The Penguin Hunt - part 1

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"Your mission performance was...satisfactory." Deathstroke drawls out from behind his desk.

Well, that wasn't what you were expecting when you entered Slade's office, a knife at your head would have been more probable.

Only Deathstroke could somehow put a precog on the backfoot.

You and Ravager discreetly look at each other, silently agreeing not to respond.

"Impressive, silent communication is a rare skill even for more experienced mercenaries. Your partnership's done more than I first anticipated." He looks at you through one bright blue eye, idly scratching at his shock-white goatee.

Oh if only he knew how far your partnership went.

You wonder what Slade's reaction would be if he found out you bent his daughter over a car seat and fucked her until she was a whimpering mess.

Most likely he'd just tell you not to do it on his coffee table.

"You did so well, Ms. Pontias even gave you a sparkling recommendation to her associates." Your fingers dig crescents into the flesh of your palm.

"What did she say?" you ask conversationally, your voice muffled by the mask you wore.

"She went on and on about how you paid attention to her needs and how you both provided quality entertainment?" He quirks an eyebrow. "Care to elaborate?"

"I'm very good at charades." You say fighting to stop your cheek from twitching.

"I'll make sure to add that your file right under can't tell a lie to save his life."

You can feel Rose glaring daggers into your side.

Would you rather me tell him about how his baby girl was calling her partner "daddy?" you want to say.

"In any case, it's not my concern. You got the job done and the client's safe and sound." You breathe an inward sigh of relief.

"Our contractor was quite happy with your performance and even threw in a bonus. I, of course, deducted that as recompense for your atrocious time management skills. What could have taken you an extra fourteen hours to return to home base?"

"Our car broke down," Ravager answers, "had to stop by a mechanic to get it fixed. Civilian clothes and paid extra, no loose ends," she adds in hurriedly.

Deathstroke gives her a skeptical look before reluctantly nodding. "Well then, now for the fun part, your money." He hands the both of you to checks and - wow that's a lot of zeroes.

Looking to your right, you see Ravager is in a similar state of shock.

Slade reclines in his chair. "Enjoy it, this was an extremely generous contract. Now, Cadmus, I believe we had a previous arrangement?" His eyes bore into your own.

You nod silently in response. This is what the last seven years have been leading up to.

Cobblepot would finally be brought to justice, and maybe just a little bit of the guilt you carried would be lifted.

The visions of the diner enshrouded in flame, and the image of Danny's tombstone dance in front of your eyes.

"Excellent." Deathstroke reaches out from underneath his desk and pulls up a pile of manila folders stuffed with papers, leather-bound journals, and notebooks with ink-stained pages.

They hit the wood with a heavy thump. "This is everything I have, every location, hideout, and safe house Cobblepot owns in Gotham. I even threw in a list of his Capos just as an extra." He says with the satisfaction of a man clearly proud of his work.

He holds out his hand expectantly and you give him back the check. He replaces it with another one, this one has significantly fewer zeroes. "I hope you know what you're doing kid."

"You okay, Slade, for a second I thought you were getting sentimental."

"Not at all," The mercenary grins. "just don't want Penguin wiping off your bloodstains from his lounge and giving me a bad name."

"Your faith in me is so comforting." You say dryly, Deathstroke shrugs in response.

"I admit I'm a pessimist, but I'd put more money on a Nigerian prince asking me for money than you pulling this off."

Somehow, you could tell he didn't really mean that.

"Well, I've made a habit out of doing the impossible." Visions of the spartan-helmed warrior turning to dust before your very eyes flash before you.

"Come tell me that after Penguin's dead, yeah? I'll even share a glass of whiskey with you."

You know that's the closest thing you're going to get for good luck.

Who knew there was someone more emotionally stunted than Rose? Of course, it would be her father.

Ravager catches your arm just as you turn to leave. "Just what is this about, Cadmus?" her blue eyes bore up into you through her mask.

"Something I should have done a long time ago." You free yourself from her grip, ignoring the flash of anger and hurt in her eyes.

"Oh and one more thing, Ms. Kyle sent you another letter," Deathstroke calls out.

"What's it about this time?"

He scoffs in a very Ravager-like manner.

"I'm not your errand boy, read it for yourself." Placing the files within your bag, you snatch the letter out of his grip.

The smell of lavender hits you the moment you tear it open. It's definitely Selina's, you would know that flowery script anywhere.

"She enrolled me in high school?" you ask incredulously. Ravager snorts clearly amused with your suffering.

"She still is your legal guardian. And, I wouldn't get so high and mighty, young lady, you're going with him also." Deathstroke smiles widely under his daughter's glare.

"I thought you said you didn't read it?"

"I never said that." he blandly responds. "Your uniforms are coming in at the end of the week. Get ready kids, you start Gotham Academy on Monday."

You and Ravager groan miserably in unison much to Slade's amusement.

Gotham Academy is a far cry from the slum-ridden elementary school you attended as a child.

For one, it actually has working air conditioning.

Secondly, it has a far less...seedy demographic than the St. Dumas School for Gifted Students.

The students who attended here came from the highest social circles of Gotham.

They were children of socialites and businessmen, sons and daughters of entrepreneurs, industrial giants, and the old aristocracy of Gotham. And if rumors were to be believed, scions of the Five Families who controlled the underworld.

It was a microcosm of Gotham, with a dash of hormones, puberty-driven anxiety, and teenage angst mixed in.

So in that sense, it was no different than any other high school, outside of the marginally higher probability of being a casualty in a mob hit gone awry.

You pick at the collar of your uniform, pulling at the ruffled sweater and just barely stopping yourself from tearing apart the chafing khakis that you're forced to wear as you walked up the steps.

At least, you weren't going to be suffering it alone.

Rose trudged alongside you, looking distinctly out of place in her skirt and blouse, and wearing a thin sheen of makeup, a far cry from the Ravager you've known for all these years.

It's like she's playing pretend, slipping into a role, where Rose was some mask she showed to the world, and only at night did the real her come out.

It's somewhat flattering that you're one of the few alive to ever see both of them.

And also, the only one to fuck either of them.

"Stupid school, stupid dad, stupid..."

Her low mutters become nonsensical, there's no way you heard her say your name.

"Cheer up," you smile as brightly as you can belying your own exhaustion. Why is it easier to wake up at 5 AM with Deathstroke trying to stab you than for school?

"It's our first day. gotta put our best foot forward!"

She glares at you in response, clutching her bag tightly and striding past you in a huff.

Locks of shock-white hair loosen from her ponytail, falling over her face.

You resist the strangest urge to push them away.

Who pissed in her flakes? You wonder as you follow after her.

Your eyes trail downwards of their own accord following the gentle curve of her body.

Huh, you didn't know you had a thing for skirts, or for heels. Maybe it's just Rose.

Together with Rose, navigating yourself through the myriad of hallways within Gotham Academy, with her parting the tide of students with biting glares and sharp elbows.

Your side throbs in sympathy, you know intimately well how much those can hurt. Finally, you arrive at your homeroom - you can hear the muffled sounds of laughter and talking from inside.

It falls silent as you enter, teenagers miraculously stopping their gossiping to eye the new arrivals.

The class is separated into cliques, ones that you'd bet haven't changed much since when they were first made.

The popular girls are in the center, just two rows back from the front, all with shining hair and layers of makeup. Just imagining their laughs make your skin itch.

More than one of them bats their long lashes at you, before giggling and whispering into her friend's ears.

It's her friend who draws your attention, with her blonde ringlets and shining blue eyes, and California tan, it's like you've seen her before.

You stop yourself from reflexively putting your hand on Rose's arms to stop her from skewering the unfortunate girl who gained her ire.

Farther back are the jocks, or what could pass for them, standing in their own little huddle with a few of their other "friends" hovering around their orbit.

Half their eyes are on you with suspicion and thinly-hidden weariness while the other half are blatantly staring at Rose whose nose wrinkles in disgust.

And scattered around the classroom are the loners, slouched in their desks, faces hidden behind books or phones.

"Ahem," you turn to face the source of the voice and come to face with strangely familiar storm grey eyes.

For a moment, you see Ms. Ergane in the teacher's chair.

Then you blink and the ink-black hair turns the color of mahogany, the features turning sterner, and the vision is gone.

But you still can't shake how familiar she looks.

"You're late," She clips. "Now if you're quite done, please take your assigned seats so that we may begin."

"Bitch," Rose mutters.

You and Rose both found yourselves seated next to each other besides the windowsill, giving you two pleasant views to stare off into.

"Welcome to the new year, class, My name is Mrs. Alcis, I will be your homeroom and Classics teacher for this year."

She says with all the finality of a death sentence.

Oh, joy. A pit of dread settles into your stomach. You'll figure out a way to get back at Selina for this.

"Now let us begin with roll call."

"Kitrina Falcone."

A Falcone? Last time you checked they'd all fled back to Sicily almost a decade ago.

A girl with braids of white through her brown hair shoots her hand up in response, looking the very picture of what a Falcone would not look like.

You fiddle with your book and pen as other names are called, idly doodling on the paper. You catch some of the names, Elliot, Maroni, Diensi, St. Cloud, only the first two holding any meaning to you.

"Bette Kane." The familiar blonde girl puts her hand up. That's Bette? The same one from Munich?

She's well, she definitely looks a lot better if that's even possible. Rose sharply pinches your arm.

"You're staring."

"I'll make sure to only glance next time."

Thank gods you're in a public space so you don't have to worry about any lethal projectiles.

"Rose Wilson." You hear some of the popular clique whisper 'Rosie'.

They're lucky that she doesn't have super-hearing.

Rose scowls. Okay, maybe she actually does.

"Cadmus Othrys." Bette turns towards you as your raise your hand, waving and smiling with the same bubbly friendliness she showed to you in Munich.

Rose growls beside you. "Don't make me start bringing a spray bottle," you lean over and whisper.

You restrain from flinching when a sharp point digs into your side. "Try it," she smiles saccharinely.

"Barbara Gordon." Ms. Aclis continues and a redhead sitting in front of you responds.

Gordon, Gordon, isn't that the commissioner's last name, and doesn't he have a daughter?

You shake your head incredulously. It's like every important figure in Gotham's new generation is in this class.

"Artemis Crock." Your pencil snaps.

Please, no, you beg. Anyone but her.

You don't know if you're more scared for her safety, or your own.

No answer.

"Ms. Crock?" Mrs. Aclis repeats with quickly dissipating patience. "Hmm, absent on the first-"

The door to the classroom slams open and a figure stumbles in, a long blonde ponytail careening wildly behind them, sending little droplets of water scattering into the air.

"I'm-" Artemis gasps as though she had just come straight from a marathon. "I'm here."

"In the future please do your best to arrive on time, Ms. Crock," she snips. "please find your seat."

You pray to every god you've heard of, you even pray to the guy calling himself your Dad in your vision.

Of course, the first open seat she spots is the one next to you.

Then her eyes on fall you, growing to the size of dinner plates like a deer in the headlights.

Fuck.

You both stare awkwardly at each other as she takes her seat, too embarrassed, in her case.

You're filled with too much macabre fascination to break eye contact, it's like watching a train barreling right towards you and knowing there's nothing you can do.

"H-hey," she gets out hesitantly, digging through her bookbag for nothing before giving up and turning to you, slowly raising her hand and then immediately dropping it.

Amusement, annoyance, and just a bit of anger rise up within you.

The first words she says to you after three years and it's "hey".

You school your features, keenly aware of Rose listening in not-so-subtly.

"Yeah, it's been a long time. So what you've been up to the past couple of years?"

"Ah- nothing much!" she rubs the back of her neck hastily. "just uh, working with my dad on some jobs, school, you know, the usual."

Well, that's not suspicious at all. And no you don't, considering you two haven't spoken for the better part of two years.

"What a coincidence it is for us to meet like this then."

She smiles a bit, plump lips spreading to show off the barest hint of teeth.

Were they always like that? you wonder idly.

Fragments of the night in Munich slip into your mind, nothing more than hazy images and wild emotions after all these years.

No, they definitely weren't.

"Oh, and who's this?" she gestures to Rose, whose currently turning her mechanical pencil into a shank, glaring darkly at Artemis.

Rose stiffens a bit when your arm swings around her shoulders, pulling her close, your hand laying on top of her soft white locks.

The other reaches down, following the length of her skirt before reaching her thigh, fingers tracing the smooth contours of muscle hidden beneath. Your hand tightens slightly and she jumps in your grasp.

Either you're going to have the most glorious sex of your life after this, or you're going to have to find a new place to live.

"She's my girlfriend." Artemis's smile grows strained while Rose only glares up at you, but makes no move to remove your arm.

"Really, uh, how did you guys meet?" She asks like she just suffered whiplash. You catch something very very close to jealously flash in her brown eyes.

"Oh, we had some shared interests we bonded over," you respond simply.

Like killing and fighting, and egging each other until we try killing each other and then end up fucking on the training mat. You don't say that out loud, of course.

Rose smirks at your coyness, eyes dancing with mirth and something a bit more. Her leg shifts under your grip, pressing into you.

If it wasn't the thin length of metal separating your desks, she'd be grinding on your lap by now.

Her fingernails tap the underside of your jaw, pulling your head down to meet her parted lips. Her eyes are darkened with lust, a deep blue that you can't help but get lost in.

"Ahem," Ms. Aclis, interrupts. "I understand you two are new to the school, but public displays of affection are strictly prohibited."

"Old hag," Rose scowls," must have scared off every guy who came within a mile of you."

She reluctantly extracts herself from you, but not before leaning up and brushing her lips against yours.

You're half a mind to bend her over the desk then and there and damn the consequences.

It's only her response that stops you.

"This isn't over."

"Is it ever with us?"

She smiles sultrily in response.

FRI, 26 MAR 2021, 00:10NEW COMMENT432 CHAT

The rest of the class passes with a repetitive tediousness that leaves you weeping internally, repeatedly banging your head against the desk, and praying for time to move quicker.

It's only after class that you belatedly realize you could have fast-forwarded the class.

Rose smirks when your forehead and palm slap together loudly.

Your mood plummets even further when you hear a squeaky smarmy voice that brings back vivid memories from your time at Wayne Manor from the other side of the hallway.

Dick Grayson has not grown an inch in the months since you've last seen him, still the same thirteen-year-old with a too-big mouth.

Your enmity is completely warranted. From the first day at Wayne Manor, he had gone out of his way to annoy you, and you wouldn't deny he was very successful at that.

"Dick."

"Dick."

"Good to see you too," he replies airily. "conversations with you are always so...whelming."

Oh gods, he starting it all over again.

"That's not even a word."

"Opened a dictionary recently?"

"Realizing every other word you say is made up is enough for me."

Dick scowls up at you.

At that moment, you see the ridiculousness of your situation, arguing with a spoilt arrogant thirteen-year-old.

This time you would be the bigger man, literally. The kid didn't even reach your neck.

"Hey Dick," you turn around and see Barbara Gordon walking towards the three of you.

"Hi, my name's Barbara." she introduces herself cheerfully, "Cadmus, right? And you're Rose?"

You reach out to take her offered hand. "Yeah, nice to meet you." After a subtle elbow, Rose echoes your response.

When did she get so possessive?

"Oh, um, do you guys know each other?" she looks between You and Dick, still glaring at each other.

"Sadly," you both respond at once, still glaring at one another.

Barbara quirks an eyebrow and Rose scoffs in response.

"So are you brothers?" She probes.

"No." You curtly say. Dick smiles maliciously.

"He's adopted."

"I was not adopted. And if I was what does that make you?"

He smirks. "Not a disappointment."

Okay, that's it. Fuck the high road.

"You really want to do this?" your voice dips down.

"I could run circles around you with my eyes closed."

"You're gonna get enough practice with that after I'm done with you."

That's when Rose steps in. "Okay, I think that's enough. We got class to get to, right?" She pointed looks at you.

How far had you fallen that she was the reasonable one between the two of you?

Dick whistles loudly. "Hello beautiful," reaching out for Rose's hand, and you muster all your self-control to not snap his fingers. "I must have died and gone to heaven because you have to be an angel."

You snicker loudly. If only he knew who he's talking to.

"Hardly," Rose snorts, leaning imperceptibly into the arm around her waist.

Dick's jaw drops in shock. "H-how, why would you get with such a loser?" he sputters. "How much are you paying her?" he demands accusingly.

"Scram, squirt," Rose darkly responds, before kissing you right on the lips.

You can hear Dick fake-retch as you pull her close for a moment, luxuriating in the feeling of the velvet softness of her lips against your own, and the touch of her body rubbing against yours.

Is it wrong that you found her possessiveness extremely hot? No, definitely not.

You sincerely hope that he wouldn't listen but a flash of fear crosses his eyes and he takes a step back.

Rose holds your arm with a vice-like grip, leading both of you away with no destination in particular as long as it was far away from him.

"Oh my god, Dick," You can hear Barbara bemoan, burying her head into her hands, face the same shade as her bright red hair. "I'm literally cringing, I didn't even think that was possible. No, find another way to class, I can't be seen with you."

She walks the other way in a rush, leaving Dick alone in the middle of the empty hallway.

Rose makes her move after the end of school, pulling you into a secluded alcove just outside the grounds of Gotham Academy, and out of sight any wandering eyes.

"So I'm your girlfriend now, hmm?" she asks, pressing herself against you, sinfully biting her lower lip.

"You didn't seem to mind it," you respond, acutely aware of a single nail tracing a path down the side of your neck.

Her eyes glint maliciously. "Oh, I did just a bit, but I went along with it, just to crush that tramp's hopes and dreams."

Tramp. Who could she possibly be talking about? In response, a mane of blonde hair and wide brown eyes pass over your vision.

"You mean, Artemis?" She lunges up, slamming her lips onto you, legs tightening around your thighs as you half-carry her.

Her touch is violent, her lips brutal against your own, every movement a battle with both of you too proud and stubborn to give even an inch.

"Don't mention any other girl's names when you're with me, okay? And yes," Rose pokes your chest sharply. It almost tingles. "she was basically eye-fucking you the entire class."

Well, you think you would have noticed that.

"And only you can do that, can't you?"

"Aww, you're learning." She pats your cheek.

A growl builds up in the bottom of your throat when her hand slides under your waistband. "Don't start something you can't finish, Rose."

"And what are you going to do? Tie me up?" Her hand languidly runs down your length, sending sparks coursing through your body.

"It was an idea, but we both know that would be more of a reward."

Clenching your fists tightly in a futile effort not to react, you can feel the last threads of your control snapping with each movement.

Rose knows what she's doing to you, smiling sweetly all the while.

"You'll have to catch me, first." She slips out of your grip and before you could react, walking away right into the throng of other students.

The tree bark snaps like paper under your hands, amber sap running down your fingers.

She's going to pay for this, you decide, for thinking that she could get away with doing this to you.

You trudge back to your apartment, mind clouded with little thought besides those of Rose and all the little ways you would remind her of where she belonged.