"You want chocolate, or strawberry?" I ask, fitting my hands into my pockets and leaning back against the wall.

Keenan grins at the creamery owner, "Strawberry."

Samita smiles back and begins scooping pink ice cream into a cone. Her store is a small, run-down deli on the outskirts of Crime Alley. It is one of the places just barely brushed by the efforts of the Wayne Foundation.

I had invested in spies here years ago. I paid and helped many families in this area and as a result when I need information, they can give it to me.

They are the best spies.

Why? 

Kids see more than adults.

"Everything all right?" I ask, turning to them. Samita shuts her shop and disappears into the back as I had requested.

I have six of them. Twin boys named Keenan and Raymond, three girls named Oriana, Stella and Yashvi and another boy name Joel.

They were pre-teens when I first hired them to keep an eye out for anything. They have a direct contact to my line and are the reason I get a lot of the evidence I do.

It has been a while though.

"Sort of," Joel nods, "Heard a lot more people are getting shot up lately these days."

The others nod in agreement over their ice creams

"Deathstroke? Gang wars?" I press.

They shake their heads and Keenan continues, "Not the Falcones or anything like that. Deathstroke hasn't been around but a girl wearing his colours has. She tried to tumble with Torque over in Blüdhaven but Blockbuster put her down. She's been licking her wounds in an apartment North of here."

I refuse the urge to snort. Rose would not last seven seconds against Blockbuster.

"Then the gunfire is..." I trail off.

Stella looks up at me from her cup of chocolate ice cream, "Red Hood."

Ah. 

"Apparently he is getting more violent," Martina adds. 

"Thought so," I try and steer away from that topic, "What else?"

The kids look around at each other, waiting for someone to speak. It's endearing as they all seem quite into their ice cream. Treats are rare for them. I also feel guilty for my lack of visits. Jason essentially became my information centre.

I stopped needing them, like I stopped needing Angelique.

 Keenan and Raymond are fourteen, as well as Stella and Martina. Oriana is sixteen and Joel is fifteen.

"No one has seen Catwoman in awhile," Stella says. Again, something I already know. They continue to shift eyes and eventually I pick up on it.

"You're all avoiding it."

They wince together, big innocent eyes darting up to stare at me guiltily.

"I assume someone told you that I was going to ask about people dressed in red? I assume that's why Tommy and Malik and Chontel aren't here?"

Instead of speaking, they all nod. They stop eating their ice creams and hang their heads in shame.

"They said they were protecting you and that if you found out, people would get hurt," Oriana says. 

"We don't even know how they knew about our connection to you," adds Joel.

Flora of the Warriors of Red, I assume. She can see everything.

They still seem timid, but I smile at them as a comfort. I reach into my purse and pull out a couple thousand.

"Here," I say, handing them equal parts each, "Let me know if you get into any trouble, okay?"

They seem much more reluctant to take the money this time. It's probably because they had very little information compared to other reports.

In all honesty I give this money to them because I know they need it. Each kid, apart from the twins, lives in a different apartment building. They know who needs what and this money will be able to provide it.

I usher them out of the store so Samita can open again. They wave goodbye to me with toothy smiles. Keenan and Raymond are the last ones out.

Keenan gets to the curb but Raymond, the much more reserved and quiet of the two, stops and turns to me. 

Big brown eyes stare up at me innocently. Sweat has gathered on the end of the umber skin at his hairline, a sign of nervousness. He always holds onto his infortmation until the end.

The quiet children see it all.

I lean down to his level and he whispers in my ear, "Your secretary was with Red Hood at Mo Man's Bar. She wanted to see Angelique but he stopped her."

With that he turns on his heels and prances away like a skittish fox, Keenan chasing after him. I barely have the patience nor the desire to watch him go.

Instead my mind is plagued by the image of Kalie and Jason, side-by-side in that disgusting old bar, perhaps rekindling their old romance.

I knew Kalie wouldn't listen. I should have tied her to her damn desk.

When my own suspicion gets the better of me, it can be dangerous. 

I sneak out of Crime Alley in the inconspicuous car I arrived in (Ginger's, she is not as materialistic). I had meant to return to my office.

Before I can even realise the direction I am taking, I find myself parked outside of Kalie's apartment complex skirting the middle of the city.

Damn it. 

When I get out of the car I keep my glasses on, head bent, avoiding the eyes of Sunday strollers. No one needs to see me in the civilian clothing I had to wear to Crime Alley.

I know the key to her front apartment door out of pure convenience. I type it in and the door unlocks. I push it open and step into the soft silence of the lobby.

We found this place together for her to move into from Crime Alley. She literally cried when she was handed the keys. Hell, she looked like she was going to cry when she walked in and realised she could afford it.

The guard looks excited to see me and waves, uttering a shy Good morning, DA Meadow. 

I smile back, "I'm just here to see Kalie."

"Of course!" He nods enthusiastically, gesturing to the elevator and bowing. I ignore him and head that way anyway. Kalie lives on the fourth floor, one of the two apartments on it. The lift doors slide open and I approach the apartment to the left.

A part of me wants to kick the door open and swoop in, just in case she took him home last night. I have never forgotten their relationship.

But, at the same time, I know Kalie has feelings for me.

So...

Knock knock knock. 

There is some sort of groaning noise from the other side.

"Coming," she shouts faintly. 

A series of thumps indicate a perilous journey here. Maybe she's drunk? It's 11am, so I would hope not. Between the two of us there should only be one alcoholic. It takes a while for the actual door to open, but eventually it does and she peaks through the crack. The apartment looks dark and she looks...atrocious. 

"Venus!" She exclaims, immediately stepping back and pulling the door with her. The apartment is shrouded in darkness with the curtains drawn and no lights on, from what I can see. "What are you doing here?"

Then, my eyes move back to her, and I feel my stomach lurch at what she is wearing.

Fishnets, denim shorts, nothing bad there; but on top of her Crime Alley ensemble, she is wearing something very familiar to me.

In her clearly hungover state, she only barely picks up my face.

"What's wrong?" She asks. Then, as if remembering herself, her eyes drop to her person and she comes to meet eyes with one of Jason's leather jackets.

I try not to assume. I try to keep it together. I clench my fist behind my back.

"N-No," she begins, wide eyes shooting at me in panic, raising her hands, "I-I went to check on the bar and I saw him and it was cold!" She explains frantically, "I swear Venus, I would never!"

A small, malicious part of me wishes it were true. It would give me a motive to send Jason one of Kalie's fingers and then I would have his attention. His attention, something the psych part of me understands I want.

"I believe you," I hear myself say, using my powers to read her and find that she is in fact not lying. Nothing happened.

So calm down. 

I unclench my fists, flex my fingers and glance away. I roll my shoulders and step back a bit. 

Calm down Venus.

I watch her nervously peel the jacket back. It's gigantic and nearly swallows her whole. Shakily, she holds it out to me.

"Why are you..." I trail off, but then the familiar bullet holes and scratch marks catch my eye. The scent of leather, cigarettes and whiskey and...Jason.

My fingers are closed tightly in it before I can contemplate the mental and emotional dangers. Or the Jason dangers, should he be creeping around my windows again. 

"Are you hungover?" I ask dumbly, looking her up and down.

She nods, "I had a few at the bar."

"With him?"

I do not mean it to sound harsh but it comes out that way. Kalie looks a little bit frightened. I take a deep breath, not to calm myself but to clear my head because I'm afraid of my own reaction.

"Why?" I ask shortly.

"He looked terrible," she murmurs, avoiding my gaze, "I just thought he could use a chat. We didn't talk about much. We...We didn't talk about you. He just mentioned some things about some cases and how these teenagers are stalking hi-"

My mind jumps at the suggestion immediately, "Teenagers who wear red?" I press.

She nods, frowning, "Yeah, uh, four girls."

Four girls following Jason without wanting me to know. 

Four girls. 

The Warriors of Red are arranged in squads of four. I trained one; members Mira, Eileene, Roxy and Flora. It could be them. It could be Paulie, Sabine, Daisy and Taneal. It could be Mona, Yazmin, Makenna and Leeri.

But why are they here?

"Get some sleep, eat some food," I tell Kalie, backing away, "You want me to get you anything?"

She shakes her head frantically, which seems to bring another wave of disorientation on. With a moan she slumps back against her doorframe with her hand on her head.

"No I-I couldn't eat a thing," she groans, "Sleep though. Sleep yes."

"Good," it gets awkward, time to evade, "I'll see you tomorrow. I hope."

I turn around and start walking away.

"Bye," she responds softly, watching me go. I expect that's the last of it, but as I reach for the button, "Venus." I turn around to see her staring at the floor with a sad face. "He's really hurting too."

The jacket weighs heavy in my hand. She folds her arms and leans back against the frame. She looks tiny and dishevelled. I wish I could stay but I know my own mind and how it will wander to her and Jason sitting side-by-side in a downtown bar.

"Good." 

I spin back around and press the elevator button. Yet, Kalie doesn't go back inside. I glance over my shoulder again to see her giving me that same sad look.

"I think you need each other," she says.

The ding cuts through the tension and I quickly step into the elevator. 

"I don't need him," I tell her as the doors slide shut.

Later that night my bullshitting shines through as I sip apple juice out of a wine glass. I guess on top of that, my alcoholism is coming to fruition as well. 

"Think I'll celebrate your birthday with a couple of bottles, Rybka," I say, glancing down at my stomach.

I had taken to calling he/she Rybka, meaning 'little fish'. Before dad started calling us Tykva, as in pumpkin, he called us Rybka. I don't know why but it has something to do with his own childhood. It fits my little one.

My little one. 

Everything is bitter sweet. I want to enjoy this. I mean, how lucky am I having such a balanced BMI that the foetus is upright? Almost no baby bump, easy to hide during my campaign. I'll win, have my child, spend some weeks on maternity leave and jump right back in....

I sound so ignorant.

This is going to be a hard road. One that I'm not exactly walking alone, but definitely isolated. Ginger and Caelan are here for me, but going back and forth between Lightway and Gotham takes up time.

Parents are supposed to raise children. He/she will only have one.

What if Jason never holds it? What if he doesn't want to hear his child's name? And whose last name will our son or daughter take- Meadow, or Todd? 

I toss the empty wine glass to the side and drag myself up with a groan. I head over to the blinds and peer out at the rooftops, seeing no one. That does not mean there is no one.

So I shut the blinds.

I move through my vast bedroom, closing each, until I'm officially hidden from the world and its prying eyes.

The silence is only broken by my own attempt to keep my breathing soft and methodical. No tearful, shuddering cries or gasps of grief. Just stillness.

I stand in the centre of the room.

There are no memories here. I moved almost immediately after the breakup; not because of it, but for a better strategic advantage. People think I live on the floor above, in the penthouse, but I really live beneath it.

This place only slightly resembles the old one. Mahogany furnishings, red palette, luxury.

It's a different bed. The one I shared with Jason was far too heavy to move, so my father's men hacked it apart and threw it away. It was a beautiful and grand piece of furniture with thick carved posters. 

I remember the red linen we always slept with like it's still here, but it ended up in the box Ginger took to donations. Crimson silk we shared so many nights on, beneath, ruining.

The room is bigger and emptier and cold. The balcony is vast and Levi and Kira love it, but it is no place for me to garden. The TV is too low for me to watch Big Bang Theory comfortably and the office has no window for me to gaze out and remind myself what I am working to protect.

My old apartment was warm. The balcony fit my plants, Levi and Kira perfectly. The TV was at direct eye-level and my office has two big windows.

And it had him. The smell of him- of leather, cigarettes and whiskey. This place smells like cleaning fluid. 

I want my child to grow up in a place of love. To giggle on the balcony as Levi and Kira enthusiastically fetch the balls they throw. To complain about Jason's smoking, to call Bruce Grandpa and my father Dzyedooshka. To have their uncles and aunties fight over who is the favourite. 

I want my child's father to be a father. To help me tell them that they descend from a line of heroes. To help me tell them they also descend from a line of gangsters. To tell them that I killed their biological grandmother, but Selina will do her best to take up the position.

I want to do this with him, in our home.

Instead I am alone in a strange place.

Well, not entirely alone. 

When the inner-lining of his jacket presses against my stomach, I imagine it's really him. Like he's there, smiling, giant calloused hand gently pushing my shirt up and hoping for a kick. To lie down, as I am doing now, and curl around me, whispering to our future.

Instead I lie coiled in on my side, desperately clutching his jacket around me. One of the two things in this apartment resembling him.

I press the collar to my face, breath it in slowly. Him. Jason.

When I breath out it is a shuddering cry, cutting the silence as I continue to sob into the night.