Chapter Text

“Help! Damn it Help!”

Felicity squeaked nearly dropping the tablet in her hands, just catching it before it fell to the shining floor. The cloud of her tech induced stupor clearing as the yelling was followed by strained grunts, and heavy thumps of whoever was coming into Verdants basement. Eyebrows furrowed, she gently placed the tablet onto the small table beside her, and turned in her plush computer chair to see who was causing so much noise. 

She saw in the glow of the fluorescent lights between the glass cases of weaponry and equipment Oliver and Sara stumble in. The steel doors of the secret elevator from the club closing with a ding. Felicity flinched as the rubber soles of their black boots squeaked across the shining black floor. Her mouth agape when she saw not only their grim faces smeared with dirt, and glistening with sweat, but that their respective uniforms were close to being demolished. 

Oliver’s archers uniform had a large gash in the chest; the green fabric of his shirt splitting apart to reveal the flexible black under armor which also had deep scratches engraved on it. The tears expanding with each labored breath while he walked. He limped slightly; the right side of his pants had torn below the knee, revealing the slashes in his calf.

Sara was not much better, Felicity observed. Her black leather jacket had gone missing, and her black corset had scorch marks. Her leather pants had been torn apart at the front, revealing the beginning of bruising on her pale thighs. What was truly horrific about the both of them was the smell. Even from so far Felicity could smell the damp blood that the other two had been bathed in. It’s acrid scent singing her nose hairs. 

But it was what was being held up between Oliver and Sara that shocked Felicity the most. It was a limp Nyssa al-Ghul whose flopping body was supported with a loose arm over each shoulder of the other two vigilantes. Felicity continued to gape while she watched Sara and Oliver struggle across the floor, dragging Nyssa, until they reached the medical table in front of her computer stand. 

With their last remaining effort they hefted her onto the plexiglass surface. The lights from underneath the clear surface flickering on with the sudden pressure. The plastic rattling in it's metal frame from the abrupt movement. Felicity watched the entire action numbly, her brain still trying to process the intrusion. It wasn’t until Oliver raised one of his scratched arms to wave her over did she regain the ability to move.  

She shot up and rushed over as fast as she could in her black pumps. At the table she stood next to Oliver and looked down. In front of her was Nyssa al-ghul, daughter of the demon, heir to the league of shadows, and all around terrifying human being was deeply unconscious with her satin assassin uniform ripped to ribbons. The black and fuchsia fabric was drenched from the slash at her midriff, the deep scratch seeping blood. The sticky substance pooling on her taut stomach. 

“What happened?” Felicity asked breathlessly.

“I don’t know,” Oliver answered, while stripping himself of his gloves, mask, and quiver. He threw them behind him so that they landed haphazardly somewhere on the steps of the monitor stand. 

“We were out on patrol when we spotted Nyssa at the docks fighting someone,” Sara explained, also taking off anything unnecessary from her costume, throwing them in the same direction as Oliver's. “Where’s your medical equipment?”

“Here,” Felicity stooped down to the shelf below the medical table, bringing out a large metal container that served as their first aid kit. 

She placed it next to Nyssa, flicking open the latches on the front. The lid sprung open, creaking on its hinges the smell of anesthetic, mixed with plastic uncurled from its depths. Pleased, Sara pushed Felicity aside, and began sifting through the contents. Oliver joined her to help guide her through the different supplies they had, and any secret compartments which held “special” medicines.

This left Felicity to stand awkwardly by the unconscious assassin's side. Instead of watching the other two play doctor, she directed her gaze down to Nyssa. She had never been in such close contact with her before. Only seeing her through the surveillance cameras from around the city. From that perspective, seeing Nyssa fight, seeing the vicious way she treated not only Sara, but anyone who got in her way made the assassin seem terrifying. Made her seem monstrous. 

But now? Lying on the table, with her eyes closed, and glossy black hair reflecting off the overhead lights, so that it shined like an inky glass hallo; she didn’t seem so scary. Actually Felicity thought as she bent closer, hearing the soft sounds of her breathing she looks really cute .

As if sensing someone was close by, Nyssa shifted slightly. Her nose scrunching up while some locks of hair fell into her face just over her eye. Felicity cautiously looked up at Oliver and Sara who were still distracted, then looked back down to Nyssa who was still in a deep state of unconsciousness. 

Felicity bit her bottom lip, debating with herself silently. She finally decided on what to do and gently brushed away the hairs that had landed on Nyssa’s eye. The tips of her calloused fingers carefully pulling the silky stands away, and tucking them back behind her ear. The tip of her thumb grazing over a small notch in the top part of her ear. Pleased to see the assassin's face relax, Felicity started to pull her hand back. She had retracted it somewhat when a hand shot out to wrap around her wrist.
Felicity squeaked at the sudden pressure, and tried to pull back only for the grip on her wrist to tighten. She watched with wide fearful eyes as Nyssa began to regain consciousness. Sweat forming on her palms Felicity's eyes darted over to Oliver and Sara who had finally noticed what was happening and now were frozen. Both unsure of what to do while Nyssa used her newly acquired prisoner to sit up. It was an unsteady accession with the gash on her stomach still leaking blood, the sticky rivulets trickling down to disappear into the waistband of her pants. Now fully sitting up the tattered silk shirt fell to her waist, leaving her in just a black sports bra and very many scars and scratches. 

“Stupid gringo pimp,” Nyssa slurred her eye’s glassy, and tawny skin loosing it’s pink undertone. “Snuck up from behind, and slashed me like a tire. I hope the carbon burns in hell fire, sucking the devil’s cock.”

Felicity gasped. From what she heard from Oliver’s comms Nyssa had a soft upper class British lilt, but what had just come out of her mouth was nothing close to that. The slang, dialect and accent were straight from Gotham.  

“Who taught you to speak like that?” She asked in an excited rush of words, waving off Oliver and Sara who were slowly inching closer to the two of them.

“My mami, wh- who else?” Nyssa answered instantaneously, her full lashes fluttering down while her body swayed forward, her forehead landing on her captive’s shoulder.   

“What neighborhood did she walk?” Felicity continued. Nyssa yawned, resting her clammy forehead on the girl’s shoulder. The cool green brocade fabric comforting her. 

“Eas- East End represent.”

After those last few words the energy she seemed to have gained just as quickly disappeared. Nyssa fully closed her eyes, and slumped forward while her grip loosened on her captive’s wrist. The grand assassin was unconscious once again. 

After a few moments of stillness Sara was finally able to break free from her stupor and rushed forward. She pushed Felicity back, the other girl teetering back on her heel until she was caught by Oliver’s rough hand on her shoulder. He had come up behind Sara and watched as she cuddled Nyssa against her chest. Her breath is shaky and slow; the warm puffs of air heating up the top of the blonde’s breasts.

“I don’t know what just happened here,” Sara spoke while gently placing Nyssa back on the table. “But Nyssa needs stitches sooner rather than later.’’

Firm reprimand in place Sara looked down at her patient. She swallowed and steeled her nerves, reaching into the medical kit pulling out all the things she needed; medical thread, needles, anesthetic, gauze, and metal bowl to help clean things up. She held  the bottle of anesthetic over the gauze pouring the harsh smelling liquid on it then applying it to the slash on Nyssa’s stomach, scrubbing away the dried blood. Still deep in unconsciousness she hissed, and squirmed as the liquid cleaned out her wound.

Sara hesitated at the noise. All three of them held their breath, until the assassin settled again. Pleased Sara picked up the rest of her equipment and got to work. While she prepped the wound for closure Felicity and Oliver shared  a side-eye look before both of them stepped back from the table.

“I don’t suppose you could explain what just happened?” Oliver asked Felicity while he leaned against the monitor stand, dirtying the stainless steel with his bloodied leathers.

“You mean with how Nyssa apparently not only knows Gotham slang, but speaks with an accent straight from the gutters of the East-End? Which is especially weird when we thought she was born and raised with the League of Assassins somewhere in the middle of a desert?”

“I’m more curious about how you know so much about Gotham? ”

Felicity blushed at the attention, smiling at the floor while she fidgeted with her blond ponytail, "I used to spend my summers with family in Gotham, so I picked up some stuff.”

Felicity’s summers in Gotham had been one of the better compromises in her relationship with her mom. The two would head down at the start of the summer with her mom spending two weeks with Felicity and their family before heading back to Vegas. Which allowed Felicity to spend the rest of the summer attending Gotham Tech’s computer engineering program while hanging out with her family. This also allowed her mom to have the free time she needed to party till the break of dawn. It was a win-win for the both of them, and one of the reasons Felicity was able to afford college. Her mom had some serious gambling skills that essentially bankrolled Felicity's higher education.  

“What I want to know-”Oliver spoke up, interrupting her reminiscing, “is what else she could be hiding.” 

“Honestly? "Felicity replied while looking over at Sara who was still working diligently on her sleeping patient. 

“I think more than we’re willing to find out.”

Chapter Text

Sara stood silently in the Verdant basement, the damp air causing goosebumps to erupt on her bare arms. Awhile ago she had been pacing incessantly until she practically wore holes into the shining black floor. She had only stopped when she thought she heard Nyssa stir a little. It was a false alarm, and now she was watching the rise and fall of the other woman' s chest, happy that it was moving at all. 

They had finished the operation a half hour ago, managing to stop the bleeding and sew up the gash in Nyssa’s stomach without too many complications. What was really impressive was that throughout the entire gruesome process Nyssa remained deeply  unconscious. Unbelievable she thought smiling down at the woman on the table, but she always did have an insanely high pain tolerance. 

Sara bit her bottom lip and reached out slowly so as not to awaken the other woman. Her calloused fingertips touched down on Nyssa’s soft skin, tracing the edge of the fresh bruises on her shoulder. She ghosted around the purple malformation before moving to the tattoo of Jiji from Kiki’s Delivery Service that embossed most of her right shoulder. 

It was a surprisingly cute design for such a vicious person. The first time Sara had seen it she had been shocked to say the least. She had then spent most of that night attempting to get Nyssa to explain what drove her to get something so contrasting to her appearance and personality. Instead of an answer Nyssa had kissed Sara until she was no longer on this earthly plane, and effectively ending any inquisition about the tattoo. 

“I didn’t notice that before,” Felicity commented, coming up to the other side of the medical table from her monitor stand. Sara raised an eyebrow until the other woman gestured to the tattoo on Nyssa’s shoulder.  

“Probably because it was covered in blood,” Sara answered, her fingers going from the tattoo to some scratches that laced near the base of Nyssa’s neck, feeling the subtle red edges. 

“Yeah, that's probably why,” Felicity muttered, looking down at her shoes, the tips of her ears becoming hot and red. 

“How well do you know her,” she tried again gesturing to the assassin on the table, “Nyssa,” Felicity added in quickly. 

“Well enough,” Sara answered in a curt voice, shrugging her stiff shoulders. A delightful pop resounding in the basement from the stretching. 

“So that means...” Felicity continued, digging for more information only slightly afraid of being mauled. 

“Soooo- that means what I know is none of your business,” Sara snapped, retracting her hand from where she was tracing across her ex? girlfriend's fresh wounds. 

Felicity flinched, "so-sorry,” she stuttered out quietly before scurrying back to her monitor stand. 

Alone again, Sara leaned heavily on the palms of her hands that were resting on top of the medical table. She sighed guilt maneuvering its way through her stomach. She hadn’t meant to snap at Felicity; it just annoyed her how much she didn’t know about Nyssa's life. It’s not like Sara hadn’t tried to learn about her. She had tried so hard. But every time Nyssa's responses were vague and surly.

The one time she was successful in getting information was when she asked while they were both basking in the afterglow in their bed, and Nyssa was less than sober. She had divulged that she had spent a decent chunk of her childhood being raised outside the League of Assassin compound, and had only been back with her father recently. Sara wasn’t able to figure out who had raised Nyssa or why she had been moved from the compound, and until recently she didn’t even know where she had been moved to. It was only thanks to Felicity’s knowledge about Gotham that she had been able to figure out the “where”. 

Sara’s introspection was interrupted when she felt the glass plate below her fingertips shake. She looked down and tensed as she watched Nyssa shift, the table squeaking beneath her. No longer lying still on her back she rolled slightly to her side, and curled into herself. Her face contorted in slight discomfort. Sara held her breath, waiting. Nyssa made one last grumble before she let out a sigh, and her face relaxed. 

Sara exhaled her frustration through her nose and resisted the urge to shake the other woman. Instead she tempered her anger, and looked up to the monitor stand where Felicity was typing away. She watched for a few more seconds, forcing Felicity’s skin to get progressively more red from being so blatantly observed. Sara stared for a few more moments before pushing herself away from the table. Eyes still trained on the bright screen Felicity heard the click of Sara’s leather boots as she walked over. 

Sara stopped behind the middle monitor screen, the glow lighting up her pale skin, and golden hair. Felicity's typing slowed while she peeked up from her keyboard; the other woman's presence radiating hot intensity. Which only amplified the ice cold depths of her blue eyes. 

“Ummmm is everything ok?” Felicity finally asked in a squeak. Still apprehensive from their previous interaction.

“Yeah,” Sara answered, one of her fingers wrapping around the laces of her burned corset. 

“Is ummm Nyssa ok?” 

“Yeah.” Sara hesitated a little, ”she’s tough ya know? Just… just stupid,” she continued with a shrug. 

Felicity stifled a laugh by biting her lower lip. Not many people would describe one of the world’s most dangerous assassins as stupid. Violent? Sure. Temperamental? Oh hell yeah. But, stupid? Only if you were very brave. Or sleeping with them she mused with a small grin. 

“Is that how she got so beat up? Because she was stupid?” Felicity questioned, while leaning back in her chair. 

“Honestly? Yeah,” Sara replied. 

“She was probably drunk. Or high. Or both honestly, and got into a fight with someone a little higher in skill level than expected,” she continued.  

“Oh.” Felicity remarked thoughtfully. “Does she do that a lot?” 

“You mean get wasted, and start fights? Yep,” Sara answered over-pronouncing the p on the last word. 

“She has like zero preservation skills,” she explained, cracking a smile that did not reach her eyes. 

“So she’s like a sexier, probably more fun version of Oliver,” Felicity thoughtfully observed, glancing over Sara’s shoulder to where Nyssa lay still asleep. 

The comparison of the two vigilantes was so bizarre that it broke through Sara’s exhausted exterior. The tension from her body releasing as she began laughing like a fiend. Her sides, splitting from the absurd comment.  

“You know what? Yeah, that’s exactly what she’s like,” Sara gasped once she was able to catch her breath. 

Felicity glowed from the compliment. It was nice to see the other woman laugh. Not only laugh, but to do so with such honesty, and openness. Since Felicity had come to know her there had always been a sadness surrounding Sara. Sure she would smile, and joke around with Diggle, Oliver, and her but…. Those smiles never seemed to reach her eyes, and those jokes always seemed forced. 

“Hey,” Sara spoke up again, bringing Felicity back to the present. 

“I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. It’s just…hard you know? Like that’s the love of my life you were asking about, and I honestly couldn’t tell you the first thing about her.”

“It’s alright,” Felicity responded while bringing up one of her hands to give Sara’s forearm a squeeze. 

“I have to wonder though how you were able to recognize what she was saying? Did you spend time in Gotham?” Sara asked, leaning in slightly; eager for any scrap of information that she could get about Nyssa. 

“Yep, I used to spend my summers there when I was a kid and picked up some of the local slang,” Felicity enthusiastically explained. “I even recognized her accent. She’s probably from the East-End.”

A bitter laugh bubbled in Sara’s throat. Amazing. Felicity had learned more about Nyssa within ten minutes while she was delirious from blood loss then Sara had from the past few years. God, life was unfair.

“Do you know why she was raised in Gotham? Like is her mom from there?” Felicity asked. Maybe I’ll get lucky and know her, Felicity thought. The East-End is a pretty well connected neighborhood.

“No idea,” Sara answered deadpan. 

“All I know is that when she was about ten? Yeah, ten, she was taken from the League compound and raised elsewhere,” she continued. “And honestly? It’s only cause of you that I even know that elsewhere was Gotham.” 

“I see,” Felicity responded. “And she of course has to uphold the code of silence that all emotionally stunted vigilantes take the moment they put on their tight leather outfits.” 

“Of course,” Sara agreed with a mocking nod. 

The two held eye contact for a couple more seconds before they both broke down into laughter. Genuine, comfortable laughter. Warmth flowing from their interaction, to fill the cold basement. It was an impossible moment of bonding for two women who up until recently were closer to enemies than friends. 

“We chose terrible people to love, didn’t we?” Sara observed, forcing Felicity to choke as her face turned red again. 

“What?! N-no- I have no- no ide-. You got it all wron-!” She stuttered uncontrollably until Sara took pity, and put her out of her misery. 

“It’s ok,” Sara soothed her. “I promise that Oliver is too concerned about himself to notice,” 

Felicity wanted to further protest her assumed feelings except Nyssa interrupted by letting out a loud and pained grumble. Sara’s gaze snapped over to the table and she leveraged herself off the monitor stand practically sprinting over to the medical table. Which left a very embarrassed and confused Felicity to mull over what Sara had said.

Chapter Text

Fuck this hurts. This hurts a lot .

Those were the first few thoughts that Nyssa had when she came back to the land of the living from her brief coma. Her body was incredibly stiff, the tension coming from lying atop the cold surface of a metal table. To relieve this tension she stretched upwards, so her back came off the glass surface. 

This caused her muscles to scream shrilly in protest while the bandages wrapped around her stomach rubbed the fresh wound raw. The movement also caused the fresh bruises that peppered her body to recoil; the damaged blood vessels beneath the taut skin along with the somewhat healed scratches felt as though they would break apart any minute causing them to gush warm congealing fluid once again. 

But more importantly, she was cold. And sticky. And hungry. Oh god was she hungry.

It was the gnawing hunger that prompted Nyssa to finally get up, so with great effort, she used the palms of her hands to stabilize herself and swing her legs down. Now sitting up as best she could with her bare feet dangling above the black floor, and goosebumps spreading across the underside of her thighs she prepared herself to leave. 

She guessed because she was barely covered that someone when treating her newest slew of wounds, had stripped her down to her black spandex shorts, and sports bra.

  At least that would explain why I’m cold , Nyssa thought, rubbing her biceps. 

While she was rubbing her arms she felt something peel off her skin. She brought one of her hands up to see small garish red flakes in it. It seemed that her movement had stretched some of the scratches across her body, cracking the dried blood that covered them to show the healing skin beneath. The flakes of blood then mixed with the sheen of sweat that clung to her skin, creating a tacky surface.  

And that would explain why I’m sticky, Nyssa concluded happy to have figured out two out of the three most compelling issues at the moment. 

None of these issues would be solved by having her sit around, and so with great effort, she brought her feet down onto the chilly floor. Once she was upright she swayed only for a moment, readjusting to being under her own power again. When she didn’t collapse Nyssa started to walk, looking for her clothes. Or clothes that would at least fit her. 

She wandered stiffly around in what she assumed was the underground lair of Oliver Queen and company. It was not terribly impressive compared to the League of Assassins compound but was also not the worst place she had woken up in. Her eyes flicked over the decent-sized open room. 

There were glass cases lining the side opposite of her that was filled with mannequins waiting to be dressed in their owner’s costumes. Towards the back away from the elevator was the medical table she had been lying on, which was situated in front of a monitor stand. At the other end of the room behind another monitor stand was some workout equipment, encircling a sparring mat. The salmon ladder seemed to be strategically placed so that it would be in full view of anyone sitting at the monitor stand. 

Again not the worst place to be, Nyssa thought. At least it’s not damp.

While she had been looking around she noticed a metal container next to a glass case with Sara’s name embossed on the bottom. Hopeful that her things would be there she padded over. She easily opened the lid while ignoring the strain it put on her shoulder and was picking through it when she heard the distant ding of an opening elevator and the tap tap tap of a pair of pumps. 

“Um….feeling better?” An uncertain voice behind her asked. 

Nyssa hummed, lifting her chin up to see the person standing above her. It was a pretty woman whose skin was delicately painted porcelain with rosy undertones. The gleaming blond hair was up in a high ponytail which ended in a soft wave. The stray locks curled inward into her face, framing her sky blue eyes that gleamed with wariness.

She was dressed in a green brocade dress and black pumps. The memory of that cool fabric against her sweating forehead played at the corners of her mind.   

She smells good , Nyssa thought. Clean. Too clean. The scent disturbed her. She didn’t trust clean. 

Head cocked she went through the information she had on Oliver Queen, and co. It took her a minute, but she was able to recognize the adorable morsel in square black glasses in front of her. It was none other than the infamous Felicity Smoak.

Felicity shifted under the probing stare, clutching her tablet close to her chest. Question answered Nyssa shrugged, and went back to look for something to wear. Finally, she came upon a pair of leggings. She got up and pulled them on with difficulty, as she was struggling Nyssa saw in the corner of her eye Felicity’s stare following the movement of her prominent back muscles. 

“Enjoying the view?” She asked Felicity. 

Startled Felicity squeaked something unintelligible her face heating up. Nyssa laughed at the reaction and watched as the other woman indignantly huffed before scurrying away to her monitor stand. 

At the stand Felicity settled in her chair, placing her tablet next to her then woke up each of her screens with a wave of her hand. She played around with her files while the tablet uploaded data onto the main server to then disperse to the rest of the team in specialized reports. It was a relatively easy process, allowing time for her mind to wander. 

Felicity did truly attempt to focus on the screens in front of her instead of the unfairly muscular woman wandering around shirtless. It didn’t work so well, and what was even worse is she just knew Nyssa was aware of her peeping. Stupid assassin and her stupid assassin senses. 

She sighed and rubbed her face while leaning back in her office chair. She tilted her face up the shine of the lights warming her skin as she thought about her interaction with Nyssa earlier, right before she passed out. Could Nyssa really have been raised in Gotham? How young had she been when she left the League compound? Why had she been raised outside the compound? Who had raised her? Why would she know slang from one of the poorest areas in Gotham?

Curiosity driving her to frustration, Felicity groaned. She titled her head down her stare refocusing on the green-lit space. She then spied Nyssa in the corner of her vision and went back to following the other woman’s movements around the basement. 

Not surprisingly Nyssa was silent in everything she did. Her steps, her movement, and even her breathing made no sound. The fluidity of her body was mesmerizing to see. She was more graceful than a dancer her feet picking up before they even left the ground. Her body was not made of skin and bone it was made of wisps of shadow. It was as if a person did not watch her closely she would just… disappear.

At that realization, Felicity was suddenly filled with cold fear. She roused herself from her stupor and spoke up hurriedly, 

“I saw some trouble by the playground…”

Nyssa stopped in her search. Her body finally solidifying against the Verdant basement backdrop. Felicity blanched unsure of why she had chosen that particular phrase. The other woman turned to face the blond woman fully, tilting her head a shine appearing in her dark eyes.

“Eso es tu maletín,” she answered her voice accented perfectly. She then went back to looking for whatever she was trying to find. 

Felicity exhaled out her nose. I saw trouble by the playground was a common warning in the East End for street kids or just any kids that happened to be out. It meant that cops were coming sooner rather than later. And as every good East End kid knew the only good cop was a fried cop. 

The problem Felicity had right now with Nyssa was that tu maletín was a common phrase in the East End due to the large population of Cubans that lived there, but it was just as common as a phrase in well actual Cuba. So either Nyssa was from the East End as Felicity suspected or she spent a lot of time in Cuba. Either could be true, either could just as likely be false. 

“If we are finished here I believe I shall take my leave,” Nyssa declared while zipping up the black hoodie she had taken from Oliver’s stash.

 “Wait! Wait! Wait!” Felicity shouted, startled by the other woman’s sudden declaration.  

She got up from her seat and rushed over to stop her. She came up nearly teetering over but caught herself by grasping Nyssa’s muscular arm.

Nyssa was solid and didn’t even sway at the sudden added weight. She did stare down at Felicity’s pale delicate hand until the other woman caught on and relased her.

“Wher…where are you going?” She stuttered, feeling very warm all of the sudden.  

Nyssa smirked. She looked the little blonde up and down, taking a step forward. She was now quite squarely in the other woman’s personal space. She would give the blonde woman credit. She didn’t even flinch when Nyssa bent down to speak to her. 

“I want to get something to eat,” she purred, 

Felicity blinked her brain taking a minute to reboot. Ok food. Food is something Felicity could get her. Hopefully. 

“Well lucky for you I know the perfect place.”

******

“Mexican?” Nyssa questioned her gaze fastened to the faded blinking green neon sign that read Buena Onda .

“What? It’s the only place open this late at night,” Felicity explained while wrenching open the glass door. The fragrant smell of pepper flakes and cooking beef wafted out. “Plus they have great food here.”

Nyssa shrugged following closely behind into the dimly lit restaurant. They were welcomed into the small space by a bleary-eyed college-age girl with black hair in a high ponytail. Recognition of Felicity lit up her dark eyes and with a jerk of her head, she indicated an empty table towards the back. Felicity returned it with a dazzling smile. Nyssa grunted. 

They walked across the well-tread wooden floor, finding their table with ease. They settled into the plastic chairs across from each other; Felicity with her ankles crossed. Nyssa fully inclined backward her legs sprawled on either side of her companion. 

Now in her seat Nyssa did a once over of the restaurant. The walls were painted light pink with posters of Luche Libre fighters decorating them. The wrestler's garish masked faces were lit by the rainbow christmas lights that were strung through the rafters. There was a bar a few feet to their right that was stocked with any and every liquor. Legal and illegal. Behind the two of them close to the bustle of the kitchen was a very old jukebox, playing soft Mariachi music. The lonely tone of a man left without his sweetheart filled the small space. It created an almost… romantic atmosphere. 

Her observations were cut sure when the girl that had greeted them walked over. She was holding two glass Corona's grasping them by the sleek necks between her pointer and middle finger. The waitress stopped and placed a bottle in front of each woman. The young girl wiped the sweat that dotted her ochre forehead with the back of her hand, before taking out a pad of paper from the pocket of her green apron. 

“Quiero el especial, y ella tendrá un plato de tacos de chorizo,” Felicity ordered. The waitress nodded made some quick notes then left to relay the order to the kitchen.

Once she was gone, silence descended over the table. If Felicity was being completely honest, she had no idea how to start a conversation with a world-renowned assassin. Especially one that had nearly killed one of her team. She could still remember how shaken Oliver had been when he had come back from his fight with Nyssa. He had been white as a sheet, and even more surly than usual. Which had been both disturbing and impressive. He would probably lose his mind if saw he saw her and Nyssa together now, eating late-night Mexican.

“You speak Spanish quite well,” Nyssa commented, coming forward in her chair to brace her forearms against the edge of the lamented table.

“So do you,” Felicity agreed, “ tu maletín that’s Cuban right?”

“I believe so.”

“Interesting, interesting. Lots of Cubans in Gotham.”

“There are lots of Cubans in many places.”

"True,” Felicity commented. “Except,” she also leaned forward. “East End represent, right?”

Felicity grinned. She was proud of herself. She was sure this would catch the other woman off guard. Instead, Nyssa’s face broke into a shark-like grin with the black of her eyes expanding and breathing quickened. Felicity suddenly felt very cold and wary. She squirmed as the feeling of being trapped crept into the edge of her mind. Thankfully the tension was broken when the waitress came over with their orders, dropping the chipped floral ceramic plates unceremoniously on the table before retreating.

Thankful for the distraction Felicity immediately grabbed her food and started to eat. Nyssa chuckled taking a sip of her Corona, the fizzy liquid splashing against her dry throat. Half chugged she placed the bottle back on the table, grabbing her own food. The two of them ate in silence until Felicity couldn’t restrain her curiosity any longer. 

“You grew up in Gotham didn't you?” She asked desperately, putting her silverware down. 

“Maybe,” was all Nyssa answered before taking a bite of the greasy taco.

“In the East End?” Felicity pressed. It would make the most sense the East End’s greatest export was mentally unstable killers. 

“Good guess.”

“You're very smart,” Nyssa commented, interrupting before another question could be asked. 

“Good guess,” Felicity mocked.

Nyssa laughed a rumble from the back of her throat while leaning forward her hand reaching across the table to caress Felicity’s soft cheek. The texture was smooth against her calloused fingers. It probably matched the rest of the other woman’s unmarked skin, Nyssa thought. Felicity was too shocked at the sudden contact to pull away, so she sat there.

“Very smart,” Nyssa reassured her in a whisper pulling her hand back.

Not a second too soon because just as her fingertips left Felicity’s cheek Oliver and Sara burst in. Thankfully they were dressed in civilian clothes, not their costumes. The of them looked around wildly until they spotted Nyssa and Felicity. Relieved they rushed over. Sara on Nyssa’s side, and Oliver on Felicity’s.

“Nyssa! You shouldn’t be here!” Sara fussed. The woman in question hummed while she stretched her neck back, preening like a cat.

Felicity's eyes widened. She watched fascinated as the woman who had not only kidnapped Sara’s mother but had driven Sara to drink poison was now the blonde woman’s sole attention. 

“We should get you back to the basement, make sure you’re ok,” Sara suggested. Nyssa nodded, allowing herself to be pulled up.

“Bye Felicity,” Nyssa chirped, giving a little wave before she was led out of the small restaurant.

Felicity numbly waved back. The glass door closed with a creak, she blinked, still unsure how to process all that had happened. She tilted her head up to look at Oliver whose furrowed eyebrows indicated he was just as confused.

“Mind explaining why you took a dangerous assassin out for midnight Mexican?” He asked.

Felicity shrugged, “she said she was hungry.” 

Chapter Text

Security Breach 

Loading…Loading… Loading… 

Access to Gotham’s Birth Records granted. Enter search terms_

First Name: Nyssa. Year of Birth: 1981 

Several files found. Select_ 

Hospital Location: EastEnd. 

20 files found. Select_ 

Race: Asian

No files found.  

Esc Birth Records. Access Death Records 

Loading… Loading… Loading… 

Access to Gotham’s Death Records granted. Enter Search Terms_ 

First Name: Nyssa. Year of Death: 2000-2007 

Several Found. Select_ 

Age: 16-20 

15 files found. Select_ 

Race: Asian

No files found. 

Esc Death Records. Access Adoption Records 

Rerouting to a new page. 

Welcome to Oracle's private server. 

SmoakScreen: hello? 

Oracle: Hello. 

SmoakScreen: not that I don’t love being unexpectedly brought to creepy secret servers, but can I like help you? 

Oracle: That depends. 

SmoakScreen: ?on?

Oracle: Why are you so interested in someone named Nyssa?

SmoakScreen: why do you want to know? 

Oracle: They could potentially be a mutual acquaintance of ours. One I have been attempting to keep better tabs on. 

SmoakScreen: ig it depends if ur nyssa is a scary assassin 

Oracle: She is. 

SmoakScreen: if she also happens to be the daughter of ra’s al ghoul head of the demon? 

Oracle: She is. 

SmoakScreen: if shes also hot in a confusingly terrifying way? 

Oracle: … I don’t feel comfortable answering that. 

SmoakScreen: fair 

Oracle: I will say it seems we're talking about the same person, and if you stop attempting to breach my network we could discuss how to help one another with any difficulties she could potentially bring up. 

SmoakScreen: caught that huh? 

Oracle: Yes. 

SmoakScreen: fine. say i do want ur help with scary mc’ssassin how do i know ur reliable? 

Oracle: Let’s just say Nyssa and I share a special bond. 

SmoakScreen so? I share a special bond with my vibrator, don’t mean ill trust it to a creepy hacker who dragged me to their secret server without my consent by the way

Oracle: Fine. What would provide you with the necessary assurance that I can be trusted?

SmoakScreen: whats her real name? 

Oracle: I can’t tell you that. 

SmoakScreen: did she used to live in gotham? 

Oracle: I can’t tell you that. 

SmoakScreen: is her other parent from the Eastend? 

Oracle: I can’t tell you that. 

SmoakScreen: …you do realize this is not a great start to forming a bond of trust? 

Oracle: I realize. 

Demonbat: and with that, this conversation is over. Say goodbye Felicity. 

SmoakScreen: wait what? 

Oracle: Nyssa! Please wait! We need to talk! Please! 

SmoakScreen and Demonbat have left the server

Oracle: Damn. Did you see that @Papabat? 

Papabat: I did. 

Oracle: What should I do now? 

Papabat: Call the rest of the family. I think we need to pay Team Arrow a visit.

Chapter Text

Oliver Queen sighed. The rough tips of his fingers pulling on the collar of his suffocating tux. The satin black material foreign and abrasive to his skin. The rich fabric which was once like a second skin to him had now become a prison for him. Since coming back from the island he usually wore either his leather vigilante suit or a t-shirt and jeans. The only expectation of that dress code was when he was at his company where he dressed at most in a sport coat, nice pants, and a button-down. If he really wanted to impress someone there he would wear a tie. 

But now? Now, he was forced into this ridiculous monkey suit to appease the Starling social scene so his mother could gather more funding for her mayoral campaign. A campaign that he very recently learned was being primarily funded by his past friend and now enemy; Slade Wilson. 

That fun fact along with having to keep tabs on Nyssa al-Ghul, who was STILL gallivanting around Starling City like it was a damn carnival was just…fantastic. Just fantastic. Absolutely fantastic.

 … God. His blood pressure must be sky-high now. 

Blood pressure in mind Oliver did a quick look over his shoulder to make sure Nyssa al-Ghul wouldn’t mysteriously pop up to cause problems. He wouldn’t be surprised if she did; it would be the insane type of nonsense that would make this night even more stressful, and probably (inevitably) lead to an aneurysm. 

Thankfully, his quick sweep wielded only buzzed rich people, making useless small talk under the muted glow of ballroom lights. Satisfied that he wouldn’t be put to the test more than usual he went back to swirling his champagne in his crystal glass. It helped with the illusion that he was consuming the champagne. 

Oliver hid in the corner in the muted glow of the ballroom lights. He swirled his glass, listening to the babble around him not paying attention to anything, in particular, and unfortunately, it was this rabble that prevented him from hearing the click of dress shoes and the smell of crisp honey lime cologne until it was too late. 

“Oliver? Oliver Queen?” 

Spooked Oliver swung around, heart pounding and stem glass ready to smash into the face of the person who had managed to sneak up behind him. Or he was. With a deep breath, he realized the face he was about to demolish in a flurry of glass and bubbles was the easy-going smile of someone he had not seen in a very long time. Dressed in a pressed midnight blue velvet tux with a heavy vintage Rolex was none other than Dick Grayson; the proud son of Gotham’s most prestigious family. 

With another quiet breath, Oliver continued to force his heartbeat to slow, and his muscles to relax. A young man around Oliver’s age, height, and build Dick Grayson had charmed almost every socialite scene up and down the east coast. His thick wavy black hair and smooth light russet skin paired with his deep blue eyes and velveteen voice made him irresistible to pretty much anyone.  

“Dick! It’s been a while!” Oliver responded, shaking the other man’s outstretched hand. 

“I’ll say! It’s been what? Five-seven years?” Dick agreed with a smile, the glint of his white teeth matching the glittering of his gold stud earrings. 

“Something like that.”

Oliver then began to rack his brain on his last interaction with Dick Grayson. Like the rest of the world, he knew very little information about Grayson. Oliver knew he was adopted. After a tragic accident killed his parents Bruce Wayne had taken him as his ward and later officially adopted him as his son. The first of adoption of many. 

Once he was taken in Dick led a relatively mediocre rich boy life, lots of partying, jet setting, and buying of insanely expensive items. That was the last time they both saw each other. When the two of them had both bought some crazy expensive liquor and had stopped at some European dubstep club. 

“It was at that club, right? In France!” Dick questioned while snapping his fingers at the recollection of the last country they had been at. 

“Yeah, the one in that abandoned subway station near the center of Paris,” Oliver concurred, the memories coming back to him. Or the ones that were brightly colored nonsense. 

“Wow, that was an insane night. Do you remember that fight that went down?”

“Vaguely,” Oliver chuckled.  “I think I was a little drunker than you were.” 

“Oooohhh yeah you were gone that night.”

“Hey, from what I remember you were not that much better off,” Oliver shot back with ease.

“Never said I wasn’t crazy wasted. Good times. Good times,” ” his old acquaintance reminisced with a smile. 

Now that the pleasantries were over Oliver waited for the inevitable questioning about the island to start. At this point, he pretty much had a script down for his answers. Yes, he was there for five years . Yes, he was alone the entire time . No, he did not eat any of the crew members from the wrecked ship. Yes, he did eat bugs while on the island. 

“So, what have you been up to lately?”

Oliver blinked. No questions about the island, that was new.

“Oh. I’ve been running my company a little, helping my mom with her campaign when I can, and keeping my nightclub open.” 

“Verdant right? The one you opened with Tommy?”

Oliver internally cringed at the mention of his departed friend, “Yes,” he answered in a short, clipped tone. 

Dick inclined his head, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Oliver ignored the twinge in his heart at the mention of his friend. There was no reason to keep reliving that pain.

“Thank you,” he accepted the condolences sincerely. 

“I am curious about why you’re in Starling. Gotham too boring for you now?” He asked. It was no secret that Dick’s family while famous for their partying and being… eccentric, were also famous for being very reclusive in their home city. 

“No, no, nothing like that,” he answered with a distant look in his eyes. 

“Let’s just say I have some family business to attend to.”

******

Nyssa stood upon the cold rooftop of some abandoned building in the “dregs” of Starling City. The wind caused the silk scarves of her costume to shift along with the city's rhythm. Her tense gaze was focused on the bleak horizon of the Glades. The entire neighborhood still in a state of destruction, with abandoned buildings, rotting garbage lining the street, and split concrete from Malcolm's manmade earthquake. The city apparently had not felt the need to put any real-time or effort into rebuilding the destroyed neighborhood. Much like every city anywhere the ruling class saw no benefit in creating a safe living environment for the working class, even if without them the city would fall to absolute ruin.

Just another reason to leave this place as soon as possible , she thought. That and it would mean less time with Sara’s family.

Nyssa shuddered both from the sharp scent of rotted food and the too recent memory of Sara introducing her to her parents. Well, reintroducing is more like it, since the first time she met them was during a fit of rage in which she kidnapped Sara’s mother. This then led to Sara’s oh-so-reasonable reaction of poisoning herself. Whatever made that woman think it was a good idea to trick her into meeting the Lance family for dinner was probably the same strain of thought that had convinced her to poison herself. 

Yes. Nyssa was still pissed about that.

“Enough of the killing,” honestly how dramatic , Nyssa grumbled to herself while rolling her eyes. Needless to say, re-meeting the Lance went terribly. The whole night ended with her storming out, donning her costume, and playing a vigilante on this rooftop. Maybe if she was lucky she could pick a fight with someone. Maybe if someone was unlucky they would pick a fight with her.

“Nasrina.”

Nyssa froze. The breeze while it continued to play with her costume had carried a familiar robotic voice from behind her. 

Blood rushed to her fingertips creating a tingling sensation as she turned against the outside forces to face the person who had snuck up on her. In the dark of the night with the dim fluorescent street light, she saw a figure about 6’2” in height decked out in a rippling suit of grey under armor and black hard shell impact pads, and a glossy Plexi glass helmet with three lights that created a triangle in the center. 

Nyssa let out a breath, well this is a surprise, she thought. Whether it was pleasant or not would be decided in the next few seconds. 

“Baba,” she said in soft exclamation in a somewhat childish tone. 

The figure seemingly did not respond. Instead, he remained still. The distance of six feet and a few years between them. A distance that had only been sustained by his acceptance, but the more they stood there the more she became aware of a very disturbing fact. Her time was up.

“How long?” She asked, swallowing.

“Now.” He answered firmly. 

Nyssa shook her head, “no, it’s too soon,” she explained.

“How long?” He questioned her. 

“Two years,” she demanded. Two years would be long enough for her to wrap any remaining business with the league and return home without any major complications. Her stomach dropped a little at the thought of returning home but she understood that it was time.

“No,” was his response in the same toneless robot voice. Honestly, if you didn’t already know him you would assume he was a robot the way that suit hid any signs of life. 

“Where’s Mami?” Nyssa asked in an attempt to distract and diffuse her situation. 

“Home. Home with the family,” mentioning family was a low blow on his part, but potentially necessary.

“Why didn’t she come with you?” Nyssa further questioned him, shifting into what her older brother called, “boss mode.” Her stance firmed up and she crossed her arm’s across her chest while glaring.  

She had a right to be suspicious, usually, Mami was the one to find her and drag her back home. Not her Baba. Though through his continued silence began to realize why her Mami wasn’t here.

“She doesn’t know you’re here, does she?” Nyssa questioned him with a smirk. 

“Three months.”

“You came here without her permission?!?”

“Six months.” 

“She is going to be furious!” 

“Nine months.”

“Please let me tell her, what you did!” 

“One year,” he responded slight annoyance entering his tone. “And then you come home. Permanently.”

Nyssa’s smirk fell. Frustration bubbled inside of her. Unfortunately, she knew when she was in a losing battle with her Baba. The decree had been put down; she had a year to deal with her business and then… And then it was time to come home.

“Ok,” she finally muttered, toeing the dirt on the roof with her leather boot. Similar to when she would be scolded as a kid for breaking things around the house. 

“One last thing,” he requested. “Slade Wilson is planning to ambush Oliver and his family. I want you to keep them alive.”

She scrunched her eyebrows together, but nodded in acceptance, “I suppose that means you also want me to do it by Gotham standards?” 

He nodded, “if you could.” Nyssa filed that away for later.  

“And,” he continued.

“When you come home,” she screwed up her face at the statement. 

 “I want you to bring Felicity Smoak with you.” 

Chapter Text

Sara stood in the damp emptiness of the clock tower; her forehead pressed against her forearm, the warmth of her overexerted body combating the cold of the glass. She had spent the last few hours busting the heads of some local traffickers while stomping on a vulnerable point in a man’s spine it had started to rain. The minute she looked to the sky a wet splatter of rain hit her mask and trickled down her face. The cold trail had dropped off her chin as the sky opened up and the rest of the rain came pouring down. 

It didn’t take long for her whole body to soak through and decided to finish her little workout earlier than expected. She stomped down on the trafficker's spine, feeling the vertebrae beneath her heel crunch, and cleaned up the rest of them in no time. She then trekked back to the clock tower (only wiping out once, painfully, but only once) and was now back at home. Back at home, dressed in her soaked leathers, and freezing.

 She had hoped that Nyssa would have turned on the space heaters while she was out. Instead, she stumbled into a barren cold space, plunged into darkness.  

Sara sighed, releasing a puff of frozen air from her chapped lips, and went about preparing the space to be livable. She turned on the space heaters and warmed up the portable shower. Then when she was dressed in an over sized sweatshirt, and sweatpants she went to lean against the window. To watch the rain. Drip Drip Drip. 

The rain played along with her thoughts. She should not be surprised that Nyssa had ducked out without letting her know where she was going. Or when she would be back. Sara could probably guess what she was doing.  

Sara burrowed her face into the warmth of her forearms. She had long learned that to be in love with Nyssa was to be in love with unpredictability. Up, down, side to side, to and fro. You could not help but be pulled around by her magnetic presence. 

Empty liquor bottles, and heavy bass music. The smell of cigarettes burned into your nose, while the smoke of a vape played cotton candy circles around your head. A toxic combination of vices set at the highest levels. 

The worst of the highs she had experienced with Nyssa had been when Sara had come home, stumbling into the half-cloaked hotel room to see through her intoxicated gaze a half-dead Nyssa with a needle sticking from her arm. It had taken some frantic shaking, and the use of some emergency Narcan to bring Nyssa back again. 

It had been at that point (and after a particularly nasty fight) that Sara had left with the determination to not come back. Ever. 

She lasted three months. After three months of no contact, she went to seek Nyssa out again, under the guise of checking up on her. She was easily caught snooping by the other woman, and an adequately chastised Nyssa promised to never attempt something like that ever again. And to her credit, she never did go that far again. At least with drugs. Nyssa did continue to indulge in her lust, becoming an unstoppable force in the bedroom, in the study, in the kitchen… in the alleyway.

Along with sexual lust, she also continued to indulge in her blood lust. At the compound, she would grab any mission that allowed her to go on a bloody rampage. Many times she would come back from a mission with a smile on her face, and the bloody remnants of whoever was unfortunate enough to face her in combat. 

Sara sighed, her breath fogging up the glass in front of her. She straightened herself so that she was no longer leaning on the cold surface. Her reminiscing had reminded her that Nyssa was still out and so she dug around in her sweatpants to find her phone. The wait-and-see routine was draining routine one, but it was one she had been doing for so long now she had become  comfortable with its unpredictability.

Her phone said it was too late for anyone to be out, which meant Nyssa would be gone for at least another hour. She took this as a sign to brew some tea in an attempt to stay awake for the other woman to come home. She walked away from the window, found the portable boiler, and steeped some black jasmine tea. She made herself comfortable on the makeshift bed and dipped her teabag into the steaming mug. While with her other hand, she rubbed her eyes brushing away some of the dryness. 

God, she was tired. When did she become this tired? She felt in her very core, the exhaustion of her anxiety. The constant worrying over a woman whose very being always seemed to be draped in shadows. A woman who was so wrapped in secrets if Sara pushed herself she could not properly decipher her face. In her memories, all she could ever see was a Cheshire smile with blacked-out eyes, and the smell of blood dripping from her lips.  

Sara brought the tea to her lips, blowing on the steam. The small wisps blew from the top of her mug to disappear into the dimmed room around her. She listened as the rain continued to pound on the bell tower, hoping wherever Nyssa was… she was safe.

******

SLICK 

Nyssa grit her teeth as a gleaming blade cut through the clit in her body armor. She felt the warm gush of blood seep from her arm to drench the shirt of her costume. The one downside of prioritizing flexibility over protective covering was that sharp objects had an easier time finding the gaps in her body armor. 

The blade had retracted back with its master. A man wrapped in all black, from his cheap under amour t-shirt to his ragged jeans. The cut of his cheekbones and the stretch of his skin over his gaunt figure portrayed him not as a talented man but as a desperate one. He would not be difficult to take down, despite his lucky first strike. 

Nyssa drew her own blade. The smooth flow of the metal katana coming out of its sheath reverberated through the alleyway where they stood. The rain continued to pour around them, obstructing the view and dampening sound. Nyssa smiled and raised her sword above her head, 

This will be fun . 

She leaped with her sword, coming down onto the man’s shoulder. Her unpredictable pace and obstruction from the rain allowed her to cut cleanly into the man’s shoulder. Her blade sank into the muscle with a satisfying sound. The man’s eyes widened as the blood spurted from the wound. He opened his mouth to scream though nothing came out since her fist collided with his mouth, snapping his head back. Her fist pulled back she watched as he slumped forward, unconscious. 

She waited for a beat the rain washing over them before she placed her hand on his other shoulder then with a mighty yank, she ripped her katana from him. He fell. Crumpled to the ground in a heap of a man. She stood. Above him, a striking figure of female intimidation. And the rain fell, washing away all evidence of what had happened. 

******

“You’re bleeding again…”

Nyssa snorted, the sound muffled by the surgical thread between her teeth. She held it tight as she reached blindly for the trauma shears next to her. She found them, and her fingers gripped the plastic handles. 

Shears tightly secured in her grip she brought it to the taut medical string and cut it, finishing off the neat stitches she had sewn into the underside of her forearm. She smiled at her handiwork, where once was a messy, and sticky mess of exposed bloody muscle was now a well-sewn-up pattern of stitches. That probably, would only scar, slightly.

“Pass me the gauze,” she requested of Felicity who hung behind her. She was the only person in the lair and had been spying from her little computer corner while Nyssa sewed herself up. 

The blonde woman had come up behind her after a few minutes of spying and was now behind Nyssa. She stepped forward and handed her the gauze. Nyssa took it from her but grabbed the other woman’s wrist to hold her in place. 

Startled Felicity froze automatically her pulse thudding in Nyssa’s grip. Nyssa, without flinching, handed one end of the gauze to her taking the other to start wrapping it around her forearm. She continued to wrap it until her subtly throbbing wound was covered. 

Felicity watched the procedure, “what happened?” she asked softly.

Nyssa shrugged as she clipped the gauze in place, “nothing,” she replied.

“That’s a lot of blood for nothing,” Felicity persisted.

Nyssa shrugged again, discarding the rest of the medical supplies in the metal bowl where she had found them laying about. 

“Like a lot of if it is yours I’m kind of worried blood,” Felicity continued. 

Nyssa winced as she shrugged on her jacket. The rough denim covered her sore body. 

“I think I preferred it when you were scared of me,” she responded. 

She turned in her seat to rest the arch of her converse on a nearby stool. 

“You also reek of alcohol,” Felicity snipped back. From a safe distance of course.

Nyssa continued to focus on tying up her black sneaker, “did you know that a shoelace has just enough elasticity to strangle someone?” she mentioned. 

“A garrot is preferable, but in a pinch, a shoelace will get you far,” she finished with a devilish grin, as the other woman’s face paled. 

Felicity made the intelligent decision to take another step back from the veiled threat though she did not tremble as she used to. A disappointing reaction. One Nyssa would have to live with. For now at least. 

Shoes tied and wound bandaged Nyssa was ready to head out. She hopped from the medical table down to the cement floor. The jolt from the contact made her wince as pain shot through her knee. She shook it off and began to walk away the soft smell of flowers chasing her out of the basement. 

 In the cold night air, she pulled the hood of her jacket up. It shadowed her bruised face, darkening the purple marks that scattered across her brow, and cheekbones. She walked the streets reeking of alcohol and the subtle scent of blood. A common scent for the neighborhood she was walking. A common scent of the neighborhoods she would patrol with her mami. 

“See Mija? This neighborhood took care of me and now I take care of it. 

The memory of her mami’s soft face warmed her while she trudged through the rain. She was tired. She was so incredibly tired. She had been tired for years. She would probably continue to be tired for the oncoming years.

Nyssa stopped at the bottom of the clock tower the rain continuing to fall on her. She would go up in a few seconds. She would see her lover who would then chide her about leaving without letting her know, and be sickened by the scent. She would go up. She would. 

Chapter Text

Roy waited. He waited for a ding. A ding from the elevator to indicate it was ready.  A ding to help him to relieve the pain that had settled in his stomach, making it a  squirming rock.

The ding went off. His sniffles accompanying the echo. 

His hands wet with tears he stepped out to the hopefully empty lair. The screech of the metal grate closing behind him. Beneath Verdant on a weekday meant the lair was basked in eerie in its silence. For once he preferred it this way. He did not deserve comfort or sympathy. 

Roy walked into the space where he could work off his warring feelings. Self-pity and self-righteousness making the squirming rock inside him churn. 

The closer he walked in the dim lair the more he became aware of another presence. His shoulders drooped, in an unfortunate turn of events, the mat in the center of the lair was occupied. 

He stopped when the tips of his sneakers touched the edge of the rubber mats. In the center of the polyester blue was Nyssa. 

Roy had not had many interactions with the daughter of the demon. The ones he had had were unpleasant and deadly. The warning bells he heard when interacting with the worst felons of the Glades, had nothing on Nyssa. 

Roy watched as she stood tall with a nightstick in each hand. She was layered in black workout clothes that had long since plastered themselves to her body from sweat. 

In a strike of movement that made him flinch, Nyssa’s body snapped to land blows on a dummy. Kicking and hitting the dummy with deafening thunks . 

Roy was impressed. He had seen fights before. He had seen fights on tv and in his neighborhood. Brutal battles, with crunching bones and split blood vessels. That ended with an iron scent coating whatever mildew alley or stale bar he had found himself in. 

What Nyssa was doing wasn’t fighting. What she was doing was more than fighting. 

She had become fluid. A tornado of punches and kicks till the air crackled around her. That ended with a hit against the dummy short of a lightning strike. 

(Roy would later swear up and down that there was a scorch mark on the mannequin). 

The tornado ended after her last hit. Arms slumped to her side, and breath rattling from her lungs. No longer memorized by the show Roy blinked. Nyssa was now watching him. 

Her black hair held away from her face he had a proper view of her face. Of her expression. She was …different than usual. Her skin was stretched across the bones of her face. Flushed though without color with muscles that trembled beneath her tight skin. The bumps of scars long ago earned prominent in display.  Her eyes were blown out black, crusted with red. And they stared. They stared right at him.   

Roy shifted under the inspection. Until the anxiety ate at him and he cleared his throat. Lair occupied he started to walk off. He did not want an audience while he wallowed. 

“Stop,” Nyssa demanded. 

He stopped. 

“Why are you leaving?” 

Roy swallowed and watched as she jerked her head toward where she stood. He hesitated but obeyed the command.

The closer he walked the more he felt his skin tingle. In an attempt to distract himself he noticed they were dressed in similar clothes. Black hooded tanks and basketball shorts. Nyssa though had no shoes. 

On the mat she waited. She waited till Roy removed his shoes and stepped on the mat. The cool surface a relief to his wired body. 

Both now standing on the mat Nyssa readied herself into a fighting stance. Roy hesitated. There had been no pre sparring conversation. No rules, no negotiations, only a very bouncy assassin ready to go. 

“Well?” she snapped. The word seeming to claw out of her throat. 

“Shouldn’t we talk first?”

“About?” The scratch was in annoyance now. 

“About…you know what never mind,” Roy said in agreement and then readied himself. 

Nyssa smiled, copying him. Roy knew he could not start with a surprise attack so he just swung. His fist aiming for her face. A hit he fully expected to be ducked or deflected. 

The hit landed. 

It landed and her head snapped back. 

It landed with a crack . 

It landed and the smell of iron leaked out again. 

It landed and blood dripped from her mouth. The splatters dying the mat red.

Roy felt sick. Oliver was right. He could not control his strength. He could not control his rage. If pushed too far he would kill someone. It was the reason he broke up with Thea. To protect her from the rage. 

He wasn’t given long to wallow in self-pity. Nyssa lashed out with one of her nightsticks, hitting him in the stomach. A firm thunk as wood met muscle. 

His initial feeling was shock. That then vibrated into pain. Vibrations that forced him to double over. 

He was given no time to recover. The other nightstick then came down on his back. The muscles spasmed around the hit and he stumbled forward. Though did not fall. 

“Get up,” Nyssa demanded. 

Roy obeyed. 

His breaths came out hard. And in his fuzzy he looked for any weak spots in his opponents as they circled each other. He saw one during his second examination. A tender spot that she was subtly guarding with her elbow. 

Roy lunged. 

It was a mistake.

 One he realized too late as Nyssa slipped away and he stumbled in the air. 

Disoriented he was thrown onto the mat by his momentum. The mat pulled closer to his weary body by the yank of gravity. 

He lay there. Anger surging within him. A fire that started in his heart and continued until smoke clouded his vision. Embarrassment from his mistake drove him to his feet, and Mirakuru rage fueled him to continue fighting. 

Roy scrambled up. A thunderous roar announcing his intentions to rip Nyssa into small pieces. He threw himself at his combatant. The smoke so clouded his vision he did not see Nyssa’s wide feral grin. 

When Roy usually gave into the rage not even Oliver was enough to stop him. He was brutal and bloodthirsty. Not stopping until he had ripped out the throat of everyone around him. Friend or foe. 

This fight was different. For every high-powered strike, a block was delivered in equal ferocity. Which enraged Roy further. His rapid strikes countered with delicate taps delivered by the tips of her nightsticks. If Roy was a club, a (large and  swinging). Nyssa was a fencing rapier, (slim and precise). 

This pattern lasted for a while. Strike, block. Block, strike. Till Roy was molted black and blue. Till the smoke cleared from his vision. Till the sweat poured down his hairline. Till he took his last knee. 

Roy was defeated. 

After a half-hour of rage-fueled combat, he was defeated. Truly and utterly defeated. The fire nothing but embers from the sheer exhaustion of fighting the daughter of the demon.  

Breath coming out in loud, shallow gasps he was giddy. The embarrassment he once felt was now replaced with a lighter feeling; hope. 

“How did you do it? How did you defeat the rage?” He begged Nyssa, his eyes shining in reverence. 

Nyssa smiled. The black pupils of her eyes blown to the near edges of her glassy eyes, dilated even further. She knelt in front of him, using a nightstick to lean on.

“A rampaging animal can only rampage for so long,” she replied. 

Nyssa stayed there for a moment then pulled back. Her mouth pursed into an offkey whistle, leaving Roy in the quiet of the lair. 

                                                                                                                                                                             *****

It was much later, (too much later). That Roy realized something. The experimental Mirakuru Oliver kept in the lair… was missing.

Chapter Text

Nyssa was homesick. 

This was not a new feeling. And it had stopped being a profound one many years ago. It didn’t stop though. She could still feel homesick even with her numbness (drug-induced or not).

It seemed unfair in her opinion, though she no longer had someone to complain to. 

It was this that drove her from the clock tower to the musty pavement of the Glades. They were overcast today, dimming the natural light around her. The flickering lamps provided almost nothing either. If anything it made everything cast in its orange glow a creepy caricature of what once was. Charred buildings and the smell of overflowing trash brought her comfort. 

“Hola extraña.” 

Nyssa paused. A voice echoed through the alleyway to her right. It had been clear and concisely aimed at her. She squinted into the darkness. There was no light to help her, leaving only the indication of a shadowy outline in the alleyway. 

She turned to fully face the alleyway where the call had echoed from. Curious, Nyssa reached into her sweatshirt pocket to pull out a switchblade. No curiosity was worth losing vital organs. 

Her sneakers made no sound as she stepped forward, nor did the matching joggers. Clothes black as the shadow who had spoken to her she prowled forward. The glint of her open blade reflected orange light before her. A spotlight onto the entrance of the alleyway. 

In a heartbeat, in a breath, in a step she waited. She pulled her arm back with the blade out and her body tensed. Mind and body in sync, and ready. The shadow did not move. A battle of silent wills lay before them. Until...the shadow stepped forward and a grin broke the spell of vicious concentration on her face.  

From the shadow morphed a young man. A young man with a willowy figure and higher-than-average height. He was clothed in a similar fashion to Nyssa. Sweatshirt, joggers, and sneakers though his was grey instead of black. 

“Tim!” Nyssa exclaimed. Her hand flicked the blade close and her arms wrapped him in a snug embrace. 

Tim responded in kind. His arms bigger than what she remembered wrapped her in his embrace. She hugged tight, a hand coming up to tangle into his glossy black curls. They remained like this for a few moments until both were fulfilled.  

Nyssa stepped back to get a proper look at her brother. 

He looked healthy. His skin was the roughened hew of a sunbaked acorn.  The smooth skin was well moisturized and free of blemishes. She held his slim shoulders as she looked at his face. 

Tim was on the younger end of the family, a burden he bared with well-timed barbs. His delicate features would also, often have him mistaken for younger than he was. Sweetly shaped almond eyes, with full cupid bow lips, and high cheekbones. He was often compared to a model in the company he helped run. Especially during the board meetings.  

“Hey, hermano,” she said as she lowered her hands to his face. Her calloused thumbs stroked his cheeks. 

“What are you doing here?”

Tim smiled, the gleam from his teeth matching the gleam in his eyes. A shine in the dark blue sea of his iris. 

He placed a hand in his jogger pocket and pulled out a baseball. He tossed the ball a few inches in the air and then caught it with the same hand. 

“You interested in some batting practice?”

******

Baseball meant everything to her family. Every child once they were old enough to lift a bat had been enrolled into little league. The trophies and awards from every generation linked the walls of their home. The whole family had annual passes to both the major and minor league games. They played hard and won often. So it was not out of the blue for Tim to ask her to batting practice. 

After they left the Glades the two of them broke into a closed batting cage. Then easily set up one of the pitching machines. Tim even found the computer that controlled the machines and sped up the pitches. All within a few keystrokes.

Ready to play the two then positioned themselves side by side. And waited till the first ball shot out. It whistled through the air and then was met with Nyssa's bat with a sickening crack!

Tim whistled at the hit, “you still got it,” he commented with a light punch to the shoulder. Then readied himself for the next ball. 

Nyssa smiled and watched her little brother hit the ball. It did not have the force her hit had had. The ball stopping, a yard behind where hers had landed. Tim had always been a better pitcher than hitter. He never seemed to find the arm strength that was required for hitting. In the same way, Nyssa never found the patience for pitching. 

They hit a few more balls, each going out into the beyond. The hits created a peaceful melody, familiar to what they would hear at home. Familiar enough to elevate some of the homesickness that remained in her chest. 

“Tell me, little brother,” she started after another wallop from her bat. “Did you only come to see me to improve your hitting?” She asked as Tim got ready for the next ball.  

He didn't reply. Instead copied how she had positioned herself, and hit the next ball. It still fell short of hers. 

“Dad has a request,” he finally answered. 

Nyssa flexed his arms under her brother's gaze, “And can he not ask me himself?” She interrogated him. 

“Mami couldn’t come,” Tim responded. “And after he came here without her the last time he saw you, he didn’t want to risk her getting upset.” 

“Pity,” she said. Sad that her Mami couldn’t be here. 

“What is it that you need me to do?” She asked her brother. 

Another pause as Nyssa hit her ball. This one rocketed to the very edge of the park. It almost seemed like it would catch fire in its journey. Similar to what happened in the cartoons she used to watch. 

“Do you still have access to your trust fund?” Tim asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Good, we need you to use some of the funds to buy out Queen Industries,” he continued with forced casualness. 

This gave her pause. And she almost missed the next ball. at the last second, she was able to knick it and it went far off to left field. 

“You want me to buy out Queen Industries?” Nyssa repeated. 

“Yes,” Tim replied nonchalantly.

He hit his ball. Undistracted, it flew dead center. Passing her ball by a yard. 

“Why?” She further questioned him. 

“Dad wants to exploit its technology department.” 

This was unsurprising. Her family collected technology departments like they collected baseball cards. They had many, and they had the best. 

“Why, now?” She demanded.  

She struck the next ball. This one hit the net that enclosed them in the batting cages. It was a good hit, and she felt pride warm her. Nyssa turned to her brother ready for praise, instead felt the pride cool to fear at the look on her brother's face. 

“What does he know?” she asked Tim. 

Her baba was not a stupid man, and if he saw an opportunity he exploited it. The question now was what opportunity did her baba see. And how was she to exploit it? 

“…Deathstroke is planning to kidnap Thea,” Tim started. He hit the next ball in time with his answer. The crack muffled the name Thea while he spoke. 

“He knows Oliver will be distracted by her kidnapping, which will give you the opportunity to buy him out." 

Tim gave his explanation as Nyssa readied herself for another hit. She wanted to say no. She wanted to deny her baba. She wanted to help the Queens. She wanted to not use this tragedy as an opportunity to add to the family’s technological arsenal. She wanted… 

She wanted to go home. 

“He knows Deathstroke won’t hurt her,” Tim assured her as her arms lowered after her latest hit. The bat's tip, touching the dirt of the mound. 

Nyssa did not respond. 

Nyssa could not respond. 

“…you can say no,” her brother suggested half-heartedly. 

She snorted while looking up from where her bat was. They both knew she could not say no. This was for their family. And who was she to go against them? 

“I suppose since I will be orchestrating the buyout, I will also be the one to head up our new asset?”

Tim nodded, “he thinks it will help you transition when you come back home,” he continued. 

Another ball was lobbed towards them. The two in the seriousness of the conversation had missed the last few. It whistled through the air ready to meet the net like its predecessors. Instead, Nyssa caught it. The sting of the white leather heated up her cold hand. She gripped it hard till the red stitches made indents into the palm of her hand. Till she dropped it and a small puff of dirt wafted from the dirt. 

Tim watched as she looked up with a crooked grin that did not reach her dark irises. 

“Can I rename the company?”

******

Sara felt like throwing up. The news about Thea being kidnapped by Slade hit her hard. Hit her like a knife to the gut. 

An experience she had firsthand knowledge of. An experience she had no wish to repeat. 

For now, she sat in the clock tower. She sat, stiff, on a wooden stool, with a loose screw. Tottering on its unstable legs. She was attempting to comfort herself by waiting for Nyssa to come back. Because as bad as she was and as insane as she was Nyssa was the best at getting things done. Especially messy things. 

And Nyssa loved her. Sara reassured herself. So if she objected to helping the Queens she would at least want to help her. Because Nyssa loved her. And wanted her to be happy. And saving Thea would make her happy. 

A creak resounded from the loose glass panel in the clock face. The creak triggered her to spring up, allowing the chair to fall to the floor. The loose screw popped out to catch on the fabric of her black leggings. A slit appeared to reveal skin, and some stitches that would need to be removed soon. 

“Nyssa! Thank God you are here!” Sara gushed, her eyes misty with happy tears. 

The other woman crawled fully into the tower to stand tall in front of the glass. This is where Sara embraced her, hopping slightly to wrap her legs, and bare arms around the other woman. Who even in her surprise did not falter.  

“Quick summary,” Sara started when she pulled back to look into her lover's face. 

“Thea was kidnapped by Deathstroke, and we need your help…” 

Sara’s babbling was interrupted as Nyssa grabbed the back of her head to still its movement. The two stared into each other's faces until Nyssa pressed her lips to Sara's. 

Sara gasped which allowed Nyssa’s tongue to start its exploration of her mouth. She then maneuvered her to the bed they shared. She landed on the structure that wobbled but remained intact. Splayed with her hair fanning out Sara felt vulnerable in her white sports bra. Stomach and feet bare, the barrier between the two of them was almost non-existent. 

“Hey! Stop!” Sara demanded as she put her hands out, stopping the other women’s descent. 

“We have to help Thea!” She reminded the other woman. 

Nyssa turned her face to kiss Sara’s hand while the other maneuvered to the waistband of her leggings. And with each touch of her soft lips, Sara realized the sickening truth.  

“…Nyssa?” Sara’s voice was small. “Nyssa, please, we need your help. Thea needs your help.” 

The mention of the young girl stopped Nyssa, who released the other woman and sat up. The bed groaned in compliance. Her stare was directed to the floor. 

“Nyssa, please,” she begged again. Her hand came to snag on the other woman’s sleeve. 

Nyssa shook her off and stood. She walked a few paces and stopped. Her head turned slightly to speak over her shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” she declared and then moved to leave down the clocktower steps.  

Chapter Text

Baba is online

Daughter1 : Hello Baba 

Daughter1 : It's done. I finished the acquisition 

Baba : Thank you

Baba : Were there any complications? 

Daughter1 : Aside from Ms. Rochev being quite surprised, and my companion abandoning our base and no longer speaking to me 

Daughter1 : Aside from that it was all smooth sailing 

Baba : Excellent 

Baba : Do not worry about Sara, once she realizes that what you did was for the greater good-

Daughter1 : “She will come around” Yes Baba I know 

Baba : This sass... You get it from your mother 

Daughter1 : Alfred would beg to differ 

Baba : I suppose he would 

Daughter1: Except- Riddle me this Baba; what do we do about Ra’s? He’ll know if not now then soon I was spying on him for the family 

Baba : I planned for that. The consequences will be minimal on our part. 

Daughter1 : Of course, how could I think otherwise 

Baba : I do have a question about your return 

Baba : When you come home… will you bring anyone?

Daughther1 : Like Felicity Smoak? 

Daughter1: It will be difficult but I could convince her given the appropriate amount of time

Baba : No, leave her. She can run the IT department. 

Baba : I will have Oracle reach out to her. Connect her network to ours

Daughter1 : Interesting 

Baba : Yes? 

Daughter1 : I just find it interesting that you sped up our timeline by six months, 

Daughter1 : to then have me leave behind an asset? Baba, what’s the play? 

Baba : The play is, you are my daughter, and it is time for you to come home 

Daughter1 : I’m honored that I take precedence over the mission. 

Baba : Without family, there is no mission. 

Baba : You should expect a return home transmission soon.

Daughter1 : Yes sir. Over and out

Welcome to Oracle’s private server

Loading…loading… loading 

SmoakScreen has now entered the chat 

SmoakScreen : rlly?! u rlly wanna do this??? now???? 

Oracle : Hello, Felicity Smoak 

Oracle : I understand that recent events have been…upsetting

SmoakScreen : sure. go with upsetting 

SmoakScreen : its even more UPSETTING to now learn that this whole debacle involves u 

SmoakScreen : some weird and crazy hacker from the great beyond 

Oracle : Again I do sympathize 

SmoakScreen: Sympathetic my as-

Oracle : BUT- you are about to be absorbed by a company I work closely with- 

SmoakScreen : what company? the illuminati? the court of ow-

Oracle : AND- you will need access to this server and my resources

SmoakScreen : what does it matter? who said I was staying? 

SmoakScreen : i am fully ready to leave

Oracle : You will be paid well and your benefits package updated. 

SmoakScreen : not good enough 

Oracle : Oh? What more do you require? 

SmoakScreen : i want to know more about ur friend 

SmoakScreen : Nyssa

Oracle : Why won’t you let that go? 

Oracle: Why is she of such consequence to you? 

SmoakScreen : hey its the human desire to be curious 

Oracle : So you rather learn more about Nyssa than the company you will be working for 

SmoakScreen : Nyssa was the buyer who stopped Isabel Rochev 

SmoakScreen : so u know two birds one stone 

Oracle :….

SmoakScreen : yea i can do my research too 

SmoakScreen : now if u want me to stick around i want answers 

SmoakScreen : like who what, where, why n when 

Oracle : Fine 

Oracle: I will send you a picture that will… clear up any confusion 

Oracle : This picture you can not reveal it to anyone else

Oracle : Understood? 

SmoakScreen : did u… did u … just lock me out of my mainframe? 

Oracle : Yes. 

Oracle : Now, if you want to get back in, and keep all your data safe do we have an understanding? 

SmoakScreen : ….ur terrifying u know that right? 

Oracle : Yes. 

Oracle : Now, do we have an understanding? 

SmoakScreen : ok ok jeez so mean  

Oracle sending file…

sending file… sending file… 

File sent 

SmoakScreen : ….

SmoakScreen : holy fuc-

Server terminated  

demonbat : hellllllooooooo

tImMie : wait a min cough cough almost there stumbles im sry its just been so long since this chat has been used 

demonbat : ur soooo dramaticccc 

tImMie : well i did learn from the best ;) 

tImMie : anyway r u texting me w/good news 👀

demonbat: no i have the worst news 

demonbat : im coming home soon 

tImMie : yes! 

tImMie : our girl is back in action! 

demonbat : ok dont get too excited 

tImMie : when r u breaking the good news to everyone else 

demonbat : soon 

demonbat : im gonna open up the family chat

tImMie : excellent we luv seeing chaos in real-time 

tImMie : ill prolly be the one transitioning u back into things at home along with cass 

demonbat : oh? she done w/ her mission too 

tImMie : yea just in time 

demonbat : cant wait for the family reunion

tImMie : same <3

tImMie : we miss u big siss 

demonbat : i miss u all too 

demonbat : cant wait to be home  

Bat Crack Family Chat  

Inviting Demon Bat into the Chat

Demon Bat has Accepted  

tImMie : Big sis! 

Bootlegbatman : little sis! 

Spoilers! : sheessss backkkkk

CassSass : :) !!!!!

batcatbaby : is my sissy!

batcatbaby2 : is my sissy!!!

Bootlegbatman : Does this mean you’re coming home?

Batdad : If you would all stop asking questions for two seconds she could answer

demonbat : hello all ✌️

Mamacat : welcome home mi amour                       

demonbat : besitos mami 🥰

Batdad : as you can all see your sister will be coming home soon 

Batdad : But as she bought a controlling interest in Queen Industries she will need to spend some time in Star City

Oracle : whose staying with her? 

Bootlegbatman : yeah it wont be safe now 

Bootlegbatman : with ra’s slade and the queens 

Mamacat : I agree mi bebe needs protection 

Spoilers! : can it be me? can i stay w/her?

Spoilers! : I've nvr helped w/ a corporate take ovr before 

tImMie : i think someone with experience as a CEO should help

tImMie : not an influencer

CassSass : 😈

Spoilers! : shut up tim 

Spoilers! : Batdad tell him I'd be great at corporate takeover 

Bootlegbatman : pls 

Bootlegbatman : the only person qualified to do a corporate takeover is-

Batdad : is none of you 

CassSass : 😬

CassCass : L

Mamacat : Your sister will be working with Oracle and your Father 

Oracle : the only person qualified for corporate takeovers 

Mamacat : and when the time is right she will return home 

tImMie : with a girlfriend:)))))))

CassSass : girlfriend!!!!! 

Bootlegbatman : gurlfriiiieeennndddd 

Spoilers! : girl friend }:‑)

Batcatbaby : girlfriend? 

Batcatbaby2 : girlfriend??

Demon Bat : shut up all of u 

Chapter Text

It was the clear shining morning in Star City. Blue skies unhampered by clouds, and overcast. A rarity for the city. The air smelt clean (at least away from the docks) and the cars were quiet. An abrupt…flu had overcome the citizens and now all were forging work. To play and bathe in the sun. Everyone and everything with seeming respect for such a beautiful day wanted to play. It seemed Star City was catching its breath for once. 

The peace could not last though, as a black Yahama motorcycle tore through the streets. It streaked through the streets and blew smoke at those in its unlucky path. The balding wheels kicked up gravel and cracked pavement into the air. The clean air is now filled with the toxic scent of burning rubber. 

After some time the bike slowed to the curb of Queen Tower. A staggering building of unnecessary height. The bike puttered then sputtered till it quieted. The then rider struck the kickstand down with the heel of her boot and pried the bike helmet from her head. To reveal a haggard Nyssa al Ghul. 

…Who immediately flinched as the sunlight shone down on her. No longer protected by her helmet the light touched her sun-starved skin. It was the first time in a week or so she had been around real unfiltered daylight and she was now paying the price. The fresh air stung her nostrils and she felt tears begin to form at the corner of her eyes. 

She had no wish to be here. She had no wish to be awake. She only was because she had been handed her marching orders. Marching orders that said to report to Queen Tower. 

Not wanting to sustain any more time outside Nyssa gripped her helmet. Took a deep breath, then pulled the key with some force from the ignition. She placed it in her pocket and swung her body off the bike. Everything locked and ready she trudged into the glimmering building. 

She crossed the sidewalk and pushed through the heavy glass door. To be immediately introduced to the steel chrome lobby from hell. Leather seats that smelled of cleaning supplies were scattered amongst heavy absurdist sculptures. Sculptures were created to give children nightmares. Or at least to create uncomfortable conversations with their parents. 

However, the floor-to-ceiling windows that wrapped the lobby were tinted. Gloriously tinted. To Nyssa's great relief.

In the doorway, she breathed out and loosened her grip so that the strap hung in her grip. Then started into the lobby. The helmet dangled and swayed with each step she took across the green onyx floor to the reception desk.

The desk was a monstrous faux wood paneled structure where behind sat a pinched face secretary. Her blouse was cheaply made and too short at the cuffs. She wore no jewelry, and little to no makeup. 

The secretary's eyes expanded as she watched Nyssa approach her. A Cheshire grin stretched across the young girl's weathered face, causing the secretary to pinch her face further.   

“Hello, my name is Nyssa Ratko," she started, pulling up her helmet to place it on the desk. 

 "and I believe I’m in charge now."

Chapter Text

"I suppose, I should call someone then,” the secretary said. Her wrinkled, browned, hand reaching for the phone. 

Nyssa nodded and stepped back, leaving her helmet on the desk’s surface. She watched as the other women leveled her gaze while dialing. She spoke into the receiver low with her hand cupped around it. Nyssa not one to pry (at least obviously) began to bounce on her feet. Then she shook out her arms, allowing the blood to flow from her shoulders to her fingertips. The awakened muscles tingled from the rush. And flushed out the numbness that had settled over her the last few days, dissipated. Readying, her for a fight.  

A fight Nyssa knew was coming. The secretary had finished the call and was now watching her openly. An understanding passed between the two of them at that moment. They both knew one of two things would happen in the next couple of minutes. She had either alerted security and Nyssa would get an early morning workout.  

Or...

The elevator on the adjacent wall dinged and Nyssa pulled her shoulders back. She watched as the doors slid open and the lone tip-tap of a pair of stilettos greeted her.  

“Rattko? Interesting, name to use. Especially since you burned that identity upon arrival to our fair city?"  

…Or Ms. Isabel Rochev would come to play. 

Goody! Nyssa thought. Now this will be fun. 

Nyssa smiled at the shorter woman as she stopped across from her. She gave her a once over more out of courtesy than fear. Isabel was not an imposing figure; lean with fair skin and curling brown hair. Today she dressed in a business casual red dress and black pumps. She was what people expected of a CEO. Compared to Nyssa whose hair was still drying from the first full shower she had had in too long.  

“I could use the other one but then that could get messy,” Nyssa replied. 

“Ahhhh I see.” 

Pleasantries now over silence echoed between the two of them. It would have been awkward if Nyssa gave, enough of a damn, and had gotten more than a few hours of sleep in the past week. 

It was that lack of sleep that pushed her to what some might be considered…rash actions. 

“So how does this go? Do you hand me the keys to the city or is there more paperwork involved?” Nyssa asked, impatient to start her new mission. 

Isabel’s shoulders tensed, though the rest of her composure remained. 

“I am curious about one thing," Isabel replied. 

"Yes?" 

"How did you raise your capital so fast? I know your....benefactor would not have helped you.” 

“The answer is quite simple,” Nyssa stepped forward, inclining her head. Isabel also stepped forward and even in heels had to raise her head to meet the other woman’s gaze.

“You will never have that curiosity satiated,” Nyssa whispered her incisors showing from her grin. 

 “Isn't life a bitch?” 

Isabel’s chest rose as she took in a huff of air, crossing her arms and, straightening her back. It was probably in what she thought was an attempt to intimidate. It would not work. It never did. 

“This will never hold up in court,” Isabel threatened. 

“You must be quiet foolish if you let anything you’ve touched near a courtroom.''

“I suppose you are correct. How about instead, my associates pay some of your loved ones a visit? How is Ms. Sara Lance doing? Is she well?” 

Nyssa sighed and pulled her hands from her pants pockets. She stretched out her arms and interlaced her fingers above her head. She dropped them as she shook out her body again. 

“Now, you should not have said that.”

Chapter Text

Beneath the solid structure of Queen Tower sat the lone blonde of the IT department, tapping away. A tenseness was set in her jaw as her pearly teeth clenched. While behind black-rimmed glasses, her eyes followed a line of code. She almost blinked in time while it flickered across her screen. 

The code stopped as a break appeared in the numbers. Startled, she leaned back, feeling the aged fabric of her chair. It prickled the softer skin of her shoulders as she chewed on her bottom lip. The break allowed her to rub her eyes, water wiping away. She wanted to abate the stinging from the blue glow of her screen. 

In the last few tense hours, she had been storing the data from her work computer on a secure server. One far away and locked up tighter than a bank vault. 

It was a precaution. Similar to how the boys destroyed the lab and stole the original notes of experiments being run.  

These precautions were necessary, as the team knew that they couldn't trust Nyssa. Even if, unlike Isabella, she wasn’t working with Slade. So after everything now completed, they would go into digital lockdown. 

And hopefully, with everything I saved I can get a new job , she thought. She was no fool, she was going to lose her job. Nyssa was going to attempt to exploit her, get nowhere, and fire her. 

She sighed and rested the back of her head on the rim of her chair. The bump of her high ponytail provides a pillow for her. The server and everything secure she breathed out and allowed her body to relax. It was peaceful in the silence. It was... nice. 

Or was, until a rush outside her door had her peeking through her lashes. The stamped of feet continued too long for something not serious to be happening. So, she stood and almost tiptoed to her door. Then with a light touch, she pulled open and peered into the hallway. 

And after a fellow employee almost mowed her over she remained the the door frame. She watched as more of her co-workers rushed by with mixed excitement and nervousness. And once the curiosity was too much she stopped one of the rushing interns. 

“Hey! Why is everyone running?” 

The intern bright-eyed and twitchy, answered, in a breathless ramble of speech, “The new CEO… well… she may be….” 

The intern gulped some air before finishing, 

“attempting to strangle someone in the lobby!” 

And with that, Felicity was racing out to the lobby. 

After she climbed the steps in her perilous heels and ran into the lobby it wasn’t hard to find Nyssa. Since she was the one who had Isabel Rochev by the throat. Felicity did stop. She wanted to enjoy seeing Isabel dangle several inches above the linoleum floor.

Felicity watched over Nyssa, annoyed at her casual outfit. The other woman was wearing joggers and a tank top that layered across a healthy body of muscle. Her most defined set was the arm that held Felicity's now ex-boss by the throat. 

As she continued to watch heat began to rise from her chest to her neck, to her cheeks. A heat that most definitely etched those body parts a shameful red.  

It's anger. Yeah, a very annoyed anger. Felicity thought as her stomach somersaulted when Nyssa flexed her fingers. Her grip on Isabella's neck tightened. 

"Now," Nyssa started. 

 "I feel, I have been reasonable with you," another flex of the fingers, another somersault. 

"And yet you have still managed to annoy me.” 

Isabel finally made some gurgling noises as a reply.  This also indicated she was losing oxygen at a rapid pace. It was at this point that Felicity decided to step in. 

“Nyssa!” She called out while pushing through the crowd, “put her down!” 

This yielded only a side glance and a snort from the other woman. She even seemed to squeeze harder upon hearing Felicity's request. 

Well… that didn’t go well, she thought. Let’s try something different.

“Ok, if you don’t put her down… ” Felicity searched for an appropriate threat. "I will wipe out any remaining data on our servers!" 

This got and kept Nyssa’s attention. She scowled, flexed her fingers one more time, and let the other woman drop to the floor. There were then a few moments of silence while Isabel picked herself up, and Nyssa crossed her arms with a scowl. 

Deep breath in Felicity walked over, grabbed Nyssa's arm, and dragged her away. The back of her neck bright red. 

*****

“What is wrong with you?!?!”

Nyssa flinched at the high-pitched accusation. In the past week, she had drifted from club to bar to park bench. All of which accumulated into a severe hangover. She had managed to avoid throwing up since she had woken up this morning. But from the sum of all her recent activity, a headache had started. A pounding one. 

“Stop yelling,” Nyssa requested as she slumped into a nearby office chair. The slight swivel made her stomach heave. 

"First; not yelling. Second; you were attempting strangulation in plain view of my coworkers! And while you may not care about your reputation here! I care for mine!" Felicity took a breath to continue on her triad as she (for once) towered over the other woman. 

"And...and... it's not like you even like Queen Consolidated! So I can't help but think this is some sick revenge against my team-" 

“Ah yes your team," Nyssa interrupted. 

"A team, from recent memory, destroyed the lab I acquired," she reminded Felicity. The other woman snapped her jaw shut and her face became red once again. A shade of red Nyssa was going to start dubbing Felicity pink. 

 "So-," she drew the word out with a pop. 

 "If you would like to continue with the yelling by all means go ahead. It's not like I need a real reason to fire you.” 

Her flippant tone seemed to further the flush on the other woman’s face. Though her light eyebrows scrunched in surprise.  

“Wait I’m not already fired?” She asked in disbelief. 

Nyssa shook her head and leaned further back. Her head now lolling on the chair back and placing a hand over her eyes. She let out a sigh, appreciating the darkness. 

“Well, consider the lab revenge for what you did," Felicity started up again. 

 "We needed you. Thea needed you. Hell, if you didn't care about any of that Sara needed you!" The "not" screaming continued. Much to Nyssa's chagrin. 

"And instead, you go behind our backs to buy out the company. A company that Oliver’s family built!” 

Nyssa considered this last statement, her gut now lurching in time with the pounding in her head. She brought her hand down, and her body up. She used her legs to raise herself, so she towered over the other woman once again. 

Per usual they were opposing forces. Her in black and bloodied colors. Felicity in a pink sundress with white detailing. Nyssa stood tall, proud even. And even though she outstripped the other woman in muscle and height Felicity did not back down. 

An urge wiggled its way into her brain. The urge to merely pick up the other woman and place her to the side. To dismiss her as hysterical. A stronger impulse let her know that would only end badly. For her. 

“I think," Nyssa started, lowering her lashes. 

 "I do have something to apologize for,” she continued. Enjoying the look of shock that brightened the other woman's face. 

“Oh?” 

“Yes,” Nyssa leaned in closer so her warm breath blew the strands of hair on Felicity's face. 

“I apologize if I ever gave the impression that I held any esteem or affection for your team outside of Sara.” 

Felicity’s breath caught at the statement and Nyssa pulled away. Gave a nod and walked away. Her steps echoed as she left the basement.

Chapter Text

In Gotham, there were three types of buildings. There was the tall, sleek, and modern skyscraper, a hopeful spike amongst the smog. Then the unforgiving concrete structure, usually housing apartments, and the people who came with them. And finally, the most beautiful of all these buildings were the city's monuments. Wayne Manor, the police headquarters, Arkham Asylum, and finally the Gotham Clock-Tower. A building created with intricate carvings and maintained by the Wayne Historical Foundation. A gem, a point of pride for Gothaminites, and a building that held one of their most important allies. 

And on an eerie night such as this, that ally was hard at work. Oracle sat behind the yellow clock face of the tower. Her chair, parked in front of a flickering green monitor, watching as lines of white code flowed. The reflection smudged on the edges of her glasses. She sighed, the puff of air disturbing the stale environment, a quiet echo through the space. The sigh was then followed by a stretch. The young redhead reached towards the ceiling. The loose sleeves of her green sweatshirt fell to her elbows as her fingers reached. Reached so far she could almost pull herself out of her wheelchair. 

Instead, she cracked her back and slid her arms down to her chair; content with her work for the day. Oracle then moved her hand down to the brake on her chair and released it. Next with a quick swivel, she moved to the counter that bordered the kitchen. It was on this pristine black counter where her sandwich waited for her. Ham and cheese, a classic and a favorite. 

At the counter she grabbed her sandwich atop a ceramic white plate. When she moved the plate she found a small note. She picked up the small yellow sticky note and read the rapid scrawl, 

Saw you were busy so I left this. Luv u -wonderboy

At the end of the note she chuckled at the cartoony hearts that bordered the words. It was a sweet sentiment from her fiancé. Earlier, she had been to enraptured in her work to give him a proper goodbye so the note was appreciated.

 She decided to leave it there next to the plate and grabbed her sandwich. She was in her home; there was no need to worry about impressing anyone. Though she did grab a napkin; crumbs on her sweats were a no no. After she placed the napkin in her lap she took a bite. Savoring the meal in complete contemplative silence. Nothing but her and the hum of her monitors. 

“We have movement." 

The despondent voice boomed through the room, causing Oracle to choke. 

Her coughing and retching an attempt to control the sudden lack of oxygen. And when she was finally able to swallow down her bite, her excitement thrumming through her veins. 

She was giddy while maneuvering back to her  monitor. In front of the green screen again, she pushed a lock of ginger hair from her face. Then with a few keystrokes, she opened up the once dead comm line. 

“Demonbat? Are you there?” Oracle questioned. Hope bleeding into her tone.

Silence.

But then...

“Yes." 

Oracle wanted to shout at the monotone answer. To jump. To embrace the joy she felt. To ask the millions of questions that rocketed through her mind. She had missed her friend for so long. Had grieved for their relationship, and now she was so close to this second chance...

But she knew they could not exchange pleasantries tonight. The mission came first. 

“Whose moving?” Oracle asked, pulling up different browsers and windows. 

“Slade, I caught Isabel contacting him about the takeover.” 

The red-headed girl grimaced. Slade had swept through the city a few years ago. His mission seemed to be to collect allies for his journey to Starling. The family handled him. Kept his visit short and sweet as they liked to say. 

“Is it straight from the source?” 

“Yes. I tapped directly into Isabel's communications.”

Oracle hummed and watched her browser flicker Isabel's picture into existence. Their findings listed underneath.  

“Ok, do you need extraction?” She questioned, typing in a few lines of code. 

“Yes."

Another hum, and she readied her fiancé's commline. He would be easiest to reach and the fastest to move. 

"But not for me.” 

Oracle paused, that caught her attention. With a raised eyebrow she leaned closer to the monitor. 

“Oh? Who are we extracting then?” 

“Moira and Thea Queen.”

******

It was not cold. 

It was chilly. A slight wind that would cause shivers if you were without a jacket. But not cold. The wind did not howl, and the trees did not sway. There was no smell of disgust. It actually smelled quite nice; of pine and fresh dirt. The moon was high and the air was sweet. The stars, the few there were, blinked into existence. 

It was not cold. 

And in Moira's whole miserable existence of life, it seemed like a cruel place to die. In this small pocket of peace, on the side of the road only a few miles away from her beloved city. 

It was not cold. 

Moira breathed and did not flinch as she stood in front of Slade. The wind ruffled her brown coat that covered her business casual grey pantsuit. Slade was dressed in a similar state; his coat black over his black business suit. And aside from the gun pointed in her face; she could have been at a business meeting. 

It was not cold. 

“You possess true bravery,” Slade said in his slurred speech, turning away from her. 

She made no move to humor him. She stared; eyes unblinking. In her last moments she would not cower. She would show Slade he could not control her. Even when she heard his blade slice through the still air. 

It was not cold.

“It is a shame that courage was not passed down to your son.” 

Moira called out to her children. A last goodbye to their cries. She waited for the metal to insert itself into her...

It-

-It

It...

Didn’t. 

In the split second, for the sword to meet it's mark, something else happened. Something unpredictable. Something she could not imagine. 

An arrow. Small and fast, flew through the air. The whistling projectile hitting its mark; Slade's hand, forcing him to drop the sword. 

Slade let out a hollowing yell. The sword thudding to the grass as blood gushed down his tailored arm. Two more arrows appeared, bigger in size, and lodged themselves in his shoulders. The impact drove him backward, body landing next to his weapon. Blood congealing in the grass, staining the sliver of the blade.  

Moira could only watch in muted surprise as a figure followed the arrows. Draped in black body armor they weaved through Slade's men. Their red bladed gauntlets ripping through clothes, and flesh. Men fell to their knees from the controlled force. It was when the figure stomped down on the chest of one of the thugs that Moira saw their full profile. 

The vigilante was a girl by the way of her figure. Slender with long limbs that accounted for her height. The body armor was tight and made for agility above all else. The shimmer of glossy black hair peaked out from a hood lined with red embroidery and topped with two horns. In the maw of this hood was her face; covered by the etching of skeleton half- mask and a red domino mask. With white lenses that obstructed her eyes. 

Moira could not move; enthralled by her observation. She watched as the female vigilante moved onto another thug. It was twisted how the young girl wielded such violence. It was reminiscent of a time she held in her past. 

Seeming to detect she was being watched the vigilante looked up. Her gaze settling on Moira. They studied each other for a few tense moments before the young girl jerked her chin. An indicatio to look behind. The older woman blinked then gasped. Her children were still bound. 

Now frantic she turned and hurried over. She needed to work fast, as she knew other thugs were not far off. She had just reached her children when a hulking mass came up behind her. Moira watched as Oliver tensed his body, ready to attack. She opened her mouth to stop him, but it was then another surprise graced the space. 

Another figure hurled into the thug, causing them to tumble into the dirt. Moira twisted to see the vigilante land on the thug’s face. Knee first. Moira cringed as a sickening crack snapped through the fight. An indication of the thug’s broken nose. 

“Sorry! I didn’t realize how long I was taking!” The figure said breathlessly while he stood. 

Moira nodded, dumbfounded. Her savior was a tall young man dressed in a black body suit; heavy with Kevlar. A half mask, with white eyes covered the top of his face. It also held back most of his luscious black hair. Though, it was the symbol on his chest that was most recognizable. It was an outline of a blue bird emboldened onto the tight black material. 

“NightWing,” she said, letting out a breath. 

The man in question smiled. The corners of his mouth, crinkling to reveal two dimples. It was endearing, and even in this absurd scenario, calming. 

“Hello Ms. Queen! I understand you acquire some assistance?” He asked in a soft voice. A striking contrast to his figure. 

“If you please,” she answered, and stepped aside to allow the hero to release her children. 

NightWing took a jaunty step forward. His hand flicking open a sharpened boomerang like device from his belt. He knelt down and swiped through each zip tie. The feeble plastic opening in an instant. Moira felt her face warm and her heart begin to slow. Her children were one step closer to being safe. 

“Mom!” Thea cried, entangling her in an embrace. Oliver close behind. His arms wrapping them both in a hug. 

Moira buried her face in the embrace. The tears that were brimming, fell and she let out a horrid sob. The relief crashing over her in an abrupt, and exhausting wave. 

Unfortunately, their reunion was short lived as one of Slade’s thugs went flying past them. Moira looked up, and in her blurry vision saw the other vigilante watching. The action shook Oliver from their happy bubble, and he jerked them aside. He then turned to NightWing. 

“What do you need?” Oliver asked. 

“Get them to safety. We’ll take care of this,” the female vigilante spoke. Her voice, garbled by a distortion device, making it deep, and unrecognizable. 

Not in a position to argue Oliver nodded, taking both his mother and sister under his arm. He quickly looked around, found an exit route, and started towards it. The two vigilantes kept the group safe, each taking on a different thug. Each taking down their adversaries with ease. 

On the run to the car, Moira felt compelled to look back one last time. She looked over her shoulder, and under her sons arm to see the receding fighting. It was at that moment a thug swung his hand out, and grabbed the woman’s red domino mask. And either his grip was strong or the mask was loose because he ripped it off. Along with her hood. 

Half her face now in the light Moira gasped. She knew that face. She knew it from many years ago, and as the recognition dawned her face flushed. 

It was not cold.

Chapter Text

It is a cool night in Gotham City. A reprieve from the constant heat wave that had blanketed Gotham for the last month. This sent many people to lounge on their stoops, calling out to passersby. Stop and go conversations centered around the sickening weather and upcoming summer events. All happy, the cutting summer heat dulled for a moment. On one of these stoops, a small girl squirmed her way through a gaggle of adults to scamper off. Or tried to. 

"And where-" one of the adults said, grabbing the back of her shirt collar. "Do you think you're goin?"

The little girl craned her neck to peek at the adult. A stout man with a bristly face and flushed white skin. His appearance was disheveled; collared blue work shirt untucked from his worn blue jeans. The frayed cuffs flapped above his undone work boots. Grease-stained and smelling of motor oil, this was an exhausted man. With a wrinkled forehead and eyes to prove it. 

The little girl squirmed under the unrelenting grip. The older man raised a bushy white eyebrow when she continued not to answer. 

“Yer not goin anywhere until you answer,’’ he reprimanded, the stubby calloused fingers grasping the color of her white t-shirt. 

She sulked and looked down, scuffing the sidewalk with the tip of her green flip-flop. 

“Come on, chile, just tell the big man where you goin,” a large black man with locs down his back prompted her. The other men on the stoop nodded in agreement. 

She rolled her eyes, though looked back up, “I need to see Scrawny,” she answered. 

When her shirt wasn’t let go, she further clarified, “he owes me five dollars.” 

The man sighed and released her shirt. He then turned to the others on the stoop. 

“Anyone got a pen?” 

After some shuffling, someone handed over a pen. The cheap ballpoint barely inked the napkin he procured from his front pocket, though just enough for him to soppily jot down some words. Then, hand the note back to her, who quickly grabbed and stuffed it into the pocket of her black shorts. 

“Show this to Scrawny, and if you're not back in an hour, you're gonna get a whoopin so bad you won’t be able to sit for a week.” 

She nodded and waited with wide, patient eyes to be released. He sighed and did just that. The whole stoop watched as she scrambled away. 

“She a little young Cucu, you really letting her go?” 

“It’s that, or she attempts to scale the fire escape. And I ain’t fixin another window.” 

She left the ensuing conversation around window repair to find her way through the city in quick succession. She, like all the other children in Gotham, had one speed: fast. 

She stopped before her first intersection, the light of the faded white man flashing red, and with a quick snap of her head, she ran. In the next few blocks, she sprinted and skidded down cracked sidewalks and faded crosswalks. Her flipflops burn rubber on the rough streets, making muffled smacking sounds as they hit the bottom of her calloused heel. She ran and darted until she skidded to a stop in the overgrown weeds at the back of the Gotham City Ritz. An architectural marvel created to house the elite when they went thrill-seeking in the city that never seemed to see the sun. It was a stunning structure of limestone and brick, lined with gargoyles on the turrets—a Gothic protection in a Gothic city.  

Breath coming in short bursts, she craned her neck to observe the way the setting sun glinted off the multiple windows that adorned the building's glass exterior. The Ritz was just at the border of the East End, where the neighborhood began to ebb into the city's main street, creating almost a back alley for workers to cross into when heading in and out of work. A place sectioned off just for them. 

As the muscles in her neck became sore, she dropped her gaze to the service entrance at the back. The steel door was propped open with one of the kitchen staff squatting next to it. His stained white shirt and the cracked skin on his brown hands showed him to be a dishwasher. A cigarette dangled from his calloused fingertips, the embers falling to the pavement in front of him. The little girl stepped forward, and with a raised eyebrow, he used his head to indicate the door next to him. His long black bangs fall into his eyes. She nodded, pulling the note out of her pocket, and handing it over. 

The dishwasher read it, handed it back, and used the tip of his duck-tapped chuck to fling the door open on its squeaky hinges, allowing her to slip inside with a murmured “thank you”. 

Once inside, she used the dim light to navigate down a concrete hallway, the musky scent of stilled air wrapped around her. Her flipflops squeaked on the linoleum floor till she reached a set of swinging white doors. Hands out, her small palms touched the cool paint and pushed. 

Her body tipped forward, and she tripped right into a bustling kitchen. At the last second, she righted herself with a wobble. She smiled at her success, moving a few strands of black hair from under her wire-rimmed glasses. Now righted, she weaved through the kitchen and the various staff working there. And either due to her small body, inconspicuous outfit of a white t-shirt and black shorts, or general lack of interest, no one bothered her in her pursuit. 

She rounded a corner of a steel table and stopped. Down the length of the shiny surface; stood in a stained white t-shirt and thin blue jeans was a gangly teenage boy. Sweat poured over his body, glistening on the ends of his bristly blonde arm hair. He used a dry, calloused hand to wipe moisture from his forehead, then onto the front of his shirt. Then, with a sigh he went back to cleaning the dishes. 

She watched the teenage boy, his blue eyes narrowed, under the bright white of the kitchen. For a few more moments, she stayed still a few feet away, watching his movements. Or until he saw her from the corner of his gaze. Jaw dropped, to reveal a few too many silver fillings, he exclaimed.

“What the?!? Felicity?!” 

The little girl in question blinked as suds flew from where he dropped a plate into the sink. In a panic, he knelt to hiss out his exasperation. 

“How did you get here?!”

“I walked,” Felicity said slowly, answering the obvious question with a raise of her thin eyebrows. 

The teenager’s eye twitched, “I get that! I meant you should be at the apartment, not in my kitchen! How did you get out?!” 

“Oh,” she pondered a second, before a light went off in her eyes. 

She reached into her back pocket and handed over the folded, lined piece of paper. 

“This is from CuCu.” 

The teenager cautiously took the note and opened it. 

Scrawny, 

It's fine.

CuCu. 

Scrawny sighed while pocketing the note. He breathed in a rattling breath and then turned his attention back to the child in front of him. 

“Why are you here?” He asked, his voice low and rough. 

“I need five dollars,” she replied in the same low whisper. 

Scrawny blinked, then dropped his head to hide a smile. The back of his pale neck held a shiny red splash against his white freckled skin. 

“And it couldn’t wait?” He asked, still fighting the smile.  

“You owe me five dollars,” Felicity answered, holding out her hand. 

Scrawny chuckled, “There’s no use arguing, is there?” 

Felicity shook her head and held out a small hand. Scrawny smiled and fished through his back pocket, pulling out a threadbare black wallet. He flipped it open, fishing through until he pulled out a creased five-dollar bill. 

“Here, now go before my boss catches you,” he said, handing it over. 

Felicity shrugged, snagged the bill, and ran out. Scrawny smiled at the echo of her flip-flop feet on the linoleum floor. The smacking of rubber receded into the din of the bustling kitchen, sighing, he plunged his calloused hands back into the steel sink. He grabbed the last plate in a set, taking the nozzle and spraying it with a fine mist. He shook off some droplets and placed it on the plastic rack to be put through the industrial dishwasher. 

Another kitchen hand came behind him with a justling cart of now clean dishes. 

He then passed by where a chef grabbed it off and handed it over. The chef placed a hamburger and fries on it. The wafting smell crowding the space. 

“Order up! Room service, penthouse!” 

The chef waved the dish, and a waiter came, slipping it onto his room service cart. And with a wink at the chef she wheeled it away to the elevator and pushed the top floor button. The doors dinged open and wheeled in. She then waited patiently, humming along to the soft piano music. After a few seconds, the doors creaked open, revealing the front hallway to the penthouse. She straightened her vest, wheeled out, and knocked on the ornate door. 

“Room service.” 

A few seconds later, an older woman opened the door, her graying hair swept up into a loose bun. The wisps dangling by her multi-perched ears. She gave the waiter a friendly nod and grasped the plate with both hands. The slightly wrinkled and calloused brown hands held it steady while she stepped back, using her foot to close the penthouse door. 

Food obtained, she walked back into the room. Her black sneakers, making soft sounds on the deep red carpet, settled into the stiff armchair by a bay window. She adjusted her black sweatshirt before placing the plate to balance atop her legs. She began eating her fries. The salt and grease covered the tips of her fingers in a clear sheen. She was halfway through when a loud laugh broke through her concentration. With a grumble she reached for the TV remote and turned up the volume on her telenovela. 

The laughter continued in the other room. Gotham City's lights shone through the window of the penthouse in the Gotham City Ritz to reveal the decadent penthouse suite, where, between two queen beds, were two equally decked out women. 

Of similar age, the taller one was a tangle of gangly limbs. Her white skin was tinted with a slight brown tan, indicating a recent vacation to a tropical location, as it also bleached the roots of her blonde hair. Dressed in a mid-length white evening gown, her sharp features were buried beneath a light foundation of makeup. She moved with grace and precision as she reached over to pull the zipper on the other woman’s evening gown. She focused as her French-tipped nails stopped the zipper at the base of the other girl’s neck. 

“Thank you, Moria.” 

Moria hummed, tucking her hair behind her ears. No longer occupied, she started to fidget with the gold bangles on her slim wrist. The clinking caught the attention of her companion, who turned around with a soft smile. The other woman reached over to stop Moria’s fidgeting. 

“Moria,” she murmured. 

She stilled in her fidgeting, looking up from beneath her lashes. 

“Silver,” Moria stated. Her tone mocking Silver’s. 

The other woman sighed at the deflection, but continued. 

“Tell me what’s on your mind.” 

Moria hesitated, debating her next step before proceeding. 

“You don’t have to do this,” she insisted. 

Silver craned her neck and gave a small smile. The pained expression tugged at Moira’s heartstrings. She was a beautiful girl—a petite woman with long silver blonde hair and shimmering blue eyes. An ethereal being similar to her namesake. 

“What do you think? Too much?” Silver asked Moira, giving a twirl. 

 Moira smiled at the girlish display. Silver was on the shorter side; though tonight, with her cream stiletto heels, she gained a couple of inches. Paired with those heels was a lavender off-the-shoulder evening gown and a diamond drop necklace. 

“Just enough,” Moira answered, pulling her in for a hug. Her own more conservative white dress slid against the silky material of Silver’s gown. 

After a minute Moria pulled back, grasping her cousin’s shoulders. She squeezed them before asking her, 

“Are you sure you want to go?”

Silver huffed, opening her mouth to rebut. 

“I know I already asked,” Moria interrupted. 

“I just want you to know, we can skip the event, go do something reckless elsewhere,” she continued. Her tone almost pleading. 

Silver smiled and pulled the other women in for another hug, “Yes, Moria I’m sure.” She murmured into the other woman’s shoulder. 

Moria sighed and returned the squeeze, breaking away, “Alright let’s go.” 

They both grabbed their matching black clutches from the dresser and walked out into the outer room. It was a spacious space decorated similarly to the bedroom. There were two twin beds near a couch where the hotel nanny sat reading a book. 

“Maria, we’ll be going for the evening. Robert will bring Oliver back here and then meet us at the gala.” 

Maria nodded, closing her book, “How long will you be, Ms. Queen?” 

“A few hours; the three of us should be back before 1.” 

“Alright, just remember my rate will double if you do not return by 1.” 

Moria nodded, something she appreciated about Maria; she had no issue voicing her demands. She then walked over to her daughter, Thea. Thea was there on the bed, thumb in her mouth, her other arm around a doll. A small one from a drug store that she had bought in a rush during a monumental tantrum. Moira laid a kiss on her daughter’s forehead. The little girl snuffled and snuggled deeper into the pillows. The blanket fell to reveal some of her ruffled nightgown. 

“Goodnight, princess, I love you.” 

Everything settled, the two women left the room. Their heels clicking against the floor till they came upon the glass elevator. Silver pressed the down button, and they chatted until it dinged. Once inside the ornate structure, they travelled down to the grand ballroom. When the elevator dinged again, their chatter died down, and stepped out into the hallway. Silent, they walked till they reached the grand doors of the ballroom. 

A security agent stood stock still in their black suit. Hands clutched behind her back. Both women walked up, handing over their invitations. Moria frowned, noticing a slight shake in Silver’s hand. Before she could question it further, the invitations were handed back, and security let them in. 

Upon the entry, Moria felt her breath stutter in her chest. It was a beautifully done room. A concave ceiling with a painting of the Milky Way on the ceiling, that reflected the stars, seen through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The glinting and clinking of champagne glasses, accompanied the crowd's soft murmurs. The lights were on black sconces, and the marble floor echoed the steps of Gotham’s finest. Who, like the two women, were also adorned in designer dresses and suits. 

Thankfully, Gotham’s finest were also too self-absorbed to notice them. 

A preferable scenario to anything else.

They walked on the edges of the crowd while quiet music filtered through the ballroom, played by a small orchestra placed near the corner of the floor. Moira and Silver drifted towards them. Entrapped in a bubble of their own making. It seemed the rest of the evening would pass peacefully. Until it wasn’t. 

It started with a murmur breaking through the crowd. Then some furtive glances, thrown over shoulders. Then, after some not-so-subtle whispering and pointing, Moria could no longer pretend she didn’t notice and looked around. Her brows furrowed, muscles in her neck tensing.  

The crowd edged away from them and created a part in the ballroom sea. And viewing what was at the end of that part, her stomach dropped. Moira gritted her teeth. The fine dental work, creating a dry dust in her mouth and bile forming in her throat. 

At the end of that part was Bruce Wayne and his family. 

Bruce stood the tallest, in a burgundy Armani suit. His muscular stature was hidden beneath the fine-tailored material. Sharp cheekbones and a beautifully crafted Roman nose curated a statuesque appearance that made the marble tone of his skin more prominent. Dark lashes, dark hair, and blue eyes made him the true prince of Gotham. 

Beside his highness was his ward Dick Grayson. He was about twelve, his skinny frame dressed in a coordinating forest green suit. The sleeves were slightly too short on his jacket and slightly too long on his white dress shirt. A growth spurt probably similar to Oliver's. Just between when he’d had the jacket made and the shirt bought. 

Dick smiled at those around him, his teeth a little too wide in the front. An orthodontic nightmare in the future, but endearing now. Moria blinked as she became distracted away from his smile, to what he had gripped in his hand. Entangled in his tanned grip was a smaller, softer hand that belonged to a little girl. 

She was a cute thing around seven. Her face was solemn in a way that should have been unnerving if not for the small button nose and round cheeks. The small girl was dressed in a coordinating blue suit with her long black hair braided and held back behind her ears. The tips of the soft braids reach the middle of her back. 

Moira was fascinated by the way she rocked on the heels of her Converse sneakers. A far cry from the shining dress shoes that both Dick and Bruce wore. The three stood in a picturesque beauty, and Moria could almost fool herself into imagining this was the worst part of the night. It wasn’t until a delicate hand caressed the children’s shoulders, and Silver’s breath was drawn in a quick intake, that Moria’s attention was redrawn.  

Towering over the children was a beautiful woman. She was dressed in a black evening gown with a dangerous slit up the side of her right leg, with a dip in the front that framed her chest divinely. The satin fabric clung to her tanned skin, and glossy black curls framed a delicate face. She stood with a grace that a person could only be born with, atop her black heels with the glint of pearl jewelry adorning her neck and ears. In all her infamous glory, it was no other than Selina Kyle. 

Moira watched, stunned, as Gotham’s most prominent family interacted. The head of the family, Bruce, had one arm wrapped around Selina’s waist. She stood close, one hand on his chest, while she spoke to Lucius Fox and his wife. Beside them, Dick conversed with the little girl attached to his hand, pointing to the various people. It didn’t seem to hold much interest for her. Though her face hid something… else. Something Moria could recognize but not identify. 

Moria’s pondering didn’t last long as a waiter walked by the family, holding a tray of small desserts. The little girl licked her lips, tugging at Dick’s hand. A silent demand to leave and pursue the sweets. He didn’t notice as he was now speaking to Lucious himself. She gave another tug and received the same response. Frustrated, she dropped his hand and took a step towards the sweets. Moria watched as she gave the adults a discerning glance before scuttling away. 

A compulsion, both as a mother and from a sense of morbid curiosity, had Moria following her. 

“Moira!” Silver hissed, walking behind her. 

“What are you doing?” She demanded in an indigent voice. 

Moria waved her hand and continued. The small girl weaved through the crowd of adults with ease. The soft step of her sneakers kept her concealed. She knew she was small, she knew she was easily dismissed, and she knew how to use it to her advantage. 

The little girl finally stopped near the far end of the ballroom, where the waiter had stopped. Moria and Silver had edged around the crowd and were about a foot away. The little girl waited, silent in her watch. Her patience was fruitful after a moment, as the waiter placed the tray of sweets atop a stand. And then slipped out the back door. 

Desserts now abandoned, the little girl could feast to her heart's delight. Except for one issue. The tray was slightly too tall, and even on her tiptoes, she could not reach it. 

 Moira took a chance and came forward, grabbing a dessert and handing it to the child. She raised a small eyebrow at the gesture, looking up to the adult. Moira inhaled a breath at the deep, soulful eyes presented to her. A beautiful shade of brown flecked with gold. Those cat-shaped eyes that adorned her face should have completed an angelic visage, if not for the intensely distrustful look she wore. 

“I promise it’s not poisoned,” Moira joked, continuing to hold the sweet. 

The little girl thought it over for another second and decided she could be trusted. She swiped the sweet and shoved it into her mouth, chewing contentedly. The two women watched amused as the little girl swallowed and held out her hand for more. Moira chuckled and took a few more sweets and presented them to her. She accepted and stuffed them into her mouth. Her cheeks puff up with their fullness. 

“Good?” Moira asked, smiling. 

The little girl eagerly nodded and continued to stuff her face. It was such a sweet sight to behold that it continued to make them giggle, gracefully muffled behind their hands. Until a particularly high-pitched one escaped from Silver. Upon hearing the giggle, the little girl scowled. Her face scrunching into one of disdain.

“Oh, darling, I’m sorry we mean no harm,” Moira quickly justified. “You’re just adorable.” 

The child opened her mouth for rebuttal, but was interrupted as another voice rang out. 

“Nasrina! You were told not to wander off!” 

Moira’s heart stopped at the silken accented voice coming from behind her. She looked over her shoulder to see Selina Kyle walking towards them in measured steps. She passed by Moria and Silver, the air wafting with her citrus perfume. She placed two manicured hands on the child’s shoulders before turning her attention to them. 

The three stood in silence. The crowd seemingly had taken notice of them and was now ready to indulge in some voyeurism.  

“Hello, Selina,” Moria started. Her voice was tight, polite.

 Refined.  

“Silver, Moira,” the other woman purred. A sound that made Moira’s stomach turn. 

A tenseness had sunken around them. A deep swirling mass that singed the skin and suffocated the lungs. The only one not bereft was Nasrina, who had finished the last of the sweets in her mouth. She swallowed and looked towards Moira, wiggling under Selina’s grip. It was a calculated stare. 

“I heard….” Silver started, eyes wide and lip buried beneath her teeth. 

Selina raised a manicured eyebrow, “Yes?” She asked, her tone clipped. 

Silver’s cheeks reddened, and released her lip with a wobble. 

Moria’s blood boiled. 

“We heard you had adopted a child. I assume this is her?” 

The child in question extended her hand for more sweets. The open palm of her hand calloused. Though not in the way a child’s hand should be, at least from Moria’s observations. Before she could look further, Selina reached down and withdrew the child’s hand. 

“No, that’s enough, darling,” she gently reprimanded. The child scowled and stomped her foot, unhappy with the outcome. 

“Nassrina,” Selina further scolded. It did little for the child, who continued to scowl. 

“She’s sweet,” Silver commented. Her interjection said in a quick, breathless stutter.

It made Moria cringe internally. A show of weakness unbecoming of their status. A status Silver should be trying to uphold. 

“She’s stubborn,” Selina conceded, squeezing the child’s shoulder. The tips of her dark purple nails leaving impressions on the child’s suit jacket. 

Nasrina, seemingly not a fan of being talked about like she wasn’t here, rolled her eyes. Then, with a decent amount of wiggling squirmed out from under Selina’s grip and took off. Her small sneakered feet giving easy access to snaking through crowds. 

“Nasrina!” Selina shouted, her voice pitching in panic. It did nothing to slow the little girl down. 

“Coño,” she muttered, clenching her fist. 

“My apologies, ladies!” Selina sighed with a nod before hurrying off to follow the runaway child. 

Once gone, both women let out a collective breath. Moria looked to Silver, who was chewing on her lip. She sighed, sliding her hand through the other woman’s grip. 

“Come on, let's go mingle.” 

******

It was a while later, after too much mingling and subpar champagne, that Moria was able to escape the gleaming dance floor. She excused herself with a tight-lipped smile and a gracious flutter of her hand. Once away, she slipped out onto one of the balconies that surrounded the ballroom. The door opened with a jimmy of the lock, and outside she breathed in a few inhales of fresh night air. She slowly closed the glass-paneled door behind her, letting the orchestra music fade into obscurity. Now blissfully alone, she reached into her clutch to pull out a cardboard white box lined with red. She flipped the cover of the glossy surface, pulling out a cigarette. Bag and white stick dangling, she searched for her lighter. Triumphant, her manicured nails captured a tin contraption tarnished from its nearly decade of use. 

She looked over her shoulder at the balcony door, checking for witnesses before lighting the cigarette, and with that first glorious inhale, she felt her heart slow. The beat thrummed to a quiet hum. A peaceful hum. 

It was blissful. 

“Moira.” 

Until it wasn’t. 

Oh sweet misery, Moria thought with an exhale of smoke, it billowing to the stars. 

She knew that voice, and like her lighter, it sparked a hot flame. One that she did not extinguish would consume them. So she exhaled again, letting the lit cigarette dangle from her fingers. And she counted to ten. 

She got to seven. 

“Moria”

At seven, the flame, which had been dwindling, grew to a full fire, and she spun around. A snarl firmly in place on her face as she stared at the only prince of Gotham, Bruce Wayne. 

They stood a few feet apart, enough for her to observe the man in front of her. One arm crossed around her middle, while he had both hands buried in his pockets. Up close, she could see how finely styled his suit was. The burgundy material was crisp, as was the black dress shirt underneath. With two buttons undone and a gold watch chain tucked in with his breast pocket, she knew he had not been dressed by his butler. No, this modern style was done by his recent bride, Selina. 

It made her skin boil.

“Hello, Bruce,” she greeted him, before inhaling more smoke. “Pleasant evening?” 

“Why were you talking to Selina?” he demanded. His voice was devoid of its usual Playboy charm. 

Moria inhaled more smoke. The fumes soothed her, helped clear her head. Help her not scream at the man in front of her. 

“Still not one pleasure, I see,” she commented. 

Bruce scowled. His face of stone cracked to reveal the furnace underneath. It was very few people who got to see that angry fire. Bruce’s cool mask was never one to slip. Unless… you knew what buttons to push. 

And thankfully, she did. 

“What did you talk about?” Bruce continued. 

Moria bristled at the demand. A demand she was not going to comply with. 

“Why?” She asked, eyebrows upturned. “Is she upset?” Her voice deepening into mock concern. 

More scowling was the answer. Bruce never did well with the unknown, especially when it came to Selina. His moon and stars. 

How nauseating. She thought, crushing her cigarette against the rail. 

“You know…” Moria started, taking out another cigarette. 

“You have no right to ask these questions,” she opened her clutch and pulled out her lighter. 

“Not after what you did to Silver,” she finished by lighting her cigarette. 

Bruce’s scowl deepened. He was never a fan of being reminded of his past mistakes.  

“Do not involve yourself, Moira. This is none of your concern.” 

Moira took her cigarette from her mouth and blew a ring of smoke into the night air. The gray hue contrasts against the dark sky. She watched until it disappeared into the stars. 

“So this is not my concern? Is that so?” 

Bruce didn’t reply. His wrists flexing as he balled his hands into fists deep in his pockets. 

“Well, let’s review then,” she started.

She held out a hand and raised her pointer finger, “First, we have you a man. A rich, handsome man, but a man still.” 

Another finger, “Then you have two women. One is Selina Kyle. One is Silver St. Cloud. Both beautiful and accomplished.” 

Her two fingers intertwine, “These three people meet, and unfortunately, they are all single. And because they are all single and the man is a man, he dates both women.”  

She pauses in her performance, a breeze passing through. A breeze that plays with the ends of her hair. They tickle her ears, just the edges.  

“Now this man spends years walking the line between these two women. It’s just so hard to choose between these women.” 

At this point, Moria starts to feel her hand tremble. But she holds strong. 

“Finally, one of the women decides for him and leaves. The other woman is thrilled! Finally, the man and she can be together. He even gives her an engagement ring!” 

Bruce’s jaw tenses. The cords of his throat were straining against the skin of his neck. 

“And you know what?” Moria asks, her voice becoming shrill. “For a while, everything is just fine. Everyone is happy for the man and the woman.”

“But the man isn’t happy, and because he is a man,” she says with an exaggerated flourish. “He must make everyone else unhappy.” 

The hum of Gotham passed between them. Car horns and screeching tires. Even so far above the street, the sounds were inescapable. 

“And so,” Moira continues, with her eyes alight. “The man gets the other woman pregnant, remember the one who left him?” She adds the last part with a twisted smile. 

“But still!” She says manically. “The engaged woman wants to make it work, and boy does she try.” 

Moria uncrosses her fingers as they had squeezed so hard that they had started to cramp. Her free hand raised, flat palm up. 

“But it’s not enough, and the man leaves her.” 

Bruce looked away as she finished her story. Another breeze came through, sending the ash from her cigarette over the edge of the balcony. The embers are disappearing into the black abyss below. 

Moria crossed her arms in front of her chest. Careful to keep the heated butt away from her skin. Bruce turned his head back to her, gaze guarded. 

“You embarrassed her, Bruce. For months, Silver couldn’t go anywhere without looks and whispers. All standing, she had wiped out because of your choice.”

Another pause. 

“And you? The infallible Bruce Wayne? You get married and have a baby, with no consequences whatsoever.” 

Moria sighed. All of a sudden very tired. She stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray atop the garbage next to her. Then turned her back to the party and Bruce. 

“Selina is fine. She introduced Silver and me to your new daughter, Nasrina. That was all.” 

Another moment of silence, and Bruce then shuffled towards the balcony door. 

“Moria, for what it's worth, I am sorry for how I hurt Silver. She is a wonderful woman.” 

Moria sighed, her breath leaving her body and joining the cold night air. 

“Just go, Bruce.” 

And he did just that.