THE NEXT FEW hours happened in a blur. Callie had been through this kind of situation before. Someone coming back hurt. Everyone needing to be all hands on deck. Including her, even if she wasn't involved in this lifestyle, even if she wasn't one of them.

Because a life was a life and they'd try their damned hardest to keep everyone alright.

Nightwing sounded calm on the comms, but even she knew he was panicked. Even though he was doing a damned good job of hiding it. And breathlessly, he relayed to her the new course of action.

Yes, they'd gotten Scarecrow. But in the process, Jason had inhaled a fair amount of fear gas. He needed immediate medical attention, the kind that involved Batman.

He asked her if she wanted to be brought to the Batcave. To be there and make sure Jason was alright. Or if she wanted him to bring her home.

She told him she wanted to go to the Batcave.

And on the other end of the comm, she heard a faint murmur. "Fine."

That wasn't Nightwing. Or Red Hood's voice.

It was Batman's.

And she supposed, he would be the one with the jurisdiction of deciding who and who didn't get to go to the Batcave.

Nightwing came alone, Batman having brought Jason with him. He found her already packed up and ready to go. He let out a soft laugh. "They really taught you well, huh?"

"I know what I'm supposed to do," she said, annoyed.

"Any chance you know how to ride a motorcycle?"

"I do."

"I'll turn Jason's off auto-pilot, then. Thought you might want to give it a try."

Callie blinked. "I should... wrap up a bit better, then."

He handed her a domino mask. "Put that on. With a helmet on top. Should be fine. You know our secret identities, no point hiding shit anymore, is there? You won't tell?"

"I know where the Arrowcave is," she said, raising a brow. "I haven't told a soul I shouldn't, I assure you."

"Well, Bat's given you clearance. Just follow where I go. If the motorcycle gets too much, just tell me and stop."

"It won't."

He was treating her like a porcelain doll. She wasn't. She was far from that. She hopped onto Jason's motorcycle, gave all the controls a quick look-over, and then gave Nightwing a nod of confirmation.

They sped off into the night.

They headed the direction she expected them to. Towards Wayne Manor, though she'd never been there before. She'd made sure to check her first week in Gotham, because it felt like one of those addresses she should keep tucked in the back of her head.

Instead of heading down the route Google Maps had indicated, though, they took an unexpected turn. Callie didn't question it.

And then a tunnel, past a waterfall. Darkness greeted her, but the lights of Nightwing's motorcycle snapped on, illuminating their way. Callie swallowed but didn't stop.

She started slowing down when he did. And soon enough they entered a still dark, but fairly illuminated space.

His motorcycle skidded to a stop. She stopped too, albeit with far less elegance. Pulling off his helmet, he glanced at her. "Welcome to the Batcave."

She shut her eyes, trying to map out the path they just took. Then, her eyes opened with realisation. "We're under—"

"The Manor. Yes." Dick seemed a little impressed.

"Isn't it a bit of a security risk, having your top secret bunker right underneath your civilian home?"

"It's a closely guarded secret, Miss Wan."

Callie paused at the voice as she lowered her helmet onto the motorcycle before slowly turning around. She met his eyes, tilting her head. "Batman."

His cowl was on. And he was looking at her like she was a criminal to be interrogated. She didn't quite like it. But this was his home, his territory, so she had to play by his rules.

"I told Red Hood I'd intervene if things got out of hand."

"Have they?" she asked, arching a brow. "They got Scarecrow tonight, didn't they?"

"After he inhaled fear gas."

"There's always risks," she pointed out. "You can't tell me you haven't been injured before. Besides, he's been through worse. He'll survive."

She couldn't see his eyes, but she was sure they narrowed. "He did this for you."

"He sped it up for me, certainly. And I'm appreciative. But it sounds like you're blaming his injury on me."

Nightwing did his best behind her to make himself invisible. No clue what he thought about this conversation, or the fact that she was antagonising someone she probably shouldn't.

But she didn't like the way he was talking to her.

"You're not just putting him in danger, you're placing yourself in danger."

"If Rudolph Swinton did not run free, I wouldn't be where I am right now," she told him quietly. "I'd perhaps have stayed in England. Found a normal job. Began anew. But I will not rest until I have vengeance. Jason gets it." She paused, letting that sink in. "How is he?"

Batman stared at her in that expressionless, unreadable way, a looming statue that hovered over her unapprovingly. "He's in the sick ward."

"Come on," came Nightwing's voice. "I'll bring you over."

She gave a faint nod, turned and followed the younger man.

He laid there, writhing, a man in his mid-to-late fifties watching over him, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief, looking concerned.

She pondered, for a moment, if she ought to take her gloves off surreptitiously. This was a one-in-a-lifetime opportunity, being in the Batcave, even if she was doing her best to seem nonplussed by her surroundings.

But what would they think if they noticed? A complete and utter invasion of privacy? She'd seen the way people acted around her after knowing about her powers.

She decided to keep them on. She could just use her pinky if it came down to it anyways.

Nightwing murmured, "We're working on the cure. The new batch is a bit different from what he used to use, so our old ones aren't as effective. But we know what ingredients he used this time."

"How long will he be like that?"

"That depends." Nightwing sighed. "He... I think he's the one with the most things to have nightmares about out of all of us."

"I suppose dying and coming back does that to you."

"Yes." His tone was flat. "It does."

The man glanced up at her. "You must be Miss Calypso Wan."

"I am." She gave him a nod of greeting. She didn't offer her hand. She rarely did, unless she was actively fishing for information. "You are?"

"I am Alfred, the Wayne butler." He paused. "And also occasionally the medic, as you can see."

"Will he be alright?"

"He's overcome it before. I have faith in him. But until then, he shall be in... lots of pain."

He was mumbling under his breath. She couldn't make out what it was. It wouldn't be pretty.

She sat down on the edge of his bed, turning to stare at his face, unsure what he was meant to do. They were... friends? Allies? Was she meant to try and comfort him? She doubted that would do anything. She couldn't help with the cure. She couldn't do anything but sit here.

It made her wonder why she hadn't just gone home. But then she'd have just sat there until the morning, because she couldn't sleep after a night like this. But she felt so out of place.

Batman was wrong to try and blame her for Jason's injury. But she was at least a little responsible. So she wanted to be here, to help him out in the little way she could. She just had no idea how.

Alfred spoke then. "Miss Wan, I think I need to grab some new refreshments and check on the development with the cure. Would you mind taking over for a moment? Just try to keep him cool."

Callie practically leapt onto her feet. "Of course I wouldn't mind. Please. Allow me to help."

He seemed nice. Polite. He wasn't subtly suggesting this was all somehow her fault and she was responsible for everything. And thus, she would be nice to him in return. That was how Calypso Wan worked.

An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.

She moved to where Alfred stood, grabbing the handkerchief, as well as the small paper fan. They probably didn't want to get an actual electronic fan in case he ended up catching a cold. But she could see that he was sweating, his face blanche, features contorted together.

She dabbed his forehead and dipped the handkerchief into the bowl of water on his bedside.

Nightwing sighed. "Yell if anything seems wrong. I'm going to change out of my uniform. If you're tired, you can take one of the cots tonight. Unless you want one of the rooms upstairs."

He knew what she'd pick. "The cot's fine."

He gave a firm nod and walked away.

It was just her and Jason now.

She leaned down, trying to make out his whispers. She could feel his hot breath against her cheek, the pounding of his heart, the strangled cries.

"Help... Batman.... Help... Get me... get me..."

She straightened, swallowing.

She wondered, for a brief moment, what she'd see if she'd been the one who'd inhaled the gas instead.

The night she lost her sister, perhaps.

Or when she'd lost her parents.

Nothing to compare with actually dying, was it?

She reached down to dab his face again, but his arm shot up all of a second, gripping her wrist. Shook it. She stared, unsure if she ought to move.

"Please... Save me. Please!"

"Jason." Her voice was nary a whisper. And then she repeated it louder. "Jason!"

"Please." A single tear drop trailed down his cheeks. She tried to pry his grip from her wrist, but failed. He wasn't gripping hard enough to hurt, but it was still firm. "I don't want to die."

She had a good sense of what was in his head right now.

She didn't know who was working on the cure, but she hoped they succeeded soon.

She squeezed her eyes shut and sucked in a breath.

"So. You care."

Her eyes snapped wide open. Batman had snuck up on her, and she wasn't all that surprised. She turned her head, irritated. "We're friends."

"Are you?"

"Why do you hate me?"

"I don't."

"Doesn't feel like it."

He did not seem impressed. At all. But at that moment, she realised she didn't much care about impressing Batman. He was no god. He was just a man. A skilled man, experienced beyond his years, but a man nonetheless.

She'd spent years with Oliver and Dinah. She was, really, a bit immune to the whole superhero status thing. And Oliver's net worth was on par with Bruce Wayne's. Perhaps even higher when Queen Industries was having a good year. The wealth part didn't intimidate her either.

Jason was rambling again, still unconscious. She quickly wiped his forehead, fanning him carefully. Batman watched, motionless.

She asked, suddenly, "Why not kill him?"

Somehow, he didn't need to ask for clarification. "I have a code."

"He killed your son."

"I don't kill, Miss Wan."

"And that there," she told him softly, "is why people like him and me go down this path again and again. Why we put ourselves in danger again and again. Your code allows you to keep your moral high ground. But it puts everyone else—really, it even puts yourself in danger."

"People have tried harder than you to make me kill." He paused. "Jason included."

"I suppose they all failed."

"They failed."

"I'm not here to convince you to kill. I'm here to tell you why he did this. And why I'm here instead of halfway across the world. Because if you cannot deliver that vengeance, we will do it ourselves." She turned her head. "You cannot be stupid enough to believe he's only doing this for me. Cyrene was his friend."

"I've lost friends before."

"The death of someone you saw as a son was not enough for you to break your code? Even to kill a sociopath who would only claim more lives in the future?"

Batman's silence was an answer in itself.

"My sister would not have been Scarecrow's last victim. Or Rudolph Swinton's. We all knew that. I suppose Scarecrow was at least in and out of Arkham the past few days. Swinton has remained free all this time."

"There's only so much you can do against someone like him. You've been collecting evidence for years, haven't you? If you want to bring it to court, I'll fund you."

"We both know that does nothing." She lowered her fanning hand, turning her head slightly to see him. "And you're an idiot if you think it does."

"You want to kill him." A simple statement. Surely, Jason must have seen her intention too. But he was too scared to burst that bubble. Batman shared none of those qualms. He distrusted her and disliked her.

He thinks you're a bad influence, she thought with no small amount of amusement. He thinks you're leading Jason down the wrong path.

All her life, she'd been a model child. Excellent grades, extra-curriculars, she'd listened to her parents and then listened to her sister. Never had she been considered a bad influence.

But she supposed there was a first for everything.

"Shouldn't you be off working on the cure? Or supervising its creation, at any rate?" she asked, turning back to Jason to resume her care.

"If you try and kill him, I'll put you in prison myself."

She continued fanning him. "If I kill him, you're free to do so."

"I won't let it come down to it."

"Funny. I think that's what Jason said too."

"You still have time to turn back. Oliver and Dinah are more than happy to help you start a new life."

"I will never be able to begin anew," she told him quietly, "until I see them adequately punished. Perhaps if it does not come down to murder, I will move out of this country and never see any of you again. Or perhaps my new life will begin in prison, courtesy of you." She tilted her head. "Either way, however this ends, I shall be content."

She knew he wouldn't be satisfied with that answer. And that he'd probably be monitoring her carefully from now on (assuming he wasn't already). And that he would be doing his best to dissuade Jason from involving her in the future.

Jason would refuse to do so, of course. She trusted him that much. And she understood him enough now. He wouldn't take this for her because he knew exactly what it felt like.

When he still didn't talk, she murmured, "You knew my sister."

No response. She turned around, but he was still there.

"You've met her before. Spiritbird."

Finally, he replied, "I had."

"What did you think of her?"

"She wouldn't approve of what you were doing now."

"I wish she was here to express that disapproval herself. But then again, if she was alive, she wouldn't need to have done so in the first place. Jason died, but he came back to you. My sister didn't."

"You're not the only one who's lost before."

"I know." She arched her brow. "The famous orphan Bruce Wayne. I'm an orphan too."

"I know about your parents."

"I lost my parents and I still had to be grateful because at least I had someone to take care of me. The same way you ought to be grateful, because you weren't thrown onto the streets to fend for yourself either. But it still hurts, damn. Did you ever want to kill the man who murdered your parents? Did you ever find him?"

"I did. Many times."

"But you never went through with it."

"I don't have the right to decide who lives and who dies."

"And they do?"

"If you kill Rudolph Swinton, does that make you different from him? You'll be a murderer as well, won't you?"

"Ah. But you say you'll put me in prison. Which means I'll be punished for it too. Which equals it out. I'll pay for my sins after I make sure he pays for his." She raised her chin. "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth."

"You still have relatives home in China, did you know that?"

"They cut off contact with my family long ago. I can't even read Chinese well these days. And stop trying to get rid of me. I'm not going anywhere until justice is served."

"I'll let you keep working on this case if you promise not to kill Swinton."

"I'm not actively wanting to kill him. I'm just saying I have no qualms against doing so if it comes down to it."

"That's not good enough."

"It's the best you're going to get from me." She turned completely now, meeting his eyes. "You can't expect all of us to have your self-restraint. And your... rigid sense of morality. I'm only human, after all. Besides, plenty of your allies kill. Both Oliver and Dinah have taken lives before. You're not threatening to put them in jail every day."

"I'll always try and prevent one if I can."

"You've tried. I've told you I can't make promises, but I won't go on a murderous rampage anyways." She shrugged. "I'm one girl."

Forgetfully, she skimmed the surface of the cot with her fingers. The moment her pinky made contact, a flash of memory passed through her head. Panic. Worry. Fear. As they laid him on the bed. As they tried to provide him oxygen, get the fear gas out of him. There was another figure in the memory, a younger boy. She racked her head for a name to match. Ah. The biological son. Damian. His identity had been announced to the world a few months back after years of speculation.

She hadn't seen him yet. Was he the one working on the cure? Had to be.

By the time she snapped out of that brief image, Batman was already gone.