were a Super.  Do I get to pinch you back?”

Jason raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, causing his massive biceps to puff out.  His muscles, which were already pronounced in his suit, became even more prominent.  She licked her lips and puckered them as she backed up a step.  “No, right, that would be uncalled for.  I see that.”   She motioned toward the batmobile.  “And I see that.”  She snapped her mouth shut and molded herself against his chest.  “And I heard that,” she breathed out, her body trembling enough he was surprised she was still standing.

He wrapped his arms around her like a shield and turned so he was between her and the entrance because, yeah, he’d heard that too.  That was definitely not a normal cave sound.  And the continued shuffling was also not a normal sound, at least not when the cave was supposed to be empty.  He moved her back, toward the safety of their equipment, keeping his eyes on the bend in the cave.  If anything happened, there would be more places for her to hide there, and he’d be closer to weapons, which he was appallingly lacking having in hand at the moment.

His heart almost stopped when Red Robin stepped out of the shadows.  It took half a second longer than he would ever admit to before his heart rate slowed back to normal.  “Fucking Hell,” he groaned.  “What is wrong with you?”

Red Robin shot him a flat look then tried to crane his neck to see around him.  “Marinette?”

The woman, Marinette apparently, cautiously poked her head around Jason’s arm to take in the threat.  Her face went through a series of expressions, fear, confusion, interest, curiosity, then finally shock.  “Oh my God!”  She worked an arm away from Jason to point at him.  “You’re… you’re…”

“He knows my identity,” Red Robin sighed.

“You’re Red Robin!” she exclaimed.

He opened his mouth but all that came out was a confused grunt before he closed it.  “Not the one I was talking about, but yeah, he knows that one too.”

“Dieu, Tim!” she groaned.

“Yeah.  That’s the one I meant,” he nodded then waved weakly.  “Hi.”

“You scared the Hell out of me.”  She collapsed against Jason, all tension leaving her body.

Jason supported her easily and curled around her like a blanket.  He scrunched his face at Tim.  “You two know each other?”

“Obviously,” he scoffed.

Marinette pulled away from Jason’s chest just enough to glare at him without much heat, then dropped her head back into the safety of his embrace.  “He’s the one that told me to watch the shower in the field,” she grumbled against Jason’s chest

“It’s a good field to watch,” Tim answered, watching her carefully.  His eyes darted between them curiously a few times, then toward the cave entrance with a more serious expression.  “Didn’t realize Derrick would hear and follow.  I chased him off.  He’s probably all the way downtown by now.”

“How…” Jason started but immediately stopped when Marinette shivered again and nestled further into Jason’s warm embrace.  He removed his jacket and settled it on her shoulders, wrapping his arms back around her as soon as she worked her arms through the sleeves.  Tim watched the movement with a growing smirk and raised eyebrow. 

“She works with Bernard,” Tim answered the unfinished question.  “She’s the one I told you that you should meet,” he added smugly.

Marinette turned toward Tim, still within Jason’s arms.  “Does Bernie know?”

“No.  Neither do you.”  He pointed a finger at her with a pointed look.

She blinked, eyes empty.  “Know what?”

“Perfect.  This is why I love you.  I’m so… lucky to know you.” Marinette froze, her eyes widening in surprise.  Tim grinned and ruffled her hair with a familiarity that indicated it was a familiar move, but he pulled his hand away quickly and examined it.  “Why don’t we get you some dry clothes?  You’re about Cass’ size.  She keeps some clothes here and she won’t mind.  Come on, Mari.”  He pulled on her shoulder gently until she reluctantly gave way and backed out of Jason’s warmth.

Tim guided her to a small side room and reappeared after a minute.  “Thanks for keeping her warm.”  His voice was teasing but guarded.

Jason stared at him for a few seconds, eyes darting around his face, taking in every minute movement to gage his thoughts.  After a few seconds he scoffed, leaned back, and crossed his arms over his chest.  “She figured out your identity quicker than you figured our Dickie Boy’s.”

Tim bobbled his head and stood up straighter, ready to smack Jason down, verbally of course, Marinette wouldn’t appreciate anything else.  He looked around before taking him down, but froze when he glanced at the side room and whistled.  His eyes darted to Hood entirely too smugly for Jason’s liking.  “Glad to see they fit.  You’re going to give Jason a heart attack.”

“B is going to kick your ass for using names,” Jason growled, but he looked toward the side room with a mix of apprehension and anticipation.

Tim snorted.  “You think she isn’t going to figure out who you are after knowing who I am?”

“There’s a problem with that logic,” Marinette announced as she exited the changing area.  The ethereal white clothes that had been loose and flowing earlier in the night were now replaced with an absolutely sinful outfit.  Her long-sleeved black sweater clung to her curves over dark pants that were essentially leggings.  She carried Jason’s jacket by a finger over her shoulder.

As much as Jason hated to admit Tim was right about anything, he was right about this.  Jason’s heart had skipped a beat at the sight of her.  But it started pounding at the devilish smirk that graced her lips as she faced Tim.  “I don’t know who you are.  So, you were the one to give away civilian names.”

Jason grinned triumphantly.  “Yeah, Red Robin.  She doesn’t know who you are.”

Tim rolled his eyes.  “For the love of…”  He sighed so deeply it came out like a groan and he pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Don’t encourage him.  Absolutely not allowed.  You’re my friend.”  He huffed, but the twitch of his lips belied his angry act.  “You going go back and to try to watch the shower again?”

Marinette’s smirk instantly fell and she shook her head vigorously.  “No.  I, um… I don’t think I am.”

Tim’s forehead furrowed for a second then cleared into sympathy.  “Are you sure?  I know you were excited for the inspiration.”

“No, I don’t think… I think I’d rather not go back there,” she answered quietly.

“Not a great place anyway,” Jason piped up.  “Terrible advice.  Still too close to the city.  Now Baker Field… I can take you there, if you’d like.  It’s further away so less light pollution.”

Marinette looked at him in surprise for just a moment then looked over to Tim who shrugged but his slight smile conveyed his satisfaction with the request. Marinette looked back to Jason for a few seconds, her eyes searching his like she was looking for something in them.  Her brows furrowed and her lips quirked to the side as she watched him.  After a few long moments, Jason reached up and removed his domino mask, tossing it over to Tim before gazing warmly back at her.  She gasped and pointed at him.  “You’re the hot guy from the road!”

“Oh God,” Tim groaned.

Jason’s smile beamed.  “Can I tell you how much I love the adjectives you use for me?”

“No, no you cannot,” Tim Interjected.  He pointed between them.  “Ew.  I want you both happy, but I don’t want to hear about or witness it.”

But Marinette’s lips split into a brilliant smile.  “Yeah.  I think I’d like seeing the stars with you.”  Jason’s resulting grin matched hers.

He stepped past her slowly, turning as he moved so he could keep his eyes on her until he reached the changing room.  He was gone just for a second, not even long enough for Tim to tease her, before reemerging with a new jacket and two helmets.  He shoved them at Tim as he passed and stopped in front of Marinette slowly taking his jacket from her finger and holding it out for her to put on.  You should keep the jacket… for the ride,” he added, taking the helmets from Tim without looking at him and handed one to Marinette.

He held his hand out for her to climb onto the motorcycle, when she placed her hand in his, he cradled it with deliberate care while she got on.  As soon as she was comfortably on, he slid on in front of her and slid his helmet on.

“For the ride,” Tim scoffed quietly.  He shook his head as he watched them peel away.  “You’re welcome,” he called after them.  “I’ll take care of your car.  Because I’m a good friend.  And would never just leave without saying goodbye.

Just one more sketch and she would collect the crumpled pages around her and leave; she lied to herself.  Her pencil just met the paper when she was knocked to the side, her senses filled with lukewarm wetness and panting.  She shot back up in her seat and looked around finally blinking in surprise at the precious but powerful intrusion.

Luckily, the dog seemed to have no issue with her movement.  In fact, she seemed excited about it, like she thought it meant Marinette was going to play with her.  Marinette chuckled when the dog dropped the discarded sketch in her lap.  “Did you want to play fetch, girl?” she cooed at the dog that may actually outweigh her.  “Do you not have a ball?”

The dog quirked her head to the side, short ears flopping over, as if she could understand what Marinette had said, let out a quick yip, and ran toward a man just approaching on the park path.  She jumped up and down around the man who patted her head until she calmed down enough to walk calmly with him until he paused in a patch of light that escaped through the clouds.

He didn’t seem to notice anything around him, his eyes, bright yet wistful, as he watched the beam of light in the sky.  The light hit his face so perfectly, like it was drawn in by his aura, like it wanted to burn away his shadows too.  The pencil started moving before she consciously moved it, moving with a speed rivaling a speedster.  She had just finished the last touch of shading when the pad was knocked from her hands by an adorable slobber monster who then proudly turned toward the man expectantly.

“You know, you're supposed to have your dog on a leash.  They get really upset about it here,” she called out when the dog nudged her hand when she had the temerity to pick up her sketch pad, though the amusement in her tone made it clear she wasn’t upset.

He looked around like he just noticed the dog at his side and let out a long sigh.  “She's not my dog.  She just follows me around and I sometime feed her... and she comes when I call...” he dropped his head and groaned.  “Damn it, she's my dog, isn't she”

Marinette giggled and offered a warm, sympathetic smile.  “Sounds like it.  Did you say you gave her a name?”

“No,” he said significantly more firmly and with a bit more pride than the situation warranted.

She quirked her head to the side as her mind tried to work through his statement.  “But you said she comes when you call,” she noted slowly.  “So, what do you call her then?  And if she comes when you use it, doesn’t that make it her name?”

He opened his mouth to fight the logic because, no, he hadn’t given her a name, he wasn’t that invested in Dog.  He didn’t have a dog.  But as soon as the thought struck, so did the realization and his shoulders dropped.  “Yes,” he acknowledged finally.

“So, what did you name her?”  She was grinning at him like it was a personal victory, a teasing twinkle in her eyes that made it clear she was laughing with him, not at him.

He sighed heavily like it was crushing part of his soul to answer.  “Dog.”

Marinette waited for him to continue but when he didn't, she blinked owlishly a few times then bobbed her head down like she was encouraging him to continue.  When he still didn’t, she let out a choked sound.  “Dog?  Just ‘Dog’?  Not even like ‘Good Dog’ or ‘Sweet Dog’?  Just ‘Dog’?”

He dropped his head and sighed again, even heavier this time, but looked up to give her a contrite look.  “Look, I'm not good with names, okay.”  Her affront on behalf of Dog was absolutely adorable and her laugh, light and bright, lightened something in his chest.  It was hard looking away from her and impossible not to smile with her.  “Want to help me come up with a better one?”

Her eyes widened at the invitation, but the surprise quickly melted into a shy smile.  “That's a big commitment.  I didn't realize we were that serious already.”

He shrugged, his lips curved into a roguish smile.  “You're right.  You don’t know her well.  You should really know her better before you make a suggestion.  How would you like to grab an early dinner with me… us?  You know, to spend time with her and get to know her better?”

Despite claiming Dog wasn’t his dog, she appeared to be a trained wingdog, playing into the act with gusto.  She teetered back and forth between her hind and front legs, ears perked up tall, tail wagging faster than a helicopter rotor.  Marinette couldn’t stop the chuckle that bubbled up in her chest at Dog’s apparent excitement, then bit her lower lip and looked up at him through her lashes with an excited, open expression.  “I'd love to,” she agreed.  “For her,” she added with a smirk nodding to Dog.

His resulting grin was brilliant, but he quickly schooled his expression.  “Right, of course, for her,” he nodded in mock solemnity. “She loves a place around the corner.  How does that sound?”

Paris was essentially besieged by a magical terrorist for years. And no one knew. Not a peep from the UN, or the EU, not a call to the Justice League, not a contemporary mention on social media. Nothing. It’s like Paris became a sinkhole for all information regarding the situation for years. All the tourists never mentioned it, and none of the citizens ever complained. 

And then, a year ago, the information slowly leaked out. Fits and bursts, seen as an internet joke, but with enough evidence to prove it true, if you knew where to look.

And it was hard to look. 

If Bruce were not overwhelmingly familiar with how magic could fool the mind, directing it away from certain modes of thinking, knowledge so obviously right there in front of you, he would have missed it. But he worked with the impossible every day. Trained his mind and his body to look past the obvious into what lay hidden beneath. The magic, and he doubted it was anything but magic, at play here lay quiet and hidden until it needed to obfuscate, and then it showed itself with force. 

Too bad he knew how to fight back. 

Already, he could tell that the focus of attacks circled Collège Françoise Dupont, the very school Dupain-Cheng attended. Attacks continued on through the years, varying wildly, always seeming to circle a core group of people. People who, through the few social media posts Bruce could find on the girl, were in the young woman’s social circle. 

Frustration bit deep as, at every turn, the internet refused to give him the answers he sought. His head pounded, trying to make sense of what had happened in Paris for the last six years. 

An alert cut through his research-induced fog. 

Tim: Patrol ended early. Jason and Damian are fighting in the cave 

Tim: Damian has his swords out 

Tim: Might need some backup 

Tim: pls

Bruce sighs. Heavily. 

Like clockwork, a pain at the base of his neck builds into a fever pitch, his why-did-I-think-children-were-a-good-idea headache hitting full force. Heading for the hidden entrance to the cave, he preps himself for breaking up a fight between his two volatile sons. 

Clanging metal hits his ears the second the elevator doors open. Angry yelling registers next. 

“That the best you can do, demon brat?” 

“Come closer and face me like a man, Todd!” 

“What? Like how you trapped me after your little girlfriend made me think you were dying!?” 

Bruce grits his teeth; why are they acting like untrained children? Racing to the cave's open area, he finds Jason dodging away from furious sword strikes. Tim sits over by the computer. Amused, concerned, and filming on his phone. While Dick stands off to the side, looking three seconds away from jumping in. “What in the world is going on here!” he yells. Four heads swivel to face him. 

“Damian attacked me!” Jason’s eyes shine a bright, toxic green, glinting in the cave's dim light. 

Damian growls, face twisted in anger. “I told you to cease your baseless slander of Marinette. You continued to do so, and I demonstrated the consequences of such a poor decision.” 

“Aww, are you sad because I’m being mean to your little girlfriend?” Jason mocks, grin jagged like spikes. “Grow a pair, Dami.” 

“How about I take yours for recompense,” his youngest hisses. 

“Enough!” Bruce orders, using the voice his kids knew meant business. All four straighten up in an instant. “You both are acting like children.” 

Jason shakes off the reprimand first and blanches, “But he-”

Damian quickly bristles, “I’m just-”

“Cease.” 

Reluctantly, both boys settle, tension still suffusing the air with the promise of violence yet unwrought. Bruce grunts, walking down the steps to the platform, the occasional wrong movement a jar to his broken ribs. “You are all trained vigilantes, professionals. And yet you can’t complete a simple patrol without devolving into pointless bickering.” 

Jason and Damian refuse to meet his eyes, staring at the ground as if it will save them. It won’t.

“What happened?” The order barely bothers to be a question. 

“I made the decision to cut the patrol short,” Dick answers, jumping in like his eldest clearly wanted to from the start. “Low chatter on the police comms, no rouges out of Arkham-”

“Besides Harls and Ives,” Jason mutters. 

Dick waves him off. “They hardly count these days, besides, they’re vacationing in Brazil this month-”

“Which means they’re terrorizing deforesters in the Amazon,” Tim points out blandly. And, yes, he is likely correct. But Bruce long gave up on containing Ivy, and she kept her destruction to industrial equipment and scaring the living daylights out of reckless loggers. Compromises. 

Whatever kept her busy enough to stop her from besieging Arkham to get at the Joker. 

Dick continues without missing a beat. “Which is not here, and thus not our problem. So, I said we’d all do one last check of our areas and call it a night because we could all use the sleep-”

“Because someone was up early primping and preening for his little date,” Jason says, sneering in Damian’s direction.

“It was not a date,” Damian shoots back. “It was an enjoyable outing, with. A. Friend.”

“That’s not what the pictures Stephanie sent look like,” Tim says, scrolling through his phone. Nose scrunching in disbelief.  “Did you really pull out her chair for her?” 

Damian’s face turns a vibrant shade of red, turning to face Tim. “What?” he growls, body tensing like he was set to pounce. Bruce brought himself closer to block the easy path from his youngest to Tim. 

“Damian,” he intones, putting as much disapproval in his son’s name as possible. “Stop acting like a child and control yourself.” Damian breathes deep. Had he been a dragon, there would be sparks thrashing in the air, barely leashing his anger, tension radiating off him. Bruce nods to his eldest to continue his report. 

“Right, yeah. So everyone circles out, when Jason-”

“Don’t put this on me, Dick. I didn’t start this.” 

Tim scoffs. “Yeah, you kinda did.” 

Damian sneers, bearing his teeth. “To instigate conflict in the field demonstrates the foibles of the weak and inferior.” 

“I’ll show you inferior, ya little piece of shit.” Jason makes a lunge for Damian, who flips onto the railing. Bruce barely restrains Jason from engaging, to the detriment of his ribs. With an inch on him and the raging strength of a pissed-off bull, Bruce hates feeling his age, and tonight is a damn good example of that. 

“Anyway!” Dick yells, gathering the attention back to himself. “Jason insults Damian’s new gir-” 

Damian’s scowl deepens. 

“Damian’s new friend. Damian challenges him over the comm. Jason threatens him back. I say no chatter on the comms-”

“Oracle said no chatter on the comms,” Tim corrects. 

Dick throws up his hands, exasperation pouring off him. “Whatever! Can I stop getting interrupted? Babs tells us off, we all come back here because interpersonal fighting has no place in the field,” he stresses, looking pointedly between Damian and Jason. Both of whom are turned away and barely engaged. “Then, Jason insulted Marinette again. Damian pulled his sword, and the rest is as you saw.” 

“So, behavior I taught you all better never to bring into the mission,” Bruce glares. Dick raises his hands again, as if washing himself of the responsibility, which was exactly the opposite of what Bruce expected of him when he asked his eldest to take point on patrol. 

“Don’t look at me,” says Tim, swiveling back to the batcomputer. “I’m just the messenger.” 

Jason wrenches out of Bruce’s hold and hisses out a stinging, “Fucking narc.” 

Damian ignores it completely. “This is harassment! I am attempting to cement a civilian connection, which you all have badgered me to do on several occasions, and these worthless wastes of oxygen-”

“Wow, that’s a little harsh,” Dick mutters.

Damian glares viciously, “-are turning the entire affair into a vaudeville side show!” 

Jason scoffs loudly, bringing the attention back to himself. “Yeah, no way, I don’t buy girlie pop as a civilian. She knows way too much magic and way too many tricks not to be a plant. And what’s concerning is you don’t fucking seem to care, Demon brat.” 

“She is not a plant.” Damian shoots back, pacing above while the rest of them look on in shocked amazement. His youngest is rarely this demonstrative, especially in defense of another. “She is not a trick from my mother, or a floozy trying to use our family status to raise rank. She is a fashion designer from Paris who knows magic, that’s it!” Damian’s voice grew higher and more frantic as he belabored his point. 

Bruce grunts again as the pain in his head grows from mildly problematic to throbbing; a prime example of his something-is-wrong-here-but-I-don’t-know-what-yet headache. He powers through, trying to bring reason to the conversation. “Damian, your brothers explained the situation, and further investigation has proved sparse. She’s a ghost. You’re allowing your judgment to be compromised.” 

Damian’s jaw ticks, furious green eyes narrow, and Bruce holds back a wince at how much he resembles his mother in this exact moment. “I have run myself through the magical influence protocols. Richard ran them on me a second time. I am functioning with a perfectly sound body and mind-”

Snort. “Debatable,” mutters Tim. 

“Your days are numbered, Drake.” 

“Dami…” Dick sighs, tentative chiding, lacing his words. It only serves to irritate. Damian bristles at the mollifying tone. 

“No, this was your fault we all ended in this mess, and now you blame me for doing all that I could to win!? Marinette did nothing more than follow my requests and utilize her skillset. It is not illegal to have magic-”

Bruce is not a fan of any interference in the city - metas or magic, all of it could turn on a dime. Even the best-trained supers could fall to influences that occurred all too often in his city. “There is a strict no metas in Gotham policy, Damian. And for good reason.” 

Damian actually rolls his eyes. “A policy which, beyond the super community - a community Marinette is not a part of - you have no actual way of enforcing beyond financial enticement to leave, disguised as charity from Wayne Enterprises. Marinette chose to attend school here-” 

“Suspicious,” Jason sneers, and Bruce resists the urge to groan; he does not need further commentary riling Damian up.

Defensive and on edge, Damian sends another withering glare in Jason’s direction. “No, it’s not. She had no wish to remain in her country after the actions of the magical terrorists that besieged them. That is rather common from what I hear.” 

“Yeah, but normal people don’t jump out of the frying pan and into the radioactive acid bath,” Tim says, leaning over the railing with a contemplative look on his face. A comparison Bruce finds quite salient. For all that he loves his city, finds purpose in protecting it from the dregs of humanity, it is not a safe city. If you want a break, and he couldn’t blame the girl for wanting a break if even a little of what he found about the situation in Paris was true, then Gotham was a frankly ridiculous choice. 

“Why would you escape a city with one terrorist to a city hosting a dozen, plus gangs, and the occasional alien invasion!?” 

“Find me a major city on earth that has avoided having one alien invasion in it by this point,” Damian sneers back. 

“Damian-” he starts again, his head aching with the clear pain of why-is-stubborness-genetic but his youngest remains a bulwark of refusal, stiffening his shoulders with a determined edge that triples the pain in Bruce's head.

“No. I proved I am under no outside influences twice. There is no compulsion to steal, reveal information, or engage in self-destructive behavior. Marinette openly and fully admitted to using magic; she is not trying to hide anything. Your suspicion is needless.” Here, he turns to Jason. “And your words are vulgar and untrue, and if you persist upon this course, I will demand retribution.” 

He needed to nip this in the bud yesterday. “Damian, you attack your brother, and you’re benched.” Damian’s jaw flexes as he fights to hold back whatever he clearly wants to say. Restraint it may be, but Damian clearly wants to throw caution to the wind and lose it on his older brother. 

Meanwhile, Jason leans back against the wall with a dark smirk. “You, demon brat, are letting your dick think for you for the first time, and I’m gonna laugh and say I told you so when this blows up in your face.”  

“I am doing no such thing,” Damian hisses, hands clenched on the cave railing, white and leaking rage. “You may allow your base feelings to run rampant, but mine are thoroughly subjected to reason. Which is why all of you are wrong.” 

“You have no proof, Damian.” 

Damian’s smile turns haughty and cold. “Well, neither do you.” Huffing, he draws into himself, walls slamming down, cutting himself off from anything else they might say. “I see that no amount of words will sway you from your preconceptions. I find it galling, Father, that you would let bias overcome reasoning.” 

“Your actions aren’t doing much to persuade me otherwise, son.” 

“Tt. I see.” Bruce wishes to cross the gorge that's wrenched open between them, but Damian is already turning on his heel in the shower's direction. “When all this plays out as I have said, I will expect an apology for your mistrust.” 

“Yeah, when hell freezes over,” Jason shoots back, but Damian doesn’t reengage. The door to the lockers slams with a definitive clang. 

Silence lingers; the hum of the Batcomputer and the occasional rustle of wings do little to alleviate tension so thick they could swim through it. 

“Well,” says a clipped, clear voice from above. Bruce turns to see Alfred, standing on the stairs, quiet as a mouse. “I do believe that went down rather like a lead balloon,” Alfred’s wry comment can’t even bring a bit of levity to the situation for Bruce, who, on top of his headache, is battling a deep fear that his son is in over his head. 

And how odd is that? Damian is his one child he knows can handle matters of an interpersonal nature with the distance their job requires. But this? Battling between believing the best in a person and the danger they might pose? 

That is never a fight Bruce wished for his children. 

“Bruce, that was the exact opposite of talking to Damian separately. He has an entirely different perspective on this whole situation than we do,” Dick reprimands. And while his eldest is correct, after his own research on the case, Bruce finds himself increasingly agreeing with Jason and Tim that the girl is hardly what she seems. 

“Well, I didn’t see you jumpin’ in to defend the girl, golden boy,” Jason sneers. “Come on, do we really believe that this chick isn’t dangerous?” 

“There is a distinct difference between dangerous,” Alfred cuts in. “And a danger to us.” 

“A distinction that doesn’t matter if we can’t find any information to tell us which she is, Alfred,” says Tim. “Especially when she’s around Damian, who is hardly the most subtle person regarding our skills and occupation.” 

“You mean the fact that we run around at night in suits and beat people up?” drawls Jason. “Or the fact he’s a recovering cult assassin?” 

“Damian is an adult; he’s been keeping our family secrets quiet for his entire life. He’s not gonna drop the information to a girl he just met, even if he is crushing on her,” Dick says. “I do worry whether he’s trusting her too quickly, though, because of that…” 

Alfred would never dignify shrugging, but Bruce imagines this would be a moment where he would. “I hardly think it matters at this point whether that is a wise choice of action or not, Master Dick. Master Damian has set his course and is not to be deterred from it.” The look he pins Bruce with speaks volumes about where he thinks that tendency stemmed from. Bruce would like to counterpoint with Talia’s… everything. “A rather common trait in this family, I do believe.” All three of his boys find elsewhere to look at, while Bruce stands against the accusation alone. 

Traitors. 

Even still, the situation pings all of his internal alarms, and he’s not gonna let his youngest’s safety rely on a feeling of trust. “As much as I would like to believe in Damian’s judgement, the situation is concerning enough that I believe our worries are justified and not simply paranoia. We’ll have to remain vigilant if Damian doesn’t approach the situation with the caution that a foreign unknown agent requires.” 

Alfred’s sigh carries a disappointed air, but the man merely nods. “Very well, sir. Merely keep in check that your worry does not turn into an unfounded witch hunt, lest you alienate a woman who may be innocent.” Observing them all with a discerning glance. “I see that all your limbs are attached and unmarred. Are there any injuries that I can not see?” he asks, pointedly glancing in Tim’s direction. 

Tim huffs. “I’m not the only one who hides injuries.” 

“No, but you are the only one lacking a spleen, Master Timothy.” 

“Patrol was quiet, Alfred, we’re all good,” confirms Dick. 

“Then I shall bid you all a good night.” 

Bruce grunts as Alfred heads back upstairs, massaging the side of his head as it goes from aching to throbbing with the distinct edge of I-don’t-know-how-to-solve-this, which is a sensation he utterly despises. He’s Batman, solving situations is his entire job. 

“Tim, have you or Barbara found anything on Dupain-Cheng or the Paris situation in general?” he asks. Maybe they had better luck than him. 

Tim’s demeanor darkens. “No, and I don’t know if we’re going to find anything, either. It’s a communication blackout and seemingly citywide psychosis. It’s an acknowledged fact that attacks happened in Paris from 20XX to 20XX, but nobody else knew about it at the time.” Tim sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “As for Dupain-Cheng, and any sort of social media the girl may have had in that time period, is sparing at best, and outright glitched at worst.” 

“Contact Diana, Paris was her home base until recently; she might have more insight as to what happened there than we do.” Bruce hesitates, thinking of the pain this next request will bring. “And see if you can pin down John Constantine for a chat. He’ll be better versed in magical methods of obfuscation.” 

Jason scoffs. “Good luck with that, old man. Constantine’s a mindfuck on a good day.” He strides over to his bike. 

“And where do you think you’re going?” he asks.

Jason waves him off. “To go beat someone up, or blow something up, I’ll decide on the way.” 

“If it’s the latter, be sure it’s condemned and fully abandoned,” yells Tim. 

“If the former, anyone from Penguin’s current goon pool would be great,” Dick chimes in. “I think they’re smuggling heroin in through the harbor to Blud. If you get any info, text me.” 

Jason grunts, kicking the stand on his bike and shoving the helmet over his head. Bruce wishes for the right words to say, but with how on edge his second son looks, he fears saying the wrong thing will send him tumbling into a rage. Soon enough, it’s just Tim, Dick, and him in the cave. 

Tim stretches and suppresses a yawn. “Well, if Damian is gonna make his lack of judgment a public issue, I'd better prepare our PR people to engage in damage control.” 

“In the morning, Tim,” he orders. 

Tim narrows his eyes. “But-”

“Send the messages to the Leaguers, but leave PR alone. They won’t be awake at this hour anyway, and neither should you. You’re still recovering after forty-eight plus hours awake.” Tim grumbles but obliges, which is good because Bruce is suddenly hit by his own wave of exhaustion that barrels over him like a hurricane. Getting old sucks. 

“In the meantime, what should we do about Damian?” Tim asks. 

Bruce sighs. “As Dick said, he’s an adult. I can’t ground him or restrict his movements.” Not that he could do that easily when Damian actually was a child, but there was an attempt. “All we can do is keep an eye out and be vigilant.” 

“Aren’t we always?” Tim yawns. “I’m crashing here tonight. I don’t feel like driving back to the city. Are you coming in to work tomorrow?” 

“I’m still technically out on leave for a few more days.” 

“And your ribs are still healing,” says Dick. “Take the time, Bruce, the company can handle itself.” 

“You would say that,” grumbles Tim as he leaves. “You’re not the one making sure it doesn’t collapse out from underneath itself, when it’s left alone for two minutes like an understimulated toddler without an iPad.” 

“Night, Tim,” Dick calls out. Tim waves back halfheartedly, disappearing through the elevator.

“Staying the night, chum?” 

Dick nods, stifling a yawn. “Bruce, you’ve gotta be careful with this one. Alfred’s right, Damian’s not in a state to be persuaded, and if we push him too far…” 

“The situation could spiral before we know how to handle it.” He hoped Diana, or even Constantine, would have answers to give him. A direction on how to approach the situation. Because his current method was only alienating Damian. “I wish I could have gotten a chance to speak with him before all this happened.” Poor planning on his part; curse his migraine. Now his son sits against him, even if he brings valid points to the table. While Dupain-Cheng may have remained pleasant for the brief time at the store, that did not mean she always would be. And she had far too much power at her fingertips for them to remain off guard. 

“Doubling down on the warnings when he was already riled did not help.” Bruce turns away, grunting. His son was right, but he didn’t have to say it. Dick sighs. “I’m gonna get some sleep. Don’t stay up too late.” 

Bruce sits at the computer. Finding what little Barbara and Tim have compiled, he reads over their findings. Opening a new file, and ignoring the lingering ache shooting up the back of his neck - the same one whenever he’s staring down the barrel of a dangerous situation, he starts fresh, maybe this time he’ll find what he didn’t before.

His family and city might depend on it.

A/N: This is for everyone who has commented, kudos, shared, and recced this story. Thank you. Thank you for loving it as I have loved it. It was never far from my mind, and I always wanted to complete it. I'm glad that I could finally put words to a page, and I only hope they are a somewhat fitting end to this story.