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Chapter Text

In the center of the room sat a sizable cylinder tube. The liquid within a toxic hue of green, so vibrant it illuminated the surrounding area. So much so, that the lights in the room were rarely on so that the occupant of the tube, a boy, would be able to slumber in comfort as he awaited his arrival into the surrounding world.

The boy in question destined for greatness, the combination of two great houses, the heir to both fortune and power. To ensure perfection, his mother took from the man whom his grandfather deemed worthy and combined it with her own to ensure a genetically superior child. Created and wombed outside of her so he could be monitored and kept safe in a way she would not have been able should he have been carried by her.

For the kingdom he was destined to inherit was a dangerous one. Where death would always be knocking, either at their door or by their hands. It would mean a hard life, one filled with things that small children should never have to witness nor endure. Yet the perfect heir must do it all, not only to thrive but to survive.

Not the life a mother, not even his, would wish for her child. But this was not the first nor the last time that her own wants and desires were ignored, even by her. A fate accepted having learned early that women would be held to the same expectations as men in her father’s domain, yet they would never be deemed worthy of merit or opinion. Trapped in the mindset of the men from his time, her father saw women as nothing more than slaves to do men’s bidding, especially his own.

Had her life been her own, she would still be happily married to her beloved instead of estranged. A child would have been conceived because of love instead of forced into existence by means of drugs and manipulation. She would know what if felt like to have a child develop within her womb instead of watching him grow through glass. And she’d be able to love her child openly instead of only being able to do so in secret.

Yet her life was not her own and she knew better than to hope it ever could be. For in the League: marriages were arranged for alliances, never for love. Children were birthed by accident or to create a legacy within the ranks. Love was a weakness to be exploited and so showing any form of it would be dangerous to you and yours.

So, despite the fact her marriage had been with the man she would forever love, though her child was the unconventional result of her desire for a piece of her beloved among other things, and her love for her child would be strong and unwavering, she was still the daughter of Ra’s. Her father would exploit her love for her son as readily as any other enemy of hers. Showing her love would have to be done in the only way that she could; ensuring that he would train harder than any before to survive her father’s world. Pushed to the point where even grown men would crumble and fall, only to be standing unaffected. Never to know love in the traditional sense of the word, but he would be loved from the shadows.

Talia placed her hand against the warm glass tube, the only affection that she could give her growing child. She would never know the pleasure of fluttering kicks to her abdomen, the uncomfortable pressure from him sitting on her bladder, or even the glow that comes with new life forming inside her. In return, he would never know the comforting feeling of her hand pressed against her stomach, hear her singing songs she remembered from childhood, or know her heartbeat as a comfort. This small gesture was the best she could give him with a glass tube between them. Until she could hold him in her arms, away from prying eyes.

Talia moved away with her hand still pressed against her child’s artificial womb, until the distance forced its removal. A small door locked to anyone but herself called away her attention. The result of a moment of weakness that would likely end disastrously, a moment birthed from desires she would never be able to fulfil. Beyond that door beside the room her little boy resided, was a smaller room with the exact same tube but a little girl inside it.

When the doctor took several eggs from her, he created numerous embryos, in the end only four survived for her to choose from: three male and one female. The superior egg was picked and when his incubation was secure, the others were ordered to be destroyed. As there could be no chance of one of them threatening his position. But not before, without really thinking her actions through, Talia stole and replaced the one lone female.

A tube and structure were created for her second child, she tasked a mage to mimic the Pit water as Ra’s Al Ghul was very strict and she would be unable to hide taking more than needed for her son. Unable to completely capture the potency and magic of the water from the Pit, the result was a magic that gave a pink hue instead of the toxic green. Talia cared not if it was exactly the same, as her little girl was thriving in a separate room, a secret from all. Those who were complicit in her sin were silenced permanently before they had a chance to share. Alone, she carefully watched what the doctors did for her son and did the same for her daughter in lieu.

Like she did for her son. she placed her hand against the glass tube, but unlike her son her daughter always seemed to know. Her little hands would reach out in the direction of her mother unable to reach to the glass, but the motion was enough for Talia to know the intention. A gentle smile, never seen by those who knew her, was given by Talia in reply. Replaced by a bittersweetness as the reality of unlike her brother, her daughter’s nature would crave and offer affection.

Affection that Talia wished she could give and receive. A nature that would be dangerous and unfortunately snuffed quickly by the League.

Acting on the impulse of wanting a child for her own, not one to be given to her father upon a golden platter, she had become the monster her beloved often cursed her as. During the months that she got to watch both her children thrive, it became obvious through her interactions with her father, her wants would never manifest. Her father would never accept a second child from Talia, especially not a girl.

For a little girl who was also a potential heir would go against her father’s wishes. Women were not equal and never would be within the League. Yet, her father’s allies and enemies did not all agree and would support a potential heir despite the sex. Ra’s would be unable to get rid of the little girl just as he had been unable to do with his daughters. For blood was powerful and removing it would be looked down upon by all within the League. But it would not stop him from ensuring that her daughter would never pose a viable threat and Talia hated to think of the possible things her father would do to secure his male heir’s legacy.

Therefore, presenting her daughter as her own was not an option. Hiding her among the ranks, with the bonus of her being a female, her father would likely take no interest. She would still train in the temple as other children of the elite League members would, believed to be a child of another. Ra would never look into her face and see the truth because children of lesser would never be allowed to look directly upon him. But should Talia faulter and ever show favor or affection beyond what was normal for other children of the League it would draw her father’s attention. Then the truth of her defiance would come to light, putting her daughter in danger and likely forfeit her own.

Still, she would have to work hard and sly to protect her daughter. Being a member of the League was dangerous, but being an innocent child was worse. Survival rates of children within the League were low, training incidents were far too common and where her son would likely receive treatment from the Pits, her daughter would not. Trainers would strive to teach the heir to the best of their ability, with a healthy dose of fear if they should harm him. For her little girl harming her would be their intent, their purpose. Where Talia could offer her son protection by simply standing beside him, the same could not be offered for her daughter.

Talia had doomed one of her precious children; she truly was a monster.

Still, as she watched her little girl grow within the tube, she did nothing to stop it from happening. She loved her too much and was far too selfish to let her go.

“Forgive me,” she spoke softly into the room. Whether she spoke to herself, her daughter or Bruce she didn’t know.

Truthfully, she wasn’t sure she could ever forgive herself. Her daughter should never forgive her for putting her selfish wants above her daughter’s wellbeing. And Bruce would be hurt if he ever learned about their son, he would hate her if he ever learned of their daughter.

Chapter Text

The day the Heir to the Demon was introduced to the League of Assassins was one of immense celebration. Ra’s broke out his private stash of wines and spirits and shared them with those he was closest. For Talia she was given a glass of his whisky made with the water from the Lazarus Pit, the gesture a sign of his improved opinion of his daughter.

The moment should have been euphoric for the woman, finally receiving some of the appreciation from the person she desired it most from. Yet she could feel nothing except for the creeping fear for the heir’s twin sister.

Talia’s daughter remained alone within the scrubbed lab; the doctors having left when their job was completed. Talia remained at Nanda Parabat during that time as she was compelled to parade Damian around for all members to see, looking like the proud mother that she was. In the seclusion of her quarters though, Talia prayed that every minute she was away, for the continued safety and health of her unborn daughter.

Finally, at the end of the first week her father put her on a mission that called her away from home. Away from her newborn son so quickly after his arrival, leaving him in the care of his wet nurse. If Talia had any doubt of the position she had in her son’s life, her father’s ability to separate her from him without a second thought showed her. But the distance that increased between them, meant the shortening distance between her and her daughter.

All of the fear and doubts were worth it as a lone tear fell when she viewed her child alive and well within her pink prison. Following the process done with her son, she drained the liquid from the artificial womb initiating her daughter’s birth. The task was made difficult when done by a single person, but she just managed to grab her daughter before she hit the bottom.

Removing her from the glass enclosure was so different from the experience with Damian. With him she had been cast to the side as doctors worked. Only allowed to touch him when his health was confirmed, and he had been wrapped in a warm green blanket. Here her hands were firmly on her daughter, slowly lifting her out of the hollow tube after cutting the umbilical cord. Involved in every second of her birth, the experience was as close to birthing a child as she supposed she’d ever get.

Ignoring the viscous fluid covering her, Talia all but crashed the small body against hers. Treasuring the moment, as the little girl snuggled her head against Talia’s warm chest, and a soft cooing noise escaped the adorable babe, muffled slightly by their proximity. The act both warming and breaking the assassin’s heart, as these small moments of affection she longed to give and receive would be lost the moment she completed her mission.

The decision of where to place her precious daughter was both easy and hard. Talia had ensured Damian born first so he would be the true heir, but the act had left her with only three families within the League who recently gave birth to girls.

The first was a mistress of one of her father’s European agents, Carl Bagg, but looking down at her newborn daughter it became obvious why that was not an option. Where Damian had gained his features mostly from her, including his darker tone and his beautiful emerald eyes; her daughter had gained hers from her father. Her skin was like porcelain having not seen the sun, her face rounder than her brother’s, hair so dark it was almost blue covered the top of her small head. Most startling and beautiful of all her features were her sapphire blue eyes, exact copies of her father’s, except larger and more expressive. Set beautifully in an almond shape, the only feature she had clearly inherited from Talia, reflecting her Arab descent.

Trading her with Baggs’ child would be impossible as both agent and mistress were of Scandinavian roots. Their child would likely be blue eyed but also blonde, explaining the change in hair color would be impossible.

Option two, was too far down in the ranks to even consider. Children of the average assassin within the League were offered very little attention, often dismissed to an orphanage as the League was truly no place for them. It was only due to the perceived power of legacy that the more powerful members were given the right to keep their children and have them trained. Though kept being an exaggeration of what usually occurred, they were abandoned early to training more accurately. If for some reason the couple decided to keep their daughter, Talia would have no way of offering any form of protection, if trained her teachers would be subpar and she would likely never be given the chance to view her daughter before her untimely death.

Leaving Talia only option three, which thanks to some god watching over her was the best option she could have hoped to obtain. General Lee’s wife had just given birth earlier that morning to a healthy baby girl. With his Asian heritage, her daughter’s Arab features could be mistaken for his own. Her eye color could pose a problem, but if Talia recalled his wife had green eyes from a Caucasian grandmother that might be able to explain the blue.

The added bonus, Lee was stationed at one of their Chinese bases that Talia frequented often enough that it would allow glimpses into her daughter’s wellbeing in the future. It was the best she could offer her daughter other than handing her over to her father. Which she decided early on was not an option as he would probably investigate the circumstances of her birth. That was something she could not allow as it would risk the chance of his discovery of Damian as well.

So General Lee was her only choice that she hoped she would not come to regret.

Using a soft wet towel, she prepared her daughter for their departure by gently cleaning her. The act an opportunity to be as motherly as Talia wished without judgement or concern. At no time did the little baby in her arms cry or whine from the attention, instead her focus remained on her mother who kept her head down in front of her child so that she could be seen. A week past the normal gestational period, Talia was not surprised when the baby smiled and wrapped her little hand around her thumb. An action she tried to convince herself was her small baby affirming that everything was going to be okay, and Talia would one day be forgiven.

The hardest part of the evening was returning her little smile in a way she hoped was reassuring as she dressed and then wrapped her in a warm blue blanket. Talia was used to masking and manufacturing emotions on her face but lying to her small baby was too much. Not for the first time and most definitely not the last, she questioned why she was unable to do what was best for her child and stop her from entering this world. Knowing the darkness it possessed, having lived it herself.

The pilot of the small plane eyed her warily when she stepped onto it, confirming what she already knew would need to happen at the end of this. Just another death, a sacrifice to keep her secret. Flying herself would have prevented it, but she knew she would be unable to give up the precious few hours in which she could be the mother she’d never be allowed to be and just hold her little one.

It was odd feeling disappointed when the entire flight her child remained silent, aside from the occasional coo. Talia felt robbed of the opportunity to sooth a wailing child, something she would not be allowed to do with Damian. Instead, the baby went in and out of slumber with Talia keeping watch, focused on remembering every feature, every movement, every breath.

The clock wound down to the hour which she would be separated from one for her children for the foreseeable future as the flight came to an end. From that moment on, Talia would have to go unnoticed. There could be no more witnesses to her defiance if she hoped to be successful. Yet she knew that it would be easier said than done with a potential crying bomb in her arms.

Sneaking into the medical wing of the base was fortunately easy enough, admittedly it was one of the areas less protected. Assassins who landed themselves into one of these beds were considered to have failed, at least in part, and were underserving of protection aside from the required attention to keep them alive until they could prove their worth to the League once more. Meaning Lee’s small child was alone in the small nursery unprotected, perfect for allowing Talia to give her daughter a proper goodbye.

Walking up to the small none descript crib in the center of the room, Talia glanced down briefly at the wide-eyed baby, noticing instantly the little differences from her own. Born only hours earlier the girl was slightly smaller, her skin not quite as delicate of a color, her face void of her daughter’s beauty and her eye color blue, but already the signs of green within their depth.

Had she done this anywhere other than the League the exchange would have gone noticed, but as neither parent nor staff would have observed the baby long enough to tell the difference. In the end her eyes were blue, her hair was black, her skin was light, and the difference in size could be explain by normal infant growth; her child would be accepted with little to no question.

A pinch in her chest at the thought had Talia pulling her small bundle closer, the idea of another believing such perfection to be their own hurt. But the longer she stayed questioning her decision the bigger risk she ran of being caught. League babies were rarely watched, but their basic needs were always cared for. The wet nurse would be around soon and by then Talia would need to have been nothing more than a ghost.

With the ease of someone more practiced than her, Talia exchanged the blue blanket with the standard grey. She would keep the memento as the only proof of her daughter’s existence. Hours in the soft fleece, would ensure her smell would remain for at least a while to offer Talia some pleasant memories.

At the top of the crib was a single piece of paper, on it some of the basic information on the baby lying with in the crib. The name Bridgette bold and large causing Talia to scoff at the common name. Her daughter deserved one more regal and beautiful, with a uniqueness befitting of an Al Ghul. If given the choice she would have named her daughter Amari for the strength she would need to survive. In her head she played with the name the other girl with the choice of her own. Amarette sounded like a drink, not appropriate for her daughter. Brimari was ridiculous. Removing the A from her choice, she realized the letters would then match with Bruce’s mother’s name, Martha, to a point. Combining it with the ending of Bridgette, she arrived at Marinette. Upon muttering it aloud, she found it as beautiful as her daughter and the name seemed fitting as her eyes were as captivating and blue as the tranquil sea.

Taking the biggest risk of all, Talia removed the paper above the bed and changed the name to Marinette. It was likely to be questioned and may not stick but giving her daughter this one thing felt right.

Lifting her daughter from the crib, she placed her lips against her cheek, before resting their heads together. “I love you abna al-habib. Though I may never be able to prove that to you, it will remain a fact, always. Stay safe, train hard, and someday soon I will see you again.”

Kissing her head where they had just touched, she pulled away and placed her daughter into the crib. Even now the features she gained from her father were glaring and it hurt to know she was not only giving away a piece of herself but a piece of her beloved as well. The act not even guaranteeing her safety, giving her nothing more than a chance at life.

Blindly picking up Bridgette, she slowly turned from the crib. A soft whimper came from Marinette, but then nothing, Bridgette however gave a loud protest at being moved. Retreating from the base would be harder due to both a fussier baby and the emotional toll that came with leaving.

Risking one final glance at her baby, Talia closed the door slowly prolonging the moment as much as possible. When the door finally clicked shut, the room was basked in darkness and little Marinette laid silent for several minutes.

Eventually, as with all babies, the room’s lack of light, sound, and company bothered the sweet child, and her only recourse was to make noise in hopes to attract someone. The small protest akin to nothing more than a whimper gave way to wailing and tears. But as with all children of the League, even her brother, her cries went unanswered.

When the littlest set of lungs voice became hoarse, her screams returned to small spaced-out whines, and she slipped into an uneased slumber.

Little time had passed before hunger woke the sleeping child. Still effected by her previous screams, she could do nothing more than whimper. As luck would have it, it was time for the scheduled feeding and her new wet nurse came in.

Marinette looked up at the woman, who was slightly older than the other, her bright eyes trying to take in as much as possible.

“My oh my, I had forgotten just how beautiful your blue eyes were. Though I’ll admit I would have sworn them to be threatening green like your mother’s. Must have been a trick of the light… Well, let’s get you fed little one. Your father has returned and would like to meet you. I believe even he would be pleased to know what a beautiful baby he a hand in creating, and I believe I heard that you have been named.”

She looked down at the place card in the crib. “Marinette,” she tried the name out, “Marinette, what a unique, yet beautiful name, like the princess who bears it.”

Luck was on Talia’s side that Marinette had gained one of the only wet nurses who followed the letter of their rules to a T, but not the intended spirit. Yu Yan would as required leave her charges to cry, but should those tears fall during their time of feeding or other occasions when she was required, a soft voice could be heard if anyone listened closely enough soothing the troubled baby. Unlike her counterparts who would leave as soon as feedings were done, Yu Yan would act as if the feeding continued until she had a slumbering child in her arms. The weening would also take a little longer than it would for other nurses, but she was committed to her duty and would remain as ‘required.’ One rule she never broke however, true for the fifteen years this had been her assigned duty, she never fell in love with her charges.

Sure, she held strong affection towards her wards, loving their company and giving them some of the attention she knew the poor babies went without. But she knew where she was, this was the League, small children were seen as disposable. Only the best would survive to see even their teenage years. Loving her charges would break her when she learned of most of their inevitable fates. So, she gave each everything that she could for the eight months that they were her responsibility, everything but her heart.

It was a short distance between the nursery and their destination. The room which held Marinette’s pseudo-parents included the bare necessities, a bed, a small table, and a chair. Their opulence and the fact that they were alone signified their status within the League. Marinette did not look up from where she nestled against Yu Yan when they entered, but if she had she would have taken note of the two figures and the lack of warmth coming from them.

The man stood with his back to the door, looking out the small window which overlooked a piece of the Chinese countryside, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture rigid from years of training. A jagged scar disfigured a majority of the right side of his face, earned the one and only time he disappointed an Al Ghul. A scowl was present from the disappointment of his wife bearing him a daughter and not a son.

Legacies within the League were not borne from woman; they were created by men.

The woman sat in the bed still recovering from childbirth, pain medication was something the League did not believe in, so it would be some time before she found any relief. Significantly younger than her husband the pairing looked unlikely. She was gorgeous to a fault, especially with her unique Caucasian features blending beautifully with her Asian heritage, a prize to any man or woman. And that was all she was to General Lee, a prize that he took when he killed her father when she was only eighteen. In the years since she had done as she was asked to survive, and over time while there was no love between the two there was an understanding. One she had failed to hold up as she gave birth to a daughter, but as long as her beauty still captivated the General, she had time to rectify today’s failure.

Yu Yan moved to the middle of the room and bowed, waiting for however long it took to be recognized by the General. The wait was not long as Marinette’s little coo drew his attention away from the window and to the two who had entered the room. Yu Yan stood, but still did not speak as was expected.

With a single hand gesture, General Lee gave the wet nurse his audience. Bowing less deeply out of respect, Yu Yan began, “General Lee, may I present your daughter, Marinette.” With both hands she presented the small child, eliciting a small whimper from the baby.

“Her name is Bridgette,” Mrs. Lee sharply interjected.

Bowing deeper, the baby still extended towards her ‘father,’ Yu Yan addressed the mother. “Apologies, the card had the wrong name written on it. I will have that rectified swiftly.”

“Pfft,” the General finally moved towards the wet nurse, taking the baby and holding her robotically with no warmth. “Do not bother with something so trivial. Marinette is a name just as Bridgette, it does not matter what she is called.”

Ignoring the protest of his wife to his statement, he removed the part of the blanket that covered his believed daughter’s face.  Marinette eyes locked with his and he spent far longer than any would have suspected him to gazing into her tiny face. There was no softening to the gaze, no sudden warmth that radiated from his chest, in fact the expression he did have was what some would call calculating.

“Hmm,” he finally looked away and placed the bundle back into the wet nurse’s arms, “perhaps not a total loss. I dare say she will be more beautiful than her mother. If she can survive her training, she may buy us a lucrative marriage”

Throwing one last glance at the baby, he stalked towards the door prepared to continue his duties for the day. “The next time you shall not be forgiven for your failure to produce me a son, remember that.”

With those scathing words he slammed the door shut. A shocked Marinette began to cry out in uncertainty. It took only a little attention from Yu Yan to comfort the upset child. When her tears were dried, Yu Yan moved to hand the baby to her mother, but a single hand raised dismissively halted the action.

“Do not bother bringing her. Fulfil your duties and only bring her when my husband calls.”

The exchange in the room was not uncommon within the League, but it still hurt Yu Yan to see innocent children so easily dismissed and thought of nothing more than pawns. It was why she was determined to show as much affection to the only things that still had innocence left within the League.

Chapter Text

The ability of Damian to remain walking swiftly and silently beside his grandfather, in a uniform that looked more like a clanky dress-up piece than practical, was a feat impressive even to Talia. A requirement, however, if he wished to remain standing. For it had been a long while since her father had been in the presence of a small child.

The excuse that a behavior could not be expected from a child of a certain age would be just that, an excuse. In the League excuses were punished, none worse than those given by Ra’s Al Ghul. By some miracle three-year-old Damian had come to realize this, or his constitution was calmer and more subdued than most children, either way she was grateful. Watching her son punished for things that were outside the control of a three-year-old pained her, and she wished so many times over she could go back and stop herself from ever drugging Bruce.

Ra’s Al Ghul came to stand at his personal railing that looked out at the training field. Below morning exercise had commenced and rows of men and few women dressed in black silently went through their paces. Damian came to stand beside his grandfather, mimicking his posture to the best of his ability. The sight should have warmed Talia, but it made the hair on the back of her neck stand.

From an early age, Talia understood that her ultimate role as one of the daughters of Ra’s Al Ghul was to marry to make alliances that her fathered deemed necessary. A role she was ready to fulfil to appease her father and bring honor to the family. While Nyssa continued to be betrothed while alliances shifted and eventual marriages ended with her husbands’ death, rumored by her own hands, Talia remained unpromised. As the older sister it felt like an insult to her reputation, she felt superior to her sister in every way except for perhaps the lack of madness, which Ra’s seemed to sadly appreciate within Nyssa.

The fact pushed Talia to prove herself more, so her father would finally allow her the opportunity to fulfill the role she was expected to at birth. It was not until the appearance of her father’s new apprentice, Bruce Wayne, that she finally understood. The night of her engagement, all of the questions she ever asked about her father’s motives for not promising her to others were finally answered.

Talia’s marriage would not be arranged for an alliance, her father intended her betrothed to be his legacy, his heir. To ensure none could question his heir, he would need to be married into the family and have his right to the throne secured when they produce legitimate blood heirs. In the end her father was giving her to the man he deemed to be the best, the worthiest. The bonus was she had fallen in love with the man who was set to be her husband. Nothing seemed more perfect, more ideal, like she had been blessed by the fates with everything she never thought she could have. All tied together in a beautiful bow, the package exactly what her father and she wanted.

Up until her husband left and she had not conceived. Ra’s had been angry at the man and promised his retribution one day, and it took more time than she would like to admit for him to forgive her for failing to produce a child. It had led her down the dark path that ended with her seducing her beloved, drugging him and at the precipice of their coupling stealing his essence. For she would never be deemed worthy by her father is she could not produce a legitimate heir. And seeing how in the League marriage was literally till death do they part, she felt stuck and jumped at the solution no matter how morally corrupt it was.

Talia had been confident in her choices, at least in regard to her son, up to the day he was brought to the temple for the ceremony that officially recognized him as the heir at eighteen months. That day the reality of what she was sacrificing her child for came at her like a tidal wave. Since then, the regret for her actions had only increased. Firstly, because she had yet to gaze upon her daughter since her birth. Secondly, because every day that passed her son became more and more the perfect Arabic replica of his father.

At only four he was as handsome as her beloved, retaining only her skin tone and eyes as he grew. The almond shape of them matching what she remembered of his sister’s, reminding her of her princess’ absence daily. But the way he stood now was too rigid, too superior to ever be confused for Bruce’s and that bothered her. Mostly, because who he was emulating was someone she had come to realize should not be worshipped or admired, as she had for the majority of her life.

Sadly, despite this realization the reality was she was stuck. Her father would never allow Damian to leave, and she could never leave Damian alone with him.

“Look out there Damian and tell me what you see.” Talia glanced over her son’s shoulder trying to find the answer her father would expect.

The small tilt in her son’s head allowed him to look at her briefly before surveying the field below them. “Army,” he responded quite insightfully for someone so young.

“Hmm.” The answer clearly not what her father had been looking for. Ra’s turned to pace behind his grandson. “Look again, you have just scraped at the surface of what you are looking at. Tell me what you…are looking at.”

Talia watched as Damian’s eyebrows pinched searching for the answer that would appease his grandfather. She wondered if Damian would suffer the same fate as she and Nyssa in the fact that no answer could truly satisfy the man.

“Training of my future army.” He answered proudly, his little chest puffing out. Confident that he had found what Ra’s was looking for.

“Yes, Damian. As Heir to the Demon everything that is mine will one day be yours. These men will one day be yours, but they will have years of training on you. How will earn their respect and loyalty?”

“By being better.” The statement was made as if it were already true.

“Yes, but it must be from today. Men will not respect you if you are only better when you take my throne. From the day you entered Nanda Parabat everyone has been looking at you and judging your worth. From the mere maid to my top Generals, everyone will be questioning if they are better, more worthy of your position. Waiting for an opening to take the role you were born for. There must never be a time where they find you lacking and susceptible to test, not today, especially not tomorrow.”

For once Damian’s shoulders dropped in the presence of his grandfather, the weight of the words incomprehensible to someone so young, yet his behavior suggested he might comprehend. Talia hated her father in that moment for putting so much pressure on her son, so she hated herself for giving Damian to him to begin with.

“I have named you my heir and in so doing I have placed a target on your back. For as long as I have been alive there have always been those who thought they could challenge me. Others who thought themselves worthy of being named my successor. None of those men have ever crossed my mind as candidates, not until your father. He would have risen to be more than even me, but he chose to walk away. You are gifted with my blood and his. Without even lifting a finger you are superior to every man who has ever walked into my compound. Your duty from this day forward Damian, is to make sure that everyone knows it. Do you understand?”

Damian turned away from the sight below and placed his hands behind his back as he came to look up at his grandfather. One of few who were granted permission to gaze upon the Demon and not see the end of a sword.

“Yes, Grandfather. I do have one question.” Talia held her breath, unsure what question Damian could possibly have. Wondering if it would anger Ra’s like so many of his earlier questions.

Saying nothing, Ra’s eyebrow rose slightly giving Damian permission to continue.

“Why have an heir when you are immortal thanks to the Lazarus Pits? Will I ever succeed you when you can live forever?”

Talia glanced over at her father curious of the answer as well. The response that she had gained as both a child and adult never changed despite the fact she always felt that there was no truth behind it. ‘No Empire is secure as long as there is a question of the heir,’ plagued both her and Nyssa as they both had felt themselves worthy despite their sex and because it seemed contrived.

“Death comes for every one Damian, even to those who have found ways to delay it. Now go with your mother, you have training to begin.” A sign of being dismissed, Talia placed her hand on her son’s shoulder and pulled him away from his grandfather as Damian was clearly not satisfied with his answer.

Leaving her son to tutors during the time she had free killed her, but there was immense pressure around him to be successful, from no one more so than her father. Time with her son was fixed, it needed to be so he could excel at his lessons. While it was true that he surpassed children of his own age, the pressure would never let up. If he ever came to reach the bar for which his grandfather placed for him, Ra’s Al Ghul would only raise it. The reality something she’d known before his creation but hoped to be able to help alleviate. Thus far she had been failing that objective.

The strides following behind her were barely auditable, but the ceremonial boots were heavy and despite all that Damian was capable of at his young age, his muscles could only develop so fast. Strength would be his greatest weakness for the foreseeable future, and it would take hard work to make up for it in the eyes of Ra’s.

As they reached the door to Damian’s private tutoring quarters, Talia failed to hear the small patter of her child’s feet. She turned and noticed Damian had paused outside her personal chambers. Adorably his small brows were pinched, clearly lost in thoughts. The cause of which likely her father’s words, whose meaning would register on a basic level but would take time and experience to truly understand the connotations of.

“Mother,” his voice cracked with a hint of hesitance and a personal desire for understanding.

“Yes, beloved.”

“If my father was the perfect heir, why did he leave?”

The air was knocked out of Talia, and she felt more vulnerable than she ever had in her life. The subject of Damian’s father was taboo to all except Ra’s. Even between her and her son the topic was rarely voiced, for she felt if open Damian would one day be able to see her darkest secrets and shame.

Looking at the door which his language tutor currently resided, she made her decision quickly and came to move past Damian and open her quarters. With a lightly placed hand to his shoulder she moved him past the threshold and over to her couch.

As he did for her father Damian waited for his mother to speak; knowing pressuring her would not change the results of what she wished to say or in this case not to. In a rare moment of shown affection Talia grabbed his hand and placed it in hers, resting them both on her lap.

“Your father came here in search for a way to seek justice for your grandparents. They had died when he was young, and he had felt that those with power to help him find justice were corrupt or powerless. He needed a way to right that wrong to prevent others from suffering the same. When he came to us your father was a decent warrior, trained far better than most that come within the fold outside of their early teenage years. His travels had afforded him the ability to find masters who could teach him well beyond that of a classical dojo. Still, he was nowhere near the level that would have normally caught your grandfather’s eyes.”

Damian sat enraptured by her words, clearly starved for information on his father and Talia felt guilty for having been the cause for a lack of it.

“Yet there was something,” likely his money and name went unsaid, “that he saw within your father. A determination unlike in the others that came to the League. His purpose was to serve others and not just himself. A characteristic that is required for one to lead successfully and you must share this ideal with both your father and grandfather if you plan to reign successfully.”

Lies, she had learned early that her father only served himself, even the little ecoterrorism they dappled in was done for Ra’s Al Ghul’s selfish desires. But it was something she hoped that she could instill in her son, a trait that he could share with his father, if only she propped it as something shared with Ra’s as well.

“In the span of a few months, your father had accomplished more than any before. He’d become a true challenger to your grandfather and thus a worthy heir. I cannot express how pleased I was when our betrothal was announced. Our wedding day will always be one of the happiest of my life. In his time at the temple, I had come to respect and love your father and I like to believe that at some point in our marriage he had felt the same.”

“Then why did he leave?” The hurt in Damian’s expression was unable to be restrained, and had they not been in Talia’s private quarters she would have had to admonished him for the display of emotion. With the sensitivity of the topic to both Damian and her, she allowed him this one moment of vulnerability without reprimand.

“In the end our love was not enough. He still felt bound to the need for justice, and it was a duty that he placed above our marriage.”

“Wouldn’t grandfather let him get this justice and then return when he finished. Then you would not be separated, and father could assist in my training.” There was an eagerness in his voice, like the plan was sound and if someone just suggested it there might be a chance of it being fulfilled even now, years later.

Talia smiled sadly at her son, squeezing his hand just enough that the spark of hope within him died. “Ultimately, what had him leave was his disagreement with your grandfather. You are not wrong in the fact that Ra’s would have allowed your father to fulfil his duty. In fact, I believe it was planned for him to return to his life once his training had been completed. But your father and mine disagreed with the methods used to obtain the justice your father sought. In the end there was no way to reach a compromise as each stood firm, and your father walked away from the League.”

“Grandfather let him?”

Talia could not help the small noise that passed her lips, sounding something like a sardonic laugh she would deny had occurred. “No. Not really, but at that point your father was the only person who posed a true challenge to your grandfather, and he has a type of power that your grandfather does not.”

“What is that?”

“Power out of the shadows as well as within, making him your grandfather’s greatest foe. But because he respects him,” and had failed to stop him, “he has let your father be. As long as your grandfather remains unchallenged by him, so it will likely remain.”

Damian was processing her words, his little face scrunching in a way that looked like he had tasted something unpleasant. “Father did not love us enough to take us with him when he left Nanda Parabat?”

Talia squeezed his hand hoping it was reassuring, but not being used to giving nor receiving such a gesture she couldn’t be sure. “The story I just told you happened many years before you were conceived. I would have never been allowed to leave with your father and he never made it seem like he wanted me to.”

The reality of those words always hit Talia hard. Bruce had left one night in silence, no discussion asking her to come, no letter saying goodbye. She had to quickly touch below her eye to stop the lone tear that left it, crying was a weakness not even her son could observe.

“He did not leave you ‘athir, you were the result of a single night shared between us after he had left. He does not even know of your existence, and it must remain that way.”

“Why?”

“Because he would want you.” Damian looked hopeful, a desire for the words that she said to be true. “And he would do everything in his power to get you. That is something that your grandfather would not allow. In the end to protect the three people I love most in the world you must remain a secret from him.”

His innocent face scrunched as he tried to process the meaning. The day had been filled with words Damian could understand but whose meaning were beyond an almost five-year-old. If Bruce came to know of Damian, he would likely also come to find out about Marinette. Then he would likely stop at nothing to save them from the League.

Talia would never admit it aloud, but it was something that she wished could happen. The four years of watching Damian be prepared for the role her father had created for him, had tested her loyalties to the League and found it gone. She only remained now in order to protect her son and daughter. Yet offering them to Bruce and having him take them away would have her father end the truce between them. Then everyone she loved could become collateral damage to Ra’s rage.

“Who is my father?” was the last question asked before he left for his lessons.

Talia replied with the only answer that she could, “That is a story for another day.”

Chapter Text

Part of the large temple Marinette stood in front of seemed carved into the mountain it resided. The tips of the large pagodas were covered in snow, the same as the mountain tops behind them, making the two blend almost seamlessly together. Upon entering, Marinette instantly proclaimed the place her father had called Nanda Parabat to be the most beautiful place she’d ever been.

The feat not hard to accomplish as she had known very few places. Since her birth she had been confined mostly to her room and then to the installation where the other children of high officials were trained. She vaguely remembered the base in China she was born at, though she was confident that there was very little for her to remember, as she had not been given free reign or really any movement at all. The compound where she stayed with the other children was made from cinderblock walls with windows that allowed sunlight but required a person to be at least six feet tall to see out of. The training field was no different with a soiled top and four large walls surrounding it. There was no hope for further exposure until they were taken on their first training missions.

Those missions however didn’t start until they had two years of physical training under their belt. For her that should have been very soon, but she did not trust they would be willing to take a five-year-old on missions. Marinette was significantly younger than her peers having started training earlier than the others. While the fact did nothing to affect her skills in comparison to her cohort, the League was nothing short of sticklers when it came to their on-the-spot rules. Until they relented, she was resigned to have to paint the pictures in her mind of the world based on the stories described by her caregiver, Yu Yan.

That was what she thought to be the case until her father and several other elite members collected their children from the compound and brought them here. During that time Marinette was able to see an array of landscapes from the air as they traveled; across lush green countryside’s, over storybook villages isolated away from major cities, before arriving at their destination that was nestled within an expansive mountain range.

From the landing strip, the families were loaded inside trucks with canvas covers, greatly diminishing her ability to view the surrounding world. Luck was on her side as she was fortunate to be sitting near a small tear in the canvas that she wiggled apart with her fingers so she could still enjoy the new wonders. The sights she saw were enough to have her aching for paper and pencil, wishing to capture the many things that caught her eyes so she could remember them when her world became tan once more.

Walking through the halls of Nanda Parabat she continued to absorb the different beauties that met her. The opulence of her parents’ chambers had a lasting impression on her, but it did not compare to here. The amount of time and money that was required to complete the temple was evident in even the smallest details. Marinette wondered if those who lived in such a place took it for granted or stood in amazement of its wonders daily.

“General Lee,” a man wearing a traditional outfit of the League signifying a similar rank to her father, bowed his head once they were within speaking distance.

Marinette stood several paces behind her father as was expected, her head bowed down in reverence to the two men in front of her. From the corner of her eye, she was just able to notice a small boy of similar age behind the other man, doing the same.

“General Ababio, I must admit I am surprised to see you have brought your son. What a fine boy you have, perhaps a little green for what Lady Talia has in mind.” Her father sneered when he said the word ‘boy,’ making it evident that the compliment was not intended as such.

In reply, the other general chuckled once before the side of his mouth lifted into a mocking grin. “We do not all have wives who will happily part with their children when they are so young to begin training. Though now looking upon your child I can see why. Jealousy is a wicked trait, but I imagine it close to impossible for your ex-wife to have not been with a child such as yours. Your daughter is a beauty even at a young age, it must bring you comfort to know that it will at least bring her a good match…if she survives.”

Marinette wasn’t sure what the man meant but she was confident that it was meant as an insult. The click of her father’s tongue confirmed it. She wasn’t surprised, children of the League were accessories to their parents. Their accomplishment or failures were not only theirs but their parents as well. Just by being born a female her value to her father was lower than the boy behind General Ababio, which was the reason she strived to never bring any further shame upon her father. He didn’t care for her as it was, no need for him to dislike her more.

“When the time comes, we expect a very auspicious match, not only due to her beauty but skills. I am sure by the end of her training she may well exceed the abilities of Lady Shiva.”

It was one of the only times that Marinette heard her father compliment her, but she knew it was for show. He had to build her up to the other general, doing otherwise would reflect poorly on him. Fortunately, nothing he had said had yet to be false. It was statements she had heard her tutors say when they thought she was not listening. When they knew they had her ears, they would only speak of her failures and inadequacies.

“Is that why you have brought your daughter here? In hopes that she is selected. Despite the almost non-existent chance of Lady Talia choosing a female to train alongside the heir?”

“I am a servant to the League and must therefore follow all orders. Including the one where Lady Talia requested all children, below the age of eight to be present for selection. Regardless, Marinette being selected may not be so farfetched. Her accomplishments are rivaled by none despite her unfortunate sex. Her tutors report back regularly on her progress, she is excelling beyond her cohort even those who hold many years over her. As is, I doubt another would pose even half as much of a challenge to the heir, which I believe to be at the forefront of Lady Talia’s considerations...As you’ve said, my daughter will no doubt be the recipient of a fine match.”

“Are you suggesting that is the intention of this search by Lady Talia and therefore the Demon’s. Why call upon all children?”

“I do not presume to know all of Lady Talia’s intentions, I am only left to speculate and perhaps see things they have yet to.” Marinette could hear the smugness rolling off her father’s tongue.

Apparently the other general had no response, moving away from her father without further words. As he came to align with her, she noticed his pause. Without being able to see them, she felt his eyes upon her, the act causing a shiver to crawl down her spine.

Chancing a glance as his son passed, they locked eyes and now that Marinette could see him more clearly, she noticed that he was slightly younger than her. He gave her a look akin to pity, while Marinette’s face remained emotionless. Inside she felt the sympathy that he had given to her directed back at him. By his father’s words he had been protected up to now from what the League truly was, she hated to think of the lessons he would learn soon enough.

As soon as General Ababio was a good distance from them, a man dressed in attire that designated him as a lower ranking assassin approached. He bowed deeply to her father. “General Lee, your quarters have been prepared. If you follow me, I will take you to them.”

The general nodded his head once. “Do you know when my daughter is set to meet Lady Talia?”

“I believe Lady Talia has slated her last.”

From the tick in her father’s jaw, Marinette knew that he was contemplating the information he’d just been given. “Does there seem to be an order that the children are seeing her?”

“As far as I can tell, she has all of the boys going from oldest to youngest, followed by the few girls. I assume age descending as well.”

Marinette just caught her father looking back at her in enough time to lower her head. “Is there a place for the children?”

“Yes, General. There is room that has been set up for them to spend the night. Most have been sent there while they await their turn, others have remained in their parent’s quarters.”

“Hmm, have someone direct her there. Be sure that someone comes to collect me well before her time.” The servant snapped his fingers and a young woman came from the shadows motioning for Marinette to follow. Bowing to her father she moved to follow without comment.

The woman led Marinette through the maze of hallways that made Nanda Parabat until they were in a part that no longer looked as luxurious as where she’d been with her father. Eventually they stopped in front of a door where loud conversation could be heard. The woman opened the wooden door, bowing slightly as Marinette slipped through.

The room was filled with several children, mostly boys, who Marinette was familiar with. Many belonging to her cohort and a few from the older one within the training compound. There were also others around the same age as her that she did not know. She figured they, like General Ababio’s son, were still with their parents as they awaited to officially begin training when they reached the age of six. Her father had been given an exemption to begin training her at the age of three.

To someone not familiar with the League they may come upon the room and believe the children to be mimicking the behavior of their parents. From the way they postured themselves against each other, sizing up the competition and trying to appear superior in comparison to the person next to them, was not common for children. While that person would be correct in believing it to be similar to the behavior demonstrated by their parents, they would be wrong in believing them to only be mimicking.

One of the very first lessons these children learn, is their worth is always being measured, and they must appear to be better or at least on par with those standing beside them. Therefore, even at the young age of six or seven they portrayed themselves as superior by choosing not to associate with those deemed to be beneath them, such as lower ranking ninjas and servants. While also ensuring they stand firmly beside those deemed their equals and radiating their superior rank.

It was a practice that bothered Marinette as she did not believe that birth made one better than another. Naturally some possessed skills and attributes that came effortlessly, but they had to be refined through practice regardless. A person’s general nature and the way they interacted with others, were what she thought should be used to measure a person’s worth.

Truth be told Marinette thought little of most of her peers, they had yet to prove themselves superior to anyone, yet they acted as if they were. She found her caregiver, who was deemed to be far below her status, to be the best person she knew.

Instead of engaging in the practice she detested, Marinette moved to stand in a corner of the room choosing to observe instead of interacting. To do so, she tried to act as unassuming as possible within the crowd. It was a lesson bestowed by Yu Yan at an early age and one that continued to prove useful as she navigated through her schooling. Observing the behavior of people tended to tell her more about them than listening to them spout off on their own perceived accolades.

Using this method to learn about her cohort had come in handy many times. They still underestimated her in many ways, but she didn’t mind, it must be humbling for them to fail unexpectedly when they went up against her.

From her current position she was able to catch a boy around her age doing the same as her. He was keeping to himself on the opposite corner, the difference though was his posture told of his belief of being superior to everyone in the room. Admittedly he accomplished the look far more successfully than their counterparts. Whereas the others looked like children putting on their parents clothing where the outfit clearly didn’t fit, this boy looked like he had taken the clothing and tailored them perfectly to fit him.

Without an audience she would have kicked herself when the boy noticed her staring. It felt like a failure of her training, self-imposed, but still. She was surprised when the boy took it as an invitation to approach. Already having been caught, Marinette allowed her eyes to follow him as he glid across the room, his movements unnaturally perfect that it had to be practiced.

“If you wish to not be seen, you should not be caught staring.” His statement was said curtly, making her bristle slightly despite knowing his critique was fair.

“You interested me,” was all she could manage as she felt his gaze bore into her.

“Explain.”

Marinette’s nose scrunched, for some reason she knew that he would be able to tell if she was lying, so only the truth would suffice. The extent was up for debate.

“You are different than the others in this room.”

“You noticed.”

The response was a statement and not a question, confirming that he truly believed his superiority over others. The way he held himself made it evident, but she wasn’t sure what he had accomplished that would make it so. He was not one of the boys she recognized from the compound, and she doubted by his age that he would have been on any training missions yet to accomplish anything more than she had. Yet, something about him made her believe he might be.

“Yes, I guess I did. But I’m still not sure if it’s a good thing.” From the small frown that increased from her assertion she could tell that he was not pleased.

“It is neither a good thing nor a bad thing. It just is.”

Marinette couldn’t help but laugh a little at the level of sincerity the statement was made with. When he refused to budge, she shut her mouth and looked at him as if he were about to dole out one of the Leagues infamous punishments. “Sorry, I didn’t think you were serious.”

“Did anything I do or say, lead you to believe that.”  

“I—um—you,” left speechless from the boy’s intensity she could only shake her head in the negative. His gaze looked her up and down in a way that left her feeling exposed.

“Tt,” The boy released a long sigh, “You are different as well. You try to hide that you are better than the others instead of proclaiming it as fact.”

“Do not.” Marinette protested unsure if she didn’t like the insinuation that she hid something or that she thought herself better than the others.

“You do…but do not worry such simpletons will not notice.”

“What is a simpleton?”

Turing away from her so that they both stood with the rest of the room open to them he widely gestured to those within it. “Them.”

Not exactly answering her question where she now understood the definition, she feared inquiring further would have him labeling her the same. For reasons she could not explain, she liked the fact that this boy did not put her in the same category as the rest of the children in the room. That there was something common between them despite so much being different.

Without any more to share, the boy moved away from her and continued to stroll around the room. No one approached him and he happily kept to himself observing the occupants. But where she strived to go unnoticed, especially having previously been caught, he preened when others saw him watching.

One by one those in the room disappeared before returning sometime later. When they reappeared, they seemed a little bit angrier and not as sure as they were upon exiting. Eventually it was Marinette’s turn, obvious to her when her father appeared in front of the door.

Moving towards him silently, she felt the boy’s eyes follow her. Not sure why she did it, when her father turned his back, she looked back at the boy and straight into his eyes. Her posture and smirk gave her message away clearly, no intimidation, no discomfort, just three words she knew he received when he smirked back, ’til next time.

When she returned to following her father, she noticed that he had stopped and was looking right at her. Her smile dropped immediately, and she winced prepared for the lesson she would likely be receiving. The General surprised her however when his hand did not raise, instead he turned and continued walking.

“When you are with Lady Talia, do not forget your place. If you disappoint me, do not plan on returning. Am I understood?”

Marinette wasn’t sure that she did understand. There was no way that she was interpreting his words correctly. Yet she replied with the only answer that would be accepted, “yes.”

After several passages, which Marinette strived to remember for later, they arrived at their destination when her father stopped in front of a set of double doors where two elite assassins stood.

Her father turned to her one last time and lifted her chin so that she could see his mouth as he said his next words. “Being chosen is an honor, Marinette. Do what you must to make sure that honor is given to me.”

Marinette nodded, “yes father,” before he signaled for the guards to open the doors.

The exposed room was unlike any that Marinette had seen before. The furniture was beautiful and sleek. A different styling than could be found in her father’s apartment, which could only be described as ostentatious. But what truly made the room so impressive was the large open-air arches that were used to frame the mountain scape behind them.

Marinette just barely stopped herself from running straight over to the balcony that stood beyond those arches and look at the beauty before her. But doing so would be disrespectful and likely get herself in more trouble than she would be able to get out of.

As it was, she knew she had been looking too long when she turned away from the scene to take in the rest of the room and noticed a single woman sitting on a couch with its back to a large fire. The woman was gorgeous and with the fire around her she seemed dangerous. Marinette was not afraid however, for the expression on the woman’s face could only be described as warm as she surveyed the child before her.

“Would you like a better view of the mountains, little one?” Her voice was like velvet, so smooth and inviting, as she addressed Marinette in Mandarian.

She should have felt embarrassed at being so obvious with her attention, or lack thereof, but she worried that she might not get another chance to view such a landscape if she did not take the opportunity when presented. “Please,” Marinette replied in perfect Arabic.

The woman smiled and Marinette found it easy to return before she was shooed away in a friendly manner. Stepping onto the fairly sized balcony was like stepping into a cooler. The fire was clearly heating the large room far better than Marinette had anticipated. But the cold was quickly forgotten as she became overwhelmed with the beauty before her. From this view Marinette was able to look down into the valley and see a large turquoise lake at the base. The image of the temple was reflected back and if she squinted hard enough, Marinette convinced herself that she could be picked out within the reflection.

“Beautiful, is it not?” Marinette jumped and faced the woman from the couch. Either she had been completely silent, or Marinette had been too captivated by the view to hear her approach.

Bowing her head, she assumed she was the person her father expected her to impress. “Yes, Lady Talia.”

“Not as beautiful as you are, of course. What a fine young lady you have become.”

Marinette blushed, she couldn’t put a finger on the reason, but the compliment seemed genuine with no malice or motives behind it.

The darkening of her cheeks seemed to please her ladyship as she smiled down at Marinette. The warmth coming from her was unexpected, from the way that her father and others had talked about her, as well as the reaction from the other children, made it seem that she was not known for pleasantries nor kindness.

“I wish I had some paper and pencil so I could draw it. I fear when I return, I will not be able to remember it as it is.” The words were blurted from her mouth so quickly Marinette immediately lifted her hands to cover her embarrassment at the sudden departure of her brain.

Talia chuckled and looked out toward the mountain, saving the young girl from further mortification. “My son also likes to draw. It is something that you have in common.”

Marinette wasn’t sure how to respond, so she came to stand beside the lady at the stone railing and continued to look upon the landscape. They both stood in silence for some time and Marinette used it as an opportunity to pick up on even more than she had the first time. The colors before her were more vibrant and plentiful than any she had ever seen before. Below were a variety of greens, purples, reds; the sky which she knew to be the same from the compound, appeared a more pleasant shade of blue when gazed next to the blues, purples, and starch white from the mountains. Even the browns in the dirt seemed richer than the dust that lined the training field of the compound.

She failed to realize just how lost she had become until she caught Lady Talia in the corner of her eye. She did not look at her directly, as she knew that was forbidden, but she could still tell that she was being gazed upon with a fond smile.

It shook her from her reprieve realizing that she had once again made a mistake, she doubted she would get a third. She turned sharply and bowed to the daughter of their leader, hoping that she would be forgiven for her transgression and that maybe she would be nice enough not to tell the general.

As her hand rose, Marinette tensed, her body preparing for the lashing that did not come. Instead, Talia’s hand found her shoulder and the other her chin, lifting it to where she could look upon her face. “Come Marinette, let us go sit by the fire so we may talk.”

In the two years which Marinette had been training to become an assassin, she had never had a test like this. She was confident that she was already failing, and yet Lady Talia continued as if it were expected. Everyone had been calling this an interview and yet Marinette had only been asked two questions so far and none of them had been what her father had prepared her for.

Lady Talia went to sit on the couch once more, she patted the seat beside her for Marinette to occupy. Sitting, Talia turned her body towards her and placed her hands around Marinette’s much smaller ones.

The act was what Marinette would describe as affectionate and yet she knew from experience that such things were not welcomed in the League. Briefly she wondered if this was the test and if she should retract her hands quickly and dismiss the affection. Two things prevented her from doing so. The first being that if it were a test she would just as likely fail for disrespecting an Al Ghul by removing her hand when she had initiated the contact. The second and one she could never admit out loud was she welcomed the affection, the positive physical contact. It felt like what she imagined love would feel like had she ever known it.

The warmth radiating from the woman’s hands bled through her whole body, bringing her temperature back up more than the fire behind them had. It was something Marinette had never felt before.

In the few minutes of interaction with Lady Talia, she had felt like the woman had given her everything she’d ever been denied. And though it was likely a trick and a test, she’d rather accept it now and get to know the feeling of being cared for just once, then rebuke it and never know the feeling at all. It might end up with her in isolation for a week when she returns to the compound for failing this test, but it would be worth it, as living in the compound was a form of isolation in itself.

“Tell me about yourself.” Lady Talia’s hand lightly tapped her own; an energy that screamed excitement radiating from her.

As a result, poor Marinette’s anxiety began to grow. The question seemed so easy and counter to what she’d thought this would be. “Like what, milady?”

“Everything.” Lady Talia smiled reassuringly, but all it did was cause Marinette’s internal panic to spike, again.

“I’m sorry Lady Talia; I’m not sure I understand.”

Talia looked at her for a second before seeming to understand Marinette’s confusion. “Let’s try beginning with what do you like to do?”

“I go to my lessons every day. I particularly like the language courses; I’ve mastered three languages so far in spoken language and reading and writing in two of those. I am also excelling at acrobatics?” Marinette tried her hardest to appear as was expected but she found she could not hide the uncertainty on her face.

“No, no.” Talia wiped away Marinette’s words with a repeated swish of her hand. “What do you like to do that is not required of you, like drawing?”

“Lady Talia?”

Panic was now a steady state of being for Marinette; this was not what her father had prepared her for. She expected to have to talk about the various classes she was in. How well she was performing. How she was able to best some of her teachers in puzzles. Or even how she’d managed to illude several of her cohort when they had targeted her for punishment when she continued to score higher than them on the tests.

Not questions that were more akin to getting to know someone.

“Do not worry, this is not a test that you can fail. I only wish to get to know you better. The person that I pick to be Damian’s companion must be compatible. It would be no good if they are forever at odds. Therefore, I must get to know you at a more personal level. You understand?”

“Yes, milady.” Scrunching her nose, she took a second to look at the ceiling of the ornate room to formulate a better answer. “I like to draw. I do truly enjoy the acrobatic lessons; were starting work on the beam soon. On occasion they bring puzzles, not the ones I had as a baby with different shaped pieces, but word problems where you have to think about the answer or use things to assist you. I find those to be a challenge, but I have yet to be bested by one. I also quite enjoy when my caretaker tells me stories about places I have yet to see, she paints the world so beautifully with her words. I’ve been training for two years so I should be allowed on missions soon and see it all for myself. But I think they will say I’m too young. Which is probably true. If they brought me, I would likely do something that would cause the mission to fail and then they would leave me there. That would be horrible, but then maybe I could see more of the world before I could be able to find my way back…”

Lady Talia hummed in response to Marinette’s rambling, but it sounded pleasant and not condescending, even as Marinette began to slow her words having realized her mistake. “How about your younger years?”

“What would you like to know?”

“As much as you would like to tell me.”

Marinette answered none of it in her head, but just like the last question she knew that answer would not satisfy Lady Talia. “I don’t honestly remember much. My mother died when I was three. I don’t really remember her at all…nothing really, just her death.” Lady Talia smiled which confused Marinette, even within the League she didn’t imagine it a common reaction upon hearing someone’s mother had died. “Umm…Father had me sent to the training compound a few days after that and I’ve been training ever since.”

The answer felt lack luster even to Marinette, but there truly wasn’t anything much to say. Her childhood hadn’t been eventful or happy. She spent a majority of what she remembered in a room by herself with Yu Yan coming in and telling her stories when her other duties didn’t call her away. Since then, she had trained with the other children, one of many to the tutors. What little free time they had she would spend working on improving her acrobatics, drawing where no one else could notice, or listening to the stories that Yu Yan still shared as she had joined Marinette at the training compound. When it was lights out, she went to sleep, because the morning came early, and you never wanted to be caught breaking curfew or too tired to train.

“Were you happy?”

Marinette knew the answer, but she dared not say it. Lady Talia was looking at her with so much hope, like her own happiness hung in the balance based on Marinette’s answer. “I had things that could make me happy.”

Marinette began to pick at the cuticle of her nail, trying to hide the fact that while the answer was truthful it did not answer the question. She had a person, Yu Yan, it was only when she interacted with her old wet nurse that she could even taste what happiness could be.

Lady Talia’s hand squeeze Marinette’s causing the young girl to raise her head and look into her eyes. There was far too much softness in her expression and all Marinette wanted to do was throw herself into the woman’s arms and be wrapped in her warm embrace. This was the League however and such acts were not tolerated, so she simply took the warmth from the expression and continued to look at the woman whose actions had felt more motherlike than any Marinette had ever experienced.

Letting go, Talia grabbed for the goblet of wine that sat at the small table beside the couch. She played with the stem for a few seconds before taking a sip.

“Marinette, I find that I cannot lie to you. Your honesty deserves the same. Nanda Parabat will not be better than the training compound. As Damian’s companion you will have even more expectations than you did there and more so because you are a girl and not the heir. You will train with the best to become the best, someone who can proudly stand beside the Heir to the Demon.”

Marinette tilted her head, intrigued by Lady Talia’s words. Was she suggesting what would happen if she were selected or that the decision had already been made?

“I know that you’ve likely thought yourself judged for everything that you’ve done, but it will not compare to how people look at you here. They will see you as someone who has their future leader’s ear and resent you for it. They would like to see you fail and try to ensure you do. It will be hard, and I wish that I could spare you from it.”

Marinette wasn’t sure that she completely understood what Lady Talia meant, but she thought maybe she accomplished what her father had demanded.  “Does that mean that I will be your son’s companion?”

“Yes. You made the choice extremely easy…There are however two rules that I must ask that you follow while you are here. The first…what occurs in my chambers is to never be shared with anyone, not even my father—” her eyes drilled into Marinettes, reflecting her seriousness, “—especially not him. You will find some rules are broken in here that if discovered would put you and Damian in danger.”

Marinette wondered if it had to do with her affectionate nature but didn’t inquire. “Yes, Lady Talia. The second?”

“Ensure that you keep your head down around Ra’s Al Ghul. Never allow him to see your face, the results could be disastrous for everyone.”

Chapter Text

“Again!” their trainer growled after they failed to perform the advanced move they were being instructed on, yet again.

The inability to perform the move was not so much their lack of form or power, but their size. Something neither could change, nor seem to counter at the moment. The captain did not care; just another failure to add to the growing list he would report back to Damian’s mother at the end of the training. As with most list reported back it would be unfairly biased against his partner.

Hearing his mother had chosen a female to act as his companion, all of Nanda Parabat had been confused. All knew of Ra’s belief in the inferiority of the female sex. It was one of the few sentiments that Damian found he could not share with his grandfather. How could he when the only women he interacted with on a regular basis were his mother, Nyssa and his companion. They proved to be superior to all men, except Ra’s and at no point had he ever thought them weaker, less intelligent, or any less able than their male counterparts. They were not always capable of meeting the same feats of men in such areas as say strength, but they still managed to accomplish the desired outcome using different skills and assets. Not to mention, his mother and Nyssa were two of the most notorious assassins throughout the League, how could they accomplish such a feat if their sex was so inferior?

In a way he too had chosen Marinette the same day as his mother. From across a crowded room filled with what was supposed to represent the best in the League, she stood out. Since that day, as they’ve trained, she’s proven more and more how women were not inferior to men and that his mother had truly made the best choice in selecting her. In fact, as children, the differences between the sexes one might come to expect had yet to manifest. Currently, it could be easily said they were equals in most respects, she was his superior in others, and only just behind in a few.

Regardless of those facts, their failures, whether it be something outside of their control or either of their fault, all fell at her feet.

“Captain Rasgado, with our height there is little chance that we can use that move to get up the fifteen-foot wall. With us both being just shy of four feet, the ten-foot wall would still provide a challenge and display our ability to execute the move more effectively.”

Marinette was of course correct; Damian had come to the same conclusion only moments before. Yet for her to voice the obvious failure of Captain Rasgado to recognize this or ignore it, would not be looked favorably upon.

“Tell you what Marinette. If you two execute it perfectly to get over the ten-foot wall and then somehow get over the twenty, then I won’t break your hand so tomorrow we can practice wall climbing while injured.”

Damian saw Marinette shrink in on herself slightly at his threat. They both knew firsthand if they failed, Rasgado would not hesitate to do exactly as he threatened. It would not be the first time that physical punishments of such extremes were manipulated into a lesson the following day, only for the lesson to be worse than the punishment itself.

Marinette turned and with a renewed determination after seeing Damian’s concern, marched right up next to him. A slight smirk settled on her lips meaning she had a plan to make the captain even angrier.

“Why would you do that?” Damian snarled low enough that Rasgado could not hear him. “You know he will break your hand if we fail.”

Marinette merely shrugged off his concern. “We were not going to be able to accomplish what he wanted. A punishment was imminent regardless. Besides I don’t believe for a second that the idea of breaking my hand came out of nowhere, it was likely my punishment for failure either way.”

“Mother would never have allowed it,” Damian stated firmly. But as Rasgado was one of the strongest supporters of woman being inferior to men, he took sick pleasure in ensuring that Marinette knew it.

The side of Marinette’s face turned up slightly in bitterness. “Your mother only has a say with your punishments. Rasgado would break my hand and then ask for forgiveness if your mother did not approve. It’s not the first time he has done similar, I doubt it will be the last.”

Damian growled, “Rasgado would be punished for breaking your bone.”

Marinette rolled her eyes, a skill she had learned from his mother. “I am not you. Your mother’s hands are tied in what she can do to support me. Punishing Rasgado for what the League would see as a teachable moment would be seen as favoritism.”

Damian relented, knowing this to be an argument he could not win. For it was true, no one would dare to cause injury to Damian on purpose, doing so would bring the ire of his mother and his grandfather. Training accidents were expected, but for Marinette, injuries used to assist with lessons were often the forte of their trainers. In public his mother could not do nor say anything about it, but that would not prevent her wrath from being known in private.

It should have made him jealous that his mother shared her affection with someone who was not of his blood, but the truth was Marinette was sibling in all but name. In a single year they had been training together Damian found his soul mate, not romantically but platonically. There was a connection between the pair that couldn’t be explained, and he easily came to love her. In all the world there was nothing he loved more, not even his mother or grandfather. Yet just like his mother, those feelings were confined to their private quarters, so none could use her against him or vice versa. No more so, than Ra’s Al Ghul.

“Besides,” Marinette continued, “now we have a chance of actually accomplishing something.”

“Tt. We now only have one chance.”

“Only need one now that we face a wall we can hope to pass.”

“Would you two quit talking and perform. At this point your enemy would know where you are and have cut you into tiny pieces to be dropped in front of the Demon’s throne.” Rasgado stormed up to the pair, annoyed that they seemed to be stalling their inevitable failure.

“It would require them to best us first.” Damian preened, knowing his skill with the katana was akin to a masters, even only at six-years-old.

“Do I need to demonstrate my point,” Rasgado growled threateningly.

“Tt. It would only stand to demonstrate my own. There is a reason you teach this and not iadido.” Damian felt immense satisfaction watching Rasgado’s face grow a violent shade of scarlet, but he was unable to enjoy the moment for long.

“Time to go before he breaks your hand.” Marinette whispered as she pulled Damian over to the wall and away from the growing conflict.

The pair had practiced the move enough times that they worked in perfect synchronization to execute it as intended over the ten-foot wall with no words needed. Unlike the last few attempts, Marinette was perfectly launched up to the top edge of the concrete wall. From there she braced her legs to lower her body as much as possible to catch a leaping Damian, who used the wall to increase the height of his ascension. With barely an inch to spare, their hands made contact, and both worked to heave Damian up beside her.

“Told you we would get it.” Marinette humbly bragged.

“Tt, still have to manage the other wall.” Damian reminded her with a scowl, unsure if they could do so when the fifteen-foot wall had bested them all morning.

“No problem,” she smiled with a brightness that should have been stomped out by the League long ago. “His only requirement was we ‘somehow’ get over it.”

With practiced ease the two scaled down the wall and approached their second foe. Unlike other walls they practiced on, this one did not have a corner they could push off of to parkour up in no time. The point of today’s lesson was to use a partner in order to scale larger walls when such conveniences were unavailable. In all honesty, without a grappling hook or something similar there was little chance of the two making it to the top. Damian knew however that nothing would stop Marinette from figuring out a way, especially when she was determined to prove someone wrong. He respected her for it, and she rarely failed.

Watching her carefully, he noticed her scrunch her nose in concentration. The one tell despite all their training she had been unable to get rid of. The moment a plan had formulated in her mind became evident when she trailed her eyes over him, and a new confidence rested in her shoulders.

“Remove your clothing, including your boots.”

“Excuse me.” He looked at her incredulously, who was she to order him in such a fashion, and to order such a thing.

Placing her hand on her hip, she flipped her palm out, ready for him to dispose his clothing onto it. “Did I stutter,” she threw into his face, missing the usual heat he would have said the words with. “Hurry before dismemberment is threatened again.”

When his hands finally moved to begin removing his clothing as instructed, her own followed suit. In a matter of seconds, they were both down to the inner garments of their robes. She quickly tied the discarded clothing together to create a rope, finishing it with their shoes bunched at the ends.

“Original,” Damian remarked, refusing to sound impressed at her quick thinking.

“Doesn’t need to be. Besides, I did not see you offering a better solution.” She smirked knowing that if he had one, he would have voiced it long before.

Looking at the rope that she had created, Damian knew that there were several feet missing. There was no need to voice this concern as she was likely well aware of the shortcoming and had a solution she had yet to share. His answer came when she pulled the two tantos they carried on themselves at all times from the place they had laid them while removing their clothing.

One of the tantos was launched without preamble towards the top of the wall, embedding a foot or so below the edge. A second later, she had the fabric rope tied off the second tantos and fixed a good seven feet below the first. The end of the rope and their boots dragged the floor by a few feet.

“Ready to climb?” She gestured for Damian to take the lead position, clearly not willing to waste further time explaining her plan for them to be able to clear the distance between the two swords.

Having master the art of climbing ropes of many forms, the climb up was both quick and efficient. Just as he was about to run out of clothing she pulled on his foot, signaling him to stop. As he glanced down below, he saw her swinging the length of the rope they had traveled like a lasso. With a flick of her wrist the rope led by their boots flew past his head and up the seven feet of distance between them and the second tanto. From the strength of her throw, the boots spun around the sword several times before coming to a complete stop.

With the simple gesture of lifting his eyebrow he let her know that he was impressed with her method before he continued his climb to the top. The second half of their climb was done more carefully to avoid the fabric rubbing against the blade. Before he knew it, they were both sitting over the edge of the wall.

“Can’t they give us a challenge one of these days?” she asked as Damian came to sit beside her, looking rightfully smug.

“I believe that was what the first exercise of the day was intended to be.” Damian responded.

“No, that was impossible. It was no challenge to simply manipulate the captain into changing the parameters so that we could do it.” Marinette stated to Damian as if it were the obvious solution to every problem they would ever come to face.

Unlike the ten-foot wall they could easily scale down, the pair went to the side where there was a ladder, to descend. Captain Rasgado waited for them at the top platform, no doubt to critique their work. Damian passed him first, to which the man pursed his lips but did nothing more to acknowledge the two children’s accomplishments. When Damian looked up and noticed Marinette coming beside the man, he couldn’t help the feeling of dread trickle down his back as he noticed the predatory gaze Rasgado was giving her.

“Never again question my orders.” A final declaration before the villain ripped Marinette’s hands from the ladder causing her to fall backwards. Damian watched in horror, as if caught in slow motion, Marinette’s body hurled down to the ground. Her face went through a mixture of emotions landing on acceptance before her body collided with the dirt. The sickening crunch of her back felt like the only sound within a hundred yards of them.

Moving his hands and feet to the outside of the ladder, Damian pressed his body close to it so he could slide as quickly as possible to the ground below. Upon his feet making contact, he sprinted forward the few inches needed to crouch down beside Marinette, finding her body unmoving and her eyes looking straight up into the sky.

“Marinette,” he breathed just above a pained whisper. His hand quickly reaching out to find her pulse point.

As if his hands were electric shock paddle that jolted her heart, she blinked quickly and took in a deep breath. Relief quickly overwhelmed him but was replaced once more with panic when she attempted to move.

“No! Don’t move! You likely broke your back.”

A single tear fell from her eyes as she stilled her movements. “It hurts Damian.”

“I know Ukht.” He whispered into her ear, trying to offer comfort without Rasgado becoming aware. “Just don’t move until a medic gets here.”

From behind, Damian felt the dead man finally descending the last few rungs of the ladder. Taking his time to approach the child injured by his own hands, his shadow showed a relaxed and haughty attitude that angered Damian more.

Sick of how members of the League treated Marinette he turned on him like a hungry wolf spying its next meal. Equal parts disgust, anger, sadness and perhaps a hint of madness looked back at the older assassin. “Go get a medic and my mother now!” Damian ordered. Articulating every single word clearly so that there would be no misunderstanding.

“I do not take orders from you?” Rasgado threw back, not noticing that his position as instructor had disappeared to the duo the moment his hands touched Marinette.

Damian stood to his full height, his body perfectly mimicking the pose he had watched and studied more times than he would care to admit. The result was an exact replica of Ra’s Al Ghul. “I am Heir to the Demon. If you do not wish to see your head staked at the end of my katana, do as I tell you. Now!”

Recognizing the shift in power dynamic Rasgado left the training field quickly. When he returned with Talia and a medic, Damian was still beside Marinette, holding her hand to be the anchor she needed as words were not his forte.

Normally the medic would appear calm and collected as they examined their patient’s injuries, but with two Al Ghul’s heavily breathing down her neck the woman looked frantic. “Where does it hurt.”

“My back,” Marinette breathed through clinched teeth. The tremor in her voice being the only thing that betrayed the pain she was in.

The medic snapped her fingers above her head and two men raced forward with a stretcher between them. “Good. Good,” was all she said as she moved away from Marinette to allow the men to collect her.

Damian unpleased by her response, placed himself squarely in the medic’s face. Despite being only six years old and just reaching four feet, the sight before the medic was no less menacing than seeing a man over six feet doing the same.

“Good? Please explain to me how any of this is good?” The venom laced words felt as deadly as a viper’s.

“Damian,” Talia hissed, her warning unheeded as Damian did not budge.

The medic choked on her spit as she tried to talk again. “Th-th-the presence of pain decreases the likelihood of her being paralyzed by the fall.”

“The fall could have paralyzed her?” Damian growled as he spun around and set his sights on Rasgado once more. If such power were possible, the man would have disintegrated into ash before Damian’s feet.

As it was not, Damian decided to use his bare hands as he lunged towards the significantly older and stronger man. Steady arms caught him before he was able to wrap his hands around the man’s neck. A familiar voice fought to break through the haze of fury that fueled Damian’s actions.

“Control yourself,” the voice said loud enough for those present to hear. “Your actions threaten her with more harm than good,” the same voice sharply whispered into his ear.

It took several moments for his anger to subside enough for him to regain control, even more for his breath to grow steady. Captain Rasgado was luckily a smart man and knew to remove himself from the vicinity. Lest Damian lose control of his wrath once again, or Talia’s own to no longer be quieted.

Marinette was lifted and moved in the direction of the medical ward. Damian’s intention to follow was stopped by his mother’s firm grip on his shoulder. Without words she moved in the opposite direction towards the wing with their personal quarters. Talia didn’t need to say anything for Damian to understand they were heading towards her chambers so they could have a private conversation that would likely include scolding of his behavior.

It pained him to know that showing concern or anger for the mistreatment Marinette received could hurt her worse than her injury. Already she received harsher treatment than any other in the League due to her status as his peer, but without the blood to protect her. When the time came for his grandfather to leave the throne, Damian already knew there would be no one other than her, who he’d allow to stand to his right. If that time arrived sooner rather than later, Damian would assure that those such as Rasgado, who treated her as lesser due to their jealousy and their personal inferiority, would suffer a fate worse than anything they could have imagined putting her through.

Ignoring him, for the moment, Talia moved across her room to sit at the table and chairs where she took her tea. The remnants of a once hot pot sat abandoned in the middle of the table, and he knew the conversation would not begin until it had been replaced to prevent them from being interrupted. In the meantime, she sat with her body facing forward but her head resting on her hand looking out onto the mountain scape beyond her window. The scene, a favorite of Marinette’s.

As was expected of Talia’s servants the tea was replaced quickly, yet it still took a minute for his mother to look at him from across the table. “Before I ask what happened, you need to know that your behavior cannot be tolerated.”

“But—”

“No Damian, you must never lose your temper. At all times rationality must prevail. Especially when it involves Marinette.”

“Mother—”

“No, Damian. As the heir such behavior reflects poorly. If your grandfather is informed of what transpired your punishment and hers will no doubt be worse. Not to mention the implications your outburst could have for Marinette in the future. You put on full display your attachment to her.”

“I’m sick of it.” Damian growled; Talia surprisingly waited patiently for him to continue. “Marinette gets hurt either way. Whether I show concern or not. Rasgado and others attack her regardless, then face no consequences for their behavior. They too act based on emotions; jealousy, insecurity, embarrassment and yet unlike me they face no recourse.”

Talia released a deep breath, closing her eyes briefly as she collected herself. Familiar with the argument, as it was one she had with herself more times than she cared to admit. “Tell me what happened.”

“She knew that Rasgado gave us an impossible task and asked for him to change the limits. He relented but added another difficult task.”

Talia remained quiet as Damian took a second to collect himself, his anger swelling as he remembered the events.

“We were able to execute the move expertly and with Marinette’s brilliance we were able to scale the second wall without difficulty. Rasgado was mad Marinette had bested the challenge and was remised of the opportunity to break her hand as he had threatened to do if we failed.”

Talia’s jaw threatened to break from the tension, leaving Damian feeling vindicated for his own emotions and past outburst.

“When she moved to descend from the top of the wall Rasgado pulled her from the ladder.”

The story Rasgado spun when he had collected his mother was clearly nothing close to the truth. Across from him Talia’s anger spiked and the teacup she had been holding shattered in her grasp. Still, she said nothing, Damian however was now on the quest for answers.

“Why does she do it? I know that she said something so that I would escape punishment from our inevitable failure. The punishment would have been nothing like a broken hand—at least for me,” Damian added more to himself. Thinking back to Marinette’s comment on Rasgado’s threatened punishment sounding prepared.

“There are several things that are working against her. The first being she is a girl. The second…as individuals you will both accomplish many great things. Together you will accomplish the impossible. That scares them as they will look like hills against mountains…Once training has ended, they will be powerless to stop you both.”

This was not news to Damian; he had thought the same. First about himself, then growing to their partnership over the last year. Daily he proved to everyone how he would rise to be better than those before him, everything that his grandfather had wanted in an heir. With Marinette by his side, he could already claim to have accomplished that feat.

No one could defeat, overpower, standup against them as long as they stood together.

“Thirdly, and something you need to remember even in the future, the heir cannot fail. In training, you face consequences for your failures so you may learn. Once done however, admitting that you have failed at something or lack somewhere, can result in it being used as a weakness to be exploited against you by those that wish to gain power. Any failures of yours will need to be shifted so you can survive. As Marinette is the closest to you, others will pin the fault to her.”

Damian’s anger shifted to his mother. “I will not allow that to happen to Marinette. I refuse to let her be used as my scape goat. Right now, I may be powerless to stop it, but that will not be true forever.”

Talia smiled; it was obvious that Damian had misunderstood her meaning. “I am glad to hear you say such things. But…we both know how she has a predisposition towards assigning guilt for failures solely upon herself. Plus, with her proclivity towards taking the burden of other’s and carrying them herself… she will be an easy target for others.”

“Mother, she put the target on herself today and it could have led to her being paralyzed. If things continue as they are, she will get herself killed, without others doing it for her.”

Talia hesitated to answer, narrowing her eyes as she considered her words carefully. “In only a few minutes of seeing Marinette, I knew instantly that she would struggle in the League. She is too pure. She craves affection both to give and receive. When she loves, it is with her whole heart and being. These are things that are detrimental here, things that the League tries to stomp out. Yet, six years later they are still ever present.”

“Why would you choose her as my companion then, putting her at risk knowing these things about her?”

“Perhaps one day I will tell you.” With a single look Damian knew the topic was dismissed, another secret kept from him. “All we can do is take on some of the burdens she strives to take upon herself and do so without her being aware. I will continue to protect her as I can. But the best way we can guarantee she safe, is ensuring you do not have another episode like today.”

Damian nodded once, not needing to say anything more, he already knew that he needed to do better. Words would not protect Marinette, anger physically manifested would be redirected towards her. No, he needed to find his retribution in ways that none would see coming and ensure that it couldn’t be trace back to him, nor Marinette.

A soft knock interrupted the mother and son, prompting Talia to beckon whoever was at the door to enter. The medic from the field entered the room swiftly. The fact that she appeared in better spirits than she had earlier, Damian assumed she had good news to share.

With a simple bow in his mother’s direction, she waited to be acknowledged before addressing the room. Across from him he could tell that his mother looked as anxious as he felt, only noticeable from the small glimmer of hope found hidden in the depths of her stare.

His mother didn’t speak, fearful likely of placing too much desperation in her tone for good news. Instead, she used her hand to gesture for the woman to begin.

“Milady, the child will be fine. The girl has escaped with nothing more than bruises. It will likely be many days before the pain completely subsides, but there is nothing wrong with her bones or similar.”

Nodding her head once in reply, Talia dismissed the medic.

“Mother, I know for a fact that her clavicle was broken. I could see it under her skin.”

“I ordered the x-ray machine to be used, if anything was broken, they would have noticed.” Talia released another long sigh, rubbing her temples against an oncoming headache. “With this prognosis, she will be expected to return to training tomorrow without delay. Watch out for her, but do not interject.”

Damian recognized the end of their conversation and got up quickly to head towards the door.

“Damian?”

He paused and turned to look back into the room. “Yes, Mother.”

“You must remember, to love within the League it must be done from the shadows…no matter what.”

Chapter Text

To the right-hand side of one of the most dangerous men in the world stood his equally dangerous daughter. Outwardly, she appeared calm, collected, as was expected of an elite member of the League of Assassins. Inwardly, her head was racing a mile a minute with all the scenarios of how the day could go wrong. Her stomach was a kaleidoscope of butterflies she focused on quieting to prevent the expulsion of her breakfast. Her skin tingled with anticipation as her mind called for both fight and flight before circumstances required a decision for either.

Around the room were the key members of the League, some of the deadliest men and women in the world. Each granted power on the behest of the Demon, so his hand could have a constant presence throughout the world. Today, those men were to watch their future leader and his companion, demonstrate their progress in training by completing the Al-Nahai Trial.

The Al-Nahai or Ultimate Trial was the final test for them to demonstrate all they had been taught before they were sent on their first mission to earn the right to be called assassin and officially become a member of the League of Assassins.

The turmoil within her was not caused by the fact most neophytes did not attempt the trial until they were adults. Not even those born into the League did it so young, yet Talia’s children would be doing so at seven. No, Talia had condensed their basic training to fill less than two years and her children had excelled. Hindered only by the physical constraints of someone just over the age of seven, but able to compensate for their shortcomings with creativity and determination.

It was also not due to the fact those neophytes had the advantage of few knowing of the trials taking place. Marinette and Damian would not be walking onto a base that was unaware of their arrival, instead they would be entering a compound on high alert with the best trained assassins prepared to ensure their trial an epic failure. No, Talia was confident in her children’s abilities, she had a hand in preparing them and as a pair there was no comparison. Her children would make her proud and put every naysayer to shame.

Not even the fact that out in the congregation walked General Lee, a man she personally loathed. His head tilted higher than usual, if possible, like Talia, he appeared arrogant. While this demonstration was for the heir, his ‘daughter’s’ performance was also being evaluated by those present. Which is how she knew his attitude was an act, for unlike her, Marinette’s performance would be carried by him. Father to the heir’s companion had earned him power, success today could earn him more, failure could have him lose it all.  

The man bowed before her father, returning to standing a few seconds later while his head remained bent.

“We have heard great things of your daughter, General Lee.” The lie came from his lips convincingly, Ra’s had taken no interest in Marinette, not even her name. “Let us hope she does you proud.”

Bowing again before speaking, General Lee crossed his arm over his chest in the sign of respect towards Ra’s. “Malik, like your two daughters, Marinette is one of the few testaments to her sex. She will do the League proud”

“Well said. You may stand behind Nyssa so you may observe the trial. Today will be a day I am sure none will soon forget.”

There it was. The issue that had Talia on edge. It was not the event and its circumstances, but two key spectators, Ra’s Al Ghul and Nyssa Al Ghul.

As far as Talia was aware, her father had yet to observe Marinette. He monitored Damian’s progress not through observation of the training, but solo demonstration within the throne room. This trial would be the first time he truly observed his granddaughter. For obvious reasons it had Talia waiting on edge for something to go wrong.

While Talia was certain Ra’s attention would be focused on Damian’s performance, she was also certain the Marinette’s abilities would garner some examination as well. If not from the Demon Head himself, at least from the person standing to his left upon the dais, her sister Nyssa. As a fellow woman, Nyssa was not bias to sex, and she would observe Marinette as much as she would anyone else. She would definitely recognize the greatness and potential within her daughter, as well as the magic Talia was certain she possessed.

Ra’s stood from his chair causing the room to grow silent, raising his goblet he called for a toast. “Today we witness greatness. My grandson, my heir, sets forth to take on the trial so many before him have. An expectation to be welcomed into the warm embrace of the League. Yet the fact remains, Damian and his companion will do this at only seven years old. Something none before them have done successfully nor in fact, attempted.”

The words sounded like a proud grandfather, bragging to those who would listen of the accomplishments of their grandchild in comparison to others. But the viewed trial was meant to cement Damian as a threat and worthy heir to the throne. Many who were currently looking up at the dais, where the three Al Ghuls stood, wished to be in their place or among their rank. Damian would demonstrate there would soon be a fourth to join the dais and when he did, Ra’s meant to use it as a promise that none would rise above, nor overpower the legacy of the Al Ghuls.

“Let the trial begin.” Raising his glass to those assembled before taking a sip of the burgundy liquid, Ra’s signaled at a guard, having all spectators turned to the projection of Talia’s children.

The Al-Nahai traditionally had the neophyte placed a minimum of ten miles from the given base. Most did not occur at Nanda Parabat so as to give a chance at success. Those who showed promise to rise within the ranks of the League, were offer the opportunity to try Nanda Parabat and dropped at the bottom of the valley the temple was nestled above. That particular trek was only ten miles, but up some of the most gruesome terrain as the straight and narrow path was heavily watched.

From there the neophyte was expected to enter the compound undetected, the ending objective different for each, so should they happen upon guards they did not have the advantage of knowing their end goal. Marinette and Damian were at a disadvantage in this regard, as all knew they were meant to end their trial in the throne room.

While the purpose of an assassin was to infiltrate and kill, doing so in a way they were nothing more than a ghost; no additional casualties other than the target, no evidence of their arrival, stay, or departure. If every neophyte was capable of doing so within a League compound it would speak poorly of their defenses and skills as well. So, it was expected the neophyte would not accomplish their goal unhindered. It was expected however, for them to overcome whatever odds they met. Doing so with only a wooden sword as their companion.

The footage at the bottom of the valley blinked in and out as the signal from the drone established a steady connection. Talia’s children looked small from the height the drone was forced to fly to prevent detection. Yet, even from the distance they looked like formidable, capable warriors, instead of the children they were. A confidence oozed from their very beings, they were taught to believe they were the best and so they had become.

The trek up the mountain became monotonous as the children failed to struggle. The assent with the proper tools and attire was long but not impossible. The task was meant to physically drain them before the real challenge began. Therefore few, Ra’s included, felt inclined to watch and the atmosphere within the room quickly became jovial as they turned away from the screen to partake in the libations provided. Ra’s used the opportunity to float amongst his top agents, checking on the status of their various operations. Many men came close to congratulate General Lee on his daughter, he preened in the spotlight much to Talia’s disgust. It was her daughter he was taking credit for, a daughter he had ignored for the majority of her life. What saved him from a fate similar to Rasgado was his lack of knowledge of the fact.

Attention returned to the screen when the children made it to the base of the temple. The first real challenge they would face would be scaling the wall undetected. There were a few places Talia could think of where they might find success, but with the two’s presence known those areas would be heavily watched. Something the siblings seemed to have caught onto as Damian pointed out the increased presence of assassins along vulnerable facets of the wall.

They stayed behind a series of bushes far enough away they would not be easily sighted as they surveyed the temple for places of weakness. Damian could just be made out through the drone’s camera talking as Marinette nodded. It was uncertain if a plan had been formed or if they needed a closer inspection when they began to move away from the front.

Both children’s head swiveled meticulously as they moved, trying to absorb as much information as possible without their movements going noticed. The moment something of interest was captured by Marinette was obvious as her head whipped back to the direction of the entrance, and she raced over to a bush to garner a better look. The chamber became quiet as if their silence would allow them to see or hear what the children could. While the drone hovered above their shoulder towards the temple, nothing seemed obvious. Damian quickly noticed his companion stopped and moved swiftly to avoid detection as he returned to her side. Her words were rushed and her hand movements quick but from the single nod by Damian and then matching mischievous smiles, a new plan had been conceived.

Damian’s head remained constantly scanning for guards as the pair moved towards the wall, specifically towards the front gate. Marinette’s hand remained steady on his back; small flinches told the viewers they were speaking in a silent code as she guided him blindly towards their destination.

“Do they truly think they will be able to walk through the front gate?” A voice spoke mockingly, likely unintended, from deep within the chambers. No one responded to his question.

Talia blinked in astonishment as their movements appeared to confirm the man’s assessment, that their plan was as simple and stupid. Yet, just as they were seconds from sneaking up to the gate undetected, they suddenly hugged the wall out of sight from the newly install cameras and drone.

The room remained quiet as they waited for the children to reappear on either of the two cameras surveying that particular section of the wall. The pilot of the drone seemed just as invested as they risked detection by flying closer to where the children seemingly disappeared. For several minutes, there was no sign of the children. The feed flew through the many temporarily installed cameras, something not usually present within the temple so as to not risk being hacked and the secrets within shared. Suddenly, a camera view popped on the screen with two small children before being flicked over to the next. It took a second for the operator to return the feed to that camera so all could see Marinette and Damian were now within the temple’s walls.

Somehow, her children had entered Nanda Parabat without climbing the wall or entering through the front door. From the looks of it, they were also no longer near the front but somewhere in the left side of the temple based on the furnishings.

In a whispered hiss so none aside from those on the dais could hear, Ra’s called forth a personal guard. “Find out how they entered.”

His anger was so encompassing it felt as if it were shaking the ground. Whether it was because of their success being so quick and rather anticlimactic, or the fact there was a glaring hole in temple security, even Talia could not be sure. Either way, someone would be paying for it. Woe be to them.

It became glaringly obvious as the children moved undetected through the temple that Marinette was deferring to Damian. For that, Talia was grateful. Ra’s would not look favorably on either child should it be seen otherwise.

Their progress once more became mundane even for Talia to watch, they did as they were trained, but it was like watching a silent film that was looping the same scene. Voices within the chamber once more began to fill the void and Ra’s became restless.

Talia’s anxiety at the situation spiked as Ra’s signaled to one of his guards. Whispering his order so no one could hear, she knew they would end the children’s good luck.

Speaking to no one in particular, Ra’s voice boomed through the hall to inform rather than announce. “Now that we have seen they are more than proficient at stealth, let us see how they do in a fight.”

Less than a minute later no more than twenty full fledge assassins rushed into the chamber the siblings were in, surrounding them completely. Instantly the two went back-to-back with their weapons at the ready as they prepared for the onslaught of assassins.

As if Ra’s suddenly snapped his finger, the twenty assassins all lunged into action at the same time. Her children worked like a well-oiled machine to combat the ambush. They succinctly took down those who approached before having to redirect their attention immediately to the next.

For one brief, but tense moment, it looked as if two would be overwhelmed when ten additional assassins happened upon the room. But a well-placed trap by Marinette had a dominoes effect that caused three of the assassins to fall upon their own swords, giving Damian breathing room to reclaim the upper hand.

After about ten minutes of the spectacle, the last assassin fell with a flourished swipe of Damian’s wooden blade across his chest. Per the rules of the trial only those with wounds to the chest remained down, no doubt making the task harder and the results of this battle impressive for any who would face it, especially for two so young.

Despite the fears that surfaced at the beginning of the battle and honestly remaining through it, Talia now stood proudly beside her father. While Bruce would not approve how they were trained or even what they would be expected to do next, he too would be proud of what they could accomplish. For a brief moment, the guilt for placing them here disappeared as they rose to the challenge beautifully and beyond expectation. None would ever be able to deny the heritage of her two children having now seen what they were capable of.

No more obstacles standing before their objective, Damian and Marinette strolled to the double doors the assembly waited behind. With no fanfare Damian waltzed inside, Marinette a few good paces behind with her head already lowered in reverence. As they walked forward towards the dais, those assembled recognized the moment for what it was, and lowered their own heads as they would for the Demon. Ra’s had once told Damian he must prove and earn respect early; he had unquestionably done so.

Applause echoed through the chamber as Ra’s stood, his own clapping drowned as the rest of the chamber quickly followed suit. All except for Nyssa whose gaze was affixed on Marinette. While Talia’s hands clapped together automatically, her focus remained on her sister as dread began to pool in the depths of her stomach.

Just before the dais, Damian came to bow before Ra’s. Marinette mimicking the action but several feet behind.

“Well done, Damian. I would like to see any of my generals pull such a feat. Side by side, you and I will bring the League of Assassins to heights that could only be dreamed of.”

Robotically those gathered clapped to the aspiring dream they both wished and feared. Most in the room were followers to a degree, happy to cling to others dreams and working proudly to accomplish them. Others were ambitious to a fault, craving power they did not possess. Those men were the ones that feared the rise of Damian and Marinette, as they would undoubtably stand in the way of them achieving said power.

Guiding Damian up from his kneeled position, Ra’s essentially dismissed his followers to their celebration of the heir’s success. Upon the dais Damian now took Ra’s right as Talia moved to take the left. Her sister was relegated to standing behind her, while Marinette took her position behind Damian.

One by one the members in the room approached the throne to congratulate both Damian and Ra’s on the heir’s performance. Of course, there was no mention of Marinette, but Talia was sure General Lee was slinking around somewhere coaxing praise for her performance. As it was well deserved, and none would be offered to the Demon, she found herself unbothered by the thought.

The evening winded down slowly, as the children left for their quarters and members seemed more focused on partaking in merriment than returning to their duties.  Admittedly such assemblies were rare, even more so when convened for celebration. Talia would have likely participated if not for the weight of Nyssa’s eyes firmly on her daughter through it. When Ra’s finally tired and rose to leave, Nyssa followed causing Talia to do the same.

When he finally arrived before his chamber’s door, he stopped shy of entering to acknowledge his daughters. When neither spoke, he placed his hands behind his back but refused to turn.

“Yes?”

Nyssa stepped forward to address him. “Father, I wish to speak to you about Marinette.”

Fortunately, Nyssa was in front of Talia and her father’s back was still turned as Talia composure flickered as her insides became a ball of anxiety.

Was it possible for Nyssa to see what others had failed to notice? For two years Marinette had grown within the temple and people failed to recognize the similarities between her and Damian, focused more on their differences. Marinette’s eyes as blue as the sea, hair a midnight black that like the night seemed almost blue, and her skin bordering porcelain despite its constant exposure to the sun. Features she gained strictly from her father, oppose to the same features having been inherited by Damian from Talia.

Other than Talia and Ra’s, no one was likely to remember Bruce, especially his appearance, other than Nyssa. Had she made the connection and was now going to use this as the ultimate tool against her older sister?

“Who?” Ra’s questioned, sounding rather bored. There was no doubt he knew exactly who Nyssa was talking about, her name had been mentioned too many times during the evening for it not to be the case. His pride however had him act as if she were of no consequence, because to him, she wasn’t.

“Damian’s companion.”

“Right, proceed.” Ra’s waved his hand still not turning to face either of his daughters, his indifference was one of a kind.

“I believe she has an affinity for magic, specifically healing.”

Ra’s immediately stopped moving forward and turned to face Nyssa. Unfortunately, her father tended to take a special interest in those who possessed healing abilities. Always looking for a solution to immortality, free from the tether of the pits which required proximity and a cost to one’s sanity. Thus far, those tested with a magical inclination towards healing, could speed healing and sometime heal what modern medicine could not, but it was never quick enough to shut the door to death should they come knocking.  

Ra’s turned from Nyssa and looked at Talia accusatorily. “Did you know?”

Did she know? She had suspicions, ones she refused to confirm in case of a moment like this. Marinette’s skin was flawless in comparison to Damian’s more scarred. The time her daughter appeared to have broken her clavicle when she had fallen from the ladder had to of been a trick of the light. Talia had ordered x-rays that showed nothing broken and no healer had been able to work their magic so quickly, thus it had to be concluded that Damian must have been mistaken. That is what she’d convinced herself of.

“Looking back, Marinette does have a tendency to recover from injuries faster than expected, but not in a way that would have drawn my suspicions.”

No, it was not how quick Marinette recovered that had drawn her attention to her daughter’s ability. It was the fact the injuries were never what was expected. A cut instead of a stab, a bruise instead of a broken bone, a simple headache instead of a concussion. It was possible her body healed the initial injury so quickly it never looked as bad when someone finally observed it.

Ra’s eyes narrowed slightly, looking for a sign of deception from his eldest daughter. As she was deceiving herself, she was able to dance around the truth and so there was nothing for him to find.

“With your permission I wish to test her,” Nyssa pushed, excitement dancing across her words.

Attuned to magical signatures, perhaps she saw what Talia refused to. As Marinette would not have gained a magical affinity from Bruce or her, it was likely she had gained it from the pink substance she had the mage create. It was too bad she had eliminated the mage responsible, so there was no chance to ask.

Willing to sacrifice a little bit of his time, Ra’s nodded his head once before taking the last few steps towards his chambers. Nyssa turned away from him with a victorious smile aimed towards Talia, the likes of which Talia was unsure to make of. The short exchange would have her believe Nyssa was merely interested in her healing abilities, but she wondered if this was a way for her younger sister to casually question Marinette’s lineage without an accusation that would backfire against her if wrong.

Placing her arm across her sister to prevent her movement, Talia addressed her father. “I will go collect her and bring her to your chambers Father.”

“Very well.” Talia was dismissed to her task as Ra’s and Nyssa, who maintained a wary eye on Talia, headed into his quarters.

Taking only the time needed to inhale sharply once, she dismissed her anxiety as she moved to her room. While they should be nestled in their own beds as their success had not freed them of tomorrows training, Talia had no doubt her children would be awaiting her in her chambers to discuss the day’s trial.

Upon opening her door, she was immediately met with Marinette dancing around the chambers, replaying the day’s events for her brother’s entertainment. Damian in turn sat on the couch watching the spectacle as if the performance irritated him, but the slight curve to his lips and his captured attention shattered the illusion to those who knew him.

“Yes Marinette, I do remember. I was there if you recall. Perhaps you should wait for Mother to arrive before you continue your performance, she might be more amused by your childish theatrics than I am.”

“We are children Damian. Don’t pretend you don’t love getting to watch me pretend to be you. It’s a nice long stroke to your ego.”

Damian scoffed, but his smile shone through just a little bit more. “Tt, I do not need my ego to be stroked. I know who I am, and what I am capable of. None of it equates to that of a mere child.”

“Doesn’t change the fact you are.” Marinette muttered, sticking out her tongue behind his back. The act usually would have had made Talia smile before having to reprimand her for behavior unbecoming of a member of the League. Then the behavior would continue in their private quarters regardless of Talia’s lectures, at least Marinette did not allow this side of her to be displayed in public.

A small knife was launched at Marinette by her son, missing by a decent distance having had no intention of hitting her in the first place. He rose to retrieve the weapon knowing Talia did not approve of unnecessary destruction to her chambers, and in so doing noticed the silent presence of his mother.

Standing straighter, he radiated the pride he felt with the day’s accomplishments. He looked to his mother hoping to receive some genuine praise. Not the boastful praise of his grandfather, or the artificial congratulations from his grandfather’s men. His hope was dashed when he noticed the tension radiating from her figure, something he rarely saw coming from his mother.

“Come Marinette.” Talia’s eyes flickered from her son’s over to her daughter, who had turned to greet her. Marinette looked to Damian but his expression remained unchanged and so she followed without question.

As the distance to her father’s chambers shortened, Talia began to feel like a prisoner being led to their execution. If something were to happen to Marinette it could very well be, as it would break her. So far, she had kept her safe, as much as possible in the League. But she should have known the first time her family viewed Marinette, more than the casual glance she was afforded in passing, they would see all the things she tried to hide. Meaning every precaution she had taken, including the five-year separation, had been for naught.

“Lady Talia, did I do something wrong?” Marinette’s voice was soft, a technique she had started to use to hide her anxiety, lest she fall into her habit of spiraling into rambling.

“No, Marinette.” Exhaling Talia turned to face her daughter, feeling the need to address her growing concern and therefore behavior, least it manifest in front of Nyssa and Ra’s only to seal her fate. “I need you to not ask questions. There isn’t enough time to explain, and I don’t think it would help…You’ve been summoned to my father’s quarters.”

Talia could see the increasing speed between the rise and fall of Marinette’s chest, reflecting the escalating concern and anxiety. Marinette had never been called for an audience with Ra’s Al Ghul, in fact Talia had warned her of the dangers of it.

“Please do not look into either my sisters or father’s faces. Pretend to do what Nyssa ask, fail if you must.” Talia wasn’t sure what comprised of Nyssa’s test, but she hoped Marinette would be able to throw it.

“…okay?” Marinette followed Talia’s order of not asking additional questions, but her confusion was evident.

Talia turned unable to give Marinette her answers. Swallowing her own fear, she continued to her father’s chambers, Marinette following a few feet behind her.

The doors opened to find Ra’s sitting in a chair and Nyssa standing behind him, waiting for Talia and Marinette as if they had been summoned to the throne room and not his private quarters. Taking her place to the left of Ra’s, Marinette followed Damian’s earlier example of first bowing and then kneeling before him. A few tense seconds followed as Ra’s studied the girl before him, trying to find what had interested his youngest daughter. Marinette’s more curious nature would have had her raising her head slightly to survey her surroundings, but she had listened to Talia, her eyes not diverting from the floor.

A flick of his wrist gave Nyssa permission to begin. “Father, as I have been trained to do, I instantly noticed a magical signature coming from Marinette. It is extremely unique, leading me to believe she may be meta.”

Ra’s studied Marinette closer, no doubt trying to pinpoint what kind of meta she might be.

“During the fight Marinette was cut across the forearm, nothing too concerning, but I noticed when I saw her in person the cut through her fabric had disappeared.” Nyssa stepped up to Talia’s daughter and pulled up the arm that had a torn sleeve. Moving the fabric back, she exposed unblemished, perfect skin.

Ra’s interest peeked and he quickly made his way from his seat to take hold of Marinette’s arm to observe the lack of injury himself. Nyssa pulled a dagger from her waist and without warning slashed at Marinette’s hand. Despite the act being unexpected, Marinette proved just how well trained she was, when she didn’t flinch or allow any sound to pass her lips. Before their very eyes the wound went through the healing process, it was not instantaneous like a simple snap of one’s finger, but it was obvious it would only take a minute or so for it to look like nothing had happened.

Nyssa turned from Marinette and bowed to Ra’s once more. “With your permission I would like to take her back with me to have her completely tested. From what I have seen she learns quickly and has exceled in what she is taught; I can only imagine if cultivated, what her magic may be capable of.”

“Father, Damian has been excelling with Marinette as his companion. It would take me at least a year to find a suitable replacement if it is even possible, as none of the other children are even close to her potential and skills. I firmly believe it would be detrimental to Damian’s own growth for Marinette to leave.”

Ra’s considered her words. “Yes, the two exceeded my expectations this evening. Even I was unsure if they would manage against the twenty assassins without sustaining severe injury. Which appears would not have mattered for Marinette, nor Damian as I would have granted use of the pit.”

Talia gritted her teeth together as her anger surged. Had they failed against the twenty which turned into thirty quickly, Ra’s would not hesitate to send Damian to use the Lazarus Pit. Using his failure as an opportunity to give Damian another lesson. The same treatment would not have been extended to Marinette; she would have been seen as collateral damage if she did not have her magic.

“It would take you a year to find a replacement?”

“Father?”

“Nyssa will take Marinette to have her tested and then begin her instruction if there is more to her than simple self-healing. During that time, Lady Shiva will be her private tutor to continue her combat training.”

“Father,” Talia struggled to keep the desperation out of her voice and prayed her punishment for continuing to question him would not be severe, “she is the perfect companion to Damian, she has already proven her usefulness here.”

“I agree.” Talia was shocked to hear her father agreed with her, what was his angle?

“Then why send her away?” Talia pushed, knowing that questioning Ra’s never had a happy ending.

“I admit when you first chose a girl to be Damian’s companion, I was disappointed in you Talia. Now I see the brilliance in it. You have secured him a worthy right hand assassin, without having to worry about her trying to gain power over him. A woman will never measure against the heir, and none of my men would support a woman’s attempt to coup against the heir or myself. If as Nyssa suggest, she has the potential to heal more than herself and can excel as she has here, she stands to be an even better companion to Damian in the future. If not, her personal healing could be useful in protecting my grandson.”

Ra’s looked to Nyssa, a glint in his eye, no doubt wondering if she had finally found him his powerful healer. From behind, Talia watched Marinette, looking for a sign of her feelings on the turn of events. Like the perfect member of the League, Marinette remained perfectly still with her eyes locked to the ground in the presence of the Demon, respectful, unafraid.

To an outside observer, Talia would look the same. But inside her hands longed to scratch at her chest as it threatened to burst. A year away with no protection. Marinette had become comfortable with Talia and Damian enough to share her true self. Talia embraced it, loved it about her daughter. But Nyssa and Lady Shiva, should they even catch wind of it would strive to destroy it. How could she hope to protect her daughter’s identity and most importantly, being, when she was being thrown into the lion’s den, half a world away?  

Chapter Text

Just managing to dodge the blade aimed for her head, Marinette angerly glared at her combat mentor. Over the last couple of months, the woman had made it her mission to test Marinette’s healing abilities. Having yet to find a weakness, her new tactic seemed to be testing if Marinette could come back from the dead. Something Lady Shiva had failed to do as of yet, and something Marinette was determined to avoid.

“Do not look so offended,” Lady Shiva smirked causing Marinette’s glare to intensify. “Do you truly believe your enemies will have reservation striking you in the head. No, not when it is one of the best ways to ensure death.”

“Of course not, Lady Shiva. Just as much as you should not expect me to smile at them for their efforts. Though…I supposed the question of whether I smile or sneer would be redundant as their aim would be better than your own and I might not be around to do either.”

Marinette wasn’t sure what it was about Lady Shiva that caused her to dislike her so, but she took pride in channeling her inner Damian when interacting. The result was always an increase in anger and frustration from Lady Shiva, before she would attack harder, faster, and stronger. Testing Marinette to the extremes which caused her to rise to the occasion by pushing harder, moving faster, and becoming stronger in return.

Lady Shiva struck out towards Marinette, her aim once again focused on her head, but the girl ensured there was a fair distance between them by jumping back. Using the end of her weapon, she blocked the knives thrown at her as she continued to dance around the yard as she evaded the wrathful assassin. 

“Come now, Marinette. Afraid what will happen if I get close? You must also be proficient in close range weapons; you never know what situations may arise.” Lady Shiva growled through her teeth, as her sword missed contact with Marinette as she just managed to dodge the swung weapon.

The katana was a weapon Marinette was very proficient with, despite Lady Shiva’s jabs. Two years of training with Damian had made her deadly with the weapon, perhaps not as much as Lady Shiva, as her weapon literally sucked the souls from her foes. Knowing her return to Nanda Parabat would have her resume training only with the sword, Marinette ensured she remained on top of her skills daily.

But, upon her arrival at the remote island, Lady Shiva had given her the liberty to determine her weapon of choice. Believing every assassin should be allowed the opportunity to develop their own calling card of sorts. With enthusiasm Marinette set out to choose the weapon that worked best for her. The katana and other swords were okay, but she did not like the close combat they constantly required. She much preferred to have range so she had the ability to manipulate her environment to assist. The bow, as a close-range weapon had too many limitations, as stabbing someone with an arrow in close combat had drawbacks. Throwing stars and knifes she was proficient with, her aim and abilities coming close to those of her mentor and daughter. But unlike her mentor’s daughter Cassandra, she didn’t get excited just holding them.

It wasn’t till her strategy class began looking at famed warrior groups throughout the world, that she found two groups who’d influence her to create a weapon of choice.

The first were the warriors known as the Amazons, from which the great Wonder Woman hailed. It was a great surprise Ra’s allowed them to be covered in the curriculum considering they were an all-female group, yet they were masters of almost every weapon designed by man. Yet, it was not their mortal weapons that fascinated Marinette. It was the Lasso of Truth, Wonder Woman’s weapon of choice aside from her sword. Of course, it’s magical properties made it unlike any other lasso or whip in existence, meaning the hope of mimicking its abilities were beyond Marinette…for now.

Trying to find out as much as possible on the lasso had led Marinette to a second group of warriors with the same name, the Amazons of South America. Those warriors also used a variety of weapons, but the one to catch her eye, was the bolas. Unlike the bow it could easily be used for close combat and range, but the mechanics made it somewhat limiting.

Not to be dissuaded, she used both as inspiration in crafting a weapon that had the duality she craved.  

It was unlike any the League had used before. A disadvantage, as she was left to train herself on how to use it effectively; resulting in plenty of opportunities within the first two or so weeks for Lady Shiva to test her healing powers. An advantage, as in a short time she had been able to develop effective ways to utilize her new weapon that had never been used before and therefore no one knew how to counter.

Lady Shiva and Lady Nyssa hated her use of the weapon, but having been the ones to encourage her finding it, they could only mock her for its use and not more traditional choices. On the other side, Master Chan had praised her creativity and skill. Apparently it was not as unique as she thought, as he had told her he’d seen a similar weapon used before in some ancient text. The group the text he referred to had disappeared long ago, so she was unable to confirm or hope to learn more about her new weapon.

“Lady Nyssa said little against my katana skills this morning,” Marinette shouted as she used her rope to pull her sword away from its intended target, throwing Lady Shiva with it.

The assassin quickly recovered from her abrupt change in direction before charging Marinette once more. “Your weapon is once again proving to be inadequate; we have been at this dance for too long and yet you have not been able to stop me. Eventually one of us will tire, giving the other an advantage. An assassin must be quick and efficient to prevent such things.”

Marinette rolled her eyes out of the woman’s view. When they had begun their spar the point of the exercise was to deflect, be on the defensive. Funny how her frustration caused a change in objective, an objective Lady Shiva had yet to reach herself. No matter to Marinette, she would easily work within the new parameters, now she knew them. “Yes, Lady Shiva.”

The older woman’s eyebrows twitched only briefly with her confusion at Marinette’s sudden acquiesce, before the rope whipped out of Marinette’s hands to wrap around the assassin’s legs. With a quick pull of the slack, the infamous assassin’s face met the ground. Covering the distance in a blink of an eye, Lady Shiva was hogged tied and incapacitated faster than one could say ‘yee haw.’

The daggers thrown in her direction were almost as sharp as an actual blade. Lady Shiva’s mission of finding a way to kill Marinette was likely revitalized by the embarrassing position she was now in. One of the top assassins within the League to be bested by an eight-year-old did not bode well. Marinette should have known better and refrained from taking her down in such an efficient way, but she tended to rise above and beyond when directly challenged.

Ready to face her punishment, Marinette released Lady Shiva from her rope confines. With the initial anger hidden, Lady Shiva came to stand in front of her with a look as if the outcome was expected. As happened any time Lady Shiva or Lady Nyssa put on this face to cover their own embarrassment, a shiver ran down Marinette’s spine in response.

The last time Marinette had seen the same face on Lady Nyssa after doing an offense she wasn’t aware of; she was forced to endure a fair amount of vomiting as her body worked to expel tea laced with deadly poison. The last time on Lady Shiva, her hand had almost been severed, not her fault Lady Shiva’s nose had met with the weighted end of her weapon causing the assassin to faulter in front of several of her men.

The older assassin cracked her neck and sighed heavily. “Go to you lesson with Master Chan, Lady Nyssa has continued to be disappointed with your progress in magic. I suggest you work to change it.”

Unable to argue the point because it was true, Marinette nodded her head once to acknowledge the comment before she bowed to leave. Certain that Lady Shiva noted the mocking head tilt and how her arms spaced away from her body in a way one sees in children’s stories about princes and princesses, she expected an eventual punishment. They came regardless of what she did, good or bad, and so she’d made it her personal mission to somewhat deserve them.  

Pain no longer held the same power as when she used to allow herself to be acutely aware of it because it meant an injury that needed to be protected from further damage. No, since she’d been made aware of what her body could do, with healing imminent and guaranteed, it was easier to ignore something so temporary as pain.

Such as in this instance when she felt the searing hot agony of a blade driven into her lower back. “One final lesson for today before you go…never turn your back to your opponent.”

A twist to the blade before it was withdrawn left a gaping wound where Marinette was sure her liver was. The darker blood on the assassin’s blade as she casually strolled past confirmed her theory. It appeared as if Lady Shiva would finally have the ability to check Nyssa’s hypothesis on Marinette’s ability to return to life, as black began to fill her vision before nothing.  

“Careful, you should make sure you are healed before you move.” The familiar voice greeted her when she regained consciousness and opened her eyes again to the cloudless sky. Turning her head to the right she saw the body to which the voice belonged, her only solace in this god forsaken place, Master Chan.

Once, she had been told Nanda Parabat would be like hell, but she had come to realize in comparison to here, it was paradise. Here she faced the same hatred as Nanda, with no one but Master Chan showing her any compassion, but he held no power to deter others from the extremes as Talia did.

“I guess Lady Nyssa’s theory on my ability to come back to life was correct,” Marinette said as she came to sit beside a crouched Master Chan.

“Still undetermined. You did not die.”

Her face whipped around to look at Master Chan incredulously. The darkness she had assumed to be a sign of her departure, that was what she always assumed it would be like anyways.

“I didn’t?”

“No, when you were late to our training, I came to collect you. I arrived just as Lady Shiva stabbed you and raced over to check. Your heart never stopped beating despite the fact you passed out from the blood loss. Lady Shiva remained close but left as soon as I had confirmed you hadn’t passed on. You should have, it was a fatal wound based on my experience, so perhaps it confirmed my theory. Short of removing a vital organ all together, you heal too quickly for any injury to be life threatening. Fortunately, testing that theory is out of the question as Ra’s would likely return the favor to whomever tried.”

“Master…why is it that a bruise can take a day to heal and yet I can instantly heal from being stabbed in the liver?”

Her mentor placed his finger on his chin as he pondered her question. He lifted it to the air when he settled upon his answer. “I believe your magic naturally adjusts based on the severity of your wound, a way for you to subconsciously hide your powers even from yourself. I believe with some training you might be able to consciously take more control of it. Which, now I think about it might prove useful. While the truth of your self-healing abilities is obviously known to the League, there might be an occasion you need to hinder the ability to—"

“Blend in to keep more people from learning of it. Yes, I know.” Since training with Master Chan, he made it very clear no one was to learn the extent of her powers.

“Let us go to the room so we may begin your training for the day.”

The training room happened to be Master Chan’s personal quarters. The room was as unique within the League as the man. Sparce, with his furniture limited to his sleeping mat, a desk with a chair and a dresser, it was the same basics of any League member. Were other members would have nothing adorning those pieces, Master Chan’s were littered with personal items. Each item had a unique story which Chan had shared only with Marinette; others believed the items to be things he gathered with magical properties he strived to explore. Such as a yellow hair pin which belonged to the love of his life, which he told others was a cursed piece of jewelry. Or his gramophone that he actually used only to play music but had convinced others could communicate with the dead. All of it reflective of the life he lived before he came and joined the League. Against the rules, as one was supposed to forget their past, but Chan had managed to deceive so he could remember.

Stepping up to the gramophone he put on some music, Marinette enjoyed getting to hear the different sounds present in the world, it was one of the many things that the League repressed. Master Chan’s music was all classical, but it came from all over the world and the softness of it countered the harshness of her situation, making it easier to focus on healing.

“Are you ready to try and heal a human today?” Chan interrupted Marinette’s peace, reminding her of their purpose.

Usually, the training with Master Chan was the only part of her day she looked forward too. Aside from Cassandra who brought a spark to their sparring but no words, the other masters’ training was both intense and at the same time rather dull. Unlike what Lady Nyssa was led to believe, Marinette was capable of healing more than herself and she had the ability to manipulate magic aside from her meta powers. Upon the advice of Master Chan however, she hid the extent of her abilities. Unfortunately, she was unable to hide them completely as saying a spell led to unwanted flickers that those trained in magic were able to detect. Those sparks showed promise, leading Nyssa to order more magic instruction to assist in developing them. Marinette ensured there was little outward progress, just enough to keep Nyssa sated. But while within Chan’s chambers she exceled in all forms of magic under the watchful eyes of her master.

The content of the day’s lesson had her dreading the time with Master Chan. So far, she’d healed several plants back from dehydration, had new leaves bloom where old ones had been severed, and learned she could not age a plant by bringing it from seedling to flowering. At her success she moved from plants to small animals. A poor rabbit was brought in suffering from a disease of the heart that caused it to erratically beat, no more. A mouse brought in with several lacerations from being caught in a trap healed instantly. A bird grounded by a broken wing was flying once more. It was surreal and Marinette was proud of what she could do.

Now she was asked to do it on a human. The idea alone didn’t scare her, but the fact it had to remain a secret did. Chan would not allow her to step into the medical ward and heal those who had gained injuries from missions or trainings, because then her ability would not be secret. No, it meant Master Chan was determined to injure himself to test her skills.

“Master Chan, please.” Guilt, apprehension, anxiety, and a lack of confidence were easily read in her expression.

“It will only be a small cut, Marinette. Not unlike the many scars my body is already riddled with from just living. What is one more if you are not successful?”

“It’s only a small cut until I am successful, then the expectations will grow. Will you continue to test me to the point where I have to immediately heal you, so you do not die from a fatal wound? What if I can’t?” The words sounded harsh but the way they were spoken was not. Marinette was unlike Damian in the fact she showed her vulnerability to those she trusted and loved. The list of people included was small, but they knew every side of Marinette, specifically the self-doubt that she usually kept to herself despite all she was able to accomplish.

“It is a skill that will be good to have. One day you may find someone you wish you could heal someone instantly.”

All she could do was nod her head as she could not argue with that particular point. What if it was Master Chan’s life on the line, or Lady Talia’s, heaven forbid it ever be Damian’s. Would she not wish she knew how to heal them, most especially if it were life threatening? The reality she could prevent them being hurt in the future had her squaring up to the challenge, determined to work hard to get it right.

The knife looked as if it were merely going to prick his finger, but without warning the angle changed and he had cut a deep and long gash across his forearm.

“Master Chan!”

Marinette’s hands instantly reached out to her mentor in a panic, hoping to apply pressure to stop the bleeding as they had been taught in the children’s compound. Her thoughts raced for an answer to her predicament, while wishing for him to be okay and heal. A pink light similar in color and intensity to the fluid she did not know she had been suspended in pre-birth, illuminated from her hands. It shocked her momentarily having realized she’d subconsciously called upon her powers. It disappeared the moment she knew the wound was fully healed.  

“Very good.” Master Chan said as he observed the effects of her power on his arm. Just like her own skin, the knife ‘s cut had disappeared completely as if it had never occurred. In fact, one of the scars close to where he freshly cut his skin had seemed to disappear as well.

“Master Chan, that was dangerous. What if I had been unable to heal you?” Her tone was firm, she no longer spoke out fear but concern like a scolding mother.

“Marinette, if you could heal a plant and a rabbit without a problem, a human was no jump. Magical healing is the same for all living things because we are all made from the same. It is your confidence that needed to be built upon, not your skill.”

Eyes trekked over him slowly, flashes of hurt and anger within their depth. Not long after, they looked back at him in resignation.

“I figured by presenting you with what you thought to be a serious injury would cause you to simply react and not overthink. Turns out I was right. Shall we try again?” Master Chan’s smile was goofy as he tried to bring levity to the tension in the room.

“No!” Marinette said in no uncertain terms.

Too late. Chan had already lifted his stone bowl he used for potion making and slammed it down on his ankle, causing his foot to rest at an unnatural angle. The pain was instantaneous based on the grimace on his face and the way his body hunched in on itself.

Marinette lunged down from where she’d been to his ankle, instantly placing her hands over the break. The unnatural pink glow overtook her hands before she even touched his skin. “Why would you do something like that? You didn’t need to cause so much pain to yourself just so I could heal you.”

“Just needed to be sure my theory was correct and test your bone reconstruction skills.” The pain in his facial features relaxed as she healed him quickly.  “Yes, you can heal bones very quickly,” he stated sarcastically.

Sitting back on her heals, Marinette surveyed her work. The ankle looked as good as she remembered, not that she spent a lot of time looking at her master’s ankle, in fact she never had. With a newfound confidence and desire for him to no longer hurt himself, she looked to his back where she knew one of his disks had slipped from the stories he told.

“May I try something?”

Agreeing found Master Chan lying on his stomach atop his mat. Marinette traced her hand along his spine until she found the disk that was slightly misaligned. Hovering her hands over the area, the familiar pink glow went to work. When the light disappeared, Chan stood to evaluate her work.

“Ah, I feel ninety-two again,” he declared as he twisted his back. A loud crack could be heard, but he showed no signs of pain as much as enjoyment from the pressure release.

“How old are you?”

“One day I may tell you.” The sour expression on Marinette’s face caused Master Chan to chuckle and playfully muss her hair.

Trust came slowly between the pair. When he had asked her to not share her abilities with anyone she had listened, not because she trusted him—trust in the League was too often misplaced—but because his sentiment had echoed Lady Talia’s. The last thing her mother figure asked of her was to try and fail the test Nyssa gave her. At first, she thought it had been whatever test was performed before Ra’s, but she was immediately escorted to Lady Nyssa’s plane and was unable to clarify Talia’s wishes or say goodbye, to her or Damian. Since arriving at Bleake Island there have been numerous additional tests and whether Talia intended it or not, Marinette had continued to fail them. Following Chan’s advice on how much to show in order to keep Nyssa’s anger at bay, she grew to trust him, and a relationship formed between the pair.

Chan moved towards his window and pulled one of the potted plants from the sill. The small mum was struggling as its flowers were drooping from neglect. Walking back to the small table, Marinette moved to follow, glad her training would continue on plants and not Master Chan.

“Master Chan?”

There was some hesitance present, her question she feared like all others would go unanswered. For just like Lady Talia, heavy questions seemed to always be answered the same way by Master Chan, not. When she’d asked Chan why her magic worked so differently than others, his reply had only been ‘I have my suspicions.’ When she’d asked Lady Talia why she treated her so nicely, her reply had been, ‘One day the truth may not have to be hidden.’

Marinette wasn’t sure why their answers were so veiled, but she knew better than to push. It only led to aggravation on their part and no further answers. So, she just stopped asking the big questions, instead trying to figure them out for herself. The sad reality though, her experience in the ‘real world,’ was too limited for her to be able to do so.

A child of the League was brilliant and skilled in a lot of things, mostly things no child should ever learn. If not, they wouldn’t survive. Where other kids were starting school to learn numbers, ABC’s, and socialization, League children were learning multiple languages, torture and how to kick someone’s butt in at least thirteen successful ways. As a result, social cues and the likes were often lost. The ability to empathize and understand motives were limited to what they witnessed with the older leaders. The League never did anything to correct for this, as they saw without these skills the children assassins tended to not care to understand the why’s behind things. Leading to more compliance among the elite, until they were too engrained in the way of things, and it no longer mattered as the League’s way of thinking became their way of thinking.

Marinette, however, was not like the other children, never had been and never would be. There was no satisfaction for her in the status quo, she wanted to understand why because despite not being exposed to any other way of life, she knew deep down there had to be something more, something different. After all, she had seen glimpses of what could be with Lady Talia, Damian and now Master Chan. She wanted to understand their motives. Maybe if she understood why they did things differently, she could understand what place she could have in the League when she felt so different.

“Why must no one know of my abilities? Are these powers not what Ra’s wants?”

Chan moved the flower away knowing training was now unlikely. He poured hot water into the tea pot he had prepared before her arrival, taking two cups, and placing them onto the table. Nothing was said as he waited for the tea to steep, and Marinette did not know if it meant the topic was to be avoided or he was preparing to give her the answer she was looking for.

Finally, the tea was poured, and Master Chan took a small sip before he began. “You have a gift Marinette. The ability to heal wounds is priceless as people would give up everything to cure their cancer, keep their loved ones from dying in an accident, repair their spine so they can walk again. Something I know with the purity in your heart you would wish to give to people. But there are too many people in the world, and you would not be able to use your gift for everyone. You would become a wanted possession, especially by those without good intensions. That is why it is important Ra’s and the others believe your powers of healing are limited to yourself, for I do not believe his intensions for you would be good.”

Marinette hadn’t considered what would become of her if she became this healer Nyssa desired. As far as Marinette could tell, Nyssa and the other healers were given as much freedom as anyone else in the League. She figured her position would be to be beside Damian, ensuring a successful reign, regardless of her abilities. Would she be used by Ra’s instead, to what end?

“If people knew what you could do your life would never be your own. That is not a life Lady Talia, nor I wish for you.”

“My life is already not my own.” The reality of those words hit worse than any other truth. Those who entered the League were forced to give up everything they had ever known, even themselves. But it had been a choice they had made for themselves. Being born into the League there was no place for choices. You either did what you were told and exceled, or face death.

“I’m sorry Marinette, I can imagine. Though my own experience is not quite the same, it has parallels. Have faith one day an opportunity will arise that allows you to claim your life for your own.”

“Right, one day I am sure I will be allowed to walk away, because leaving is an option for those in the League.”

“You may be surprised. You have more luck than you know.”

Chapter Text

The Egyptian bazar was bustling with locals and tourist alike, each clamoring to fill what little space there was between the stalls. Spices filled the air with aromas Damian was familiar with, but the sight of them he was not. The different colors of the textiles for sale were so vibrant he was sure if Marinette had been there, she would have been frozen by the effect.

The reminder of Marinette caused a phantom pain to ignite in his chest. The world was meant to be theirs to explore together. A promise he’d been forced to break, as the heir his training could not be delayed by her absence, no matter his wishes.

Since her departure with his aunt his grandfather had begun his private training. Centuries of studying and perfecting multiple disciplines of martial arts had made him a true master. His teaching style was not necessarily the best—as patience was not a word within his vocabulary—but Damian was a fast learner and so his punishments were few. The true consolation was his mother was permitted to be his escort during his social, also known as worldly, training.

Training that was meant to have started long ago but Ra’s had wanted the focus to be on what they could learn within the walls of Nanda Parabat, stripping both Damian and Marinette of essential skills for someone their age. For the last few months, Talia had taken Damian around the world to rectify this grave mistake. Familiarizing him with the different cultures and ways society worked so he could apply the theories he was taught in his lessons and learn the fine art of blending in. Damian hoped wherever Marinette was—because his mother would not say—she was receiving similar training even if it was not with him.

To accomplish this Talia took his hand like a mother would and escorted him around, both acting like overzealous tourist as she pointed out various things. For hours they would bounce from various eating establishments and places of business to watch people perform their everyday business. At night they would choose different roofs to look into the windows of businesses and residents alike to watch the darker side of humanity, those the League were often sent to target.

For months they followed this performance in several different locations around the world. Damian doing so happily as he was allowed to be openly affectionate with his mother. All while he became familiar with ‘real’ society so he could recognize the ins and outs, and one day infiltrate.

The lesson he learned overall from these ventures was likely one he was not intended to but was glad he had. Other children were so naïve, protected so they could retain their innocence. Because of it, they were unprepared for the harsher realities of the real world, or they continued to have blinders to how it really worked for the rest of their miserable lives.

The League by no means was perfect, he had witnessed too many of its faults. Yet, he felt his grandfather’s feelings of superiority to the world at large stemmed from a reality and not just an inflated ego. So much of people’s action were guided by trivial desires, mostly emotion based, learned from infancy. It made him understand why the League prided itself on removing emotions as much as possible when it came to one’s actions.

In Barcelona, he watched as a child a few years younger than him, release a balloon by accident and then proceed to throw a full-on tantrum. Over a balloon. Damian’s upbringing would have had him taking one of two courses of action. Getting over it, which considering he would have never been entertained by something so trivial as a balloon would have been his course of action. Or obtaining a replacement instead of spending time crying over it. It was the fact a good ten minutes of the child’s time was waisted crying over an emotional loss of a balloon that had Damian realize not being permitted to do the same as a little boy was only beneficial in the long term. He could not fathom what the child in later years might throw a similar tantrum over, but he could imagine it would be of similar inconsequence.

In Tokyo, he witnessed a brawl between an American businessman and a Japanese student, when the student believed his girlfriend had been ‘flirting’ with the American. The student’s jealousy had led to a broken jaw, bruising all along his ribs, and a split knuckle. Not to mention jail time, with charges of assault despite only being able to break the American’s nose.

The only sprinkle of empathy Damian felt, was the knowledge if he ever acted on such juvenile emotions, he would ensure there was no body. Make that two, as the girlfriend was to blame, she had been flirting with the American, likely brought on by lust and greed. So much turmoil in a hotel bar because of a petite woman and her actions. Yet society dare to label Damian as a child.

For he recognized too much of humanity acted on selfish emotions, self-fulfilling desires. The child’s tantrum over the balloon was caused by the need to have something in her possession that would entertain. The jealous student fought with the American due to his need for his girlfriend to only want him, causing his actions which were based on his own insecurities. The woman in question fueled by what she thought she could get from the American, either carnal pleasure or money. A part of him understood, not being able to would reflect a lack in his own training, but he was proud to know he would never fall victim to the same.

On the extremely rare occasion emotions might have resulted in actions that would only serve himself, he ignored them and allowed his training to guide him into placing logic above emotions to get the desired result. Truthfully, a large majority of the time, the logical effect and his desires aligned. But, when it involved those he cared for, most notably Marinette, for reasons he had a hard time fathoming, emotions won, and his behavior could not be easily restrained. His mother called it love, he called it justice.

Either way, through the months of getting to observe people outside of the League, he finally was able to piece together why love and similar emotions were frowned upon. It drove logic out of the brain and replaced it with impulse. Not to mention the obvious vulnerability if others learned of it. Damian often found himself wondering if it was the reason his father had not fought to bring his mother with him. Was he scared that in his own search for justice his love for Talia would be used against him or make him act impulsively?

“Come Damian.” His mother’s voice broke him from his reflection, directing him from the mass of people onto the street where their temporary apartment could be found.  

The mint tea she had bought that afternoon was steeped briefly in some water before Talia came to join Damian upon the balcony which looked down at the market they had just left.

“Your grandfather has decided it is time for you to earn your proper title.”

Assassin.

Despite completing the Al-Nahai which usually led a neophyte to his first mission that would earn him the title, Damian had not been given the honor yet. Honestly, he had petitioned his mother to delay until he was able to complete it with Marinette. While he had broken the promise to explore the world with her, he felt it right for her to be there for each of the major milestones he would complete and vice versa.

“Marinette is not here.”

“I know, but Ra’s is no longer willing to delay.”

“Why not petition to pull her from Aunt Nyssa so we can complete the task together?”

“You know I could not ask him to do that. It would show too much attachment to her. You would still be required to do it and then he would punish her in some fashion.”

Damian looked down dejectedly at the steaming cup of mint tea. Another broken promise.

“I wish my father could at least be here to witness this,” he said without thought.

Across from him his mother froze, every tendon in her body snapping to attention, her face appeared unchanged, but the smallest flash in her eyes spoke volumes. “Why would you say that?”

Having had no intention of saying his thought aloud, Damian wasn’t sure where to begin or what to say that wouldn’t anger his mother more. “I just thought he would be proud to see me follow in his footsteps.”

The lemon she swallowed must have been sour by the way her lips puckered. Damian was unsure what to make of her reaction, after all his knowledge of his father was limited at best.

“You are the rightful heir to two very powerful legacies. Not only that, worthy of holding each if you so wished. So of course, your father would be proud of the man you are. But perhaps you will understand better if I am honest as to who your father is, why he would not wish to be here to witness this.”

Damian both longed for and feared the answer. What would have his father not wish to be present at this pinnacle moment? Had his father failed? That could not be right, failure did not make a legacy great.

Just above a whisper his mother relayed her message, “your father is Batman.”

“But he is considered an enemy of the League.” Most of the Justice League were, which was why they were a part of his curriculum. Which meant Damian was familiar with his father, and could not understand how an assassin of the League became Batman, an enemy of Ra’s.

“Enemy is too strong a word to describe their relationship. It would suggest both actively pursued the other. It is usually only when the Justice League chooses to involve themselves in League matters that your grandfather and Batman even risk involvement with each other. For the most part we avoid Gotham, if the occasion arises everyone is under strict orders to avoid the Bats.”

Damian’s brows furrowed in thought. “Does Grandfather expect me to become the next Batman? How will I do that if I never have a chance to interact with my father?”

“No, Damian. While you are the rightful heir to both, you cannot take on the Batman mantel?”

“Why not?” Damian was sharp with his words, a hint of anger and insecurity present in his bite.

“Do you remember I told you that your father left due to a disagreement with Ra’s?” Damian lowered his head sharply once in acknowledgement. “Batman refuses to kill. Obviously, that is something that does not work for an organization of assassins. With the principles of Batman and the League always at odds one cannot be the head of both.”

“So, I must choose which to inherit?”

Talia shook her head and there was a moment of vulnerability only Damian was allowed to see. “The decision has already been made by Ra’s, Habib…With your father not aware of you, he has chosen his legacy to be built with the Robins that fight beside him. I am certain he intends for one of them to inherit the mantel.”

Hurt flashed across Damian’s eyes. Rationally he knew his father was not aware of him, preventing him from knowing he even had a rightful heir. But rationality could not stop the brief pain that came with knowing he’d chosen others in his stead. “Are they my brothers?”

Eyes narrowed at Damian, not displaying an emotion as much as a need to find words that would not hurt her son further. “Biologically no, but your father has chosen to adopt them as his sons.”

Sons, as in more than one. Did that mean his father had not found one worthy of being his heir, or that he intended a Battle Royale when the time came? A small flicker of something, maybe hope, tinged in the back of Damian’s mind. Perhaps there was a way for him to take his rightful place as the head of both, he had time now to figure it out. As well as work harder to become the best option for Batman when the opportunity arose.

“Will I ever meet my father?”

“Our circles occasionally intersect. So, I cannot say with certainty whether there may come a time you could meet him. I must stress however, how important it is you never tell anyone who your father is, not Marinette and especially not Batman if you were to meet.”

“Why would I not want him to know I am his son. Would he not be impressed in what I have accomplished and what I am capable of?”

“He would Damian. Of course, he would. He does not agree with this life though, he would take you away from me and the League.”

There were days were leaving the League did not seem like a bad thing, especially if it meant he could get Marinette away from it. Still, he had spent eight years of his life dedicated to becoming a worthy heir to his grandfather; years of combat, intense general education, tactics and even torture. Leaving now would be a waste of time and abilities. Batman was an intimidating powerhouse, the only human, non-magical founding member of the Justice League. But his reign was limited mostly to a large but volatile city. When Damian became the Demon Head, he would have reign over the world.

So, he would keep the knowledge of his parentage a secret, even from Marinette. He knew why his mother insisted he did not tell her, for it he did she would push him to leave with the knowledge there was a place he could go.

“It is time to discuss the reason for our visit to Cairo. You will have to do the rest on your own, I cannot help you if you are to earn the title of assassin.”

A single slip of paper was slid across the coffee table, on it was a name, time, and place. Flipping it over, was his targets face. In future missions the time and place would not be provided, but for his first his mother had done the leg work. The location was a place Damian was familiar with, as he and his mother had acted as tourist and scouted the area the day prior. The time was a little close for comfort but manageable.

Acknowledging what he had to do, he nodded his head to his mother and escaped to his room to prepare quickly for the next chapter of his life.

The one where he would be known as an assassin.

Their proximity to the address meant Damian could don only his tactical gear and not worry about a cover, as he could easily slip onto the roof and move undetected to his destination. Which also meant he could use his favored weapon instead of having to use one that tended to be more discreet in public.

To ground himself he stepped from his room and sliced the air with his katana, upon seeing his mother he sheathed it onto his back. There were no words needed to be said to mark the occasion. Damian knew his mother was proud and she didn’t need to wish for success, he did not need it. When she chose then to fill the natural silence, he was shocked by both the act and the words that spilled from her mouth.

“If I could choose, this is not the life I would pick for you or Marinette. I hope one day you can forgive me for not realizing it when I still had the chance to change it.”

Not waiting for Damian’s response, or really even a chance to wrap his mind around her statement, Talia hugged her son tightly before turning and entering her room. To avoid distraction, Damian chose to dismiss, briefly at least, what had just occurred and focus on the task at hand.

Scaling upward, Damian was quickly on the roof and hopping the short distance between buildings before he was at the appointed location, ten minutes before the appointed time.

The checklist he’d created in his head to ensure success was not enough of a distraction to keep his mind from wandering to his mother’s words before he left. A two-sentence statement, whose words were basic and put together in an easy-to-understand manner and yet they were so profound. If his mother had a choice, would she have sent him away to Batman?

Three alleys away from current location, ideal for isolation.

Why? Was it because of her love for his father? It had taken him time to realize her love for his grandfather was mostly absent. The rare occasion it might be found it was less than she possessed for others such as himself and Marinette. Damian had yet to be able to observe his mother with his father, but he imagined from the few times she had spoken of him that there was love and it was deeply felt.

In the photo of his target, he looked surrounded by at least two bodyguards. Would require separation forced by a distraction.

Or was it the moral compass Batman had that she wished Damian could share? The thought seemed unlikely. It had not taken him very long to realize Captain Rasgado was never intended to return from his mission after almost breaking Marinette’s back. Clearly, his mother had no qualms with finding justice through means Batman would not approve.

A robe from the stall to his left could cover his sword. Then he could use his ‘childish charm’ to lead the man to the alley after deploying his distraction.

It all begged the question, what about his life did his mother not wish for him? Marinette, he understood, but his?

Once in the alley the target would need to be driven further back to prevent witnesses. Without raising his suspicions, key.

Laid out, his childhood was not conventional. In the few months he’d been able to observe ‘normal society,’ that was very clear. The expectations were higher, putting it lightly. The punishments were harsher, putting it mildly. Yet, he was better because of it. Right?

His knowledge of the various education systems was limited so he could not compare his own education point for point But, he was fluent in several of the major languages, even down to many of their common vernaculars. Several of the books which he learned from were labeled for college students. Based on these facts and more, he could surmise he was significantly ahead of his peers.

In martial arts, he would like to meet a person of similar age, other than Marinette, who could manage to keep up with him. He knew for a fact his skills surpassed even those of trained assassins within the League who had years upon him.

Even the things one might think were bad about the League had made him stronger, better than what he would have been on the outside. Elite soldiers went through similar training for a reason, the fact, like them, he would not be broken was something he was proud of.

Cursory observations suggest no planted security on sight. Two viable possible distractions noted.

Unconventional upbringing but superior. There was something he was missing as to why his mother would not want this life for him, but alas something to ponder at a later time.

Target sighted.

The target was a slightly older gentleman Damian would age around fifty or so. He wore black tailored dress slacks with a charcoal grey, long-sleeved button-up, very western attire among a sea of tunics. The man was clearly made of money.

He moved among the stalls slowly, taking an opportunity to talk to each of the owners. The gesture seemed kind, like a manager ensuring his employs were happy, taken care off, doing well. Each person he talked to did not share his smile, instead they appeared frighten. From a distance it was obvious their answers to his questions were clipped, their bodies tense, their eyes darting between the men who protected the target’s rear and the target himself.  

Not that it was his place to question, but Damian would speculate the man was likely a crime boss, ensuring his territory was flourishing enough to pay their tithe. The man who delayed his departure from the stalls just behind his employer, likely the collector of said tax.

The initial plans for distraction would have worked, but with this new information Damian was able to derive a much more effective one. After creating a disguise to blend into his surroundings, Damian approached a small child who held a football at his side. He’d watched the game on TV, apparently a very popular sport throughout the world. As such games were considered a waste of time, he had never played it before. Might be a disadvantage, but he was counting on his ‘lack of skill’ to draw and then quarter his target.

“Want to play?” The child looked at his parents after Damian’s inquiry. Too caught up in haggling for a deal on some spices they were not aware of the proposed game offered to their child.

With no one to warn the child against it, he lowered the ball to the ground and began to move it with his feet. Damian studied his footwork quickly and noted what was done to control the ball and seeing how he could make minute changes to do it better. Seeing his target leaving his current stall, Damian raced to steal the football from his new friend.

Upon reaching the man who was collecting the money, Damian passed the ball back to the other boy causing it to veer to the left unintentionally. Making a quick mental note to have mother include common ‘childhood,’ activities in his training, he dismissed his lack of skills and was happy to see the act still had the desired effect. He was able to pass his target and steal the envelope that held the funds before throwing it under one of the stalls as he went back to chasing the ball.

The result was instantaneous, the man realized the envelope had left his hand and looked around for the culprit. With Damian having discarded the evidence almost as soon as he touched it, no one around him was acting suspicious. The man quickly turned to his boss and explained the situation. Even in public, the target was quick to smack the much larger man across his face in anger. Instantly he directed his security to assist in the search for whoever was responsible and the money. Damian hoped finding it just below the stall where he grabbed it would lead to them believing it to be nothing more than a mishap, and no one being punished for his distraction.

The boss was now alone, but the question of for how long hanged in the air. Damian now had to act quickly to enact the second part of his plan.

The boy had passed him the ball after catching it and Damian guided it over to the target. To assist with his image, Damian knew the man would act overly friendly to a child who approached.

He was counting on it.

Damian had the ball clumsily roll over to the man’s feet. The man lowered down to lift it, a bright smile on his face as he threw it up and down as if it brought memories of the time he played professionally. Trying a face he’d never done before, Damian looked up innocently at the man, almost bordering on ‘awe.’

In his first language, he tried to break his more formal diction and go for childlike. “Will you play?”

When the man nodded his head, Damian bounced on his toes as if excited. Lowering the ball back to the ground the man passed it to Damian, who guided it effortlessly back to his target. The older man took the ball as an opportunity to show off his skills, trading it between his feet and moving in the direction Damian had hoped for. When he shot the ball back, Damian pretended to have not expected the move and ‘wildly’ kicked the ball into the alley he had earmarked earlier.

When the man saw the pout upon Damian’s face, he laughed and chased the wayward ball, much to Damian’s enjoyment, but not for the reasons the man would expect.

It was easy, almost too easy. But no one would expect any less from one of the best.

Following silently after ensuring the security hadn’t noticed their boss’s departure, Damian removed his outer garments to reveal only his League attire and katana. The ball had landed under one of the small structures against the wall, but the man was not observant enough to notice and so he continued further into the alley. Naïve for sure, the man thought himself protected by name alone, and thought nothing of it as he left the safety of numbers when a wayward child challenged him to a game.

Clinging to the shadows, Damian moved quietly behind the man, unsheathing his weapon as the man unknowingly approached the end of the street. Within seconds the man would realize he had missed the ball and turn to retrace his steps, Damian would need to quickly decide if he would strike before or right after it occurred.

The sword twirled around his wrist, a little habit of his to remind him of the weight of his weapon before he stuck. But before the sword came down across his target’s back, he hesitated.

Every sign pointed at the man before him as being vile; a parasite on society that does nothing but harm to people who merely try to exist. The thought had crossed his mind before, but he had never spent much time to actually think about why the League would intervene. Ra’s spewed the purpose of the League of Assassins was for the betterment of society. The merits of removing this man from the world were undeniable. Yet would his death truly bring forth something better?

There was nothing in place to prevent another from rising in his stead. In fact, while there were likely many who would want the man dead due to his greed, there were likely an equal number, if not more, who would pay the League for his death so as to take his place.

It might be better for the League to organize his arrest, give proof of his crimes so he could be publicly held accountable. Such an act might lead to others becoming wary of taking his role, least face similar consequences. Performed enough times, such crimes would no longer be as attractive, especially when you stood to lose it all. Is that not the motive behind his father’s vigilante persona?

Death brought justice to the individual who was guilty of the crime, but the people who suffered at their hands wouldn’t necessarily see it. For there always seemed to be people willing to fill the role. A boss would be replaced by another before the night was over, the victims would therefore never be free of their tormentors. Yet, his father faced an uphill battle with his form of justice, for those brought in for domestic violence got off more times than not for technicalities or money that exchanged hands. Those charged often faced only restraining orders that do nothing to protect the victims. For a piece of paper cannot stop someone who wished to truly cause hard. In those cases, the Leagues justice is the only way for the victims to be offered solace.

The answer Damian settled on in that moment was the need for a mix of both, a need for circumstances to determine. Perhaps there was a way for Damian to step into the role of both legacies, perhaps his mother was wrong.

The hesitation cost Damian the ability to strike unseen as the crime lord turned to him in surprise. The expression changed to a mocking smile as he took in the small child holding a katana at the ready.

“What are you planning to do with that, kid?”

Looking at his weapon, Damian wondered what he would do. Yet, the answer was obvious, his mother had already said it before.

The choice was made for him and to survive, for now, he would have to abide.

Chapter Text

“I know for a fact this is not a part of the approved curriculum. No assassin in their right mind makes learning to talk while fighting a part of it.” Marinette pouted at her instructor, hesitant to follow him into the sparring circle if he was serious about the focus of the lesson.

Since returning to Nanda Parabat after almost a year away, lessons with Damian had resumed. It was one of the many ways everything felt the same. But as familiar as returning home had felt, many things had changed. One such thing had been Damian’s private morning lessons with Ra’s. During that time Marinette continued her magic lessons with Master Chan or had personal lessons with own instructor appointed by Lady Talia.

Unorthodox did not even begin to describe Jason, his teaching method, or curriculum. Instructor was probably a loose term to describe him; he didn’t act like others within the League, nor did Marinette think him old enough to be one, and their relationship definitely did not reflect such a dynamic. An outside observer might liken their relationship to siblings. In every way he treated her as a big brother, fiercely protective and passing on life lessons to ensure she did not suffer from the same mistakes he had, while making sure she remembered her place by tripping her every so often.

Mostly responsible for preparing her for the world outside the temple walls, he did it by telling her fun stories of his time growing up. Fun only because of the way he told them, like it was one big storybook adventure similar to the books she read in the children’s compound. But the truth was the stories were sad, they told of a world that Marinette was no longer sure she wanted to visit. She’d thought the League was bad, but from some of the stories Jason shared, it sounded like life was hard no matter where you were born.

“Relax Pixie, you’re too uptight. No one is here to judge us.” Jason rolled his eyes before he mussed her hair up in an affectionate manner. He placed his hand between her shoulder blades to lightly push her into the ring.

“What if someone hears us?” Marinette hissed. “Assassins are supposed to be quiet and deadly, not annoying and deadly.” It was meant to sound like a joke, but the harshness betrayed her anxiety.  

Years of being punished for the smallest infractions had made her numb to the fear of doing something she knew to be wrong, in fact, she used to enjoy finding ways to circumvent expected failures and infractions because she would be physically punished regardless. That was until her Achilles heel was discovered. Now, few could see the spiraling anxiety that would occur in her head as she analyzed all the things that could go wrong with everything she did. How the fear of punishment would make her hesitate and sometimes fail.

For Lady Shiva saw what Talia had always wished to be hidden from others, Marinette’s pure heart. Noticing this ‘character flaw,’ after watching a few tears fall when Cass was punished for failing to complete a task that had been in part Marinette’s fault. Since that moment, for the various things Marinette did wrong her punishment was bestowed upon others. It was torture to her heart to know others would suffer for her mistakes, failures, or stubbornness, especially knowing she had the power to heal their pain yet couldn’t without showing her hands.

“This is a quintessential skill.” A single hand came to rest on Marinette’s shoulder grounding her back into the moment. Jason released a sigh and hung his head dramatically, as if the task before him was a great burden only he could undertake. “The League has done you a major disservice by not addressing this short coming. Talia will one-hundred percent approve of me rectifying it.”

Placing her hands on her hips, Marinette came to stand in front of him with all signs of her anxiety disappearing as she looked at him in a way that let him know she did not believe it for a second. “Is that why it is included in your own training?”

“Nah, I am already a master. So much so, its effective even against Talia. Just yester she almost stabbed me in the shoulder when I employed it.”

“I thought it was supposed to be for your advantage, not make your enemy try harder to kill you. Plus, I think she would rather you help me with acrobatics.” Marinette tried her hardest to give Jason the puppy dog eyes he’d tried to teach her recently. Hoping he would drop the fool’s errand and focus on a skill she wished to train in.

Honestly, Talia did not care about Marinette’s acrobatics other than the knowledge she enjoyed them; most assassins knew the basics, but it wasn’t very helpful with killing. Marinette loved gymnastics though, she loved using her body to balance and flip. Though the specifics were foggy at best, Marinette had learned Jason was familiar with grappling, specifically between buildings. The thought of truly flying long distances and the type of acrobatic trips possible while doing so, was something Marinette wished to experience.

“This technique is considered effective when you throw someone off their game which may cause them to lash out and give you the upper hand. Besides, I’m not very good at acrobatics, you’d need Dick to help you there.”

Marinette looked between her legs as if scandalized and then back up to Jason as if his statement did not compute. “Why would I need a male genital to improve at acrobatics?”

“Oh-my-god-Pix,” was barely decipherable between deep chuckling breaths. “That was priceless. I have to tell him you said—"

A darkness passed over Jason’s features as he whispered the end of his statement. A memory clearly plagued his mind leading Marinette to stand beside him and place her hand over his. Jason’s past was hidden, Talia did not permit him to talk about it directly. What Marinette could pull together was there had been a light at the end of a very dark tunnel that was snuffed out almost as soon as he stepped into it. Now he was in a different tunnel and Marinette hoped she could offer him a more permanent light.

“Dick is not a what but rather a who in this case. God Pixie, this is what I’m talking about. How are you or Damian supposed to ever blend in when you don’t know how to talk or act like kids?”

Marinette was curious how this memory of Dick had upset him so much, but he tried to distract her with his carefree smile. Even if she wanted to know, he wouldn’t tell her, it was clearly something too close to his past to share.

“Now it is very important as your instructor to teach you the art of verbal distraction.”

“Jayjay, are you sure about this. This just seems like you’re trying to get me to talk like you, because I’ve already learned not to be distracted by your words. And Talia already warned me about trying to adopt some of your American curse words for my own.”

Jason sighed while his hand dragged down his face as if he was bored by her protest. “The point is not for you to not get distracted, but for you to develop the ability to use your words to distract others.”

“Is this how you win?  Just continue to be annoying until the person you’re fighting decides they would be better off dying than having to listen to you anymore?” She smiled because it was far from the truth. The reason she often lost when fighting him was, aside from the obvious, because she would laugh from the things he would say. That was truly what she needed to work on, not being distracted by jokes when in the mist of fighting. Jason on the other hand could work on his timing.

Jason’s hand went to his chest as if he were suddenly stabbed by a dagger, his body slightly crumpling in on itself. “Wow Pix, looks like you’ve already got a good hang of it?”

Marinette looked at him confused and leaned in closer to him so she could inspect him for physical harm. “What did I do?” her eyes continued to flick up and down his body as if a wound might suddenly appear.

“It’s called sarcasm Pixie. You said something that if I hadn’t known you were joking from the smile on your face, might have hurt my feelings and caused me to trip up. A verbal distraction.”

“If that hurt your feelings, I think Talia has a lot more training she will need to accomplish.” Marinette’s hand mockingly tapped the side of Jason’s face, causing him to scowl at her.

“It didn’t hurt Marinette. It was on the right track. Most people you meet are not going to be trained against harsh words and harsher fist, like you have. If you can take advantage of both at the same time, the fight could end quickly.”

“Well, the way you reacted I would say something hurt, but okay. Be mean. Got it. Should we begin sparring?”

Shaking his head and rolling his eyes slightly, Jason got into position to begin hand-to-hand against Marinette. “Okay remember, the point is to get them upset or thinking about what you just said. So maybe you start off a little light so they’re like what the hell. Confused, off their game, then you go for the real burn that makes them angry. You can use either time to attack, personally, I think it’s most effective when you wait for them to strike out in anger.”

Like two caged animals, Jason and Marinette started to circle each other, studying the other closely for signs of vulnerability they were already well aware of. With each step Jason came further into the circle, while Marinette maintained her distance along the outer edge of the mat. Jason had height and muscle on his side which in close combat would quickly overwhelm Marinette’s smaller and lithe figure. The moment he got a hold of her it would be done. Didn’t mean Marinette was automatically out for the count, being significantly smaller had its benefits. It allowed her to dance around him easily and slip away, combined with her flexibility and acrobatics she could easily outmaneuver him. All she needed was to get in the right position and she could take him down, as long as he never got a good grip on her.

Without warning, Jason launched his body at Marinette, his intention to pin her with his body weight obvious. At the last second Marinette was able to jump just outside of his reach, not fast enough to keep from being clipped on her right shoulder.

The second time he attacked he abandoned taking her down and went for throwing his fist. Completely on the defense now—not a good place for her to be if she hoped to win—Marinette was left dodging and pushing away his attempts to hit her.  

Unlike others within the League who toned their bodies to become extensions of their weapons, Jason for the last few months had been successfully training his body to become a weapon. Translation, he packed a punch. Fortunately, for Marinette he held back from using his full strength against her during their training sessions. Not that it would have mattered too much as she would be able to heal any damage he caused, but a punch from Jason would hurt and the pain, while temporary, would be a distraction.

Just as Jason’s past was hidden from Marinette, her powers were hidden from him. Contrary to what she once believed, very few were aware of her abilities. Meaning the left uppercut that hit her rib—likely fractured it—caused him to stop with concern after hearing and feeling the sharp crack beneath his hand.

“Shit Pix.” Jason broke character and attempted to stop Marinette from moving and aggravating her injury further. But her body had already taken care of it and now it was only a bruise on her side.

Before Jason was able to lift her shirt, she pushed his hand away like one would swat at a bug. “I’m fine Jayjay, you caught me just right. It’ll bruise, that’s all. I’ve taken worse and will likely take worse in the future.” She smiled brightly despite the nature of her words. Ignoring his incredulous glare, she readied herself to continue fighting. “Come on, let’s get this lesson over with.”

It took a second for Jason to shift back into a fighting mindset. He lowered himself into an offensive stance but the tension in his body reflected his hesitance to attack her again. Marinette rolled her eyes when she noticed and quickly sprinted forward to flip herself onto his shoulders, holding a handstand a top him some time before allowing her body to fall. It was enough for Jason to realize she was likely okay, as the move would have been too painful otherwise.

Marinette struck out at Jason, tired of him continuing to dance around her. After a right jab landed on his shoulder, a smirk settled on his face, signaling the start of their verbal spar. “You hit like a girl.”

“I am a girl, simpleton,” she deadpanned, before Jason landed a punch of his own upon her shoulder forcing her to bite her lip to prevent the hiss of pain from escaping.

Jason chuckled once more; the League had set Marinette up to never understand certain nuances normal children would and it was no more obvious than now. “No, I mean it negatively, like your hits are weak. And really Pix, you sound like Damian when you insult people.”

Marinette’s whole body perked up and she beamed with joy, “thank you.”

Jason’s face suddenly became serious as he sputtered, “that wasn’t a compliment.”

A leg sweep caused Marinette to collapse backwards on the mat, Jason launched his body to the ground to pin her. Before his body covered her own she rolled to her side and away from Jason. Due to her size, she was able to rise to her feet much quicker, allowing her to ram into him before he could properly react. It did little, after all an eight-year-old had little hope of using their weight against an eighteen-year-old body builder. But it phased him enough he couldn’t immediately grab at her as she climbed onto his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his neck. Tightening her thighs together she squeezed as hard as she could, even as he tried to grab at her waist to throw her off.

“Your skills are so underwhelming, perhaps I should be instructing you!” she mocked from above him.

Jason hands gripped her thighs attempting to pull them apart and relieve the pressure on his windpipe. “Wow, Pix, that hurts,” he muttered through his gritted teeth, the pressure on his neck obvious from the lack of air to his words.

“How’d I do?” Her legs continued to try and squeeze the breath from Jason, but she truly wondered how she was performing in his new challenge.

“Oh, that was an insult…I mean, yeah it was!” His hand finally slipped between his neck and her thigh allowing him to push them apart so he could pull her over his shoulder and throw her onto her back. “Delivery is a little too rigid. You need to relax and let it fly from your hip like you don’t care how they interpret your words. Like their true whether you’ve said them or not, but either way they should be insulted.”

His grip still firmly on her upper thigh, he pulled her under him allowing his body to follow to pin her to the ground. Marinette flailed around her upper and lower body, testing to see if she could find a weakness to his hold. There were none.

“Jayjay, may I suggest laying off the double helpings at mealtime?” she grunted as his weight started to crush her body against the floor.

“Are you suggesting I’m fat, Pixie? I’m a growing boy.”

“I’ll say,” she grunted with the last of her air.

Removing himself from atop her when she finally tapped the ground to signify his victory, he held his hand out to assist her with standing. “I see your mama never taught you any manners. It’s not polite to comment on someone’s weight.”

“I’m so sorry Jason. I didn’t know.” She reached out her hand and placed it on his arm, her face colored by equal measures of sadness and concern at truly offending him with something she thought was in the same vein as their previous banter.

“It’s okay Pix. I didn’t really mean anything by it. I mean, when in normal company it truly is something not to comment on. But I had asked you to be insulting.” When Marinette’s expression didn’t shift from his words, Jason fixed her with his own concern. “What’s wrong?”

The concern on her own face ebbed but was replaced by uncertainty. Like the assassins she was trained by, Marinette was able to mask her emotions, but unlike them it did not come easily and to those who she was close to she would try not hide from them. At that moment Jason’s words had done exactly what he was attempting to teach her to do. Hurt.

Immediately he wrapped her in a hug he knew she liked, because it was reflective of the one’s she would give. Head pressed firmly against Jason’s chest Marinette was unable to pull away—not that she would have—as his strong arms locked around her shoulders. In response to the comfort, Marinette wrapped her own arms around Jason’s midsection, but unlike his arms which could loop around her, hers were unable to reach each other.

A long deep sigh released against his chest, signaled her grounding and Jason released her only enough so he could look at her face. He didn’t say anything, but Marinette knew he was expecting her to share, at least what she was willing.

“My mother never had the opportunity to teach me anything. Well, really only one thing actually.”

Jason pushed her away from him even more, his hands rubbing up and down her arm in an affectionate manner. “What do you mean?”

“I only saw her on the days I was presented to my father. But I was so young, I don’t really remember any of those times, I don’t think there were very many. The only time I really remember was the last. The one time she taught me something that I’m not even sure she meant to.”

“What lesson was that?”

“What happens when you fail my father.”

Jason’s voice was low, with an edge of darkness as if he already suspected the answer to his question, “and what happens Pix?”

“You die.”

His eyes flashed green, overwhelming the teal long enough for Marinette to notice. “How do you know that?”

To save him from his mind, Marinette returned to embracing him, hiding her face within his chest so he could not see the tears threatening to spill from her eyes. The act was enough for Jason to break free and quiet the voices that called for things Marinette would never wish to see to fruition. Especially not to be carried out in her name, she would rather take his sympathy than his justice.

Tightening her hug, she braced herself to admit things she’d never had before. It was something she chose not to think about often, not exactly because of what happened, but how it made her feel and the impact it would have on what was expected of her in the future.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to Pix. I would never force you to talk about something you’re not comfortable with.”

It was one of many things Marinette loved about Jason, his ability to read her and know what to offer at any time. While Damian was her best friend, discussions on emotions frightened him. It couldn’t be blamed as it was expected for him to essentially have none. It wasn’t the case of course, and she could read him now to notice those he gave no voice to, but she would never make Damian uncomfortable by burdening him with hers or making him talk about his. Jason was the opposite, never making her feel guilty for feeling, or embracing some of his own—even if they tended to be more of his negative ones.

“I was called into the assembly hall. I often was forced to come when my father hosted someone of importance, so it didn’t strike me as odd. What was strange, was my father addressed me when I came to stand beside him. The exact words are lost to me now, but their meaning was about learning what happened to those who fail.”

A shiver rain down Marinette’s back as the memory assaulted her. Like a child slightly younger than her, Jason scooped her in his arms and sat on the mat. To calm them both he rocked back and forth having likely figured out how the story ended.

“The woman who entered the room, I assumed was my mother, but I wasn’t sure until much later. That was how often I’d interacted with her before. She looked unwell; she’d given birth to a still born only a few hours before... another girl.”

Marinette nestled her head into Jason’s chest taking comfort in his warmth and the smell of musk, gunpowder, and mint.

“My father killed her in front of me. Stabbed his sword through her stomach. As she laid dying his final words berated her for failing to give him a boy. I didn’t even get to mourn her before I was escorted to a plane that brought me to the children’s compound. I would have too, though I didn’t know her…not really.”

Jason sat in silence the entire time she told her story, his arms tightening at certain parts, his nails lightly digging into her skin at others. “Shit Pixie, after experiencing that so young, and then all the stuff I know that you’ve suffered because of an upbringing only the League can provide…I’m amazed you turned out okay.”

“Am I okay?” she whispered, but he caught it. The trauma had left scars. She knew this, fortunately they weren’t nightmares, but they had shaped her none the less.

“I think you adapted well enough. All of that with your folks, being brought up in the League and for your only companion your age being Damian—who suffers from an array of his own shit… You both should give a therapist a plethora of issues to dissect to their heart’s content. And yet…you are one of the better-grounded people I know. So much so, you have the ability to offer me grounding too. You are the only person who can quickly get me back into my own head.”

“Do you still hear them often?”

Though his past was shielded, Marinette knew at some point Jason had died and been brought to life. Talia had found him, brought him back to the League and was given permission to heal him using the Pits by Ra’s. At the unfortunate cost of madness, voices inside Jason’s head telling him to do dark things. Ra’s touted the Pits as a blessing, but Marinette knew they were nothing more than a curse.

A curse Marinette had been determined to heal. When he slept, she went to his room and healed him without his knowledge. But she discovered quickly the madness was not an injury, it was a parasite of sorts. To truly cure him of the madness she would have to destroy it according to Master Chan. A power she did not possess. Fortunately, her powers allowed her to heal some of what was broken. But it was an endless need as his mind was under constant attack and what was fixed would one day be broken again. If she ever stopped she feared he would lose complete control of his mind eventually.

“They’re quieter when I do hear them, I’ve been able to shut them down sooner and for longer. As long as they don’t bring up a certain someone.”

“Is he the only one you think of truly killing?” The last word was small in comparison to the rest of her statement, barely above a whisper. Almost as if she didn’t say the word aloud it didn’t exist.

“No, I’m training with assassins, death is kind of our thing.” Some air fell from his lips, sounding like a chuckle as he winked at her before he released a deep breath. “He’s the only one killing would be personal…I think I have enough control now that I wouldn’t do anything without making the decision for myself.”

“Does that mean you’ll never kill him?”

“I can’t lie to you Pixie. Someday, I hope I do.” If she had seen his eyes at that moment, she would have noticed the flash of green. “We’re in the League of Assassin’s after all, he’s bound to be on someone’s shit list for extermination, and when he is, I’ll be the first in line for the assignment.”

Marinette pulled away slightly, her head looking down at her lap where her hands tightly gripped each other to prevent herself from fidgeting. “I’m not sure I could ever kill someone.”

Another truth she’d never spoken to anyone before, the result of the trauma from her mother. It hadn’t left her mentally unable to cope, with nightmares, or not even anxiety around death. No, it had left her with the knowledge she would never have the ability to be the one to bring it.

The way Jason was looking down at her with a smile on his face it was clearly a statement that didn’t surprise him.

“You don’t belong here, Pix. You’re too pure for a place like this.” He pulled her back against his chest. Tensing at first—she felt vulnerable, like his words enacted an immediate karma—before she melted into his embrace. “One day I fear it’s going to break you.”

“I don’t have anywhere else to go, Jayjay.” A tear escaped from the pools that had settled in her eyes. Despite the truth, it didn’t matter. One day she would be asked to break, and she would have no option to decline.

“I’ll take you away from her someday.” Jason muttered as he leaned down to kiss the top of her head.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she mumbled pathetically into his chest.

“I promise Marinette. The day I leave Nanda Parabat, you will be coming with me.”

Chapter Text

Swinging their joint hands between them, Marinette smiled up at Jason with unbridled joy. The returned smile was so loving she could almost believe the moment to be real. That just like an outside observer might believe, Jason was the older brother leading his significantly younger sister around the streets of Eindhoven.

In front of Marinette and Jason walked Damian and Talia, their hands in a similar hold, though not swinging between them. Damian would never be caught doing such childish things, even though she could tell he was cherishing the moment of normal family behavior with his mother. Naturally she was happy for him, but at the same time there was a hint of envy. For as pretty of a picture they painted of a family, it would never be real for her.

As much as she wished Talia was her mother and the woman gave her affection in a way one would describe as motherly, it could all turn if Marinette disappointed her. After all, unlike Damian there was no automatic bond between them, a bond that naturally formed between a mother and her child.

As many times as Damian and Marinette were taken for twins by casual observers, there was no blood shared between them. The moment Damian became the Head of the Demon, the way he viewed her as an equal to himself would disappear because he would have no equal.

As often as Jason treated her like his little sister, both in public and in private, the truth was he was her instructor. Meant to teach her the ways of the world so she could blend into it and kill without being noticed. Something she felt a brother would never ask of his little sister.

Regardless, for months Marinette enjoyed the various trips the four of them took to acquaint her to the world she had long been denied meeting. Getting lost in the picture of a fake family. Pretending it wasn’t so she could learn the ins and outs of the worse parts of society. Ignoring the reality of just what Damian and Jason were doing when they disappeared for hours at a time.

Today she could no longer get lost in her illusion. There was once again two targets, but this time Jason would be handling one, and instead of Damian, she would handle the second. The luck she seemed to carry that delayed the inevitable had finally run dry, her training was finally coming to its expected precipice. Today they were pretending to be the picture of the perfect family so Marinette could earn her title of assassin.

In the distance, Centraal Station Eindhoven busied with people as they went about their business catching both buses and trains. Their first task would have them quickly dropping Jason off on a bus that would take him to Nuenen, a little town outside of Eindhoven where his target was attempting and failing to hide.

Unlike Jason’s target who was aware of the bounty on his head, Marinette’s was none the wiser and was expected to arrive on a train to the same station in short time. Everything was set for both her and Jason, now they only had to wait for the appointed hour.

Walking through the busy station to the side where the buses ran, Marinette gripped Jason’s hand tightly. Looking to pull strength from him so she could do the one thing she was convinced she could not. Her powers made it so she could prolong life, prevent death; now in a sickening twist of fate, she would be expected to take life away. Neither Damian nor Jason knew the extent of her powers so they couldn’t understand her inner turmoil. Did not stop both from looking at her all morning with pity, understanding some of the toll the day would have. Likely the reason Jason was being extra all morning, trying desperately to get Marinette to smile and forget what they were set out to do. It had worked, but she knew the moment she let go of his hand, nothing in her life would ever feel the same.

Refusing to look at him, she could feel his eyes on her. She didn’t want him to feel as if he had to share her burden, this was her issue. She needed to face it and come out on the other side. As much as she knew both Jason and Damian, perhaps even to a degree Talia, would wish to take it for her, this would be only the first time she would be required to do this. She was a member of the League of Assassins; death would be expected and she the bringer. It was what they were trained to do.

When they arrived on the other side of the depot, several buses were waiting for passengers. Marinette led Jason to the one flashing Uden in large orange letters, not because she wanted him to leave, but the action was distracting. When Jason stood in front of the folding doors, he turned to face Marinette and picked her up into a bone crushing hug. Marinette quickly wrapped her arms around him, resting her head briefly against his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head before resting his cheek against it as he swayed her back and forth a few times for good measure. Her feet dangled off the ground limply, flopping like a rag doll from the sway of their bodies and she lamented one last time how she wished this artificial scene could be her reality instead.

Reluctantly, he returned her to the ground, his hands keeping contact as long as they could. His mouth twitched slightly as if keeping himself from saying something, but she knew he didn’t because nothing he could say would change anything. No reassurances could be given as the choice was out of their hands. If she refused to kill, someone would do it for her and then someone she cared for would pay the price.

Turning from her, he slowly ascended the few steps up to the driver to have his fare stamped. Marinette backed away not turning from the sight of him till she was aligned with both Damian and Talia. Without looking, Marinette slipped her hand into Talia’s free one, continuing to paint the picture of the family seeing their brother off. But in reality, Marinette was seeking a new source of ground.

Jason disappeared into the belly of the bus, just visible through the windows until he could be seen taking a seat. Talia pulled slightly on Marinette’s hand to get her to turn so they could walk back into the station.

“It’s almost time,” she whispered in Dutch. The language was not one included in Damian and Marinette’s lessons, but it was similar enough to German and English the two could understand and butcher it well enough.

From the large white analog clock that hung from the glass face of the building, Marinette could read her target’s expected train would be arriving shortly. Talia led the children into the building, all the way to the stairs leading down to the train platforms. The arrival and departure times flashed on a large screen displayed overhead, Marinette eyed the train coming from Den Hagg and found it arriving three minutes early, four minutes from the current time.

There were several things Marinette imagined Talia would say at that moment before her departure, but none of them were close to what she actually said.

Which was nothing at all.

Instead, her face said everything Marinette thought she would. How sorry she was, how proud, how worried. All flashing like a rolodex briefly before she schooled her emotions and walked away from her and Damian.

From above the train platform, Damian and Marinette watched the 15:54 train from Den Hagg begin to unload. A commuter train meant there was no class distinction, as such Marinette would have to be vigilant to ensure she spotted the woman before she left the station. Marinette would have preferred to have met her at the hotel where she’d prepared a room in advance, but she needed to ensure the target went there directly as she was under express orders to have her mission completed before 17:45. The woman had a political dinner at 18:00 her death was likely meant to ensure she missed.

From the middle of the train came a middle-aged female in dark burgundy slacks paired with a cream blouse. Over the last few months Marinette was exposed to the different fashions throughout the world and found herself interested in them. Which was why instead of focusing on the task at hand, her hand fisted at her side as she fought the itch to grab pen and paper to copy one of the many ideas she had to improve the rather mundane shirt.

“Focus,” Damian hissed. He was able to read her of course, and knew while she’d successfully eyed her target, that was as far as on mission she currently was.

The woman acknowledged someone who was walking behind her, causing Marinette to panic slightly, her plan did not account for a second person. But as soon as she started to settle on a possible alternative that would allow her to ditch the companion, the target laughed at what he said and waved him off before he went to stand before another train platform.

Walking up the stairs the woman clearly had no cares in the world, her head was switching between watching where she was going and looking down at her cellphone. The smile on her face was one of humor, either from a funny video or communication. It begged the question how such a bad person, who the League felt needed to be eliminated, could smile so carefree.

At the top, she paused briefly looking at both Marinette and Damian in concern. Both remained looking down at the trains, trying to maintain the illusion of waiting on someone. When the target found nothing more than their young age to be concerned about she moved on, slipping through the glass doors to the taxi line.

Marinette and Damian promptly left their position to follow some distance behind. Marinette’s target entered the first black car, and it wasted no time before driving off, turning right as it exited the station. From the direction it went, it was safe to say her target was heading directly to the hotel as the restaurant was in the opposite direction.

Calmly the pair went to the two bikes they had stolen earlier in the week. With many of the streets only open to bikes and pedestrians, they could expect to arrive at least four minutes before the car. Giving Marinette enough time to enter the room she set up for her target to occupy.

Damian and Marinette rode silently through the throngs of pedestrian and other bicyclist. For only having ridden a bike for a few days, Marinette was very proud of how proficient she was. Cars were okay, but were often stopped by traffic, lack of roads, and currently she and Damian were banned from going behind the wheel. Their lessons had been left to Jason, and after observing the final test Talia had coined the style as reckless and in need of remediation. But Marinette was fine with the bikes, they could fit anywhere, be lifted above anything and the constant need of movement to operate it sometimes could clear Marinette’s mind.  

This was not one of those times as her mind raced with the task at hand. In the morning, the woman whose name was Sophie, was nothing more than a brief research packet that included a name and her suspected itinerary. Marinette had known nothing of the woman and perhaps that made her believe she would be able to go through with it. In two point seven seconds her world was turned. The woman she saw get off the train was friendly, well-liked by her colleague, good-humored and caring telling by the way she paused to assess both her and Damian. The aura she gave was not one that deserved to be silenced.  Why was it then the League required it to be done? What purpose would her death provide and for who?

It was safe to say it had something to do with politics. Likely someone unhappy with the policies the woman supported or was pushing. But could those reasons really be used to justify killing, what she could only assume, was an otherwise innocent woman?

Unfortunately, there was no time to dwell on possible answers to any of her questions as she and Damian arrived at the back alley of the hotel. The cameras near the hotel would show two small children riding past some time before Sophie’s time of death, but their escape route would ensure both children and bikes would not return on camera till they were some distance away with bags laden with groceries.

The building behind the hotel was used as an arcade of sorts, which had the windows blocked to prevent light from entering. Perfect for Marinette and Damian to scale its ladder without fear of being noticed. The roof of the three-story building was parallel to the room on the fourth floor directly across from it, running at full speed Marinette launched herself across the distance and aimed to enter the small gap in the open window. When her body cleared the glass and brick she rolled forward to protect herself from the impact. The bed in the middle of the small room forced her to cut her roll short before moving aside so Damian could quickly follow.

After earning his own title, Damian felt guilty for them not doing it together. Hence why he’d insisted on being with her for her first time. Something she was grateful for. Still, he would be unable to assist her in the act, this had to be done only by her or she would fail and who knew what the consequences would be then. He nodded to her as he completed his own roll, before moving to the bathroom where both would wait.

Before she had seen the woman in person she’d decided to make her death appear an accident, simply an unfortunate fall in the tub. Having seen the woman, she was reassured of her decision. Marinette would not want her loved ones to believe her murdered, at least she thought it better than the alternative of never knowing who was responsible.

Quickly Marinette prepared her supplies, meticulously touching them as if they were practiced movements although none of them were. The mental block it provided was enough to not think about the task she was going to have to perform with them. The white fabric in her hand was laced with a drug that would render Sophie unconscious in her arms. She would then run the bath and leave her there. An autopsy would label the death as drowning as the drug would be out of her system before anyone even noticed her missing. A bruise would be found on the back of her head to allow for the running theory to be she hit her head before falling. It should be simple, but for Marinette the idea of it was anything but.

The void of color in her hand, felt like her mind. No thoughts, no replaying of a checklist as Damian had advised, nothing. The idea of killing someone left her numb, out of the moment, and when the door of the hotel room opened she still didn’t respond.

Though the sounds of a person unpacking a bag could be heard even through the shut bathroom door, it did not reach her ears. Even Damian’s low, commanding voice could not lift her from the haze. It was not until his tanned hand covered the white fabric her mind finally rebooted, and she snapped back into the moment. Looking over her shoulder she caught Damian’s harden gaze, she couldn’t meet him with the same. Instead, her eyes filled with tears, she couldn’t kill Sophie, she just couldn’t.

“I can’t do it Damian,” she whispered.

Compassion briefly flashed into his eyes before he returned to the stoic Damian she knew. “You have to.”

“I can’t be judge, jury and executioner.”

“You’re not Ukht, your just the executioner.” Squeezing her shoulder, he tried to reassure her, but his words did anything but.

“That is the one role, I can never be.” Her eyes pled with him to understand and by the thinning of his lips she knew he did.

There had never been a misunderstanding about the kind of person she was. She could bring people to justice, but she could never be the final justice. At the core of her was her magic, something that was meant to heal people, not destroy them. Despite all of the years of training that prepared her to do this, the final step was her own and she could not take it. Surviving what she’d witnessed as a child hadn’t been easy, she’d managed by keeping true to herself and not becoming the monster her father was, what the League wanted her to be. Killing Sophie now, would break her in a way her mother’s death should have. If she did as she was supposed to, she would not come out the other side the same person, and Marinette was not ready to let herself go.

Damian took the fabric from her hand and reached up to kiss her forehead. “Close your eyes, Ukht.”

“Why?” she asked confused, death was not new to her. Just because she couldn’t cause it, she wasn’t naïve enough to believe she would never see it again.

“Just as you cannot bear the idea of killing, I cannot bear the thought of you watching me.”

The door to the bathroom opened just as Marinette closed her eyes. A soft breeze passed her by. A woman’s scream just barely left her throat before it became muffled and then non-existent. A shuffling of shoes against the tiled floor never gained traction before they stilled.

In the darkness of her closed eyes Marinette knew Damian was struggling to carry the woman as it sounded as if he was limping across the floor. Her left foot stepped back ready to help before his words stopped her. “Don’t.”

A loud thud had Marinette wince in sympathy before the bathwater started. This was the moment of no return, and guilt ate at Marinette as she let it happen.

A soft, timid hand was placed against her shoulder, a little pressure was applied to get her moving. She kept her eyes closed the entire time because the truth was just as Damian wished her not to see it, she wished the same.

As the door closed she opened her eyes and looked quickly around the room. On the bed was the suitcase she’d watched the woman wheel behind her in the station. Atop it was a new outfit, more appropriate for a dinner meeting than her traveling attire. A dinner she would now miss.  

Damian said nothing as he walked past her and towards the window they had entered. She followed suit quickly unable to remain in the room any longer than necessary.

Before she jumped across the alley, she turned to look back to shut the window, her eyes caught the bathroom door and her mind raced with questions. Could she go back in to heal the woman? If she was already dead, could she bring her back to life? What would be the consequences of doing either? Closing the windowsill knowing it was better at that moment to not try and answer any of her own questions, she jumped across the alley.

When the air was once more causing her hair to whip around her face as they rode away from the hotel she knew without a shadow of a doubt, despite not being the one to kill the woman the event had changed her.

They were expected to meet Talia outside of a small café who boasted the best tomaat soep, but Damian stopped short at a small park. Unsure what was happening exactly, Marinette followed him diligently over to a park bench. Sitting down without a word, he patted the space beside him for her to take.

For several minutes they sat in silence, and in spite of what the day had done she allowed herself in that moment to just be. No thoughts of what happened or what would come of it. Just enjoying the moment beside the person she considered family, her best friend.

While Damian was usually a boy of few words, looking at him one could often see the complex thoughts that usually plagued his mind. At that moment beside her, he looked calm and at ease. Almost as if he too was allowing himself to just be, or like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Of course, silence in one’s mind can only last but so long. A child of similar age some distance away, was learning to skateboard. Their efforts while valiant had yet to produce a run that didn’t land them on their behind. Yet they smiled when they returned to their feet and tried again. There was no expectation for them to succeed or fail, they were just given the opportunity to try.

A sad reality that at eight-years-old she was not offered the same. When the League came to know of her failure, she would be punished. There was no trying, she either did or did not. In this case, she didn’t.

No one her age should have to deal with such a moral dilemma as she was. Of course, they trained them so early to believe it wasn’t even a dilemma, just something they did. Her father killing her mother in front of her when she was three should have cemented this in her head. After all he treated the affair so casually, like she should expect death to be the repercussions of any failure. He only continued to cement the idea from that day forward.

Every day since Marinette was sure her mother did not deserve death. She had learned enough science to know her mother was not responsible for the sex of her children, nor the still birth. Yet her father had put the blame completely on her shoulders and killed her for it. It was why she knew she would never be able to kill someone. How could someone decide if death was the right sentence or even if someone had committed a crime, like her mother?

“I have made a decision.” Marinette looked up at Damian, shocked by his sudden outburst.

Not knowing what to say she stared at him with her eyes still blown wide.

“As the Heir to the Demon I have decided your only job is to protect me. You will not be an assassin, but a bodyguard.” His head nodded once as if agreeing with his own words.

“Ra’s will never allow it, Damian. I doubt even Lady Talia would. I am in the League of Assassins, it is expected for me to be an assassin, something I have failed at.” Marinette’s expression turned grim, despite her wish for Damian to have the kind of power to make it so, he did not. Not yet.

“As of today, as far as they know, you are an assassin. Your target is dead, Assassin. Any knowledge past, present or future that counters it, is known only by us.”

“Damian, you cannot take on the burden of such a secret. You will be punished if anyone ever finds out.”

“It is my choice and I have chosen.” He stood quickly preventing Marinette from being able to protest further, making his way back to their bikes and she assumed his mother.

Yes, something had changed for Marinette. She was now determined to leave the League to protect Damian and herself.

Chapter Text

It should have been one of those treasured moments of a mission, a second between obligations where Marinette and Damian could just be kids, or more accurately just themselves. A moment to indulge in something they both enjoyed by choice, rather than force. But that morning sketching beside Marinette didn’t feel as right as it once had for Damian.

It would be a lie to say Damian had not been worried for Marinette over the years he had known her. For he had, because his best friend, nay his only friend, was constantly the target of other’s aggression and forced to do things not of her nature. Truth be told, both he and his mother knew if Marinette was pushed far enough, she would eventually break.

The first crack in her mental wellbeing happened when they began their lessons in torture. The guilt of hurting others overwhelmed her. Immediately isolating herself after the lessons, and it wasn’t till a week after the lessons finally stopped that she spoke beyond simple answers to instructor questions. The only reason he believed she managed to not break was the knowledge of the horrid things those she acted against had done, but the sad reality was it was only of miniscule comfort to her.

This time though, he feared her mental health would not bounce back. What was bothering her was bleeding into everything. Everything she did, everything she said and more importantly everything she wasn’t. And as far as he could tell, there was no end in sight.  

Beside him was a page that would have once been filled by an incomplete image, done in an array of colors to reflect the things Marinette felt inspired by. Instead, the image beside him was a replica of the fountain before them. A very well-done, artistic rendering, reflecting skills beyond the scope of a normal nine-year-old, but the colors were muted, not capturing the intricacies with shading she usually took pride in.

This wasn’t Marinette, she took pride in being creative, never taking something and recreating it at face value. Always looking to make a new spin on something that had already been done. Realism painting was more of Damian’s forte.

Marinette doing so was of great concern. A concern that had been growing inside Damian since what was supposed to be her first kill. She hadn’t returned herself, the changes were subtle, but there none the less. Her body seemed to hum, as if there was a constant itch she was unable to scratch.

Then a few months ago, the changed deepened. Becoming more apparent to those surrounding her. Getting worse over time. So much so, his mother had sent them on this nonexistent mission. A chance for Damian to take Marinette away and fix her before they returned. The words sounded harsh, even coming from his mother, but Damian knew Talia was doing it to protect Marinette. Others would soon come to recognize her mental state and exploit it and Damian could not risk losing her completely.

If the tables had been turned, Marinette would be comforting him at that very moment. Knowing exactly what to say to get him out of his own head and back on track. But he’d never been one with words, emotions really. Fearing he’d say the wrong thing had kept him quiet so far. Watching her continue to spiral down, even as they stepped away from Nanda Parabat and their responsibilities, he knew it was time to at least try opening his mouth.

“Ukht, will you talk to me?”

“I don’t know what to say, Damian.”

If Damian hadn’t already been clued into her weird behavior, her lack of words would have been a red flag. Marinette was never one to be out of things to say when asked, in fact, she was often found rambling with far too much.

Marinette’s hand did not pause as it continued to copy the image before them. Normally Damian would have dropped the conversation, but his sister was crying for help, and he feared the consequences of not answering.

“You may begin with what is bothering you.”

Marinette dropped her pencil and pad into her lap and looked up at the fountain in silence. It took several minutes for her to compose her thoughts before she finally looked back at Damian. When she did, he was able to see the turmoil within her eyes, the swirl of emotions causing her ocean blues to look stormy.

“He left me.”

Nothing further needed to be said for Damian to know whom she was referring to, he’d already drawn the correlation, he just didn’t understand the why.

“He did not leave you, Ukht. Grandfather sent him on a mission,” without so much of a goodbye to either of them.

A small sniffle was masked as Marinette turned her head away. “He left me long before the mission.”

Not by choice Damian thought, being more aware of what she was referring to than he should have. But he’d overheard his mother and grandfather’s conversation a month or so before Jason’s departure. Ra’s had been upset Jason’s madness was too calm, as he had a mission which required Jason’s madness to fulfil. It had shocked Damian to learn this truth, and it soured his already diminishing opinion of his grandfather further. Determined he could cox the madness out again, Ra’s began solitary instruction with Jason, ending his private lessons with others. No one was hurt as deeply by the change than Marinette, who was left in the dark as to the reason why. Even Damian, who had heard this little tidbit of information, still didn’t understand the real reason why.

When Jason had first come to the compound, while Marinette was still away, he had been kept away from everyone until he had some control over his mind. He was kept a secret from all, even Damian, but like a good heir, Damian was determined to discover the secrets his mother was hiding.

What he’d stumbled upon was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. He’d watched the deadliest people in the world in action, skills beautifully honed through decades of training and experience. So much control over their movements where every placement of their arms and legs was meticulous, if not they stood to fail. Jason in contrast, had been uncontrolled, his movements were wild as he took on twelve assassins who were merely attempting to sedate him. In this wild state, Jason was clearly one of the deadliest men Damian had ever encountered.

It was a good while before Damian was finally introduced. Jason had better control over the madness, but his control still ebbed and flowed. It required his mother and their personal guards to always remain in the room to ensure Damian’s safety. Until Marinette returned and Jason’s control over the madness became constant, aside from the occasional flicker of toxic green that cross his eyes when angered.

The return of madness within Jason was unfathomable to Damian, it made Jason uncontrollable, unpredictable, akin to death himself. He lashed out at whom and whatever was before him when the anger overwhelmed him. There was nothing in Damian’s head that could rationalize releasing that kind of terror out into the world, but his grandfather had been determined.

“It was not by choice,” he whispered more to himself again.

“What do you mean Damian?” She studied his face, but as usual it was impassive, void of emotion or answers. “What do you know?”

“Not all of it,” Damian answered defensively. “Just Grandfather was frustrated with Jason’s progress and took it upon himself to rectify it. The month before he left, Grandfather insisted he train with no one else.”

There was no way he could completely fill in the holes for Marinette. Mostly because she would turn the blame on herself instead of where it rightly belonged. It was his grandfather who wanted Jason to fulfil some tasks using the madness. It wasn’t Marinette’s fault she seemed to calm it. That was just who she was, genuine, calming, and loving. No one in their right mind would blame someone for having those qualities, it just may not have a place within the League of Assassins.

“He’s been gone for three months Damian, what mission could Ra’s have sent him on that would have taken so long?”

Being an assassin meant one would frequently lie. To be a good assassin, you had to be a great liar. Both Damian and Marinette had been spared having to perform the finer intricacies of this skill during their missions. Their age preventing them from being able to do full infiltration ops. In the near future this would change, and then their lying abilities would have to be impeccable.

Damian was at the point where few were able to pick up when he was lying, but he did not like the practice. In fact, he took pride in his bluntness and honesty. Hurt feelings were of no consequence to him, even if they were Marinette’s, if the truth was involved.

Still, from his recent exposure to the garbage they called reality television, he learned this was supposed to be the point where he lied to make her feel better about the situation. However, he’d also witnessed how this would come to negatively impact the relationship between those involved when the truth was later revealed. ‘Beating around the bush,’ he’d noted had more consequences than the outright truth in the long run.

Knowing the truth or not, Marinette was hurting either way. Damian hoped by knowing some of the truth would allow her to move forward, and he could have his Marinette back.

“I don’t know what the original mission he was sent on was, but I do know he has gone rogue and has no intentions of returning.”

Of all the reactions he was expecting, returning to her artwork as if unaffected was not one of them. Just as he was about to return to his own work, he noticed the addition she was making. A man now sat at the edge of the fountain, looking as if he were laughing at a joke. He could easily be recognized as Jason, the white in the hair was evident and she had started to color his beautiful aqua eyes, trying to capture the complex swirl of colors within them. Eerily, the rest of the figure was void of pigment, almost translucent. Like a ghost haunting the fountain.

Perhaps he was haunting Marinette’s memories.

“Marinette, speak…please.”

“Did you just please me?” Her lips temporarily tilted up.

“Ukht,” he sighed.

Releasing her own sigh. Marinette choked on her next words, “he left me, Damian.”

“As I have said he did not. Grandfather had a mission for him.” Now he wished he’d stumbled upon the assassin giving Ra’s the report on Jason’s status earlier, then he might know what mission Jason had been given and perhaps understand why he’d abandoned it. “According to Ra’s he went rogue, failed to complete his mission by starting one of his own. Refusing to do the Leagues bidding any longer.”

Marinette looked past Damian and seemed transfixed, a memory clearly replaying in her mind. “He promised when he left, he would take me with him.”

The relationship between Jason and Damian had been complicated. On one hand, Damian respected him, Jason was a formidable fighter who taught Damian much. On the other hand, he feared Jason because of the madness he knew was lurking within. Then there was the fact, he envied Jason. Jealous of the relationship he had with Marinette and how quickly they had become attached to each other. Worse yet, Damian longed to be able to have the same.

There were so many times such a thing felt possible. Like all he had to do was accept the familial bond with Jason, but each time he ended up rebuffing those feelings. He could not risk another attachment that could be used against him. Turned out for the best in the end, he would not wish to be as broken as Marinette by Jason’s departure. Not that he’d admit it hurt him, nonetheless.

All of that considered, Damian wasn’t sure how to feel about her comment. It was obviously something he wished for her for a long time, to be free from the League. But would she have truly left him? Had he meant so little to her that she could walk away, without asking if he would come along? Not that he would have left, he understood he was trapped. His grandfather would never have let him leave freely, nor stop to get him back. Damian would have never put that on Marinette or Jason, but he would have like to think they would have at least for him considered taking the risk.

“We could have gone with him. Helped him with whatever mission he’d decided he needed to do. We could have been the family we pretended to be.”

Marinette looked up to Damian with her eyes expressing her vulnerability. She was confessing something she figured he didn’t already know. But the truth was he did. She never looked happier than the times the four of them were together, pretending to be a normal family for the sake of a mission. Truth be told he never felt like it was pretending. What happened behind the walls of Nanda Parabat was them pretending.

Talia would take their hands freely; give the affection they were denied at the temple. Even to Jason she would act like the mother Damian always imagined she could be. While he would never hold Jason’s hand like Marinette did—that was be asking too much—he had felt during those moments that if they were free of the League, he could see how Jason would be the annoying big brother he would later regret wishing to have.

Those longings for that family were thoughts that existed up until a minute prior. Now his mind was plagued with the promise Jason had given his sister. A promise for the freedom she deserved. A promise that when given a chance to fulfil, he’d only given to himself.

If Damian ever found Jason again, he would kill him.

“I will never leave you.”

Damian meant it. Though she was his protector—as he had so declared and he was sure was his mother’s intent—he made a promise to himself a long time ago he would protect her, now he was only giving voice to it.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. That is what Jason did.”

“I am not that imbecile.”

Releasing a deep sigh that sounded like it held the weight of the world, Marinette replaced her sketching materials to her bag so her full attention could rest on Damian.

“I may be sad, but I can’t pretend to understand his motives and I will not judge him without knowing the whole story. Sometimes we act without choice, even if others can’t see it.”

“You relieve him of his guilt too easily. Whatever his motivations, he still hurt you, should he not be held accountable for that crime?”

“Damian—” whatever she was about to say was cut short by a man’s scream.

Both children looked up to survey what had caused the disturbance. A man could be seen yelling as he ran in the direction of a white van. The van’s door was wide open as a second man tossed what looked like two children within its depths before the van pulled out into traffic.

Marinette quickly stood and slung her bag onto her back, looking around for possible solutions to the dilemma.

“Marinette,” Damian began in protest, “this is not our issue.”

“With great power comes great responsibility,” she threw over her shoulder as she ran towards the street.

Damian absolutely hated how Marinette’s ‘feel better trip’ had ended up with him agreeing to watch movies and TV shows under the guise of research into social interactions. What it turned out to be was a lesson in the different delusions humanity had about itself.

After all he was fairly confident Superman or Wonder Woman did not have tragic backstories of the likes of the Spiderman character. Or that Batman who did, had a father like figure who imparted sage wisdom at critical developmental moments, like Uncle Ben.

Also, if the first movie she talked him into watching was to be believed, car chases down the streets of some of the largest cities was an extremely common occurrence. Yet, he knew from experience, the streets were far too busy with traffic to expect anything of the likes with anything more than a bike. Which he guessed was about to become a reality as Marinette made her way to a motorcycle parked in front of one of the buildings.

While Damian did not believe this to be their issue, Marinette clearly did, and he would not leave her on her own. He quickly slid behind her on the bike as she hotwired it in the fashion Jason taught them. She aggressively pulled out of the parking spot and followed in the wake of the chaos.

She weaved in and out of cars with ease, allowing for the white van to come into their sights before it turned off a street they would have otherwise missed had they been following in a car. Proving even more to Damian the unrealistic nature movies.

“What are your intensions when we catch up with the van?”

“Get the children away.”

“That is your plan?” he yelled over the loud purr of the engine. “Mother will have our heads for this.”

“Damian, how can we sit by and allow something like this to play out when we have the ability to stop it? Would you not do the same if it were me in that van?”

“It would never be you, Marinette. You would never put yourself in such a position.”

“There are bad people everywhere Damian, some worse than others. While I might be able to protect myself from being in this specific situation, doesn’t mean one day, I might not be in one similar. Ra’s claims we kill to protect the world from bad people. There are bad people in that van. While I don’t believe we should kill them, I do believe we should protect the children from them.”

Since he first came to earn the title of assassin, he had learned Ra’s was manipulative. The message he propagated was killing for the good of humanity, and perhaps it was how started. Now, Damian understood the League of Assassins was driven more by the desire for power and money. The highest bidder could buy a hit, none would question the motive, none would care if it followed the ideal of only killing bad people. More disturbing yet, was Damian had learned not long ago that sometimes they were hired to kill by the very bad people he’d been told they stood up against.

This would no longer be something Damian would allow to stand when he became the Head. The League of Assassins would return to its roots, deliverers of justice. Then and only then did he believe that he may find a balance that would allow him to be the best choice for both Ra’s and Batman’s legacy. Which meant Marinette was right. This is what his father would do, save the innocent, serve justice. That would be why he killed today.

As they came behind the van, still some five cars distance between, she slowed the bike. “Why are we not taking the van?”

“You’ve got to think bigger.”

“I don’t follow.”

“We could take the van, but they are no doubt heading somewhere were there might be more children in need of rescuing. If we wait, we might be able to have even more of an impact. This is what we’ve been trained to do.”

Damian would disagree with the statement, but perhaps it is what they should use their training for.

The van parked in an empty spot along the street about a block away. Marinette was stopped at a red light giving them the perfect vantage to watch the van and its occupants without being obvious.

When the driver exited, she quickly went to the back and pulled two fake numbers off the license plate. It was done with such a practiced ease Damian was sure it was a technique employed frequently. In the same sequence of movements, the woman moved to the sliding door on the side and opened it. The original man stepped out with one of the two children braced against his shoulder. From the quick glance Damian had of the child’s face it looked as if the young boy was passed out. Swiftly the woman entered the van and came out with the young girl in the same state as her brother.

With Damian’s photographic memory, even only having seen the children for mere seconds before they entered the van, he knew the duo had changed their appearance. The girl who once had her brown hair in a ponytail and a yellow sundress, now looked to be sporting a blond wig and a baby blue hoodie with shorts. The boy’s own brown hair was now covered in a ball cap and his shirt was covered by a red hoodie. If any cameras caught them, they would not be able to easily identify the two without knowing what they were looking for.

The stoplight turned green, and Marinette guided the bike into an alleyway a block away from where the pair had stalked off. With little care, they discarded their own transport, pausing only briefly to remove any traces such as fingerprints behind.

They moved swiftly as they followed the kidnapping duo. With it being New York and parking at a premium, there was no telling how long it would take to get to their final destination, so it shocked them when moments later the pair walked into what looked like a daycare.

Marinette looked back at Damian in disbelief, but his own surprise had diminished. The idea was disgustingly clever. All they had to do was subdue their victim—just as they had the two children—and walk into the establishment as if they were parents dropping off their child like any other day. No one would think twice when they walked out without the child only minutes later.

Noticing a mother about to walk into the building, Damian grabbed Marinette’s hand and dragged her behind him to follow. He kept them close to maintain the ruse of being the woman’s older children, even as they took some time surveying their surroundings.

From an outsider’s perspective it would look like an average daycare. The front consisted of a receptionist area where the adults and children were checked into the facility to ensure unwanted persons were unable to enter—the irony. The woman they were following showed some sort of pass to the lady currently manning the desk and was buzzed through the door. Marinette and Damian followed just behind, almost missing the door as it closed.

They followed behind as long as possible before the woman turned to take her two-year-old into his assigned class. Marinette and Damian continued further down knowing the children they were after were unlikely to be held near the front of the building.

Through the paned glass on every door they were able to see inside each of the classrooms. So far each had appeared normal, with children participating in a variety of activities common for such establishments. None of the children appeared to be held against their will, aside from the occasional ones who clearly had yet to calm down since the disappearance of their parents at the door.

As they came to the end of the hall, to their right was one more classroom with children around the age of the two they had watched be abducted. Once again, none of the children within, in the ten second scan Damian could afford, looked like their targets. Leaving the left which was a small hall with two doors parallel to each other and a bathroom at the end.

Marinette dragged him towards the bathroom, knowing this was the part where their identities would have to be obscured, they changed quickly into their League garments.

“They will be traumatized enough, let’s not add to it.”

“Tt, I will be discrete if the situation requires me to be lethal.” She rolled her eyes at his statement. It was a practice he had taken as he still felt weird letting her see him kill. It was stupid and irrational, but it was what it was. “We are being reckless, Ukht. We are entering with no plan and no knowledge of which of the two doors they are being held.”

“I know Gē Ge, but I can’t not do something knowing I have the ability.”

“You are too good for this world.” He kissed the top of her head and she leaned into him, wrapping her arm around his waist in a stolen embrace.

“One day you will realize the same.”

Damian hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with her statement vocally. He achingly pulled away from her embrace so he could ready his daggers. Not his weapon of choice, but they were the most discreet for carrying around at all times without notice. Marinette followed suit silently; no further words needed to be shared between the two until the objective was complete.

One of the two doors outside of the bathroom had been labeled custodial and the other admin. The second would likely be just as it was labeled, but it would be the first room they entered regardless. Whether the person inside was innocent was of little consequence, they would require neutralization to prevent them from calling support that was above or below the law, who could blindside the two liberators.

Damian stood at the admin door as Marinette bounced slightly on her feet ready to spring into action the moment the door opened. Since she returned from what he coined her exile, she had taken point when entering the unknown. While he was not necessarily happy with the arrangement, her healing abilities were something he did not possess, and an undeniable advantage. They had fortunately never had a need to make use of them, but there was always the chance for it to be the first time.

When the door creaked open only revealing a single person inside, Marinette quickly sheathed her daggers and raced to the desk before the woman could even flinch. With a carefully placed hits across her neck the woman slouched in her chair, out for at least ten minutes.

More than enough time, as long as they did not underestimate their foe in the other room.

Moving quickly to the custodial door, Damian paused once more to open it for Marinette. Unlike the last, the handle did not give, with a perfected finesse, Damian unlocked the door and opened it quickly with none of the occupants being aware. It allowed both assassins a second to assess the situation. There were three grown men in the room playing a game of cards in the corner. All three had guns but they were either on the table in front of them or tucked in the waistband of their pants. On the other side where three sets of bunk beds, Damian was unsure if all were occupied, but from what he could tell, those that were, held sedated children.

A holding cell and not where the horrid crimes were perpetrated.

At a certain point the hinge of the door creaked, alerting the men to their presence. The thugs jumped from the table, quickly arming themselves against the unknown foes. The children assassins moved swiftly against the wall to keep stray bullets away from the kids. They were able to cross most of the room before the men were even able to react.  

Taken down swiftly and succinctly, only one of the thugs was able to fire his weapon. The slight moans that escaped due to injury were silenced as Damian used the hilt of his dagger to knock them out. Marinette followed closely behind zip-tying their hands together before using one of their discarded phones on the table to call the police.

With the villains incapacitated, they turned to survey the beds that held the children. Damian was sad to see every bed but one filled. He was glad Marinette pestered him into involving themselves, they had just saved five children from one of the darkest horrors the world convinced itself didn’t happen in the shadows.

“No, no, no,” Marinette’s panicked voice broke through the silence, and he tensed with anxiety fearing she’d been hurt in a way he hadn’t noticed.

Turning back toward the door where her voice had come from he saw her crouched down and hovering over a small body. The empty bed. The sixth child who’d woken during the commotion and moved towards the door likely to escape. The single bullet shot from the gun was aimed in that direction.

When he appeared before Marinette, her hands were pressed into the bullet wound of the little girl. Lost in her own world, she failed to notice his presence across from her. It concerned him greatly, it was unlike her to fail at such a simple skill they had been taught early, but the child’s situation seemed to take her entire focus. He could not completely blame her as from what he could tell the wound was fatal unless the medical professionals showed up quickly. Before then, they would have to be long gone to prevent knowledge of their involvement.

It saddened him greatly, but five was better than none.

“Uk—” Damian was cut short when a pink glow started to illuminate her hands.

From his position nothing appeared to be happening. The girl still remained on the floor, passed out from the pain or blood loss. The clothing she wore stained red from her blood, and her breath labored from the strain.

But when Marinette leaned back and the light disappeared, he noticed the lack of strenuous breathing causing his hands to reach for the shirt covering the girl’s wound.

Under it he found unmarred skin.

Looking at Marinette, he expected to find her as equally shocked as him in her ability to heal others, the reports given to Talia had concluded an inability to do so. Instead, he found her looking at him sheepishly. A secret she had obviously been keeping. It should have hurt, but he knew he was keeping some of his own, and like him, she would never keep something unless there was a good reason.

He trusted her.

Period.

The young girl began to stir, and Damian knew they would need to leave before there was another witness to their presence. The lack of a wound on her concerned him though. Despite the traumatic situation, she would likely remember having been shot or injured at least, not to mention the hole and her own blood present on her shirt.

There was a good likelihood any report from the incident might include an account from the men that could lead a trail back to their involvement. That trail would go cold, but someone within the League would notice, hopefully only his mother. Still, he knew it would not be beneficial for Marinette if there was any mention of an abnormality that might be tied to miraculous healing of any kind.

Hiding it from him meant she feared anyone knowing. Like the big brother he thought himself to be, he was determined to protect her secrets. He took his dagger from its sheath and ran it across the same area that had just been healed.

Marinette made a noise in protest as the girl whimpered in pain, which Damian quickly quieted with a glare in her direction. She nodded her head, rethinking her action, and understanding his own.

Finished, he pulled her from the room and back into the bathroom. Just as they slipped out of the window, the police arrived to surround the building, affording them only a moment to slip back into the shadows.

Moving to the front of the street, they watched as the children were carried out to waiting ambulances before the men they had taken down were escorted to squad cars. The father, who had captured their attention, starting their campaign, could not be contained by the perimeter tape nor the officers, rushed to his children as soon as they were carried out. Barely awake, they perked-up immediately at the sight of their parent. The man cried ugly tears at the reunion, but Damian paid little attention to them as it was captured by the girl beside him who brightened. Her smile showed some of the weight of the last few months had left.

If this would heal her, he was ready to take down the whole operation.  

Chapter Text

The children of Talia Al Ghul and Bruce Wayne were always destined to be exceptional; it was written within their DNA. So, it was no surprise to Talia that the League of Assassins had never seen two so skilled at such a youthful age. True there was still growth to be had, but for only being ten they exceeded every expectation placed upon them and overcoming every obstacle put in their path, even the ones they put there themselves.

No one but Talia knew of the true testaments of their abilities, the overthrown dictators, the eradication of long-established criminal organizations, as they did quite well at covering their tracks. Ra’s no doubt suspected when certain occurrences had League signatures all over them, but if he cared he didn’t protest. In fact, he would have happily broadcasted these successes as displays of what the pair were capable of, but he would then have to admit they acted without permission. Instead, Ra’s chose demonstrations such as the one occurring now before Talia to show the elite the children’s capabilities.

Pitted against each other, teamed-up against unfavorable odds, and given moments to display their individual skill sets, the children were like jesters of the court performing for the entertainment of Ra’s. While simultaneously acting like knights from the tournaments of old by demonstrating why the Al Ghuls were the indisputable leaders of the League of Assassins. All of the leadership would know by the end, none could ever hope to compare to the children, none more so than Ra’s.

It unsettled Talia to have her father observing her children so closely once more, especially as the similarities between the pair were more obvious. Just two weeks ago she’d overheard one of the chambermaids’ comments on their shared appearance to her friend, the maids sudden exile was pointless, yet necessary. Gossip was dangerous.

The longer the children remained together, the more she feared others would make the connection. When they did, she knew the solution would not be as simple as giving free trips to the Bahamas. There was nothing she could do to prepare for the inevitability, a fact she was coming to face. Along with the knowledge her continued selfishness had backed her and Marinette into a corner.

Any step she tried to take preemptively could do more harm than good. With Marinette’s powers now known, even if Talia and Master Chan were still the only ones who knew the extent of them, there was little chance of Marinette gaining freedom. Just like Damian, Ra’s would use her as a pawn to do what he saw fit. There would be no way to have her just disappear, Ra’s would find her and know Talia was involved. This would lead to Ra’s pushing to understand why, risking the exposure of both the extent of her powers and her lineage.

Trying to have Marinette transferred from Nanda Parabat was also not an option, as her protection came from her proximity to Talia. Master Chan had informed Talia of the treatment Marinette suffered at the hands of her sister and Lady Shiva. The mental torture they put her through when physical proved to be of no use. While Damian no doubt went through more than most children, he was protected as the heir. None would risk breaking their future ruler. But sweet, independent, pure Marinette was also obstinate, it was not in her nature to follow blindly. As a leader it would be cultivated, as a child it would be beaten out.

When Marinette came back from Bleake Island, she was different, more reserved in the face of her instructors, less willing to take risk to accomplish her goals, and scared of stepping out of line. The smile that once rivaled the sun failed to light up her entire face. Only free and more herself when they were outside the walls of the League, but even then, Talia could see longing within her child’s expressions.

When Jason left the final pieces binding her to who she once was seemed to crack. Talia knew her daughter had grown attached, feeling a bond with him like one would find with a sibling. The irony. Ra’s insistence to send Jason on a fruitless mission pointlessly wounded Marinette, wounds her powers were unable to heal. Talia tried to help by sending her children away on false missions, a chance for Marinette and Damian to get away from the expectations that were breaking them. In the end it helped, but some wounds couldn’t be easily healed, if at all. The whispers they left were still sometimes visible to Talia when she looked at her daughter.

Now, if Talia’s father was to sink his claws into the shell of her daughter, he would no doubt remove all that was left, making the damage permanent. With every bated breath, the more Ra’s paid attention, the closer to the truth he came. Nyssa had never hinted at having discovered the true lineage of Marinette, too blinded by the powers she suspected her daughter having to ever see what was clearly before her. But Ra’s was not a dunce like her sister. If he ever took the time to study her daughter, the deceit would unfold.

Unfortunately, there was no way he was not paying attention during the demonstration for Marinette was a sight to behold. A thought shared by those within the room, as all eyes seemed unable to resist the sight of her daughter. She danced gracefully while fighting; a mixture of acrobatics and artistic movements she’d learned from Lady Shiva’s daughter. It was one of the main differences between her children, not to say Damian did not have grace, but it did not possess the same finesse.

The restraint she showed was miraculous as well. Marinette’s healing abilities were known to all those present in the room, so they watched as every successful hit Damian managed perfectly healed before he could land his next. For all his faults, Damian did not lash out in anger at his lack of normal progress, as he recognized Marinette’s restraint from causing him any harm in return. Several times she could have cut his arm, sliced his torso, broken his leg as he had hers, but she did not. Ra’s would fortunately see it as reverence, but Talia knew it to be love.

For more than two hours the two continued this tango with each other, occasionally having others within the room join in to test their skills themselves. None would walk away disappointed with the children’s capabilities, only in their own inability to best them. By the time Ra’s called the demonstration with two sharp claps of his hands, only Ra’s, Talia, and Ra’s personal bodyguard had not challenged them.

“Well done, there is no doubt left in my mind. The League is destined to be led into further greatness with the pair of you at its helm. Til then, I look forward to having Damian and Marinette on my left and my right.”

The interesting choice of words was lost to no one, even the children who looked at each other in confusion and a little fear. They were unlikely to understand the possible implication of naming Marinette alongside Damian, instead of Damian alone, but Talia did.

Taking a deep breath, Talia tried to calm her nerves, there was no way her father could be implying what her mind had first jumped to, not without first consulting her. Though if he did, it would confirm one of her more recent fears. That Ra’s was pushing her out.

Lately, doors seemed to close in her face where she was once the only one given admittance. Not that others were in the room, but it meant Ra’s plans were his own. To Talia, with her own secrets, this was the scariest reality she could face. Her children’s safety was often only secured by knowing Ra’s intentions and being able to suggest alternatives before he acted.

The exact moment the change began she couldn’t pinpoint, but the first time she felt it confirmed was when Ra’s chose to train Jason personally. While Ra’s did not hide his intention to bring forth the madness, the purpose behind it was kept from her. When the truth of the mission became known, she first thought her father kept her in the dark because he knew she would protest. How could she not, her father wished for Jason to kill the third Robin and in so doing hurt her beloved.

Then she remembered this was her father, her own feelings on decisions he made would mean nothing. They would be ignored; they would do nothing to deter him. So there had to be something more. The more she thought on the matter the more she speculated it had something to do with Marinette.

Talia did not miss the signs that Marinette had been healing Jason, calming the madness to where Jason could control it better. If Ra’s figured out Marinette could heal others, the deceit would be held at Talia’s feet.

Not that the possible punishment she would face scared her. Talia had been a disappointment to her father in one way or another since birth. She figured someday he would simply rid himself of her, especially now he had what he deemed to be a worthy heir.

No, what she feared was Ra’s knowing the true abilities Marinette possessed. As many secrets as Ra’s kept to himself, the one he failed to hide was his desire to live forever. Talia knew Damian was merely a backup plan should he fail to find a solution to his dilemma. Each time he used the Lasarus Pits he risked losing the last of his sanity, with Marinette’s abilities his need to heal using the pits would disappear. It was untested but she feared her daughter’s powers had the ability to prolong life too. Talia did not want her daughter to become a servant to her father, it was bad enough Talia and Damian already were.

Regardless, if Talia’s intuition as to the meaning of Ra’s words was correct, he had bigger plans for Marinette than simply his personal healer. Plans Talia could not morally allow.

“Today is a momentous day, Damian. You are on the precipice of becoming a man worthy of leading. The only thing you need to do now is secure a worthy heir.”

The room was silent as they waited for Ra’s to voice aloud the point of his rambles. None more than Damian, who was openly glaring at his grandfather. Smart enough to figure out the direction this announcement was going.

“To ensure it, I am proud to announce your betrothal to the only one worthy to stand beside you.” Talia’s breath skipped as the words matched her thoughts, she begged the gods for any name other than her daughters to come from his mouth.

“Marinette Lee exemplifies everything the League can create. Your heir will be the product of the two greatest assassins ever to come into this world. Ensuring the League of Assassins shall continue for many eons more. If I had a drink I would raise it in toast, but as I do not, I shall wait for the ceremony that binds you together.” Ra’s chuckled to himself with a mock humor. “Which should not be too far away, as Marinette is soon to become a woman.”

Bile filled Talia’s throat from the revulsion of the idea of her two children being forced together. When she had made Marinette Damian’s companion she had never imagined this to be the result. There was never a question of Damian being forced into a marriage at the behest of Ra’s, just as Nyssa and Talia had been, but she suspected it would be an alliance to secure more power. Never a marriage from within.

The only comfort she took was the hope this was a sign her father was unaware of Marinette’s lineage. As this was not the time of her father where royal families partook in incestuous relationships to strengthen legacies, but the time of science and the knowledge of the consequences of such unions to the family tree. Surely, he would follow the path of the latter if he knew.

But now his intensions were announced to those assembled, what chance could Talia have to change it.

Before Talia, her children glanced quickly at each other. Their faces were void of reaction, but the small ticks she’d come to know were present. Damian’s hands fisted slightly, and Marinette’s shoulders rolled in on themselves. Even if they were each other’s rocks against the storms that battered them within the League, their attachment was as it should be, familial. Their feelings for the other notwithstanding, Talia also knew in this matter neither appreciated dictation, even if they always knew it would be the case.

Behind Talia, a slow clap increased in volume until its creator stepped in line with Ra’s, saving the reaction she failed to cover from discovery. The entire room turned to look at the man who came to stand as if an equal to the Head of the Demon. A man who dared to interrupt the moment that was a pinnacle for the plans Ra’s possessed for the League.

Talia had thought Slade Wilson to be a loose cannon, but her father did not heed her warnings. Deep in her bones she knew his choice to pick a mercenary to be his protector would backfire, especially once he’d promised him the position he then offered Bruce and then gave to Damian.

“Moving speech, but a little too late,” the mercenary smirked at his old mentor.

“What is the meaning of this Wilson?” Ra’s eyes angerly followed the man who slowly walked around his throne to stand before him.

Facing those assembled Slade answered, “oh, I thought it was obvious. To bring forth the end of the Al Ghul reign.”

As if a cue the traitor’s assassins fanned out from their hiding places within the hall to circle the leadership in the room. While there were few present, fifteen in total, they held the most power within the organization and were Ra’s strongest allies. The reason behind the sudden unavailability of several key members became apparent, their interest in new leadership marking them as traitors.

From outside the room, screams could be heard, signs of the coup occurring through the entire League. Talia moved quickly to join her children, their safety her priority hours of fighting had left the children drained and therefore vulnerable, something Slade had counted on. Only Ra’s and herself were in prime condition for a fair fight, though with the number of traitors now filling the hall, fair was never a consideration.

Chaos reigned around them as the enemy locked the doors to prevent further allies of Ra’s from entering. The leadership proved why Ra’s granted them favor as their expertise was unmistakable in their fight against the traitor assassins, still they fell one after another due to the sheer number of blades against them. Slade had been generous enough to allow those within the room the honor of dying by the blade instead of the guns he preferred to use.  

Talia attempted to keep her children behind her, but neither were appreciative of others trying to fight their battles. Marinette was determined to fill the role she’d been led to believe was hers and stood a few paces to the side of Damian, protecting her brother’s flank from the assassins who targeted him. Having been forced from the dais and replaced by Slade, Ra’s held his own across the room taking down all who dared to test him. Perfectly demonstrating the centuries, he spent training and perfecting his deadly skills.

As the number of traitors who went up against the Al Ghuls and lost began to grow, Wilson tired of the song and dance. Standing from his proclaimed throne he drew his sword. Targeting her father, he marched in the opposite direction of Talia. The mother shared a look with her two children knowing of all who could truly challenge Ra’s, Slade Wilson was at the top of the list. On her children’s face she saw unfiltered fear, on her own she was sure they saw conflict.

Her sense of duty screamed at her to run to her father and assist. Take down all who threaten his reign and therefore the family. Her heart and mind however, whispered something different, the idea of freedom.

Freedom to make choices for herself and be seen for her abilities and not her inferior sex. To be the heir her birth should have secured until her son was ready to take it.

Freedom for Damian to make the choice of even wanting to be the heir, and should he so choose to be the Head to carve the League into his own image not her father’s.

Freedom for her daughter to choose her own fate, away from the League Talia knew she detested, away from the fate Talia had forced upon her.

All that was required for it to come to pass, was not risking her own life to protect her father from dying at the hands of a traitor.

Unfortunately for Ra’s, the decision was easy to make. Turned out after defying a person once, the act was quite easy.

Unfortunately for Talia, her children made a different decision. Both raced off to protect their grandfather, making it over just in time to clash with the sword that threatened to slice through the Demon Head’s shoulder.

The children continued to trade blows with the mercenary as Talia struggled to fight through the throngs of traitor assassins who materialize to block her way. Ra’s stood behind as the children defended him, he allowed his weapon to drop to his side as the children fought for his life. But the signs of their exhaustion were bleeding into the fight.

A slight delay in raising his katana exposed Damian to Slade’s blade, but Marinette moved her body in front of her brother to take the hit. Slade’s steel sliced deeply through her side, causing her to faulter backwards as the injury would have likely been fatal to others. Stubbornly, she tried to return to the fight, but Talia could tell the injury still bothered her as she failed to lift her katana to the ready. Ripping her uniform to get a look at the injury, it was obvious from the profuse bleeding the wound was not healing. Immediately, she applied pressure with her hands before taking a deep breath and closing her eyes to focus and direct her energy until a pink glow illuminated her hands.

In the meantime, Damian was forced to face Slade alone as Ra’s chose to remain watching, confident in his puppets’ performance. Without a second to offer moments of reprieve, Damian was not faring well against the enhanced enemy. What little energy he had in reserves was bleeding with every swing and block of his katana. One especially forceful strike from Slade had his katana shooting from his hands and landing a few feet away. Instead of looking fearful, Ra’s looked disappointed. In front of him, Slade smirked as if already victorious.

It was short lived however as Marinette returned to the battle and managed to block Slade’s next attempt. Using her unexpected intervention to knock the sword from Slade’s left hand, leaving only the one to defend against the children. Damian used the opportunity to land a forceful kick to the older man’s hip, causing him to kneel to the floor temporarily. Enough time for Damian to recover his katana, and twirl gracefully into a lunge. The result was the tip of his katana being jabbed into Wilson’s right eye before he had the ability to recover.

The shrieks of pain caused his followers to pause, and Talia used the momentary distraction to close the distance between herself and her children. She latched onto Damian’s arm pulling him from the wrathful mercenary. Ra’s stood behind Marinette laughing mockingly, like he was the sole victor of the battle. But his ego was too large, and Slade recovered too quickly.

Angered by the mocking, he prowled towards the Demon Head, but he again met Marinette’s blade. She stood tall against the giant as his sword came down repeatedly as if a hammer trying to beat her into submission. Eventually, the exhaustion claimed her and just like a nail she began to sink with each of his wrathful strikes.

It should have been a relief to have the doors to the chamber burst open and their loyal allies stormed the room. They raced to stand in front of Talia and Damian, forming a wall around the heir and his mother as the rest tried to make their way to where Marinette protected the Head. But their arrival was moments too late as Marinette’s pain laced shriek deafened the room when Slade’s weapon sliced into her shoulder, cutting the tendon, and rendering her right arm useless. With her weapon now laying on the floor, Slade picked her up by her hair and threw her body against the far wall. Talia’s daughter’s head was the first to make contact against the sandstone, knocking her unconscious immediately.

Beside Talia, Damian cried out in pain having watched his sister slide down the wall onto the floor. Her body unmoving as blood pooled below her from the unhealed wound on her arm and the fresh head injury.

With his protection now gone, Slade turned his attention back to Ra’s. The whole room seemed entranced, turning away from their own fights as their leaders stood to face each other. Ra’s technique was impeccable, but Slade’s enhancements gave him an edge. Sooner than one would think, Slade got his lucky break and his sword sliced deeply through the Demon Head’s side, just as it had with Marinette only moments before.

The inevitability should have pained Talia, but in those last moments of her father’s life she felt relief. Nothing would be the same, and that knowledge, at that particular moment, was glorious.

Slade took the opportunity to then slide his sword against Ra’s thigh, drawing the man to his knee. Lunging forward, he pierced his weapon through Ra’s heart. Time stood still for several moments before Slade pulled his blood-soaked blade free from its ancient victim.

Flicking the blood from his weapon, he turned his attention to Talia and Damian, who despite the appearance of their allies had still not vacated the room. The menacing smile gracing the mercenaries face promised a similar end.

In response, Talia readied herself to defend Damian as the followers of Slade engaged those protecting them. He stalked forward with purpose and Talia’s left hand went to push Damian back behind her. Both failed to realize a small girl had healed enough to once again be conscious, but she could not be ignored when her katana sliced along Slade’s ribcage causing him to faulter in his approach.

Enraged, the traitor turned to engage her daughter once more, much to Talia’s horror. On opposite sides of the room and the battle still raging around them there was little chance of making it to Marinette’s side. Beside her, Damian struck at the loyal assassin who dared to hold him back from his sister. But it was of no use, Slade was upon Marinette, swinging his sword down against her katana. With her arm not fully healed, the katana slipped from her fingers and slid across the room.

Not to be deterred Marinette raised her fist in the same fashion Jason had taught her. How Talia wished at that moment their lessons had focused on tactical retreats at some point, something Ra’s would have never allowed, but still.

Pulling at Talia’s arms were the loyal men who begged for her and Damian to retreat, fight another day, but she could not move. Not when her daughter stood alone. Not when running would mean leaving her behind to an unknown fate.

“Go,” the light to her darkness begged, cutting through the fog that hazed around Talia’s mind.

Marinette didn’t wait for her family to respond before her little body lunging forward in an attempt to scramble onto Slade’s shoulders. The move was well known to Talia, a tactic she’d watched her daughter successfully employ time and time again against Jason. Had she not been injured she may have made it to her destination, but as it was, she was picked off like a little bug and thrown down to the ground with a loud crack that resounded around the room.

“Marinette,” her mother screamed.

The anguished yell did nothing but egg on her tormentor. Letting him know what Talia had kept secret from others and protected for so many years. Her attachment, her love for the girl laying before him.

When he pierced her daughter with his sword from behind through the unharmed shoulder, the smirk aimed at Talia told of his enjoyment at bring her further suffering. Marinette’s eyes spoke of agony, but her teeth grit in defiance as she tried to rise. For the first time Talia saw how small her daughter truly was, she’d always looked so tall with the confidence she possessed. Now she looked fragile below him, moving with his sword when he tried to remove it. Irritated, Slade used his foot to brace against her chest, causing Marinette to fall back onto the floor as his sword withdrew from her body.

Talia pushed against the arm holding her back, but where one hand disappeared, two more replaced them. Eventually her body stilled, her gaze too focused on her daughter causing her to be paralyzed with fear, pain, disbelief, horror, and the knowledge this was all her fault.

The strongest woman Talia knew, lifted herself to her knees once more and looked back at her executioner. Her face was stone cold despite her pending fate, causing Slade to chuckle at her act. “What a strong warrior you are. Pity your loyalty is too well engrained, I would have happily incorporated someone with your particular skill set into my ranks.”

Marinette ignored his taunt and turned away to look at her family one last time. “Go. NOW!” she mouthed in frustration at Damian and Talia.

Talia’s body failed her as she collapsed into the assassin’s arms trying to pull her from the room behind Damian. In her greatest moment of weakness, she watched as a sword was raised above her baby’s head, primed to strike down like the executioners of old.

In the last moment of her life, her daughter mouthed the words she wished she could have heard aloud just once. “Love you.”

To her sorrow, Talia was pulled behind the large wooden door before she could tell her the same.

Chapter Text

I love you, seemed the most appropriate parting words to say to the woman who Marinette would always think of as her mother. Yet, it didn’t feel like enough.

The shadow behind her shifted and the sword that would finally test the theory of her immortality lowered towards her neck. She would have closed her eyes, but she found herself wanting to embrace her death, not just accept it.

But just as she was to know the feeling of cold steel upon her neck, a voice shouted from above her, “SHELTER!”

A green force field surrounded her body, instantly knocking Slade and his sword back before he could end her. The mercenary’s body smashed into the wall behind him in the same fashion Marinette’s had only minutes before.  

Lifting her head to the side, Marinette looked up at her rescuer in awe. Standing just inside the doorway, he held a green shield which the large dome surrounding her seemed to be an extension of. As he moved to stand to full height, the dome pulsed and then disappeared. From his attire she could not deign him friend or foe; he dressed in a jade green armor similar to that of the League, yet her savior wore a mask to hide his identity.

Ignoring her for the time being, he walked over to the limp form against the wall. Muttering words under his breath, a bright white sphere of light began to build within his palms. Despite knowing she should move to escape, Marinette moved closer to the pair curious to know what the man was doing to the traitor.

When she was finally able to gaze over her savior’s shoulder his words suddenly stopped, and the light shot from his hands and disappeared into Slade’s head. The mercenary’s body lifted from the impact, but then immediately returned to its unconscious form.

“He will forget he was not successful in killing you,” the masked man remarked as he pulled back to stand and turned to face Marinette.

The casual manner in which he’d addressed her was confusing. As far as she knew she wasn’t aware of an assassin who took inspiration from an amphibian, in fact she wasn’t even aware of a hero who did. Yet he looked at her as if they were old friends and she should know him. The look was so familiar that somehow she instantly knew that she did.

“How?”

The chuckle that followed her question removed any doubt and broke the magic protecting his identity. Without the glamor, his frail form, greying hair, and warm chocolate eyes, made it glaringly obvious who was behind the mask.

Master Chan.

“A conversation to have in a different place.” Marinette nodded her head, remembering they were in the midst of an insurrection. “Come quickly, my chambers are better protected.”

Marinette watched in wonder as Master Chan placed the shield onto his head like a coolie before moving unbelievably fast from the room.

Slade had been honorable—if one could call a traitor such a thing—by fighting only with swords within the throne room, but it was clear he did not extend that honor to those in the rest of the compound. The halls Marinette once saw as architectural wonders were destroyed by explosives and bullet holes, the floors were littered with rubble and the bodies of enemy and allies alike.

Marinette struggled with finding footing amongst the rubble, in contrast, Master Chan weaved through the debris with a vigor she’d never witnessed from him before.

The sound of clinging swords, guns and explosions could still be made out, but the further they moved towards Chan’s quarters the quieter they became. It was painfully obvious that they were moving away from where the main battle was still progressing. Away from Talia and Damian, who were likely still fighting for their lives.

As wrong as it felt to be moving in a direction away from her family, the magical signature radiating from Master Chan pulled her away. It was stronger and purer than any magic she’d seen other than her own. She knew the similarities were not coincidental and following Chan would be the only way to get answers.  

When the door of his chamber’s sealed shut behind them, a blinding green light covered Master Chan before vanishing and leaving him in the form Marinette knew well. Hovering over Chan’s shoulder was a small creature she’d never seen before. The being was little enough to not be noticeable if it desired, almost like a toy plush in the shape of a turtle.

“What, or is it more appropriate to ask who, you are?” Marinette looked at the small creature.

“I am a kwami, you may call me Wayzz,” the being said as it tilted its head in a respectful bow.

“What is a kwami?” Marinette’s eyes darted between Master Chan and Wayzz.

“As I’ve said Marinette this is a discussion for a different place. I have wards placed that will dissuade others from entering, but they will only last so long.”

Fascinated by the kwami, Marinette’s entire focus was drawn to him as he floated over to sit upon her outstretched hand. Without warning, the turtle kwami flew back and was sucked into the bracelet Master Chan always wore. Gently placing the bracelet within an ornate box, Chan took out a pair of glasses in its stead, placing them upon his face. Immediately a ball of aqua light formed in front of her mentor, replaced quickly by another kwami.

“Kaalki full gallop!” An aqua light covered Master Chan and when it disappeared he was once more in a different attire. This time the change was not as extreme; finding him in a traditional brown dagua and slacks, the lenses of the round spectacles on his face darkened to act as a mask, and his hair grew to a length that allowed for it to be braided.

Marinette stared in awe at the transformation, and it only grew as he muttered the word ‘voyage.’ A portal opened before them, revealing a room not too dissimilar to the one they were already in on the other side.

Chan quickly gathered a traveling pack and his old gramophone, which he’d placed the odd box within, before standing in front of the portal looking at Marinette expectantly. “Go ahead.”

Marinette looked at her master as if he had gone crazy, for all she knew she had. For while Chan had always seemed to be proficient in magic before, his skills never seemed so powerful. Perhaps Slade had been successful in killing her in the end. If it were the case, the afterlife was not exactly what she had been expecting.  

But, when in Rome.

Stepping through the portal was as simple as walking through a door, she expected to feel something extreme and was admittedly disappointed when she didn’t. Chan followed behind her and the portal closed instantly, only seconds before his new transformation dropped.

Flittering around the room like a man on a mission, Chan went about unpacking his belongings without a care in the world. Marinette followed his movements with her eyes in silence, unsure what exactly was happening and what to do with herself.

Eventually tired of feeling uneased by just about everything, she finally snapped. “Am I allowed my answers now?”

The outburst caused Master Chan to pause, before he put the item in his hand upon the closest surface and turned back towards Marinette. Moving to the table in the center of the room, he took a seat upon the closest cushion and motioned for Marinette to do the same.

“What would you like to know?”

“Will I get the full truth, or will you dance around it like before?”

Master Chan hummed with a smile upon his face, nodding his head as if he was proud of her observation of his minor deception.

“Master, all of the answers are not our’s to give.” Wayzz offered having reappeared shortly before.

Moving to the gramophone, which he placed in a spot of honor upon one of the tables when they’d arrived, he pressed a few buttons causing the player to open to the box. Bringing it to the table he placed it before Marinette, as if on a spring it popped opened revealing three layers. The bottom two consisted of small compartments that slid out from the sides. Inside each was a beautiful piece of jewelry, themed to match the compartment’s interiors. Under the lid was five compartments surrounding a large taijitu. Inside two of the compartments were jewels, the other three were empty.  

The attention she gave each piece was fleeting as her she felt a pull to the tajitu. Specifically, to the pair of black and red earrings within the yin.  Unconsciously her hand stretched toward them. Chan watched on, not stopping her as if her move was expected.

Before her hand could touch them her senses returned, and she drew it back as if burned. It was not her place to touch something she was not given permission to, especially when she felt the strong magic pulsating from it.

People were often cursed for less.

“Go ahead…You will find answers there.”

Marinette looked up in confusion, but decided not to press. Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth or some other proverb like that, her hand reached out once more and instead of the slow approach she had taken the first time, she allowed her hand to move quickly so as to not talk herself out of it again.

As soon as her skin came in contact with the cool black and red stone, a pink sphere of light erupted from the earrings, replaced shortly by a red kwami.

The small being hummed with excitement as she took in Marinette. “Oh, Fu! You were right, she is of my magic!”

Before Marinette could stop it, the kwami launched itself at her face. Marinette shrieked in shock and leaned away from the unexpected attack, nay hug. Despite being unsettled, her hand came to awkwardly tap against the being, hoping it offered some comfort as an actual hug might squash the bug like being.

Marinette’s eyes circled around the kwami and looked back at Chan, imploring him to fill in the gaps she seemed to be missing.

“This is Tikki, the Kwami of Creation. You have already met Wayzz, the Kwami of Protection and Kaalki, the Kwami of Teleportation.”

“It is nice to meet you Tikki, but I am still lost.”

Chan chuckled, “patience, Marinette.”

A small tt passed her lips as she felt she’d been patient for many years, but she said nothing. Was it too much to ask for the truth to be shared as straight forward and efficiently as possible?

“Though we have known each other for a time, like you I am not the person who I’ve portrayed to be,” Chan began. “My name is not Chan, it is Wang Fu, and I am no magician…well not one that practices common magic. I am what is known as a Guardian of the Miraculous.”

Crickets played in the background when he finished his statement. It was obvious it would likely mean something to others, but to her it was like declaring oneself king of a country she didn’t know existed.

Seeing her blank expression, Master Chan, no Fu, continued. “The miraculous are jewelry that house the kwamis, who are essentially the embodiment of concepts within our world. In more simple terms, kwamis are gods who have powers which they can share with the person who wears their miraculous. For example, when I use the Miraculous of Protection, I can offer protection in the form of an impenetrable shield.” Marinette nodded her head, having seen it in action she was following along. “The two oldest and most powerful kwamis are Tikki and her counterpart the Kwami of Destruction, Plagg.”

‘Okay…” Marinette narrowed her eyes, unsure what she was supposed to do with this information. “If you are guardian of these things…why join the League and keep them a secret?”

“The miraculous are quite possibly the most powerful things on Earth. When they land in the hands of the wrong people, bad things happen. An order was created to protect them and use them as needed for the good of the universe. Unfortunately, that order was destroyed. A guardian named Byun and I were able to escape with the box and for decades we kept it safe.

After witnessing the devastation of the First World War and the ruthlessness of the dictators who were starting the Second, we foolishly believed we could assist. Hitler’s fascination with magical items of legend unfortunately exposed the miraculous, forcing us to flee Paris to keep them safe. We went east to collect the two miraculous we’d given to our allies fighting there. When we arrived, they were dead and the two miraculous lost. While the League was interested in the powers of the jewels, many of our other enemies feared them, so to protect the miraculous we hid within plain sight, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. While we are not traditional magic wielders, we used the miraculous to assist in our deception and to my knowledge we were never suspected.”

“Where is your partner?”

“It has been almost eleven years since I last saw him. While I do not know exactly what happened to him, I have my suspicions.”

“Master Byun was tasked with creating a fluid with similar properties to the Lazarus Pit. He asked for me to use my magic to do so. That was the last time we saw Master Byun.” Tikki looked dejected as she left unsaid what Fu suspected. In turn the guardian rubbed her forehead as if relieving her of her assumed guilt.

The thought of not knowing the fate of loved ones bothered Marinette. Horrible both for the individual who may have died, may have been incapacitated, or just simply lost and alone, but also for the loved ones with no answers. A shutter ran down Marinette’s back, it was exactly what had happened to her. As far as Talia and Damian knew, she was dead. They had both been witnesses to the series of events that should have killed her. Did they witness the intervention of Master Fu, or did they think her gone? With no body or memory of Slade Wilson’s failure, they may always question. And Marinette suffered from a similar fate. She watched the people she considered her family disappear. Did they make it out of the temple unharmed and if so where were they now?

“What would someone within the League need of an imitation of the Pits when they could ask Ra’s for it themselves? Not only that, but then keep the healing a secret?”

“I believe the fluid was used for you. The first time I saw your healing abilities I suspected it, and Tikki just now confirmed you are of her magic. It is most telling by your affinity toward creation and the good luck that surrounds you. It’s almost as if you were created by it, or maybe infused with it...”

Marinette’s thoughts turned to her mother and father, the idea of being created didn’t seemed fit with the narrative she knew of them. There was no way her father would not have been aware and not had a male heir created to use to his advantage. There was no way her mother was involved either, she didn’t have the power to request such a thing, if she did, she would have never died.

“…Just as Damian was incubated in an artificial womb, I believe you were as well. But where his incubator held water from the Lazarus Pits, yours held the fluid created by Tikki’s magic.”

Marinette looked at Master Fu in horror, ignoring for the moment most of what he said except for the part about Damian being in water from the Pits. With everything she knew about them, Damian having spent even a second within the water, yet alone months… “how is he still sane?”

Master Fu’s face made it clear he was not expecting her question. It took a second for him to consider his answer. “I am not exactly sure...When the Black Cat and Ladybug Miraculous are united a single wish can be granted. As they are both creation and destruction they have the ability to alter the universe, but it comes with a cost, the balance. You cannot have creation without destruction and vice versa. You wish for a person you love to live, another person you love might die. You wish for wealth likely at the cost of your health. It is a balance, equal parts creation and destruction.

Centuries before I was born, a man came in possession of the Black Cat and Ladybug Miraculous. The story passed through the Order said he was once a good man, a doctor, wishing to have the means to heal any injury. Tikki’s magic gave him the ability, but it had to be balanced by Plagg’s. So, while a person is healed it is done at the expense of their mind. The more healing required, the more sanity they lose.”

A tightness suddenly surrounded Marinette’s heart; she’d seen the results of the balance through Jason. How had she missed the same in Damian?

“Don’t fear for Damian. I am speculating, as there is no way to know for sure. But, seeing as he was put into the water as an embryo without the need for healing, the wish’s magic didn’t take effect. Instead, I believe as he grew within the water the essence of both Tikki and Plagg infused with his DNA, much in the same way I believe Tikki’s did with yours. Since he is more balance than you, the magic did not manifest as outwardly as your own. He has inclinations toward both creative and destructive tendencies. While his healing capabilities are not to the same level as your own, he does heal faster than average…I’ve also witnessed those who have offended him be plagued by bad luck in much the same way those you love are blessed with good.

“Damian told me he was not born in his mother’s womb, are you really suggesting I wasn’t as well?” Marinette was confused. What Master Fu was suggesting made no sense with the facts of her life. But there was an inkling in the back of her mind telling her the life she thought she knew was a lie.

“Yes, my theory is Talia had you both outside of her womb.”

Master Fu took a drink from the tea Wayzz had brought. He looked far too relaxed despite the earth-shattering information he was sharing, like they were merely talking about the weather.

“What does Lady Talia have to do with me?”

“It was Lady Talia who requested the fluid from Master Byun.” Tikki looked sympathetically at Marinette, like she knew the effect one simple sentence could have.

 “You don’t know—but the way you acted together in private…I assumed it wasn’t a secret from you.” Master Fu looked at her with sympathy and regret.

“Know what?” Marinette growled needing the truth vocalized, her suspicions already formed.

“Master, I believe it would be cruel for you to deny her what you have already hinted at.” The old guardian hummed in agreement to Wayzz suggestion.

“Marinette you are without a doubt the daughter of Lady Talia.”

The world stopped on its axis as Marinette processed the words shared by Master Fu. The pretty picture they painted of a family when they were away from the temple was reality. The similar features were because of genetics not chance. The familial connection to Damian was real, not something created by circumstance, but strengthened by it. Talia treated her like a daughter because she was her daughter.

The need to find Damian a companion was a cover to keep Marinette a secret while allowing her to be reunited with her real family.   

The truth should have had her freaking out, she should have been anxious about the implications that came with the truth. Instead, she felt calm. Relieved that the monster she thought to be her father had no relation, and the woman she’d always assigned the title of mother not only deserved it but properly held it. The truth settled like a warm blanket on her shoulders, and she embraced it.

“Where are we? We have to find…my family.” She breathed the last few words as if saying them was taboo and yet the smile that spread proved they were everything.

“We are in Paris.”

“Wh-why?”

“Byun and I always knew our safety in the League would one day be compromised and would have to leave immediately. Before the Nazis came to Paris, this was our home, it has the strongest wards our magic can provide thanks to Byun, and neither the Nazis nor the League are aware of it.”

Master Fu gestured to the walls; Marinette noticed the magic radiated from them. It was stupid this the first time she stopped to really study the properties of Fu’s magic; it was very different from the magic the other master taught.

“Since I’ve come to know of your existence, I’ve known you would have to accompany me should I ever leave. Leaving you in the hands of Ra’s would be like giving him a miraculous. Talia has protected you as much as possible by hiding your lineage and true abilities, but I knew it would only be a matter of time before Ra’s saw for what you are. Then neither you nor the miraculous would have been safe. I always hoped for a clean escape, but I never expected your luck to afford a more perfect opportunity. With Slade appearing to have kill you, none will suspect otherwise nor know better, not even Slade.”

“We’ll still let Talia and Damian know where to find me now.  Right?”

Master Fu said nothing, but shook his head sadly.

“No-no-no, I have to go back to Damian, I am meant to protect him.” Marinette’s desperation tasted like palatable ash on her tongue as she stood ready to escape if necessary.

“Marinette, this is an opportunity; a chance for you to pick your life. Even though Ra’s is dead, if you stay in the League you will always be a servant to someone else, even if that someone is Damian. Here no one knows of your powers, you can pick your own destiny.”

There was no denying the prospect was tempting. Afterall, she’d been tempted by such promises before. Only she would have never considered leaving without Damian and there was no way she would do it now.

“I’m sorry Master, but I can’t do it. My life is meant to be by Damian’s side. I know that more now than ever.”

Marinette turned from her now former master and slowly walked towards the door, hesitant to leave someone she considered family, but he left her no choice. Where the door led she didn’t care, it wasn’t her final destination.

That was wherever her family was.

“Forgive me Marinette. Wayzz, shell on.”

The spring green light filtered into her periphery; Marinette turned on her heels into a defensive posture ready to meet Master Fu. Before she even had time to complete her turn the green dome encased her and stopped her from moving. Looking at him, she couldn’t help the betrayal her face relayed, after all she trusted few and never expected one of those she did to break it.  

The ladybug kwami fluttered erratically in panic around the green dome. “Master, what are you doing?”

“I am sorry Tikki, this is for the best. Marinette needs her freedom and if she does not take it, I will give it to her.”

Marinette looked at Tikki in panic and saw her own expression reflected in the little red kwami. “Tikki?!” Marinette begged, for what exactly she didn’t know.

“I will not permanently strip you of your memories, they will come to you when needed. Maybe all at once, maybe piece by piece, eventually they will be yours again. By then, I hope you will see why I made this choice for you. Til then Marinette, I hope you live the life you should have been given. I’ll be here watching and protecting you from the shadows until we are reunited once more.”

Marinette began to pound upon the dome, desperate for her memories to not be erased like Slade’s. The memories of the League, the torture, pain, mind games, and skills no ten-year-old should know would be easy to forget. But how could she allow him to remove Damian, Jason, Talia, her abilities, the person she is because of the bad stuff. They were too precious to her, the good outweighing the bad every single time.

Master Fu began chanting words and the familiar white light began to grow into spheres within his hands. As his eyes snapped open and locked with Marinette’s the light flew through the barrier towards her.

That moment she did the only thing she could think of to stop the inevitable.

“Please—” she yelled!

Chapter Text

Time alone with no expectations used to be something Damian relished. The opportunities for it were rare within the League; there was always another lesson to prepare for, another mission to debrief, sleep to catchup on. Now after weeks of it, he hated it.

Alone time meant memories he’d rather forget and truths he’d rather not face.

Escaping Nanda Parabat hadn’t been easy, too many of their allies had fallen to the sword. None more upsetting than Marinette.

Damian had been pulled from the throne room kicking and screaming, as Marinette had been left to her fate. The men responsible had not known what she meant to him; they had only seen her as another loyal warrior. Giving the ultimate sacrifice in order to protect the Al Ghul family.

But that was not who she was.

Marinette was his other half. The one who made him better. The one who kept him sane within an organization that should have made him go mad. The only one capable of truly knowing and understanding him because they shared the same experiences, same pressures, everything but blood.

Her sacrifice, as the two men who’d physically restrained him from returning to her had called it, was for nothing, as a piece of him died alongside her. Those men had been fortuitous to not have met the end of Damian’s katana after such a statement. The honor instead had gone to his mother.

His mother had turned catatonic immediately after leaving the throne room, having to be dragged through the halls even as they’d been attacked by traitorous assassins at every turn. As soon as she’d heard the naïve words from the men her bearings were recovered, and her blade went through one’s shoulder and the other’s thigh. From there Talia was present for the rest of the battle, and none saw the same restraint she’d given those two men.

It was the last time Damian saw any evidence of his mother’s feelings on Marinette’s execution. Talia’s focus returned almost immediately to reclaiming the League from the usurper, leaving Damian alone as she barricaded herself in a room she’d banned him from. At first, Damian had no desire to defy her, lost in his own mourning to care. Eventually the isolation and purposeful exclusion left him feeling lost. If he wasn’t the Heir to the Demon Head, who was he? Where now was his place in the world, especially without Marinette by his side?

They were questions over the last few weeks he’d been unable to find answers to as he pondered them endlessly. As the weeks melded into an unknown passage of time, he feared the answer to his questions was no one and nowhere.

The feeling was made worse by the knowledge that at their first port of call since the insurrection, his mother had disappeared into the city without a word. For the last two hours he waited alone, lost again in his thoughts. There were no distractions aboard to offer his mind solace. Every inch of the extravagant yacht had been explored, and he’d soundly defeated every person aboard in spars. Finding none worthy of his time for a rematch even if there was nothing else to occupy it.

In quite the juxtaposition where he was both bored and unable to still his mind from thoughts of Marinette, he heavily contemplated defying his mother’s single command. Talia had expressly instructed Damian to remain in the main lounge, but the draw of the city that had been deemed worthy of her attention had him close to strapping his katana and discover anything. If only the city’s name.

Damian’s hand was moments from wrenching the door open and finding freedom, when it opened in his face revealing his mother on the other side. The position she’d found him in hadn’t expressly exposed his intentions, but from the look she’d given him, she’d known regardless. He resumed his pacing, watching as she walked to her wardrobe and changed into one of her less sensible dresses.

“Please make yourself presentable and remain behind the closed curtain. We will be having a guest shortly. You will know the right time to present yourself.”

While Talia’s voice was as calm and collected as ever, there was a nervous tick present in her movements. If Damian did not know her better, he would think that she feared the person coming or feared the outcome of their meeting. Which did not make sense, Al Ghuls feared none—to their detriment obviously—and were meticulous planners for every contingency, particularly when it was their plan being executed.  

“Who is coming, Mother?”

The tick in her jaw was almost unnoticeable, but Damian had been trained to notice these small things. “I do not have the time to explain.”

“Do not lie to me mother. You have more than enough time to give me a name.”

Talia was smart enough to know Damian would not relent, he’d been raised not to. He’d allowed for her to do as she wished with no interference from him thus far, but enough was enough. It was time for answers that one way or another she would give.

"It is your father.”

“Why is my father, who you’d explicitly told me to have no contact with, coming?”

“Now that Ra’s is no longer a concern—”

“No, Mother.” Her emerald eyes opened briefly in surprise while the rest of her body remained impassive. “You are nervous, and it is not because you merely wish to finally introduce me to my father.”

Their eyes met briefly, he dared her to contradict his statement, but she merely turned to continue getting ready. Her hands busied themselves with fixing her near perfect hair and make-up, but a small amount of perspiration around her temples was the only sign of something amiss.

“Mother.”

“Behind the curtain, Damian.”

“Not until you tell me why we are meeting my father?” He crossed his arms to reinforce his intention to remain until he received an answer he found satisfactory. Even if his stubbornness ruined whatever plan she had ready for their ‘guest,’ it was a risk he was willing to take to hear the truth.  

Talia placed down her make-up brush, refusing to look back into the mirror as it would lead her gaze to Damian who was currently scowling behind her shoulder.

“I am hoping that he will take you in, while I work to recover and secure your throne.”

Damian looked at his mother with his mouth wide open in shock, something he didn’t even attempt to recover from or hide. It took a lot to shock him—he’d seen a lot of things in his ten years—but the knowledge her intentions were to now abandon him with someone he didn’t know, was enough to do so. Particularly in light of having just lost the person whom he’d thought of as his sister. To now think he was to lose his mother as well.

How callous could she be?

“No.”

“Damian—”

“No, my position is beside you, reclaiming my own throne. How can it be expected for me to one day lead if I am left here to hide like a coward? Hide and not hunt down Wilson? Destroy him for daring to claim my birthright and more so for killing the most important person in my life. How can you ask me to stay here when Marinette’s murderer has yet to face justice from my hands?”

With every word Damian’s voice rose with anger. By the end his voice shook from the pain finally being released to the one person he’d thought would understand most. But he was not met with sympathy, instead his mother looked taxed.

“It is not safe Damian, as soon as it is, I will come back for you.”

“It has never been safe. What makes you think I am safer here? What makes you think I will remain and not search out Wilson on my own.”

Rising from her vanity, his mother covered the distance between them in the blink of an eye. Like him, her body shook from anger, and like him unfallen tears filled her eyes. “You will do nothing of the sort. I have already lost my daughter; I will not lose my son to the same man.”

His anger dissolved and was replaced with confusion. The affection Talia felt for Marinette was obvious when the three of them were alone, but she was always careful to never refer to Marinette with such a moniker of affection. She couldn’t mean it; she’d never keep something like that a secret from him.

Bile rose to his throat that he struggled to swallow, “you-you don’t mean actual daughter?”

She couldn’t actually be so cruel.

A knock at the door stopped her from voicing her reply. She went to the door and just before she opened it she paused.

“Behind the curtain and wait…” she voiced before looking over her shoulder and meeting Damian’s eyes. Behind them was a flash of remorse before she fixed herself to welcome the person behind the door.

As if on autopilot Damian moved behind the curtain as instructed. The clash of emotions had him fall to floor trying to process the truth she’d just inadvertently given him.

Processing was out of the question though; like a rolodex his mind went through varying emotions as his mind screamed the same sentence over and over. Marinette is my sister and I let her die saving me.

Like a white noise, it prevented him from hearing what was happening in the other room. Not that he’d find himself able to care anymore.  

“It made me do what you wanted.” Batman’s voice rose enough to break Damian through his mind fog and bring his focus to his parents’ conversation.

“Was I truly the only one that wanted it, Beloved?”

His father’s voice softened, “no.”

The League ensured he was well versed in every topic, so Damian easily understood the connotation behind his mother and father’s words. While he knew his own conception was not natural, was it the case for Marinette as well? Was the time his parents were not discussing an event that may have resulted in a natural conception? It was unlikely given that his mother would have been unlikely to hide a pregnancy from his grandfather.

“Talia why are you here?” his father’s voice was gruff from frustration once more.

“Ra’s is dead…murdered,” her voice sounded vulnerable, but Damian knew it was an act. His mother hadn’t grieved for her father, barely doing so for her daughter.

“I’m sorry. He always seemed—”

“Indestructible? Yes. Well, I’ve come to learned there is no such thing,” they both had.

“Who’s responsible?”

“Slade Wilson, a man whom my father believed could have one day been his successor before he met you. He and his alliance of assassins move now to try and take over Ra’s entire organization.”

“What does this have to do with me?”

“He means to kill us.”

“Us?” There was a slight lift to his voice, questioning her assertion.

“Not you…me…and your son.”  The curtain pulled back and Damian recognized it as his cue to enter the room.

Swiftly he scrambled to his feet from the shadow he’d fallen into, and with grace and confidence instilled by his grandfather, Damian stepped forward to stand before his father. Eye contact was important to Damian to measure a man, but he found his father’s covered by white lenses. So, he chose to move his gaze down and then back up as if measuring his father and finding him lacking.

Batman was almost exactly what he’d pictured. Intimidating not only from his attire but the way he stood as if he towered over everything—even if he didn’t. Perhaps Damian would have found himself afraid had it not been for the gaping hole where his mouth should have been.

“Don’t look so stunned father, I thought you’d be taller,” he snarked to mask his true reaction.

Batman’s mouth slammed shut and he looked up from Damian back over to Talia. “You expect me to believe this?”

The click of his mother’s heels could be heard echoing in the room as she came to stand behind Damian. She placed her hand upon his shoulder, knowing he would need the grounding after having his lineage questioned by his father.

“You know how my father felt about tradition. So, you know no child other than one fathered by my husband would be accepted.”

“Is that why you seduced and drugged me?

Talia weaved around Damian and got between him and his father as if to block him from the potentially hurtful words. “So I could have the child we once wished for ourselves without fear he would be killed by my father? Yes.”

Whatever response Batman was set to give was lost as he looked down at his son. “What do you need, Talia.”

Satisfied he was not going to give her further grief, she returned to her position behind Damian. “I merely need you to watch after Damian. I will return when I’ve taken care of this mutiny.”

It took a fair amount of will power to not show his burning anger remembering she would be abandoning him to his father. Batman however could not hide the fact he wasn’t happy at the prospect, still, he nodded his head without any word.

Talia’s hand guided Damian by the shoulder to a corner where she pulled a bag from a drawer. Handing it over to him without a word, inside he found some spare clothing, the dagger Marinette had gifted him for his birthday, and their sketch books. His head whipped up and he looked at his mother with tears in his eyes, he’d been afraid he would never see them again.

“How?” he mouthed.

Talia looked over her shoulder at Batman, who was decent enough to give them a private moment. “I had several men return to the temple to retrieve her body.” She smiled bittersweetly and he knew they failed. “They managed to bring me these items. They are not the same, but I hope they offer you some comfort.”

With trembling fingers, he removed his black leather-bound sketchbook and flipped it to the page that was worn from having been viewed many times. It was likely the first time his mother would have seen it, but he dared not hide it like he would before.

The image was of one of Marinette’s happier moments. She’d been laughing at one of the stories Jason had been relaying, the exact one lost. It was one of the last times he’d seen her so carefree, back when her smile was brighter than the sun, before it was darkened by expectations she’d couldn’t meet. Damian longed with every fiber of his being to see it in person just one last time.  

“I know when you are angry with me for my deception. But I couldn’t tell you the truth. If your grandfather ever found out her lineage, he would have had her killed. I could not burden you with that. Still, it warmed my heart knowing you loved her as the sister she was, and I know she felt the same affection for you.”

Damian closed the sketchbook and pulled it to his chest as if he was hugging his sister one final time before stowing it back in the bag and draped it over his shoulder.

“I know you long to go, but please don’t ask it of me. I was selfish when I chose to have your sister knowing she’d be in grave danger every day just from discovery. Do not ask me to once more ignore the threats that awaits you. I’ve already lost one child by doing so. I can’t risk losing the other.”

The only thing that had Damian agreeing to his mother’s plan was the knowledge Marinette would be disappointed if he did not. In the name of her memory, he gave his mother this one thing. But should he ever run into Slade Wilson in the future, he would not hesitate despite the dangers. If that day came, Damian would show him the same mercy he’d shown his sister. None.

Physical affection had never been their thing, and it would not begin now with this goodbye. Walking up to his father he nodded his head to show he was ready to depart. As they stepped silently to the door, he paused briefly to look back. “Goodbye Mother.”

“Goodbye Damian. I love you.”

Nodding his head in recognition of her words, he followed after his father.

As the man quickly made his way from the room he never once turned to confirm Damian followed. Only when they were upon the docks, which had seen better days, did he stop so they could watch the yacht leave the harbor. When the lights of the deck could barely be seen, Damian finally decided to break the tense silence.

“You didn’t know about me.”

It was a statement, but Batman answered it as if a question. “No.”

Damian looked to his father and found the man still staring off into the distance in the direction his mother had disappeared. As if Batman wished for it to turn around and undo the last thirty minutes, Damian did not give voice to the fact he wished the same.

“This whole thing is not necessary, I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

Without even wasting a sideward glance, “I’m sure that’s what you think,” Batman replied.

“That is what I know. I have been trained to fight and survive on my own since I could walk.”

Pushing some button upon his belt, Batman turned to the Batmobile as the access door slid open. “I imagine not much more.”

The insinuation angered Damian, his father knew nothing of him, yet he was willing to cast judgement so quickly. What more was there to learn other than survival, most things related to it in one way or another. Damian knew or was familiar enough with the major languages so as to blend in and ask for things as required. He was a master of multiple forms of martial arts so he could swiftly take down anyone who threatened him. Foraging and finding shelter in both the wild and proper society were child’s play to him at this point. His general knowledge surpassed his peers in every subject he could think of.

Apparently a demonstration would be required before his father could see Damian’s worth.

“I’ll drive.”

“No.” Batman grunted like he’d been scolding a small child.

Grinding his teeth, Damian growled, “I know how.” Jason had taught Marinette and him, more or less.

“No.”

Damian huffed out in frustration, how was he supposed to show all of things he could do, all of the things the League had taught him, if he was never given the chance. He threw his bag into the passenger seat with a little more umph than was required before jumping in himself. Batman gracefully leapt into the driver’s seat beside him. The pressing of a few buttons had the top sealed, the car started, and a call made.

“Agent A, prepare a room. We shall have a guest joining us for the foreseeable future.”

“Oh goodie. Very well, sir.”

With a screech of the tires the Batmobile lurched aggressively, spinning out before they finally moved forward. From the way his father drove it was almost as if he too had taken lessons from Jason.

Silence filled the car as they drove through the city Damian now knew to be Gotham. The rain had begun to fall as if on cue and seemed to reflect his current mood. Miserable.

At one point they began to go off roading before coming to a lake with a beautiful waterfall. The Batmobile raced forward with no trouble, no concern that the foraged path would soon come to an end. Instead, it flew through the air directly at the waterfall, landing in a hidden cavern beyond. Damian was too annoyed to be impressed by the feat, but wouldn’t deny his desire to try it himself one day.

An older gentleman stood at the parking bay awaiting their arrival. “Damian, this is Alfred if there is anything you require please look to him.”

Damian’s eyes scanned the old man and found nothing that concerned him and so he continued to observe the rest of the cave as he spoke. “A way to access the internet.” Eyes landing on the large computer setup in the distance, Damian ignored the adults in the room and walked over. “Never mind this will suffice.”

“What do you think you are doing?” his father’s voiced in his ear as he settled into the chair.

“Getting justice for my family,” just which family member his father didn’t need to know, he would happily let him assume it was Ra’s.

Damian had no intention of informing his father of Marinette, he could not stomach the idea of him dismissing her as easily as he had essentially done with him.

“Didn’t your mother and I make it clear you were to stand down?”

“Tt, I agreed to stay here, not to stay out of it.”

Damian spun around in his chair to face his father, the cowl which hid his identity was removed and for the first time Damian was able to fully look at his father’s face.

Instantly the features they shared were evident, the relation was obvious and likely the reason his blood hadn’t been drawn to confirm his mother’s claim. Yet the feature that had him captivated to the point of awkwardly staring, was his father’s eyes.

They were like the calming blue of the sea, bright and clear.

He never wanted to look at them again.

For the gaze that was looking back at him was an exact replica of his sister’s. The longer he looked, the harder it became to breathe. The emotions threatened to become too much, and he knew what it would mean. With an outburst eminent and his father not deserving of the treatment, for merely reminding him of his sister—a daughter the man would never meet nor know he had—Damian looked away and towards what appeared to be a sparring room.

Turning swiftly from his father Damian addressed Alfred. “I will concede… for the evening, instead I shall make use of the training room.”

“No, I think it best you—”

“Of course, Master Damian,” Alfred looked pointedly at Damian’s father, a warning in his glare not to argue, before turning a sympathetic eye to Damian. He did not understand the cause for Damian’s shift, but he’d caught on to it none the less and knew to let Damian work through it however he saw fit. “Perhaps a half hour before bed.”

Damian nodded at the older man, taking the offered olive branch. Alfred seemed more rational in comparison to his father.

A father he quickly realized he knew by no other name than Batman. No matter. Tonight, he was in no mood to rectify it.

Chapter Text

Despite being unable to recall something as simple as her favorite ice cream flavor, Marinette was amazed she was able to easily answer questions on math, science, history and even some French literature. But a test that promised to take only an hour, two at most, had taken almost seven hours for Marinette to complete, and she felt drained. 

While the adults evaluated her performance, Marinette went out to the large courtyard in the middle of the school to spend some time in the sun having been confined to a windowless room for too long. The options to fill an undisclosed period of time were limited, so Marinette chose to open her diary to recount her thoughts on the test.

A practice she did daily at the recommendation of her therapist, in hopes she may shake loose some of her memories. So far, it had only become a record of her rather mundane existence since waking up in the hospital.

As was common, she quickly ran out of information and questions to pose to her diary without answers to inspire more. With nothing better to do, she started to doodle into the margins of the page. Drawing was something she loved to do and did frequently with so much free time at her disposal. While the images told her nothing directly of her past, they told of some practice in the past based on her skill level.

Across the way was a boy of similar age with his headphones on, awaiting a similar fate. She hadn’t meant to stare at him, but his headphones had inspired a shirt design currently being doodled into the corner of her diary.

What she failed to realize, was both of them were involved in a fair amount of staring and participating in a standoff of sorts. Both awkwardly tried to keep their interest in the other unknown by stealing quick glances before they risked detection. Around the twentieth look back at him, she finally noticed his gaze upon her. Having been caught he looked away quickly and flushed red with embarrassment, but Marinette decided to use it as an opening to introduce herself.

She knew he’d noticed her moving from her bench when he shifted his gaze to his shoes. It was oddly endearing to see him trying with all his might not to look up at her approaching figure, more so when his face seemed be growing redder with every step. Marinette wondered if it were common for those caught staring to act in such a fashion, like they were guilty of some grave offense, which she then would be guilty of too.

When her shadow entered his direct line of sight, the fact he still refused to look at her almost had her turn away. Thinking maybe she’d made a grave mistake in approaching, but there was no way to turn around without making more of a fool out of herself.  

“Excuse me?” her voice was meek, attempting not to startle him or come off aggressive.

Looking up as if shocked by her sudden appearance, the boy took the opportunity to take her in as if it were the first time. Marinette blushed at the direct attention.

“What’s up?” he tried to sound casual, but there was a slight shake to his words.

Unsure how to start a new conversation, Marinette went for what she thought would be an easy icebreaker of a question. “What’s school like?”

The boy’s smile dropped slightly, and his brows furrowed in confusion. “Sorry dudette, can’t be much help there. I’m new to the school too.”

Marinette smiled, understanding how her question could have been misconstrued. “I’m glad to not be the only new student, but…um…I actually meant school in general.” Her shoulders lifted to her ears as her expression became sheepish.

“Oh?” the boys eyebrows scrunched in question, before rising quickly in surprise. “Oh! Homeschooled then. Umm…school is...school.” He smiled guiltily, like he knew his answer had been the furthest from helpful as one could get. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Uh…it’s like homeschool I guess, but instead of your parent or you know, I guess a book teaching you, there’s a teacher. And…you get to hang out with your friends. Is there something specific you wanna know?”

Taking the seat next to the boy, Marinette tapped her chin with her finger and tried to think of something specific she wanted to be aware of to better prepare herself.

“I guess…is school as bad as they portray it to be on television?”

“I guess it depends on which show you’re talking about. My mom’s kind of a control freak and doesn’t let me watch too many shows about school outside of cartoons because of the ‘mature content’ but I’ve seen a few episodes here and there. Maybe the first season of those shows might be closer to what school is actually like, before they go off the deep end with their plots. Like sure, I guess a girl could get pregnant in lycée and she’d have to deal with the judgement of uncool people, but she won’t then be kidnapped by a cult who believes her baby is the coming messiah…at least I don’t think.”

Marinette chuckled at his joke, his words were a huge relief, the shows she’d been watching had made school seem full of unnecessary drama. Perhaps it was the reason none of the shows ever sparked a memory of her own schooling.

“Honestly, I’d built up quite the picture in my head. It didn’t help when I saw how nervous you were,” or so she’d gathered when she’d noticed his foot tapping in a way that couldn’t be caused by the music playing in his headphones.

Looking a little embarrassed the boy lowered his head, slouching deeper into the bench. “Well, you know, testing is the worst. My family just moved here from Morocco. While French is one of the languages we speak, our schooling was done primarily in Arabic. So, I guess I was just nervous I messed up some of my translations.”

Marinette nodded her head in understanding, “I’m sure they will take that into consideration, they said they would for me.”

“French isn’t your first language?”

“I don’t think so,” Marinette said honestly.

“You don’t think so? Wouldn’t you know?”

“Ah—yeah…well.” Marinette stumbled over her words, realizing her mistake.

She’d been naïve in believing she could somehow keep people in the dark about her memory loss. The idea of having to tell each person she met about her condition left her rather anxious about coming to school. Because if there was one thing she hated more than not knowing who she was, it was the sympathy or judgement she faced when people found out.

But if simply messing up her phrasing would cause people to question, she was doomed to the conversation’s inevitability. Releasing a sigh of resignation to this fate, Marinette tried again. “I was in an accident and lost my memories.”

Or at least everyone assumed she was in an accident. All they really had to go on were the words of an older gentleman who’d called the police after finding her lying unconscious on the street. When she’d woken up in the hospital, she was in perfect health aside from a relatively minor head injury and a complete lack of memories.

When no one came to claim her, and no reports of a missing child matched her description, they assigned her to a welfare worker and a therapist. Since then, she’s felt like her mind was a puzzle just waiting for the different pieces to come back together so she could see who she was.  So far, the only piece that’d returned was her name.

Or so she assumed. A bored afternoon filled by perusing a French baby name book had her land on the name Marinette. She couldn’t explain why but the name just felt right. Far better than ‘Belle,’ the name the hospital staff had taken to calling her.

While she felt certain Marinette was her name, there was no definitive way for her to know one way or the other, it was just a feeling. That same feeling told her French wasn’t her native language.  

“No way! That’s awesome.” Marinette looked at the boy aghast. How could he possibly think it was amazing to forget who you were?

Seeing her expression, he quickly cleared his throat. “No-no sorry, not cool. Just never thought I’d ever meet someone without their memories. It’s one of those things you think only happens in the movies.”

Clicking her tongue at his assumption, Marinette brought her gaze down to the grass unsure what to say.

Trying to cover his blunder, he moved the conversation. “What do you think is your first language?”

“I’m not sure. When I woke up from my accident everyone around me was speaking French, so I found myself thinking and speaking it too. Then Ms. Cheng, my foster mom, was on the phone with her uncle and was speaking in Mandarin. I understood it perfectly. I wasn’t sure if it was my first language, but it felt closer than French. Until this morning.”

The boy turned in his seat to face Marinette more straight on. He bounced a little, excitement building with each syllable she said. Like her voyage of self-discovery was a best-selling book he couldn’t wait to finish. “What happened this morning?”

His excitement fed her own, causing her to turn completely towards her new acquaintance. “During the test, I was writing the answer to an essay question, and I was trying to think how to word something. I found myself thinking in a language other than French or Mandarian. It would make sense to think it might be my first language, right? Though I don’t know what it’s called. It’s stupid how my mind processes things after the accident. Like, I know a whole language, but not the name of it.”

“Go on.”

Marinette found herself chuckling at his enthusiasm. “I don’t know. Things come to me when I need them, for the most part. Like, I can’t tell you what languages I speak, but someone will be speaking it and then bam…I’ve downloaded the whole dictionary. I didn’t know scientific equations, until I was forced solve them on the test this morning. It’s like…if I need information, it’s enough of a trigger to make it available. But then questions like who I am, where I grew up, who my parents are, even things I used to enjoy…are still lost to me. Almost like, if I don’t need to know them to function, I don’t get them.”

Like her mind was blocking them on purpose was the only conclusion she had come up with.

“Unreal. That sounds like an awesome movie plot line.”

Marinette lowered herself back down, realizing she’d started to rise in her excitement of getting to share her thoughts with someone who wasn’t offering sympathy or negative judgement. “Yea, except for me it’s real life,” she stated quietly.

The boy lowered himself down and looked contemplative. Suddenly, a smile graced his lips and she found excitement in his eyes again. “I’m not fluent, but I’m familiar with at least four languages. Maybe we can see if one of them is the one you used in your head. Want to say a sentence?”

The excitement from a few seconds ago rose again. Taking a second, she tried to think of something to say, but being put on the spot was a little awkward. As much as she tried, a sentence didn’t form in her head, she could only think of a single word.

“Ukht?”

Replying to her inquiry in the same language, “that’s a word, not a sentence. But you’re in luck. I just happen to know what language it is because it’s my first language too. Arabic.”

Biting her lower lip, she centered herself in hopes of seeing a memory triggered from the knowledge she spoke Arabic. Only nothing happened. Disappointment washed over her, she was in possession of more knowledge about herself, yet it only caused more unanswered questions.

Was she Arabic? Did she come from a country like Morocco, seeing as she could speak both Arabic and French like the boy before her? Looking at him, she didn’t feel like they shared similar features, she’d spent enough time in front of the mirror the last few weeks to know. Plus, she still spoke Mandarian and who knew what other languages.

“Do you have a sister?”

Realizing the boy had addressed her while she was trying to have an epiphany, Marinette looked back at him. “Sorry?”

“It’s an interesting word choice, sister. Just wondering if you had one.”

“I-I don’t know.” Marinette hadn’t even thought of the possible connotations that came with the word. Did she have a sister? No, it didn’t seem to fit. Maybe she was the sister?

There was no time to ponder further as the principal of the school walked into the open courtyard, drawing the pairs attention. “Marinette, we’re ready for you.”

Nodding her head, she rose from the bench ready to follow. Of course, at that moment she realized she’d forgotten one of the more critical steps in socializing and set to rectify her mistake immediately. “I forgot, I’m sorry. My name is Marinette,” she held her hand out for the boy to shake, having learned the gesture not too long ago. “It was nice to meet you…”

“Nino,” the boy’s hand went out to grab hers, before shaking it thrice and letting go. “Hope I see you around Marinette. It’ll be nice to have someone to talk Arabic with.”

Marinette smiled brightly at Nino, excited at the prospect of knowing someone when she started school, before following after Mr. Damocles.

Was it possible she’d just made a friend?

The excitement she felt at the prospect was short lived as she followed Mr. Damocles into his office. Three adults were already present in the room and none of them were smiling. It made it feel like she was headed to her execution and not the results of the morning’s testing.

The first in the room to break the silence once she was seated was Ms. Abreo, Marinette’s assigned welfare worker. “Marinette, Mrs. Allard has shared your results with us, and we would like your input on a couple of things so we can proceed. If that’s alright with you.”

Marinette smiled hesitantly at the young woman, she’d been very nice and gentle with Marinette despite the lack of time in her current job. She never gave Marinette the feeling that she was doing anything outside of her best interests.

“Mr. Damocles needs a last name to enroll you with. Your foster parents have offered you Dupain-Cheng if you would like.”

Marinette wouldn’t be eligible for adoption for at least a year, giving the system time to try and find her family or for her memories to return. She wondered if offering their last names was her foster parents expressing their future intensions. They were unable to have children of their own and Marinette was their first foster. For the most part they were exactly what she pictured of loving parents. Perhaps a little distracted by their bakery, but it was fine, she often got lost in drawing and figuring herself out to feel lonely by it.  

Nodding her head, she agreed to the new name with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“You don’t have to if you would prefer something different. Or you can take it and if you recall your last name in the future, change it.” Mr. Lavigne, her therapist, reassured her. “Everyone here understands the decisions you make are subject to change when your memory returns.”

The idea of one day being adopted and being a Dupain-Cheng didn’t quite sit right with her. While all the current evidence they had pointed towards her being abandoned, an itch in the corner of her mind told her they were wrong. After her brief conversation with Nino, she was all the more certain she had a family, a loving one. If they knew where she was, she was convinced they’d come for her in a heartbeat. Her family was the piece of her heart she’d felt missing, the ache worse than her missing memories.

But she still needed a last name, and none of those she looked up slipped into her puzzle like Marinette. So, she nodded her head, agreeing to be a Dupain-Cheng for the time being.

“That settled, we can now discuss your test results.” Mr. Damocles inserted, not seeing Marinette needed another second to compose her thoughts.

Fortunately, it forced Marinette to forget her inner turmoil about her family. Unfortunately, it filled her with a different anxiety. How badly had she performed on her test that they needed to discuss the results? Throughout the test she’d been overly confident in her knowledge of the material, finishing one section only for the proctor, Mrs. Allard, to hand her another. Was the confidence an illusion, had she actually known nothing and failed the test? If she’d failed, would she be able to enter this school, or would she be expected to start at the beginning? Was there even a school for someone her age who had to start at the beginning or would she be labeled a lost cause and made to stay home?

“You did exceptionally well Marinette,” Mrs. Allard smiled warmly. “I even threw in an IQ test for good measure. Although not official results, it’s safe to say you are a certified genius.”

Marinette shrugged her shoulders in a way that tried to relay it was news to her. She looked among the four adults in the room to explain what this new information meant.

“Based on the age the doctors believe you are, you’d be entering collège this year in class sixième. But during testing Mrs. Allard had you take pieces of the brevet, and you had a perfect score, meaning if you finished the test, you could enter lycée if you so wished…Though Mrs. Allard believes based on your performance you could possibly pass the bac too.”

Marinette’s eyes blew wide in horror as she looked at Mr. Damocles. “Does that mean I’m not going to school? What will I do if I don’t?” Switching her gaze to Mr. Lavigne she continued her freakout. “Will the Dupain-Chengs allow me to work in the bakery? I’ve never baked before, or at least I don’t think I have. But if I’m really a genius, I should be able to pick it up, right? Baking is essentially science that results in food.” Turning to Ms. Abreo, her eyes begged for her to help. “Will I be sent elsewhere. Does this make me un-fosterable? Will I have to get a job to support myself?”

The air inside her lungs seemed to fizzle out and she panted as she tried to get her lungs to function properly again. The idea of not being in school led to an irrational fear of having to leave Paris for university or a job. Somehow, she knew leaving wasn’t an option.

“Breath Marinette. In for three,” Mr. Lavigne demonstrated, “out for three...Again.”

Marinette took a deep breath in before letting it out. It was enough to calm her down and make her realize how irrational she had become.

“First off, let me make it very clear, genius or not, you are a child. As a child, you will always have a home and be provided for. That means there is no expectation to work unless you want to and even then, legally, you can’t until you’re sixteen.” Ms. Abreo came around to Marinette, placing her hands upon her shoulders while lowering herself to be at eye level. “Second, we asked you here because we’d like your opinion on what you would like to do.”

“What are my options?”

“You could choose to take the bac, see if you pass. If you do, we could look into some online university courses for you to take. Someone your age would realistically be unable to study on a traditional campus.”

The idea of remaining at home all day, every day, did not interest Marinette. It had been fine for the past month as she just tried to figure out how to exist without memories, but the idea of it becoming a long-term solution had her face scrunch up in distaste.

“We agree,” Mr. Lavigne chuckled at her expression. “Ms. Abreo and I believe that right now the best thing you can do is socialize with kids your own age. Give you some sense of normalcy since schooling in and of itself doesn’t appear to be something we should be concerned about.”

“That being as it is. Mrs. Allard and I do not believe you will find success with your direct peers as it would provide no academic challenge. It could cause problems in the long-term for both you and your peers if you find yourself bored during school.” Mr. Damocles inserted.

“But I believe moving you to lycée could cause its own problems as you would have a hard time connecting on a personal level with the older students.” Mr. Lavigne glared at Mr. Damocles; this was clearly where the adults disagreed.

“I imagine the easiest solution would be somewhere in between?” Marinette questioned, surprised it had not been so obvious to the adults.

“That is what we were thinking…but we wanted to be sure you were okay with it. We’ve somewhat agreed collectively on possibly having you skip two grades, to try and get you the best of both worlds.” Mrs. Allard smiled warmly. “From your testing, a few gaps in your knowledge weren’t necessarily obvious, but still there. I believe cinquième would be a good peer group for you based on the information Mr. Lavigne has provided and organizing some independent study with courses from a university would keep you academically challenged. A fair solution if you agree.”

“If you believe it best.”

“We do Marinette. We would like you to take this opportunity to make some good friends”

Marinette nodded her head and smiled; friends sounded great.

Chapter Text

The crisp winter air nipped at Damian’s heels, but he ignored it for some fresh air. He looked up into the night sky, finding without trouble the glistening stars that were missing within the heavily polluted city. Focusing on the many constellations he learned as a child, he tried to distract himself from the heavy thoughts that were plaguing his mind.

Normally the stars brought comfort with their familiarity, but tonight that familiarity brought reminders of many things he wished to forget.

Like the memory of the first time his mother had laid a blanket out and had him search the stars with her. The night before he transitioned from being just her son Damian, to Damian Al Ghul, Heir of the Demon.

At such a young age he really couldn’t grasp how a name could be such a burden. Damian Al Ghul was destined to be the best, the strongest, the swiftest; all he had to do was grow up for that destiny to be fulfilled.

The idea had been pounded into his psyche, the basis of his very being. And young Damian was naïve enough to believe it. Up until reality began to chip away at his convictions. Leaving him here, in this moment, where he felt his identity was nothing more than a sham.

Like the reality he had to face when Marinette stood against a mountain. At that moment, Damian Al Ghul had been unable to do anything, he was not the best nor the strongest. Turned out, he was simply Damian, a boy who could not even save himself and more importantly, could not save her.

To add insult to injury, instead of going to reclaim the throne he was always told was his birthright, his mother went without him. Abandoning him with a father who did not want him. If he was everything his grandfather had said, she would not have left him, she would have needed him. But the truth was she didn’t. She’d beaten back Slade to reclaim the League, and yet Damian still remained in Gotham.

And the other legacy he was the rightful heir to, slipped through his fingers. He rationalized it with excuses he knew were untrue, nothing more than covers to protect his fragile ego.

An ego that continued to take hits when Bruce, believing Damian would never shake Ra’s teachings, assumed every move Damian made was done with the intension of causing strife. Meaning everything Damian did wrong, even that done out of ignorance or mistake, was punished was harsh words or indifference.

Something wet touched his hand, drawing his gaze from the stars down to the Great Dane waiting at his feet. Titus pressed his nose to the palm of Damian’s hand as if to comfort, but in reality, to entice him to throw the ball held in his mouth. Upon turning his hand, his companion released the yellow ball into it and happily jumped back waiting for it to be thrown.

With all his strength, he tossed the ball towards the manor, and like a horse, the large dog galloped happily after it.  Returning, Titus jogged more casually, his head tilted up to proudly display the ball within his mouth. The process was repeated, only this time there was a second person who joined Titus upon his return.

Grayson.

“You’ve been outside for the last hour, perhaps it is time to call it a night?”

“Tt, the amount of time I spend outside is of no consequence. My health will not be jeopardized as I am sufficiently dressed for the colder air.”

Dick released a deep sigh and dragged his hand down his face. “I can see why Bruce had such a hard time.”

“A hard time with what exactly?”

“Connecting,” Dick said just above a whisper.

“Perhaps if you would have not treated me as a child, we would find common ground to connect upon.”

“You are a child, Damian.”

“Both your and my father’s problem stem from believing that. I have never been a child; I have always been expected to be more and so I am.”

“And your problem is you won’t allow yourself to just be a kid. No one expects more from now. You don’t need to be anything more than you want to be.”

The last time such a statement had been made was the night Damian had received Titus. A gesture meant to reflect his father’s desire to build a bond with his blood son, void of his preconceived notions that had prevented them from doing so before.

While appreciative of the gesture, Damian had been hesitant to accept the puppy. It had reminded him too much of Marinette. After witnessing the concept of animals as pets—something unheard of within the League—she desired the ability to have one of her own. Talia of course had not allowed it, but that had not prevented Marinette.

A trip to Beijing had her returning with a hamster, of all pets. For almost three months, she’d successfully kept the small critter a secret from all but Jason, who’d named the hamster Pip—short for Pipsqueak—which he thought fitting as he'd affectionately called Marinette Pixie. Unfortunately, her bid to keep the animal failed when one of the maids happened upon its makeshift cage. They had taken Pip away and the poor hamster’s fate was unknown but suspected.

When presented with the Great Dane puppy, it felt wrong to accept it knowing Marinette would never get the chance to have the pet she always desired. In the end, he accepted it knowing Marinette would find doing less an insult her memory. She would never wish for an animal to be left without a home, nor Damian the chance to have something to love and be loved by.

Titus and then Alfred the Cat had been gifts that opened a relationship between father and son and for a while they were making progress.

Only for his father to sacrifice himself.

“Childhood is about discovering the person you are, not conforming to become the person others dictate. So…I guess I’m wondering if there is a role you’d like for yourself?” Damian looked at him expectingly, Dick had a very hard time of getting to the point sometimes. “Such as maybe being my Robin?”

Outwardly, Damian showed little reaction to Dick’s statement, the stilling of the hand petting Titus the only sign of his mind in turmoil. Only moments ago, he was certain the one thing he wanted most was to be Robin. Now facing it as a possible reality, the feeling wasn’t as gratifying as he’d imagined.

While the position was finally being offered to him, it wasn’t done by the one he’d been seeking approval from. There was no way of knowing if his father would agree with Dick, that Damian was finally worthy of the mantel.

Over a year ago, he’d donned the Robin uniform without permission, only to tarnish the reputation by killing while wearing it. In no uncertain terms, so there would be no misinterpretation of words, his father had let it be known Damian was not worthy of the title of Robin.

No lectures followed this proclamation, instead his father left two dockets with information on the two men who’d lost their lives to Damian. They had not deserved to meet the end of his sword, both victims of circumstance and blackmail.

After that evening, while he did not agree that all were above a death sentence, Damian vowed to no longer be the giver of it. So, he trained, honed the skills he’d acquired since birth to become non-lethal. To be used for something better like Marinette had done before him. Only then he felt he could become worthy.

“Like I said, Damian, you don’t have to.”

“No, I—I do. I want to, I just…” For once in his life, Damian was at a loss for words.

“I get it. This was something you were hoping to share with Bruce—"Damian’s only response was to nod his head, “—and he might not approve because I know he was hoping you’d get more of a childhood. But I know you’ve been struggling, and I think we were naïve to believe after the way you were raised you could ever have anything that reflects a normal childhood.”

Damian swallowed thickly. “Normal is just another word for mediocrity. I would never be able to conform to such a life.” His statement, while true, was more of a reflex than reflective of his current feelings.

A normal childhood would have been nice. If he’d had one, perhaps his sister would still be here by his side. Taunting him about the girl who dared to try flirting with him during history. Asking him for advice on what to make their mother for her birthday. Stupid, inconsequential stuff that if he could, he would happily do with her now.

“What’s really wrong Damian?”

Damian tried not to fidget; he wasn’t about to share his life story with Dick. But if he got up and left, Dick would know there was something more and then wouldn’t stop bothering him until he could figure it out. “Nothing of consequence.”

From the little light shining from the moon, Damian noticed Dick rolling his eyes. “I am the oldest, do you really think I don’t know when something is bothering one of my brothers?”

“As I have stated it is nothing of consequence,” Damian snapped back feeling vulnerable and not liking it one bit.

“Okay, Baby Bat.” Damian’s eyebrows rose at the new nickname. “If it’s nothing of consequence then it shouldn’t be too hard to share.”

Touché. Damian hated brothers; it was like having a sister, but worse.

Releasing an exaggerated sigh, Damian resigned himself to his current fate. “There is a degree of disappointment that it is you who is asking me to become his Robin. I will never know if I could ever prove to Father, I was worthy.”

“Oh, Baby Bat, of course you did. A while ago actually, it was just Bruce wanted you to have the opportunity to be a teenager before he threw you to the wolves. When one becomes Robin, they lose the chance for ‘normal.’ He didn’t want to take that chance away considering how much of your childhood was already lost to the League.”

“As I’ve said, it was ridiculous of Father to believe I would ever want something that people considered normal.”

“And I have conceded to the point. However, I don’t think it was wrong to have you engage more with your peers. Your social skills are lacking Damian, whether you are Robin or not, you really need to learn how to function in normal society.”

“I am capable of blending in as needed. It is one of the things I was trained to do.”

Dick threw his arm around Damian’s shoulder causing the young boy to freeze from the contact, but he did not throw him off as he would usually. It was the perfect opportunity to show Dick how he was capable of abiding by societal norms.

“You shouldn’t have to blend in. You should be able to be yourself, whoever that is…within reason. It’s important for you to find yourself without the influence of Ra’s or even Batman.” Dick looked down at Damian, his head tilting down as he took in Damians reaction. “But there’s more to it. Isn’t there? Why’d you really step away from training?”

Damian looked back up at the stars, the moon was full and bright. Damian realized then he was like the moon. Marinette had been his sun, he reflected some of her light back onto the world when it was dark. Without her, it was total darkness, even for him. With the mending relationship between him and his father he thought he might be able to reflect light again as Robin. But with his father gone, it felt like he was bathed in darkness again.

“I was expecting to feel a certain way when I finally became Robin. But I feel unable because they’re not here to see it.”

Dick pulled Damian into something that reflected a hug, causing Titus to let out a small yelp when he was essentially kicked by Damian’s flailing body.

“Wherever he is, he is proud of the man you are and will become.”

Damian stayed still, not returning the embrace Dick held him in, but trying to find warmth in the thought. Hoping the same was true for Marinette, that she was looking down at him, or hovering over his shoulder—whichever was the case in the afterlife—and was proud of who he wanted to become.

“-ian? Damian?” Shaking his head, Damian realized he’d been lost in his thoughts and Dick was attempting to get his attention.

“Sorry Grayson, what were you blabbering about?”

Sighing, “I was asking what you were thinking about.”

“Loss. May we leave it at that.”

Dick nodded his head in a way that was a mix of nodding and shaking, accepting the answer to be all Damian would share with him.

“If you’re ready to be Robin we can resume your training this week and then go on patrol from there.”

“What of Tim.”

“Tim has left the manor. He still believes Bruce is alive and is determined to prove it…I couldn’t convince him otherwise.”

Damian had heard Tim’s ramblings, the bases of his belief stemming from the fact there was no body or evidence of one. Despite Damian usually being more logical about such things, a piece of him wanted to hope it could be true. After all, one only needed to look at the Justice League to know even against the greatest odds, all one needs is a little hope, for a happy ending.

But there was one reason he couldn’t buy into Tim’s delusions. If he allowed himself to believe, even for a minute, Bruce might still be alive because of the absence of a body, he then had to believe the same for Marinette. Then like Tim, he risked falling into a trap of spending his life trying to prove the possibility.   

“He will be missed by you, I am sure.”

Dick chuckled. “I dare say you might miss him a little as well?”

“Tt.” Damian pulled away from Dick, creating a little distance. Missing Tim was a little of a stretch, he didn’t hate him as he allowed the others to believe, but he saw Tim as his biggest competition.

Dick was impressive, but he didn’t want the legacy of Batman. Even now he took it begrudgingly. So, in a way he was no competition to Damian.

The second brother, Jason, Damian had not had the luxury of meeting even in the almost two years since he’d come to Gotham. Something to do with lingering bad blood between him and his father keeping Jason away. Leading Damian to believe he wanted nothing to do with the mantel of Batman, so again no competition.

Tim though.

Tim had everything Damian was supposed to. He was the current Robin, which Damian had shamefully tried to solve by killing him. Tim was also Co-CEO of Wayne Enterprises, while Damian was left to squander in the cesspool known as high school.

Tim was like a knock off version of Damian and yet everyone thought he was designer—oh how Marinette would have loved the comparison. It made Damian jealous and resentful, he was willing to admit this to himself and that it caused him to act irrationally towards Tim. Not that he’d ever admit it to Dick though.

“A week of training will be more than sufficient; however, I refuse to don the uniform until it has been changed.”

“What is wrong with the Robin uniform?”

“Do not act so offended, the uniform has undergone several adjustments since its conception. The modifications I wish to make would not alter the colors to still pay tribute to its legacy. But I need something that allows for it to move in a way that aligns better with my fighting style.”

“I didn’t know that you were a designer, Baby Bat,” Dick joked.

“I am not. A companion designed something I believe will work.”

“I’m not sure that’s smart. What happens if they recognize their design? Your secret identity is important to maintain.”

“I am well aware Grayson; it is not a concern.”

“I’m sure you trust the person, but there is no way to know they wouldn’t accidently say something to the wrong person.”

“It is of no concern, seeing as the designer is no longer alive to recognize it.”

Dick looked like a child being scolded, as his body caved in on itself slightly from embarrassment. “Oh god, Damian. I’m sorry.”

“Yes, well.” Pulling his wallet from his back pocket, he took from within a delicate piece of paper fraying on the edges from the continuous folding it was subjected to. Without looking at the image he passed it over to Dick.

Taking out his cellphone, Dick used the light to get a proper look.

Found within Marinette’s sketch book it was a redesign of one of his ceremonial robes, transformed to be more practical for fighting. The suit, unbeknown to her, was a fitting mate to their father’s, almost as if she were aware of the truth. The armor could easily be replaced with kevlar, the bright red, green, and yellow muted and strategically placed in a way that would have hopefully not offended her senses. In short, it was perfect.

Dick delicately refolded the paper and placed it within his own wallet. “I will have Fox work on this. As soon as it’s done, we can start patrols.” Standing from the ground Dick held his hand out for Damian to take. “Come on Robin, let’s train.”

Chapter Text

The rain that fell during the early morning had left the ground damp and muddy, something Marinette quickly discovered when she fell back onto her rear. Above her a sharp, mocking laugh was followed by more muted chuckles from all directions.

“Geez, Marinette. Why are you so clumsy?”

Shaking her head, Marinette didn’t vocalize an answer, defending herself had become a pointless practice as of late.

She’d been forced backwards to avoid the impact of Chloe’s jabbing finger, which was used to punctuate the words she felt needed to be highlight—which for the likes of Chloe, was essentially her entire speech. Retreating blindly, Marinette failed to see the tree root in her path, tripped over it and with her luck, fell into the single patch of mud among the damp grass.

A series of unfortunate events, not clumsiness. A common occurrence since she’d ended up in the same homeroom as Chloe Bourgeois. Three months into the new school year, Marinette was still without her memories, and now sans confidence and friends.

Standing from the ground, she didn’t need to turn her head to look at the back of her skirt. It was easy to determine from the howling laughter of her peers and the state of her hands that it was covered in the mud she’d fallen into. Around her she looked for something: an escape, a distraction, a sympathetic face, she wasn’t exactly sure what, but nothing was found.

A few paces back from the circle of students, stood her once best friend, Nino, looking at her with pity but offering her nothing more. Her first year in Paris, they’d bonded over their shared language, new kid status, and trying—to no avail—to piece Marinette’s life back together. When Chloe began to pick on her, he began to distance himself. Not something she could blame him for exactly, anyone close to her became a target by association. As long as Marinette remained in the shadows and did not draw attention to herself, Chloe’s attacks were mostly left to the occasional vindictive words, saving her from her more malicious behavior.

Which is why Marinette should have known better than to wear one of her new designs. Of course, it would draw unwanted attention, seeing as that was the whole point of designing.

But Maman Cheng had seen the finished design on her mannequin and insisted on Marinette wearing it. Her foster parents had looked so proud of her when she’d walked into the bakery in the morning, and it had rekindled some of the missing confidence. It was enough for her to casually stroll across the courtyard instead of dashing directly into the classroom. Predictably, Chloe immediately caught sight of her and wasted no time in approaching so she could critique the ‘horrendous mess.’

With no offers of support, Marinette walked away from her tormentor with her head lowered. She wasted no time entering the school to find her locker, hoping within it she could find a solution to her predicament.

Sadly, when she opened the loud metal door, she was met with the facts she already knew. Her gym bag was at home and all that she could find within the rectangular box was books and materials for her classes. Nothing to offer even a temporary fix.

The reality left her with two options, and neither would truly keep her from experiencing further humiliation.

The first would be to go to the office and request to wear one of the lost and found items. Having had to resort to a similar solution not too long ago, Marinette knew well that the items within the cardboard box would likely be worse than her muddy skirt.

The second solution would be to call Maman Cheng and request a change of clothing. While her foster mom would happily do so, she would first have to wait for a lull in costumers before she could leave Papa Dupain alone in the bakery. Secondly, Marinette would have to lie about how her skirt came to be ruined in the first place. Lying was a skill Marinette hadn’t quite got the grasp of. Any time she lied, she often found herself talking in circles, eventually exposing the truth unintentionally, or when she attempted to keep her lie simple, saying something absolutely absurd instead.

Lying now about the skirt would likely open the flood gates and Marinette did not want to risk admitting to the bullying she faced at the hands of Chloe and her school mates. It was something that she wanted to avoid like the plague.

As much as her life at school had become a disappointment after a decent first year, the Dupain-Chengs were wonderful and treated her as she imagined they would a biological daughter. But Marinette knew their continued fostering was conditional, as long as she continued to portray the perfect daughter, she would have a home.

The fact hadn’t been something Marinette had considered until the idea was planted by Chloe. She knew better than to believe everything that came out of the vile girl’s mouth, but when the day she became eligible for adoption passed without a word, she wondered if there was truth behind the teasing. It was hard enough raising a kid with memory loss; she didn’t want to make it harder with them knowing she’d captured the ire of the mayor’s daughter.

Leaving her with option number three, which wasn’t really an option technically, but it wouldn’t stop her from taking it. Going off school grounds other than for lunch was against the school rules, but she often missed class to hide from Chloe’s torment in the art room anyway. The instructors never mentioned her increase in absences because they knew she was only in school for socialization anyways. Naturally she’d hate to abuse her teachers’ trust, but this was a social emergency, she’d make up the work as usual and since the other options weren’t great…

Decision made she found a majority of the students still milling around waiting for the morning bell to announce the start of classes. The perfect time for Marinette to leave through the front doors and make it the short distance to her home. But with the newly decorated skirt, she risked detection as it unfortunately made her stick out against the crowd of immaculately clothed peers. For her school departure to remain unnoticed, she would have to sneak out elsewhere.

Keeping her rear exposed only to the wall, Marinette awkwardly crept off to the far side of the campus. Directly behind the library, the surrounding wall was the shortest, and campus cameras monitored only the very back where students could be found skipping in order to vape. With a grace others would never believe her to possess, Marinette launched her small body over the wall in one swift movement. After that her luck ran dry, and she tumbled over to the other side, saved from injury only by a pile of discarded cardboard.

Holding back the colorful display of words she wished to use, Marinette aggressively wiped at the dust that had settled on her clothes making her shirt almost match her skirt.

Perhaps one day she would look back and laugh at the amount of cursed bad luck she had. That day was not today.

Trying to casually stroll from the alley she made her way as swiftly as possible through the main street fare. Even though she was in a rush to make it to the bakery, Marinette still gazed upon the small store front lining the street. One in particular caught her eye, causing her to stop at the large bay window. The store specialized in estate sales; therefore, the display was constantly in flux. A large buffet, oriental in design, took up most of the podium, beside it was several paintings showing battles of samurai from times past. But what caught her eye was the set of ornate bladed weapons resting upon the large table.

Stuck in a sort of trance, Marinette felt a wave of nostalgia as she looked at them, unsure of the reason why. There was a prickling in her mind as she viewed each of the weapons, a sense of familiarity pulling her closer to the window until her hands rested upon the cool glass. A full-on smile appeared when she focused upon the katana and her fingers itched as if they knew exactly how to hold it.

A positive reaction from simply viewing the weapon, Marinette wondered what could happen if she actually held the katana. For what felt like several minutes her eyes drilled into the blade as she fought with herself, trying to determine if the act would be worth the risk.

On one hand, she was excited at the prospect of something triggering the memories she’d been without for a year. On the other hand, perhaps there was a reason she did not remember.

Never said to her face, but heard behind closed doors, Marinette’s therapist believed she was repressing her memories due to their traumatic nature. Looking at the katana she thought perhaps the theory had some credence, after all, what kind of memories were unlocked by a weapon?

Yet when she looked at the katana she wasn’t scared, instead it was a weird calmness that she felt.

Before she was able to decide one way or the other, the decision was made for her when her attention was diverted by the sound of squealing tires. Her gaze shifted to the street behind her just in time to catch a small creature frantically darting between the wheels of a car driving erratically down the road. Unfortunately, the poor animal was not quick enough, and it was caught by the back tire. Disappearing from Marinette’s sight it reappeared seconds later lying still on the side of the road.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Marinette darted into the empty street—the car not staying to see the fate of the defenseless animal it had hit. A few feet from the poor thing, she could tell that the gray mass was a cat.

The softest of mews could be heard coming from the cat’s chest, telling her the poor thing was alive, but in so much pain. Crouching over the kitty, she surveyed it for apparent injuries. From the angle of its legs, they were both broken, and the shallow intake of breath indicated a broken rib and possibly punctured lung.

As lightly as possible she placed her hand upon the small furry cheek, in response the kitty vocalized some of its pain in a drawn-out meow. Marinette retracted her hand as if on fire, upset with herself for causing the creature further pain. But the cat’s eyes found hers and seemed to beg for her to return the little comfort. She did so immediately and this time the cat did not protest, simply lowering its head back to the ground.

With her other hand Marinette looked on her phone for services that might be able to help keep the animal from passing on. Unfortunately, the first few sites were of no help, she looked down at the kitty wondering if she could risk carrying the poor thing to the vet. Thinking better of it, her attention returned to her phone.

As the next site loaded, she took to repeat positive thoughts about the poor animal. For it to be okay, for the pain to lesson, that it could heal to return to its hopefully happy life on the streets. As her fingers dragged the webpage down in hopes of finding help, she paused when she caught a radiant pink light out of the corner of her eye. The phone within her hand dropped to her lap when she observed where the light was coming from.

The hand that laid upon the cheek of the gray kitten was bathed in the pink light; the cat’s face surrounded by the same. Despite not knowing what was happening, whether the light came from her or the animal, she knew she needed to keep the hand where it rested. Trusting her instincts, she turned her attention completely to the cat, unconsciously moving her second hand to hover over the broken legs. Focusing her thoughts on the cat healing, she watched the same light emerge from her other hand, smothering the entire body of the kitty in pink.

As quickly as it seemed to encase the cat, it disappeared. With the light gone, Marinette pulled her hands away and looked at them as if they were alien. There were no signs of the pink light or cause, just normal human hands. The kitty slowly rose as if just coming from a nap and not a car accident. It stretched its body as if marveling the fact it could. When finished it moved to Marinette, who suddenly found herself in a similar position as the morning—her butt planted on the dirty ground. Placing its front paws against her stomach, it stretched forward towards her face. A tongue with similar properties to sandpaper dragged against her cheek before the kitty turned and darted into the alley and out of Marinette’s sight.  

Marinette watched in awe; confused and amazed that the cat seemed to be perfectly alright.

A cars loud horn dragged her back into the present, reminding her that she was sitting in the street. Quickly she jumped onto the sidewalk before her weird behavior caught any further attention. The driver of the car only shook her head, saying some strong words that were lost behind the window about Marinette’s perceived stupidity.

Forgetting about the katana, Marinette quickly made her way to the bakery, sneaking past her foster parents to escape into her room. The ruined clothes that originally brought her back home were ignored, as she climbed up her loft to flee onto her balcony.

The fresh air and solitude were exactly what she needed as she tried to process what had just happened. One minute the poor kitty was almost lifeless, dying from its injuries on the street, happy to accept some comfort as it took its last breaths. The next minute, it popped up and thanked her, before running off unaffected, as if the last few minutes hadn’t transpired. 

Looking at her hands once more, she studied them as if they were foreign and amazing. Then she saw it, or better stated didn’t see the many needle marks and calluses that should have been present from her late-night sewing sessions. She’d never paid attention before, had they always been missing, or had she just healed herself as well? She frantically looked at her leg trying to find the cut she got just days prior when she ran into the bike locker. Only like her hands her leg was flawless. Lifting her shirt’s sleeves, she looked to find any sign of injury, certain at some point in her life she should have sustained some kind of injury that would leave a scar.

Yet, as her eyes swept across her skin there were none.

Not. A. Single. One.

As with every time a puzzle piece pertaining to her life slipped back into place, she was left with far more questions than answers. Had she always had this power and simply not noticed?  Did she have this power before her memories were removed? Was her memory removed because of her power? Was she an abandoned science project? Was she one of those metas the government feared?

As the sun’s position shifted reflecting the passing of the day, Marinette contemplated the answer to those questions and more. When the sun finally marked the hour being close to noon, she knew very little of her new ability, such as its potential, its limitations, but there was one fact she knew without a shadow of a doubt.

No one could ever know.

The world was wary of meta’s or anyone with powers really, waiting for them to decide if they were friend or foe. Even those that chose to use their powers for good, did so behind mask to protect themselves as civilians.

Healing powers in and of themselves did not seem dangerous, but she didn’t know if that was the full extent of her capabilities. She shuttered to think what might be done to her to find the answer to that particular question should anyone find out.

Not to mention, she was smart enough to realize that someone who could heal others would be abused, sought after to cure the world woes. There was no question that if she ever chose to use her powers for others, she too would have to do so behind a mask.

Laying back onto the lounger, her eyes began to close as the stress of the day overwhelmed her. She felt so alone in the world, forced to keep more than one secret to protect herself.

For a second she allowed herself to daydream of someone who would protect her instead. The person she created was of similar age, dressed in black, a mask hiding their identity. But one part that was unmistakable was their piercing green eyes that looked at her as if they knew her soul. Even though it was only her imagination she took comfort from the idea before she fell asleep.

Chapter Text

It was long suspected Scarecrow was using a manufacturer outside of Gotham to create his toxin laced drugs. Unfortunately for Gotham police and the Bats, he’d been covering his tracks well enough it was hard to prove. After months of investigating, there was finally a break leading them to a pesticide factory in Jump City. Where they hoped to shut down the operation and put some men, including Scarecrow, in jail.

Only, as soon as they arrived in the city, intel from Barbara had the team splitting.

Was it smart?

Most likely not.

Necessary?

Absolutely.

The crime fighting duo of Batman and Robin monitored a second warehouse on the outskirts of the city. On separate roofs they covered the two separate exits, waiting for their second, newly acquired target to step outside.

“Robin when the time comes, remember justice, not revenge.”

On the other end of the comms Robin remained quiet, not acknowledging the order Batman gave. Could he risk ruining the relationship that blossomed since his father’s return from the time stream by defying him? Would it really be ignoring it if justice and revenge were the same? If Robin was honest and explained his reasoning; told Batman the truth about the man inside, would he understand why he had to die?

Needless to say, the fate of Slade Wilson, now going by Deathstroke, would be determined by which of the two doors he exited.

Robin hoped it was his.

The sound of a metal door slamming open had Robin grinning in a twisted fashion. For his luck had two men exiting his door, one of which he instantly recognized as Deathstroke.

Knowing that he would receive a lecture for saying nothing, but not caring, Robin grappled down from his roof to land directly in front of his target.

“What is Robin doing so far from home?” Deathstroke crossed his arms over his chest, unaffected by the young vigilante’s sudden appearance.

Robin threw back the words the mercenary had said to his grandfather that fateful night, “I thought it obvious, to bring your end.”

Wilson tilted his head as if recognizing there was a significance behind the words but unable to place them.

Smirking as if it were a victory, Robin removed his katana from its sheath and casually whipped it around as if readying for a simple demonstration and not a fight to Deathstroke’s death.

Realizing the quarrel had nothing to do with him, the second man fled without looking back. Not unexpectedly, as men like Deathstroke didn’t know a thing about loyalty.   

“Bold words for a child. I suggest you put away your toy and run along before you get hurt.” Pulling a blade from his back punctuated Deathstroke’s threat.

“Tt,” Robin stilled his blade, taking a position that told the mercenary he thought little of his threat. “Injuries are often unavoidable, just like your death.”

Deathstroke’s chuckle caused a shiver to run down Robin’s back, a reminder of the last time he’d heard the same sound. “I’ve never run into one of Batman’s little brats before, but I was sure they all followed his stupid moral code.”

A figure stepped out from the shadows; guns trained on Deathstroke. “You might want to get better informants then.”

Shifting his body in a position to defend against both, “did the store have a two for one?” Robin snarked.  

“What’re you talking about kid?” The man’s guns remained aimed at Deathstroke, causing Robin to wonder if he was a threat to him or not.

“Your helmets, I can’t decide who’s the original and who’s the knockoff. Though I don’t know why either of you would choose those monstrosities, must have something to do with your faces.” His words were a repeat of a lesson Marinette had once taught him. Hit with the truth to unsettle your opponent.

‘Red Helmet’ chuckled, well aware of the tactic Robin was using. “Real original kid. You might want to skedaddle back to Batman, Deathstroke and I have some adult business to attend to.”

“You will have to wait. I have a score to settle with Wilson. Though I’m afraid there won’t be much left for you when I’m finished.”

“What’d you do to make the little gremlin so angry?” Nodding his head towards Robin, ‘Red Helmet’ jacket shifted, exposing his shirt beneath. Across the top was a red emblem, similar to the blue one covering Nightwing’s chest.

Robin groaned at his bad luck; he’d attracted the missing brother.  

“Can’t imagine what I could have possibly done to the runt, just like I can’t imagine why the infamous Red Hood could possibly be trailing me as well.”

“If you must know I’m—" Red Hood started, but Robin cut him off. “Can’t imagine—You mean to tell me that you do not remember killing the person I care most for in this world?”

Deathstroke chuckled but it was uncomfortable sounding. “I kill a lot of people kid, kinda my job. You’d have to be way more specific. Though I doubt I’ll remember either way.”

The growl that came from Robin’s chest would put Titus’ to shame. Lifting his katana, Robin pointed at Deathstroke’s mask with his blade at the exact place he knew to be an empty eye socket. “Remember now?”

A second sword was drawn from Wilson’s back, both pointing threateningly at Robin. “Beat it Red Hood, I’ll deal with you later.”

“Like hell you will.” Red Hood growled, moving closer to Robin as if protecting him from the mercenary.

Deathstroke lowered himself into an offensive position, laughing at the irony, “This brings up some good memories. Only last time I believe you stood between me and my target. I wonder if Red Hood will have more luck protecting you. He is a more formidable opponent, so at least there is a chance for you, unlike your grandfather.”

Taking Deathstroke’s bait, Robin lunged forward. Turning when he saw movement out of his periphery, Red Hood put his shoulder in Robin’s trajectory, causing his gun to fire. The bullet hit Deathstroke’s boot, causing the man to lift his foot out shock, giving Robin the upper hand as he plowed into the mercenary.

Barely able to recover, Deathstroke defended against the ferocious swings of Robin’s katana, “are you truly trying to kill me for doing the world a favor? From the looks of it, even you are doing better without your grandfather.”

The words did not have the desired effect. While Robin’s anger increased, it did not make him attack with a blind fury, instead, it focused him like a laser. “The world is a better place without him, but it will forever be shrouded in darkness without her.”

The words were clearly not what Deathstroke had anticipated, “wha—I did not kill your mother, though I wish I could claim to have done so if she’s dead.”

“I am not talking of my mother, I am talking about her—” Robin’s blade came down aggressively upon Deathstroke, who had to form an ‘x’ with both swords to block the attack. “—the one who would have bested you had she not been exhausted from the hour demonstration—" a second swing knocked the left sword from the mercenary’s hand. “—the one who was on her knees, at your mercy, and you chose to execute.” Robin brought his blade down a final time with all his strength, driving Deathstroke to his knee to defend against the onslaught.

Despite the embarrassing position, Deathstroke was not one to bow. “I remember a lot of women on their knees before me, but never one I then executed.”

The words were like an ice rod splintering Robin’s heart. Such crude words spoken about his sister finally achieved what Deathstroke had wanted, the snapping of Robin’s control. The results, however, were not in Deathstroke’s favor. At this point Red Hood could no longer allow the fight to continue, taking Deathstroke’s discarded sword he blocked Robin’s next strike before he could seriously harm the mercenary.

“Come on kid, he’s down. Let’s call Batman and get this fucker put where he belongs.”

“The only place he belongs is in a grave.”

Robin brushed off the sword blocking his and prepared to strike Deathstroke again. Only for his father to come down from above. “Robin, I told you not to engage.”

Deathstroke remained on his knee observing the Bat family’s little reunion, waiting for an opportunity to escape. Robin’s katana was still held high above his head but frozen, while Red Hood had dropped his blade upon the Dark Knights arrival.

“Cuff ‘em,” Batman grunted at Red Hood, ignoring the mercenary to look at his youngest with disappointment.

Only Robin was not okay with Slade Wilson’s justice being a jail cell. It wasn’t enough, not for the pain and emptiness he’d felt since her death. It didn’t compare to any of the ideas of justice he found in the depths of his despair. The only true justice he craved would come in the form of Wilson’s head being cleaved from his body in the same way he’d done to Marinette’s.

He was stopped from doing so once again by Red Hood.

With his anger now reaching a crescendo and a need for an outlet, Robin shifted his attack to Red Hood. It was enough of a distraction for Deathstroke, as Batman could not leave his children locked in battle—much to his frustration.

When Batman’s orders went unheeded, he attempted to step in, but Robin failed to realize, and his sword came down upon his own father just shy of slicing his neck. Realizing the near cost of his unchecked rage, he lowered his weapon in defeat, turning his head in shame.

“We will discuss this at the safehouse. Will you be joining us Red Hood?” Batman turned his head toward his estranged son, the obvious signs of hope in his infliction.

It took a second for Red Hood to answer, “guess I better meet this Robin before you replace him with the next one.”

“I am his blood son, there is no replacement.”

“Sure kid.”

Robin growled in annoyance, ready and willing to start another fight with the helmeted nuisance. He was stopped by his father’s hand firmly placed upon his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

With one last growl in Red Hood’s direction, he followed his father’s retreating form to the temporary safehouse in silence. When the safehouse was deemed secure of all threats and tampering, all three took off their respective headgear.

“Demon Spawn?!” Jason spoke with equal amounts of surprise and excitement.

“You.” Robin seethed with such venom it shocked both Jason and his father. How serendipitous to have seen the two people who’d hurt Marinette the most on the same night, perhaps there was still an opportunity for revenge.

“God, I’m such an idiot. I should have put two and two together with the way Talia talked about Bruce,” Jason chuckled as if his words could break the tension.

“You knew of Damian’s existence and didn’t tell me.” Bruce questioned as Jason was an unruly child.

Jason met Bruce’s anger with some of his own. “Don’t be mad at me for Talia’s secrets. I knew she had a son, but not who the father was. Truth be told, I was not in a good place with my anger while in the League. If I’d made the connection between the two of you, I’m not sure Damian would have been safe from me.”

Jason’s eyes flicked over both father and son, “Side by side I see it now, but if I had to pick anyone for one of your kids it would have been —wait."

Jason turned on Damian, grabbing his biceps harshly as his eyes flared a toxic green. Damian struggled against the hold as his arm was squeezed to the point of causing pain, both physical and mental, because Damian knew where Jason’s statement left off.

“Where is she? Don’t tell me you left her in the League.”

“You mean like you did.” Damian was able to knock Jason’s arms away thanks to the shock from his statement. The madness was still evident in Jason’s eyes, but Damian didn’t care, he deserved to live with the voices for what he’d done.

“That’s not fair, it’s complicated.”

“You broke her when you left and never came back. She became an empty shell, I promised myself I’d kill you for doing that to her.”

Jason looked down at his younger brother with pain of his own. “I never wanted to hurt her, but Ra’s poisoned my thoughts. It took years—years and therapy to get control of the voices. If I’d seen her in that state, I might have tried to kill her, could you truly as me to risk Marinette’s life like that?”

“You know the League expected things of her that would break her if she ever did them.” Damian’s words were said through gritted teeth, his face pinched in a pain none in the room had ever seen come from him. “You might not have been able to leave with her but how could you not come back? I’ve been in Gotham for years now, during which time you’ve apparently had enough control of your anger. But you never tried to rescue her, did you? Otherwise, you would know.”

“Know what Damian?” Jason’s jaw tensed and his eyes narrowed. “That you left her.”

“I did not leave her!” Tears welled in Damian’s eyes, falling to his cheeks before he could stop them.

“Where is she then?” Jason mockingly looked around the room as if she were hiding, when she didn’t appear he turned and glared at Damian.

Damian ground his teeth but said nothing, the full truth had not been vocalized since being abandoned by his mother.

“Where. Is. She. Damian?”

“Dead. And the man who killed her? You just saved his life.”

“Deathstroke?!”

“The night he killed my grandfather, he came to kill the entire Al Ghul family. Marinette fought to protect us.”

“God, no.” Jason turned away from the truth, concluding where the story ended.

“When Wilson had her bested and on her knees, he didn’t hesitate to execute her, even though she was just ten years old.” The tears Damian held mostly at bay finally dispersed and he all but crumbled to the floor. “She sacrificed herself to save me.”

Bruce stepped forward to comfort his youngest, but Jason was already there. Wrapping his arms tightly around Damian, he pulled him in to his body so he could rock him in a similar fashion he’d done for Marinette so many times before.

After a few seconds, Damian pulled away from the hold and began to bang his small fist against Jason’s chest. “If you’d taken her with you as you promised, she’d still be alive. I will never—” hit, “—ever—” hit, “—forgive you.”

Jason grabbed Damian’s hands and pulled him back into a hug. Damian wanted to resist, but Jason was the only person he could truly mourn Marinette with. While he hated him—or at least he told himself he did—he knew Marinette, loved her as Damian did, and now mourned her as he did.

Bruce looked down at his two sons. Not wanting to upset Damian further he caught Jason’s gaze and whispered, “whose Marinette?”

Jason’s mouth opened and closed a few times, but nothing came from it.

Damian having heard the question and no reply, removed himself from Jason’s arms. Taking a second to collect himself he wiped the few tears still lingering on his cheeks. Looking up at his father, he saw the desperation in his eyes to understand who could cause such strong emotions from individuals who usually were only able to express anger.

It was time to let him mourn too.

“Marinette is my sister, the daughter you’ll never get the chance to know.”

Chapter Text

If anyone knew the profound impact a loss could have on a person’s life it was Bruce. It had been a common theme for him since his youth, as it was for so many other Gothamites.

Losing his parents at such a young age had Bruce growing up almost alone in one of the most cutthroat of worlds. A place where more people wished to use him than protect him. Quickly, he learned emotions had no place in the upper echelons of the business world, not when people manipulate them for their own benefit.

Despite this lesson, a young Bruce was unable to control the righteous anger that fuel his actions. The results were heavy scrutinized by the press, labeling him as aggressive, arrogant, and many other unkind things. Naturally, the public loved it, happy to critique him for being a young billionaire with too much time and money, ignoring the truth, that his behavior was that of a grieving child screaming for help.

Help that others could or would not give him.

Eventually, he went out into the world to find the justice and help he desired, leading him to the League of Assassins. There, emotions had no place, considered hinderances to the true potential each individual had. Having felt tethered to his emotions for so long, Bruce had easily adopted this mentality. Learning to control and funnel his feelings, allowing logic to control his actions instead.   

To the outside world Bruce Wayne grew to become known for his cold indifference. Making and doing things with no emotions attached, even in his love life.

The persona worked well for him as both CEO of Wayne Enterprises and Batman, but it was far from the truth. Bruce did feel and on rare occasions strongly. It was only due to time he’d spent repressing and funneling them through unconventional outlets that he more or less forgot how to express them properly or directly. The impact was not lost on him, he knew his relationships, especially with his children, suffered because they could not see just how much he cared. Those close to him, well versed in his usual behaviors, could often see his emotions playing out in his actions. But relationships were strongest when one could communicate their emotions, yet he had a hard time uttering the words he’d trained himself to swallow.

After saving Red Hood from his life as a crime lord, though he doubted Jason saw it as such, Bruce had been determined to change. That period of time had hurt Bruce almost as much as Jason’s death had, though he tried not to show it. He should have been celebrating the return of the son he loved, but instead Jason hated him. Saw the control he had over his emotions as a sign of not caring. Naturally, this was not the truth, leading to much introspection to figure out how Bruce came to be this way. Determined to fix himself so that when Jason would finally listen, he could talk.

Which was why when Damian came to live at the manor, armed with knowledge of the way he was raised, Bruce should have known that his son would not know how to talk. That his actions would express everything he needed to say. The aggression, visible anger, and lack of control in spite of being raised from birth to do the contrary, was not dissimilar to his own with his parents’ murder.

But the idea his behavior was caused by grief was immediately discounted. What little he talked of Ra’s, Bruce knew his son respected his grandfather’s abilities, but held no love for him. Ra’s death was an insult to the family and his legacy, nothing more. Bruce simply assigned the inappropriate behavior as indicative of Damian’s training since birth to be an assassin and nothing more.

So, Bruce pushed then for Damian to see there was more to life than what his mother and grandfather had intended for him. But, trying to fix something when you have the wrong cause is impossible.

The consequences of Bruce’s inability to simply talk and listen to his son, were now deeply ingrained. For three years Damian’s unspoken grief controlled his behavior, became a part of his identity, and ensured a constant strain to Bruce’s and his relationship. Now, finally able to mourn in the open with those around him, the loss was as fresh to Damian as it’d been when he first came to Gotham.

Therapist, even those sponsored by the League, were useless. Damian refused to open up to any stranger about his time in the League or Marinette. Fortunately, despite the initial hostility between the pair, Jason immediately returned to the manor and together they mourned the daughter Bruce didn’t know he had.

Damian still spoke very little of her, keeping his memories close to his heart. Almost as if speaking of her in the past tense was a betrayal. Yet he was present in the room every time Jason shared one of his stories, which was as often as there was someone willing to hear them, so nightly. For even Tim and Dick wanted to know of the sister they’d never meet.

In an armchair by the fire, on the quiet roof tops through the comms, and even during a high sped car chase down the highway; Jason would spin poetry about Marinette as if reading a favorite passage from a beautiful story. The telling so vivid, it was easy to construct the type of person she was, even who she could have been if given the opportunity to live. The perfect heroine, the epitome of everything they weren’t, but wanted to be.

The whole thing should have been cathartic, and for his sons it was. Their relationships—even with him—were improving, bonds formed by his little girl’s memory. But for Bruce, it was a torture he felt deserved.

Every chapter read by Jason was a reminder he would never be a part of her story. That there would never be a new book written about her. Every image painted by Damian was a stab to the heart knowing the angelic face would never change, never be able to reflect more life lived. Painful reminders that he didn’t protect the daughter he didn’t know existed but should have.

He should have been more suspicious of Talia’s actions when he’d woke up drugged for no apparent reason. He could have changed not only Marinette’s fate but Damian’s, if only he had.

It was a guilt that was constant, residing in the space of his heart that should have only been occupied by the love for his daughter. A guilt he constantly fed, like now as he stared blankly at the small portrait he’d stolen. An image from one of Damian’s many sketchbooks of a girl with midnight black hair and piercing blue eyes like his own.

A deep voice cleared its throat, bringing Batman’s attention to the man who’d entered the room unknowingly. He tried to stow the image without it being noticed, but with the other’s super speed it was a futile attempt. The boy scout had his arm within his grasp before the portrait could find its way back to the pocket above his heart.

The grip was loose, offering Batman’s hand the chance to continue its path if he truly wished to keep his secrets. Superman was that kind of friend; he would pry and push knowing Batman often needed it, but he would never cross a boundary that would jeopardize their friendship.

With the whole manor still coming to terms with Marinette’s existence, Batman hadn’t shared with even his closest friends the sad truth. But it felt wrong to keep her a secret, Talia had done that, and look how it had turned out.

Feeling the sudden slack in his arm, Superman took it as permission to take the item from Batman’s fingers. When the silence in the room uncomfortably lengthened, Batman looked up to see his friend’s reaction. The intensity in which Superman concentrated on the portrait it looked as if he were using his x-ray vision, like the image of his daughter held secrets. It was true, but not in the way Superman was likely thinking.

Eventually, his eyes looked away to stare into the corner of the room. His brows furrowed as if trying to connect the dots. “Yours?”

Batman nodded his head as he came to stand from the table, not willing to be looked down upon—even if it was only in the literal sense.

“You going to say anything more, or are you really going to make me play twenty questions?’

Moving to the door, Batman locked it before removing his cowl. Talking about his daughter as Batman just felt disingenuous, he needed to be Bruce, the father to a daughter who died.

“I just learned Damian is not the only child Talia had of mine.”

“Wow! I understand Talia tricking you once, but twice. I didn’t know you were ever so weak for a woman before.” Superman chuckled but tried to cover it with a cough when he noticed Bruce’s eyes narrowed angerly. “Sorry, it’s just she seems a lot younger than Damian. I wasn’t under the impression you had seen Talia in that kind of capacity for years.”

“She would have been the same age as Damian, his twin if they’d been born from Talia’s womb.”

“Would have been—oh.” A hand came to rest on Bruce’s shoulder and while he appreciated the support, he refused to turn to face his friend. “I don’t know what to say. I know you struggled when you found out about Damian and lament missing the first ten years with him. I can only imagine how you feel learning of your daughter and missing everything.”

“I regret the way I treated Damian when he came to the manor, he lashed out and I assumed it was due to his upbringing. I was wrong. He was grieving and if I’d just listened, maybe he would have told me, and I could have—I don’t know what I could have done. Maybe understood and not missed out on so much early bonding. I can’t help but feel a certain way knowing my son didn’t open up to me about his sister, my daughter, for years.”

“What a set of friends we make. Both reacting horribly when we learned of children we didn’t know about. Not willing to listen, blinded by our own feelings to even stop and consider their own. Thankfully we’ve both grown up a little... or I have at least.” The smile on Superman’s face was playful, but Bruce didn’t react, struck by the truth of his statement.

There was a moment of silence before Bruce filled it with an uncharacteristic outburst. “I stopped Damian from killing Slade Wilson.”  

Superman stared at him but didn’t say anything. The statement strange in and of itself coming from his best friend, all the more because it had essentially been yelled. It would be expected for Batman to try and stop anyone from killing, not just Robin. So why state something so obvious?

“He killed Marinette, the same night he killed Ra’s. Am I wrong for once again preventing the death of yet another man who killed one of my children? Part of me wants to track him down and do it myself now that I know.”

“Have you killed the Joker yet?”

“It’s been hard not to.”

Superman chuckled—Bruce had said it as if he was struggling even in that moment to refrain—but there was no humor behind the sound.

“I’ve never lost a child, but I don’t think that I would be able to not kill the person responsible if anything happened to Kon or Jon, despite my convictions. That’s not saying I think you should, because if you rationalized it for your child, then you’d have to do it for every parent. You decided when you became Batman you would let justice come from the courts. It is your continued strength to stand by that promise, that makes me respect you so much. That being said, if you want me to accidently push someone into the Phantom Zone, just let me know.”

Bruce lifted the corners of his mouth and nodded his head, the offer from his friend extremely tempting.

“You want to tell me what you know about her, other than the fact she was clearly adorable.”

Bruce cleared his throat, feeling a lump in his throat from unshed emotions. This would be the first time he’d actively talk about Marinette, having only ever listened to other before.

“While Jason was at the League, he was assigned to be one of Marinette’s instructors, unaware that either her or Damian were my kids. Still formed what he thought of as a sibling bond with both, especially Marinette. According to him she was sunshine incarnate. Despite being raised to be an assassin she could never bring herself to do it. Damian would kill for her while letting her take the credit to protect her from the consequences of not meeting the League’s expectations. Still, she was as skilled in fighting as Damian, as smart and creative. Most importantly, outwardly loving.”

“Are you sure she’s yours? She doesn’t sound broody enough to come from your DNA.”

Bruce smiled and for once it remained on his face. “She sounds like my mother. She was so optimistic and had love for everyone.” The smile disappeared and Bruce took a deep breath. “She sounded like a good influence for Damian and Jason, and it kills me they no longer have someone like her in their lives.”

Superman came to stand beside Bruce, looking down at the planet below them. “She sounds like she was lovely… you know Jon’s been begging me to let him go on some missions. Lois, of course, thinks it’s a horrible idea with him so young. Maybe I could convince her if someone his age was there with him.”

“Are you saying I should lend you my son?”

“Really Bruce? No. I’m saying that maybe we could join you on some missions and our sons could get to know each other. Marinette sounds a little like Jon, maybe it would help Damian to have a friend who’s like her.”

Bruce thought over the prospect, Damian could definitely use someone in his life that wasn’t his brothers. He loved all his sons, but each carried baggage that made them empathetic but like Bruce not developing the healthiest methods of coping with their trauma. Not to mention Damian could really use someone close to his age that wouldn’t be intimidated by him.

“I’ll mention it to Damian,” Bruce finally relented. “Speaking of, I should probably go and collect him and Jason. I fear the kind of trouble the pair can get themselves into when left alone.”

Bruce replaced his cowl and turned to make for the door.

Superman floated along closely behind him, “I brought Jon with me today, we should introduce them. Not sure how we’ve avoided introductions for as long as we have.”

Batman didn’t say anything knowing that his friend would follow either way. As they approached one of the training rooms, the sound of Robin shouting had Batman walking faster, almost at a run. He’d been so confident that the animosity between the two brothers was squashed enough that he could leave them in a room without too much drama. Should have known better than to hope for such things.  

When he opened the door, it was not to an expected sight.

Red Hood was in the corner, bent over with his hands on his knees. The sound of his laughter drowned by Robin’s curses coming from the ceiling. Jon hovering just inches from the top, holding his Robin by his cape.

Both sons were too focused on the other to notice their fathers entering the room. Red Hood did not have the same issue, instantly straightening himself, he wiped the smile from his face before he walked over to Batman.

“Explain?”

“You know how Robin is. He got a little offended a ten-year-old said he could best him. Didn’t know at the time he was your son.’ Red Hood threw a look over Batman’s shoulder to Superman. “Figured it out real fast, though.”

“Jon, put Robin down.” Both sets of eyes flew to their respective fathers at the sound of Superman’s stern voice.

Shocked, and without thinking it through, Jon followed his father’s command by let go of Robin’s cape. Batman’s breath caught and his heart stopped beating as he watched his son suddenly plummet towards the ground.

“Woops,” Jon yelled, before he raced Robin to the ground, swiping him from the air into a bridal carry, only seconds before his body met the mats below.

Robin immediately struggled against the intimate hold. “Put me down you cretin.”

“A thanks for saving your life would have been enough,” Jon grumbled as he returned Robin to his feet.

Getting back into the younger boy’s face, Robin poked his finger against his chest. “My life would not have been in danger if not for you. So why would I thank you?”

“You wanted me to prove I could best you.”

“Dropping someone from a high altitude would kill most people. But it would not have been you that bested me, it would have been the ground.”

“Well, if there is a different way you would like me to ‘best you,’ I’m all ears.”

“You, verse me and my kryptonite knuckles.”

 “Robin—" Batman glared down at his son having heard enough. The exchange was slightly disappointing, but not completely unexpected. Superman was right, Damian needed someone his age who could be a good influence. The three-year age difference might be a little much, but at least Jon wouldn’t have to worry about Damian breaking his arm. “—glad to see you two are acquainted. Say hello to your new partner.”

Chapter Text

For the first time in a long time, Marinette didn’t feel alone. Someone was there, happy to sit beside her, stand with her against Chloe’s bullying, and claim her as a friend.

Only, once she finally had some good luck, her bad luck had to kick in and the first day of school was let out early because Ivan turned into a…well she wasn’t really sure what he turned into.

Marinette hadn’t known Ivan for long and couldn’t even claim to know him well. But she didn’t think he was aware of his ability to turn to stone. She was empathetic to his plight; she was still managing to wrap her head around the fact that she could heal herself and others. If she’d been outed in the same way as Ivan, she might not have been as vilified, but it still would have been hard on her. Hopefully whomever the European Justice League sent to help would consider the possibility that the destruction Ivan caused was due to the lack of control of his new powers and not some evil intentions she knew didn’t exist in the gentle giant.

Walking over to her desk she turned on the TV to see if anything was being reported. Ms. Chamack filled the screen, apprising Paris to the situation with Ivan, who’d taken to being called Stoneheart. Like the rest of the city, Marinette would watch from the comfort of her own home how the situation unfolded, for some reason it made feel uneased.

After a few minutes of no updates, her eyes fell upon her desk and a box that had not been there that morning.

Thinking it was something her maman had left her, she picked it up without a second thought. Inside was a pair of red and black earrings, beautiful in their simplicity. When her hand lightly stroked the stone, a pink sphere manifested in front of her, causing her to drop the box to the floor. The blinding light seemed to grow in intensity before it went supernova, forcing Marinette to look away.

When her head turned back, she found a small red sprite floating in the place of the light.  As she eyed the small being, pain spread in her head, so powerful it caused her to flail backward as if physically impacted.

When her senses returned, Marinette began to officially freak out.

“Ah, bug,” Marinette yelled hoping to attract her papa, waving her hands in front of her body to swat the thing if it got any closer. Through her shaking arm she was able to get a better look at the being, “a giant bug…a mouse…a bug-mouse?”

Though the statement was said more as an observation, the ‘bug-mouse,’ saw it as an opening to address the frightened girl. “It’s okay. There’s no need to be alarmed.”

Scared out of her mind at the being’s ability to speak, Marinette grabbed the closest item and lobbed it with considerable strength. The small sprite dodged easily out of the way, causing Marinette to grab more items, hoping to hit it with at least one thing before she ran out of ammunition.

“Listen, Marinette,” the being tried as it dodged the many items heading its way, “I know this is strange, but we don’t have time for this.”

At the mention of her name, Marinette froze. As she studied the small creature, the common prickling in the back of her mind flared. Over time she’d come to equate the feeling as her memories, knocking at a barrier waiting to be released.  

“How do you know my name?”

“We’ve met before.” The small creature looked up at Marinette, its eyes lit with excitement and fondness. “I am Tikki, Kwami of Creation.”

Marinette narrowed her eyes, uncertain if this creature truly had answers to who she was, or if it were all a trick. “How come I don’t remember meeting you?”

Tikki looked sheepishly at Marinette, her little flippers wringing nervously. “You were raised within an organization of assassins. Our guardian saved you, but the cost of doing so was the temporary loss of your memories.”

Assassins, was that truth better or worse than some of the ideas she’d conjured in her head? With so little information it was undecided.

“Why save me… is it because of my powers?”

“No Marinette, he saved you because you are worth saving. I wish I could tell you everything, but it’s best to allow your mind to fill in your memories when it’s thinks it the right time. Forcing them can be dangerous... All I can say is we met once to confirm your magical signature matching my own.”

Deflated by the news that her memories would remain locked, Marinette dramatically collapsed onto her chaise like a damsel in distress. “I’m sorry? My magic matches yours?”

“Yes! Which makes you the perfect holder for me.”

“A perfect what?” Marinette lifted the hand she’d draped over her eyes to look at the kwami.

“A kwami is paired with a miraculous, mine is the Ladybug, the earrings you saw in the box. When someone wears our miraculous, we are able to share our powers with them. Of course, some people are better matches to our essence than others, and the more aligned, the more effective they can be with our magic. As you are made with my magic, there is no better match. I’m sure when transformed you will have the ability to manipulate my magic more than any of your predecessors.”

“Wait, made with you magic? When I’m transformed? You mean like a superhero?”

“Exactly! The Butterfly Miraculous was once lost and has resurfaced here in Paris. Your friend Ivan has fallen victim to a twisted version of its magic. To help him, you must transform, destroy the item that the akuma merged with in order to capture it, and call forth Miraculous Ladybug to heal him.”

“I’m sorry, what?!” Marinette didn’t look at Tikki, as she started to pace the room. “I can’t be a hero! Sure, I have this ability to heal people, but fight them! A person made of stone no less!”

“You don’t remember now, but you spent the first ten years of your life training to fight. Those skills will return when you need them, and you will have the suit which will protect you from hard hits and give you enhanced strength and speed. If you need help you can call upon your Lucky Charm, it will provide you a way to balance the odds in your favor to destroy the akumatized item. Trust me Marinette, there is no one in Paris who’s more able and worthy of using my miraculous than you.”

Marinette picked up the earrings from the floor, studying them as if they were able to give answers to questions she didn’t know to ask. They weighed next to nothing, but the responsibility they came with was heavy.

“Right,” Marinette said more to herself than to Tikki.

Removing the earrings already in her ears, she placed the miraculous in their stead and the magic within them zinged in her earlobes before it spread throughout her body. “So how do we do this?”

Tikki clapped her flippers in excitement, zooming over to Marinette and talking very quickly. “Spots on and spots off to transform. Lucky Charm calls forth an object to assist you, however, once you call it you will only have a few minutes before you transform back. Because of your affinity with my magic, you’ll likely have longer than my previous holders but don’t count on it. My earrings will begin to beep with a five-minute warning counting down each minute before you transform back, and I’ll need to recharge. Destroy the akumatized object and be sure to capture the akuma within your yoyo before calling Miraculous Ladybug.”

“Yoyo?” Marinette questioned, her eyebrows rising to her forehead, not expecting to have a child’s toy be a part of her transformation.

“Yes, yoyo—well not really, but there is nothing exactly like it, so the closest approximation you might be familiar with is a yoyo.”

“Hmm.” Marinette nodded her head; certain she’d gotten everything. “Okay, I’m not sure about this, but Tikki…spots on.”

The kwami was sucked into her earrings and Marinette felt a pulse of magic cover her body, reflected by a pink light. When it disappeared, the magic she’d felt strumming through her body before, felt settled, integrated instead of simply existing within her. Looking down she noticed her clothing had changed, causing her to rush to her full-length mirror to look at the effect.

As a designer she was a little disappointed in the simplicity, but she could not fault its functionality. Being form fitting meant it would not get snagged at inopportune times, and the fabric was stretchy enough to allow for full range of motion. The color was bright, which did not lend well to blending in, but she didn’t imagine Tikki intended for her to do so. The spots, while silly did make her costume evoke thoughts of a ladybug. There were no pockets or other accoutrements other than her compact, which left the outfit rather boring, she didn’t completely mind as she was meant to be a hero and not a runway model.

Taking the compact from her waist, she had every intention of studying it, but the sound of Paris’ air raid sirens took her attention away. There was only one thing she could think of that would cause that sound.

Stoneheart.

When the small access door to her roof was opened, the unfiltered alarm was deafening, it was no wonder people were instantly drawn to take cover inside, if only to escape the noise. Still, just above the sounding alarm was the unmistakable sound of explosions.  

Looking at her yoyo, she retracted the string multiple times, Tikki had not said much about its magical properties and limitations, but she hoped it had some. With only one way to find out, she faced Notre Dame. An eased flick of her wrist—reflecting a practice she wasn’t aware she had—had the yoyo wrapped around one of the far-off gargoyles. Pulling at the string she felt no give, so she prayed to Tikki, and took a giant leap of faith from the roof.

The free fall was exhilarating, though short. As she reached the end of the line, she held her breath as she waited to see if the string would hold her weight. When she began to regain altitude with ease, she allowed herself to breathe again. At the apex of her swing, the wire released with a twitch of her arm as if mind controlled, causing the compact to fly back into her hand. Running on instincts, she threw it back out to another distant spot, knowing it hit its mark when her body was launched forward again.

The process was repeated in the direction of the sound of explosions, until a long metal pole suddenly crossed her path. She was too far in her descent to correct her trajectory and the string she dangled from caught, swinging her around the rod several times.

Seeing her in distress, a boy dressed in all black walked across the pole, reaching his arm out to stop her. Unfortunately, his actions weren’t well thought out and he was pulled by her momentum. They finally stopped spinning when both were successfully tangled.

With nothing else to be done the boy broke the tension, “I bet you’re the partner my kwami told me about. I’m…Chat Noir.”

A partner? Tikki had not mentioned a partner, but with the mention of a kwami she was willing to believe he wasn’t lying. For now.

“I’m Ma-ma-uma—uh Ladybug.”

“Original!” The smile the boy gave her stated he thought she was cute but not original. Marinette didn’t care, if she had gone with his style of naming herself, she would have been ‘Polka Dotted Beetle.’

An explosion in the distance ended their introductions as a building crumbled to the ground in the blink of an eye, the dust lingering in the sky the only sign it was once there from where they stood.

Pulling at her yoyo, like magic, it released them from their confines. When they were both on the ground, her yoyo retracted with the metal rod also flying towards them. Ladybug reached out to grab it, twirling it effortlessly in her hand to deal with its momentum.

Like a baton twirler of old, her fingers passed it between themselves causing it to spin in a way that became hypnotic and for the first time, what was clearly a memory, played out as if she was reliving it. Imitating what she saw, the baton twirled around her body in several complicated movements.

When she finished, she stood with tears in her eyes. The memory didn’t tell her much, there had been people around her dressed in black, but no faces, and the location was nondescript, a yard somewhere. Regardless, it offered her comfort. The memory proved she existed before Paris, and it promised a chance of remembering one day.

When she looked back up at Chat Noir he was staring at her with his mouth hung open, “That was amazing, you have got to teach me how you did that!”

Ladybug smiled, unable to say if she would be able to remember enough to teach him, but happy to try.

Another loud explosion further away, too far to see, brought them back to the problem ahead.

“Shall we m’lady?” Ladybug’s eyes narrowed at the nickname, but not enough for Chat Noir to realize. Not that he would have, as he turned without her reply, and used his baton to launch himself to the closest roof.

Releasing a heavy sign, Ladybug focused her mind to prepare for the upcoming task. The forty second display reassured her that she was, in fact, trained to do this. All she had to do was believe.

A confidence, not present before, filled her. With a flick of her wrist, she was carried away to follow behind her new partner.

In tandem, the duo moved in the direction of the explosions. It no time they arrived at the city’s football stadium where several tanks had been parked outside. Their barrels were aimed up, shooting shells blindly into the stadium. With each explosion screams followed. Ladybug couldn’t help but gasp, cover her mouth in shock.

“There are civilians inside, we need to save them,” was the only warning Chat gave before launching himself over the tall wall into the stadium.

“Chat, wait--,” but it was too late; he was gone from her sight.

This may have been Ladybug’s first time, but she knew better than to run in without taking care of the bombs or getting some intel. Tikki said the suit would help protect her but testing the limits on the first day with high impact explosives sounded like a recipe for failure.

Running over to the tanks she looked for the person who appeared in charge. No surprise, the one holding the megaphone was the mayor of Paris. Whether anyone was actually listening to his nonsensical orders, she wasn’t sure, but from what she’d seen so far, highly probable.

“Mr. Mayor?”

Looking down at her he seemed to snarl before he masked it with a hesitant smile. “Did the Justice League send you?”

“No,” Ladybug stated flatly, unsure how much she should divulge about the miraculous to explain her appearance.

The mayor looked at her in annoyed disbelief. “Go back and play dress up at home. There is a dangerous monster inside there, who’s currently holding my daughter hostage. We need professionals to handle the situation, not children.”

Ladybug did not roll her eyes. She didn’t! Definitely not at the fact that of course Chloe would be at the center of whatever was happening inside the stadium. She had been the catalyst to Ivan’s anger after all.

“Mr. Mayor, while I completely understand your desire to have someone more seasoned from the Justice League, I can guarantee you that they would not be able to stop the threat Paris is facing at this moment. Not without the assistance of myself, Ladybug, and my partner, Chat Noir. For the victim, not monster, inside has been infused with a magic that only I can purge. As such, I would greatly appreciate your assistance by ceasing fire while we deal with the situation.”

“No,” Mayor Bourgeois stated, drawing the attention of a few soldiers and police close by.

“No?”

“No, I will not allow this situation to be handled by—how old are you?”

“Umm—”

“Doesn’t matter. I will not allow the situation to be handled by someone I suspect to be inexperienced. Not when my child and Paris are in danger. The military and I are handling the situation, you may return to wherever you came from.”

Ladybug narrowed her eyes at the mayor, realizing where his daughter had gotten her bullying tactics from. “I may be young, but I have been trained far longer than I’m sure most of the military members here, to deal with a situation like this. Now, you can either let me and my partner deal with the problem, as we are meant to, and take credit for us doing our job. Or…you can stand in our way and take credit for the destruction of Paris.”

For several seconds, the mayor thought over her words, his exact thoughts lost in expressions that were constantly changing.

“Off you go then,” he finally stated with a gratuitous sweep of his hands, pointing Ladybug toward the stadium. Turning back, he spoke into the megaphone, “cease fire.”

The artillery stopped and Ladybug prepared to enter the engagement. Before she allowed herself to be pulled upward, she heard the mayor’s last scathing statement. “Don’t make me regret this, Ladybug.”

**Bonus Scene**

Marinette took a deep breath as she stepped out of the building. She was grateful that school had resumed without delay after the events of the previous day. But she was exhausted.

While her younger self might have been trained for such a demanding task, recently her exercise had been limited to running to school when late, and gym class. Nothing to prepare her for being a superhero.

As Tikki had predicted, her skills had come back to her much like riding a bike. Aside from the single memory, she still was mostly in the dark on how she acquired them, she was thankful to have them, nonetheless.

With the help of Chat Noir, and surprisingly Alya, Stoneheart had been taken down in a matter of minutes. Unfortunately, her yoyo’s capabilities were not intrinsic, and it took a second to figure out how to open it in order to capture the akuma. Enough time, for said akuma, to multiply and infect several of the civilians trapped within the stadium.

After quickly recharging, Ladybug and Chat Noir used the lessons learned to quickly destroy the akumatized items and purified the captured akumas. As luck wouldn’t have it, the re-akumatized Stoneheart was just as strong as he’d been when saved the first time, proving to be a little harder to defeat. They’d ended atop the Eiffel Tower where they learned the identity of the true villain, Hawkmoth, before saving Chloe, Mylene, and Ivan from his grasp.

Mayor Bourgeois had not been happy with their performance and had tried to tell them off; not that Marinette could blame him, his daughter had been thrown off a very high tower. But her speech to Hawkmoth had been televised and the people were behind her. Made better by the fact that Miraculous Ladybug had not only returned the akumatized victims back to their true selves, but repaired all of the destruction done to Paris, not just miraculous related.

In the end, as quickly as he dismissed them, the mayor embraced Ladybug and Chat Noir. Claiming them ‘the Saviors of Paris.’

It was a boost to her renewed confidence that went undimmed at school the following day, and the results had been miraculous. Marinette felt like she could take on the world, or at least Hawkmoth and school bullies.

A smile graced her face before it was immediately wiped away by the realization it was raining. In her rush to make it out the door for school on time, she’d failed to look at the weather predictions for the day and plan accordingly. Though the bakery wasn’t far from the school she did not look forward to getting drenched on her way home.

So much for a good day.

It was at that moment the new bully, Adrien, came to stand beside her. He looked out at the weather and then back at her, opening his umbrella causing Marinette to look away with a huff. He stepped forward, but immediately paused. Looking back over his shoulder he addressed her. “I’ve never been to school before, never really had friends either. This is all new to me, but I wanted to let you know, I was only trying to take the gum off your seat.”

Marinette’s mouth opened in silence, unsure what to say. She’d misjudged him and snapped when he’d only meant well, how could she apologize for that and have him believe her sincerity?

With a look that could only be described as kitten eyes, he held out his umbrella, offering it to Marinette as an olive branch. She looked up to offer her own apology when she became lost in his stare.

Adrien was undeniably attractive. Even if he was a few years older than her, she wasn’t blind. It was his eyes though that were most enrapturing, their green so familiar and comforting in a way she couldn’t explain.

Suddenly, the umbrella snapped shut on her head, breaking the intense staring contest. Through the blanket of darkness his laugh, a pleasant sound, could be heard above the pitter patter of the rain. Lifting the edge of the black umbrella, her lips curled up slowly before a carefree laugh escaped her as well.

A car horn broke their moment and Adrien turned to find a silver vehicle waiting at the front entrance of the school. “See you tomorrow?”

He didn’t wait for her response before rushing down the steps.

“See y-you la- la-t-ter.” Her words came out stuttered as her mouth tried to let an answer escape while her mind tried to process where she’d seen those eyes before.

A boy dressed in black with a mask covering all but his eyes, she remembered. The boy conjured in her mind to reflect the person she wished to protect her.

Chapter Text

The book slammed shut causing Marinette to jump from the abrupt noise, she looked up to catch the guardian looking at her quizzically. Her body had been present for their weekly training, but her mind had been noticeably left elsewhere.

“Marinette, is there something that is concerning you.”

“No,” she tried, but Tikki who’d come to join her chosen to depart, shook her head to expose the lie.

“Traitor,” Marinette mumbled as she glared at the red pixie. “It’s just not sitting right…"

Even with the mask, he always donned to protect his identity, she could tell the guardian’s eyebrows were pinched in confusion. “What is that Marinette?”

Marinette paused to try and figure out how to explain. Did she relay the many nightmares plaguing her sleep, or the thoughts that overwhelmed her when she was meant to be focusing on school? Every thought she had was disjointed, heading towards a conclusion just outside of her reach, only to have a new thought that caused her to have to start at the beginning again.  

In the end she settled on the single thing she hoped could explain without explanation… “Chat Blanc.

The guardian uncomfortably cleared his throat. “What of him?”

“A lot actually,” she paused again, trying to think of a place she could begin now that she would clearly be forced to elaborate. “I never stopped to think about the implications of his declaration, at the time I just accepted the words at face value.”

“Which statement is that?”

“That our love will destroy the world.”

The guardian looked aghast though it was not the first time he’d heard the words. She’d shared the story almost immediately after returning from the erased future a few weeks ago. But since her return, the extended time she gave to the memory of the events when awake was apparently not enough, as her dreams began to be harassed by them.

“I focused on how Chat found out my identity from Adrien. That was short sighted because I never stopped to ask how it all led to Chat Blanc... Was the problem that Chat found out my identity because of Adrien? Or was Chat Blanc the consequence of both knowing it? What about our love destroyed the world? Was it the fact our love simply existed? Or was it because Adrien knowing created some kind of love triangle? Did I hurt Chat Noir because he knew I loved Adrien?”

“Hmm, these are all good questions. Still, focusing on preventing others from finding out your identity is exactly what I think you should take away from the Chat Blanc episode to prevent those questions from ever having to be answered.”

“I don’t!,” Marinette all but yelled, covering her mouth with her hand from her sudden outburst. Sitting up straight, she centered herself before trying again, “I can understand the reasoning for your secret. You are the guardian of the most powerful artifacts from our world, and me knowing who you are would put them in danger if I was ever compromised. Knowing even a place to find you is a risk, and shows you put a lot of trust in me.”

“Of course I trust you Marinette, if I did not you would not have the Ladybug Miraculous. But that does not explain why you do not believe your identity should be protected.” The guardian sipped his tea, seemingly unbothered by the direction of the conversation.

“I don’t think my identity is why Chat Blanc happened.”

The guardian was silent before he rose from his cushion to stare out the small window Marinette knew only viewed the brick building behind his. “You are very astute Marinette; you will make a fantastic guardian when the time comes.” He turned back to her. “So, tell me what you believe we should take from Chat Blanc.”

Marinette sighed, “he said our love destroyed the world! Not his love or my love, but our love! Which leads me to believe I loved him in that version of the future. While I have a hard time grasping it because of my feelings towards Adrien, in reality it doesn’t seem so farfetched. A possible relationship with Adrien seems to be going nowhere and Chat is well…” she smiled thinking of him, “Chat. The amount of time we spend together and how we spend it…I don’t believe it too farfetched to think I would fall in love with him if I were to give up on Adrien. Maybe I already am in love with him, I’m just not ready to admit it…I don’t know."

Marinette looked up at the Guardian, hoping to find some kind of sign if he thought her right or wrong. His expression was mostly contemplative though, considering her words but not yet having formed an opinion.

“Maybe our love destroyed the world because despite loving him, I was indecisive about who I loved more. Or maybe he was upset that Adrien found out my identity before him, and he thought it meant I loved him less. Or maybe I was stupid and decided to try and have them both since I thought they didn’t know my identity. And when they did find out, they also found out what kind of person I was.”

Marinette’s facial expression looked horrified at the idea; she didn’t think herself capable of such duplicity. But then again there were no other men like Adrien and Chat Noir, if ever given the chance to make a choice would she really be able to choose?

The Guardian chuckled, “I doubt it is due to some kind of duplicity, but we cannot know the exact chain of events from that timeline. Just that you prevented them.”

“For now,” she groaned in frustration. “If it was our love, then us being partners puts the world at risk of it happening again…I’ve told myself since returning that I need to be sure not to fall in love with Chat, but can one really prevent themselves from falling in love? And if I do, how can I exactly expect to stop it from happening again when I don’t even know what really happened. Or that in trying to ensure I don’t fall for him, I push Chat Noir away enough to affect our teamwork and Hawkmoth wins anyways.”

“So…you wish to replace Chat Noir?”

“No!” Marinette yelled, jumping to her feet as if the guardian was going to remove Plagg immediately. “It’s just—as I think about it, maybe I need to be in control of how Chat Noir finds out, because I think it’s inevitable he will. There have been so many close calls as it is, and we’ve struggled to divert attention and at times caused bigger problems in order to protect them. Maybe—maybe Chat Noir and I knowing each other’s identities isn’t the worst idea?”

Marinette look up to see if her master wished her to continue, when he only looked back at her with slightly narrowed eyes, she wasn’t sure it was permission, but she took it as such. “There have been too many times that I’ve almost been compromised even before transforming. So many close calls during the initial attacks where I’ve been almost trapped or hurt before the akuma alert even goes off, sometimes it’s close to impossible to get away from people without notice. If he knew who I was and vice versa we could help with getting away, know when the other is stuck with civilian obligations, or—or help the other with emotional health to prevent akumitization.”

“Are you concerned?” the guardian turned to Tikki, but she merely shrugged and shook her head unsure what Marinette was referring to.

“Not for myself. I have you and Tikki to discuss my issues with, but Chat Noir. Well, he only has Plagg and as great as Plagg is…I’m not sure he’s enough.”

“Hmm,” the Guardian rubbed his chin in thought. “That is a fair point. Give me some time to think about what you’ve said before I come to a decision. In the meantime, I will get in contact with Chat Noir to offer my support…Til next week Marinette.”

After bowing to her master, Marinette left the small parlor to return home. Not even a few steps away from the door she quickly realized she’d forgotten her school tablet on the table. Having left only seconds before, she didn’t bother knocking when she reentered the parlor.

The room had only changed slightly from when she’d left, Wayzz still stood next to the guardian but so did Trixx. Meaning the guardian was without his mask, presented to her as his civilian self. A civilian who looked familiar, too familiar.

Marinette gasped in pain; a memory lost within her mind seemed to literally punch its way back into her head. It only lasted a second, but her breath became labored as if she’d ran a marathon, as she struggled to contain her emotions.

“You’re the one who took my memories! Why?” she cried.

“After everything you went through with the League, you needed a clean break so you could have a normal childhood.”

“Is this what you call normal?” Marinette hissed through gritted teeth. The pain in her head increasing as if her head was about to burst due to her trapped memories pushing against the magical barrier, fighting to be allowed back into her head. “You took my memories and then abandoned me. Do you know what it is like to be humiliated and constantly taunted for not knowing even the basics of who you are. Being reminded again and again you were abandoned and not knowing any better. How did that set me up for a normal childhood?”

Tears streamed down her face both from the physical and mental pain, yet the guardian looked unreproached.

“I suppose being an underaged superhero is normal too?”

“Marinette, you need to calm down. I never expected for the Butterfly and Peacock to reappear after being lost for decades. I never wanted this for you, but I cannot change fates design.”

Slowly, Marinette felt herself slipping into a pit of despair. She might be the best to deal with Hawkmoth, but it didn’t change the fact she would have found it easier with all her memories and proper guidance from the man she now knew was Master Chan, née Fu.

“Marinette, please calm down.” There was a desperation present in his voice that hadn’t been there before.

She opened her eyes, not realizing they’d shut from the pain, to see a purple butterfly heading towards her. Normally Marinette would have calmed herself, allowed the rational side of her mind to take over long enough to dispel anything that would attract the butterfly, confront her feelings when they stood to not be so overwhelming as she’d once been trained. But the pain was preventing her from thinking rationally.

“She isn’t calming down, Master” Tikki panicked, hovering beside her chosen but looking desperately at Fu.

“It is the magic, Master. Seeing you forced a memory; her mind is likely fighting the magic trying to unbind the rest. It is likely causing her great pain.”

“What can we do?” Trixx asked frantically, watching as the butterfly descended upon Marinette.

“There is nothing we can do except wait to see if her mind or the magic is stronger.” Wayzz spoke sadly.

Tikki flew from her chosen into Master Fu’s face. “We do not have time for that, if she is akumatized all will be lost. You must undo the spell, now!”

“It would take too long to undo," Wayzz offered, causing Master Fu to look around desperately for a solution. Tikki was right, if Marinette was akumatized not only would Paris suffer, but likely the world.

The solution came to him with only a moment to spare. It was not the best, but the only way, something must overwhelm her mind even if temporarily.

“I Wang Fu, hereby relinquish the miracle box and name Ladybug the new guardian.”

A blinding white light first traveled down Fu’s body before jumping to Marinette. With the existing pain, she could not distinguish the intense pulse of magic that entered her body. She might not have realized something important had happened if the impact had not knocked both her and Fu to the ground, fortunately away from the akuma just as it was to make contact with her earring.

Her hand went to her forehead as she raised herself from the ground, as if it were a magical touch the contact snapped Fu’s previous magic, the barrier blocking her memories. Overwhelmed by the sudden influx, Marinette’s emotions became undistinguishable, causing the akuma to lose interest without a strong negative emotion to cling to. As if merely an innocent butterfly, the akuma flew off and out of the small studio window to find its next victim.

It felt like forever, but it only took a few seconds for Marinette to replay the first ten years of her life. The missing pieces including her family fell back into place leaving her feeling whole for a least a few moments.

Her family! They had not abandoned her; she had abandoned them. Because of the man lying on the ground across from her, the man she’d thought of as her grandfather, she was forcefully separated from her family.

Older and perhaps a little wiser, Marinette understood Fu’s reasons. But understanding did not mean agreeing. There were several solutions that did not require the nuclear option of removing her memories. When he did that, he took away what made her, well her. Not to mention the pain and torment Damian and Talia must have gone through thinking she was dead…still thinking she was dead.

Behind her the three kwamis looked between her and Master Fu, concerned she may attract the akuma to return. But she was not angry, no, she was sad. She mourned what could have been had circumstances been different. Mourned the fact nothing could change for the foreseeable future. For as much as she desired to race out of Paris to find her family, she was bound by a duty to the city and the miraculous to remain.

“Is he going to be okay?” she turned to look at Wayzz from over her shoulder.

The turtle kwami flew closer to Fu’s unconscious form and looked sadly at his former master. “Yes, due to his age the magic had a little bit more of a punch. He will be fine, just unlikely to awaken until the evening.”

“What happens now that he is not the guardian?”

“Due to his prolonged use of my miraculous, he will likely have many years to live in peace. But as the magic of the guardian has been removed and given to you, so too has his memories of the miraculous.”

Marinette’s head lifted in panic. “What does that mean?”

“When a guardian passes on the guardianship, to protect the miraculous all memories pertaining to them are removed. That includes anything that is associated with those memories so as to ensure there are no triggers that might undo the magic. Since Fu was essentially raised in the temple since he was a young boy, he has very few memories that are not intertwined in some way with them. I believe it is safe to say most of his memories will be wiped.”

“Can’t we do some kind of magic to have them return?”

Wayzz shook his head, placing his flipper upon the older man’s cheek.  “The spell used to pass guardianship is ancient, built upon as required. It would take years for even the most skilled to break down the layers. Not to mention the failsafe, one wrong move and his entire mind would be wiped clean.”

“So, he will have forgotten me and there is nothing that can be done?” A tear slid down Marinette’s cheek. She’d just regained her memories of her family and now another member had lost his.

“Even if his memories of you are gone, it does not stop you from making new ones. More likely still, for him, there will be an unexplainable connection between you. For even when memories are removed, the emotions attached to them linger.”

Marinette knew exactly what Wayzz was talking about, it perfectly reflected her own situation for the last few years.

“Won’t seeing me risk triggering his memories, like seeing him did for me?”

“Different spells,” Wayzz offered, “yours was always meant to be temporary. The Guardian Spell is made to be permanent with no exceptions.”  

A ringing in Marinette’s purse interrupted Wayzz, the sound the only one capable of breaking any mood or conversation. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath; she knew this was inevitable when she barely kept from becoming the victim of the akuma herself. Processing everything would have to be put on hold for the time being.

Kneeling next to Master Fu, she took note of his condition for herself, her hands hovering over his body. When no pink light emitted from them, she knew there was nothing she could heal. “I can’t just leave him here alone, and what of the box?”

“I’m sure he’ll sleep while you are gone, but we can remain and keep watch if you wish, Master.” Trixx offered bowing slightly.

The whole scene was too much, the responsibility of being Ladybug had been tough enough, but now Guardian of the Miraculous? Even with the return of her memories she felt unprepared, overwhelmed and more alone than ever.

“Perhaps Ms. Lenoir may be of some assistance?” Tikki asked.

Ah yes, Ms. Lenoir. Master Fu’s love from more than almost seventy years ago. Meeting the woman had been complicated with Marinette not aware at that time of the history surrounding the man she only knew as the guardian.

Seeing as she could not very well explain to the Dupain-Chengs her sudden relationship with an older gentleman who would appear to have sever dementia, she needed help. Ms. Lenoir seemed the most viable solution considering she seemed to know most everything aside from Ladybug’s identity. And if her time as an akuma proved anything it was she could be trusted, even under some of the most powerful magic’s influence, she did not betray Fu.

“Okay, I will take care of the akuma and then return with Ms. Lenoir. Please watch after him and make sure he does not leave. Hopefully Hawkmoth was too desperate and found a weak victim, making this quick and easy. But knowing my luck…”

Knowing her luck indeed.

Chapter Text

Covered by the shadows, she remained hidden while she waited. Her body stood still as her eyes traced the skyline waiting to see a silhouette within the darkness. For months his movements had become predictable and yet Ladybug knew he wouldn’t expect her presence, she’d taken steps to ensure it.

The groaning from the metal landing of the fire escape signaled his arrival, only a few seconds before she had anticipated him. From the place he landed, his back faced her as he took in the scene. With only the moon light framing the roof, her vision was hindered, but even from a distance she could see his eyes were blown wide open as he made a circle so as to not miss a single detail.

Curiosity was his greatest weakness, and she was counting on him falling victim to it once more with the box sitting in the center of the roof. As expected he took the bait, distracting him long enough for her to move unnoticed from her hiding place. Using her skills as a trained assassin she positioned herself perfectly to spring her trap.

As silently as possible she readied her yoyo, needing to capture him at the perfect moment if her plan was to be successful. With a small smile upon her face and victory just within her grasp, she raised up on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Happy Birthday, Chat Noir!”

Turning on his heels, he looked at her with an awed expression, she clicked the camera on her yoyo to capture the moment. His hackles had been raised by her sudden appearance, but upon taking her in, he quickly gathered her within his arms and lifted her from the ground into a back breaking hug, literally if not for the supersuit.

Excitement was present in his tone when he managed, “I thought you were busy.”

“Never busy for your birthday, Minou. I might have fibbed a little so I could surprise you though,” Ladybug said smiling down at her partner.

Returning her to her feet, he placed his gloved hand upon her cheek and lightly rubbed it with the pad of his thumb, being sure to avoid her face with his claws. Looking down at her his eye shone with a type of affection she’d never seen from anyone but him. The answering smile started to form but was cut off when his lips descended upon hers.

When he pulled away she opened her eyes to find his again, the initial look not lost but intensified by their shared kiss. “Thank you, Marinette,” he whispered.

She smiled as a reply, reaching up on her toes to reconnect their lips once more in a quick peck before she took his hand leading him to the box in the center of the rooftop. From it she pulled a blanket and several items meant for a rooftop picnic.

It probably would look rather cliché and too romantic for a sixteen-year-old’s birthday, but he had done something similar, with a not so happy of an ending, once before, and she knew he would appreciate and understand the gesture.

The final items she took from the box was a wrapped gift that she immediately handed to him as if it would spontaneously combust if she held it any longer.

Looking at the plainly wrapped gift as if it were made of gold, “you already got me something,” he stated quietly.

“No, Marinette got Adrien something for his birthday. This is Ladybug getting her partner, Chat Noir something for his. Who knew supermodel Adrien Agreste, and superhero Chat Noir shared the same birthday? Do not alert the press.”

Shaking his head at her antics he carefully drew the bow from the paper. Pulling the string completely away with a flourished flick of his wrist caused Ladybug to giggle and him to grin. The paper was carefully removed as if preserving an important document.

When finished he held up a well-constructed black bomber jacket with a Ladybug red hoodie attached. “If Adrien would like to borrow it, he is more than welcome to,” Ladybug stated with a tap of her finger upon the item.

“At some point my father is going to realize you are the one that keeps giving me my new outfits and ban me from being friends with the competition.”

“Please, if that man is too obtuse to notice we’ve been ‘secretly’ dating for several months, he won’t even notice your new attire unless it’s a fashion disaster.”

“He noticed when I wore the shirt Nino gave me this morning.”

Marinette rolled her eyes and playfully pushed his shoulder. “Like I said, fashion disaster.”

“It had a pun on it, how is that a disaster?” Raising her eyebrow as an answer. “Okay, okay. I only got away with wearing it because I thanked him for getting it for me for my birthday when he asked about it in that condescending tone. I’ve never seen the man look so close to fainting.”

Chat Noir tried to laugh at his own statement as if it were funny, but Ladybug could tell he was hurt by the incident and wanted to be able to tell someone about it, even if only as a joke.

“He didn’t get you a present again?” She placed her hand against his cheek looking at him, not with pity, but anger, directed towards his father.

Chat’s hand came to rest over hers, tilting his head into the comforting touch. “Natalie’s sick, he’s busy trying to take care of her.”

“Oh kitty.” Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Natalie has been sick for some time, it’s no excuse to forget your birthday…Especially when he was reminded about it just last week when you asked him to have a party.”

“You’ve met and dealt with my father, M’Lady. You know he barely passes as a decent human being, and I um—” Chat rubbed the back of neck sheepishly, “didn’t ask for a party this year because I already knew the answer.”

Ladybug growled as she pulled away to stand and pace. “I swear your father is the only person I’m willing to go full assassin on.”

Chat chuckled, a sound she loved so much. With a grace of a model, he got off of the ground and came to stand in front of her, stopping her from wearing a path onto the roof top. Before she could react, not that she would have stopped him, he scooped her up from the ground and wrapped her legs around his waist.

“You were raised by an organization of assassins who claimed to kill the scum of the world.” Ladybug opened her mouth to argue, but a finger stopped her. “Maybe a lot of them weren’t as advertised, but I’m sure a good number were. Still, you couldn’t kill them because that’s not who you are. Don’t let my dirt bag of a father change you, he’s not worth it.”

“He isn’t, but you are,” she whispered onto his lips before taking them.

When he pulled back, she whined in protest to the loss. “I’ve known the kind of person, more importantly father, he is since my mother died. I’ve come to terms with it. Sure, it still hurts a little to know that the person who’s supposed to love me unconditionally can’t even bother to try. But I’ve realized nothing I do is going change that. So, I choose not to cry, like Plagg, over spilled cheese.”

Ladybug tightened her grip around his shoulders, unsure what she could say. Really there wasn’t anything because he was right, Gabriel Agreste was unlikely to change his ways. Adrien and his friends, probably even Natalie, had been trying to get Gabriel to see how he mistreated his son, but he couldn’t be convinced by words. Actions were likely the only way he would listen, but they’d agreed to wait until Shadowmoth was defeated, or Adrien turned eighteen.

Moving his forehead to touch her own, he closed his eyes as he breathed Ladybug in. “Princess, you’ve already gotten me out of the house. I may have to sleep there, do homework, occasionally eat, but I’m no longer a prisoner.”

Ladybug tutted, “yea, but he still has too much control over your life. Like forcing you to model with a girl who harasses you and not letting you have a sixteenth birthday party.”

“Honestly, I put up with Lila because I’d rather have her thinking she has control, so she isn’t hiding her intentions. If I have to maintain the illusion, so Ladybug and Chat Noir don’t have to deal with her so often, her grabbing my arm is a small price to pay. But let’s not talk about the two of them, it’s my birthday and I want to spend it with the person who is most important to me.”

“Okay, but I promise your next birthday you’ll get to spend it with the people most important to you.”

A claw moved the strand of hair that fell in front of her face, tucking it behind her ear. His teeth lightly nibbling the same place causing a shiver to run up her spine. “You’re missing the point M’Lady. Even if I had everything I could ever want in the world, I would still choose to spend my birthday here, alone with you.”

There was no other word she could use to describe the feeling that bloomed in her chest each time his lips met hers other than love. Some would call it lust, and for a sixteen-year-old male there was probably a fair amount of that going on. But Chat was something different, he would never pressure her for more, knowing she was younger, and they were both not ready for the potential complications it could bring to their life and partnership. But it was okay because love, right now, was enough.

When he finally pulled away, she chased his lips, but the smile on their faces prevented them from continuing. When their eyes opened they both giggled, carefree if only for the moment. Placing her back on her feet, Chat turned to the food resting on the blanket, “let’s eat before it gets cold.”

“Probably too late,” Marinette joked, but took a seat back on the blanket regardless.

Scoffing, Chat took a monstrous bite of the closest croissant, not waiting to swallow before commenting, “still good.”

“You’re supposed to be domesticated,” Ladybug scolded with a smile, as she watched him stuff the rest of the croissant in his mouth without pause.

“Speaking of Hawkmoth—no Shadowmoth—no, is it Hawkdaddy now?”

Ladybug giggled, “I thought we weren’t going to talk about people like him.”

“We were talking about things I want for my birthday.”

Ladybug gasped, and with her best performance to date, acted as if she was choking on the piece of cookie she’d just put in her mouth, “you want Daddymoth?”

“Kwamis no!” Chat Noir looked properly aghast, and Ladybug couldn’t help but laugh. “Laugh it up, LB. What I would like, is to be able to be with my girlfriend on my birthday without it having to be on an isolated rooftop, I want the whole world to know you’re mine and I’m yours.”

Smiling, Ladybug nodded her head, “I’d like that too, but even if Shadowmoth was gone, all we can allow the world to do is think Ladybug and Chat Noir are together, never confirm.”

“I know, but we’ve kept Adrien and Marinette even further on the downlow. I want to be able to walk down the street holding your hand, bend down to kiss your forehead whenever I want, have dinner out just the two of us, and frame the articles the media print about how cute we are together.”

“I want that too.” Resting her head against Chat’s shoulder, Ladybug pictured exactly what he wanted. But with Shadowmoth still around, Ladybug feared Chat Blanc. “Maybe if the Justice League would just answer one of my messages this could all be over.”

“Are you sure you want the Justice League to intervene?” Chat kissed the side of her head while drawing a lazy pattern on the hand she’d left resting on his thigh.

“When Hawkmoth first appeared, I hoped someone with more experience would come and teach us what to do. Even with Master Fu’s help I still felt like we were out of our depth, but he insisted I not ask for assistance, so I followed his lead. But, now so much time has passed and I realize we’re still not properly equipped to defeat him. Yet my messages have remained unanswered.”

“I’m not really sure how after all this time the Justice League has stayed ignorant to the situation.”

“I asked Wayzz if it was something to do with the nature of the miraculous, protecting them from people knowing about their use or something like that. Afterall, I know that Fu had used them during the Second World War and yet there are no records even suggesting the use of similar artifacts. But Wayzz wasn’t aware of any magical properties like that...It’s possible a guardian of the past used some kind of magic without telling the kwami’s since a lot of spells like the powerups were kept secret to protect them from being abused—"

“But I thought you sent the messages directly to the Justice League.”

“I did! I even had Max ensure the message was delivered to the Watchtower. For whatever reason they’ve been ignoring them. But I guess, maybe it’s for the best. We’ve seen the kind of akumas that come from regular civilians with strong emotions, Wonder Woman gets her strength from hers. I’m not sure we would be able to stop them from destroying the world if Shadowmoth gave any of them more power.”

“Still, be kind of cool to meet her, or even one of the Green Lanterns, they’ve got magical jewelry too.”

“Hush, you,” Ladybug pushed Chat Noir playfully, “don’t let any of the kwami’s hear you comparing their miraculous to the Lantern Corps’. Plagg just might take away his ring. But…it would be nice to meet someone like Batman, we could use his detective skills. Thinking about it, he wouldn’t even have to come to Paris at all. Just use his resources to draw a short list of people that could be Shadowmoth, that we then investigate.”

“That’s it, I know what I want for my birthday!” Chat Noir shouted.

A little shaken from the abrupt change of topic, Ladybug looked at Chat in confusion, waiting for him to continue. “Batman! So how do we make this happen?”

“Like I haven’t already tried, I’ve sent four video messages over the last four months, unfortunately I don’t have the address to the Batcave to try a different tactic. Before you ask, I already tried to get Max and Kaalki to find it.”

“Then it sounds like it’s time for number five. The difference this time, I’ll help you and when they get a good look at this face there’ll be a line of superheroes wanting to help.” Chat winked at her and smiled with his pearly white canines.

Ladybug pulled away, “are you suggesting they haven’t responded because I’m too ugly.”

“No! Simply stating that two gorgeous faces are better than one?”

Ladybug shook her head. They’d been fighting Shadowmoth for over a year and there was no sign of either side being closer to victory. It was like they were stuck in the trenches, where neither side gained or really lost anything with each battle, a permanent stalemate. The miraculous duo really needed something to change the tide of the war. That something could be a someone, they just needed to figure out how to get their attention.

“Only because it’s your birthday.” Ladybug removed her yoyo and held it out so she could capture them both in the shot. She pressed the record button and hoped for the best.

“This is Ladybug and Chat Noir broadcasting from Paris. We are in dire need of assistance from the Justice League.”

Chapter Text

A video clearly done by a bunch of film students played on the large screen. The costume designer had a potential career that might lead them to Hollywood, but they were let down by the subpar CGI and horrible acting.

When the Justice League was formed people would call in with concerns of villainous activities both in the forms of local criminals and supervillains alike. With cellphone videos becoming more accessible, these pleas added footage in hope of getting a quicker and more effective response. For a long time, the League successfully used these videos to effortlessly employ their various heroes around the world as needed, or politely suggest utilizing local law enforcement instead.

That was until a video came into the Justice League’s inbox displaying a world-ending level event in a small town in Romania. In only the amount of time it took to mobilize the world’s greatest superheroes, the small town was descended upon by the strongest defenders ready to kick the alien invading forces back to space.

Needless to say, the town was never the same again. For far too late, the League realized the video to be a fake.

The piece was done well enough to not initially be suspicious., it was a final thesis for a group of film majors, who didn’t think of the consequences when they had the smart idea of making the Justice League their first audience. Of course, the heroes never expected anyone to abuse the reporting system in such a fashion. Their protocol looked for traps, not deception, if they had only taken the time to scrutinize the video for authenticity they would have instantly recognized the obvious signs of a false report.

But, as soon as news got out about the response to the first video, an influx of fake videos began to fill the League’s inbox, daily, from all over the world. It became an initiation of sorts to see how far final year film videos could go. Causing a vetting process to be created, starting with a junior member first viewing the videos for the more obvious hoax, before the more senior members viewed the less obvious ones.

Another video started as soon as the first was exited, it seemed like it was going to be one of those days. Immediately a banner with the wannabe production company crossed the screen.

“Amateurs.”

Superboy exited the video and paused the screen before the next could begin to play. He stretched back in his chair and looked over his shoulder at his best friend. The katana in Robin’s hands swiped gracefully at the imaginary enemy. There was no point in asking who he was fighting, the answer was always the same.

“How about you help me go through these videos like you’re supposed to?”

“Tt,” Robin continued his exercises, “you are the one who needs to become acquainted with sorting through the videos. I did so during your absence.”

“It was three months…I was only gone for three months, Robin. You didn’t become an expert in cinematography in that time.”

For those at home, Jon had only been away from Earth for three months, but for Superboy, he’d found himself lost for five years.

The return home had been awkward and uncomfortable for Jonathon Kent. He’d been forced to disenroll from school, abandon his civilian friendships, and keep his public appearances to a minimum until his Earth age could match his now older appearance.

Luckily, for Superboy the transition was easier, but no less drastic. Five years of surviving alone in the depths of unexplored space and far too often more dangerous dimensions, had changed him into a much more mature and seasoned hero. Before he’d left the super-sons’ partnership and friendship were okay. Truthfully, Jon longed for Damian to see him as an equal and Damian longed for the day Jon would disappear. Upon his return, the friendship developed into what he’d always hoped it to be. Their partnership was ironclad, so much so they were allowed to do missions on their own, and their friendship finally became what Jon would hope of best friends. A role Damian did not let him have easily, especially considering it was his deceased sister who’d filled the role before.

Still, the change was not without some uneasy adjustments. Namely, Damian became bitter in the fact he was now the youngest of the pair, by two years no less. The fourth Boy Wonder was handling the situation as he did best, using the facts to paint his own picture of reality.

“Yes, only three months.” He looked at Superboy in a way that relayed the message no more, no less, causing him to roll his eyes. “Regardless, a trained baboon would be able to sort through those videos, it should not be difficult, even for you.”

“Please?” Superboy whined.

Robin said nothing, ignoring the request to continue with his practice. Superboy wasn’t entirely upset, he’d been expecting him to decline, the videos were after all pretty easy to distinguish for the most part. Just rather boring to do alone.

The first time he’d been on duty, Conner joined him, treating the whole thing like an episode of Mystery Science Theater.

Inappropriate? Maybe.

Passed the time quickly? Sure did.

Turning back to the large screen, Superboy pressed play on the next video. The camera took a second to focus, showing two supposed heroes sitting alone with the night sky as their backdrop.

“This is Ladybug and Chat Noir broadcasting from Paris. We are in dire need of assistance from the Justice League. For the last year, Paris has been under constant attacks from a magically powered villain called Hawkmoth, now known as Shadowmoth.”

“While the city continues to stand thanks to my pawesome partner Ladybug, the emotional toll is becoming insurmountable.”

Superboy paused the video. “Robin, you need to get over here, its Catwoman’s love child.”

Robin’s katana came to an abrupt stop, causing Superboy to smirk in victory. If there was one thing that could cause the ex-assassin to faulter in his step, aside from the topic of his sister that Jon had learned early to avoid, Catwoman was it.

Robin never approved of his father’s relationship with the thief. Not understanding how she was okay, but his mother wasn’t. The day Selena Kyle left the manor was the first time Jon had ever seen Damian look anything close to happy.

Resuming the video, “for the past few months, I have sent several videos to the Justice League requesting assistance, but each has been ignored. I implore you to no longer ignore the situation, if successful in his purpose of capturing the Black Cat and Ladybug Miraculous, Shadowmoth could easily destroy the world as we know it.” Looking at her partner and no longer the viewer, Ladybug continued, “We have successfully beaten back each of his attacks, but since he is not required to be present, we are no closer to capturing the Butterfly or Peacock Miraculous today than we were when this began. Which is why we ask for the assistance of your best detectives to discover the identity of Shadowmoth so we may apprehend him.”

The camera moved so only Ladybug was in frame, there was no light around them but the light from the camera highlighted the heroine’s eyes. In them Superboy was lost, not only to their beauty but their desperation.

“I’ve included a collection of some of the worst battles, both in terms of damage and emotional impact. I know it will appear unbelievable, but trust me when I say, Paris and her people can no longer be ignored.”

The video cut to a shot of the Eiffel Tower, above it the sky looked similar to what Jon was used to seeing back at his grandparents when a storm was threatening the area. Out of nowhere fireballs shot from clouds straight out into the City of Lights. People could be heard screaming, as the fire slammed into the buildings and streets. The devastation to the city was endless in only a matter of seconds. Suddenly the videographer shifted focus and the two ‘heroes’ from before flew onto the scene, one literally using a device similar and yet completely different from the Bat’s grapples and the other a pole to volley the large distance.

The video seemed to fast forward as the city was destroyed around them, the person filming kept their distance from the epicenter of the storm and most of the damage, shifting their position only to avoid falling debris.

The video returned to playing at normal speed and fifteen seconds later a large red wave erupted from around the Eiffel Tower. It spread so fast Superboy was barely able to keep up with its progress, but it covered everything as it spread through the city. The person in the video didn’t move as it came closer, like they were welcoming it. It washed over them before leaving the scene as if nothing, literally nothing, devastating had just occurred.

A new scene flickered onto the screen, this time the whole of Paris seemed to have flooded. Superboy was about to comment to Robin about the amazing CGI when a large pile of what appeared to be refuse floated onto the screen. Only his stomach dropped as he realized it was not trash.

There was no way the video was real and the League unaware. The duo had claimed it had been happening for at least a year. A year of devastation on this level could not be ignored. There was no way a tourist, even one of the members of the Justice League itself, hadn’t visited the city in that time, not noticing it happening around them, and not saying a word about it.

No way!

The video ended with the red wave, which Jon realized was ladybugs—props to their CGI expert for the small detail—clearing the water. The place where the water once covered, cars were upright, the street squeaky clean, and people reappearing slightly disoriented.

Only the disorientation didn’t last long. In the far corner a middle-aged woman leaned over, getting sick before she fell to the ground crying. A child, no older than Superboy had been only a few months ago, was visibly shaking as he was comforted by his father.

There was no time to analyze their reactions further before the focus of the video shifted once more. This time, the footage showed Chat Noir fighting a medieval knight. The sword work was remarkable, the skill not quite what he would equate to Robin’s but impressive none the less. The camera zoomed back, and Ladybug could be seen in the distance fighting off several knights in a similar fashion, her opponents were not as skilled with the sword, but the fact she managed several at a time was striking.

Too bad it was scripted, as both ‘heroes’ appeared capable of giving Damian the challenge he always begged for.

“Stop, rewind.” Robin ordered, his hand moving quicker than Superboy’s to the keyboard. When the angle proved to be too awkward to achieve his purpose, Superboy took over.

The video rewound only a few seconds before Robin stopped him. Looking over his shoulder he noticed Robin intently staring at the screen, unblinking.

“Again,” this time, he watched the footage to see what had interested his best friend.

“Again!” Superboy did as told, though he’d seen nothing to cause such a reaction.

“We need to alert my father.”

“Is that really necessary? Obviously this is a fake. How can it not be when we haven’t heard anything that would even suggest this level of devastation on a regular basis in Paris?”

“Both of those heroes were using moves taught by the League of Assassins.”

Superboy looked at Robin confused. “Okay, that makes this real?”

“No, but it does mean for some reason someone in the League of Assassins wants us to believe it is.”