#tdwk11

It’s been a week. A whole week since her untimely dismissal from the great office of Mr. Calum Hood. A little more than that since her cheek had gotten filleted. She was going to get the stitches taken out that evening after work. It was pissing her off that the rest of her wasn’t healing as quickly.

Oh. She blinks at the screen. Turns out the statistics were an easy fix. She hits print and takes the tiny commute to the printer before handing it to Ashton. He smiles at her for it, but his eyes catch on her scar again. Only for a second, but she notices. It happens a lot now, but she still notes it, every time. She can’t help it.  

Personally, she kinda thinks the cut looks rakish. She’s started answering to inquiries about it with “you should see the other guy” and her very best mischievous smile, and people usually act a little more relaxed after that, which is nice. At night when she’s brushing her teeth, though, she finds herself looking at it and wondering if she’s always going to be introducing people to her scar.

Still, it could be worse. Falcone’s never gonna call her his pretty little girl ever again.

He’s in trouble. That’s another thing that’s changed over that week. Falcone’s been indicted for a bunch of charges related to the Sionis and Trident murders, and he’s pleading not guilty but they’ll just see how it all shakes out in court. Her only contact with Calum is emails from his lawyers updating her on what the prosecution needs from her in anticipation of the trial. She can’t believe she’s going to be so stupid as to testify against a mobster, but hey, she has a feeling the night guard is going to be keeping an eye on her for the next few weeks.

It’s funny; she feels paranoid, but it’s not paranoia if it’s true, right? After a few days of anxiously taking taxis everywhere, worrying that the cabby is on Falcone’s payroll, she allows herself the much cheaper danger of walking home. She’s heard a lot more suspicious noises on rooftops lately. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but it’s nice to pretend Calum is looking down at her from above and getting pissed that she’s on her own like that. Maybe if she starts waltzing into crack dens he’ll talk to her again. Maybe she’ll join a Russian roulette team.

Aspen toys with the thought of taking up cliff diving as she settles back down at her desk. The BAMF project is going swimmingly - they decided to use Tencel for the bandages and now she was helping to determine a good formula for the “healing fluid”. She loved doing R&D like this. It was only a mixture of salts and synthetic proteins, but she could make it sound like miracle juice. If she hadn’t been quite so observant that night, she would have been thrilled to be back down in the lab, doing what she loved.

But here she was.

It’s 4:30, and although it’s only a Monday she can still read the atmosphere in the lab. She’s not likely to be needed any more tonight. Plus, she’s gonna run out of mutilation-based sympathy at some point, she might as well use it while she can. “Hey, Ash, is it cool if I head out?” She says, rolling her chair over towards his desk. “I want to get my stitches out and there might be less of a wait if I go now. You know, so I miss the rush of all the people who also get off at 5 and need to get their stitches taken out.”

Ashton chuckles, putting the graph aside for a second. “Will you come in early tomorrow to score the mice?” He says, after a long moment.

Good. That’s good. She’s edging away from pity. “Yeah, sure, whatever you want. I’ll bring you something from the gift shop.” Aspen teases as she walks her chair back to her desk to grab her things.

It will be nice to come in early, anyways. She finds that she misses the half-hour of quiet she used to get before the day began. Being the first in the lab and checking up on the mice, changing their bandages and marking how they’ve healed, sounds really nice right about now. She’s always felt a bit of resonance with those little animals, anyways. She, too, is soft and skittish and just wanting to sleep in a pile of wood shavings.

As she enters the elevator, she lets herself think for the first time that maybe it’s good that Calum didn’t let her join him. It’s a thought that’s been hovering around the edges of her mind for weeks, but only now is it becoming concrete. She thinks she’s tough, sure, but she’s let herself be treated so gently the last few days and she’s starting to think she might miss it. Maybe she’s more delicate than she ever imagined. I mean, if she identifies with a mouse, how’s she gonna stand up to fucking Catwoman? Maybe Calum didn’t try to transfer her out of spite, or a pigheaded desire to protect her. Maybe he just saw something in her, some hairline fractures that would widen into faults under any pressure. Maybe he heard her tell Liam what time he got into the office.

Not that it mattered. She’d never see him again.

She had tried. The day she had been, uh, let go, she had tried to come back at the end of the day. Her excuse was that she wanted to say goodbye to Janet, but she was really hoping to talk to Calum about some of the evidence she had collected and just… make her case properly, she didn’t know. But when she had said hello to Jan, let herself be hugged and fussed over, once that was all out of the way, well… “He doesn’t want you up here.” Janet had told her, glancing at Mr. Hood’s office door. It was closed. Aspen didn’t know if he was in there, if he was listening. “He told me to tell you he was out if you ever came up. I’m really sorry, Aspen, but you know how he gets.”

It had been another blow, then, the kind that left you mercifully numb for a while before it started to hurt. “I understand.” She had managed, finally. “You’re just doing your job. Oh, my god, you’re gonna have so much work now.” And that had been that.

Now she wondered if it had been a test. If she was supposed to march in there and demand he at least let her talk to him, goddamn it, so she didn’t go crazy sitting on all this. But if it was a test, she had failed, and it was no one’s fault but her own.

It was nice outside, but windy, and on her walk to the hospital the breeze picked up her hair and whipped it around her face. She had started wearing it down more, at least while her cut still looked raw and meaty when it wasn’t bandaged up, but it was just getting annoying now. She wasn’t sure why she was even bothering to hide the cut. It wasn’t even that gross now, anyways, and if she could live with it so could that weird guy on the train who had stared at her so long he almost missed his stop.

The waiting room in Gotham General was busy, which shouldn’t have surprised Aspen. Shit went down in this city every single day. Maybe Calum had popped out on his lunch break to break a few arms. The thought of him in that Armani suit busting kneecaps was funny, making her bite her lip as she checked in.

He did that a lot, you know, she’d read an analysis of injuries attributed to the Bat. She was just thankful she had fallen stupid head over heels for a vigilante that practiced non-lethally. It made sense; he had an incredible position of power, and if he used that power to kill people who had been struggling all their lives - like, if he had killed the Joker she would have been cool with it, but the thugs, the kids like Liam… She wouldn’t have been able to stand for that.

She pulled a scientific journal out of her bag and settled in to wait. She wanted something good to bring up at the next lab meeting, put this period of weakness behind her. She had a feeling the efficiency of the collagen synthesis could be improved. They were currently using cultures of mouse fibroblasts to produce it, since using yeast hadn’t worked out, but she had seen some recent research on using insect stomach lining to produce another factor that hadn’t been viable in yeast models, and maybe if they -

Aspen heard a bang, far off, and jumped in her seat. So did the man next to her. Her heart started thumping, and she reminded herself that this wasn’t another incident. She wasn’t in any danger. She could hear yelling, back in the ambulance bays, but this was a hospital. Some people were scary when they were sick. There were people here trained to keep them and her safe. She should know, her grandpa had been dangerous in his last few days in the hospital, he had been a big football player (the shouts were getting louder) and in his last few days, in his last few days he had been so angry and he had to be restrained, she understood it could happen to anyone -

The bay doors were there one moment, and then she saw them bend. Aspen’s rising panic catches in her throat. It was happening again. She stands up, quickly, scrabbling in her jacket pockets for that knife. She had stopped carrying it a few days ago, feeling silly, but now, now - fuck, it really wasn’t there, why hadn’t she kept it - someone huge and hulking ran through the waiting room, yelling, screaming something, and burst through the sliding doors like the glass was just rain. It was over in a second. Aspen stands there, flooded with adrenaline, as a few orderlies and security guards chase after the woman. There are fat drops of blood among the broken glass.

The nurses are saying something to calm the room down. Aspen can’t hear it. Fuck, she had thought - she had really thought, for a second, that shouting, that something was for her. She sits back down. Her journal is all crumpled now.

Fuck.

But she stays. Some people leave, but she stays. She needs to get her stitches out, and anyways there’s nowhere safer when a big beefy thug is on the loose than the place said thug was trying to escape. Right?

Her name gets called soon enough, and she gets to wait a little longer in a little emergency room cubicle until a doctor can come and slip the stitches out of her face. The doctor’s a little shaken, too. She doesn’t make much small talk as she’s cleaning up Aspen’s face with an alcohol wipe. Aspen’s still sweaty and jittery. “I know there’s like doctor-patient confidentiality, but can I ask… is that lady gonna be okay? She just ran through that door like -”

“I’m sure she didn’t feel it.” The doctor says, setting the wipe aside. She’s still focused on Aspen’s face, she won’t look her in the eye for more than a coincidental fraction of a second. “You never saw someone on Venom before?”

“Venom?”

The doctor smiles. Her hands are cold. “You’re new to Gotham, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna have to start learning a little faster.” Aspen says, glancing at the blurry red line that was her scar in her own vision.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to -”

“No, no, it’s okay. I’m very new.”

“I saw the report from when you got the stitches in. You’re very brave.”

“Thank you.” Aspen says, quickly. She doesn’t want to talk about that, just get the stitches out. “But, uh, what exactly is Venom?”

“‘S a drug. Only really around in Gotham. We’re trying to figure out an effective treatment for - depending on the dose, it can make you feel really strong and euphoric, and if you take enough it just - it has this unbelievable effect on the muscles. It’s incredible.” Aspen feels scissors snip right by her face, cold where they brush her cheek. “And we have no idea how to deal with it. Most people we just hold and put on a saline until they detox, but the ones who have OD’d - it’s hard to restrain them.” Aspen feels the threads loosening under her cheek. “This might hurt a little.”

Aspen white-knuckles the edge of the hospital bed she’s sitting on and holds her breath as the suture thread slips right out from under the skin on her cheek.

“Perfect. No bleeding, even. You took good care of it.” The doctor says, putting the suture aside. Aspen looks at it on the tray. It has a few bits of her face stuck to it, pieces of healing scabs. It looks so small.

As she says thank you and prepares herself to go, the doctor stops her with a look as she’s washing her hands. “The report said you saw the Batman?”

Aspen feels a twinge of pain, and curls a hand into a fist to try and hide it. “Yeah, he, uh, basically saved my life.”

The doctor turns off the tap. Her eyes are shining. Aspen wonders how young she is. “What’s he like?”

“Oh, uh… brisk, I guess.” Aspen blinks. “He didn’t really give me a chance to get my bearings, y’know, he just hauled me up and pulled me out the window. It was all really fast.” It’s different, telling this story to a stranger. She wants to make herself sound braver in it. Make Calum sound kinder. Well, he saved her life, that was kind. Easier, she guesses.

The doc is still looking at her expectantly. Aspen feels a little glow of pride, attaching herself to the Bat like this. She’s never really thought about him this way. “Um… He’s really caring, when you get down to it. When he took me to the squad car the cops had their guns drawn at first because, you know, he’s like a vigilante and all, but it really freaked me out. He got between me and them and made them put their guns down before he let me get in the car. He didn’t have to do that. I know the vigilante thing is kind of controversial, but I think he really is a good guy, you know?” She shrugs, wondering if her little smile gives anything away. That she knows him. That she’s fallen for him before.

“Wow.” Says the doctor. “Yeah, wow. That’s incredible. I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“Yeah, well, me too.” Aspen’s smile is easier, now. It feels different, without her cheek stitched up.

The doctor laughs. Aspen feels charming again, even with the scar. “Yeah, well, the next time you see him, tell him to look into that Venom stuff, alright? We could really use the - what do they call him, the - the world’s greatest detective on this case.”

“I haven’t heard that one before.” Aspen says, taking a step into the hallway.

“Well, it’s what they call him. Have a good night, alright?”

“You too!” Aspen gives a little wave to the doctor, and finds her way back to the emergency room exit. Someone has already swept up most of the glass.

It sticks in her mind as she begins walking to the subway. Someone should tell him. Bring his attention to this. A new street drug without a treatment was a bad thing no matter what, but if it made you strong enough to bend steel - Batman should turn some of his thousands of dollars in funding to that.

World’s greatest fucking detective. He couldn’t detect his way out of a paper bag.

That was mean. Aspen just thought that at him because she was bad. Probably if it was a big paper bag he could manage.

Anyway, it didn’t matter if she should tell him about it or not. Calum Hood had decided never to see her again, and it wasn’t like Batman had an open door policy.

Wait.

The Batman was supposed to be a ghost; you never knew where he was going to be. Except she knew, and the GCPD knew, that at the next major disaster he would be there. And he wasn’t going to ignore her if she showed up there, all cute and vulnerable without a bulletproof vest. He’d see she was serious. He’d see she could take the heat. And he’d see there was even a convenient project for her to work on to keep her cover.

Was she really going to do this?

Aspen took a deep breath. She didn’t have to decide now. If something came up, she’d think about taking that risk.

It was the kind of thing you couldn’t take back.

For the next few nights, Aspen compromised. She listened to the news while she was doing dry lab prep, and turned on all the notifications on her “Gotham News & Alerts” app, but she didn’t, like, start going out and trying to buy Venom right from the source. It gave her time to think. Really, it was bold of her to think he didn’t already have a crack team of biologists - just that he preferred the processing of the GCPD lab so they had it all recorded, maybe. He had to have a real reason for this, other than just... doing this to hurt her. 

She was working on her miracle juice when it happened, with the news on and some 80s pop playing overtop to help her focus. There had been a break-in at an upscale cocktail party, which was good, and a riot at the Arkham Asylum - nothing huge, that happened all the time. Batman probably didn’t get called for those. When the news came through, she almost missed it under her music.

“The small riot at Arkham Asylum-” Ha, Aspen thought, small riot. “-has escalated after Pamela Ivey, a.k.a. Poison Ivy, began to demolish the heritage building. Known for her control over plant life, Ivey has used her abilities to destroy the foundation of the building. No inmates are reported missing, but GCPD are suggesting that all citizens in the area begin evacuation to the city centre. We’ll bring you updates as they come, but for now, we turn to journalist and Gotham history expert -”

Aspen bit her lip and tried not to freak out. Just because it was the first disaster to come along since her painful rejection, that didn’t mean it was time to make her move. What was she going to do during a prison break, anyways? She didn’t know anything about working with psychiatric patients, or overseeing evacuations, or -

“Update now from Arkham Asylum, police efforts to control the plant growth are failing. Experts are now trying to evacuate the Asylum in preparation for controlled burn, but analysts are concerned that moving large groups of inmates might end up just like every other -”

Plants. Jesus Christ, she knew biology. She couldn’t believe it didn’t hit her sooner. Aspen squints at the news report and tries to do some on-the-spot identification. Her pulse was racing. Taxonomy had her pulse racing. She couldn’t believe it. Now she got why Calum did this.

She needs to focus. It looked like… like… It looked like jute. Okay, there was that. She knew the plant. She knew the plant! Fuck, okay, she couldn’t get ahead of herself. Focus. She had read something about jute recently, something as to why it wasn’t bigger as a source of natural fiber… part of it was the water required, part of it was… cold sensitivity. The plants didn’t respond well to cold! That was how they were gonna beat this without burning down a heritage building. Batman had to have something that could do that, right?

Oh my god. She actually had to do this.

Aspen takes a deep breath. She had thought that she would have a choice, when the time came. That she’d be able to weigh her options objectively, and maybe sit this one out if it came to that. But she couldn’t. Her mind was already racing. She’d stick a textbook and a cookie sheet in her backpack, improvise some armor. She should wear black. If they were evacuating inmates, she should plan for the worst, this was Gotham after all. She packed her pocket knife.

As Aspen hustled to the door, she paused with her hand on the knob. She should say goodbye to her roommates. In case -

No. She couldn’t. It might destroy whatever foolhardy courage had gotten her this far.