The Life and Times of a Gotham 'Wallflower'

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/13499280.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Category: F/M
Fandoms: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Relationship: Jason Todd/Original Female Character(s)
Characters: Carmine Falcone, Lex Luthor, Batman, Jason Todd
Additional Tags: Self-Insert, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Should have read DC
comics, She isn't the best wallflower, She should have run when she had
the chance, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Lex Luthor Being an Asshole
Language: English
Series: Part 1 of The Life and Times of Annie Simon
Collections: Favorite Self-Insert and OC-Centric Fanfics, Gammily’s Bookshelf,
Amazing SI Stories, My Favorites: Complete Edition, fics to sink your
teeth into, hufflepuffdemiwizard's completed works, Magnolia's
Favourite Fics, ✨I don't have a personal life✨, on temporal travel and
transmigration, my heart is here, My favorite SIOC, Modern Character in

🥺
Fictional World, oh stars~!（＾Ｏ＾☆♪, cauldronrings favs ( •̀ ω •́ )✧, I
promise to reread you ❤
Stats: Published: 2018-01-28 Completed: 2018-10-29 Words: 54,375 Chapters:
13/13
 The Life and Times of a Gotham 'Wallflower'
by GlidingOne, Snickie

Summary

My name's not Annie, even if every one keeps insisting it is. And I don't know how I ended
up in Gotham - because f***. I'd been more of a Marvel fan. But I suppose it's cool, as long
as I don't die in the process.

Part 1 is primarily written by GlidingOne with edits by Snickie

 Chapter 1

Chapter One

The first time I wake up, I am confused. Because I shouldn’t be waking up. At all. Because I
am pretty sure I had died. Except that I am much too uncomfortable to be dead. There is
something stuck down my throat, making it a little too difficult to breathe.

It is weird. I had not thought I’d survive that gunshot to the head, but the noise from the
monitors, and the voice on the comm system inform me that “Dr. Smith you’re needed in
Ward B.” I’m quite confused.

“Mom?” I try to ask through the tube obstructing my oxygen.

Someone answers, “Sweetheart?” Only that’s not my mom’s voice.

“Mom?” My voice turns higher in pitch because I’m in a bit of a panic. Where am I? Where’s
mom? Why isn’t she answering?

“Annie, it’s alright! Mommy’s here.”

You’re not mom. That’s not my name. You’re not my mom! My mom has an accent! My name
is - my name is - I know my name isn’t Annie!

“Mom!” The monitors are having a little bit of a field day, beeping irregularly and telling the
world that my heart is beating faster than normal.

“It’s alright Annie.” Whoever this woman is, not mom , she’s crying. I can’t figure out why.
But the woman is holding onto my hand and sobbing as nurses swarm around me, holding me
down, trying to calm me down, demanding a sedative. The machines are even rattling, as if in
agreement that I just need to get out of there. Why do they need a sedative? Just let me out or
get me mom - my real mom!

My last coherent thought isn’t finished. My name is -

_____

The second time I wake up, I’m not as much in a panic. For one, the tube is no longer
clogging up my airway, and I am able to take betterstock of my surroundings. I’m in a private
hospital room filled with cards that look as if they were made by eight year olds and balloons
that look as if they’re for a child. I’m still confused, though. I can’t remember my name.

“Annie?”

I turn to a woman that is rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She’s pretty, in a way. But she’s not
mom. And Annie’s not my name.

“Who are you?”

So, maybe it wasn’t the best thing to ask that woman, because she immediately starts crying.

“Oh, Annie!”

“Mrs. Simon?” Asks a nurse that had just walked through the door with a tray of what I
assume is medicine - or maybe more sedatives.

“She can’t remember! She doesn’t know who I am.”

I almost feel bad, because this woman is in tears. The nurse gives the woman - Mrs. Simon? -
a sympathetic look, and pulls her aside to talk. I can still hear, though.

“It happens sometimes. It was a head injury that caused her to go into the coma in the first
place. It’s probably retrograde amnesia. She may get her memories back, but there’s no
guarantee. The best thing to do at this point would be to be patient with her.”

Mrs. Simon spends a good five minutes trying to calm down, wiping the tears from her eyes.

I’m not really sure what to say as Mrs. Simon sits down again, so I repeat my question.

“Who are you?”

“I’m. . . I’m your mother. You’re my . . . your name is Annie Simon. You’re ten years old.
And you’re my daughter.”

Wow. Every single word that woman just said was wrong.

Because it has to be. My mother is most definitely not this woman. My name is . . . well it
isn’t Annie Simon, I know that much. And I am a grown woman, twenty two years old and
counting.

Only, as I looks down to my hands that look too small, I notice my chest - or lack of one. It’s
a bit jarring. I’d been quite proud of it.

I look back at the woman, studying her face - it’s pretty open and raw and everything that a
mother’s face should be when you’re trying to convince your child that you are who you say
you are.

And a small part of me wants to believe Mrs. Simon. She must have really loved her
daughter.

So I answer, “okay” and pick up the woman’s hand. “Tell me more, please.”

_____

Annie Simon - I’m trying not to think of her as me - had been in a coma for a year after the
accident that took her father’s life.

It had been a drunk driver - “Mr. Luthor, he’s paying for your medical bills, now that bast-
sorry” - in the middle of the night and paramedics were a bit swamped because of some
reason that Mrs. Simon refused to get into with her ten year daughter. The car - for some
reason, I was imagining a silver Lexus, probably because the driver was name Luthor, and the
arch nemesis of Superman was all that my brain could conjure up - had to swerve five times
because the drunk driver - Mr. Luthor (Mrs. Simon kept correcting herself) - kept switching
lanes, and caused the car, I still couldn’t get the image of a silver Lexus out of my head, to
flip three times before landing in a ditch. Apparently, I was out of it by the time paramedics
arrived and they pronounced ‘me’ brain dead within a few hours.

Mrs. Simon refused to pull the plug, though. Annie was all she had left.

“What color was the car?” I really had to know. I’d probably have nightmares of different
colors, make, and models if I didn’t.

“Mr. Luthor’s?”

“That, yes. But also . . . dad’s car.” It feels a bit wrong to call him dad, but for some reason
I’m ten years old now, and if it’ll get me the information I want, then I’ll grit my teeth and do
it.

Mrs. Simon doesn’t say much for a while. “Your father had a black sedan. The other one was
a black sports car, a Lexus, like the man that drove it. I never knew cars like your father. He
was a mechanic, you know.”

No, actually, I didn’t know. But cool. I wish I could have learned from him. I always liked
learning new things, and being able to take apart a car and put it back together again would
have been cool to know.

Though that also brings up the problem of money. I wonder if Mrs. Simon has a job, because
the yearly wage of a mechanic can’t be that much, and considering he’s been dead for a year .
..

“Anyway, I refused to let them turn the machines off and you’ve been in a coma ever since.”
Mrs. Simon looks at me, and probably realizes that a ten year old shouldn’t really know what
that means. “You had to be asleep for a long time.”

Mrs. Simon is crying again, and I - I’m Annie I remind myself, because after a story like that,
to just disregard the name like that would just be cruel - pat her back. It might bring a little
comfort to her.

“They never expected you to wake up, to be honest. But, Annie, I’m here, okay? We’re going
to be fine. That man’s money paid for the bill anyway.”

I honestly wonder who this Luther guy is that killed my ‘father’, however involuntarily it
may have been. Though it would probably be better to not dwell on the matter. Annie is alive
- I’m alive - and that’s all that really matters at this point.

_____
The hospital discharge papers were processed that week so that by Friday afternoon I’m on
my way out in a wheelchair. Mrs. Simon has a bright red Toyota SUV now. A bright red
Toyota SUV - as if to say here I am! Crash into me if you dare! It’s honestly kind of funny, if
I think about it long enough.

The city is interesting to look at though. I'm reminded strongly of Chicago and New York
City.

“You don’t have to go straight back to school, Annie. We’ll talk to the principal and see what
we can do. I want you to be in your age group, but that may not be able to happen.”

I almost snort. I’d finished college. I could skip fourth grade if I wanted to.

Instead I ask, “Can’t I take some kind of test?”

Mrs. Simon grimaces. “I don’t think you’d be able to pass, honey. You already only had
average scores, and you haven’t been to class in a long time. They’ve learned new things!”

“I can study before I take the test?” My voice is quiet, because I am still trying to think over
what Mrs. Simon has said. My scores had never been average. This actually really sucked.

Mrs. Simon sighed, “You can try, but we have to go into the school today for a test anyway -
Mrs. Williams insisted. It’s okay if you’re held back. Everyone will understand.”

But I wouldn’t understand - I’d had a bachelors degree. I nod and looked out to the city. I had
never lived in such a big city before - I’d certainly lived in a city - Miami before it really
boomed - and had visited big cities before. But this is really something else.

“Where do we live?”

“In the city.”

I almost roll my eyes. Of course we do, we don’t seem to be leaving it, after all. But I
couldn’t blame her. I’m not her daughter, and she might have forgotten that I know nothing.

“Which city?”

She makes eye contact with me for a second, and she looks terribly sad, before she answers.

“Gotham. We live in an apartment not too far from the GCPD.”

I might have been able to brush off the Gotham comment - it was a nickname for New York
city that was kind of popular in the nineteenth century, if I remembered correctly - but she
said GCPD. Not NYPD, GCPD - Gotham City Police Department.

Which means Batman and the Joker and - fuck. I’d read more Marvel comics.
 Chapter 2

Chapter Two:

The room Mrs. Simon - mom - kept for Annie - me - is clean. It’s so clean, that I’m
convinced Mrs. Simon cleaned it everyday that her daughter was in a coma, because there’s
not a speck of dust anywhere and from experience, that’s a pain to achieve.

The walls are baby blue, and the only accessory on the wall is a cork board filled with
pictures of a little girl with a princess party hat and a big smile - that’s me, I think. It certainly
looks like me. - but there’s also one solitary picture there filled with paper hearts around one
boy. He’s cute, I suppose with the dark hair and the sharp jawline - he has a sharp jawline as a
nine year old, impressive - but he has an angry expression on his face and looks like he could
be a troublemaker.

Pushing the paper hearts away, I can see that’s he’s part of a class photo - Wayne Elementary
School - and I cringe at the name, because it figures that no matter where I look I’m reminded
of the surreal reality I now live in.

I’d taken the test not even an hour after I’d left the hospital, because it turns out that we
weren’t headed home. Mrs. Simon had taken me to a fast food restaurant - and okay, I was
pretty excited about that because food - but then I’d gone straight to the Elementary School
for the test. Mrs. Williams, apparently my old teacher - and wasn’t I glad I couldn’t
remember her - seemed to have a deep seeded hatred of me. I hate to think what little Annie
could have ever done to her.

But apparently she’d given me the test expecting me to fail, and then accused me of cheating.
I had breezed through it.

It helped keep my mind off my predicament - you know being in a fictional world and all.

In the end, after multiple accusations of cheating courtesy of Mrs. Williams, and taking
different tests multiple times - like seriously I sent six hours at the school with the principal
and even coming back to the school on Monday and Wednesday, because overtime pay was
not approved - before I was finally granted a letter recommending me for high school.

I begged and begged to just be placed with my old classmates, and Mrs. Simon let me,
though I’m still not sure why.

It was on the drive home after the last test - through Gotham, how can I be in Gotham? - that
Mrs. Simon called up Mr. Luthor.

Mrs. Simon had bragged a bit to Mr. Luthor, saying how smart I am and that he won’t regret
paying for my hospital bills or the serum - whatever that means .

“Yes, Mr. Luthor. She took the test again today.” When had she talked to him?
Mr. Luthor seems to be talking on the other line. “But she passed the test! She’s fine, nothing
seems to be wrong!”

More talking.

I really don’t see why Mrs. Simon has to have this conversation with me in the car, so I try to
tune her out.

Because I have to go to school now. Again. I haven’t been in school for a year, now in both
lives, apparently. It’s weird. And with kids I don’t even know? It’s worse than the first day of
school. At least on the first day of school, no ones knows anyone. Judging from the get well
card, they at least know who I am.

And I just want to fade into the background.

People do not tend to live long in Gotham when they know the secrets I know - like the fact
that the richest man in Gotham beats up criminals to a pulp at night.

No - no way. I should just jump off a cliff now - except that never ends well, and people in
this city never tend to stay dead, people in comics never tend to stay dead.

And why oh why had I wasted my time on Marvel comics?! I barely know the names of the
main DC characters, let alone know who to avoid!

I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts I can’t even remember the path I walk from the car to my
room. Mrs. Simon probably even says something to me, but I don’t remember because I’m
too busy freaking out that I’m in Gotham . It should have already sunk in, but no. Everytime I
remember, I stop thinking about anything else. I should probably see a therapist.

I don’t want to be in Gotham. Maybe I can move away? Except I’m only ten. And I just want
to get on with my life. Is it possible to live a life of obscurity in Gotham for a person like me?

Which brings me to my room.

I’ve been out of the hospital now for a week, and haven’t been able to really appreciate the
room yet.

On a chair by the window is my hospital bag full of well wishes from my former classmates -
I still haven’t bothered to unpack it. And there’s a desk with another chair on the opposite
wall where yesterday’s food tray sits.

Mrs. Simon likes to bring food to my room - which you know what, she gets brownie points
for that. Despite everything, food is still one of my greatest loves, and Mrs. Simon justs feeds
that. That woman can cook.

A knock on my door, just as I’m about to unpack the hospital “goodie bag” tells me to turn
around and oh - tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches! Yum.

I had just taken a bite, Mrs. Simon had not left which okay, she usually liked to just stand
there watching me eat, when she opened her mouth.
“So I talked to Mr. Luthor.”

I hummed through a mouthful of cheesy goodness.

“He’s very happy that the coma didn’t hold you back in your studies.”

Another hum, and I guess Mrs. Simon takes that as an invitation to sit down on my bed. And
then she promptly bursts into tears.

So maybe I should have held off on the eating, because trying to handle food in my mouth
and comfort Mrs. Simon is difficult. I don’t even know why she’s crying.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you don’t remember! It’s all my fault. I should have -”

I can’t understand anything more because she just won’t stop crying.

She cries for a good ten minutes, and the whole time I’m wondering what she means.
Because I’m pretty sure Lex Luthor’s more at fault than Mrs. Simon. ( I don’t want this much
attention from a supervillain - is he a supervillain? I feel like he is, but I don’t know much
about Lex Luthor! Why did I read Marvel Comics instead? )

But even if he is or she is, in all honesty it’s also my fault that I don’t remember, right?
Because I’m not Annie, no matter what anyone says. I’ll go by the name, I guess. But I was
not Annie before, and I’m really not now.

After Mrs. Simon dries her tears, she leaves me to my inner turmoil and I’m left with the
food - glorious food, my love - and the hospital bag of goodies.

_____

I don’t really know what I expected of my life here in this Universe. I expected to be able to
go to school, get a college degree, and get a job. I expected to live in obscurity.

And in a way I do, but it’s a finicky balance between being a wallflower and a celebrity for
my circumstances.

I go back to school - to half a year more of Wayne Elementary - and face a class full of nine
and ten year olds.

They’re all staring at me like I’m an alien, as if I’m a ghost, and I suppose in a way I am, but
still. It all makes me feel awkward. I just want to fade into the wall.

“You can sit right next to Emma and Sarah,” Mrs. Ramirez - and thank the Lord it’s not Mrs.
Williams - says as she pushes me toward the empty seat by two girls.

They’re two girls, one blond and one red headed, that smile brightly at me as I take a seat and
try to get small.

The desks are separated in groups of three all throughout the classroom, but this table is the
only one with all girls. Most of the desks are co-ed.
“Hey, Annie,” they whisper, even as Mrs. Ramirez begins a spelling test for everyone.

I can’t help but think this is a bad idea - to let two girls who are obviously best friends stay at
the same table. I also can’t help but wonder if I was once a part of their group.

I nod to the girls as I accept the paper from Mrs. Ramirez and hunch over the desk, beginning
the ridiculously simple spelling test, even as the two girls - Emma and Sarah , I remind
myself - stare at me.

The day flies by quickly and before I know it - food! Mrs. Simon had given me a packed
lunch and lunch money. I think she realizes that I love food more than anything else and
wants me to be happy.

It’s at lunch that the questions start (Mrs. Ramirez must run a tight ship, for them to have held
off for this long). The swarm of ten year olds converge on my table as I’m trying to eat my
wonderful meal of pizza, turkey and cheddar sandwich, water, and juice (I really love food).

“So, what was it like?”

“Can you remember anything.”

“Who did it? None of the adults tell us anything.”

And why the fuck are they asking me? I’m the one who’s supposed to have been in a coma
for a year.

The only one just sitting there and not asking questions is the boy from the picture - the one I
assume Annie had a crush on, because come on, all those paper hearts, she had to have a
crush on him - and he’s just sitting there with a raised eyebrow, not seeming very impressed
with the other students.

I guess my annoyance must be showing, though, because Emma and Sarah stop asking their
own questions and turn to the other students, “Can’t you tell she doesn’t want to talk about
it?”

Instead of stopping, though, everyone leans in closer and I struggle to eat my food in peace,
even as out of the corner of my eye I see that the boy from the picture doesn’t have lunch.

My heart breaks just a little at that.

_____

It continues like that for a week, until the next big thing - news about the Justice League’s
most recent fight - hits the news. And then, because I won’t talk about it, people begin to
leave me alone.

Emma and Sarah still sit by me, but it’s a little strained because I’m sure they want to know,
just as much as the rest of my classmates, what I remember.
Which is absolutely nothing, except what little I read of the comics, and my sporadic
following of the DC TV shows and movies. I’m such a sham .

I’m also on a little bit of mission though. Following my observations of the boy as I’ve
dubbed him, because I still don’t know his name, I begin to eat less at lunch. It’s not like
someone’s stealing my lunch money.

It’s just that when no one’s looking, like when we’re about to leave for playground time, I
hang out in the back of the crowd, making sure I’m the last one out.

And then I stick my lunch money into the boy’s backpack, or in his desk. Because kids our
age should be able to eat.

Kids our age.

Sometimes I forget how old I am.

Don’t get me wrong, I love food. But I have enough, and he has none. I have enough adult
memories to remember how much better it is to share.

_____

The first month of school, I feel awkward. I can’t be Annie, because I don’t even know what
she was like, so I just try to be me.

I’m also the awkward third wheel in the friendship of Emma and Sarah, but I think Mrs.
Simon might have said something to them or their parents, because they stop asking about the
accident and what I remember, and instead tell everyone to back off.

Which, you know, is sweet, but kind of terrifying too.

They also come over a lot to do homework and watch movies. They’re great, I suppose, in
the way that they really do want to help me.

It’s on the second sleepover in the middle of February, pillows strewn on the floor, that Sarah
plucks up the courage to say what she seems to have been holding in for a while.

“You took down your ‘shrine’ to Jason.” Sarah says it with a sly expression on her face.

My raised eyebrow prompts a blush from her though, and she quickly hides her face in her
mug of hot chocolate.

“Jason?” Because despite being in class, I’ve never actually paid enough attention to the boy
- because who else could Sarah be talking about? I always thought his name was Todd. Mrs.
Ramirez calls him that.

Gasps - and this time I roll my eyes.

“You don’t even remember Jason? You had the biggest crush on him! Everyone knew about it
- even Jason knew about it! You had the class photo and only had him displayed on your
wall!”

And wow, isn’t that embarrassing.

“Who’s Jason?”

“Oh please!” Emma’s the one to speak now, “Don’t think we haven’t noticed those notes you
keep passing him!”

Crap. Well, I’m not about to correct them about the notes .

“Oh, that’s who he is? I thought he was called Todd.”

Emma and Sarah burst into giggles, and I drink some more hot chocolate, because crap.

“His name’s Jason Todd, you silly goose.”

Oh. Cool, I guess. He has two first names?

“Anyway, has he written back?” Emma seems to just be struggling to contain her enthusiasm.

“No.” I shake my head. I hope not. I’m not even really writing anything, and I hope he
doesn’t realize it’s me.

“But, it’s Jason!”

I shrug.

“You’ve had a crush on him since the third grade!”

Wow. These girls are really invested. I actually feel embarrassed for the old Annie.

“Can’t we just do each others nails and call it a night?” That’s what ten year olds do at
sleepovers, right?

Sarah and Emma don’t look like they want to let the conversation drop, but I’m studiously
avoiding their eyes as I get the nail polish, acetone, and nail supplies from the bathroom.

Because the conversation’s embarrassing, yeah, but beyond that - they’re talking about the
old Annie. And I’m not the old Annie. The old Annie is dead.

_____

My birthday is still in April, which is a bit of a relief. At least I won’t have to remember a
completely new birthday. But here’s the thing: my birthday’s in April. Meaning I’ve been
here a grand total of two months when Mrs. Simon decides to throw a birthday party at a
restaurant down the road.

And she invites the whole class.

Here’s the thing, though, out of my class of twenty, only nineteen show up - Jason’s missing.
There’s free food! Why would anyone not come to the party?

I’m quite miffed.

Emma and Sarah are in their own little world by the sweets table while I hang out with the
pizza bites with a couple of the boys from class that usually just ignore me - but they have
great taste .

They don’t really look like they want me here, but they get around it by speaking in Spanish.

Is it wrong that I’m just eavesdropping and not letting them know that I understand? I feel
like it is, but I don’t want to stop because this is great blackmail material, here.

One of them apparently likes one of my friends.

And yep, they’re glancing at me.

It feels awkward just standing here. I don’t know why Mrs. Simon threw this party in the first
place.

_____

Mrs. Simon goes back to work in May - she’s apparently a lawyer, which makes no sense to
me, because wasn’t her husband a mechanic? I think I remember her saying that. It all seems
suspect to me.

I don’t even know why she has to go back to work - I’ve seen the checks from Mr. Luthor in
the mail. He’s sending enough money for us to be very comfortable.

But I’m not about to bring that to her attention. If she wants to work, all the better.

I’m sitting at the dining room table when she mentions it through.

She’s packing my lunch as she talks.

“Mr. Falcone -” Fuck, I know that name, “has been great allowing me to take as much time
as necessary, but it’s time I went back to work.”

She must be taking my silence as encouragement.

Fuck, Mrs. Simon - mom - is involved in the Italian Mob.

_____

My first year of elementary school ends with not much fanfare, and I’m left wondering
what’s the point of me even being here. What cruel higher power would send me here (to
Gotham of all places)? I can’t do anything - and even if I could, I would probably just hide in
a corner. Because I’m not a hero.
I don’t know why anyone would want to be - it just leads to disaster in this world.

_____

AN: This is not going to be completely canon - because what even is canon? With the
infinite Earths - it’s hard to even keep it straight. If something doesn’t add up - that’s
my excuse. This is also mostly an exercise for me - I wanted to try my hand at
first person present tense (because I usually write third person past tense).

Thanks for all the comments!

 Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Middle School (Gotham City Middle School, it’s like I can’t get away from the fictional
references that remind me I’m not from this world) begins much the same as that last year of
elementary school. In other words, it’s beyond boring but leaves me with jitters the whole
while.

But I guess I brought it on myself - I could have jumped straight to High School.

Emma and Sarah stick by my side, dragging me from class to class, but more than ever, I feel
like the third wheel. They are getting more and more energetic about boys and shoes and I’m
honestly just there . My classmates change (except for Emma and Sarah, they somehow end
up in all my classes) and I don’t care enough to keep track of them, not in the way Emma and
Sarah do with their diagram on which of the cutest guys are in which homeroom.

They make sure to point out that Jason’s in our homeroom, English, and lunch to me. Which
is thoughtful, if a bit ridiculous. We’re not even in the same friend group - we stick to
opposite ends of the classroom, which while fine by me, makes it a little difficult to stick my
routine lunch money to him.

I may or may not have utilized Emma and Sarah’s diagram to figure out that he has math
after I do - in the same seat - in order to leave my lunch money (either under the seat, taped
under the desk, or left haphazardly on the floor - though that method is the most noticeable
and I try to stick to the other two).

I’m not sure if he’s noticed yet, but I hope not.

Beyond the banality of school, news at home and on the the TV about the Batman and Robin
is pretty big too - they’re apparently a big pain in my mother’s butt, because he keeps trying
to put Mr. Falcone out of business and behind bars - or at least out of Gotham. I look up
Bruce Wayne once at the library, and he apparently has a ward - Dick Grayson, and boy did I
snicker at that name - that I assume is Robin. And I mean it’s nice to know that they prowl
around Gotham looking for trouble. I’m certain it’s not enough, though.

But it’s because of all the publicity on the Batman and the Boy Wonder that mom - she’s
graduated to mom in my head (she’s part of the mob, and if I know anything about the mob,
it’s that family comes first, so mom it is) - keeps telling me to get home before dark. I’m not
really all that good at that. It gets darker a lot sooner than I’m used to, especially with autumn
coming and Gotham being much further north than anyplace I’ve ever lived.

Which brings me to the first Saturday of the school year. Mom’s in a mad dash to get to the
office - that’s where she’s been spending the majority of her time since she went back to
working her day job - and she’s trying to shovel the toast that I made. For me.
But it’s okay. I grew up with two siblings. I know how to share. Doesn’t mean I won’t use
that to my advantage.

“So,” I make sure to make my voice as leading as possible by taking my time with that word,
“you’re eating my breakfast.”

Mom looks startled, looks down at the toast guiltily and keeps eating. That’s okay, I can
continue. Even if that toast is mine and I really want to eat it.

“When are you coming home -” I ask as mom chugs down a glass of orange juice to chase
down the toast - my toast .

“No idea, honey. Everything’s so busy, and -”

“Because since it looks like you’re going to be working weekends -”

“And Mr. Falcone really needs all hands on deck -”

“And since all my homework’s done -”

“And honey, do you think there’s any chance that -”

“I was wondering if I could learn mixed martial arts.”

Silence.

Huh, I guess she was listening after all. I almost couldn’t tell.

“Honey,” she begins hesitantly, but I interrupt - because I have this all planned out. I take out
the chart of expenses that we made and income I’d guesstimated from the few checks I’d
slyly taken a peek at last April. This might have been in the works for a while . . .

“This is what we absolutely have to spend every month, and this is what Mr. Luthor sends.
With your day job, the martial arts classes would only account for a tenth of the remaining
surplus!”

Mom looks surprised and almost scared, and her eyes are darting around the room.

“We’ll talk about it when I get home tonight.”

“But-” even as I try to interrupt, she looks angry.

“Annie! Tonight.”

And because mom looks stressed and panicked I stop and just watch as she rushes out the
door to get to work. That whole day, left on my own, I decide to look up some youtube
videos for cardio and yoga (because I remember that from before . Because I want this. I
want this a lot.)
I’m not looking for a fight, but this is Gotham . Fights usually find everyone , right? I’d
rather not die again. So I square my shoulders and straighten up before keeping myself busy
until mom gets home.

That evening the front door opens with a “Honey, I’m home!” and with mom looking beyond
stressed. I almost hesitate in bringing up our earlier conversation.

But then I remember that it’s Gotham and that I really don’t want to die - I want to have at
least a fighting chance.

“Hey.”

Mom’s putting her coat in the closet as I approach.

“So, about those less-”

“Annie.” She’s got a hard set to her lips and she’s not even looking at me, she’s just getting
her coat situated on the hanger.

“I’ve thought about it!” I insist, even as her eyes narrow and she turns to look at me, “It’s not
like I want to join the military or the Gotham City Police! I just want to learn how to defend
myself. I’m not the best at getting home by dark, you know that.”

Mom sighs, looking down as she moves to brush past me into the house, purse in hand and
she goes to sit at the table - right where I’d left my chart of expenses.

She’s really making me nervous, as I watch her scrutinize the expenses, and then she sighs
and I tense.

What’s she going to say? Will I have to go behind her back? Learn from anyone willing to
teach me?

“I need you to stay away from Mr. Luthor. Don’t bring attention to yourself. Don’t even look
him up.”

Ok. She’s starting to freak me out. Why on Earth not?

Mom strides right up to me, taking me by the shoulders, and looking straight into my eyes -
and crap she looks really serious. Does she also know he’s a super villain?

“If you can do that, I’ll let you take those classes. But don’t tell anyone. Don’t bring attention
to yourself. Just . . . Please. I - I can’t lose you too, and you just need to stay away from Mr.
Luthor.”

And then she looks down. I guess cause she can’t look me in the eyes. Why on earth would
my learning martial arts make anyone suspect something nefarious. And why would Lex
Luthor care - I mean, I’m just someone he failed to kill, right? I mean, I know he’s a super
villain and all, but it’s not like I’m a super too…
I feel like I need to reassure her that my ambition lies in being unnoticeable, but I instead go
with “It’s not like I want to be the next batman or batgirl or whatever.” I reply, averting my
eyes, just so mom understands that I really don’t want to be a hero - like it’s not even a dream
that you know isn’t going to happen. “I just want to be able to fight back in the very likely
event that I need to.”

She breathes out heavily before nodding and turning to the kitchen. Looks like she’s going to
cook dinner.

So, I guess that means yes?

_____

The weekend passes quickly after that (Sunday is really all that is left, and my bout of yoga
and cardio took time away from my studying) and before I know it, I am back at school.

Because of course I won’t start right away with the martial arts. But, at least I get a promise
out of mom for next Saturday.

So, with that in mind, I hike up my backpack a little more and exit the car, eager to get to
class as fast as possible.

This is not helped when I see him , though. I think I freeze for a solid five seconds before I
duck my head and rush over to Emma and Sarah.

It’s not my fault though! It’s the first time this year I’ve seen him (I don’t need to see him to
know his schedule, that’s what Sarah and Emma are for), and the summer’s been good to
him.

Jason’s pretty great eye candy for a twelve year old (Sarah and Emma informed me way back
when that he’s the oldest in our class even though his birthday is in August; he started school
late, or something). Which is terrible. Not only because thinking he’s cute feels weird in my
head - and what’s wrong with me? He’s twelve and I-I’m eleven but also twenty? - but
because it means he’s a distraction. I really should be paying attention to what Emma is
saying, but I can’t even seem to care all that much.

And is he staring at me? I think he’s staring at me. Damn.

“Are you even listening?”

No not really, something about the English project? I snap back at attention, turning to face
Sarah.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you.” Lies, I maybe heard one word of what she said but I fake it and
head towards the school entrance, not even bothering to look and make sure that they’re
looking - Jason’s probably still there staring a hole into my back - and instead call out over
my shoulder, “Anyway we’re going to be late.”

I really need a distraction.

Nothing happens all day - except I swear that Jason’s somewhere and staring at me. I’m
getting weird chills on my back and I swear my eyes meet Jason’s at some point in the
cafeteria.

It is a terrifying second - but hey! He’s eating a school lunch, so at least I know he’s getting
food now. Food. Crap I only have five minutes left of lunch.

I try to ignore him as I shovel the food in my mouth.

The day doesn’t drag on per se . But I’m definitely grateful when school ends and I get home,
spend an hour on homework that’s much too easy and eat a couple snacks before mom gets
home.

I’m munching on an apple when I hear the jiggling of the key in the lock.

“Honey?”

I quickly try to swallow the apple, nearly choking in the process, and respond, “In here.”

Mom’s head peeks out from around the corner and she’s frowning. In her hands is a stack of
brochures for what I can only assume is for my Martial Arts classes. I smile a little and she
tries to smile back, but I can tell she’s not very enthusiastic about this.

“We’ll probably only have time to try one,” she begins, handing me the brochures. I can’t
help but wonder how she got them all so quickly, even as I browse through them.

“That’s okay. As long as it’s the right one, that doesn’t matter.”

Chewing on my lip helps me think and I eliminate a couple of the places because they focus
so much on competition. I don’t want to compete. I just want to know how to survive.

Mom’s looking at it over my shoulder, and it’s seriously bothering me.

“How about this one?” she asks pointing it out.

It’s a small MMA Gym just down the road and while it doesn’t look the most welcoming for
a family, seems to have a pretty competent teacher - he has several certifications.

I turn to look at mom. “This one looks promising.”

She smiles weakly at me, and I can’t help feeling a stab of guilt. She reminds me of my mom
from before who didn’t want me to join the Navy or FBI or whatever, but that insisted I learn
to defend myself if I was going to insist on trying. Not that I was tall enough to join the Navy,
or old enough to join the FBI, but still.

Anyway, that was before I died - while still a normal civilian. I’m not running to join the FBI
anytime soon.

“Thanks, mom,” I tell her, and she stares at me for a good long while before she smiles and
pecks a kiss on the side of my head.
“Get some sleep, Annie. You’re going to need it.”

_____

And boy do I need it.

The first few weeks of sixth grade don’t really bother me much. It’s the exercise I do at ‘the
dojo from hell’ that really gets to me. Throw homework, a project, or a test at me, and I’m
fine.

But throw physical exertion on Annie Simon’s body, a body that has been in a coma for a
year and then followed it with minimal exertion for six months and does not do too much
strenuous exercise? After a full day of that on the second weekend of the school year and I’m
ready to die. I get home and don’t even bother thinking about food. Blasphemous, I know.

It’s clear it’s bad when I can’t even think of food.

Instead I just plop down on my bed and pass out.

And the next morning, I really don’t want to wake up, even as mom shakes my shoulder. It’s
Sunday again, and we have to go to mass. (I really don’t know how to feel about this seeing
as I was protestant, even though it’s been months and it’s not terribly different, I just don’t
like praying to the Virgin Mary and why does any of it matter anyway when this is what
happens when you die?! ) But mom has pancakes ready for me to eat, so it’s not a total waste
of a morning.

And after that weekend from hell, the subsequent workouts don’t hurt nearly as much, even
though I go and practice everyday after school. I learn lots of ways how to get away from
psychos. I bring up S.I.N.G. (sternum, in-step, nose, groin) and my teacher thinks it is
hilarious, but tells me I can’t just rely on that because it only really works sometimes.
Instead, he teaches me how to takedown someone that’s bigger than me, focusing more on
Krav Maga than anything else, because I’m so short.

And so I go to school, and nothing really happens - thank goodness! I go to learn how to
defend myself, and am tired at the end of the day, but satisfied. I don’t ever forget about food
again after that first time either - which is definitely a plus!

And so September comes and goes, and before I know it everyone’s talking about Halloween
- even the kids at the dojo.

I decide right off that bat that Trick or Treating is a terrible idea. Especially in Gotham.

Mom has a costume that I can’t come up with a good enough reason not to wear, except that
it’s seriously overused, in my opinion, but she insists it was really difficult for her to get, and
she was inspired by my martial arts lessons. And while I love the costume as it’s seriously
good quality and looks badass, the fact of the matter is that it’s a batgirl costume.

When mom gave it to me, she said, “Now, I don’t like those bats, but they do have style. So,
here you go. Hang out with your friends, but come back before it gets too late. Most of the
criminals in this city stay off the streets on Halloween, okay, honey, but that doesn’t mean
you shouldn’t be home after seven tonight. And stay close to the chaparones!”

I personally want to get home before five, but hey. Whatever. And what on Earth does she
mean by chaperones?

I also don’t really want to get mistaken for batgirl, but it’s my only costume at this point and I
really want candy. Even though it’s trick or treating in Gotham and pretty much definitely not
a good idea.

Except it’s free candy.

So, I get dressed - can’t even recognize myself, at least Annie Simon has always been a
carbon copy of the old me, but I have never dressed like a bat - and head out the house with
plastic batarangs and a mask. I think I really spook Sarah and Emma (a witch and a fairy,
respectively) because when I get to their door, they literally scream. But it could just as easily
be squealing, so who knows.

“Come on !”

We stop by a couple of stores, and that’s when Sarah does it.

She’s apparently catches sight of a bunch of kids from school and I’d ignore her squealing
except she mentions ‘Wayne Manor.’

“-and Mr. Wayne’s butler always gives the best candy! It’s not even that far away, you
know?”

Actually it is. I know it is, Sarah knows it is, everyone knows how far away Wayne Manor is.
This is a terrible idea. I’m surrounded by idiots. We’re going to miss out on candy and
chocolate on the off-chance that Wayne Manor’s Halloween treats will offset it?

But then I think about it, and can’t help but salivate at the thought of the candy - if Bruce
Wayne has candy for Halloween, then I bet it’s good candy. It has to be. And I can blend in
with the class. In fact it will look suspicious if I don’t go. Right?

At least, that’s what I tell myself as I climb into the school bus, to Wayne Manor - this has
apparently been in the works for a while, and see? You all know it’s far away - and stare out
the window as Gotham disappears in a blur of lights. I even forget that I’m wearing a batgirl
costume, and don’t even think about it until the door is opened and the butler - and wow,
that’s Alfred, isn’t it? - opens the door and raises an eyebrow at us.

“Trick or Treat!” everyone yells except for me. I just try to shrink because there he is - the
butler of the billionaire that copes with his parent’s deaths by dressing up like a flying mouse
and beats up criminals.

“Oh? And what group is this?”

“Gotham City Middle School!” exclaims Sarah, but I’m not paying too much attention,
because we can see into the manor, and there’s a boy not too much older than us - maybe
fifteen? - who is running down the staircase and looks disappointed to see us, as if he is
expecting someone else. His eyes pass over me, and I almost relax, except they rush right
back and I wince, ducking my head and reminding myself to thank mom for the mask.

I try not to let it get to me, when I get the biggest snickers bar I’ve ever seen and everyone
else is stuck with, while nice sizable candy bars, nothing to be compared to mine.

I whisper a thank you to the butler and follow the class back to bus. I try not to think about
what Robin is thinking and freak out just a little bit - because that was Robin , it has to be)
and what on Earth was I thinking? Out of the corner of my eyes, I’m almost distracted
because I think I see Jason in the crowd - is he dressed like Superman? That’s precious - but
he’s not even sparing me a glance, and I don’t think he recognizes me either. And shoot, get it
together, woman.

The whole bus ride Sarah and Emma gush about their candy, and I try not to freak out,
because that was Robin and somehow I’m still alive and the world hasn’t ended.

“Hey, batgirl!”

I wince because that’s me, right now . . .

“Where’d you get the outfit?”

I turn to look at who’s talking and immediately have trouble breathing, because it’s Jason -
Superman Jason, but definitely Jason. He’s actually talking to me. Even Emma and Sarah
shut up at this point.

“Ummm . . .”

“Looks good.” And he winks with a smirk.

Fuck. I don’t have a crush on him. I don’t. Even if he has a pretty face. I’m not Annie ! I’m
not really eleven, am I? Am I? What the fuck is wrong with me? Why am I blushing?! He’s
twelve and I’m - I’m - I don’t even know how old I am anymore.

He sits down in his seat, even as Sarah and Emma begin squealing and I’m left to sink into
my seat and question what I’m even doing with my life.

_____

I don't even know how this chapter got so big - it was supposed to be about this long
and span her whole 6th grade year. . . but oh well, I guess... Thanks for all the
comments - everything has a reason, but the explanations are going to have to wait a
few (I was planning on kind of explaining with this chapter and then this chapter got
too long . . .

Anyway, hope you enjoyed. It's been two weeks, and I was staring at this chapter feeling
it wasn't quite right, but I thought, screw it, and posted.

Shout out to Snickie, my wonderful beta/best friend.

Chapter 4 is already in the works.

-GlidingOne
 Chapter 4

Chapter Four

When I get back to school after Halloween - the day after, it was supposed to be mom’s
birthday, I just want to go back home - classes continue, and as it’s already a few days into
November, decorations for Thanksgiving are everywhere. Still, everyone knows the real
holiday everyone’s waiting for is Christmas - my first in Gotham, this isn’t right, I just want
to go home! - And it’s just around the corner. Me, I love all holidays because - food , all the
food. I plan on baking all the pies with the woman I call mom, now.

Something new about living in Gotham, is the Thanksgiving Day Parade put on by Wayne
Enterprises. They have a Batman on it, a few floats before Santa. I try not to snicker too
much at that, because my teacher’s speaking - even if she’s talking about the parade - but by
the looks she keeps throwing me, I don’t think I really succeed.

Teachers are all bearing down on schoolwork and with about a month and a half left of
classes, there’s nothing to do but suffer through the work. Or fail. That’s always an option.

English Class has just been a slew of essays and reading assignments. Math has been beyond
simple. History is only a little mind boggling because we’re focusing on global history, and
while the American Revolution is still the same, as well as most of the country’s history -
names I expect like New York and Los Angeles don’t play as big a role. Instead it’s Gotham
and Star City.

And don’t even get me started on science class. I think Mrs. Carter has a crush on Superman
or something - I mean, I’d get it if it was Captain America, especially considering her name,
but come on...

At least music isn’t any different, and math at least makes sense, even if it’s twice as
obnoxious with my teacher insisting I should try getting into the more advanced classes. I
despise math, even if I’m good at simple algebra.

Sarah says it’s not fair - how can I know all the things I know when I was basically dead to
the world for a year. Then I think Sarah realizes what she just says, because Emma just gives
her a hard look, and she shuts up.

It’s hard having people walk on eggshells around you. Though I guess, I can relate to them.
I’ve basically been doing the same around Jason.

Jason, by the way, is a broody little shit (a pretty broody little shit, but a broody little shit
none the less) and I’m pretty sure he despises me. I don’t think he realizes I was the one
under the mask on Halloween because he doesn’t talk to me, but I swear I can feel his glare
on my back. The only thing even remotely that redeems him, really, is that he really loves his
parents. He doesn’t have the most glowing of reviews for them (his mom’s apparently a drug
addict and his dad’s a petty criminal - his dad was apparently in jail the whole time I was in a
coma and is apparently a deadbeat dad at this point), but then if someone says something
remotely bad about them, he beats them up.

Which gets him into a boatload of trouble. But I admire that about Jason. Because he’ll get in
trouble for parents he thinks could do better. He’s still (barely) eating lunch. I never see his
parents pick him up or drop him off, and he doesn’t hang out with a lot of the other kids. I’m
pretty sure Johnny, his ‘best friend’ is a low-key drug dealer.

He also looks way too skinny, despite the times that I’ve seen him eating. Something’s up
with him, I can tell.

He’s not the only one in school that has a bad home life, mind you. About half the school has
trouble with getting school supplies even if Jason’s got it particularly hard. Downtown
Gotham’s School zone encompasses Crime Alley, after all. So, the school’s an interesting mix
of the lower and middle classes.

I don’t mind. I’d grown up with Public School before.

I still can’t stand school at this point, though, and it’s a long six weeks until Christmas break.

_____

“What’s this?” I ask as I pull the last present from under the tree. Which is weird, because I
was under the impression that mom would only give me one present, and she doesn’t seem
like the type that would encourage Santa Claus’ existence to an eleven year old. But there’s
one more gift left under the tree after we’ve exchanged presents.

Christmas break has arrived much faster than I expected, and while our house isn’t decked
out like a Christmas store, it still has a lovely nativity scene and Christmas Tree. And it
smells like Pumpkin Pie. Which in my opinion, is more of a plus than anything else.

But this present is out of place. It doesn’t look anything like the one’s mom hid under the
tree. Whereas all the other presents have dancing snowmen, this one’s wrapping paper is a
solid gold color. And none of mom’s gifts had a ribbon on them.

And this one does.

As I’m observing all this, I don’t even notice mom’s face paling.

There’s a card folded up, and even as I reach to open it up, mom grabs my hand.

“Annie, where did you get that?”

“What do you mean? It was under the tree with all the other presents.”

Mom honestly looks terrified as she pulls her hands back and allows me to open the card and
I honestly almost drop the present like a hot potato when I read the name on it - Lex Luthor.

What the fucking hell?

“Why can’t he leave us alone now?” I hear mom mutter, but I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed
to hear her.

Instead, with my throat all closed up - because fuck, I got a christmas present from Lex
Luthor, what even is my life? - I rip open the gift. It’s not small, but it’s not large either.
Maybe the size of my hand.

But inside is a watch. Which I know I’ll never ever use because it’s way too big for my wrist
and definitely not my style. I like things to be simple, not this . . . flashy thing.

I look up at mom, who really looks so upset, and ask her, “Mom, why is Lex Luthor sending
me a Christmas present? I’ve never even met the guy. . .”

Mom definitely looks spooked, but when she looks me in the eye to answer, there’s also a
hardness to her eyes.

“Don’t worry about it - throw it down the drain, don’t even look at it -”

She’s interrupted by a knock on the door, and even as she frowns, gets up, and looks through
the peephole, I can feel my heart start to race in my chest.

“Mr. Richards?”

Who’s that?

And right there at my front door is a tall, brown haired man with a receding hairline and a
smile on his face. It doesn’t sit well with me.

“Mrs. Simon. You haven’t been returning my calls.”

“And you thought that was an invitation to visit?”

Wow, mom can be sassy! But the man at the door just chuckles.

“I’m just checking in on my client’s investment.”

Investment, what investment?

“We’re fine. We don’t need anything now, thank you.”

And just as mom goes to shut the door, Mr. Richards blocks her, keeping it open.

“I’ve noticed you haven’t been cashing the checks anymore.”

Mom swallows.

“Is there a reason for this, or are you trying to build up a case against my client. Remember
that you signed the NDA.”

I know that acronym! I think even as my heart kind of stops. Mom signed a non-disclosure
agreement? She works for the mob . Just what the fuck would she need a NDA for?
Mom looks angry for a moment before she looks down, and nods. “I understand. I’m not
planning to take any legal action. But she’s just a child. I don’t understand what more you or
your client could possibly want from her.”

“She’s an investment. An experiment if you will,” And then he looks over at me - holy crap,
he’s looking me straight in the eyes - and he smirks, “and my client is eager to see the
progress she’s making.”

Mom looks terrified.

“You’re both invited to -”

“No thank you.” Mom interrupts. “We appreciate the offer, but we really have all these plans
and they can’t be changed. Perhaps next time.”

Mom’s face is cold and unmoving.

“Well, it’s an open invitation, for as long as little Annie would like. Mr. Luthor would really
appreciate it if you joined him in Metropolis for his New Year’s Party. This year and any that
follow.”

Well. Fuck.

“Yes. We understand.Thank you. We have all these people to visit, however. Merry
Christmas. Goodbye.”

She shuts the door, and this time he lets her.

“Mom.”

She really doesn’t look like she wants to answer my questions, so for once I do her a favor,
and back down.

“Emma and Sarah are waiting for us to meet them at the movies this afternoon. Shouldn’t we
get to eating breakfast so we can get there in time to get the good seats? I mean, it’s a
matinee, but it’s also Christmas. . . ”

Emma and Sarah did no such thing, but mom seems to understand. And if that lawyer is out
there listening, then all the better.

She nods and heads to the kitchen, and I follow, abandoning my present from Mr. Luthor.

I don’t bother paying attention to the movie all that much. I think I watched it before all this.
Mom watches, but I can tell she’s not paying attention either.

Christmas in Gotham isn’t all that great, I decide as I go to sleep that night.

Despite mom’s assurances to Mr. Richards that we have plans, we spend New Years at home.
I don’t mind all that much. I’m a homebody. But I can tell mom’s just itching to get outside
and socialize.
Instead, she goes a bit overboard on the New Years meals. She’s a little perplexed that I don’t
want to eat pork (it had been a habit in the before, because I’d been allergic to that particular
food item, and I didn’t like pork all that much anyway) so instead she makes fish - salmon,
and because I had that every year for New years in the before as well, I decide Mrs. Simon is
definitely like my mom in the before and I think I can handle her being my mom here. She
spends the whole day cooking, and I bake bread, cookies, and brownies But it’s a subdued
atmosphere.

I think mom expects another knock on our apartment door, because she jumps at the slightest
noises our neighbors make.

I’ve never hated living in an apartment complex more.

_____

School comes back as normal in January, and I can’t help but sigh in relief. As much as I’d
been looking forward to break, I am ready for a distraction from how unreal my life actually
is. I’ll even take the grumbling of Jason as he pushes past me in the halls over the possibility,
or the stress of the possibility, of meeting Lex Luthor.

My fear of Lex Luthor probably doesn’t make much sense to most people, unless they
attribute it to the fact that he basically killed my dad, and almost killed me. But all things
considered, Lex Luthor’s public image is not too terrible. I mean, he’s known as a vicious
businessman, but the most successful businessmen usually are.

I guess Superman hasn’t outed him yet? It’s weird, knowing intellectually that he’s a terrible
person, but all around you, no one knows. I mean, back in the before, everyone knew Lex
Luthor was bad news.

And here, Lex Luthor is basically Metropolis’s version of Bruce Wayne - even though there’s
so much more to Bruce Wayne than meets the eye, and Lex Luthor is in all actuality nothing
like Bruce Wayne.

Except for mom, I’m mostly an anomaly. Mom seems to have a healthy dosage of fear for
Lex Luthor.

So, I go back to school relieved, because I don’t want to think about Lex Luthor and his
stupid New Year’s Party. I’m way too stressed out with worrying about Gotham’s problems,
I don’t need to add Metropolis’s villains to my radar. And worrying about grades is such a
normal thing, that I don’t even care at this point anymore.

Emma and Sarah seem to notice something’s up, if only because they stop trying to get me to
talk about anything except school. I still sit with them, but I’m more a fly on the wall - which
is all I’ve wanted since I arrived in this city.

Mom’s newfound terror about Lex Luthor also has an unintended consequence.

“What do you mean?”

“Things are going to be a little tight now. So I’m going to need you to pick - either Lunch
money or your lunchbox.”

I’m not sure I’m exactly hearing mom right.

“Umm . . . okay?”

“So, which one are we going with?”

Neither, really. I love food. But, if I don’t have lunch money, then what’ll happen to Jason.

“Lunch box?”

My mouth moves faster than my brain in that moment and shit. I can’t take that back. Crap
crap crap. What am I even supposed to do at this point.

But mom smiles, looking relieved, and I’m pretty sure I know why - making lunch at home is
cheaper than buying it from school.

Fuck.

I get very little sleep that night.

_____

I hide behind Emma and Sarah that day as I enter the cafeteria, and yet I can still see him -
Jason - sitting there looking confused and with no food in front of him. It makes me feel
guilty as I eat my sandwich. Here I am eating and he’s got nothing.

I try not to look at him too much, but my eyes keep involuntarily glancing at him. My food
feels like ash in my mouth, even as my stomach growls and twists in pain. I can’t bring
myself to eat much and it just ends up back in my lunch box.

I soon regret this, though, as I go through the rest of my classes that day. The lack of food is
horrible. My stomach keeps reminding me I didn’t eat all my meal, and it’s just sitting in my
backpack.

It occurs to me Jason must be in even more pain. He has nothing to eat, after all.

The next morning, mom’s running late - something about one of her meetings being moved
up - and so she throws a couple one dollar bills at me as I’m exiting the car to school.

I go through my same routine, covering the wad of bills under an old take home notes paper
under the chair. And as I’m leaving the classroom to go to Phys Ed I freeze up, because fuck.
I almost ran into him. He gives me this look and I almost can’t even breathe. My whole throat
chokes up.

So I bow my head, and move to the side to let him in, running away once he’s through and
not looking back.
I’m still hungry that afternoon - like ridiculously hungry, maybe even hangry. And I
definitely almost faint on my way home - I end up skipping the MMA gym in the meantime.
I can’t for the life of me figure out why I’m feeling so weak - it’s just a couple of hours
without food, I eat a decent enough breakfast.

I don’t understand it, but I’m not about to stop. I’d rather not feel guilty. I can’t have my cake
and eat it too, but I can certainly give it to someone else in the meantime.

_____

I live for the weekends. Mom makes sure I eat tons of protein and now those are the only
days I go to the gym. The only downside is that all anyone’s talking about is the upcoming
competition in Metropolis. So I try to ignore them. I’m trying to keep a low profile, and after
Christmas and what with what that guy - Mr. Richards - said, heading to Metropolis would
just bring me unwanted attention.

So I go to the gym, even though I’m only helping others prepare for the competition.

And I eat all the food, because my body is seriously protesting my self imposed fast during
random school days - only when mom’s running so late that she hasn’t made my lunch.
Sometimes, I’m the one eating, and sometimes I’m not, which is fine by me. I prefer the
hunger to the horrible guilt I get when I see Jason not eating.

And that’s how most of the months following Christmas and New Years (January, February
and March) go.

_____

I first meet Mr. Falcone during Easter Mass at church shortly after I turn twelve. And I don’t
freak out.

Who’s freaking out?

Not me.

It’s not like he’s the head of a crime syndicate or anything (I’m totally freaking out).

It’s not even like I approach him in the first place. Mass is over, and everyone is heading
home. And me, stupid me, I’m still hanging out with mom instead of going over to Emma
and Sarah and just listening to them babble on about how they can’t wait for Summer
vacation to start, even though Spring break is only now ending, and we didn’t even do
anything special.

Nope. I stick to mom like glue, and this man, he’s kind of intimidating looking, comes over,
bodyguards all around him.

He’s got this expression on his face that’s super calm and kind of terrifying in a Michael
Keaton kind of way - you know, he was absolutely terrifying in Spiderman Homecoming
when he was just being himself.
And this guy’s got the same vibe going for him.

“Mary, good to see you out and about.”

“Yes, well . . .”

I don’t actually know who he is, at this point, so I’m not quite freaking out yet.

“And is this Annie? It’s been so long. As a matter of fact, I don’t think I’ve seen you since
you were six years old.”

That certainly explains why I don’t remember him. At all. He’s acting like a benevolent uncle
you can’t really remember but that you know is probably a total creep (was I the only one
who had that? No? Awesome) . . . he’s giving me all sorts of nostalgic vibes that I would've
done very well without.

“I’m sorry, she doesn’t remember much, Mr. Falcone, not after the accident” mom apologizes
- and wait.

What?

Hold up. This is Mr. Falcone?

Why is he here? Are they going to kill someone? This was supposed to be one of the best
holidays of the year! It’s not high profile enough that Luthor would bother us, but it’s high
profile enough that mom would spend the day with me and I get a few days off from school.
And yet there he is - this mobster - also celebrating with my family.

Or rather, mom and I join in the Falcone Family Easter celebration and I find myself sitting at
the dining table in Mr. Falcone’s house with his family, and a couple of other lawyers and
what I assume are members of ‘The Family.’

It’s very weird. He has a wife, two sons, and a daughter - Louisa, Alberto, Mario, and Sophia,
and they’re all sitting around the table, smiling at my mom and I. There are some really
creepy guys with guns - I can see them holstered - standing behind us, but mom seems
unconcerned.

And I‘m definitely not freaking out. Not me. Nope.

It’s when Mr. Falcone puts his fork and knife down when his plate’s almost done and folds
his hands in front of him that I begin my freak out, because he’s looking straight at me.

“So, Annie. Your mom tells me you’re doing well in school.”

I nod because I feel a lump in my throat and know any attempt at speech will sound choked.

“You know, I went to Public School back in the day, my father thought it would be good for
me. Sophia, Mario, and Alfredo I sent to Private Schools, of course, but I mentioned once
when you were first born that it was in large part to my public school education that I became
so successful. Your father was in the room, and I guess he took that to heart. But, tell me.
What do you think about public school?”

What? He wants me to talk about - and crap that actually makes tons of sense, why I’m in
Public School - except not at all - what was Mr. Simon thinking?! Did he think it would
impress Mr. Falcone or something?

“It’s public…”

And yep, they’re all laughing at my answer, but I had to say something. They were all staring
at me expectantly and I had honestly no idea what to say! It seemed as good a response as
any, even as I feel mom elbow me in the side.

“I mean, I like all my classmates, and the classes are pretty interesting. . .”

By the time I finish my sentence, the lump is back in my throat and I’m feeling all sorts of
embarrassed as I continue the meal paid for with the money from the mob - and fuck it, I’m a
black hole for food, I honestly don’t really care how they paid for this meal.

It’s only as I’m lying in my bed that night that it occurs to me that I might owe Mr. Falcone a
thank you. It would have probably been a bit harder to keep a low profile if I had been in a
private school. But public school in Gotham? Well, it’s a dangerous city. If one day I just
disappear, decide I will take my chances alone on the road, nobody would bat an eye because
that sort of thing happens often in Gotham.

Lots of people disappear without a trace.

And while I hope that day never comes for me, it’s nice knowing I have access to an escape
plan.

_____

The school year ends calmly, even if I am feeling lightheaded more and more these days. I
finish exams and come home with straight A’s. I can tell this stresses mom out, but I can’t
bring myself to botch my tests and chances at college. I want a degree again, dammit.

I comfort myself with the little fact that even though Lex Luthor and Carmine Falcone know
who I am, I can still fade into obscurity. I’m young enough to get people to lose interest and
I’m really good at looking the other way when it comes to the more questionably legal things
that mom does.

I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy for me, though. After all, how could I have
known what mom had done to save my life. I was doomed long before I ever woke up from
that coma.

_____
 Chapter 5

Chapter Five

For summer vacation, when I’m not at the MMA Gym, I follow mom around her office and
organize her filing cabinet. It’s busy work, but it’s better than doing nothing at home. It’s not
like I have access to anything really important.

I learn a lot about what mom does that summer.

Mom is Mr. Falcone’s legal counsel, but she’s not as important as she used to be (i.e. before I
was in the coma). While she definitely does important work, she doesn’t deal with the most
sensitive things anymore. She says she can’t risk it anymore because she has to worry about
me now, and that Mr. Falcone understands.

I’m not sure he does, but whatever.

With summer comes longer daylight hours, which makes this part of the year slightly more
safe than others - but let’s be realistic, it’s Gotham. Safe isn’t exactly an adjective often
associated with the city, even with the caped billionaire jumping from rooftop to rooftop in
some bizarre kind of parkour.

So when mom asks me to grab some takeout from the sandwich shop down the street, I figure
I’m safe enough with the sun up high in the sky. I couldn’t have been more wrong, because of
course Murphy’s Law has to rear its ugly head.

To be fair, it all seems to be going well going well until I leave the sandwich shop on my way
back to the office. Stupid me declines an escort back.

“Are you sure, little girl? We don’t mind.”

Except it is an extra fee, and I’m honestly so tired of extra fees here in Gotham. It makes only
the rich safe, and even then, not completely (seeing as the Waynes, you know . . . died).

So I leave the restaurant with my hands full (so stupid) and looking like easy prey.

And that’s how they find me. Even though it’s broad daylight, and I think I’m safe, they still
come after me. Because I’m young and look gullible.

“Hey, little girl, what have you there?”

I’m not stupid enough to be in an alley, or anything. But they still call out to me from behind.
I tell myself I shouldn’t be so paranoid. They might just be a good samaritan, and even
though they appear to be thugs, doesn’t mean I should profile them as such. I can’t shake off
the feeling of paranoia though, and I hunch my shoulders, duck my head, and walk a little
faster.

“Hey, we’re talking to you!”

And I’m ignoring them. Because I’m good at that.

Someone’s in front of me now, blocking my path, and I try to sidestep, but he just follows.
Fair enough. It’s happened to me plenty. Maybe he’s trying to be polite by stepping out of my
path. So I attempt to go to the other side, but again, he has followed me. He makes to
anticipate my trying the other side again, but stops, because I’ve stopped. And now I know,
he wasn’t just trying to be polite.

And fuck, this is a worse feeling than meeting the Falcone family. At least they don’t wish
me harm - I don’t think. Why do my hands have to be full?

“Hey, little girl.” They’re touching my hair, they’re reaching for my shoulder, fuck. “What’s
your name.”

“Lucy.”

Yeah, give them a fake name, it’s not like I really respond to Annie very well anyway.

“Okay, Lucy, how old are you?”

Twelve, you fucking pedophile. Leave me the fuck alone.

Thank God, I’m not stupid enough to say that to his face.

Instead I don’t say anything. He has the fake name already - I can feel my skin crawling
already.

He grabs my shoulder and shoves me into the alley - stupid stupid stupid, why couldn’t I just
stay away from the alley? - and then I don’t know what happens or why, but as they’re
closing in on me, my entire body tenses, and all the guys around me get pushed back by . . .
something, some kind of wave of . . . I don’t even know what it is. And I’m not freaking out.
Who’s freaking out?

Because what just happened, that was . . . not normal. And definitely not from me. I can’t be
a meta . This is Gotham . Not Central City. There is absolutely no fucking reason I should
have been able to do that. That can’t be me.

The men are on the ground right now, but they’re already starting to get up, and barring my
lack of judgement when I left the sandwich shop, I’m not stupid. And so I run. I run as
quickly as I possibly can back to mom’s office, for some reason dizzy, and I sink into the
ground.

“Sweetie, what’s the matter?”

She doesn’t even look up from the document she’s examining - her glasses already slipping
down the bridge of her nose - a testament to how long she’s been staring at papers this
evening.

And I really don’t want to bother her with whatever this is that just happened. Because I
couldn’t have done that. Impossible. Not me.
“I don’t think I should go out on my own to get the sandwiches anymore.”

“Hmmm?” She almost looks up.

“There were some really creepy guys on the street today. I don’t think I should go to get
sandwiches on my own anymore.”

She looks up this time, taking off her glasses, and gives me a hard look until she finally
replies, “Alright.”

It takes me a while to gather the strength to get up and move - all the strength in my body
seems to have been drained out of me and I only begin to feel better after I eat the sandwich I
brought back with me.

_____

Following that harrowing encounter, and trying desperately to ignore the nausea I feel
whenever I remember that moment when my body tensed and I could feel some kind of
crawling under my skin just before whatever happened happened , I return to school. News is
everywhere about Robin moving to Bludhaven - the Teen Titans, oh my God, I missed that
show, except it’s not a show, it’s real. The Teen Titans are going to be real, the Justice League
is definitely real, and what on earth did I do to deserve living in this ridiculously dangerous
place?

How is this my life?

Somehow, I find a normal in the weeks that begin my next school year.

Seventh grade goes much the way of sixth grade. Annie Simon is top of her class - I’m such a
fraud - and is often thought of as the teacher’s pet, which okay, fair, but at the same time is
very offensive. I don’t go out of my way to get the teachers anything special for the start of
the school year, and it’s not as if I do a lot of extra credit.

I just really want to go to Gotham University. I’ve already started doing research on
Universities and looked into Dual Enrollment (also at Gotham U) - it’s the best way to get
back to what I’d been doing in the before - languages, all the languages.

It’s not even like I want to do exactly what I’d done before, that would be stupid - my former
career dream was way too high profile, I just want to go back to studying what I’d studied.

Regardless, I study in class, without raising my head from my book and hide behind Emma
and Sarah as we walk down the halls. I try not to think of that afternoon this past summer.

And life moves on. I think mom can sense that something’s different about me, but she
doesn’t say anything about it. And I don’t volunteer any information (I’m good at that).

I continue hiding the money (I have to resort to hiding the money I get when mom forgets to
make food in his backpack during Spanish class - it’s not like I need to pay attention; I was
fluent in Spanish).
I continue to get good grades.

And I think mom continues to stress about Lex Luthor.

_____

I do nothing on Halloween this year. Mom has a new costume - Catwoman, but I guess she
takes one look at my face and puts it away. To be fair, it’s actually a really nice costume- not
too shiny, and maybe if I actually wanted to celebrate Halloween, that would be fine and I’d
be all over it. Except it reminds me too much of that day in the alley, and when Jason called
me Batgirl last Halloween, and I just can’t deal with that at this point.

So I stay home this Halloween and watch the old Halloween classics with mom (some of
them I consider classics, but apparently they’re new?) and eat the candy meant for the trick or
treaters.

We save enough candy and chocolate though, and there aren’t that many trick or treaters. . .

And then school until Thanksgiving is a bit of a joke because the teachers are teaching me
things I already know and the students are already getting anxious for the end of the school
year (I remember it being worse in college though, because they got out a whole week
earlier).

I eat tons at Thanksgiving this year, and mom really outdoes herself, with the turkey spread.
It’s shortly after the feast, as I am lying in bed doing my science homework - why does my
teacher have to be so obsessed with the kryptonians? It’s supposed to be basic seventh grade
physics, not geek class - that the pictures hanging on my wall all shake and a small vertical
crack appears on the wall.

I’m not panicking. Who’s panicking?

_____

My first real interaction with Jason happens just as school is released for the holidays. It’s
been almost a year since I’ve stopped eating as regularly as before - and when I eat at home, I
really eat - and I suppose he’s finally had enough of my attempts to make sure he gets
something because he actually pulls me into the janitor’s closet. And of course since
everyone is eager to get home, Emma and Sarah included, I’m left confused and alone with a
boy - an honestly very good looking boy - in a closet.

A closet that actually smells really terrible. This is supposed to house the supplies they use to
clean the school? Why in the name of chocolate would they use something that smells so
horrible to clean this place?

My nose crinkles, and I think Jason takes that to mean I don’t like him. Crap. Because that’s
not it at all. Don’t scowl at me, please?

“It smells.”

Whew. The frown is gone - he’s actually blinking at me owlishly. Fantastic.

But no. He’s shaking his head and scowling at me again.

“What’s your deal?”

Deal? No deal? I don’t make deals. I don’t know what you’re talking about.

“Why am I in a broom closet?”

“I know it’s been you. You’ve been the one leaving your lunch money in my bag and under
my chair. Why? Is it because you like me or something?”

He looks so offended, especially when I snort by accident, and he grabs my arm in a tight
grip as I attempt to leave.

I tense, and almost freak out - thinking something’s going to happen - but then my stomach
growls and we both look down at my stomach. And I relax - no tingling, no burst of
whatever.

What the actual fuck?

Jason shakes his head and gets, if possible, more upset. “Why are you doing it? Why would
you give up your lunch for me.”

And I sigh, because he's obviously not going to let this go.

“Look, you’re an obnoxious person and you don’t like people.” And the scowl's back. "And I
get that, people can be annoying, I don’t pity you or like you or anything. We’re just . . .
We’re kids. And kids should have balanced meals. Kids shouldn’t go home hungry. And it
sucks that you do - don’t even deny it, I’ve seen you not eating - and if there’s something I
can do . . . Even if you are obnoxious and rude...”

He’s looking at me as if he’s never seen me before.

“You’re a fucking idealist.”

That’s not true. I’m not helping the world - and I definitely don’t want to be known as that.
That’s like suicide in Gotham.

“Gotham eats people like you alive.”

And you know what? Fuck that. I yank my arm out of his grip - he seems surprised, as if he
hadn’t realized he was still holding onto my arm - and just as I go to open the door, I stop.

“Gotham’s going to have to try really hard, then.”

Even as I leave, though, I can’t figure out why something didn’t happen. It’s the first time
since it’s started that it’s stopped before it’s begun. It makes no sense and keeps me awake all
night.

_____
This Christmas Eve, mom and I get invited to Mr. Falcone’s Annual Christmas Party, and like
any good employee, mom’s thrilled to go, at least until we actually get there.

Mom is all smiles, for once, dressed in one of her favorite dresses and with makeup that is on
point - she even offered to do my makeup, and I was not about to refuse. Everything seems to
be going well, until mom makes it to the living room where everyone is congregating -
including, for some unknown, ridiculous reason a bald guy I recognize from internet searches
- Lex Luthor. And then mom freezes, gripping her champagne flute as if it is going to break.

“Mr. Luthor.” Mom plasters a smile right back onto her face, but she’s not fooling me.

I saw the panic in her eyes a few seconds ago.

“Mary! So good to see you! And Annie - you’ve certainly grown up quite a bit.”

His smile is creepy, I decide.

“Who are you?” I ask, just to get on his nerves - and yup, his smile looks way too plastered
on his face to be genuine.

“My name is Lex Luthor, little lady, and you - well you are practically family. Did your
mother tell you -”

“You’re the reason I was in a coma for nine months.”

He looks so annoyed that I have to hold back my laughter, but then mom interrupts me with
her voice strained and I turn to look at her.

“Annie, we need to say hello to our hosts.”

Right. The Mob Boss. He’s the reason we’re here, after all.

“Absolutely! Do you think Miss Sophia is here?”

I kind of like Sophia Falcone, after all.

“Yes! Allow me to assist,” Mr. Luthor interrupts, and leads both my mother and I to Sophia.

“Oh, Annie! How are you? How are classes.”

Something’s up, with Sophia though, I can tell. She and mom seem to be having a silent
conversation, and mom seems to be getting icier with each passing moment, and is that Lex
Luthor’s hand on my shoulder? I try to shrug it off, but he only grips more tightly.

“It’s fine. It’s school.”

Luthor squeezes my shoulder once more, “Oh I’ve seen her grades, they’re perfect.”

Because that’s not creepy at all, but I just say thanks and look to my mom, saying, “I’m going
to go find the restroom,” because it’s the only thing I can think of to get rid of the creepy
stalker. He can’t follow me to the bathroom without looking like a pedofile, and even if he
has no problem with everyone thinking he’s a creep, no one can fault me for wanting to get
away. It’s foolproof.

And he does remove his hand from my shoulder, at last, and I scurry away to the lavish
restroom in the family home of the Falcones.

Even as I stare at myself in the mirror, leaning over the sink and trying to calm my racing
heart, I can’t help but try to think of ways I can avoid this. I even contemplate escaping
through the window, but I know I can’t - it’ll look weird. What would mom even be able to
tell everyone - Oh, she’s just scared of crowds and is using her Houdini act as a coping
mechanism. Yeah, that’ll go real well with the mobsters.

So instead I square my shoulders and head back to the Christmas party.

Luthor’s right by the door when I leave.

“Miss. Simon, Annie, I wanted to speak to you for a moment. Without your mother.”

Yep. Creepy uncle vibe.

“Ok.”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you, and I want you to know, I practically consider you my
daughter -” oh don’t make me laugh, “So I wanted to know what your thoughts would be
regarding moving to Metropolis.”

Nope. No thanks. Not going to happen.

Only I can’t say that to him, that would be rude . . .

“Gotham’s . . . Gotham’s in my blood. I can’t leave Gotham. It’s my home.”

I really try my best to look confused and like a kid. It may or may not have worked.

“I understand, Annie. But it’s something to keep in mind for the future. Metropolis
University is a great school, after all. And I’m quite invested in your future.”

I bet you are.

For the rest of the evening, Lex Luthor insists on staying near mom and me - it’s honestly
terrifying, because no matter where I look, he’s there. The Falcones have to have designed
the meeting - because there’s assigned seating, and Lex Luthor right in front of me.

When mom and I get home at one in the morning, she locks herself up in her room and
doesn’t even look at me. I’m stuck washing the makeup off my face and getting into bed on
my own.

And the next day, when I wake up, it’s Christmas morning and most of the apartment is
packed up. Mom says we’re moving and she’s going to get another job - a job far away from
the Falcones and far away from Lex Luthor.

_____

It’s hard, moving. I mean, I have experience with it, from the before, but it’s different in
Gotham. Maybe it’s because I know mom’s doing it to get away from Luthor. Maybe it’s
because it’s Gotham. Maybe it’s because it’s just the two of us.

But, it’s hard saying goodbye to this apartment.

I haven’t told mom about the conversation between me and Luthor just outside the restroom
at the Falcone home. I’m not sure telling her would be wise, anyway, especially when I get a
good look at the apartment mom found in the Narrows.

“It’s not the best, but until I can sell the condo, it’ll be the best we can do for now.”

She manages to get a pretty decent job as a paralegal (she’s way over qualified) at the Center
for the Less Fortunate run by Wayne Enterprises (why am I not surprised) and I still get to go
to the same school - which, fun.

Except it’s not so great because with the new apartment, I have to find a way through the
mess, because mom’s so busy with work that she doesn’t even have time to put our stuff
away, to do my homework.

I get it. We need to get away from Luthor, and mom is banking on the fact that Gotham is
huge, and doesn’t bother to tell the new school our new address - after all, we still own the
condo.

But, I’m practically swimming in boxes and that’s not cool.

School itself is still the same at least - I go to class, do my homework, go home . . . but I can
tell Jason is there is the background trying to figure me out. I have so much on my plate right
now that I can’t handle it. I can’t try to figure out how his head works especially with all the
crap I have to deal with right now.

_____

Valentine’s Day was a horrible idea. I spent the weekend before it at my mom’s new office
because we had nothing better to do, and she sent me to the bank (you know, it’s one of those
branches that stays open until around noon) and I should have just stayed hidden under the
desk when the guns went off. But I didn’t - stupid, stupid, stupid .

See I was feeling like I finally had these these ‘powers’ down - as if I could control it,
especially after that confrontation with Jason where I didn’t throw him back. But I’d had
lunch that day, because it’s the weekend and mom makes sure I eat tons over the weekend.
And these maniacs were just shooting up the bank, trying to scare everyone, and I’d just
wanted to get back to mom and food.

And I don’t even want to think about how it happened. But one second the men are waving
their guns and shooting and the next, everyone - literally everyone including clerks and
visitors, is pushed back onto their backs, or fronts, except me. I fall back in surprise, hitting
my head on the desk and everyone is groaning, then I run out of the bank with my hands held
up.

This can’t be happening, it really can’t.

I hope no one saw that. . .

Behind me, I can hear the other hostages running after me, and somehow the GCPD is
already in front of us as we exit. And as I rush into the crowd of policemen, the robbers start
yelling and arguing inside the building.

No one says anything about what happens. We give our testimonies to the police, but no one
can decide what actually happened.

I hear one of the witnesses insist one of us must be a meta, and I know the police took all our
names and noted I was the first one out.

But, no one could really explain what happened, and the robbers were locked up, so the
police didn’t really care.

Still, I’m totally freaked out.

What if they find me? What if Luthor finds out? What if Batman finds out?

So I head back to mom’s office and hope no one looks too deep into the twelve year old girl
that ran out of the bank first.

_____

I don’t tell mom about the attack when I get back to the office, but somehow, she seems to
know - must have been the news reports. Even people at school seem to know, and for some
crazy, insane reason, I get Valentine’s gifts from some of the boys in school. They apparently
think I’m a badass from the news report.

I ignore them and try to blend in even more among my friends, throwing myself into the
MMA classes and generally keeping my head down.

The teachers seem to know. Everyone seems to be walking on eggshells with me. Except then
Mrs. Simon doesn’t.

Mrs. Simon asks me if something is wrong and I finally break down and tell her everything,
from those times in the alleys, to that time in the janitor’s closet at school, to the bank. I even
tell her about the other person in my head telling me this is all fiction, that Gotham shouldn’t
exist.

I tell her I’m not her Annie.

And then she tells me.

It was stupid to think I could ever blend in and be a nobody. I’m not even certain I was ever
mean to survive. I failed at blending in and being a wallflower the second I woke up.

_____

So you are all aware, I am sick today but I still updated.

 Mary Simon's Interlude

Chapter Six - Mary Simon’s Interlude

On the night her world ended, her sleep shouldn’t have been interrupted. Her husband knew
that she had an important case in the morning. So, when the phone rang at midnight, Mary
Simon was irate. At first, she ignored it out of principle. She was awake, but everyone knew
she had an important case in the morning for her main client, Mr. Falcone. Batman, and his
trusty sidekick Robin, had brought enough evidence to give her a headache.

Mary Simon was certain she’d be fine, though, if she could just get some sleep.

But the phone didn’t seem to want to listen. It was at the third attempt by the caller to reach
her - and oh? They even left voicemails, just in case? Maybe this was important - that she
answered.

“Hello?” she snapped, because important the call may be, but it was still late at night, and the
people that knew her best knew not to call her this late.

“Mrs. Simon? Mary Simon?”

“Yes,” she rolled her eyes, even if the caller could not see her.

“Mrs. Simon, this is Detective Sanchez of the GCPD.”

Oh hell no.

“Look, I understand that the Gotham City Police Department wants to win the case against
Mr. Falcone, but this is harassment. I have to be in court in the morning!”

She almost hung up, except Detective Sanchez quickly spit out, “I'm calling about your
husband and daughter!” before Mrs. Simon could slam the receiver down, and Mrs. Simon
paused, pressing her ear into the phone just a bit harder.

“What?”

“You’re needed at Gotham General, Mrs. Simon. There’s been an accident.”

_____

It shouldn’t have happened. Her family was going through enough grief - it was the reason
her husband and daughter had been on the road to begin with. And yet, on that night, Mary
Simon lost her world. Her husband’s mother had just died and the two - father and daughter -
had been in Metropolis for the funeral. They were supposed to be coming home that evening,
or rather early in the morning, and the only reason Mrs. Simon was not with them was
because she’d had that court appearance in the morning. Mrs. Simon was a lawyer in Gotham
city for some of the worst people. But it paid well enough and it allowed her husband to
indulge in his love of cars by managing some of the chop shops for her clients, the main one
of course being Mr. Falcone.

None of which mattered on the night when her world fell apart. Her clients were sympathetic
enough to let her continue to receive her paycheck for little to no work, at least for the first
month, and the judge postponed the court date due to the ‘unforeseen tragedy.’ She had to
hand off the case to a friend though.

Some of her clients even offered to off the drunk driver, until they found out who it was.

Lex Luthor, the billionaire philanthropist, had spent a night in Gotham and was heading home
drunk. As the GCPD Detective - Detective Sanchez - explained, Luthor had been the first one
to be treated, because they’d thought the little girl and her father in the front were dead, but
knew for a fact Mr. Luthor wasn’t - he’d been the one to call the ambulance.

They were wrong, but their delay cost her daughter - Annie was pronounced brain dead that
evening by the time Mary reached Gotham General.

And so Mrs. Simon had become a widow at the tender age of twenty eight, her nine year old
daughter was in a coma, and she had no one else in her life to support her in this terrible time.

She cried. She yelled at the hospital staff. And when the rich man’s lawyer came in - Mr.
Richards - she yelled at him too. Because she was one of the best lawyers and Gotham and
hell would freeze over before she let that sleazy billionaire off.

“Mrs. Simon, I understand that this is upsetting.”

“Upsetting? You don’t know the meaning of that word!”

“But, your husband was also swerving in the road, as evidenced by the way that his car
collided with my client's.”

“This is bullshit. You’re trying to put the blame on my dead husband ?”

She wasn’t being able to think rationally. She was so angry. She knew she should get a
lawyer that could detach themselves from her situation.

“However, my client is willing to reach a settlement. Based on my research, your insurance

will not cover your daughter should you decide to keep her on life support indefinitely.”

Mary stayed silent because he was not wrong and she was so angry.

“Mr. Luthor is willing to pay all medical bills, provide any medical assistance, and provide a
monthly stipend for your daughter should she ever recover. In return, no press. No one knows
of this. No word is spoken.”

Mary couldn’t believe her ears. Because no. She couldn’t lose her daughter but - but her
husband. Could she let it go and not demand everything of Mr. Luthor and more? Mary
Simon was a lawyer. She knew that the fact that they were even offering this - it could be
brought up later if she took them to court.
She wasn’t stupid. She understood. She still told him to politely fuck off.

He left, but not before leaving his business card and telling her to contact him when she was
ready to talk.

_____

At her daughter’s bedside, Mary cried.

She ignored the first notices from the health insurance company. She cashed in her husband’s
life insurance. She paid off the condo. And she hoped. After two months, with no charges
being brought by the corrupt GCPD and the DA’s office that was all too happy to go against
the mob lawyer, Mary was left with a mountain of hospital bills and no job. ‘The family’ was
forgiving but she was doing nothing for them for a solid two months and they figured she
ought to just move on with her life.

And then came the notice from the hospital staff while she was at her daughter’s bedside.

“Mrs. Simon? We need to talk.”

Mary did not want to leave her daughter’s side, but she still got up and followed the frowning
nurse.

She didn’t like the expression on the nurse’s face.

“I need you to sign some papers. I’m afraid your insurance has declined your claim. Unless
you can pay the bill, we’re going to have to start procedures to -”

“No. Please. I can-” but she couldn’t because she wasn’t making the same kind of money she
was making before.

“We can send her to a more economic hospital, that’s our only other option. We can’t treat
Annie, Mrs. Simon. There’s nothing to be done except wait and hope. But the longer she’s in
the coma, the less likely it is that she’ll come out of it.”

Mrs. Simon knew it was bullshit. She knew Lex Luthor had been pulling strings. But still, she
did the only thing she could.

Hell froze over. She pulled out the business card and dialed.

The next few months were agonizing, because still nothing could be done for her daughter
and her husband was still dead. But at least she wasn’t completely alone, and she didn’t have
to worry about work anymore.

Mrs. Simon was a mess. She only functioned because her daughter was still hooked up to the
tubes.

Mr. Luthor paid her bills, he paid for her food, and he paid for her daughter to remain
somewhat alive.
_____

And then, one day - ten months after the ‘accident’ - Mr. Luthor came to her daughter’s
hospital room and asked to speak to her.

He had an experimental drug. He wouldn’t say too much about it, but the scientists at
LexCorp believed there was a chance that this drug could cure her daughter. It was some kind
of gene therapy that mostly targeted the brain.

The only downside was the risk - her daughter could completely die from this.

In most universes, Annie Simon died in the car crash that killed her father - and there was no
hope for the machines to keep her up and running. Of the universes where she ended up in
the coma, fewer still had Mary Simon asking for help from Lex Luthor. The likelihood of the
drug existing in those few universes was minuscule. The success of the drug, mostly
impossible.

Except that in this one universe, it did work. Not completely, and not in the expected manner.
The drug rewrote most of Annie Simon’s memories, and buried the rest. The drug rewrote
some of her genes too. And the soul of Annie Simon, the poor little nine year old girl, died.
And so the drug, which was a drug developed using the DNA of an interdimensional being
that LexCorp had salvaged after one of the Justice League’s many fights, sought someone
else’s soul - a soul that had left its body much too soon, a soul compatible with the body of
Annie Simon.

In most universes, Annie Simon died and Mary Simon commited suicide soon after, which of
course, had been Lex Luthor’s plan - he was getting tired of paying her off.

In this universe, the minute Mary Simon injected the serum into her daughter’s IV tube,
Annie Simon’s body seized and she woke up for a minute in a panic, causing the nurses to
rush into the room. No one paid attention to the rattling of the machines and the paintings on
the wall as they shook, and Annie Simon was sedated for a day.

And the next day, Annie woke up for good, a little sluggish, and with no memory of her
mother - or anyone else in her life - but she was alive, and she was responsive.

And Mrs. Simon could ask for nothing more than that.

_____

Annie improved, becoming someone resembling her daughter, but that was leaps and bounds
smarter and a lot less carefree. Mary almost broke down at the differences because her sweet
little girl didn’t smile as much, and she couldn’t bring that smile back.

But Mary also lived in fear. When Mary Simon had first informed Lex Luthor that the serum
had worked, he hadn’t exactly been jumping for joy. He seemed surprised and almost
disappointed. Mary suspected he’d been hoping to kill her daughter with the serum, that was
one of the possibilities of it, after all.
So when Annie begged to be allowed to simply resume school instead of jumping ahead of
her classmates, Mary couldn’t say no. It would be better to hide anything that made Annie
different than to garner any more attention from the billionaire.

Mary hoped she and her daughter could just continue with their lives with no further
interference from Lex Luthor.

She cashed the checks, cooked, and cleaned, but something felt horribly wrong.

Mary felt like her daughter didn’t really come back to her.

_____

Annie finished elementary school without trouble, and it was around that time Mary decided
she should get back to work. While Lex Luthor was providing them with a stipend, Mary was
terrified he’d do something and immediately cut them off. Or worse, steal her daughter away
from her, saying she was unfit to provide for her daughter.

So she squared her shoulders and returned to work for Mr. Falcone. He didn’t immediately
want to take her back. He wanted assurances from her that she would not be quitting anytime
soon and that her connections with Luthor would not sour any relations he had with other
people of influence.

Mary Simon couldn’t honestly give him those assurances, but she said she could anyway. So
she stopped cashing the checks, she tried to stop any contact she might have with Luthor, and
she tried to move on with her life and her daughter.

Mrs. Simon was honestly relieved when Annie said she wanted to learn how to defend
herself. She knew Annie. Annie liked to hide. But Mary was also relieved that Annie
recognized the dangers that came with living in Gotham.

But, Mary was resistant at first. Mary Simon was the type of person that didn’t like to shake
things up, that did legal work for a mob boss, but did not carry her own gun. She understood
Gotham was dangerous, but was willing to make it work in her favor. She honestly had no
idea why Annie was insisting she wanted to learn how to fight.

And then Mary Simon had been at the bank later that morning and some absolute morons
decided to hold it up. And even though Mary Simon knew bank holdups were a lot more
common in Gotham than in, say, Metropolis. She knew standard civilian protocol was to not
shake things up, to hide, and hope for the best.

It killed her, especially when Bruce Wayne who was just leaving the bank when the whole
fiasco started, ended up saving the day - Bruce Wayne, the billionaire playboy Mary
absolutely despised.

And she felt so powerless.

So she went home that evening, looked long and hard at Annie’s brochures (she’d really put
so much thought into this), and thought about how useless she’d felt in that bank.
_____

When Mary first saw the gift from Lex Luthor in her daughter’s hands on Christmas
morning, she swore her heart was about to explode. Because this couldn’t be happening.
Why? How? What?

Would he not leave her alone now? She wasn’t cashing his checks. She was trying to live her
life. She was trying to move on, and he wasn’t letting her.

And then there was that knock on the door, and Mary had to go answer, and there was that
smug bastard - Mr. Richards.

She wished, for not the first time, that she had time to take those classes with Annie just so
she could punch that smug bastard in the face.

“Mrs. Simon. You haven’t been returning my calls.”

No shit.

“And you thought that was an invitation to visit?”

Mary really didn’t want Annie to be hearing this, but she was and Mary was feeling more and
more powerless by the minute. She hated this.

“I’m just checking in on my client’s investment.”

Mary was certain he was, the stalking bastard - couldn’t kill her daughter, so now he thinks
he owns her? “We’re fine. We don’t need anything now, thank you.”

“I’ve noticed you haven’t been cashing the checks anymore. Is there a reason for this, or are
you trying to build up a case against my client. Remember that you signed the NDA.”

And Mary was angry, because how could she not be. If Gotham were any less corrupt, she
wouldn’t have to try and build a case - Lex Luthor would have immediately been tried for
vehicular manslaughter. But Gotham was corrupt, so Mary looked down, and nodded. “I
understand. I’m not planning to take any legal action. But she’s just a child. I don’t
understand what more you or your client could possibly want from her.”

“She’s an investment. An experiment if you will.” And then Mr. Richard looked at Annie and
smirked. “And my client is eager to see the progress she’s making. You’re both invited to -”

“No thank you,” Mary interrupted. “We appreciate the offer, but we really have all these
plans and they can’t be changed. Perhaps next time.”

Because Mary was not about to let her daughter anywhere near that man.

“Well, it’s an open invitation, for as long as little Annie would like. Mr. Luthor would really
appreciate it if you joined him in Metropolis for his New Year’s Party. This year and any that
follow.”
Mary was already shutting the door in Mr. Richards face, even as she replied “Yes. We
understand.Thank you. We have all these people to visit, however. Merry Christmas.
Goodbye.”

She was never more thankful for the new Annie than when Annie suggested that her friends
were waiting at the movie theater. This Annie just seemed to understand there was more than
meets the eye with her situation, but understood it was better to not ask just then.

_____

Annie’s lunch habits were becoming harder and harder to support and Mary didn’t realize
why until a few days after she made Annie choose between take home lunch and lunch
money. Annie had been looking off ever since, but when Mary was running late that morning
and was unable to make lunch for once, just as she was dropping Annie off for school,
something in Annie’s eyes lit up. And when Mary followed her daughter’s gaze, she saw the
boy little five year old Annie had come home gushing about all those years ago.

He was cute, but he looked thin, hungry, and . . .

And Mary realized why Annie had needed all that lunch money and packed lunch in that
moment, as she watched her daughter leap out of the car and rush towards her friends.

Mary wasn’t sure she liked the look of that boy, but it was one of the first signs Mary had
seen of the old Annie in months - the Annie that definitely had a crush on the boy who had
stopped some of the other kids from being mean to her when she was five and looked like she
had more money than all of them combined.

So Mary made sure to forget to make lunch more, just to see the look on Annie’s face when
she left for school, and always made larger dinners on the days she did. Because it was a sign
the old Annie was still there - somewhere. And Mary needed that reminder.

_____

Easter that year was spent at the Falcone’s and Mary could not be more relieved, because she
could at least predict the Falcone Family. It was the perfect ending to an otherwise terrifying
school year.

And if Mary Simon got to brag about Annie’s grades, well . . . who could fault her for that?
For some reason, though, Annie seemed out of sorts at the Easter lunch and continued, that
whole summer, to act as if something was wrong - with Gotham, with Mary herself.

Mary couldn’t figure Annie out at all. Especially as school began that fall.

School began again for Annie, and things seemed to be going better. MMA lessons really
seemed to tire Annie out. Annie didn’t want to go trick-or-treating that October, either - even
though Mary had found such an excellent Catwoman costume. Mary thought it was almost a
shame to have to put it away, but wel . . . Annie hadn’t grown really almost at all since the
coma (maybe four inches) and so Mary figured the costume would keep.
And she figured, it wouldn’t hurt to keep Annie in the house more - fewer prying eyes, less
chance of Luthor getting his claws into her daughter . . .

And then the Christmas Party happened.

The Christmas Party Mr. Falcone was hosting was supposed to be fun.

Mary was supposed to be able to relax, like the Easter lunch. Except Lex Luthor was there,
meeting her daughter, and being much too close for comfort.

And as they sit at the table, Mary came to the terrifying conclusion that Mr. Falcone knew -
that he made it possible for Lex Luthor to be so close to her daughter.

So when she got home that night she started packing, and when Annie was asleep, she
continued to pack most of the rest of the house.

And the next morning they moved.

Mary quit her job with Mr. Falcone, because it was obvious he didn’t really care, and found
another lower paying job with the Wayne Industries sponsored Center for the Less Fortunate.

Mary was tired for working for the crooks of Gotham that just took advantage of everyone,
and stabbed her in the back anyways. She figured it was time for a change.

It made bills that much harder to pay, though, and Mary found she could begin to sympathise
with the vast majority of Gotham.

_____

Annie started to withdraw from her friends shortly after Valentine’s Day, two months before
she turned thirteen, and Mary didn’t really know what to do. She knew why - she’d seen the
news as it was happening, knowing she’d sent her daughter into that bank. But her daughter
made it out alive - Mary supposed those MMA classes were good for something.

But even as the days went on, Mary could tell just from looking at her daughter - Annie
seemed terrified that something was going to come after her.

On Annie’s thirteenth birthday, Mary decided enough was enough and asked her daughter
what was wrong. And that was when Mary found out her daughter was not who she thought
she was.

And even as Annie talked about the other person in her head, the other person that was never
her daughter, and knew things she had no business knowing, Mary decided she didn’t care.
Annie was still hers - still her baby. And she’d be damned if she let anyone hurt her.

She just hoped others didn’t realize how special Annie had become since she’d woken up
from that coma.

A sinking feeling told her Luthor already had and would stop at next to nothing to make sure
he had control over her daughter.
 Chapter 007

Chapter Seven

I don’t know what I was expecting when I told mom the truth, but having her hug me and
insist, even when I tell her I remember another mom, that she’s still my mom, is not it.

It’s nice, knowing that she still considers me her Annie.

And then she tells me everything. She goes through the whole story about her legal battles for
Mr. Falcone, how she thought the call from the police officer was just some kind of stunt to
make her lose the court battle. She tells me how when she arrived at the hospital, she was told
nothing could be done for me, and how Luthor was able to pay off all the officials to keep his
name out of the paper and the case out of the courts.

She tells me how he basically bribed her and then proceeded to use some kind of
experimental drug that she wasn’t even sure would work, but she was so desperate - and she
doesn’t even know what was in it, but it’s probably why I -

And she apologizes. She tells me it’s her fault I have powers and that I don’t remember her,
but that I can still be her Annie, if I want. That she doesn’t care if I’m a metahuman. She’ll
support me in whatever I want to do, whether it’s wear tights and save the world, or watch it
burn.

And that’s so comforting, I almost forget what she said about Luthor’s experimental drug.

And I don’t even bat an eye when she curses even worse than me as I tell her who Batman
really is - she can’t believe she works for Batman , now.

And so I’m . . . I’m Annie, I decide.

I’m all that Annie can be in this world. I’m the product of an experiment. Did I even really
exist before I was Annie? Maybe this is all in my head. Maybe there never were comics . . .

But I take mom up on her offer. I’m still her little Annie.

I stay at home that summer, trying to figure out what I can actually do with these ‘powers’
and isn’t that a terrible thought? Mom encourages it, even though it’s not even like I’m in a
city without its own resident superhero. Gotham has the bat - which apparently is taking on
more little boy wonders, if the news is to be believed.

News about Bruce Wayne adopting a kid off the streets of Gotham is everywhere.

I try not to pay too much attention, especially when the next school year starts (eighth grade,
wow does time fly).

I don’t have Jason in any of my classes for some strange reason, and Emma and Sarah are no
help. They just stare at me for a solid minute and then start giggling when I ask.
But I have too much homework this year to focus on what gossip Emma and Sarah have.

Before I know it, it’s Halloween, and while mom doesn’t try to get me any new outfits, I can
tell the new knowledge of my abilities makes her really want to try - I think she wants to
design something for me. And of course Emma and Sarah really want to go back to Wayne
manor - they try really hard to get me to budge, but nope. Not me. I don’t want to chance
meeting Batman or Robin - though I’m pretty sure he’s still off in Bludhaven or wherever.

Emma and Sarah give me an unimpressed look, but whatever.

And then somehow Christmas rears its head and Jason is still nowhere to be seen, but it’s
cool. I’m not panicking. Emma and Sarah don’t seem very worried, at least, and that’s good
enough for me.

It has to be.

_____

Christmas this year is much easier. With the new apartment, mom and I just open our presents
together in the kitchen, with no Christmas tree. It’s cool. There’s really no need, at this point.
It’s just the two of us, and mom’s well aware I’m not actually thirteen.

Or at least I don’t feel thirteen.

So we cook, we clean, we exchange gifts, and we enjoy hot chocolate and cookies while
watching some Christmas movies.

All in all, it’s the calmest Christmas I’ve had in Gotham ever.

I can’t help but feel like it’s too good to be true, that something bad is going to happen.
Maybe not today or this month, but soon.

It gets me to beg mom to go on a camping trip over the summer in a secluded area so I can
practice.

Amazingly enough, she agrees.

_____

I return to school with the promise of my summer camping trip to encourage me not to snap
at Emma or Sarah. It’s close though. Really close.

I think they realize it too, because they’ve stopped inviting me to the movies (not that I ever
went), to the parties (again, it’s not like I exemplify a party animal), and they’ve stopped
sitting with me at lunch (and fuck you too, Sarah and Emma. I didn’t want to sit with you in
the first place). It only hurts a little, I tell myself.

They were Annie-from-before’s friends. Not mine.

And it’s not even like they’re similar to mom, who accepted the new me too (and basically
sold her soul to the devil to bring me back).

So while I end the school year - I can’t believe I’m already fourteen - with little to no friends
- mostly acquaintances because I’m not completely emotionally stunted, I just really was
getting tired of Emma and Sarah’s obsessions with boys - and get ready to escape to the
wilderness.

And we do. We go to a nice camping ground in Maine for the Summer and we mostly just
hike and make smores. It’s nice.

Except then I go off on my own and try to control whatever it is that I did in that bank. And
in that alley. And what it was that I didn’t do in that broom closet (I’m so happy nothing
happened in that broom closet).

And it is one afternoon, in our three week trip, that I figure it out - the reason why I couldn’t
do anything in that broom closet.

I hadn’t eaten this morning, and I haven’t eaten this afternoon. I’m hungry, just sitting by that
lake, and trying to get something to happen - I know I can cause ripples in the water, or
completely knock over a tree if I try hard enough - but nothing happens, and I just keep
getting hungrier and hungrier, until the whole lake is quiet (not even the wind seems to be
doing anything to the surface).

And that’s when it hits me. I’m hungry. I’m always hungry, but some days it's worse.

So I eat a sandwich - that I have packed as a reward in case I get it down - and all of a
sudden, the lake is moving again and - crap.

There went the whole other shore of the lake.

And I’m tired. Should have brought more food.

_____

Somehow, mom brings me back to the campsite and I wake up sore and beyond hungry.

“You alright?”

“Hmmmm?” because I’m still not quite awake, and it hurts to think.

“You need food?” Mom seems way too fucking amused by this - but I don’t even care
anymore.

“Hmmm, food. Yes, food. Please, I’m dying.”

Mom just laughs and hands me a plate of fish.

And ugh, cooked fish is weird, and I’m sick of it - it’s all we’ve been eating for the past few
days, but I need food, and even though I’m tired of it, it smells divine, and my stomach is
grumbling.

I slowly lose the fog over my senses as I eat, and I look towards mom, who while amused,
also looks a bit worried.

“I figured it out.”

“What?” The worry’s still there, but she’s trying not to focus on it, I can tell.

“I figured it out - why nothing happened in the closet in seventh grade -” and wow, it’s
already been almost a year a half - “I hadn’t had lunch that day, and my stomach growled,
and . . . I think I need food to do it.”

Mom nods as if that makes sense, which no. It doesn’t not at all, why the fuck is she nodding.

“That explains your obsession with food.”

Did I not have one before? Because as far as I can remember, I’d always loved food - I didn’t
eat as much, but I always loved it . . .

Mom rubs her thighs, a tell-tale sign of nervousness. “I guess we’ll just have to make sure
you eat plenty. You really messed up that lakeshore, you know.”

And crap, how on Earth can we explain that?

“It’s probably best if we stay put though. If we leave, it’ll look suspicious. Just . . . try not to
destroy too many landscapes.”

Yeah, sure. As if I have control over this (not yet, but hopefully one day - we live in a big
city, after all).

_____

I start High School much too soon. Summer break was not nearly long enough, and I don’t
feel like I learned enough about my ‘powers.’ But whatever, I guess life has to go on
somehow.

I hate Science class, by the way. It’s just biology, but we’re not only studying Earth’s biology.
Mr. Matthews is a die hard Superman fan. As such, half the lectures come back to Kryptonian
physiology.

I’ve had about enough of this. Why doesn’t he just move to Metropolis? What the fuck is he
still doing in Gotham? He’s worse than Ms. Carter, at least she can say he has a pretty face -
she’s single. Mr. Matthews on the other hand? He’s married with three kids but still finds the
space in his rather disorganized classroom to dedicate a whole corner to Superman.

I mean, seriously. It’s embarrassing.

And he always seems to pick on me in class. It’s so frustrating.

Since it’s no longer just Elementary and Middle School level, I actually have to study now -
because it’s been way too long since I’ve gone over this stuff - but at the same time, I
remember it still.

It makes studying so boring, because everytime I think, “wait, I don’t remember this” about
five minutes later I realize, “nope. Still the same as before, I just forgot it for a hot second.”

Which absolutely sucks. Because I know the material, but if I don’t study, it won’t jog in this
stupid brain of mine.

I’m about ready to throw my textbooks out my window.

But I don’t. Because I still really want to go to college and Gotham University is hard as hell
to get into.

_____

I still hate Mr. Matthews, though.

_____

The end of October signifies Halloween again and while mom doesn’t get any costumes for
me, we do get candy - mostly snickers bars because snickers is life - just in case we get any
trick-or-treaters.

We watch movies, I do homework, mom reviews cases, and I make brownies at one point
because I get bored with biology and history.

History gives me the mother of all headaches with the Gotham, Metropolis, Central City, and
fictional cities garbage. But mom helps me understand, and now that she knows I’m . . .
different . . . my comments of “oh, so it’s like Chicago” don’t cause her to give me a
confused look.

She looks amused instead.

Which is annoying as hell, but whatever.

It’s around ten o’clock at night that there’s a knock on the door. Mom looks confused,
because we haven’t had a trick-or-treater in an hour and there’s no announcement that they’re
expecting candy. Me? I eat a brownie just in case and head to the door.

“Pizza delivery.”

We didn’t order any fucking pizza.

I’m also not about to check the peephole. I’ve seen too many movies where the idiot that
checks it gets shot and dies, and I’m not about that life.

So instead I wave at mom to hide and go to the side of the door, “We didn’t order pizza.”
“Seriously? Lady I’m going to get fired if I don’t deliver this.”

“We didn’t order any fucking pizza, who are you?”

Crap. I cursed out loud. Glancing at mom, she’s got this unimpressed expression on her face,
and I know I’m going to hear words later.

“I’m with Gotham City Pizzeria. Take Action. Fight Back. Eat Pizza . . .” And isn’t that a
ridiculous tagline?

“What’s the name on the order?”

“Annie Simon? Some dude called and made the order.”

Well. If he’s not going to leave . . . but I swear if he has a gun, I will blast his butt back so
fast . . .

So I open the door.

He’s just a guy with a really bad acne problem, and he’s blinking down at me, getting all red
in the face. And he does just have pizza.

“Uh, hi . . . I’m Tyler.” He’s opening and shutting his mouth now. “You - You’re - Hi-”

“How much?”

Because I really can’t deal with this - He’s - what? - sixteen years old? And, I mean
technically I’m fourteen, but he’s a pizza delivery guy . And yeah, I love my food, but I’m
way too in over my head to worry about how much this guy in front of me can’t string a full
sentence in front of me.

“Um . . . it was twenty dollars.”

“Here.” Mom’s snuck up behind me with two bills - a twenty and a five - and she grabs the
pizza, “Keep the change.” And shuts the door in his face.

Huh. Guess she didn’t like his ogling either. Cool

But, she’s just digging through the pizza box until she finds it - a slip of paper, saying,
“Enjoy, Luthor.”

And fuck. He found us again.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

_____

Mom doesn’t move us this time, but I can tell she’s more tense. I would be too, I mean,
Luthor obviously seems like he’s not going to let this go - which I think is real rich,
considering I’m pretty sure he was trying to kill me, not save me, when he gave mom the
serum - whatever it was.

But whatever.

I’m not bitter. I’m not bitter at all.

I go back to school with a bit of a chip on my shoulder and leftover pizza for lunch. Damn
Luthor. He sure knows how to pick good food . . .

I’m taking German as my language elective now - because I’ve had it up to here with
‘learning’ Spanish and I’m not about to see how bored I get with French. German’s the only
other option in this stupid school - and it was such a bad idea.

Why didn’t I just suck it up and continue with Spanish? German is so . . . So let’s be real. I
love languages - all languages. And my problem’s not actually with German. It’s with my
classmates. Since the beginning of the school year they’ve been nothing but a pain - making
fun of me for my “crush” on Jason - I swear it had to have been Emma and Sarah.

I don’t even get why they’re so fixated with him - he’s pulled a vanishing act after all.

As you can obviously tell, I don’t actually give a shit what they’re saying, it’s just really
annoying having to listen to it everyday in class and I’m seriously considering just testing out
of French and Spanish and seeing if they’ll take that as my language credit.

They probably won’t but I’m willing to try because the little shits that I have to be around are
annoying as fuck and won’t shut up.

_____

It was a stupid idea, going out in the middle of Christmas break, and I’d done well enough
avoiding trouble for the past two years. And then I had to go ahead and head out for food -
because I always need more food damnit.

Mom had suggested she go herself, but no.

I was feeling confident - I’d had plenty of food and hadn’t had any incidents that I couldn’t
control since September (it was one time and I was angry about Mr. Matthews’ superman
assignment so I’d accidentally vibrated the soup pot into dust, my bad) and I thought I’d be
okay going down two blocks to get chinese takeout. What was the worst that could happen?

Apparently, the two thug looking creeps didn’t get the memo and thought they’d have some
fun with the fourteen year old girl that was stupid enough to go out at eight in the evening
alone.

Bastards - I just wanted more food damnit.

So here I am, in an alley again, because when they first approached me, I at least thought to
run away (stupid, why’d I head to the alley, it was a fucking dead end). One of the creeps is
lanky, and he might have been good looking if it weren’t for the fact that his eyes are way too
sunken in and his teeth look like they’re rotting.

Don’t even get me started on the other guy - he is all that and worse.

And they’re smiling at me as they close in.

I raise my hands prepared to blast them - because what else can I do? I have bags of food
wrapped around my wrists - and they just laugh.

Well fuck you too.

And then before I can actually do anything, one of the guys gets a solid kick to the side of his
head by this red . . . and black . . . cape . . . thing . . . and crap. I think my heart just stopped
because that’s Robin and this is actually the first time I’ve ever seen him, and yep. There’s
Batman taking out the other guy.

Why couldn’t you show up before I actually could defend myself - say a few years ago?

This is so surreal - this is Batman and Robin. And there Batman goes pulling Robin back
from smashing the guy’s face in - wow, didn’t know he was so violent. I think I’m in shock.

“Robin! I told you to wait.”

Why the fuck would you wait?

“And watch them attack her?”

“Yeah, I’m with the Boy Wonder on this one, why the fuck would you do that?”

And fuck, they’re both staring at me - did I actually say that out loud?

“You know what, forget it. I’m tired, I knew this was a terrible idea, mom told me she could
get the food and I didn’t let her. I’ve learned my lesson. No going out at night. Got it.”

Robin looks like he’s about to say something - and I swear he looks familiar, but it’s too dark
to make any details out and despite what I would have thought, the domino mask actually
does hide a lot, what with this layer of white over his irises - but then he smirks, smiles a bit,
and - Did he wink at me? I think Robin just winked at me. Fuck.

“Be careful, yeah? This is Gotham, you don’t know what creeps are lurking about. Do you
need an escort home, Annie?”

Batman just elbowed Robin. And he knows my name. Fuck.

“Nope. Thanks. Bye.”

And this is so awkward, because Robin looks so confused about why I said no, and Batman is
giving me the side-eye and causing me to have a mini heart attack. This is . . . this is
terrifying walking just past them to get back to the street and out of this creepy alley.
The trip home is no less stressful, because I can see Robin and Batman on the rooftops just
following along.

And I’m definitely not calm in my own apartment , because what if they’re listening in?

“I’m home!”

“Oh, hey Annie, everything went fine?”

“Yup.” I debate telling her for about two seconds before, fuck it, “I met Batman.”

There goes my favorite mug.

“What?”

“Yeah, some guys thought it would be cool to mess me with me and Robin showed up first . .
. and then Batman . . . they saved the day.”

Mom looks stunned and she sits down on the couch looking as if she’s about to faint.

“They saved you?”

“Yeah.”

“Did they . . . know who you are.”

“Does it really matter?” Because yes, Robin most certainly knows my name and there’s
nothing I can do about it, so why should I bother mom with that knowledge?

“No . . .”

Mom still looks worried as we dig into the orange chicken.

_____

I go back to school after Christmas and I don’t obsess over Robin. I don’t. I don’t think about
his smile or the fact that he completely ignored Batman to save me.

I don’t.

Because I do not have a crush on Robin.

I’ve been telling myself this for a month solid, but it’s hard to believe when I’m a hair short
of digging through the internet looking up information on him - the new ward of Bruce
Wayne.

But I can’t. I can’t because somehow he knows my name - Robin knows my name - and this
isn’t the boy that I saw my first Halloween in Gotham, this is someone else. And fuck .

How? What? Why?

And why the fuck had Batman told him to wait? Wait for what?

I’m behind on homework for once, because of this. This isn’t healthy, obsessing over him.

So instead I have the worst semester ever - not grades wise. I still get my homework done in
time. But I’m pulling all nighters to get it done, and I’m about to collapse in exhaustion.
That’s how it goes, when I turn fifteen. Easter passes, with thankfully no more sightings of
Batman or Robin. But I can’t help but freak out, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And then, at the end of April, it does.

It’s a normal morning. I wake up really late - it’s the kind of late where you get suspicious
because of how much sleep you’re getting - and so I get out of bed and head to the kitchen
where mom is sipping a cup of coffee and staring at the newspaper with a sad expression on
her face.

I know something’s wrong because it’s a school day and it’s already ten o’clock in the
morning. Mom puts the newspaper down, and I see him on the front page - Jason - and it’s
saying he’s dead and that he was Bruce Wayne’s ward and . . .

Well that explains how he knew my name.

“I figured you’d want to stay home today, considering . . . you used to have a crush on him
before the coma, and I know . . . I know you tried to help him later . . .”

I can’t get his face out of my head. Jason - he was Robin - and he’s dead. Robin is dead?
Jason and Robin and - Jason saved me .

“Yeah.” I manage to breathe out as I make my way to mom and the newspaper.

I don’t even notice when mom brings me into a hug, I’m still staring at Jason’s face on the
front page.

It’s not fair, I decide in the days that follow. I’m alive, but I had already lived a longer life
than him, and Jason was - what? - fifteen? Why is he dead. This is so unfair. This has to have
had something to do with Bruce being Batman. This has to be about something else.

How can he be dead?

_____

Life goes on. I learn how not to badly injure someone with my sonic vibrations of doom, as I
start to call them.

I also don’t leave my mom’s office without her. Because this is Gotham, and I can at least
protect her, even if I can’t protect anyone else.

_____
A/N: At the beginning of this chapter, Annie is thirteen, by the end, she is fifteen and about to
start her second year of High School.
 Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Sophomore year begins with a much more subdued atmosphere than freshman year.
Everyone’s talking about how Jason died. Sarah and Emma almost look like they want to
speak to me, but they don’t.

Even Mr. Matthews - though thank God I don’t have him this year - doesn’t gush about
Superman as much.

I can’t help but be a little upset at everyone. None of them noticed Jason all that much before.
They all saw him as a troublemaker - even if his grades were practically perfect.

I’m pretty sure at one point he was buying drugs.

Honestly, it’s a wonder to me how he ever became Robin . . .

But now he’s gone and everyone’s acting like they were his friend. Jason didn’t have friends -
as sad as it is to say. He was a troubled kid, and a more troubled teen, but I think I kind of
saw him as my friend . . . in a way . . .

I’ve given up on German, this year, and switched to Spanish, because as much as my grades
for German were perfect, I know I can’t stand another second with those classmates of mine.

I hate this city, I hate these people, I wish Jason didn’t have to fucking die. He was a kid.
He’s more of a kid then I ever was! I don’t remember Robin ever dying! Did I make this
happen? Or did I just completely miss that when I was too busy reading about the Winter
Soldier and Captain America and fuck!

Why didn’t I read DC Comics?

Why did Jason die?

Even though logically I know I couldn’t have done anything, because how the hell was I
supposed to know I’d end up here, I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault.

So I return to school and like everyone I’m mildly depressed.

Science class this year - Chemistry - is run by Mr. Braxton. And lo and behold he’s a Batman
fan - thank God it’s not Superman, I don’t think I could take another year of that.

“Ms. Simon, are you paying attention?”

No.

“Yes.”
My mouth lies faster than my brain, apparently, cool.

“Then you can tell me what I just said.”

Crap, crap, crap - guess.

“Batman’s awesome?”

Oh, he’s glaring at me now. Fantastic. Should have just told the truth from the beginning.

“What specifically?”

Fuck. “I don’t remember, you were saying lots about him and . . .” I don’t exactly agree with
him right now anyway. Batman sucks. He let Jason die, after all - he’s on my shit list. “Aren’t
we supposed to be learning about Chemistry anyway?”

More glares. Great. Just what I need.

Except he doesn’t send me to the Principal's office (I don’t think that actually happens at this
age anymore anyway) I guess because he doesn’t want me to blab about him not teaching
Chemistry.

But, I swear, if I’m the only one who does well in this class, I will break something.

And is he still talking about Batman? What the actual fuck?

“Ms. Simon! Detention.”

Crap. Well fuck you too, Mr. Braxton.

It’s a long class, and I’m not even allowed to leave until he fills out the detention form and
gives me instructions - which of course makes me late to my next class. Which of course
gives me another detention.

Forget it - no fucks for you, Mr. Braxton - you don’t deserve it.

_____

Detention sucks. Like really. I didn’t know how much it would suck until I had it and it really
is worse than having a stomach bug. Don’t do it.

Avoid detention.

At all costs.

Because - of course - Mr. Matthews is in charge and waxing poetic about Superman. He even
throws in a couple of comments here and there about how if Superman were nearby, he
could’ve saved Jason.

It’s taking everything I have to not to break something. Like seriously - Gotham’s not even
on a fault line, but it’s a hair's breadth away from having the biggest earthquake. Ever.
“Ms. Simon, can you tell me what the source of Kryptonian superiority comes from?”

Why? Why me?

No, I don’t want to and he can’t make me. I try not to roll my eyes. I know it will only get me
into more trouble. “Is this really necessary?” I ask instead.

“Yes! This is Science!”

Bull. Shit.

“A yellow sun - that’s what gives Superman his strength.”

Because if I’ve heard it once, I’ve heard it a thousand times in Mr. Matthew’s class over the
past year.

“Correct, Ms. Simon! I don’t know why Mr. Braxton seemed so upset with you!”

I hear “teachers pet” behind me and try not to turn around.

Is it my fault his chair mysteriously slides backwards and drops the guy on his butt?

Well . . . yes, but there’s no proof so there - keep messing with me, buster, see where that gets
you.

_____

November is colder than usual this year, and the utility bill seems to have skyrocketed. I hate
this cold, it’s horrible. Mom is doing her best at the Center for the Less Fortunate, but she’s
on a salary, a small salary, but a salary, so there’s not much she can do to make more money.

I notice we’re still receiving Luthor’s checks, but we don’t cash them. I think mom has a
shredder here somewhere . . . I consider trying to get a job, because I’m almost old enough -
except there aren’t a lot of jobs in Gotham anyway. And even though mom is a lot more open
with me about our situation now that she knows I know , she still I think sees me as a child.
Which is kind of nice but at the same time, I don’t need this and she definitely doesn’t
deserve this after all the shit Luthor’s put her through.

We stop eating out so much, and I don’t really put up much of a fight about it because hey
I’m not giving my lunch away anymore, so it’s not even like the lunch money means
anything to me.

But I know I really need a job and so I start searching.

Unfortunately for me, the only jobs that are hiring are bartending jobs, and you have to be at
least eighteen for those. Not only that, but as a minor, I’m limited on how many hours I can
work and how late.

Which really sucks, because Gotham’s already not that friendly to children.
No wonder so many people turn to crime, and no wonder mom worked for the mob for so
long.

And of course, I’m doing all this behind mom’s back, so . . . I quit MMA classes. I’ve learned
tons, and it hurts to quit, because it’s become more of a hobby than anything else - and I can
do backflips, handstands, and I can beat people up without my powers .

But the gym’s expensive and there’s so much more that we can use that money for - like
food.

And thus ends my lessons in badassery.

_____

It’s Christmas Eve when I run into Batman again and I swear, I’m not doing this on purpose.
It’s just . . . this is Gotham, and I’m a girl, and crime seems to follow girls in this city way too
much.

Mom’s working late, and I figure - I’m fifteen years old; I’m badass; I don’t need anyone’s
help.

And I don’t - need anyone’s help, that is. But the thugs of the neighborhood don’t exactly
know that (and I guess since I’m so short they don’t think anything’s dangerous about me
either) and so when they corner me, I’m so over it (emotionally) that I just start spouting
nonsense.

See the thing was because mom was working late, and I was feeling confident on Christmas
eve, I decided to surprise mom with homemade spaghetti bolognese. I’d bundled up because
of the snow and the food was in a nice covered pyrex because I despise plastic. The only
downside was that I couldn’t easily put the food down when the two men in dire need of a
dental cleaning, braces, and a bath corner me with two really rusty looking guns.

“Really? Seriously? It’s Christmas Eve!” See? Nonsense.

“Hello, girlie, ready for some fun.”

“Not even in my worst nightmares.” I’m shaking my head, but he’s just smiling (gross) at me.
So nonsense doesn’t work - maybe complaining about the food? Also known as further
nonsensical bullshit? “You know, I worked really hard on this, this really sucks, couldn’t you
at least let me -”

“Go ahead and put it down, we’ve got time.”

Ugh. Just the thought . . . this guy really needs to see a dentist. And maybe get some
dentures, it’s that bad.

And then I don’t know why but Batman’s here stopping them, again . I guess he doesn’t need
Jason jumping the gun this time. Maybe it’s the food?
Huh. He’s really going at these thugs . . . and while they’re groaning and struggling to run
away, he turns to me.

“Where’s Robin.” I ask, before I can stop myself because a small part of me wants to hurt
Batman for not saving Jason - it’s the dark part of me that doesn’t care if the world burns as
long as those I love stay safe (which okay, means the world can’t really burn, but I don’t
really love anyone here except mom) . . .

And woah, I almost fall backwards because of this . . . body . . . in front of me - way too close
. I definitely take a step back and almost lose my footing because of it and crap - the food in
my arms is getting really heavy with the prolonged support.

And now the body in front of me is expecting a handshake.

“Nightwing, at your service!” He’s got a bright smile, and the mask - the mask with the color
of his eyes hidden - it’s so weird!

“Hi.”

He stares at me, limb still outstretched, and I stare back, while Batman just watches on.

After a solid ten seconds he lowers his arm and laughs awkwardly.

“Of course, your hands are full, how silly of me.”

“It’s Annie Simon, right?”

Batman knows my name. Batman knows my name . I’m not even going to try to deny it this
time - I’m totally freaking out.

“How the fuck do you know my name?”

“Woah! Language!”

I throw a glare at Nightwing before turning back to Batman.

“Your mother is a former employee of Carmine Falcone and currently works at the Wayne-
sponsored Center for the Less Fortunate.”

“So?” Because I call bullshit. Bruce Wayne does not know the names of all his employees,
and Batman has even less of a connection to “the Wayne-sponsored Center for the Less
Fortunate.”

“You were also in a coma for a year as the result of a car accident when you were eight years
old, the details of which were covered up, right?”

Fuck. He really does his research.

“And?”
“And,” Batman stops. He almost doesn’t say anything, but then he says, “Something
happened that made you wake up, right - from the coma? You would have been fine if
Nightwing and I hadn’t shown up, right? Like that time in the bank?”

Well . . . when all else fails, deny deny deny!

“And I suppose you’re going to blame my lack of height on the coma too? Look, I don’t
know what you’re talking about and mom’s food’s getting cold. So. Bye.”

I move to walk right past them, but Nightwonderdude stops me with a hand on my arm.

“No need to go so quickly. Batman obviously still has questions.”

And I snap, pulling my arm away and holding the spaghetti closer to my chest.

“Why does any of it matter? I’m not a superhero. I’m just a kid that didn’t ask for any of this
and just wanted a normal life. And don’t give me the whole ‘with great power comes great
responsibility’ speech, I’ve heard it all before. It only leads to the people you love getting
hurt. So thanks, but no thanks. I’d like to continue living my life without worrying about
supervillains trying to kill me and mine. I don’t want to end up like you.”

And then I brush past the two vigilantes and hurry on to mom’s office freaking out just a bit
because I just quoted Spiderman to Batman . . . Did I really do that? I think I did . . .

“Annie? What are you doing here?”

Huh, looks like my feet moved faster than my head this time.

I lift the food a bit, “I brought food.”

Her face almost makes me want to fight the world for her and start jumping through the
rooftops of Gotham just to keep her safe - but I know the best way to protect her is to lay low
so of course I won’t

“Oh, sweetie, you didn’t have to!”

She looks so excited.

“It’s Christmas Eve, and you’re still working.” I remind her as she grabs some paper plates
and plastic forks (plastic forks . . . great - after all the trouble I went through for the pyrex).
“Sorry if the foods a little cold. I spent a little too much time outside.”

“No worries!”

She sticks it in the microwave and I glare.

“Sure, nuke up my hard work.”

She laughs - because sure I get it, I’m hilarious. Doesn’t change the fact that she just made
my masterpiece into something like Chernobyl.
I’m trying not to remember my interaction with my mom’s sort-of-boss and his sort-of-son
(are they father and son? I don’t even know because stupid me didn’t bother to do more than
briefly watch the main movies more than once, and most of them as a child with a couple tv
shows thrown in for good measure).

Still, mom’s face as she takes a bite of that nuked spaghetti looks so happy - “Where did you
get this recipe?”

“A cookbook in another language . . .”

And she laughs, and even though she has to work Christmas Eve, as we walk home together -
mom’s holding the pyrex this time - it’s still one of the best Christmases I’ve ever had . . .

The next week, when mom comes home from work, she has thoughtful look on her face. And
even as she puts her house keys down in the hall and tells me she got a promotion, I can feel
my stomach drop.

Because Batman totally ignored everything I said, from my Spiderman quote to my claim
that supers live sucky, depressing lives.

Mom’s new job means better money and better hours. But it also means she’s going to be
working at Wayne Tower and she’ll be working more closely with the executives.

So, mom basically went from one hovering billionaire in Metropolis to another. I decide not
to tell her Batman knows. Let her think she earned that promotion - it’s the least I can do.

Bruce Wayne is a fucking manipulative bastard, though.

_____

When I go back to school in January, I try to play it cool. I don’t want detention again. At all.
But, it doesn’t work out so well.

I think Mr. Braxton has a personal vendetta against me or something because every little
thing - he just grabs onto it and pulls that one thread - it’s as if he just knows what it’ll take
for me to just go off.

Because one second he’s talking about how this past summer Batman put the Joker in a body
cast, and the next thing I know, I’m in detention with a sore throat.

I think I went on a rant about how much of a self righteous bastard I think Batman is for not
killing the psychos like the Joker . . . because maybe if Batman were just a bit more ruthless
he might have saved - Robin. I know I said Robin, not Jason. I can’t really remember very
clearly what happened, but I didn’t say Jason.

I don’t know why I went off - maybe because Batman sent Joker to the hospital shortly after
Jason died; maybe because I just want someone to blame for his death; maybe since my
social group really just consists of me and my mom, and I don’t really have a good support
group and it’s finally taking its toll on me . . .
I am in dire need of friends . . .

The only upside to the situation is that at least Mr. Matthews is not in charge of detention this
time (and thank God it’s only detention - I really don’t need anything worse on my records
for dual enrollment).

And I’m not alone either . . . apparently Emma had an . . . altercation with her math teacher
that I totally missed . . . because apparently I was in German.

She’s totally ignoring me - rude.

I guess that means I should reciprocate? I get about a sentence into my English essay before I
look back at her again - and she looks upset.

And I don’t want to talk because we’re in detention, and for the most part I’m a stickler for
the rules - this situation not withstanding - and I really don’t want to get on anymore shit lists.

So, I continue writing my essay. It’s during this that I get a wad of paper to the head which
really makes me upset and I might have retaliated with a small shake of the room - not too
noticeable, but enough to be an inconvenience.

I don’t even want to read the note now, because it has to be a note. Besides. It’ll probably bug
Emma to no end. So I ignore it, and the wad of paper stays on the floor.

It’s after we’re released from detention that Emma chases after me.

“Hey! Wait up, Annie!”

I don’t wait up.

Maybe that makes me a horrible person - but oh crap, she’s running and has caught up to me.

“What?”

“I just . . .” she doesn’t even look like she knows what she wants to say.

After a long pause, I respond, “Look I really need to get home.” The expression on her face,
though, makes me pause and add, “But call? We should watch that new movie coming out
this weekend. Like old times.”

She attempts a half-smile and nods, “Yeah.”

I get home, and leave the house keys hanging by the door, before heading to the kitchen to
begin dinner. Mom seems stressed out lately, and mom doesn’t stress bake, so it’s more my
job to make food. Which is fine, because I don’t have anything better to do and food is life,
but mom being stressed is worrying.

I don’t even know what it’s about this time. She just always seems just a little too high
strung.
She comes home that evening, and we don’t talk about it, as usual. It’s months later that I
look back and wish we had.

_____

It’s Spring Break at the end of March and I’m waiting at home for mom to come home
tonight. There’s a thunderstorm raging outside, and it makes me worried, because it’s as
strong as a hurricane (not really, just kind of close), and I know there have been storms worse
than this in Gotham, but for some reason . . . I’m feeling anxious. I’ve been through plenty of
storms in Gotham at this point, but it just feels different this time.

Maybe it’s because all the other times storms have gotten this bad, mom calls and let’s me
know she’ll be getting a cab from work.

Maybe it’s because mom’s still not home.

I don’t know.

But I wander the apartment, cleaning, eating, making food, cleaning again. I lay on the couch
reading some more history books - some of these read like fiction what with the superhero
interludes. I don’t turn on the television because I’m not that bored yet.

I continue cleaning and eating.

And then the phone rings. I pick up, because thank goodness mom’s finally calling. Only
that’s not mom’s voice, though it does seem vaguely familiar.

“Hello, Annie Simon?”

“Hello?”

“Yes, this is Lex Luthor. I just wanted to -” I hung up.

Because crap he’s getting bold - calling our apartment directly. There’s a knock on the door
and - please be mom.

I’m still annoyed from the phone call when I open the door and see the two police officers.

“Hello, are you Annie Simon?”

“Yes?”

“I’m Detective Ramirez and this is Detective Carrey of the GCPD. Can we come in?”

“Do you have a warrant?”

What? My mom’s a lawyer, I’m not just letting them in for no reason.

“No, we just need to talk. It’s about your mother.”

“She’s not doing anything illegal, if that’s what you want to know. She works for the -”
There’s something about their faces as they interrupt me, “Your mother was found this
evening.” What? No. No. This . . . please let it just have been an accident and she’s still alive.
“Can we do this inside.”

“No.”

I’m not letting them inside - what if they found her with drugs? Not that mom does that . . .

Detective Ramirez sighs, looking down as he purses his lips, “It would be better if we did this
inside, but . . . your mother was found dead. We’re sorry, but we’re going to need you to
come with us.”

“Ms. Simon?” the other officer says, because I think I heard wrong and I . . . I think I’m in
shock.

“Yeah?”

They look at me expectantly, and finally I just nod, grab the keys, and follow them.

_____

The day of Mrs. Simon’s funeral is gray. It’s also my birthday - which, you know, sucks. I
can’t help but feel like it’s my fault. Somehow.

Is she dead because she was protecting me from Luthor? Is she dead because I couldn’t
protect her? Was it just some random act of violence?

The phone call from Luthor begins to really bug me, though.

If he had anything to do with her death, I’m going to make his life so difficult he won’t even
know what hit him.

The people at mom’s funeral are all colleagues from work. Interestingly enough, Mr. Falcone
also shows up along with his whole entourage. And Emma and Sarah show up (people at
school have apparently been gossiping because I’ve been excused from school these past few
days).

I let them surround me and glare at other people, because I don’t want to deal with anyone
else - it’s slightly reminiscent of how everything had been after I woke up from the coma.

Immediately after, when everyone’s in my apartment eating and offering condolences, I see
him - Mr. Luthor. He stays away, for the first thirty minutes, eyeing the police officers that
hang around (they say they’re taking care of my living arrangements).

Still, as the afternoon goes on, and the storm that’s been brewing all day finally follows
through on its promise, people begin to leave. Except for Mr. Luthor and Mr. Falcone, who
for some reason, seems to be eyeing Mr. Luthor with something .

“Annie, I’m -”
“Mr. Falcone, I remember.”

He smiles, and it’s not creepy. Not creepy at all. Mr. Luthor’s glowering is more terrifying, to
be honest, and I’m kind of grateful the police officers are directly behind me.

“Well, I just wanted to let you know, if you need anything - anything at all - feel free to ask
me.”

And then he leaves and Mr. Luthor smiles and motions to me, and I’m fucking confused.

“What?” I ask.

“Mr. Luthor here has applied to be your guardian.”

What?

“You’re joking.”

“You’ll love Metropolis.”

“I’m not fucking moving to Metropolis.” I say, turning to the police officers. “You know he’s
the reason I was in a coma for a year right? You know he’s the reason my father is dead,
right? I’m not going anywhere with him.”

The police officers look like they don’t even know how to respond.

“But . . .”

I leave the apartment heading down the stairs, and calling out to Mr. Falcone before he enters
his limousine.

“Mr. Falcone.” He turns around and I walk up to him, “You said anything, right? Well, you
didn’t do much to stop Luthor from butting into our lives before, but if he takes me from
Gotham . . . please don’t let him take me from Gotham.”

I feel really powerless in that moment.

The police officers are coming up behind me, and Luthor is right there too.

“I’ll take it from here, officers,” Mr. Falcone says.

They shift their feet a bit, and then look to Mr. Luthor who holds Mr. Falcone’s gaze for a hot
second.

And then he nods and the two officers leave.

“You going to make a problem out of this?”

“I don’t know, are you going to take her from Gotham by force?”

“I invested a lot into her -”

I interrupt, “You take me from Gotham and I will kill you.”

And then both men look at me with surprise in their eyes.

“Oh please,” Luthor says as he tries to brush off my threat.

“You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

“I’m sure, but the courts have already -”

“It won’t matter in two years anyway. I’m sixteen years old and I refuse to go with you. If I
have to I’ll fight for emancipation. And don’t even think I don’t have it in me. You have no
idea what I will or will not do.”

“Mr. Luthor, do you really want to start a war with her? And have her living in your house?”

Mr. Falcone seems too fucking amused and Luthor looks to be glaring. I don’t even care - as
long as I don’t go with him. I can’t go with him. I will kill him.

And he seems to decide my threats aren't worth two years of proximity, at least for now.

_____

Mr. Falcone gets me a probably illegal job at one of his clubs within the week and fakes an
ID for tax purposes. I don’t know how I honestly feel about this, except it’s one of the only
jobs available in this city, and technically, I’m old enough to work. And since the apartment
is completely paid for all I have to worry about is taxes, which Mr. Falcone said he’d take
care of, paperwork wise. Summer has never been longer, but I had missed working, and it’s
not all bad. I think word gets out that Mr. Falcone got me the job, so I don’t get harassed by
patrons as much as some of my coworkers. Which makes me angry, but at this point there’s
not much I can do.

With the start of my first year of dual enrollment and my job at the club, my hands are full.

I take classes on Business this time around, because as much as I loved my old major, I can’t
go to the field I worked in if I want to keep a low profile (though at this point it’s pretty much
a moot point as mom’s gone and I have no one left to protect). And it’s not like I’ve forgotten
what those majors taught me. This just means I’ll be able to get a small job at Wayne
enterprises or maybe I can go to Law school and join the Center for the Less Fortunate.

It’s something to think about.

Either way, it’s hard because I have bills to pay, and my food habits are hard to sustain. It’s
stressful, and each month it gets harder and harder to shred those checks from Lex Luthor.

I do it, because a small part of me is pretty sure he killed mom (I came to that conclusion
shortly after he left) and I’m not giving him any chance to take me to court and say I can't
take care of myself.
At this point, though I start to contemplate ending him - Superman obviously won't and
neither will Batman - but me? I have no such moral dilemmas.
 Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

This year, for Halloween, I head out on my own late at night. Because I just can’t sit still at
home and I just need to get away from studying for the macroeconomics and computing tests
coming up next week.

I don’t have to work today, which is totally a plus, but I’m still tired beyond all belief. This is
worse than commuting ten hours a week to school and working over the summer. Yes, I live
within two miles of the community college, but between public transit, homework, and my
job I’m barely keeping it together.

I can barely find time to eat (all the protein, practically just protein) - and I haven’t been able
to sleep as much. I’m just lucky I get to eat a bunch when I do eat - thank goodness for home
cooked meals being cheaper than takeout.

Still, even as I walk to the nearest convenience store this Halloween, there’s something
hanging over everyone.

And as I enter the store, I stop because . . . that’s either a really good costume, or that’s
Nightwing buying a sandwich. . .

I grab my things - milk, bread, and coffee beans, before getting in line behind him.

He turns around, and seems to stare for a moment before he turns back to the register and
handing the guy some cash - where did he even keep that? That’s a skintight suit! - Then it’s
my turn, but as my stuff is getting rung up, Nightwing leaves the store, and then hangs out by
the exit.

Before I leave the store, I make sure to take a bite of my own sandwich I had the guy make
(to stall for time and fuel . . . just in case) - just to see if Nightwing will hang out longer.

He does.

So when I leave the store, Nightwing falls into step beside me.

“So . . .”

“Go away.”

“How have things been since . . .”

“Since you guys ‘saved me?’ Nothing much. My mom died, so you know . . Batman failed
again.”

He doesn’t say anything for a bit, until, “How did you know Robin died? And that Batman
couldn’t save him?”
And fuck.

I don’t say anything and just keep walking, which doesn’t seem to sit well with him.

“Hey -”

He grabs my arm, and I immediately go into defense mode, pushing him away and maybe
adding a little of my vibrations of doom. He’s a solid wall of muscle, though and I don’t think
I would have been able to move him if it had not been for the extra push I had put in - he
certainly seems surprised I was able to do it.

I don’t dare look at him until he steps forward again.

His mask hides his eyes with the white lens thing. . . but he still looks the same, and even a
little like the boy I’d seen all those years ago on the stairs in Wayne Manor - on Halloween
ironically enough.

“Your voices don’t change all that much, you know”- yup , his eyes just widened a bit -“and I
knew him. Before he was Robin. The masks don’t hide as much as you seem to think it does.
Anyway aren’t you supposed to be hanging out in Bludhaven?”

He must be in shock cause he’s definitely not saying anything and he looks like I just told
him the world is ending and that he believes me .

And he lets me go home; doesn’t even say anything.

But, I know it’s not the last I’ve heard of it.

To be fair, most of what I said is common knowledge - Nightwing is supposed to be in

Bludhaven, and I don’t name names.

_____

The next six weeks, are spent doing homework and digging through mom’s files and
computer, and ignoring the newspaper tabloids about the newest Robin - some other kid
Batman’s taken under his wing - poor moron.

I try not to pay too much attention, I know I’ll just get angry.

It’s in my daily routine that I come across the folder entitled “Annie” in my mom’s email.

And me - being the curious person I am - clicks on it. It’s nothing incriminating - about mom,
at least. In fact, it’s a little bit of proof against others. And the more I read, the more I realize
why she named the folder after me.

The folder is filled with pages upon pages of emails, the oldest dating back to when I first
was in the coma.

And the more I read, the more angry I get.

Because the most recent? Well the most recent is from the week before mom died.

Almost every single email is written by Mr. Richards - that bastard lawyer that stopped by
our apartment all those Christmases ago.

I even find the email where he tells mom about my serum - the email is disturbingly vague as
to what the treatment even is.

Mr. Richards spends most of the emails trying to convince mom to send me to Metropolis,
and they get progressively aggressive, not outright threatening, but there’s definitely a subtext
there.

And this must be what made mom so stressed some days - reading these emails, and why she
probably dumped them in this folder.

It makes me so angry, that I go the a gym - not the MMA gym, one with just weights and the
treadmill - and as I struggle to keep the vibrations in - my hands are shaking - I run. I can’t
handle the excess energy right now.

I run and run. I run for three miles and then I run some more.

Because now I have proof that it’s my fault - my fault mom was killed. It’s nothing I can
bring to court, but it’s definitely my fault. Because Luthor threatened her, and she protected
me.

Half of me wants to run to Metropolis and level it to the ground, just to make Luthor pay.
Thank God I’m too fucking tired. As it is, when I get home, I don’t bother eating anything
and simply collapse on my bed.

_____

I spend Christmas in my little apartment because I don’t want to go outside in the middle of
this weather, even though Sarah and Emma are making an effort and trying to get me to go
out more, but I definitely do not want to chance having another heart to heart with any other
vigilantes in this stupid city.

I try not to keep the heater running to high - because bills are a pain and adulting is hard - but
that doesn’t keep me from wrapping myself up in a blanket and drinking hot chocolate.

I miss her - mom. This is the first Christmas I’ve ever spent on my own, and I don’t really
know how to handle it. This . . . this sucks. I had been a part of a huge family before and yet
here I was with no one on Christmas. I didn’t even have work to keep me occupied, because
Mr. Falcone said he’s already pushing it with giving me a job and letting me work as many
hours as I do.

Personally, I think he just doesn’t want to pay Holiday Pay, but whatever.

So I’m here. Alone.

And I’m trying not to cry, because I’m not some stupid damsel, but . . .
And then there’s a knock on the door.

Please don’t be Luthor. Please don’t be Luthor .

Because if it’s Luthor, I can’t promise I won’t kill him. I open the door and -

That’s . . . that’s not Luthor.

That is a very good looking guy in a Santa Hat holding a sack of presents.

“Hi! I’m Dick Grayson with Wayne’s Center for the Less Fortunate.” He consults a list,
before smiling at me, “Are you Annie Simon?”

Fuck.

Should I just slam the door on him? I should just slam the door on him.

So of course I open the door wide.

Apparently I need to work on having my body actually do what I want it to . . .

He doesn’t look like he wants to come in, but I guess I don’t look too threatening, wrapped
up in a fuzzy blanket, with fuzzy slippers, pajamas, and with a mug of hot chocolate
proclaiming “I don’t do mornings” because he cautiously follows me as I meander to the
kitchen.

“So . . .”

“Why are you here?” I ask, as I take a sip and stare at him - you know he’s not too bad
looking, to be perfectly honest. He’s actually quite handsome.

I still don’t like him though. It’s the principal of the thing.

He raises an eyebrow, “I told you, I’m with the Center for the Less Fortunate-”

“I got that part,” I interrupt, “ it still doesn’t really explain what you’re doing here. Just spit it
out, what do you want?”

Then he frowns.

“You-” he really does not look like he wants to say anything, and that’s when it dawns on me.
He’s not completely certain I know who he is, is he?

I take another sip of the hot chocolate, “Look Mr. Former-Boy-Wonder, whatever you have to
say, spit it out.”

His jaw tenses at that and he looks me straight in the eye.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure. Whatever. It’s not like I’m about to scream it from the rooftops. What do you want?”
He stares at me for a solid minute before asking me, “You’re a metahuman, aren’t you?”

I don’t say anything, I just take a long gulp of my hot chocolate and when it’s done I turn
around to the sink, filling the mug with water to let it soak.

“It’s okay if you are, it’s just I was wondering if you wanted to join this group we -”

“I’m fine on my own, thanks,” I interrupt him before he can get too far. It sounds like a pitch,
and I really don’t want to join whatever group he has. I have enough on my plate, I don’t
need to add vigilantism to my workload. Half the teams in this world deal with way too many
near world ending events. Plus, I’m a prisoner until my eighteenth birthday in a way. I need
to watch every move I make.

He frowns a bit, and then “If you knew him, like you say you did . . . he wouldn’t have
wanted -”

I snort because I can’t help it. Did he and I know the same Jason?

“Jason was obnoxious and annoying, what with his thinking I needed saving or that I pitied
him or whatever, but considering he died doing that stuff, I hardly think he’d be too bothered
that I don’t want to get myself killed.”

He looks shocked for a second, but then he bursts out laughing.

“I see why he liked you!” And then he clasps my shoulder (take your fucking hand off me)
and his smile falls a little, as if he’s sad. “If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. You
don’t have to do it alone. You know, he used to be on this team too. . .”

“More reason not to join, yeah?”

Again with the smile that almost looks strained, and then he‘s out the door, leaving his big
bag of - something.

It makes me a little upset, that he got the last word in. . . but it quickly goes away when I
open the bag to find lots of food and a couple of books and movies.

_____

School start again, and my days are spent in the library doing research on Luthor’s main
building (only hard copy books!) - and attempting to put my computer classes to good use
with practice on hacking Wayne Enterprises - there’s not too much danger in that, Wayne’s a
good guy, but getting caught hacking Luthor?

Not me. Not today.

I get away with it for maybe a week, finding a bunch of useless intel - useless because I
already know Wayne Enterprises funds Batman’s activities - before there’s an insistent
knocking on my window.

And there he is again - Batman and another fucking Robin .

I try not to look too guilty as I look into the face of the man whose business I hacked.

“Why are you hacking into Wayne Enterprises?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cut the act. We know you caught a bunch of data from Wayne Enterprises hard drives -” and
what the fuck does the little bird think he’s doing?!

“Hey! That’s my laptop!”

“Sorry, we have to take this.”

And no. No fucking way. That’s my laptop and I spent good money on that.

“I didn’t find out anything I didn’t already know - I’m just practicing.”

They don’t look impressed, but at least it stops the boy wonder from getting too far with my
laptop.

“Practicing for what?”

I turn to face Batman, and get so unreasonably angry.

“Trying to find out who killed my mom. I need to learn how to hack. I figured hacking you
would be safe enough, seeing as you refuse to kill even the Joker , and I need to learn how to
not get caught.”

Robin looks impressed, but Batman - he looks like he’s done.

“Who are you going to hack next?”

I’m not telling him my plans. Besides if he can’t figure that out on his own that I’m going to
be going after Luthor, he doesn’t even deserve the moniker of “The world’s greatest
detective.”

“Take a guess.”

“We have better resources than -”

“I don’t need your help. Now give me my laptop back, please.”

Robin looks hesitant, and keeps turning to Batman who slowly, finally, nods.

“Try not to get in too deep.”

I half-smile, “of course, I don’t want to die.”

Except that’s not exactly true, is it? I don’t exactly have anyone to live for, after all.

At least my lie gets them to leave.

I sigh and open up my laptop - fuck. They wiped the hard drive back to the original factory
setting. Fuck you, Batman, what the actual fuck, my life was on that - my papers!

I spend the following weeks trying to recover my fucking files and cursing Bruce Wayne and
his stupid new Robin.

_____

It’s May. Finals are over - finally - and my first year of dual enrollment is over. So I want to
celebrate by treating myself to frozen dinners and the like. Maybe this weekend I’ll go to the
movies with Emma and Sarah too . . . there’s a really good movie about this woman getting
revenge on the gangsters that kill her whole family that looks particularly interesting. So, I
walk into a convenience store with a robbery in progress. And stupid me doesn’t even notice.
No, instead I have my headphones on and collect all my items, while the robbers keep their
gun pointed at the guy at the register and stare at me stupidly.

I don’t even see them really until I absentmindedly look up because what the fuck is taking
this guy so long?

That’s when I notice the Hockey masks and feel like a complete idiot.

And I’m just sick and tired of this. Why do people always have to mess this city up?

I blink, they blink, and then a gun is staring me in the face - and yup, that’s a bullet in there.
Fuck.

One second passes, and they do nothing, but there’s still a gun pointed at my face and so I
shut my eyes and shiver - fuck I didn’t mean to do that - and then a loud bang - and crap.
That was so fucking loud. Ouch ouch ouch.

But . . . I’m alive. And I look up at the two guys in the ski masks and - that’s a bullet hole in
one of them, and the other guy’s staring at his friend confused and looking at me as if I just -
fuck I just killed that guy didn’t I?

And you know what? Fuck this. Why should I feel bad about it?

I glare and make as if I’m going to jump the other guy and he just runs, leaving me, the
cashier, and the dead guy - man that’s right between his eyes, it’s so creepy - alone.

I stare at the cashier, he stares at me, and then I walk over the dead guy and leave my stuff on
the counter, while he mechanically starts to ring me up. I’m so fucking hungry now, damnit.

Thank God I have cash.

I pay. I leave.

And that night, on the news, the headline reads about a robbery turned suicide - despite
claims from the cashier about a new super. His CCTV wasn’t set up and nobody is really
believing him about a tiny little girl that was shot but didn’t die.
_____

Between my job at the club, making sure to pay the bills on time I almost forget that Fall
classes start on Monday. I’d worked until two in the morning last night, and so I wake up late,
and rush out of bed. It’s already eight thirty, and I know if I stop for breakfast I will be late.

I briefly consider it anyway, because I know I’m not going to be able to eat anything until
after my classes - and by then I’ll have to go back to work.

My desire to not leave a bad first impression wins out, though, and I quickly grab a slice of
toast and rush out the door.

It’s the start of a terrible habit.

I’m getting way too hungry at school, and shivering just a bit.

I think Mr. Falcone sees, and wrongly assumes it’s because I’m scared to walk around
Gotham late at night.

Instead of cutting my hours, thank God - he gives me a gun.

_____

I don’t usually stop by the coffee shop on my way to school, but when I do, I make sure to
get the good stuff - cuban espresso with just enough foam and sugar.

On that particular day in October, I’m running late, and I really shouldn’t be stopping for
coffee, but with the amount of sleep I get, and most importantly all the papers I need to write,
I need my caffeine fix. I’m basically running on fumes and hardly slept last night and I have
so much homework, and so I rush into the coffee shop not even looking, which - you know, I
guess I deserve this.

I run straight into someone who just narrowly saves his own coffee - he looks to be maybe
fifteen years old?

There’s a peal of laughter, and I look up to the friend of the guy I basically attacked and there
he is - Dick Grayson.

“Tim, you got to be more careful!” He’s still laughing, and I guess he hasn’t caught sight of
my face just yet.

The other guy - Tim, I remind myself - just scowls at the original boy wonder before turning
to face me and glares for a hot second.

“Sorry,” I mutter and try to side step, except of course I can’t be that lucky.

“Hey! I know you!”

I blink, and then you know what? - whatever, “I’d hope so, you barged into my house on
Christmas.”
The other guy - Tim - looks interested before his eyes widen, almost comically and stares at
me as if I’m an alien or something.

“Hey, you holding up?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, good.”

The other guy looks like he wants to leave and say something at the same time.

I don’t say anything - I don’t want to bring more attention to myself than necessary.

Dick Grayson is not one to deterred by my attitude though. Damn.

“Well, it was nice seeing you, Annie! Take care! I’ll catch up with you later!” He says it with
a bright smile and then he and the other guy - Tim - walk out.

I look around the coffee shop to see a bunch of eyes on me. And crap. I haven’t gotten my
coffee yet and I’m still running late.

If I stay away from that coffee shop from then on, well . . .

______

In November, I almost snap at work and quit. I’ve graduated to hostess, rather than bartender
and because of this I don’t have the buffer of the hostess or waitresses - because I’m the
hostess now.

So when the much too handsy customer tries to get just a little too touchy, I grab his hand and
glare.

And so maybe I add a few vibrations, and just a little too much force. And so maybe I break
his fingers and hand. But he deserves it, trying to touch a minor like that.

Mr. Falcone’s not the happiest about it. I get called into his office and he’s frowning.

“I’m hearing some interesting things, Annie.”

I don’t say anything. I shouldn’t say anything. So I just raise my eyebrows.

“You apparently broke a customer’s hand?”

“He deserved it.”

It’s his turn for an eyebrow raise.

“Maybe. But, you can’t do that -”

I almost interrupt, but he beats me to it with his next words, “At least not as a hostess. I’m
sure we can find you a more suitable position.”
I don’t really say anything for a while. A more suitable position? This is what I mean by
snapping and quitting. I don’t really want to be that deep in Falcone’s organization.

Perhaps if I hadn’t broken the guy’s hand. . .

But the fact of the matter is Falcone still has a bit of control over me because I’m six months
away from turning eighteen, and until then, the threat of being taken to Metropolis by Luthor
still stands, and Falcone’s my only shield.

So instead of quitting right then and there, as might have been the wisest option, I ask, “What
do you have in mind?”

_____

The new year comes around and things in Gotham seem to be going a little better - at least
for Mr. Falcone. He has me doing basic secretarial work now - mostly in the late afternoons
and evenings.

I haven’t seen anything too illegal yet.

That doesn’t mean I don’t know what his real business is or that he’s doing anything
legitimate. He’s just keeping me from the bad things, at least right now.

I think he wants me to keep close, just in case .

I spend this time monitoring shipments, looking at receipts and manifests, and making sure
everything is where it should be. If a shipment says it’s an order of stuffed animals, instead of
the drugs I know it is . . . well that’s not my job, is it?

I try not to think about Jason’s face when I turn a blind eye to it. His family was probably
destroyed by this . . . and here I am making sure that same system runs smoothly.

I’m a horrible human being . . .

_____

On my eighteenth birthday, I get an internship offer from both Lex Luthor and Mr. Falcone. I
decline Luthor’s offer so fast, I don’t even really think about it. Mr. Falcone’s offer takes a bit
more consideration. I know he wants me to follow in my parents footsteps which may or may
not be happening . Ever.

Mr. Falcone is the reason I was able to stay in Gotham, away from Luthor. However, I can’t
forget Mr. Falcone is a mob boss.

I owe Falcone so much, and I hate owing people. But, he’s scum. I know he is.

I choose the easy option, for now. I stay exactly where I am with Mr. Falcone. And I cash in
the last six checks from Luthor amounting to a comfortable twenty thousand dollars. He has
no power over me anymore, and I’d be stupid if I didn’t capitalize on him stupidly sending
me checks so close to my being eighteen. As luck would have it, they don’t even bounce. For
a second there, I’d been afraid he’d set up a fake account under his name just to make my life
difficult.
 Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

That summer, Gotham goes to hell in a handbasket - like seriously, half the month of June I
spend hiding in my apartment because to go outside is a death wish. It’s not just Gotham,
though, it’s a couple of other cities, too that are dealing with the chaos. The Justice League’s
on it, so I’m not too worried. Even if I stay locked in my apartment with the gun Falcone
gave me pointed at the door, just in case.

Somehow, I live through it, and life goes on.

I don’t lose my job with Falcone, either, so that’s a plus.

In July, Mr. Falcone seems to make a move in the Underworld, and it’s stirring up all kinds of
trouble. Evidence of this is seen in the streets, among the homeless, even though the upper
echelons of society don’t see it. The only reason I notice, really, is because people begin
coming to Falcone’s office asking for help and protection.

The more I see of it, the more regret seeps in. Why the fuck did I join the mob?

I’m still Falcone’s secretary, but he has some of his underlings deciding to take me to a gun
range - and not the legal type of gun range either. It’s in these really creepy looking
warehouses, and while I have nothing against guns themselves - Falcone gifted me with a
beautiful glock that works fantastically and has very little recoil (though I might have
something to do with that too, absorbing the vibration) - the guys he has ‘teaching’ me
sometimes get a little too handsy.

And I sometimes get a little too nonchalant about the broken arms that happen for seemingly
no reason - “You need more calcium” is my go-to response.

They may or may not be getting suspicious.

Falcone doesn’t spend too much time with the people that come to beg. He sees some of
them, but if they’re repeat offenders ( repeat beggars , I internally correct) he has his
lieutenants deal with it.

Or me.

It’s when one of the old women - Mrs. Janet Smith - who is trying to appeal her eviction
(Falcone has plans) starts crying because she only has the social security check, and it’s not
enough to support her , that I remember the condo we used to live in, back before I ever met
Luthor at Falcone’s Christmas party.

Mom never sold it.

It’s just collecting dust, with Falcone filing paperwork every year for the taxes, and so when I
come to him with the idea to charge the woman a minimal rent-- “She keeps coming back,
this would be easier,”-- it seems like the perfect idea.

He doesn’t seem terribly opposed to it.

At the same time, he’s got this look in his eye that I can’t place, and it makes me feel really
uncomfortable. I can see why mom quit, it feels like he’s looking into my soul.

“I won’t help you with it.”

Damn.

“Fine.”

I do it because the poor woman’s a widow - like mom. I do it because I miss my mom and I
don’t even have any grandparents left in this life. I do it to make myself feel better.

I go back out to the waiting foyer, where my desk is and give her a number.

“Call at six o’clock tonight. Someone will take it from there.”

I don’t tell her it’s my number. I don’t tell her I’m doing it out of guilt - guilt for mom and
Jason and-

I wave the next visitor up as the woman leaves looking terrified and sad.

I get the call way past eight, just when I begin to give up on her ever answering.

“Hello?”

“Yes, this is Janet Smith!” She’s yelling into the receiver. Why the fuck is she yelling into the
receiver? I pull the phone away from my ear so I can better understand her without losing my
hearing, and then . . .

“Hi, Mrs. Smith, this is Annie Simon, we spoke earlier. Can you meet me at an address?”

I give her the address and am there within thirty minutes, walking the dark streets of Gotham,
only to wait for another forty minutes until she strolls up with - who the fuck is that?

I squint trying to make the other person out - and does this guy have a staff? There’s
definitely a cape, but what the fuck?

“Ummm . . .”

“Ms. Simon?” comes the voice of the little old lady, and I can’t help the small smile that
comes to my face, because she looks so damn happy to see me.

“Hi, Mrs. Smith. I found a place you can stay for a while.”
“Oh thank you! And thank you , young man! This young man here saved me from some
muggers just thirty minutes ago.”

“Hi, I’m Robin.”

I ignore him. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes, I’m perfectly fine. It’ll take more than some upstarts to take me down.”

I don’t doubt it. “Well, these are your keys, the rent’s taken care of for the first two months,
and we can negotiate from there. Sorry it’s so late, but I was expecting your call earlier.”

“Oh, I know dear, but I had to get money for the payphone. Thank you so much for doing
this! You’re a good kid.”

I don’t even know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything. I hand her the keys and she
enters the apartment I lived in with mom for so long.

And Robin just hangs back awkwardly with me in the doorway while Mrs. Smith explores her
new apartment.

“So . . . you work for Falcone?”

I ignore him again, as Mrs. Smith calls out. “This place is too big for one person, dear, are
you sure you got the right apartment?”

“Yup. Look, I have to go, are you going to be alright tonight? I can check in early tomorrow
morning. . .”

“Oh, I’ll be fine!” She comes back in sight, and smiles widely. “Young man, why don’t you
make sure she gets home safely?”

Yeah . . . she’ll be fine, she’s already trying to matchmake - which, no offense, but ew.

“Um . . .”

I’m already headed out the hallway when he stumbles over his words, trying to follow me.
He does a pretty good job, I’ll give him that, and it’s not until I’m a block away from my
apartment that I abruptly turn around and glare at this . . . this other child soldier of Batman’s.

“Stop following me.”

“I’m not following you. . . we just happen to be going in the same direction.”

“Bullshit.”

“Huh. He was right, you have terrible language. I couldn’t tell what with how polite you were
being to the old lady.”

“Cut the crap, what do you want?”

“I really didn't mean to meet up with you. It was a coincidence.”

“I’ll reiterate. Bullshit.”

Oh, I think I made him angry.

“It’s true. We’ve got better things to do than try to come up with ways of talking to a stuck up
mobster's lackey. You’re not even that high ranking.”

“And isn’t that a relief.”

I really don’t like his tone.

“How can you-”

He stops, as if regretting it and no. No fucking way am I letting him off easy.

“No go ahead. Say what’s on your mind, boy wonder. Let me know just what you think of
me.”

“How can you work for them when they’re just destroying this city?”

“Easy. I have to eat. So does that old lady. And I don’t have that many options.”

“There’s always another way.”

“Bullshit. Other ways include prostitution, which - no thank you. I don’t even wear used
shoes . Or maybe you’re talking about waitressing? I had to start working at sixteen, and I did
that, and got harrassed by the customers which is what technically got me this job. It’s also
technically illegal to work more than a certain amount of hours, and late into the night and
my only other fucking option was moving to Metropolis with my father’s killer. So don’t
fucking tell me about options. Not everyone has a nice trust fund to fall back on.”

There that shut him up, but now I feel terrible, because he almost looks like a kicked puppy,
and he did escort the old lady through some really terrible neighborhoods. . .

“Just - Just leave me alone. All of you. Please. Thanks for taking care of the old lady.”

I walk away before I can really go off on him some more, but I turn around just before I’m
too far. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten you wiped my computer! It took me forever to
rewrite those papers for school, and you’re on my shitlist!”

_____

Mr. Falcone, I decide as I watch him order a hit, is one of the worst people alive. I’m in the
other room, but the door’s still wide open. Some poor sap thought it would be better to steal
from Mr. Falcone than suffer the wrath of Black Mask - whoever the fuck that is. He’s some
other mob boss (I can’t help thinking he probably wasn’t ever as successful as Mr. Falcone,
seeing as I’ve never heard of him . . . then again . . . I never paid much attention to the
comics, so he may or may not be a big deal . . .)
But Mr. Falcone values money and loyalty over everything else.

I try not to make eye contact with Falcone’s hitman as he walks by and try to focus on
breathing so I don’t destroy anything in the office.

That afternoon, I stop by my old apartment to check on Mrs. Smith who keeps longer than I
intended by offering tea and cookies.

And I’m definitely not one to say no to food.

She asks about my day, school, my major - political science with minors in Computer Science
and Business - and then she looks at me, with this confused look in her eyes.

“What are you doing working for Mr. Falcone? You’re such a good girl, with such a bright
future!”

“It’s . . . complicated.” Staring at the cup of tea seems as good an idea as any, as long as I
don’t have to look up and see what I’m sure is a disapproving expression. “I guess you could
say he was my only option for a while, and then it just became . . . easy to just stay put. I
never wanted to stand out too much.”

“Oh, sweetie, I think that would be quite impossible to achieve.”

“What - stay put?”

“No! You’re a pretty girl, and no matter where you go, people will look at you.” She laughs
and continues to enjoy her tea.

“Well, I mean the more I go through life, the more I see that.”

“Stop scowling like that - you’ll get wrinkles.”

I sigh, because that’s such a . . . such an old lady thing to say. And it makes me think of mom.
Mom should be here to tell me those things and she’s not.

I decide to continue to visit her on Sundays even as classes begin in late August. I don’t live
on campus (thank God), but I live just close enough that I can sleep in a bit. It’s a bit surreal.

Greek Life is everywhere and I stay far away from it because while I love my sisters from
before, I don’t think I can really dedicate the time and effort that I had into the sorority - I had
already been not the most dedicated of sisters, after all.

Besides, now that I’m eighteen, and halfway through college, with a nice little buffer for bills
(those checks were fantastic and completely pay for school for the next two years and then
some) I have a little breathing room.

_____

I’ve stayed in Gotham to have access to the files on my mother’s death, and considering no
progress has been made in her murder case, I think I’m justified in snooping.
Because of this, my time is spent, overwhelmingly, at the library, reading up on old
newspaper articles and using the computers there to try and poke holes in LexCorps main
frame. Which is where I stumble on Emma and Sarah.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to -”

“SHHHHHH!”

I wince. I think the librarian is being louder than I was with her shushing, but I feel bad.

I nod to her then look at Emma and Sarah, raising my eyebrows expectantly until they wave
me over - they’re pouring over their laptop - and that’s a facebook event for a big party at one
of the sorority houses. I try not to roll my eyes.

“You going?”

Thank God they whisper.

I try not to look too skeptical.

“It’ll be fun! Maybe you’ll meet someone. I mean, you don’t have a boyfriend we don’t know
about, do you?”

Well, no, but why the fuck is that anyone’s business?

_____

Dick Grayson is in my Statistics class, and while at first, I had freaked out a bit, he had taken
one look at my glare and stayed away. And it was great, for all of ten minutes. The first class
was fine - an overview of the syllabus.

And then we got to basic concepts.

“Who can explain correlation? Anyone?”

No one, apparently.

“Alright then, for instance I have this chart here about how when Batman is injured from a
mission with the Justice League or other high profile mission, Bruce Wayne also tends to go
on long isolated vacations with his sons.

Dick Grayson starts to laugh nervously. “That’s ridiculous, Bruce Wayne’s not Batman!”

I feel a little bad for him.

“I know, but it is suspicious, isn’t it, and you’re his son, you’re supposed to say that.” The
professor looks so fucking convinced. “What other explanation could there be?”

The answer’s out of my mouth before I can stop myself.

“It tells me Bruce Wayne has mad preservation skills. Who’d want to chance a Gotham with
the Batman out of commission? That or he’s a coward. He makes it well known how much he
dislikes Batman, and he’s way too busy with his partying and making poor life decisions to
go beating up criminals. And I mean his parents were killed by a criminal. He’s probably
traumatised and sees the Batman as a protector. He probably gets scared when Batman’s
nowhere to be found. Correlation does not equal causation, it’s just an indicator of something
. For instance, an increase in ice cream sales in the summer at the beach at the same time as
shark attacks increase is not an example of causation.”

I swear I can feel Dick Grayson staring at me, and the professor definitely looks put out.

I mean, he’s technically hit the nail on the head, but I put some doubts that theory of his, and
I bet he’s not about to publish it in the Gotham Gazette anytime soon.

Though with the pictures being taken on phones and the snickers from my classmates, I can’t
help but think I just made Bruce Wayne look like a coward on social media . . .

I spend the rest of the class trying to shut up and keep my head down.

_____

Dick Grayson somehow finds me in the library just before closing one night in October.

“Hey, Annie, how you been?”

“Why are you sitting here?”

“Huh? Just trying to be chalant and -”

“Chalant’s not a word.”

“It’s the opposite of nonchalant,” he explains. “Anyway -”

“Nonchalant comes from the old French ‘nonchaloir’ with ‘chaloir’ evolving to chaleur
meaning heated. If you’re going with that logic, you’re trying to be heated? Upset?
Nonchalant itself means not concerned, you’re trying to be concerned, then say so. Use
words that actually exist in the English language, please.”

He scowls. “I just thought it would be a good idea to study with-”

“The library is literally closing in ten minutes. What are you planning on cramming in ten
minutes that couldn’t be done at home or your dorm, apartment, wherever the fuck you live?”

He looks so frustrated now. “Can you stop interrupting me?”

“I don’t know, Dick . Can you stop bullshitting me?”

He takes a deep breath, obviously holding back his ire and says, “You’re really frustrating, ya
know? You’re almost worse than Jason was, I think.”
“Your point, today, please?”

“Can you just listen to me for five minutes.”

“I’ve given you a minute already. Talk. Or I’m leaving.”

He doesn’t talk for a solid ten seconds.

“I just - you said those things back in Statistics and -”

“Just because I don’t like the guy and think he’s way too self righteous doesn’t mean I want
others to know who he is. You may get on my nerves, but . . . you’re his family and . . . I hate
it when family is used to manipulate others. It’s . . . It’s nothing personal. I still dislike him.”

“How can you say that?”

“Very easily.”

“That’s - you need to be careful. That’s what I came to say. People like you -”

“Apathetic?”

“No - people that can do - wait, you consider yourself apathetic?”

I snort. Not at all. I get angry like anyone else.

“No, but I guess some people might see it that way.” Like Sarah and Emma. I guess resigned
would be a better word to describe me. I look away from him and try not to get lost in
thought before I look back. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll keep it in mind.”

He follows me to the exit of the library, the librarian glaring as she escorts us out, and
continues to follow.

“Why are you following me?”

“I’m not following you, we just happen to be going in the same direction.”

I call bullshit, he’s just like the other boy wonder. But I let it go because I don’t feel like
fighting all that much tonight.

And we walk without talking at all for a solid ten minutes, before Dick breaks the silence.

“You were hacking Wayne Enterprises a while ago . . .”

“It was practice.”

“For?”

“Why do you need to know?”

“Well, I mean, we have considerable resources. I can see if I can find the information you’re
looking for . . .”

“No thanks, I don’t need you knowing my business.”

He looks way too fucking amused.

“You were hacking into our business, isn’t it the other way around?”

“Like I said, it was practice, and I didn’t find out anything I didn’t already know.”

He’s quiet again - thank God - for another few minutes, just the sound of our shoes on the
pavement and our breaths taking in the cold air.

And then he has to break the silence again .

“You ever think about him - Jason, I mean.”

I guess my face says it all, because he quickly lifts up his hands in surrender. “I mean, when
we’re not around to remind you . . .”

I think about it for a moment. “We weren’t . . . we weren’t exactly friends. But . . . I knew
him and he was one of the only things that . . . before my coma when I was nine, I apparently
had a crush on him. I don’t really remember it at all, but my mom told me why I liked him.
He defended me from some bullies who were being assholes because my mom was some big
shot lawyer, and my dad ran one of the busiest chop shops in town and . . . I guess hearing it
from someone else, and knowing . . . he was a good person, underneath his prickly exterior.”

“And now?”

I shrug my shoulders.

“You haven’t dated . . .”

I’m offended. “That’s because half the people in Gotham are crazies and the other half are . .
.” I struggle to find the right words.

“Or maybe you don’t want anyone to get close.”

“That’s -”

“You know I’m at least a little right.”

“Is that all you came to say?”

He sighs. “I didn’t mean it like -”

“Yeah well fuck you. You don’t know anything about me. I have too many things going on in
my life to worry about a boyfriend.”

“Well, maybe just start small then . . .”

“What - a one night stand? With who - you ?”

I try not to laugh at his expression - “No-no-no, that’s - you - I meant go out with your
friends and actually - why would you . . . ?”

I roll my eyes - and would you look at that? “This is my stop. See you later, wonder boy.”

If he continues to sputter at my doorstep, well . . . that’s his problem.

_____

Of course the one morning I actually bother to wake up early and have time to settle down
with my coffee and the Gotham Gazette is the day there’s the most ridiculous second page
headline about Metropolis that manages to keep my attention - and nearly make me late for
class.

See, a few years ago there was a short segment on all the news channels and radio stations
about the street orphans of Metropolis disappearing with resulting Amber Alerts - they were
never resolved. The abductions stopped after two weeks at most, and the panic in Metropolis
continued for another month before they realized they had stopped, and then they stopped
caring, because they were orphans, who would miss them? It’s been a year and none of the
children have ever been found.

Until today, apparently.

The girl's name is Caitlin Jeffers, and she was allegedly found in a warehouse after a nosy old
lady living in the apartment complex across the street called the police for 'suspicious
activity'. The story continues - she has no memory of anything that happened prior to being
found and has been graciously adopted by Lex Luthor.

I scoff. While the news of an Amber Alert not having a tragic or non-existent ending is big
enough, I have a hard time believing that Lex Luthor adopted her out of the goodness of his
heart.

There are two pictures in the paper - before and after - with the first being probably not the
best quality but features her and another, smaller girl who’s half cut out, both covered in
grime, while the other has a dolled up girl standing next to Lex Luthor. And by dolled up, I
mean makeup and jewelry and hair that seems a little too immaculately styled. Her face is
epitome of boredom and disinterest, with maybe a hint of affluence, I suppose she must feel
as a token trophy child.

But there's something else, something I can't put a finger on, that seems familiar. Like I
should have some kinship with her.

And in a way, I do. But I also don't, because I had mom, and she has Lex Luthor. And Lex
Luthor is the source of all my misery in this life. I shudder to think of what would have
happened had mom also been in the car accident with Mr. Simon. With nobody to stop the
hospital from pulling the plug, I would have died in a week. So I guess I'm glad to be alive,
but still . . .
Luthor has to be up to something. Why did he adopt a girl off the streets? Is this a way of
getting to me? Putting aside my revenge plans, I'm worried that he's not going to let me
continue as I have. He'll never stop trying to gain control of me.

Which all means I really only have one option. Not like it's new, since I decided this long
ago.

Lex Luthor’s going to die.

And maybe I'll make him suffer a little bit first. Caitlin Jeffers seems like a good place to
start.

_____

Christmas used to be my favorite time of year, that is until Mr. Falcone ruined it with that one
Christmas Party and New Years Event where I met Luthor. But since I work for the man,
there’s not much I can do to get out of the event.

So I go.

Sofia Falcone attaches herself to me quickly tonight and pulls me from group to group,
introducing me as the ‘wonderful little secretary of dad’s.’

I’m not insulted.

It’s a beautiful place, though, and I have to hand it to the mobsters - they sure know how to
throw a party. There’s holly everywhere, the smell of cinnamon in the air (there has to be a
scent machine, somewhere), and a bunch of mistletoe at practically every doorway.

It takes everything in me to avoid it, and I seem to be doing a good job.

Dinner is good Italian fare, and the conversation is light - probably because Mrs. Falcone is
present. It’s not even until after dinner that Falcone begins to receive guests in his office.

He spends three hours there - and because I’m his secretary, I have to stick around to pencil
in any appointments that may be made behind closed doors.

And then it’s finally over, and I’m ready to leave when Mr. Falcone stops me.

“Annie, come here, I’d like a word with you.”

Fuck.

“I have a new assignment for you. That Black Mask is getting a little too bold, and I need
someone to infiltrate his organization.”

I immediately know it’s a bad idea, and ask, “Why?”

“Because I need a mole.”

“And you think I’m the best candidate?”

“You’ve proven you can keep your mouth shut, and you’re smart. I’m sure you could figure it
out.”

This such a bad idea. On so many levels.

“How am I even supposed to find them?”

“They’ll most likely approach you, what with their active recruiting of my people. And that’s
what I’m counting on. And there are ways. I need to know Black Mask’s angles. And you’re
a good listener. I see you eavesdropping outside my door, but only because you don’t even
really try to hide it.”

“And why would this be a good idea? Why should I do it?”

“Well, I mean the pay is nothing to scoff at. Don’t get me wrong, it won’t be a walk in the
park, and it’ll take up probably a lot of your time, but I think you’re up to it. It’s why I’ve had
you learning how to use a gun and -”

“Please, stop right there. This has been your plan all along, hasn’t it?”

He doesn’t answer me.

I know what will happen if I say no - I’ll have disappointed him, and people don’t just
disappoint Falcone and walk away unscathed.

So I nod, but inside I’m thinking about how I’m going to be a spy, and briefly wonder - how
hard would it be to be a double agent.

Either way, my Christmas is ruined.

_____

Emma and Sarah insist on my going out tonight, on boxing day, and with how stressed I am
from this new assignment - it was a terrible idea to join the mob - I go.

I meet them at this club - which, what the fuck? We’re twenty.

I shouldn’t doubt them though, because somehow they found my old fake ID from Falcone
and have some of their own.

I almost immediately regret being here, as Emma and Sarah both get progressively drunk,
and completely ignore me when I try to get the bartender to stop - only he’s flirting, and
probably thinks he’ll get lucky.

I think I’m scowling.

I’m going to get wrinkles - and oh my God, I spend way too much time with Mrs. Smith.
It’s at one in the morning when I grab Emma’s arm and pull her away from this one guy -
watch the hands, buster - “Where’s Sarah? It’s late and we should get back.”

Emma looks childlike when she’s drunk. “Sarah?” Her eyes are wide and she she’s looking at
me blankly before she smiles widely and grabs my arm. “I’m so glad you’re heeere, Annie!
We’ve missssed you!”

“Yeah, I am too, but we need to get to sleep now.”

“Sleep? Yeah.” She’s pliant and easily letting me pull her, and that’s what gives me the
sinking feeling in my stomach.

“Emma, when did you see Sarah?”

“Hmm? She went out back.”

I might be panicking a little as I drag her behind me to find - Robin’s beating up a guy in the
alley while Sarah looks on - obviously too drunk out of her mind.

What was I even thinking , letting Emma and Sarah out of my sight.

Emma’s pouting behind me. “You were supposed to drink too, Annie.”

Robin stops with the punches - yeah the other guy’s not getting up anytime soon - and turns
to stare at us and -

“Yeah, that was your plan, not mine. One of us had to stay sober.”

Robin looks unimpressed.

My words also seem to stir Sarah, because she turns her gaze to us and she holds her arms out
for what I can only assume is a hug.

“Home?” I ask, still eyeing the guy.

She nods, and turns to look at him. “Are you coming with us, Robin?”

He looks stunned, and then schools his expression.

“Come on, up you go. Sorry for the trouble. Have a nice evening.” I haul Sarah up, and put
her arm over my shoulder when he grabs my wrist.

“You’re one person, and despite how strong you think you are, you’re small and can’t carry
two people. I’ll help.”

And he’s not wrong.

It’s silent, the walk to the dorms, except for the occasional nonsensical mutterings of the two
resident drunks, and by the time we arrive at their dorm room - they share a room, but the
building is co-ed - they’re half asleep.
I sneak glances at him from the corner of my eye as we both settle the girls into their beds,
and - he’s glancing at me too, especially as I get up to leave.

“You’re not in this room.”

It’s not a question.

“Nope. I live off campus.”

“I’ll take you there.”

“No offense, and thanks for the help earlier, but I can take care of myself.”

He sighs and says, “It’ll make me feel better.”

I roll my eyes, but don’t say anything as he falls into step beside me.

“This isn’t exactly what big bird had in mind when he told you to go out more . . .”

Big Bird?

I can’t help bursting out laughing, trying to keep my eyes from tearing up, because all I can
imagine is the yellow bird from Sesame Street, and - and - and that’s Dick Grayson’s
nickname? Comedy gold.

Robin looks stunned by my laughter, though, so I try to pull myself together.

“Big bird?”

He looks embarrassed now. “I mean, it’s just a nickname we have amongst ourselves.”

I’m too fucking amused to care. “You know I’ll never let it go, right? And I’ll tell him you
told me.”

He looks resigned and mutters something about needing coffee - huh, smart kid. Coffee is
life.

He walks me home, and then disappears just as quickly as he’d arrived.

I try not to feel too upset.

I still haven’t forgiven him for wiping my laptop, though.

 Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

The week following Christmas is ridiculously busy, even discounting my night out with
Emma and Sarah. Because despite how stressed out I am about having to infiltrate a gang ,
Mr. Falcone doesn’t just let me figure it out on my own. He helps me out - or tries to. And he
gives me a couple of rules and tells them to me as follows:

Rule number one: don’t only allow them to approach you . Get to the people around the
henchmen, if you have to.

Rule number two: nothing is sacred. Use their sisters, mothers, find one of the goons and get
into his pants if you have to.

Rule number three: don’t forget who you work for and why.

Rule number four: never break rule number three.

I say fuck the rules.

And not just because I don’t particularly have a personal stake in the mission, but because
I’m not going to whore myself out to help Falcone in his business ventures . Besides, I have
super powers.

I consider asking his lieutenants why they can’t do this, but stop because they’re definitely
not the friendly type and they definitely won’t take my question well.

I spend the rest of the holiday being read-in on Falcone’s Black Mask intel, which is why,
when classes begin halfway through January, I’m about ready to take the glock Falcone gave
me and just go shooting my way through both crime empires.

Because the intel’s not just on Black Mask, it’s on Falcone, and it’s so grotesque - the things
he does, and I mean I knew . I knew they were the mob.

Falcone himself has ordered the deaths of so many men, and kicked so many women out on
the streets. And Black Mask is ten times more cruel. If he puts a hit out on a guy, it’s his
whole family. And they’re both so despicable.

Sometimes, I forget that. Which makes it so hard now, being briefed on this, to keep a cool
head about it and not murder them all.

Mom’s name gets thrown in sometimes, about how she defended Falcone in this case, or that
case, and how all the other lawyers were ready to give up as it was a lost cause. That case
was a slam dunk for the prosecutor. But mom never gave up on it. And she won. They say
how proud she’d be about what I’m doing.
Except I know they’re wrong, and they really didn’t know mom all that well, if they think
that. She was spunky. She cared more about me than she ever did about her job.

And I don’t think she’d be proud of me. At all. She wanted better for me. If she were still
around, I probably wouldn’t have to do this regardless. But it’s my fault she’s dead.

I spend my days reading up on the who’s who in the mob business and where they tend to
hang out - the Iceberg Lounge, whatever the fuck that is - it sounds familiar , is particularly
popular.

It’s Sofia Falcone that gives the best advice, though. It’s unsolicited and she gives completely
randomly - while I’m analyzing a reading on current politics and trying to explain in my
paper for economics why Markovia’s current economic slump is a result of ethically
irresponsible investors like Luthor more than it’s the result of internal politics. I might be a
little biased in my paper.

Either way, I’m completely engrossed in it when Sofia stops by with a sheet of paper and a
stack of books.

“Not that I’m complaining, because I love books, don’t get me wrong. But . . . what is this
for?”

“It’s your way in.” She says it with a smile and a flip of her hair. “You don’t always need to
resort to getting into their pants, like dad seems to think. Sometimes, it’s the more innocent
approaches that are the best - because they won’t be looking for it. Don’t let them know you
work for Falcone - that would be suicide. Instead, become friends with this guy -” she pulls
out a picture of a guy that looks like the typical bookish nerd - “and slowly, get into the
business. Tell him you need a job. And then - only then - let him come up with the idea of
speaking to his employer for you. And don’t jump at the chance. Say no, the first time.”

It’s not a bad idea. And this guy doesn’t look too threatening, at least from what I see in the
picture.

Not that looking harmless means anything in this world.

“And how exactly do I become his . . . friend ?”

Sofia smiles, “Glad you asked. His name’s Eric Donahue. He’s moderately high in the chain
of command for Black Mask, and is a closet book lover that spends most afternoons in the
Gotham Public Library. These are a list of the books he’s checked out in the past month.”

There’s twenty titles. Mostly fiction.

Well fuck. And I thought I loved to read.

“So my job is to go to the Gotham Public Library? And read these books?”

“It’s a start.”

And she’s not wrong. . .

She walks away leaving me to think about it and come up with my own plan of action.
Because some of these titles - I wouldn’t be caught dead reading this in public.

_____

I don’t start right away. And I don’t do it, I think, the way Sofia expects me to.

Instead, I get an unpaid internship at the Gotham Public Library beginning about a month
after Christmas - it’s harder than you think trying to get someone to let you work for free, but
I do it. I spend most of my shifts sitting there at the front desk doing homework, and only
occasionally reading one of those books on Sofia’s list - the safe ones focused more on the
story than any . . . bedroom shenanigans. Sometimes I’m tasked with putting books back on
the shelves.

I do meet him - Eric Donahue - when he’s checking his books out.

It’s so awkward, and he doesn’t seem to like meeting my eyes, especially when I’m scanning
the books.

“Just these books for you today?”

A blank stare, even as I smile - like, really, seeing me smile so much is a privilege, and here
he is just . . . ugh.

I continue to smile obnoxiously.

“Alright, Mr. Donahue, these are due in two weeks. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Rude. He just turns and leaves.

But I’m not about to give up. This guy is going to be my in .

Every time he enters the library, and every time he leaves, I make sure to smile, or nod my
head at him. When he goes to get something - usually a granola bar from quaker oats - at the
vending machine I smile and tilt my head. He starts to warm up to me a bit, giving me half
smiles and not saying much, but I’ve worked in customer service before. I will not be
discouraged.

It’s all very routine and boring, with me even grabbing my own granola bars most days (and
billing Falcone, it’s an on-the-job expense). I’m there, in the background, establishing myself
in his life - even if as only a background fixture.

After about two months, in April, on a day I’m not reading one of the books on his list - it’s
not even the same genre, it’s a historical analysis of the Cold War - with superheros , it
happens. And I’m so engrossed in my book, I barely notice a shadow over my head, until a
voice - his voice - breaks through.

“Oh! Sorry, can you repeat that?”

“Your book . . . what’s it about?”

I half smile, and answer, “You probably wouldn’t like it. It’s pretty boring.”

His eyebrows rise. “You seemed pretty interested.”

“Well, I mean, it’s history, and I like history a bit. It’s for school, about the cold war and
heros and . . .”

So I start rambling a bit about the book, sue me.

He chuckles, and hands me his book for me to checkout. “You go to school?”

I’m proud of myself for my ability to keep the pleasant smile on my face, even as he
awkwardly leans on the counter, and seems to stumble over his words. I want to cringe,
because he’s trying pretty hard.

“Yeah, I’m almost done with college and I want to go into business, but at the same time I
like organizing things, and think I’d just be happy keeping documents organized after I
graduate.”

I sigh then looking to the desk and giving another half smile.

“Do you not like working here?”

I shake my head. “Don’t get me wrong! I love working here. But I’m working here for free,
and . . .” I shrug. “Money is a thing necessary for life, so . . .”

He nods in sympathy.

He looks like he’s about to say something, but closes his mouth, and gives me another
awkward nod.

It’s after he leaves that I turn back to my book and smile - progress.

_____

It’s the middle of June - school’s out, thank God - when it happens. It’s raining like nobody’s
business and they come dripping into the library without any consideration for other visitors.
I expected more from Eric Donahue. But he’s flanked by a bunch of other really large guys,
and I really don’t want to get on their bad side, so I silently grab the Caution Floor Wet sign,
put it there by the door, and give the floor a cursory mop before sitting back down at my
desk.

They stand by a bookshelf and talk, throwing me glances the whole time.

I overhear some of their conversation - something about how the latest shipment is being
intercepted by the bat. They need to be more careful. Black Mask is getting more and more
upset about the loyalty of his men, or lack thereof. Ms. Li, whoever the fuck that is, keeps
saying she needs an underling. All things they really shouldn’t be talking about out in the
open.
I glance at the clock - which reads four o’clock and my stomach growls because crap I’m
hungry. I should probably take a break and get something to eat. Except, I don’t want to let
them out of my sight . . . I give it another ten minutes before I stand up to get a granola bar
from the vending machine and feel their eyes following me. It’s only a little creepy.

I try my best to keep my head down and working on my homework - typing away at my
laptop about Rhelasian tensions, read Korea , and subsequent peace talks that never seem to
go anywhere. I try really hard to focus, I really do. But I’m on a mission to infiltrate a mob
organization.

And so I guess I do too good a job of faking indifference, because it honestly comes as a
surprise when one of them snatches my laptop right from under my fingertips, and I gasp
turning to them wide eyed.

“What are you typing? You spying on us?”

Well . . . yes, but . . . thank God I’m not stupid enough to tell them.

“I was doing my homework.”

The big guy - the one with my computer - eyes me suspiciously for a moment before he looks
at my computer screen, all three guys leaning in close and clicking away.

I’m not panicking at all. There’s no important information on my laptop. Lies, lies, lies.
Mom’s emails are there. My scans of the newspaper articles I dig through in my spare time is
there. My attempts to hack into Wayne Enterprises - again - are there.

A glare . . . so maybe I’m freaking out a bit. He lays my laptop back down and I take it,
hugging it to my chest.

“Eric here said you need money.”

And wait, what? That . . . was much easier than I thought it would be.

“Don’t we all?”

All three smile and it’s so creepy .

“How would you like to work for our boss?”

Definitely easier than I thought . . . it’s only June, after all.

“I . . . I’ll have to think about it.”

“Let us know,” and he throws down a business card not even bothering to lay it down nicely
on my desk.

I have to fight to not roll my eyes at how rude he’s being. Only the fact that my heart’s still
racing from my laptop, oh thank God you’re okay , keeps me grounded and able to nod and
look appropriately scared.
Except this is exactly what I wanted. I wanted them to offer me a job, but looking scared is
just another way to get them to lower their guard even more.

_____

It’s a long day, and I feel exhausted by the time I get home and unlock the door, that I just
drop my purse and turn on the light in the front room.

My shoulders ache. My eyes are tired. And -

My phone is ringing somewhere in my huge purse.

Even as I dig through my purse, I’m cursing under my breath, sitting on the floor, and
fumbling to get my phone to answer - it’s a number I don’t recognize, which really isn’t all
that surprising, I don’t have that many contacts. I might stare at my phone a bit dumbly for a
moment trying to decide if I want to answer or not.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Annie! It’s me, Sofia!”

“Oh, hi.”

This is awkward.

“I was wondering if you were busy tonight.”

The answer’s out of my mouth before I can stop myself.

“Well, I mean yes, but -”

“Awesome. I’m heading to the Iceberg Lounge, if you’d like to join me.”

“Why the fuck would you want to go to the Iceberg Lounge?”

And fuck. I actually said that. To Sofia . . .

“Well, I mean - if you have a better idea, please let me know.”

She sounds insulted. . . damn. That means I need to fix this.

“It’s just - that’s where Eric hangs out, and it would be . . .”

“Oh, yeah? How’s that going?”

“It’s . . . going. . . they offered me a job.”

“Wow. You work fast. How’d you swing that in so little time?”

“I don’t know . . .” I know, I'm just not about to tell her.

“Fine, keep your secrets. Well, I’m going to get some food, then. Will you join me? You can
pick.”

She’s never asked me to eat with her before, so I’m pretty sure she’s got ulterior motives. But
- my stomach growls - I’m hungry. . . and if it’s my pick . . .

I give her the name of a restaurant a good mile from my house and tell her I can be there in
twenty minutes.

As I lock my apartment door - again - that night, I pull out the business card from Eric’s . . .
friend. Maybe I’ve given it enough time - a few hours enough.

It’s only six o’clock now anyway.

But . . . I tuck it away in my purse again and head to the restaurant - toward food .

And if I have a quaker oats bar in my hand just in case? - well this is Gotham after all.

I make it to the quaint little diner I told Sofia about with time to spare and sit down with a
cup of tea and pie trying to finish my paper on Rhelasia (that was so rudely interrupted earlier
today . . . I’m not bitter - not at all).

Sofia is dressed up with a wig when I see her.

“Ugh, this thing is so itchy,” she complains, and I have to smother a laugh.

It wouldn’t do to laugh at her, I get the feeling she wouldn’t take that very well.

“So, you got the offer?” She asks even as she fidgets, trying to find a comfortable position
and smiling widely at the waitress, mouthing her order with a big smile.

“Yeah, it didn’t take as long as I thought it would . . .”

She smiles slyly at me. “What did you do?”

Right. Because she doesn’t know I got an unpaid internship.

“I gave myself a better excuse to be at the library.”

“Oh?” She looks amused, but for some reason, I don’t think my progress with my assignment
is what she wants to talk about.

“Why did you want to meet?”

She waves her hand dismissively. “Oh, well daddy dearest decided I will be your contact for
this assignment. And anyways, we’re going to have to figure out a way for you and I to meet
without drawing suspicion.”

“And you thought a wig would do the trick.”

She scowls at me - and it looks terrifying to see on her face.

“It was short notice.”

“Okay. We could always just call or text.”

She dismisses my suggestion with a wave of her hand.

“They could hack your phone.”

And this time, I scoff and don’t even try to hide it.

“They could follow you much easier. Would you prefer dead drops?”

Her eyebrows twitch, as if to indicate - yes. Yes she’d love to play spy with the dead drops
and high tech gadgets like those old James Bond movies. I struggle not to roll my eyes in
exasperation.

“You can leave a report with Mrs. Smith.”

“Mrs. Janet Smith? That’s not how dead drops work. And no offense, but I’d rather keep Ms.
Smith out of this.”

Sofia looks beyond annoyed. “Well, do you have a better idea?”

I think about it for a moment, before answering with something I don’t think will work
anyway. “I could send it out with my daily mail - I still pay most of my bills the old fashioned
way.”

Mom had done it, and I just rolled with how she did it.

And right as Sofia is about to respond - yay or nay - the waitress is back with Sofia’s order
and a refill on the tea and pie for me, causing the two of us to lapse into silence for the
following ten minutes.

“It’s not a bad idea,” Sofia finally says, as she pushes her now-empty plate towards the center
left of the table.

“Or I could leave a report under a rock by the center bench in Robinson Park - the one by the
swing set. It could have instructions about where the next one would be.”

She looks more interested at this and smiles.

“We’ll start with that. And if there are any problems, we can always come up with some other
way to exchange information.”

She smiles again, but then frowns.

“I also wanted to warn you a little. There’s some weird chatter about this guy the Red Hood -
or whatever - getting in on Black Mask’s territory - it’s practically minuscule, really, and I’m
only hearing the smallest of rumors, very recent. But, I thought you might like to know.”
“Who’s the Red Hood?”

“Isn’t that the question of the century. The Red Hood has been around for a long time - I
think he became the Joker . . .”

“This guy’s the Joker?”

If there’s a little panic in my voice - who can blame me? I’ve successfully avoided the crazy
villains in Gotham.

“No, no, no, don’t worry. This guy’s very much not the Joker - the Joker’s still in Arkham.
This guy is just using his old name.”

So he’s a psychopath.

I say as much to Sofia, who just laughs.

“You’re probably not wrong. Anyway, be careful.” And she grabs her purse, heads to the
waitress and hands her some cash and leaves.

I stick around for a while - because food - but eventually get up to leave, absentmindedly
sneaking a glance at my phone and remembering the business card from earlier.

“Hello?”

I hold my breath for a moment as I debate my answer.

“Hello?” The voice is definitely more annoyed the second time, and I rush to respond.

“Hi, this is Annie, from the library, I’m from the library.” Stupid, stupid, stupid . . . “Is - is
that job offer still on the table?”

_____

My first day “on-the-job” for Black Mask so to speak, I meet Ms. Li. She’s . . . nice, I
suppose, but she’s way too devoted to making sure everything runs well for Black Mask. She
doesn’t even flinch when he orders people dead.

And Black Mask is so terrifying. Like. . . I can’t even tell if that’s really his face or . . . or
what.

“So, this is the new recruit.”

I’m not his fucking recruit. They didn’t recruit me to anything.

“Yes, sir.”

Sir? How does he even want to be addressed?

“Well, make sure she understands what happens here stays here.”
Not fucking likely. That’s literally the whole reason I’m here.

I keep my face schooled, though.

Ms. Li nods, and with the most stoic expression on her face I’ve ever seen, continues to
check things off on her clipboard while I stand there awkwardly at her side and follow her
around.

The second day is similar, only I get my own notebook and basically become Ms. Li’s
assistant.

And in the days that follow, I fall into a routine. Mostly I see people walking in and out - or
dying, because that’s just how Black Mask is . And I still see Eric Donahue often. I think he
has the impression we should be together. It makes things kind of awkward, at least for me.

I also find out that Eric has the title of “lieutenant.”

“Yeah, I’m a lieutenant. Very important. Anyway, there’s this really interesting book I think
you’d be interested in!”

I take the book and try to play it cool.

“Thanks! I’ll try to read it when I have time.”

Which I don’t. I don’t have time - ever, not with basically two jobs and school and - I have no
time for this.

He leaves, but he constantly stops by my desk for small talk and to bring up the books.

I curse Sofia Falcone for having ever given me the idea that he’d be my in.

It’s very redundant work and I’m basically Ms. Li’s underling, but it keeps me busy and I no
longer have time to meet up with Emma and Sarah. I’m Black Mask’s secretary’s secretary -
or lackey, or whatever you want to call it.

I have access to the information I need, which is what I need for work.

My reports are not very detailed at first consisting mostly of who’s who. It takes a couple
weeks before I start to notice any patterns in their behavior.

By August, my reports begin to take on more substance, with notes on what shipments come
in where and with what. But, school is really making it hard to keep up with a weekly
schedule of reports for Sofia and Mr. Falcone.

I’m so stressed out by the time classes are about to start, what with trying to make my reports
for Sofia and leaving them at the dead drops, on top of making sure all the paperwork for my
last year of school is in place, my job for Black Mask, and my lack of me and friends time,
that I don’t notice him following me that night as I leave my apartment building - and I don’t
hold my manilla envelope under my jacket. I’m so stupid about it, but I’ve become so
complacent. And I make so many mistakes that night.
And what the fuck was I thinking? I hadn’t even stopped to eat my granola bar or have lunch
or anything.

I leave the manilla envelope in the latest in the long string of innocent looking places I’ve
found throughout the city and then head in another direction. I don’t bother sitting down like
I normally would on the bench to make it look less suspicious; I don’t bother reading a
newspaper for a few minutes only to set it down on the chair, my report in the folds for Sofia
to find.

No. I just want to go home and sleep, so I drop the envelope and head home.

I almost make it, too.

Except then, there he is - Eric - and he’s holding my report in his hands with a furious
expression on his face.

“What the fuck is this?”

I stare at him, not really believing this is happening.

Because what? I haven’t even spoken to him in a while, and here he is following me?

“I said what the fuck is this?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I try to make my voice as confused as possible, but
he doesn’t seem to be buying it. Fuck .

He grabs my arm, and crap. He pulls me into an alley and gets really close to my face.

“You - bitch ,” he looks so betrayed, and a small part of me feels bad, because yeah, I strung
him along, but seriously? He’s taking this too personally. “The boss - he - you fucking bitch
!”

Right, because he’s the one that introduced me as a candidate as Ms. Li’s assistant. He’s the
one they’ll blame.

He pulls his fist back - and I just know he’s aiming for my face, and I tense a bit, but fuck, I
haven’t eaten enough today. I quickly raise my arms to block, falling into the rhythm of
moves I’d learned at the MMA gym years ago.

“What the fuck?” he mutters, even as I begin to play dirty and aim a kick between his legs.

This only makes him angrier and he manages to grab a fistfull of my hair - why didn’t I put it
up - and pulls, and I think maybe I’ll just try the sonic vibrations of doom anyway, and turn
except it hurts and - fuck, fuck -

Bang!

That . . . Eric’s face is - it’s . . . there’s blood spattered all over my face and hair and - and . . .
his head is - it’s bloody and a mess and I can’t even really make out his features at all, even
as his body falls forward onto me and my ears ring from the loud noise.

I scream, barely hearing my own voice and chills running down my body as I back up.
Someone drops from above - one of the roofs, cause I’m in an alley and fuck fuck fuck. This
guy has a gun, and I didn’t eat enough -

I take a step back, and this guy doesn’t even pay me that much attention to me, taking this
huge knife out, hacking away at Eric’s neck before sticking it in a duffel bag.

I think I’m going to be sick.

I’m definitely going to be sick.

Except there’s no food in my stomach and instead I find myself sitting with my head between
my legs, breathing deeply for some semblance of stability.

“You alright?” comes the muffled question, as the red helmet finally turns to face me. I try
not to focus on how thick this guy is - his muscles clearly visible through his black combat
pants and leather jacket. I try not to focus on the guns currently at his sides, or the AK-47
strapped to his back - those metal death machines looking more menacing with my lack of
fuel than ever before.

I nod slowly responding before I can stop myself. “I could have taken care of him myself.”

What the fuck is going on in my head that I’d say that?!

“I’m sure.”

He doesn’t sound like he thinks I could, have but he kneels next to me and pulls my hands
away from my face.

“Up you get,” he says as he pulls me up.

“You’re the Red Hood.”

“Heard about me?”

He sounds amused, the maniac.

“You killed Eric.”

“Was that his name? You knew him.”

Nevermind - not amused. Suspicious. He’s definitely suspicious.

“He’s - he was . . . ” I try to answer but he’s searching Eric now, leaving me to stand on my
own (not the best idea right now) and comes up with a manilla envelope - my manilla
envelope.

Fuck.
I begin backing away slowly, not taking my eyes off him, even as his head tilts to the side.
And then I’m running, taking a quaker oats bar out of my purse and running as fast as I can to
the office.

“Annie?”

It’s Ms. Li still at the office, and I blurt out, “Red Hood killed Eric.”

“What?”

I start shaking and now I can’t stop it as the bile rises in my throat and I rush to the office
restrooms.

“Annie?”

Ms. Li’s holding out a wet washcloth to me and wiping my face - and right. Eric’s blood.
Because he’s dead. After following me to the dead drop. By Red Hood.

“Are you okay?”

I nod, even though it feels like a lie.

“Take it from the beginning.”

And so I bullshit my way through an explanation, saying I was heading to one of my favorite
delis for a late night snack when I ran into Eric and then . . .

“Things got a little heated and then all of a sudden . . . he’s dead. He’s shot in the head and . .
.”

“It’s okay. It’s alright.” She rubs my back. “I didn’t know you two were together.”

There’s a reprimand in her voice.

“We weren’t. He just - he wanted. . .”

“Was he trying anything?” Ms. Li looks upset now.

“Even if he did, he can’t anymore.”

Ms. Li nods and then looks up - someone’s at the door, that’s a shadow and as I look up I see
him - the boss.

“I’ll take her home,” Ms. Li says, “and I’ll be back in the morning.”

_____

The following few days are tense whenever I go to the office.

I can feel their eyes on me, suspicious. So I keep my purse stocked with Quaker Oats granola
bars and eat large meals, making sure I’m stuffed with as much food as possible.
Just in case.

So, on the fourth day after Eric’s death - he’s not going to get a funeral any at the office are
invited to, even though his head has been mailed to the office - I come home and I nearly
shatter the bones of the guy inside my apartment.

Because Red Hood’s in my apartment. What the fuck is Red Hood doing in my apartment?

And he’s just sitting there, absentmindedly thumbing through the files on my kitchen table -
the files about my mother’s murder, the files on LexCorp, the files on Black Mask, and the
file I keep for my bills.

“What the fuck are you doing in my house.”

I’m not as scared as last time, because even though he still has all those guns - and what the
fuck? Is that a bazooka? - I have superpowers.

“Just wanted to know what this is.”

He pulls my manilla envelope out of his jacket without even looking up.

“It’s none of your fucking business.”

He looks up this time, and seems to be silently judging me for my language.

“I mean I could always take this to Blackie.”

“And I could always make it so you could never walk or have children ever again, but that’s
impolite. So I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”

And this guy bursts out laughing.

“You’ve got spunk, I’ll give you that. But seriously.” His laughter fades away and he waves
the folder up high - damn this guy’s tall. And thick. “You’re a spy. That’s a dangerous
profession, you know?”

“You need to leave.”

“What? You got a boyfriend you don’t want seeing me?”

“And if I did?”

Not that I do, but he’s being a bit of an ass.

And he shrugs, and I swear, there must be a smirk on his face. “Worth it.”

“Fine. What do you want?”

“I already told you,” and he waves the folder in my face again.

“And I already answered, it’s none of your business. Next question.”

“See, I think this is a report. So who do you work for?”

He completely ignores my answer - ass - and walks a little closer to me. And he’s too close -
he’s a killer - he killed Eric (who admittedly deserved it, probably, but I can still feel his
blood on my face and the shock from the violence and-) he’s close enough that I can make a
grab for one of the guns at his side. It’s a stupid idea, but I’m running on adrenaline and all of
a sudden I’m on the ground with his thighs on either side of my face - and I just push.

And send the Red Hood flying, and the pictures on the wall shaking.

Fuck.

He gets up slowly, patting his jacket to get rid of imaginary dust.

And for a second he just stares at me - I’m still on the ground trying to get up and catch my
breath.

“Well, that was interesting.”

The room shakes a bit more as I glare at him.

“Woah, woah, I get it. No need to bring down the whole building.”

I push myself up and head to the kitchen for a granola bar, and -

“Quaker Oats? That’s the food you go for?”

Ignore him, ignore him, it’s not worth it. Ignore him.

“What can I do to make you go away?”

He’s leaning over the counter, and I’m really starting to get pissed off at this guy.

“You could go on a date with me?” He must take one look at my face, because he quickly
adds, “or you could just give me this information. I mean sure - send it to whoever you have
to, but I want in on it.”

“Or what?”

“How many people know about your habits ‘quaker.’”

And what - quaker?

“Why the fuck did you just call me quaker?”

“Quaker Oats, earthquake . . . it’s better than vibe.”

I - I have nothing to say to that. Except, Quake is Marvel, and this - I can’t deal with this.

“Whatever.”
“What you don’t like the name?”

“I’m tired and hungry. And I have work in the morning.” With that, I slam my bedroom door
closed and press my back to it - sinking and trying not to think of how if I didn’t have any
powers - with all those muscles of his and his quick reactions - I would probably be dead.

“You didn’t answer my question!” he calls through the door.

And I briefly wonder which one he’s talking about - the boyfriend? The date? Or how many
people know I’m spying on Black Mask?

I decide it doesn’t really matter, and by the time I open my bedroom door again ten minutes
later, he’s gone, leaving just a number taped to my fridge.
 Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

School starts about a week later, and I haven’t seen a hint of Red Hood - the guy who killed
Eric, the guy that dresses up like Joker’s old alter ego, the guy -

A small voice in my mind supplies - the rather well-built guy with beautiful muscles and -

I squash the small voice in my head as fast as I can.

So, I’m definitely not freaking out when Richard Grayson sits in front of me on the grass in
the quad.

“Hey, Annie.” He’s sitting cross legged, but I can see, just beyond his shoulder the other guy
- Tim - and a whole crowd of teenagers. I shudder to think who they might be - probably
more sidekicks.

“Go away,” I say after a moment, turning back to my textbook and making another note in
the margin before turning to page-

“So, I know a few years ago you said no-”

“If I said no a few years ago, I doubt my answer will change.” I interrupt not even looking
up. This looks like a promising quote; I should save it for -

“And I mean, a lot can change in a couple of years -”

“I doubt it.”

Yeah, I’ll save it for my final paper. Maybe my thesis can be about -

“And anyway we have a couple of different teams -”

“I’m not going to join any of your fucking teams.”

Fuck this, I can’t work in this environment. Not with this guy around - there’s no way I can
continue studying - I doubt he even knows what the word means - how long has he been at
Gotham University?

“You don’t even know any of us!”

“That’s exactly the point.”

“How - how can you be so -” he looks frustrated, and I’m mildly reminded of a petulant two
year old upset about not getting his way.

“How old are you again?”

“What?”

“Because aren’t you significantly older than me?”

He looks offended.

“I’m not that much older than you.”

“And you’re still in college?”

He has the grace to look ashamed.

“You look like a two year old right now with the pouting. Look, not all of us can live off a
trust fund.” Definitely offended now. “Some of us need to graduate which means I have
homework to do. I don’t want to join any teams any time soon, it’s too much work and way
too much of a commitment.”

“And yet you work for the mob.”

You know what - fuck that. He has no right to judge.

“See you later, Big Bird.”

His eyes widen, but I don’t bother to stick around, I have places to be and homework to do,
so I quickly gather my books and walk away.

“Wait! Where’d you hear that nickname?!”

Well, even if I can’t study, at least I’ll get some payback.

“Tim!” I yell back and his face looks murderous. Maybe I’ll finally take the poor guy off the
shitlist . . .

Then again . . . I did spend hours on rewriting those papers. Decisions, decisions, but first -
homework.

_____

I hate grocery shopping, not only because it’s stressful as fuck (don’t give me that look,
adulting is hard, and I eat a lot ), but because I live on the fifth floor of a Gotham City walk
up. Which means stairs. One trip - because I don’t have a car and I’m not leaving all this stuff
where anyone can grab it - with heavy bags. Up. Stairs.

But, I’m not bitter (I totally am).

My arms strain as I practically crawl up the last steps and ugh, this is so heavy.

I drop my groceries in the entryway the second I get inside, and lock the door, before I grab a
granola bar (again) and head to my laptop on the dining table.

I need to put the finishing touches on my paper which is due tonight and -
“So. Big Bird?”

I might jump out of my skin, for a second, but I’ll forever deny it to anyone who asks.

Because he’s in my apartment again. And I hadn’t even noticed. I turn slowly and glare a bit.

“Are you spying on me ?”

“You never answered my question.”

He sounds mildly defensive and definitely amused.

“Which question? I dodged a lot of them, and - hey, don’t change the subject! How did you
know -” He’s touching my shoulder - why the fuck is he touching my shoulder?!

“Say hello to my best friend - the bug.”

I jump a bit when I see what looks like a roach on my shoulder and immediately start trying
to get it off and - oh. It’s not a bug - thank God. It’s a listening device. Or rather it was. I
might have crushed it with my vibrations of doom.

“What the hell, you just - that was expensive.”

I’m still trying to calm down from my mini freak out that I just shoot a glare at him.

“Whatever,” he mutters. “It’s not the only one I have.”

I have to suppress a shudder at that.

“So, you never said, why’d you call that guy Big Bird.”

Because the Bats won’t leave me the fuck alone. Of course I can’t say that, so instead I just
say, “It was a funny nickname I got from his younger brother, and I felt like being
obnoxious.”

I turn back to my laptop and he hums, sitting on the other chair - mom’s chair - elbows on my
table and even though I can’t see his eyes through that helmet, I know he’s staring at me.

“So, that date -”

“I’m not going to date you.”

“So, you’ll be my spy?”

“I didn’t say that either.”

“Well, it’s one or the other. Consider it a thank you for saving your life when that guy -”

“His name’s Eric, and I told you, I had it handled.”

“It didn’t look like it.”

“Well, I did. Why are you even doing this? What does it matter? Aren’t you a psycho killer or
something? Why the fuck do you care about information on the Black Mask’s organization?”

The helmet tilts to the side and he seems to be examining me for a bit before he responds.
And he sounds offended. “I’m not a psycho killer. I’m just doing what needs to be done to
clean up this town.”

“By getting information on Black Mask? To do what?”

“See, the thing Batman doesn’t understand is you can’t stop crime. And I’m not going to. I’m
going to control it.”

It’s not - it’s not a bad idea, except that’s - that‘s basically what Falcone does.

“And how are you going to do that?”

“I’m going to take over and make sure they don’t sell to kids. I’m going to be the one
protecting the layman.”

“You say that now, but you basically just want things to stay the same and be the one in
charge.”

He seems to scoff a bit.

“I don’t want things to stay the same. I don’t want them dealing to kids and my punishments
aren’t a slap on the wrist. I’m willing to do what needs to be done to clean up this city and if
that means killing the ones that go against my orders, I will.”

“Just the ones that go against your orders?”

“I mean I wouldn’t be opposed to killing psychos like Two-Face, or -”

“And the Joker?”

He’s silent, but Jason’s face flashes in my mind, along with all the guilt I’ve been suppressing
while working for the mob, and I want to know his answer on this. What about the Joker?

“The Joker’s at the top of my list.”

Before I can stop myself, I nod and say, “Okay. I’ll help you. What kind of information are
you looking for?”

“Just like that?”

It sounds like he wasn’t expecting my response.

“I don’t agree with a lot of the things Batman does - or rather doesn’t do. Even if you killed
Eric, I can get on board with getting drugs away from kids. So what do you need?”

He leans back in his chair.

“Well, first of all, who do you work for? Besides Black Mask, that is.”

“Falcone.”

He leans forward a bit. “Really?”

“I’ve worked for him since I was sixteen.”

“Why?”

I roll my eyes. “Well my mom had just died and I didn’t want to move in with Lex Luthor in
Metropolis, so I didn’t have that many options.”

“Why would you move in with Lex Luthor?”

“Because he’s a meddlesome businessman that thinks he owns me because I’m a science
experiment gone wrong? I don’t know.”

He’s silent, and, as the silence extends, I feel obligated to add, “I mean, you saw what I can
do.”

“How long have you been like that?”

“A few years? Probably since I was nine - but I couldn’t really control it for a while and
didn’t even know about it until I was twelve - I think .”

He nods slowly, and then asks, “So, you never answered - you got a boyfriend?”

I roll my eyes, but can’t stop the smile that comes to my face. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“No seriously!”

“I have a paper to write, so if you’re going to be so obnoxious, you’re going to have to

leave.”

He holds his hands up in surrender and laughs. “Okay, okay, what’s the paper about?”

He’s actually a great study buddy - this Red Hood - great at sentence structure and grammar
and great at helping me find quotes to support my thesis statement . And by the end of the
night, I have my seven page paper almost done and plans to send him my next report on
Black Mask.

I just hope this won’t end up biting back at me later.

_____

I’m freaking out over Thanksgiving break because of this stupid stupid test - and this study
guide isn’t helping a bit.

I think my eyes are going to dry out and fall out of my skull at this rate.
Ugh.

This year, school has been rough, and we’re about to have finals and then just one more
semester. I vaguely remember the last year of both High School and College in-the-before
being really difficult to get through (although to be fair, it was all a struggle bus and a half).

But I just want it to be over. I want to have my degree and leave the mob business forever.

Maybe I’ll apply to Wayne Enterprises (it’s as good a job as any, and I could definitely see
myself as an analyst or administrator), but most likely, I’ll just apply to become a sales
representative or try for a Masters Degree. Either way, I don’t really have any idea what I’m
going to do from here.

And it’s so stressful, not knowing what to do with life and with this test hanging over my
head that I just shut down.

Instead of focusing on finding a solution to my problems, I turn on the TV to news - and

crap . The Justice League is the talk of the nation, right now.

Something about the end of the world. Again. And I just can’t deal with this .

I quickly turn off the TV and sigh, getting up to stress bake, and by the time it’s five in the
evening, I call Ms. Smith.

“Hello?”

She’s shouting again.

“Hey, this is Annie.”

“Annie! Happy Thanksgiving!”

“You too! How have you been?”

“Oh, I’m hanging in there! And you?”

“I’ve given up on trying to study for finals.”

She laughs, and it brings a smile to my face, and - and I get an idea.

“Are you busy today? Because I have a few pies, and no one to eat it with, if you want to
come over.”

“Oh, well . . .” she’s hesitant, and my heart drops a little, because I could really use the
company.

“I’m not feeling too good to making a long trip, why don’t you come over?”

And it’s thanksgiving - so of course I’ll go.

“Absolutely! I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

I get to the apartment with a few minutes to spare.

“Ms. Janet! Things are good?”

“Yes, dear! I have the rent check, by the way!” she calls from the kitchen, and I walk over
with the pies, dropping my keys in my purse.

She’s busy at the stove making a thick beef stew and rice - comfort food - and smiles as she
turns to me.

“Hello, dear.”

“Hey! I have apple pie and pumpkin pie and -” she kisses my cheek and takes one of the pies.

“Sweetie, you didn’t have to bring so much. I’m happy just having you here. Now why don’t
you set the table while I get this meal ready and we can talk about how school is going and
when you’re going to give me great grandkids.”

“Wait, what?”

I can’t help laughing.

“Yes! I’m not getting any younger.”

Ms. Janet’s a riot.

“I don’t even have a boyfriend, I doubt grandkids are anywhere near in the future.”

“Well then you ought to get dating.”

She says it with a smile, but I’m not sure if she’s joking or not. Either way, our conversation
moves to school and thank goodness she doesn’t even broach the topic of what I’m going to
do after graduation.

And by the time dinner is done, the dishes are clean, and our conversation has waned, it’s ten
o’clock at night, and I’m making my way home.

It’s already really cold in Gotham, especially with the sun down, and I briefly regret not
grabbing another jacket, but I’ve already committed to my trek home.

“Nice night.”

I almost wish I brought my glock, because while I’m badass enough on my own, especially
after all that food, stopping bullets is tiresome. And he has a lot of bullets in those guns
strapped to his thighs.

“Hello, Red.”

“So, you can tell your grandma you don’t have a boyfriend, but not me?”

Fuck.
“Where’s the bug this time.”

He chuckles and then reaches for my purse and pulls it out.

Crrk.

“Hey!”

I smirk as he turns his gaze from the crushed piece of technology in his hand to me. “That’s
what you get for spying on me.”

“You can’t see it, because of the mask, but I’m glaring at you.”

And I can’t help it - that’s funny, and I start laughing, handing him my pie pans. “Here, make
yourself useful.”

He takes it, but says, “You sure this is how you want me to be useful? You could just tell her
I’m your boyfriend, it’ll get her to stop bothering you about great grandkids.”

I snort and look up at the night sky. “She’s not really my grandma.”

“She’s not?”

“We just sort of found each other. She lost her home because of Falcone and was asking him
for help and I - I had this condo just sitting empty from . . . and anyway, I wanted to help.”

There’s silence and I glance over at Red Hood, who, after a moment, says, “You can’t see it,
because of the mask, but I’m smiling.”

It brings a smile to my face as we come up to my apartment.

And then I turn to him - but he just keeps going - straight up.

“Hey!”

All I can do is follow him up the stairs and then -

“So, when are we going to have that date?”

I roll my eyes.

“I don’t date masked morons.”

“Ouch. I’m insulted.”

“You should be. It was an insult.”

“Alright, give me one good reason why you won’t.”

He hands me the pie pans after I’ve unlocked the door and we’ve both entered, and crosses
his arms.
“One: I’ve never seen your face and don’t even know your name. Two: I’m vain and
superficial, and without seeing your face I can’t make an informed decision. Three: You’re
one of Gotham's criminals, technically, and I’m certain Batman is going to come after you
sooner or later. I have enough problems getting him to leave me alone without adding this to
the list.”

“Wait, what? Why would Batman-”

“I don’t know, ask him.”

It’s quiet for a while, and then he gets really close to my face.

“Maybe I will. See you later, Annie!

And if I don’t move for a while, well. It has nothing to do with how he smells like leather and
gun powder and - fuck. Since when was any of that supposed to smell attractive.

_____

Librarians love it when absolute silence reigns in their sanctuary. Me? I love it too and feel
bad when I have to talk. Except this girl has come straight up to my table and sits down as if
it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And she’s smiling at me as she opens her books.

“Um, hi.”

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind, there weren’t that many places to sit.”

“Go ahead, I don’t own the table.”

Even if I wish I did.

“I’m Stephanie. Stephanie Brown.”

Is that supposed to mean something? She said it like one would say the name Bond - James
Bond.

“Annie Simon.”

I really hope she doesn’t keep talking.

“How many finals do you have left?”

Damn.

“Just a couple.”

Vague and unhelpful. Maybe that’ll get her to leave me alone.

“Yeah?” She’s smiling . . . “I’ve been trying to find a good place to study for a while and I
just - “

“You know we’re supposed to be quiet, right?”

Damn. Now she looks like a kicked puppy.

I’m a sucker for puppies.

“Sorry,” she mutters, and I sigh.

“You a freshman?”

She nods, and I scoot over to look at her books.

“This professor’s an ass, but his tests are basically the study guide, so if you can get that,
you’re golden. For history, forget the study guide, it’s useless. Professor Collins just likes to
mess with you freshmen. And the study guides are going to be your best bet with the other
two classes - but don’t memorize it or anything.”

She smiles.

“Thanks.”

“Steph? Where are -”

Fuck.

“Yo.” I pull away from Stephanie’s books because that’s Tim - the current boy wonder - and
why the fuck is he glaring at me?

“Did you have to tell Dick who told you?”

Oh. Right.

That was fun.

“Consider it some of the payback for my laptop.”

“What?”

Oh? Does he not remember?

“You wiped my laptop, remember?”

“What, Tim?”

Ooh. Stephanie sounds jealous.

“Don’t worry, he’s too young for me. And he’s on my shitlist.” She doesn’t look too upset,
anymore, even though she still looks a little jealous. Tim looks annoyed, so that’s a plus.
“You shouldn’t have been hacking Wayne Enterprises,” he responds, and hey! There’s a
normal person here. Does he not care?

“Tim?”

“This is Annie Simon, Steph.”

Some kind of realization seems to dawn on her and she stares at me.

“Okay, guessing she’s in on your family secret. Okay. See you later.”

I’m not dealing with this shit. I gather my books and just as I’m about to escape, Stephanie
calls - this is a library, why do you not understand that? - “Thanks for the advice!”

I can’t shake the feelings of guilt though - guilt because since I’ve started this . . . partnership,
for lack of a better word, with Red Hood, I haven’t really thought of Jason as much - yeah
he’s a big part of the reason I’m doing this, but . . . And then the boy wonder just had to show
up and ugh!

I’m all sorts of messed up.

_____

Winter Holidays arrive faster than I expect once finals are over and I’m able to beg off going
to Falcone’s parties - because undercover . Since Black Mask doesn’t really do holidays, I’m
allowed free time to myself.

So I bake pies and cook a turkey - and have a feast all to myself in general. And it’s really
lonely, because Ms. Janet is having bingo night with the old people at the hospital (they’re
her friends) and Emma and Sarah are on some ski trip in Colorado. (That’s such a terrible
idea, what were they thinking?) And I’m not about to call Red Hood.

It makes for a very boring holiday with me just wandering around my apartment eating,
doing some push ups, squats, and situps. And before I know it, it’s New Years Eve and -

And I don’t even flinch when I see him at my kitchen table rifling through my files again. It
was bound to happen anyway.

“Maybe I should just give you a key.”

“Hey, Annie.”

“Hello to you too.”

“Didn’t have any plans for the Holidays?”

“Well, Mrs. Smith is heading to the church, and told me not to worry about her. . .”

“So that’s a no?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You can’t see-”

“Oh, shut up.” I smack his shoulder and head over to the kitchen.

“Want some pie? Oh, wait - that would mean you’d have to take off the helmet. Never mind.”

“No! I want pie!”

He sounds so dismayed that I put make two plates of pie and set one in front of him.

For a solid minute while I’m eating, I’m sure he just stares at the plate, until I just roll my
eyes and get up to grab one of mom’s old eye masks.

“There. Eat.”

It’s weird, not being able to see and eating, but shortly after, I hear a weird sound, and - and
wow. He’s eating the pie.

“This is good. Where’d you get it.”

It’s ridiculous how proud I am of my pie at his words. Because I know I’m a good cook, but
to have it validated by someone else? - That’s priceless.

So I respond with an “I made it.”

And try not to let the stunned silence (it has to be stunned, what else would it be?) get to my
head.

I finish my pie - I think, I can’t really tell because of the eye mask, but - he takes my plate
away, so I guess it’s safe to say even if I’m not, I’m not getting any more pie.

“Thanks. It was good.”

“I should hope so. I’ve been making pie for years.”

“For the Holidays?”

“Yeah, with mom.”

He hums and then - and then there’s - did he just kiss my forehead?

I reach up to the eye mask, my face beginning to heat up, but by the time it’s off and I can see
again, he’s gone, and so is my pie pan.

There’s just a note - what is with him and leaving notes - saying Thanks. We on for Friday
night? I’m thinking we could watch a movie. Without the eye mask - though that does give me
some ideas.

And then there’s a smiley face as the signature.

I snort at his ridiculousness, but take the paper and stick it in my wallet.

If I look at it various times throughout the next few days while at work - well, who can blame
me?

_____

My last semester rolls around and it’s become a routine, between Red Hood and I. He comes
over, flexing his beautiful muscles, and I pretend not to notice while he helps me edit my
English essays and my senior research paper (the monster of a paper that reads like a book)
and tries to pry intel from me with intermittent requests for a date.

And pie. He takes to asking for pie a lot.

And even as we become better friends and partners, it gets harder and harder to shrug off his
requests for a date.

I know he’s just saying it to mess with me, because he won’t ever let me see his face, I know.
But it doesn’t change the face that I’m really starting to have a crisis here.

So when I see the shipment manifest as I’m filing papers for Ms. Li in the last week of April,
I welcome the distraction.

I briefly memorize the shipment information and when I get home write it down and send a
quick message to the Red Hood’s phone.

I saw this cool advertisement at work today.

I don’t even have to wait a minute before I get a response.

I’ll be there in thirty minutes.

He’s here in twenty, but at least this time he knocks.

“What’s the news?”

I look up from my pot - I’m making soup - and raise my eyebrows. “You’re early.”

He shrugs. “Business went smoother than expected. What’s the news?”

I turn back to the pot. “A shipment’s coming in this Saturday from LexCorp - Black Mask
has it labeled as important technology and with the subtext AMAZO - whatever that is -”

“AMAZO?” Red had been poking around in my kitchen until I said the name, but now he has
his hands on my shoulders and - he’s so close. Crap.

“Uh, yeah, that’s what I said.”

“Fuck.”

He’s pacing now, and I’m a little confused.

“Red?”

“When does it arrive?”

“Oh, no. You’re not doing this without telling me what exactly it is.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“ I’m dangerous. Besides, if it’s tech from LexCorp I want in on it.”

His body looks tense.

“That’s not a good idea.”

“And going after this on your own is ? Look, I won’t even do much, if you don’t want, but I
want a sample of it, something. ”

We have some sort of stare off until he finally mutters “fine.”

And I’m so relieved, because this is what I’ve been waiting for - solid intel.

“Good. The shipment’s supposed to arrive from across the river - from Metropolis - on
Saturday.”

“Why do you need it again?”

“It’s tech that’s been in close proximity with LexCorp.”

“So the only reason you need it is to get into LexCorp’s systems?”

“Yes?”

I don’t know where he’s going with this.

“I just . . . I guess I’ll just have to put my plans into motion a little sooner than I’d liked.”

I’m not impressed and really annoyed. Because what plans?

“You haven’t even done that much with the intel I’ve given you.”

“Just because you haven’t seen it, doesn’t mean I haven’t started taking over.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, just last week I -”

He gets quiet all of a sudden and I frown, turning the heat off on the stove and turning to face
him again. “Last week?”

He doesn’t say anything. And for a long moment, I can’t figure it out until it hits me and I
realize - he doesn’t trust me. At all. Red Hood doesn’t trust me. And I can’t even blame him.
So, I nod and say, “It’s okay. Whatever. I’ll just.” Deep breath, because this hurts a lot more
than it should - he shouldn’t trust me, I’m not that trustworthy and - “I’ll see you Saturday.”

I grab a bowl from the cupboard and try to pour the soup without looking back. Because I
know he’s gone. He’s not going to stick around and -

Yep. Gone. Just like that.

_____

When Saturday arrives, I’m at Gotham’s docks, dressed up in my old Catwoman Halloween
costume, a position I thought I would never be in, trying to finally get some solid intel on
Luthor, intel I don’t need to travel to Metropolis for.

It’s cold, even though it’s practically May. Red left the keys to his motorcycle with me early
this evening, but I haven’t seen any sign of Red, since.

And it feels too quiet.

The time for the shipment to arrive comes and goes, and I’m left anxiously waiting for
something to happen.

And it doesn’t.

It’s almost an hour later that I hear a van accelerating way too fast with three morons inside.

They’re driving like lunatics, and I can’t help but think to myself how idiotic that is - do they
want to die?

Oh, fuck. Batman’s following them. And derailing them.

Actually, they have some pretty decent survival skills - trying to get away from the bat.

Only, their driving around like lunatics makes them drop the shipment and roll over - and I
know it’s my shipment by the logo on the side.

“Who do you work for?”

At least they can keep their mouths shut.

And then, I don’t even understand why but the shipment starts to open and Batman and
Nightwing are fighting this robot thing - and that must be AMAZO, because it’s the only tech
I see. And it’s got fucking lasers for eyes.

I hide. I hide behind a cargo container while Nightwing and Batman fight the robot until it’s
nothing but scrap metal.

And then just as they start to interrogate Red’s men - they’re loyal at first until Batman scares
the crap out of them - and they’re about to give him up, there’s a loud shot - and I can’t see
what’s going on, but I know .
I know Red must have killed them. I hang back while Red gets chased halfway around
Gotham and I sneak over to grab a piece of AMAZO’s leg - even as he’s hanging over the
men. Maybe I can vibrate a piece off . . .

Just . . . a little . . . yes!

“What the - hey!”

Damn.

Nightwing almost caught me. Well, might as well commit. I step out of the shadows, put my
hands forward and push - because I don’t want to kill him, just slow him down enough for me
to get to the motorcycle and run.

And I succeed, just enough to get away, but not fast enough to avoid the bow staff - push,
push -

Or turn to dust, that works too.

I was aiming to just get the bow staff away from me, and instead disintegrated it.

Sorry, Tim. Maybe I’ll take you off the shitlist and we can be even now?

Man, this was fun.

I get home after ditching Red’s motorcycle a good mile from my house - they thought I didn’t
see their tracker, but I did! Red’s better at hiding his bugs. I’ve learned from him.

And I go straight to bed, hiding the mechanical leg under my bed because I’m not about to
lose sleep over this. I can work on it in the morning.

_____

I go into work Monday after classes to find the whole office in disarray and Ms. Li looking at
me sternly.

“Where have you been? I know it’s almost your birthday, but that doesn’t mean you can just
show up late.”

She doesn’t have to make this personal, bringing up my birthday like she does, but she looks
really stressed. And I’m not late.

“Classes got out at twelve. Today’s Monday - Classes day. Did you forget?”

She frowns - guess she doesn’t like being corrected when she’s wrong.

“Just - just go home. Things are getting very stressful right now.”

“Why?”

I know why, but I want to hear it from her.

“There’s been someone making some serious moves into the business and he cost the boss a
lot of money last night. A hit’s been put out for the Red Hood.”

Fuck. Then he - he’s already been - fuck .

“So, you should go home, take the day off, and hope you don’t become a target. We’re going
to handle this.”

“How.”

“Black Mask’s going to send the Fearsome Hand of Four.”

Fuck.

I get home to find Emma and Sarah waiting at my door arguing about whether or not I’m
going to answer.

“We’ve been standing out here for three minutes, now, Sarah, I don’t think she’s in the
mood.”

“I mean, if I were inside, I would - but seeing as I’m not, you’re going to be there for a
while.”

I say it just to be obnoxious and catch them off guard.

“Annie!” They rush to me, and begin yelling in my ear about how we just have to go out.

And even though it’s to celebrate my almost graduation, it feels wrong to do this. To go out.

“Come on! You ditched us on your birthday and you don’t even have classes tomorrow!”

And fuck it. I want to have some fun and ignore the fact that there’s a hit out on Red Hood.

There’s a bar just about a block away and after sending Red a quick message of warning
about the Fearsome Hand of Four, I’m off.

It’s a nice club, but I can tell there are drug deals going down in the corners and the VIP
lounge is filled with tons of shady looking people.

I even recognize some of them and they raise their glasses in greeting.

“Who’s that.”

“No idea.”

“He seems to know you.”

“I really couldn’t care less, Emma.”

Even as I sip my cup of seltzer water, there’s an odd sound - like a car and -
“Get down!” I grab Emma and Sarah as glass goes flying and a fucking car comes crashing
into the bar .

I cover Emma and Sarah as bullets are indiscriminately shot around, making sure to keep a
steady flow of out vibrations and then -

“Hey! Don’t you know who protects us?”

Bang.

There are a couple of stragglers and I guess the three of us do a good job of looking dead that
when the police arrive to take statements, they seem surprised to see the three of us get up.

“Annie, are you okay?” Emma and Sarah seem beyond spooked, while I’m just angry.

Because how fucking dare he - Black Mask that bastard. He sent them here to get at Red
Hood and - ugh.

“I’m fine. I just want to go home.”

Emma and Sarah let the ambulances on-site take a look at their vitals, but I’m not letting the
doctors anywhere near me.

By the time we’re released (after witness statements are written and general check ups are
done) it’s three in the morning.

“Sorry it wasn’t like we planned.” Sarah tells me in a small voice outside her dorm.

And I feel bad, because yeah, I’ve gotten used to shit blowing up in my face, but Emma and
Sarah? They have been able to get away with cowering from the crazies of Gotham so far.

And it sucks, that they probably won’t be able to do that for much longer.

“Don’t worry about it,” I tell them - mostly to make myself feel better.

I’m not sure it works.

_____

It’s late - or early - that night that he climbs into my bedroom window. I almost push him
back and aim my glock - which stays under my pillow all the time at him - and then I see
who it is and stop.

His hands are up in surrender.

“Morning to you too.”

“Red? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Can I crash here for the night?”

I eye him suspiciously before shaking my head and muttering ‘whatever’ before turning
around and falling back into bed. He climbs in next to me - pulling me into a hug and -

He’s taken his helmet off.

“What are you doing?”

“Go to sleep,” he tells me.

I shut my eyes and try to turn around.

“No, come on just -”

“Red.” I say his name a bit strong and he sighs.

His arms are reaching over my head and covering my eyes while I turn around.

And then I don’t even know what to do. Because here we are again.

So I just say the first thing that comes to mind.

“I’ll keep my eyes closed,” I mutter, not really meaning it, because I’m so curious, but also
sort of meaning it, because this is uncomfortable.

Another sigh until he lets go. And I keep my eyes closed, because I promised.

“Thanks. For earlier.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“But I do. You didn’t have to help me get the robot.”

He’s silent for a moment, before responding.

“And you didn’t have to send the warning to me about the fearsome hand of four. But you
did.”

I can’t see him and it’s annoying. Because I just want to see expressions on his face. Instead I
carry on, trying not to let my frustration show.

“It’s okay if you don’t trust me - I get it.”

“That’s not it.”

“But, you can’t just show up here like -”

“I just felt like some company.”

“He’s going to kill you, you know that right? Black Mask’s going to stop at nothing to get to
you, he’ll do crazy things and -”
“Well, I mean, that was the plan.”

What the fuck?

“What do you mean that was the plan? Why would you want him to keep going after you?”

“You’re one to talk, going to a bar at night - you almost died . . . I can’t . . . I don’t want to
talk to about it right now. It’s still . . . my plan’s still a work in progress.”

“Oh really? Well what are we supposed to talk abou- mpf.”

There’s a warm pressure on my lips and I can feel his hands gripping my arms and even as I
gasp and my eyes snap open (he has green eyes?) because what the hell (I thought it was just
a joke, his requests for a date) something - it has to be his tongue, I realize - slips into my
mouth and . . . He’s . . . he’s kissing me - and he’s a really good kisser.

“Just stop talking,” he mutters against my lips after a moment and his hands are letting go of
my arms, coming up to grip my face and tangle into my hair and - and I can do that. I can
shut up.

I - He’s really very distracting and when the kissing doesn’t seem to be enough, he begins to
pull at my shirt and my bra, eventually reaching down below my waist.

The rest of the night passes in a haze of sensation and pleasure, with me on top at some point,
and when I’m shaking at the end, I swear it’s not just me.
 How to Fail at Being a Wallflower

Chapter 013 - How to fail at being a Wallflower

I wake up the next morning to a cold bed. The sheets are on my bare skin - why? I never
sleep out of my pajamas, this city is always way too cold for that - and as I try to move, I
realize what a horrible idea that is. Because it hurts - everything hurts, like I worked out at
the gym and did too many squats only it’s muscles I’ve never used before hurts - and fuck.
That’s not what happened. That’s not what happened at all, is it?

The memories flood back and - and I slept with Red Hood last night. Why? What was I
thinking? What possessed me to do that - what possessed him ? Am I going insane? I try not
to think about how amazing it was and how amazing he felt. And - and shit. I’m screwed. I
am so screwed (literally and figuratively) because after a night like that - I think he ruined me
for anybody else. I don’t think anyone can measure up to - well, him .

I can tell he’s gone, because I’m strangely cold, and I peek an eye open to see the clock by
my bedside - it’s ten in the morning. It’s not too terribly late considering what time I got
home and how I spent the evening - don’t think about it, you’ll just want to go for another
round.

Except it’s Tuesday and ten o’clock means work. Work that I’m late for. Work for the Black
Mask who Red’s trying to bring down.

And it’s not like I can even tell the truth, “Sorry I’m late. I spent last night sleeping with your
enemy.” That would not go over well.

I struggle to convince myself to move and the only thing that really gets me going is my
grumbling stomach - not the thought of work (that actually almost convinces me to stay in
bed) and not the thought that Red Hood might still be here - I’m not sure I can handle seeing
him after that fantastic night - No, my stomach (demanding food) is what finally convinces
me to crawl out of bed, grab an oversized shirt and head to the kitchen - following the smell
of coffee.

He made coffee - bless you, Red - and just beside the machine is another one of his notes.

Don’t go to work next week. Say you’re sick.

Which, easy enough. But, Falcone won’t like it. And neither will Ms. Li.

But first, I need food. I’m too tired to deal with this. I’m almost relieved to see him not in my
apartment at this point. Another part of me is annoyed. How dare he just disappear like that,
without even a goodbye?

As I’m putting toast into the toaster, I turn on the news - and immediately regret it.
“Back to our developing story; early this morning, Gotham and Metropolis both experienced
a low level earthquake, leaving scientists baffled. Seismologist Dr. Jolene Relazzo, you have
more information, tell us what scientists know as of now.”

The screen switches to a Guest speaker and there’s an awkward silence as technology
struggles to catch up.

“Yes, thank you Megan. Right now, there isn’t very much damage to any main structures in
the city, but we don’t know if this was the foreshock or the mainshock just yet. If it was the
main shock, we should still expect aftershocks, which we haven’t seen yet, and that’s what
makes this so unusual as it was a relatively weak seismic event. If it was a foreshock, we
haven’t seen the last of this, and should be prepared for the worst. What makes this really
unusual is Gotham isn’t known for earthquakes.”

“When can we assume we’re safe?”

“We can’t. We can only keep an eye out until the aftershocks begin.”

The screen returns to the anchor.

“Thank you Dr. Relazzo, keep us posted. You’ve heard it here on Action News. We’ll be back
after the break to give you the morning report and the weather forecast.”

I shut the tv off.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I - I caused an earthquake? I thought that was - fuck. No wonder I’m
hungry.

And why is my phone ringing?

“Hello?”

“Ms. Simon you’re late.”

“Oh, Ms. Li.” Fuck. “I’m not going to be able to come in today. I’m not well. I just got up
and - I’m having stomach troubles.”

“I was going to tell you not to come in. The small earthquake from this morning made the
office unstable, and until we can get it habitable again, I thought it would be best to have you
just stay home.”

“Oh.”

Fuck. I’m causing all sorts of problems today.

“I’ll send you a message to let you know when to come back.”

Only I don’t think I am going to come back. But, I’m not about to tell her that.

“Alright.”
She hangs up, and I’m left in my apartment - left completely unscathed by my vibrations -
and wondering what to do. The news doesn’t seem to think the earthquakes are done, and I
briefly wonder if I should give them the aftershocks they’re waiting for.

But first, food. I need food. I finish making a sandwich - toast, cheese, and turkey slices - and
drink my coffee, trying to not think too much of Red’s hands on me, and -

Nope.

I shouldn’t think about it, otherwise I’ll never get anything done.

I start with sending small vibrations through the floor - and I can see the whole city shaking
just a bit.

I feel only a little bad about it.

And then it occurs to me that I still have the piece of robot under my bed. A robot I haven’t
tried to link up to my laptop. I went through all that trouble to get AMAZO’s leg, and - I
guess I have my project for the day.

I’ve never been more frustrated by a piece of technology in my life. It has very few data files
- all encrypted - and is otherwise practically useless scrap.

It might have been better to just leave it to the Bat.

I briefly consider calling them up - just to see their faces when they see it - but decide against
it.

If they were willing to wipe my computer because of information I had on it from Wayne
Enterprises that I already knew , I’d hate to see what they’d do with the new data I’m getting
from this piece of junk.

And I really don’t feel like rewriting my senior research paper - which is due tomorrow. Even
if it’s synced up to the cloud, I don’t trust them. Red Hood - sure. I’ll trust him with this, even
if he doesn’t trust me with much. He helped me with the paper, but Dick and Tim?

No. Nope. Never.

They’re not getting within ten feet of my computer.

And I don’t need them snooping around my apartment. Chances are they’ll find some
evidence to Red’s presence or whatever and then accuse me of crimes against humanity.

_____

It’s a few days later and I’m getting annoyed. I’m getting annoyed because Red Hood hasn’t
contacted me. At all. He slept with me and left, and I haven’t heard a word from him since.
And I don’t want to sound clingy - because that’s not it at all, but -
What, does he think I do that every day or something, that I’ll just sleep with anyone that
crawls into my bed? Or is he scared because of the earthquake?

Because if that’s the case, he has more reason to be scared by avoiding me.

And I’m just so sick of this silent treatment. I swear if I see him and he acts like nothing’s
happened I might break his face - or helmet, whatever.

And then I see the nightly news the night before graduation, and I panic a little. Because
that’s the Joker there and since when did he get out of Arkham? He was in Arkham, I swear
he was - he’s been in Arkham for years now and how the fuck did he get out?!

“Reporting Live from Gotham Bay Bridge! There’s a multiple car pile up as police are on the
scene and the Joker holds hostages in a truck. All lanes are blocked, both southbound and
northbound. Beware, the following footage may be graphic.”

Joker’s on top of a truck laughing maniacally. He bows, and then he’s crouching over this
opening in the truck and singing about teapots - and they really have great microphones to be
able to catch that - while he drops something into the truck. It looks like he’s emptying a jug
of some liquid. Knowing what I know of the Joker, it's probably extremely flammable.

Fuck - he’s a maniac. I’ve never actually seen him live before - the DC live action movies do
not do him justice - they don’t capture the terror of his insanity. And he’s got something in his
hand.

Why are they turning the camera away from him? Are they insane too?! Only, the camera is
pointed up where some floodlights are pointed and then there he is - Red Hood. And what the
fuck is he doing? He’s standing on the bridge like a maniac or some over dramatic prima
donna. It’s like he’s going out of his way to be over the top. Why is he even there?

And then Joker and Red are talking back and forth and I’m struggling to keep up. Because
what the fuck? I thought - he never made it seem like Joker was his end goal.

“One second. I’m setting fire to your gang.”

“Go ahead. You think I care if that scum dies?”

“Don’t know. I just wanted your attention.”

“You’ve always had my attention. But what I really wanted was an audience with you.”

Red what are you doing? What the fuck are you doing? Joker’s a maniac, and I’m stuck here
at home while you try to get yourself killed? Why on Earth would you do that?

“I’m sorry, that seems to imply that you organized this little clambake.”

“I did. Sure I had lots of plans, but the endgame was getting Black Mask so desperate that
he’d cut a deal. He was the only one with the connections to get into Arkham and get you
out.”
What the fuck? He really didn’t trust me at all, did he? This was his plan?

“So I’ve been bamboozled. Oh my.”

“I wouldn’t undersell it. It took a lot of work to bring about our reunion.”

“Reunion? Have we met before?”

“Yes we have.”

His words there are angry. And - and I’ve never heard him like this before. And when did he
meet the Joker? Not many people meet the Joker and get away with it - what are talking
about Red?

“Well, here’s to warm memories.”

Joker drops something into the truck and the whole thing goes up in flames and I almost
think he’s done it - killed more people - and where was Batman? But then there’s a jet - that
has to belong to the bat - and it’s putting out the fire.

A long hook seems to grab hold of Joker and he’s being taken away by the jet, when Red
grabs a hold. It’s all happening so fast, I can barely keep up - it doesn’t help that the camera
man can’t either. And then both Red and Joker fall into the Bay, and I’m sitting on the edge
of my seat, waiting to see them come up for air.

But they don’t.

“You’ve seen it live, here on Action News. This is a developing story, and we’ll keep you
updated.”

What? No! No, no, no!

Red - what the fuck are you doing? You - how stupid could he be? And I slept with that
moron?! I - I don’t have words for how stressed I am that night as I keep the news going all
night.

I don’t get that much sleep, and the explosion that I hear not too far away makes me almost
leave my house and go searching for him.

The only thing that stops me is the fact that Batman is probably near there and as much as
Red Hood is important to me, I’m not about to let Batman know Red Hood and I - that we - I
don’t even know what we are, but I sure as hell don’t want Batman trying to figure it out.

By the time it’s eight o’clock in the morning, I’ve had less than an hour of sleep and I’m
getting my cap and gown on. I also get a text from Ms. Li - Black Mask’s in prison, and I
need to find another job because it’s not likely he’ll be out any time soon.

_____
I go through graduation in a haze. It was supposed to be in the large arena downtown, but
after the earthquake - oops, my bad - it’s been deemed structurally unsound and needs
renovations and to be cleared by the Building Code Authority.

Despite that, graduation is not postponed. It’s held outside.

I feel a bit guilty (but it’s hard to keep berating myself when it had felt so amazing - Red
Hood felt amazing - and it’s even harder when a large part of me wants to do it again).

I only feel annoyed with myself when it begins raining at the end and everyone runs for
cover.

But I have my degree. Kind of. It’s going to be mailed to me.

A small part of me notes that Dick Grayson is not among the names of the graduates - he’s
not even listed in the program.

I mean, it’s not like he needs the degree. Whereas I - I need the degree for a job that doesn’t
involve the mob.

But it still gives an unreasonable amount of pride.

Which brings me to the message on my phone. It’s from Sofia.

Where are you? Black Mask’s organization has gone belly up.

I mean, wasn’t that the plan?

I’ve been fired .

I send the message and then leave the apartment to visit Ms. Janet. I need to tell her the news.

“Annie?” She seems surprised to see me.

“Hey.”

“Oh, dear, come in, you look so tired, have you been sleeping well?”

No.

“I got my degree,” I say instead and smile, waving the diploma cover.

She smiles and sets up her tea set, with earl grey and cookies - chocolate chip cookies. Have I
mentioned how amazing Ms. Janet is?

I smile and eat them, revelling in the taste and the company. She tells me about her bingo
dates with the other widows at the Center for the Less Fortunate. She tells me about this little
cat that keeps stopping by her fire escape and how she’s feeding it - she suspects it’s
pregnant, and when am I going to give her great grandkids?

I roll my eyes, and try not to think of Red Hood.

“I don’t have time for a relationship.” Not if I’m going to take down Luthor. And Red Hood,
the only person that even came close to . . . well I don’t even know where he is .

“Well, of course you didn’t . You were in school. But now? Now, you get out there and get
knocked up. You don’t even need a guy these days to have kids.”

Oh my lord, she really went there, how bad does she want me to have a baby?

I roll my eyes and eat a cookie to keep myself from biting back at her and as she takes a sip
of tea, I take a moment to observe her. She looks really sad. As if - as if she wants to say
something, but at the same time doesn’t want to put whatever it is into actual words.

My curiosity gets the better of me.

“Why do you want me to have a kid so much?”

She looks at me, eyebrows up, and smiles for a second before she looks down. “I like to think
of you like the daughter I never had. Or granddaughter, but I never had either of those. My
Michael, God rest his soul, didn’t want children because of how much travel his company
had him do. He didn’t think it would make for a good environment.

“I never really regretted it, but . . . now. I’m lonely. And -” she grabs my hand, “I don’t want
you to end up like me. Children make life brighter and give you a reason to live - they’re all
over the Center and they want mothers or they have mothers that are drug addicts, and -
you’d be a good mother.”

No I wouldn’t. I’d ruin someone’s life just like I ruined mom’s.

She pats my hand and we continue to talk about the center.

I leave with a heavier heart than I expected.

My phone buzzes next to me that evening while I’m eating takeout at the dinner table and I
don’t even turn to look at it because I’m so hungry . More than usual, that is - and isn’t that
strange?

My phone buzzes again to remind me of the message and I check my phone to see it’s from
Sofia.

Daddy wants you back on Monday.

Fantastic.

I go back because I have nothing better to do at this point. Red hasn’t contacted me. He
hasn’t stopped by and - and this is the longest he’s ever gone without stopping by. And I need
some busy work so I don’t freak out over the possibility that he might just be dead - because
he can’t be dead. He’s not allowed to give me the best night of my life and then die. It’s rude!

It’s not at all because I’ll miss his presence in my kitchen hunched over me as he reaches to
add something on my laptop - or his amazing arms or -
No. It’s not at all because of that.

_____

By the time June is half way gone, I completely give Red Hood up for dead - he’s either dead
or avoiding me - which is as good as dead at this point.

Which is why it’s a surprise when there’s a knock on my door.

I don’t check the peephole. I keep the chain lock in place and open the door a little.

Only to find a gun and fuck fuck fuck - why the fuck is Joker here?

“Hello!”

I’m surprised by the force of two guys kicking my door open and ripping the chain from the
wall . Fuck.

I back up as the psycho comes waltzing into my apartment.

“Do you know the moron who masquerades as Red Hood?” he asks as he points the gun at
my face.

“No.”

He looks so surprised at my answer, and he drops his gun, and looking around my apartment.

“Well, what am I supposed to do now. This was supposed to be the place.”

“Why? Are you looking for him?”

“Well, Bats mentioned a girl when he was talking to the boy wonder. And I figured I’d figure
out who she was and pay her a visit. It was something about a childhood friend or lover or
whatever. I’ve been tracking everyone in his elementary class down.”

What the fuck is he talking about? Red wasn’t - he wasn’t in my elementary school.

“I already stopped at the other place that has an Annie Simon in property records - I’m going
in alphabetical order of the first names, you see.”

Fuck. What is he even talking about? And - Ms. Janet? What did he -

“What the fuck did you do to Ms. Janet?”

His eyebrows raise and he points the gun back at me.

“Well, now what makes you think I did anything to - Ms. Janet you said?”

He hurt her - he did something - the psycho .

“What the fuck did you do to Ms. Janet?!”

“Now, don’t you think you should watch your language?”

He’s taking a tour of my apartment now and - he’s getting too close to AMAZO’s leg and -

“What do you want?”

Thank God he turns away from my room, I haven’t hidden the leg at all, and I know it’ll be a
big flashing sign, if he sees it, that I know Red.

“Well, I want to know what you know about Red Hood.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

He smiles - it’s terrifying really and points the gun at me. I’m almost not fast enough to stop
the bullet - definitely not fast enough to send it flying straight back to his head like I want to.
And then he’s standing there dumbfounded.

“What happened?”

He’s trying to use percussive maintenance on the gun, and hitting the grip against his other
palm, as if that’ll fix it. As if it was a problem with the gun not going off, even though the
shot clearly rang out, and not because I crushed the bullet.

“There’s nothing wrong with your gun.”

He smiles that crazy smile at me.

“What did you do? You’re getting more and more interesting.”

He leans forward and I raise my hands and point them all three of them.

“Ooh, what are you going to do? Are you going to shoot lasers from your hands or are you
going to -”

“Get out of my apartment, and I’ll let you live.”

“You know, it’s impolite to interrupt people.

“It’s also impolite to kill people, but I’m feeling rude today.”

He laughs at that, and I hold back a shiver - I made a joke that made the Joker laugh. That is
not an accomplishment to be proud of. It should make me afraid of who I am and who I’m
becoming.

“We should have come here first.” He’s telling it to his henchmen, but I know it’s for my
benefit. “That way we could have had fun with her instead of the old lady. This girl would
have been able to handle it.”

“Fuck you.”

“And she has such a colorful vocabulary.”

His voice is grating on my last nerve.

“And it would be poetic! I killed him, he comes back, he tries to kill me, and I kill his
girlfriend. Instead, I just got the grandma of the girlfriend.”

No. Ms. Janet’s okay. I just saw her. And who the fuck is he even talking about? Whose
girlfriend am I supposed to be? Batman doesn’t know about me and Red.

“You have three seconds.”

“You’re no fun.” He wanders to the cabinet again. And I’ve had enough of this shit. I quickly
send vibrations out and all three stumble, falling to the floor. I hope I broke their legs. If not,
that’s easily fixed. The distraction allows me to grab the one gun in Jokers hands.

“What -”

He stops talking the moment the gun turns to dust.

“I warned you.”

I punch him in the face and try not to cringe at the feeling of cartilage breaking under my fist.

He’s definitely out, though, so I grab AMAZO’s leg and, stick it in one of my backpacks - I
have to vibrate the metal into compliance - and rush out of the apartment.

I’m having a hard time trying to calm down and for a good thirty minutes I sit on a curb with
my head between my knees.

I can’t go to Ms. Janet. I can’t go home. Emma and Sarah are off on another Holiday trip to
Daytona Beach in Florida for the summer holidays. I don’t know where Red Hood is.

And Black Mask basically fired me.

I really have only one place left to go - Falcone’s office.

_____

It’s quiet and practically abandoned at this time of the night in the office. Mostly because
people want to be home at eight in the evening.

I slow my breathing, trying not to think about how Ms. Janet’s probably dead and I’m alone
again , as I head up the stairs and - there’s still people here.

“You think we can trust Annie anymore?” That’s - that’s Mario .

I don’t know him well, Sofia’s always been the Falcone I spent more time with.

“Annie’s a smart, loyal girl. Not like her mother. I’m sure we can trust her. And if not, well -
just think of how we took care of Mary.”

What? What is he talking about.

“I still feel a little bad about that, dad.”

Bad about what? What are they talking about? What do they mean took care of -

“Mary Simon knew what she was doing when she got mixed up with Lex Luthor.”

“Yeah, but I mean, did we have to - I mean - it wasn’t strictly necessary, and she was just
trying to take care of her kid.”

“It was a business deal.”

He’s frustrated, I can tell over the sound of papers shuffling. My mom was a business deal?
Why was my mom a business deal?!

“I still don’t think - after all that time she spent with Black Mask’s crew . . . you think she’ll
be okay with working here again? I mean, Black Mask had a much larger empire.”

“Oh, please. She was a part of the last days there with Black Mask. She’s been loyal for the
four years she’s worked for me, and she did such a good job with this latest assignment.”

“That’s what I’m saying dad. She did a great job infiltrating the Black Mask. That can’t be a
coincidence. She approached you . How do you know she’s not a pawn of Luthor? I know it’s
different businesses, but -

I’m honestly not trying to eavesdrop. That’s not the reason I’m here. I’m just trying to hide
from the Joker.

And now - what? Falcone offed my mom? I thought - I thought that was Luthor.

So I enter the office, close the door, and stare at them. They’ve become very quiet and don’t
seem like they want to break the silence.

So I do.

“What do you mean? When you talked about my mom just now, what do you mean?”

They don’t say anything and the longer they’re quiet the more angry I get.

“What did you fucking mean when you said you mentioned my mom just now?”

I don’t think I’ve cursed that strongly in front of Falcone before.

“Annie,” Falcone says slowly as if trying not to rouse a feral animal. And I get even angrier.

And then Mario brings up his gun, and I laugh.

“Oh, this - this is perfect. You have no idea - do you?”

They look confused now.

“You had my mom killed, didn’t you? For Luthor?”

Mario doesn’t put his gun down, even as Falcone nods. He must feel safe with that gun
pointed at me.

And so I nod. But immediately after, the whole building starts to shake. There’s a prickling
under my skin as the floor starts to break apart and - Bang - Mario shoots at me only for the
bullet to find its way into his skull - spraying blood over his father who barely registers it
when a metal beam falls onto his head.

And the room keeps shaking.

I’ve worked for this maniac for four years. And he killed my mom - or had her killed and -

I sit on the floor while the rest of the building slowly stops shaking and try to understand.
Because I thought - my whole life has just been one big lie, hasn’t it?

No matter what I seem to do, they just want to control me and -

Something happens in that moment - I feel the vibrations of five different hearts - and I’ve
never felt hearts before.

And there was only me , right? There should only be one heartbeat.

“Annie?”

I turn to the voice - Sofia? What’s she - that makes two.

“Annie, what happened?” She rushes into the room, checking her brother - and throwing up
when she sees his face. Or lack of one. Whatever.

And then she turns to her father who - he’s still alive? That makes three . As Sofia tries to lift
the beam - good luck with that - the minutes pass. And soon, I can hear sirens and - I have to
get out of here, don’t I?

“Annie, help me!”

Sofia’s distraught, and I feel a little bad because she loves her dad - like I love mom and -

“She’s the one that did this.” It’s quiet, but there. Falcone’s still alive? And awake?

“What? Dad? What are you saying?”

He coughs, and I vaguely register that I should do something. Like finish killing him.

“She’s the one that -” He coughs a couple more times. “- that brought the building down on
us.”

“What? Annie? What is dad saying?”

“I brought the building down.”

“Annie?”
She looks confused.

“I brought the building down.” I say it stronger, looking her in the eyes when I say it.

And now she looks angry, and she’s grabbing Mario’s gun, while I just sit here and - why
does it even matter anymore? I don’t care. Just - I just want this to be over. I’m tired of being
controlled - even if I didn’t realize it. Because fuck you, Falcone! I concentrate on his
heartbeat and focus on absorbing it - I’ve never done this before? What am I doing? Does this
make me a horrible person?

And I feel his heartbeat flicker out and stop as I stare at the bullet in Sofia’s gun and see her
finger begin to twitch in her hand.

Bang.

Sofia’s got a bullet in her head now and - I didn’t do that.

I turn to see Red. Red - who I haven’t seen in over a month. Red who - last I saw him - was
bantering back and forth with Joker on the nightly news. Red - who might -

That makes four.

He lowers his own gun and I’m staring at him and -

“Annie?”

I don’t say anything, and he kneels beside me, grabbing my shoulders.

“Annie, what happened.”

I’m crying and I never fucking cry, what is wrong with me?

“He killed my mom for Luthor. And Ms. Janet’s - she’s - Joker, he -”

The building shakes a bit again.

And he’s still as he seems to process my words before he moves, sticking a bunch of wires
and gadgets throughout the room and -

“Let’s go, Annie.”

But I just -

“Come on !”

His hand is held out, and this ticking noise is grating and seeming to count down my time and
- and he’s still waiting for me to take his hand. He’s putting himself in danger to make sure
I’m okay. So I take his hand and follow. We make it a block away before the place blows up.

“Where are we going?”

I ask to fill the silence, not really expecting him to answer.

“Someplace safe.”

And I’m so tired, and I used way too much energy tonight. And I need food.

I faint before we make it three more steps.

I don’t find out who heartbeat number five is.

_____

The dialogue between Red Hood and Joker is credited to the animated movie Batman:
Under the Red Hood.

Thus ends The Life and Time of a Gotham “Wallflower”. Stay tuned for The Life and
Times of a Would-Be Gotham Anti-Hero which will be coming out soon.

NOTE: Thank you so much for all the comments, kudos, etc! I reread them multiple times
and it keeps me going!
Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!