Work Text:
“What’s rule number one?”
“If you’re going to hit someone, at least do it right,” chorused back the group of children, some puffing up and exclaiming it and others looking from side to side before nervously muttering the motto.
A long, hard stare from the instructor standing in front of the gym had them all quickly straightening up.
“Good.” The woman nodded slightly, as if the word caused her physical pain to say. Her yellow hair was braided back for easy movement, but some strands escaped to settle on the sweaty spots on her temple, looking like gold strands juxtaposed on her glowing face. Despite her apparent beauty, there was a diamond-hard testiness that seemed to exude from her skin. From the way she stood to the way she was casually spinning an Eskrima stick with one hand, everything about the woman spoke directly one solid fact—for the love of god, don’t you dare mess with her.
As she lightly scanned the group in front of her for familiar faces, a slight chatter started to build up, one that a quick smack of the stick against her palm quickly quieted. The only one who didn’t flinch was a stern looking boy in the back, who simply rolled his eyes at the sheep minded students. She gave them all a small, approving smile. “Better.” The children looked back her with varying amounts of awe and terror.
Raising herself up, Artemis Crock, instructor and supposed resident sociopath of Gotham Tykes Self-Defense, said coolly, “I’d like to you welcome you to this class of Kickboxing 101 with the hope that none of you manage to break something by the end of it.” She paused and added, “If we make it a week then there’s a pizza party.”
She suddenly clapped her hands. “Now, first thing first—who needs to use the bathroom?”
As the hands of half the class went up immediately, some wavering as if they hadn’t even made it that long, Artemis sighed and assuaged herself with the fact that at least it was less than yesterday.
X
Alfred found that in most cases, the best thing to do when faced with an inane idea from one who wore the mantle of Batman was to simply sigh and gather the medical equipment for later use. He was rather sure this situation warranted much of the same.
Dick grinned as he shrugged on his coat. “C’mon Alfred, I’m just checking up on him.”
“I’m sure Master Damian won’t see it that way,” Alfred said evenly. “When you first enrolled him in the class, I thought it was to show him of your trust.”
“Before or after he almost broke that kid’s arm?” Dick replied wryly, halfway out the door.
“It…has been some time since then.”
“That’s what has me worried.”
Alfred sighed, resigning himself to disaster. “And I suppose those new reports about the beauty of the instructor have nothing to do with this sudden decision?”
Innocent blue eyes widened in response. “Of course not.”
X
“Of course,” Artemis groaned as she inspected the sight before her. “Wanna explain what happened?”
The two children went quiet, freezing in place as they peered up at her with wide eyes. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The kicked puppy routine went old the first week. “Drop the headlock, Dean.”
He did what she said, albeit with some grumbling. “He started it!”
“And I totally believe that. Now go and give me twenty pushups.” The boy made a face and looked prepared to argue, but she just shot him a dark look and subtly changed her stance. He paid just enough attention to the last lesson that he was able to take the hint and drop to the floor. His brother quickly ran over to watch over him, and the poor kid still massaging his neck quickly ran off.
Artemis rubbed her temples, trying to ease her growing headache. This job brought in enough for the rent on her crappy apartment, but only just. She enjoyed the physical portion enough—who was she to turn down teaching people how to beat the shit out of each other?—but some of the kids got on her nerves.
Some.
Glancing towards the clock, she let out a sigh of relief. “Time’s up, guys. Your parents’ll be here any minute.” Dean rose with a smirk. She shot one right back at him as she reminded sweetly, “Don’t worry, there’s plenty of time next class to make up those thirty push-ups.”
“But—“
“Fifty.”
His brother smiled apologetically as the kid stalked off towards the door, where his father laid waiting. Artemis rolled her eyes. Drama queen. The children slowly started to filter out, leaving only her and one significant other child that could hardly be counted as such. He had on an almost constant glare as he studiously avoided eye contact and she wondered vaguely if the punching bag would spontaneously combust.
She let out an amused snort before covering it up with a cough. “C’mon kid, you should at least help me clean up before that butler of yours gets here.”
X
Dick’s voice came out as a hiss across. “I’m in position, closing in on the target.” He peaked over the ledge of the building, trying to get a standing on where the first point of attack should be. “Are you getting me?”
“Master Richard, I don’t think I ever will.” The manservant’s voice was scratchy over the communication device, not that any of that trademark dry exasperation was lost.
“Alfred.” He tried not to make it sound so much like a whine, but found that he failed a little on that front. Giving up, he stood up suddenly from the rooftop, startling several pigeons that had found the area around him as a rather satisfactory roust—which had absolutely nothing to do with the bread crumbs he’d brought along to pass the time.
The scouting portion of this mission was over. Time for the retrieval. Dick grinned. See, he could just go in through the entrance like the others picking up their kids.
He laughed at the thought and the brief cackle echoed through the empty alley, mischievous and light as he nimbly leaped down.
X
Artemis frowned as she picked up a sound from the air, pausing a moment as she put the slammed the lid down on the now full garbage can. It was quiet soon enough, but she couldn’t help shake the feeling that something was off. What other people would wave away as a symptom of living in Gotham for way too long, she took as a gut instinct that she was loathe to ignore for the same reason. Living in this city did nothing if not make you uncannily attune to the next surprise—deadly or not.
“Crock, do you intend for me to just sit here!”
Rolling her eyes, the instructor stuck her head through the doorway and yelled back, “Hold your goddamned horses, you brat!” Still grumbling under her breath, she stalked off to investigate the alley, wondering how long it would take Damian to dismiss her express orders to calm the fuck down and try not to break anything. That is, if he hadn’t already.
She sighed at the empty air, wondering what the hell to do with the kid. He’d already been here when she’d started the job, a month ago, and she was rather damn sure he was the reason her predecessor had quit. Damian Wayne was an absolute fucking terror.
Three days in and he’d already managed to set a new world record for snarling, humiliated every other student, and not to mention sent one poor yappy kid to the hospital with a broken arm. The other parents had been pressuring her to forcibly evict the kid and she actually might have.
Should have.
Didn’t.
He’d apologized, sure, and something told her that even that strained pathetic excuse of a ‘sorry’ was more than she could have ever hoped to get, even if he’d spent the day sulking in the corner from the rest of the terrified kids. Artemis had rationalized her decision to the higher ups by claiming the kid was seriously fucking socially inept and if they kicked him out they’d probably be sued for discrimination.
So she’d let him stay. Well, the ridiculous sized gift basket she’d gotten the next day had helped some.
A niggling feeling of something suspiciously like the bastard offspring of guilt and pity trailed down her spine. Artemis tilted her head back to look at the smog filled sky. She had to quit acting like that’d been it. Apology or not, if she’d wanted him out, he would have been out. She clenched her eyes shut for a moment, telling herself she was trying to listen in for another presence in the alley.
But the plain fact of the matter was that she had to quit acting like she hadn’t recognized his reflexes.
Not that she’d ever mention it, oh god no. Artemis was pretty sure she’d find herself knocked out and dropped off at the closest deserted island if she so much as let out a peep about Damian Wayne having the reflexes of a crook.
And, a small part of her admitted, there was another reason she didn’t want to mention it. The kid wasn’t half bad. Or too bad. Or worse than she could handle.
In fact, he reminded her a lot of herself at that age. Closed off. Confrontational. Eager to take a swing at anything and anyone just to prove she could.
Still, that parallel left her with more questions than before. Artemis knew herself well, especially when it came to her…troubled past. So something she really wanted to know was who exactly Damian was trying to impress—and what he was trying to prove.
And why the hell someone had seen it fit to train him only in how to hurt. She’d seen his moves and still cringed whenever she saw him forgo the easy block or swipe in lieu of a risky bone crushing kick or punch. It was like no one had told him the safer options even existed. And the way he kept anticipating—
Artemis rolled her eyes and slowly opened the back door, ready to face the kid. Brat he may be, but damn if she didn’t feel just the tiniest bit of empathy for him. He hadn’t hurt anybody since then, and that was enough to keep him in the class. And if she cut the kid a little slack every now and then, who was to care?
x
There was a sharp clatter from one end of the alley.
Artemis tensed and started to run in the complete other direction in the alley, crashing determinedly into the figure that was hiding just out of sight. She knew she’d felt someone’s presence here.
Thought he could fool her with a distraction—moron. She needed more limbs to count the amount of people who thought the gym was an easy target, and who stupidly found out otherwise when they actually faced her.
Sure, try and underestimate the blonde chick who hung around preschoolers all day. She only taught children how to take down fully grown men with their bare fists.
The guy was quick to shake off the blow, leaping to his feet. Artemis moved the moment she saw him start to raise his arms, striking out with her elbow. He dodged. Her eyes widened for a split second. How—
A blow to her stomach sent her reeling back, but it was soft, the kind of weak hit that had to have been calculated. A curtain of numbness fell over her as she realized she was being toyed with. Fuck—this wasn’t some twitchy street kid looking to knock over an easy catch. This guy was good. Pressing her lips into a thin line, Artemis ducked to avoid his next attack, a slow punch that he telegraphed long before he actually made it.
Sure, maybe he didn’t want to actually hurt her—but the feeling wasn’t mutual. Her eyes grew hard. Damn if she was letting herself be captured. Relaxing her self-inflicted restraints, Artemis feinted a low kick before falling back and delivering a vicious blow to his collarbone, inches away from crippling his throat. It was his turn to fall back, grunting in surprise.
Artemis didn’t have time for a flashy move, so she weaved closer and brought her knee up into his stomach. The intruder doubled over and she shifted as she sent a kick that cracked against his skull, sending him back into the wall. He sucked in a ragged breath, but she didn’t pause for a moment.
The only thing mercy would do in Gotham City was get you killed faster.
Grabbing the front of his coat, Artemis dragged the intruder up and slammed him against the will. She prepared herself to interrogate the guy in full, but froze as she finally took him in. Any other person, highly skilled assassin or otherwise, would be on the edge right now, looking scared, or furious, or—or—not smiling!
There was something almost familiar about the subtle quirk of his lips as he stared back at her, a wild sheen in his eyes suggesting that he was enjoying this more than any sane person should. Gathering herself up, Artemis pinned him back with her knee and a well-placed arm against his neck.
“Who sent you?” she snarled, narrowing her eyes as ideas flew through her head. Disregarding the faint thought in the back of her mind that she could almost just place the guy, she tried to approach it logically, despite the copious amounts of adrenaline running through her system screaming for her to punch first and screw the goddamn questions.
He was too good to be a casual thief staking out his next hit. A shiver of something ghosted down her spine—fear—as she thought about the last words her father had said to her.
The guy just stared back for a moment, smiling in an almost goofy way as he seemed to expel a soft word that sounded uncannily like “Wow.”
She pressed her forearm down harder as she repeated impatiently, “Who sent you? Who are you?”
Something else like a laugh fell from his mouth, although it was wry and full of amusement that was undoubtedly at the expense of someone else. “C’mon, you know this one.”
Artemis prepared herself for the satisfaction of punching the grin off his smug face, before something made her pause. Looking down for a split second, she finally registered the quality of the coat she was currently clutching to keep him against the wall. As her heart slowed to a near stop, she looked back up to note the obviously expensive haircut—now rather messy—and the signature grin still stretched across the guy’s handsome face, almost as if it had stepped out of a magazine—
Letting go of him sharply, Artemis stepped back and felt her eyes go wide. “Oh shit, you’re—“
X
“Grayson!”
Dick almost just managed to keep from flinching at the sight of Damian’s glare, especially since he could feel a rather similar one coming from behind him. He resisted the urge to roll his shoulders. Huh, he hadn’t felt murderous intent like this since—well, a couple minutes ago.
“You said you trusted me,” Damian snarled, fists at his sides, but only just. “What are you doing here!”
Dick grinned. “Can’t a guy just pop in for a quick chat?”
The woman behind him snorted. “If that’s your idea of popping in, I’m surprised you haven’t been arrested yet. Not that I’ve completely taken that off the table.”
He started to pout just a little—gorgeous woman who could literally make him see stars and so of course she hated him right off the bat—but his face went just a little slack jawed as he caught the expression on Damian’s face. A quick flit of something suspiciously like approval before it was quickly covered up by a face that could launch a thousand ships in the other damn direction.
Dick wondered whether gaping or pinching himself was the right thing to do in this kind of situation. “Uh, yea…just here to talk to, uh, well—you.” He spun around, plastering on a smile as he faced a blonde woman whose face had exact same expression he’d just turned to avoid. “I don’t think I caught your name.”
“I don’t think you need to.”
Surprisingly, although he was beginning to become a little numb to the shock, Dick found that it was Damian who had lashed out this time. The pint-sized ex-assassin in question glared back determinedly. “Actually, I don’t think we should stay here any longer. Let’s go.” He grabbed the older man and started to tug him towards the exit.
A sigh. “Let the idiot go, Damian.”
Dick was rather sure his heart stopped the moment he felt Damian do as she asked. The earth was square. The sky was chartreuse. He was the latest star sapphire recruit. Damian was looking at his instructor as if waiting for her thanks—and oh god she just nodded and the kid was looking smug and the world as Dick knew it was crumbling beneath his feet.
Damian took the chance to nudge him forward a little more, either unknowing or uncaring of the mental breakdown the current Batman was going through. Both were likely. With his current mood, the latter would have been more satisfying.
“Artemis. Artemis Crock.”
Dick snapped to attention. “Huh?”
The instructor rolled her eyes again and mumbled something particularly nasty under her breath. Flipping her long braid over her shoulder, she then replied, “My name, birdbrain.”
Realized quickly what this mean, due to a couple too many nights—years—in the cave, Dick took in her appearance and name and blinked. “I thought it was Nguyen,” he said dumbly.
She shrugged. “I put down Nguyen on forms. Hard to get a job with a name like Crock.” She smiled a sort of wry , self-deprecating thing to herself, as if it were a personal joke.
Dick knew the punch line, and when it delivered it damn near made him stagger. He’d researched this place, even the new instructor. All signs had pointed to her being a relatively harmless woman with no particular ties to any criminal organization (other than the occasional few that were expected in a city like Gotham), but certainly not the daughter of a master criminal. This was wrong. This should have come up in the search. This should have been—
Realization dawning, his eyes flickered over at a suddenly still Damian.
Someone had perfected her cover story.
His head spun with confusion and half-formed thoughts but only one thing made itself out of his mouth. Flashing Artemis a winsome smile, Dick Grayson asked, “How would you like to be a nanny?”