Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was, for once, a quiet night in Eden’s apartment. Her upstairs neighbors weren’t hosting an orgy or starting World War 3, the baby downstairs wasn’t crying bloody murder, and her next-door neighbor wasn’t screaming at their TV.

Out on the street, it was equally quiet. Sure, a car alarm had gone off a few minutes ago, but there was no drunken shouting. No random gunshots, no gratuitous explosions in the distance. In fact, for what must’ve been the first night since she’d moved there, the city of Gotham actually seemed at ease.

Maybe that should’ve put Eden on edge. Maybe it was some kind of warning, a calm before an inevitable storm. But it was the first sense of peace she'd felt in months. She couldn't just ignore it. Instead of curling up on her bed with her headphones at full blast, questioning her life choices, she sat out on the fire escape and enjoyed the calm night.

Her apartment was situated just high enough to peek over the roofs of most of the neighboring buildings. The outline of Gotham’s tallest skyscrapers stood in the distance and car lights twinkled on the nearby highway like stars. Out here, a thick stench of smog and rotting trash usually choked the air, but tonight a soft breeze blew it away. A soft mixture of brick, iron, the herbs she was growing, and her freshly baked cookies took its place.

If she closed her eyes and tried – really, really tried – it almost felt like being back home.

The thick blanket wrapped around her could just as easily be protecting her from splinters on the front porch. The distant sound of cars could be a gust of wind blowing through the trees or the horses playing in the field. Her freshly baked snickerdoodles couldn’t be Mama’s – nobody’s cookies ever tasted as good as Mama’s – but Eden could at least pretend she’d made them at their small bakery at the edge of the road.

She ate another, savoring the warm, chewy center and trying not to focus on the difference in taste. She was baking most of their goods by heart by the time she was ten years old. Blindfold her, tie one hand behind her back, and Eden could still probably make anything on the menu without much trouble. But for some reason, here… things didn’t taste the way they were supposed to.

They still tasted good, she assured herself as she took another bite. It was probably just the store-bought ingredients she’d had to settle for. Or the city water. Or that they made her miss home.

Eden frowned. She quickly tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, pushing the idea away. She had more important things to worry about right now than cookies and tastes. Like her newest job.

She'd landed a new role just last week and the sooner she could be off-script, the happier her director would be. She only spoke in three scenes of this show, but that was two more than the previous one and she was on-stage for several more. The better she did, the better her referrals would be. The better the referrals, the more work she would get, and the closer she would be to getting bigger roles. When she got bigger roles, she’d get even better referrals, which would land her even bigger roles, and so on and so forth until she could afford an apartment in a, uh… less interesting part of Gotham.

Even in this hotbox-of-crime neighborhood, her studio apartment somehow cost more than twice the two-bedroom house Kit and her boyfriend were renting back home. And the insurance fees in Gotham? Outrageous. But sadly necessary considering all the nutzo shenanigans that went down in the city. As much as it would kill her to work in an office, those insurance companies probably made some serious bank, so getting a “real job” at one at some point wasn’t totally off the table.

Eden huffed, unclipping her reading light to turn the page of the script and attaching it again. She had a good thing going now, but she was more than aware it was borrowed time.

Eventually, Frank's money would run out. Eventually, she’d need to call home and explain herself. Eventually eventually, she’d have to actually go home. She’d have to face everyone’s feelings of hurt and betrayal, including her mother’s, which would most certainly be laced with Louanne Smith's particularly frightening brand of ice-cold wrath. Eden would also probably get mugged or murdered in this insane city at least twice and have to listen to everyone's “I told you so"s.

But that wasn’t right now. Right now, Eden had it okay.

She had a small, shitty apartment in a huge, shitty city where she would most certainly die if she wasn’t careful, but at least it was her own place. No overbearing mother always staring over her shoulder, no runaways taking her bed for the night, no rag-tag group of semi-siblings gobbling up her time and space and arguing house rules when she fought back. This was her space, damn it, and she didn’t have to share it with anybody unless she wanted to! Not that she’d want anyone else coming to such a colorful part of Gotham in the first place, but still! It was hers.

And nobody here knew her. There was no history she had to take into account every time she stepped outside; no old rivalries or mishaps that mapped out which side of town she was and wasn’t safe on. In Gotham, you just plain old weren’t safe no matter who you were, where you were, or what you’d done. Eden had learned that quick. She almost preferred it some days. It was easier than the small-town, passive-aggressive grudges and back-stabbings she'd grown up around.

Not to mention she had Gotham’s robust, ever-growing performance industry at her disposal. Despite all the insanity and crime that surrounded them – or, perhaps, because it surrounded them – the wealthy here demanded a constant stream of grand symphonies, operas, ballets, and so forth to distract them. Performers in Gotham were paid better than anywhere else in America. They had to be. With how often performances were interrupted by madmen and villains here, it had to be worth the risk.

For Eden, that risk wasn't something she really needed to consider. If something happened, she'd be fine. She always was. She was "lucky" like that.

And besides, fewer people willing to risk getting shot or blown up in the middle of a performance meant fewer people at auditions! Getting to be on stage, getting to follow her dreams... That was one of the ways Eden had convinced herself to leave the farm in the first place. And Gotham was the best place for her to achieve those dreams as quickly as possible. So things were okay.

Really! Even if she was a little homesick, even if this dirty town was too crowded and too crazy, even if guilt hung over her like a knife... things were okay.

In fact, at this exact moment – in the strange but welcomed quiet of the night, practicing what she loved, eating still-warm cookies out in the open air – things felt better than okay. Things for once, actually, genuinely, felt good.

Then, a shadow flickered over her.

Eden froze.

Her free hand hovered over the plate of cookies. She’d been turning in such a way, leaning over the stair she was sitting on to reach the plate, that all her weight was now pushing into her toes. It was a hard position to hold without falling over. Blinding, too. Her head was cast down, facing the cookies and not at all in the direction of the shadow.

She wanted to move. Just enough to right herself and let her look somewhere beyond the metal grating underneath her. But Eden could practically hear Mr. Monroe, her old coach, scolding her.

“Hold position!” he’d say. Then, after noticing her shaking knees, he would trill, “I said hold, Eden! Keep your limbs still. Breathe carefully. I don’t want to see a single sign of life. In this moment, you are a prop. You are the scenery!”

The fire escape gave a small, almost unnoticeable shake as something dropped near her. Eden's limbs jerked instinctively. She shut her eyes, silently cursing, hoping it was just a raccoon.

Did Gotham even have raccoons? Eden hoped very much that they had raccoons. Giant, mutant raccoons that could cast large shadows and make fire escapes shake when they landed.

“You planning on staying like that all night or…?” a distorted voice asked.

Heartbreaking News: Gotham City does not have mutant raccoons.

Chapter Text

“You planning on staying like that all night or…?”

Eden silently cursed herself, the world, and everything in it. Some small part of her still hoped whoever it was wasn’t actually talking to her. Just… somehow magically right next to her without noticing her. And... talking to someone else on her fire escape. Yeah.

Eden quietly huffed at her own idiocy and slowly began to move. She scooted back onto the metal stair, shifting her weight off her aching toes. For a moment she just stayed like that. Praying for… she didn’t know what. Some kind of miracle. Then, with a gulp, she finally inched her head in the direction of the voice. 

A man – a huge man – leaned casually against the metal railing of her fire escape. He wore a full red helmet that obscured his every thought and intention from the world. His arms were crossed as he, apparently, observed her.

"What, nothing to say?" he asked, his voice somehow modulated to sound almost robotic.

Eden just stared at him. The white “eyes” of his helmet were forever etched into an angry sort-of look that made her nervous.

Well... more nervous. She was already struggling with the fact that he had suddenly, magically, appeared on her fire escape on the 9th freaking floor. And with the fact that he was a thick, 6-foot-something mass of muscle who could probably snap her in half if he wanted. And that he had a pair of pistols holstered to his hips. And that this was happening in Gotham City; the place filled with not only violence and corruption on every corner, but actual, real-life, will-kill-you-for-funsies villains.

Needless to say, it was a lot to take in.

“Unless you wanna risk getting shot,” the man said evenly, apparently choosing to ignore her silence, “you should go inside now. Shit’s about to go down out here.” 

“Are you a good guy,” she blurted in a high, fearful pitch, “or a bad guy?”

The man said nothing. After a moment, his helmet shifted very slightly to the side.

A stream of curses ran through Eden’s mind. She was so dumb. Why was she so dumb? Why couldn’t she just keep her damn mouth shut? She knew, logically, that she’d eventually be fine no matter what – she always got another encore – but that didn’t mean she had to help dig her own grave, damn it!

The man shrugged and, after a moment, said, “Depends on who you ask.”

“I asked you,” she shot back, then blanched at her own brazenness. This was no time to be Louanne Smith’s daughter. “Sorry,” she said dropping her head. “I, uh— I meant… I asked you,” she tried sweetly. “Um, sir.”

A short sound came out of him. It was too distorted to know what it was meant to convey, but Eden desperately hoped it was amusement.

“As long as you’re not working for any drug cartels or mob bosses, you should be fine.”

“Oh, darn!” she said snapping her fingers. “There goes my five-year plan!”

The man didn't say anything. His head shifted back slightly. Eden had no idea if that was a good thing or not.

An actress needs to know how to read their audience, and Eden usually considered herself pretty good at it. But with Mr. Ominous Angry Helmet, it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. He could be amused; he could think she’s an idiot; he could be thinking about shooting her. She just didn’t know. And that only made everything worse.

Anxious, jittery energy shot through her limbs, jerking her into motion. She swung her body away from the unnerving man, picked up the plate at her side, and turned back to him in one quick, unbroken movement. Her blanket fell off her shoulders with the action and the cool night air felt like knives against her hot skin.

“Would you like a cookie, sir?” Her voice was up a few octaves and moving fast. “They’re snickerdoodles. Homemade. My mama’s recipe. Fresh from the oven and still–” she lifted one trembling hand, hovering it over the few remaining cookies “–yep, still pretty warm.” She lifted the plate closer to him. “Do you want some, Mister, uh–” she glanced down at the symbol on his chest “–Red Bat, sir?” 

The man’s silence was deafening.

Eden stared at the cookies, hating her brain, questioning her sanity, and cursing herself internally. She didn’t want to die tonight. More importantly, she didn't want to be shot tonight. Or ever again, really. Being shot hurt. If she were never shot again in her life, it would be too soon. And yet, here she was. Probably about to be shot again because she couldn’t shut her goddamn flap. 

After what felt like an eternity, the man finally asked, “Did you really just offer me cookies... and call me Red Bat?”

“Yes?” she squeaked. Then, unable to stop herself, a slew of words spewed out from her. “I’m really, really sorry if I offended you, sir, but I only just moved to Gotham a little while ago, so I still don’t know who all the important masked people in the city are, and, in my defense, there are a lot of important masked people in this city, and honestly, I still don’t even know all the good guys from the bad guys yet, which is why I was asking you earlier, but I really don’t wanna get shot either way, so if you could maybe just consider sparing me this one time, I swear I’ll figure it all out and just forget this whole thing ever happened and move somewhere far, far away, or I could start a fan club for you or something if you really wanted me to, or maybe even—”

“Whoa, whoa!” Mister Not-Red-Bat said putting up his hands. “Easy there!” He knelt down, making himself far smaller. “I get it. You’re new in town.” His distorted voice wavered — like maybe he was trying not to laugh or freak out himself. “Calm down and take a breath before you pass out, alright? It’s no big deal.”

“Oh. Okay. Good. No big deal. Good to know.”

“Breathe,” he reminded her.

“Right. Sorry. Breathing. Important. I should do that." 

The man nodded along, urging Eden to do that. 

It took a few tries, but eventually, she was actually able to take a full, deep breath. The man breathed with her, moving his whole body with the motion to guide her. His movements were so exaggerated Eden couldn't help but feel like she was on a stage with him, performing in front of an invisible crowd. She watched him, following his slow lead as her nerves began to settle. 

She turned away, letting out a long, even breath. 

“Better?” he asked.

“Yeah... Thanks." She looked at him again, wondering why in the world he even bothered to help her in the first place. "Are you... one of Gotham’s vigilante people?”

He nodded. “Yeah, Red Hood.” He reached behind his helmet and lifted a red hood attached to the back of his leather jacket for her to see. “Hood,” he said again. “Not bat.”

She smiled at the action. “Hood, not bat,” she repeated. “Got it. Sorry about that."

“It's fine. You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

“Sor—"

He lowered his head in her direction. She could almost feel him giving her an unimpressed look. 

"Uh— I mean—” Her cheeks burned against the cool night air. She offered up the plate of cookies again. “Snickerdoodle?”

Red Hood shook and lowered his head as a small noise escaped him. “I’m good.”

Eden's brows lifted up in surprise. She was almost positive he was amused.

“No, really, I insist!" she said quickly. "This is going to be burned in my brain as one of the most embarrassing moments of my life anyway,” she admitted with playful ease, “I’d at least like to know I compensated you for your role in it. Beautiful performance, by the way, Mr. Hood. Very well done. Excellent timing.”

Red Hood leaned forward again, clearly snickering this time.

“And besides,” she continued, excited now, “you’re a vigilante in Gotham City, of all places! That’s a tough gig, Mr. Hood. You deserve to be rewarded for your troubles! And what reward could be better than homemade snickerdoodles by a random civilian? I mean, really now, I ask you.”

He shook his head minutely as she waved a hand around the plate of cookies like a showgirl. She wiggled her eyebrows at him.

“Alright, alright,” he conceded, sounding like he might be fighting back a laugh. He grabbed a small handful of snickerdoodles and tucked them into a coat pocket. “Thanks for the reward, random civilian.”

She smiled up at him. “You’re more than welcome, Mr. Hood.” She took a cookie for herself, pleased to have convinced him, and found it tasted better than before.

“You really should get inside now, though,” he said getting serious again. “I doubt your neighbors,” he nodded toward one of the buildings not far from her apartment, “will be as willing to share their goodies with me when I come knocking.”

Eden stopped chewing and stared at the building. Part of her was a little in awe. She knew she was in a not-so-great part of the crime capital of the world, but she hadn’t imagined anything vigilante-worthy was actually happening on her crummy little street.

She looked back at Red Hood a moment, processing the information, then quickly finished her cookie and started tossing her things into her apartment.

“Okay, well, good luck, Mr. Hood!” she chimed climbing through the window. “Have fun, or whatever you’re supposed to tell a vigilante before they go, uh…” She frowned and quirked a quick brow at him. “Vigilanteeing?”

With one foot resting atop the wrought iron railing, Red Hood looked as big and threatening as he had before, but Eden wasn't afraid this time. He was a good guy. Ready to jump off into the night and bust some bad guys. But for the moment, he just stared at her.

He tilted his head. “Vigilanteeing?” he teased, undeniably amused.

Eden turned away from him, her face heating up. “Whatever you call it! Do good deeds, don’t get shot — all that fun stuff. Have fun vigilante times or whatever.”

Red Hood made another sound – laughing at her – and Eden stared at the floor, hating her big mouth and wishing she could just phase out of existence. When she gathered the courage to look up again, she was surprised to find her fire escape empty.

A bit foolishly, she poked her head back out the window. She looked in the direction of the building Red Hood had indicated, but there was nothing to see. No Red Hood, no thugs, no nothing. Just an unusually quiet night on her even-less-safe-than-she-thought street.

But somewhere in the shadows, a vigilante was about to make things a little better. Eden was glad to know that, and glad to have thanked him for it in her own small way. She knew how hard a life like that could be and had nothing but respect for the people who chose it.

Eden, however, didn’t choose a life like that. She was perfectly happy being a totally random civilian, thank you very much. So she shut and locked her window, put on her headphones, and tried to have as much of a totally random civilian evening as possible.

She cleaned the dishes, studied her script, and went to bed early. Just like any normal person might. She ignored the sound of gunshots that managed to pierce through her music. She ignored the red and blue lights that eventually flashed outside her window. She ignored the voice in her head that told her she should've offered Red Hood her help – which was stupid for many, many reasons – and she desperately fought off the thought that kept drilling into her head — that if he died tonight, it would be her fault.

When she got up in the morning, haggard and ill-rested, she went to the window straight away. There was nothing in the light of the day to suggest anything vigilante-worthy had happened on her street in the night. It was as dirty as usual, with the usual suspects mulling around their usual spaces. Everything was in its grubby, crummy place. The only difference was the yellow line of police tape and the few broken windows in the building Red Hood had nodded to.

Eden sighed, wondering about the vigilante and what had happened to him. She started to shut the window again when she noticed a folded scrap of paper sticking out from one of her tiny pots of herbs. She plucked it out and carefully opened it. 

‘Thanks again for the cookies. They were really good. - RH’

Eden smiled and let out a breath, the night's worries instantly lifted from her shoulders. She re-folded the little note and went to find a safe place for it — completely and totally ignoring the bloodstain along the paper's edge. 

Yup. Totally ignoring it.

Chapter Text

Eden was an actress in a big city, not a baker on a farm. But she grew up in a bakery on a farm, and over the years she'd amassed a long laundry list of things to do on said farm that helped ease her nerves. She'd always loved that simple things like taking long walks, racing horses, bucking hay, cleaning stalls, shooting targets, blasting music, and putting in extra time at the bakery were enough to clear her head and calm her racing mind. But in Gotham, those simple things were incredibly hard to come by.

There were no fields or woods to walk through near her apartment. No horses to ride or bales of hay to chuck. No stalls or animals to tend to. There must've been a shooting range or two somewhere in the city, but she didn’t have the time, nor money, to go to one every time she felt frazzled. All she had here was music and baking, and even then she had to compromise.

With thin walls surrounding her, she couldn't belt her heart out or freely crank music high enough to shake her bones. She had neighbors to consider! (Even if they rarely seemed to consider her.) And baking only calmed her down when she could really get lost in the process. That was easy when you could, say, whip up ten loaves of bread for tomorrow's hungry customers. But Eden was only one person. She couldn't eat more than a single loaf of bread or helping of muffins or whathaveyou in a week without making herself sick, and only making one batch of something was rarely enough to settle her down. 

She needed to figure out something to do in this city, though. And quick. Because otherwise, she was going to drown.

Ever since finding that note from Red Hood, Eden had been bubbling with the urge to tell someone about their encounter. She almost called home to tell Kit or one of the boys. Almost. But that would’ve meant telling them where she was, explaining how she got there, and admitting what had happened in the days before she left. She wasn’t ready for that talk yet. She was especially not ready for Mama to know anything. Granted, she probably already knew more than Eden wanted her to, but talking to someone else back home would only guarantee it.

Eden couldn't risk that. So she settled on telling her coworkers instead.

The morning after the whole fiasco, Eden waited for their first break to tell her tale. She got about two sentences in when—

“Hold up,” one of the girls, GG, said suddenly. “You met the Red Hood last night?”

Eden nodded. “Yeah, outside my apartment,” she said again. It sounded better than saying on her fire escape.

“Whoa. You’re lucky to be alive!”

“I... What?”

“Don’t be an idiot, G,” one of the guys, Aaron, said. “Everyone knows Red Hood stopped killing people ages ago.”

“You seriously believe that?” she scoffed. “The guy was a mob boss. Decapitating gang lords and collecting their heads.”

“What?” Eden yelped, glancing frantically between the two of them. 

GG ignored her. “You really think he just, what, gave all that up? Give me a break.” 

“He works with Batman,” Aaron said rolling his eyes. “He’s one of the good guys.”

“If he was really a ‘good guy’,” she said making air-quotes, “he wouldn’t be shooting people up every night.”

"He’s not killing anybody," he pshawed, flicking his wrist to shoo the notion away. “Honestly, I wish he was killing people still. Gotham was so much safer then."

GG shook her head at him, clearly annoyed. Eden blinked at them, mouth open wide with questions on her tongue, but the director called for everyone to wrap it up. GG grumbled something at Aaron as they walked back to the stage area, and he glared at her, but rehearsal continued without any more talk of Red Hood.

Eden probably should’ve gotten the hint there, that maybe she should keep the night's events to herself, but she couldn’t help herself. Now she really wanted to tell someone about what had happened. It was ridiculous enough before, but hearing the vigilante she'd given cookies to – who'd helped her through a panic attack – was actually an ex-killer? A former mob boss who collected people’s heads? It was a whole new level of bizarre! She could barely wrap her head around it!

The whole thing fogged her mind for the rest of the day. When everyone was finally dismissed, she nearly exploded as she and a few others left for the subway station.

"I met Red Hood last night!" she announced.

"Ooo, lucky!" one of the leads said. "He's so cool!"

"Yeah, he—" 

"He's not cool, Marsha," another lead, Veronica, interrupted to chide her friend. "He's a killer."

"Was a killer," one of the guys said. "He's a good guy now. He doesn't do that anymore."

"Yeah, he does," someone else argued. "Just not in Gotham."

"That's not true."

"Is too! And he's a total badass for it!"

They went into a detailed retelling of one of Red Hood's 'badass' exploits, complete with sound effects for the guns and explosions. One of the guys told a different story, painting the things Red Hood did as inexcusable and unforgivable. Someone else mentioned their younger sister getting a Red Hood toy from a fast food joint not too long ago. Veronica called that despicable and said it sent kids the wrong message; someone else said she was being too judgemental.

Eden listened quietly to them all, captivated by the native Gothamites' nonchalance as they went back and forth on the violent, graphic things Red Hood had done and how they each felt about it. Eventually, one of the girls, Marsha, scoffed and began explaining in detail all the good that had come from the vigilante's not-so-good deeds. The conversation got more intense as the group started to debate more seriously on whether or not Red Hood's actions were truly justifiable. A few passersby even added their two cents while the group was waiting to cross the street. It nearly turned into a full-on brawl when they started arguing if he was, could be, or ever should be considered a hero after all he'd done.

Eden could only stand there, flabbergasted by it all. Somehow she felt even more like a fish out of water than the day she'd first arrived in Gotham. Which, considering she'd stepped off that bus with only half a plan, a backpack full of belongings, and the duffel bag filled with Frank's cash, was saying a lot.

She watched them argue as long as she could — until she absolutely had to leave to catch her train. The group showed no signs of stopping.

“Are you a good guy or a bad guy?”

“Depends on who you ask.”

Talk about an understatement! Red Hood must've known how contested he was. Everyone in Gotham seemed to have a strong opinion regarding him and that... that was bad. Continuing to bring him up was bound to get Eden into some kind of trouble sooner or later. More trouble. That was the last thing she needed right now. As disappointing as it was, she knew she had to drop the whole thing and just keep it to herself...

But it was such a ridiculous experience! She'd randomly met a vigilante on her fire escape. An apparently very dangerous vigilante who helped her fight off a panic attack! And she made him laugh— laugh! She made Gotham's big, scary, shoot-y vigilante laugh! And she gave him cookies! And he liked them enough to write her a damn note! And he was an ex-MOB BOSS! It was impossible! It was hysterical! And it— it—

It didn't matter.

It didn't matter. She couldn't risk getting into any sort of hot water here. Maybe if she actually had someone to talk to in this city, somebody she could trust, it would be different. But she didn't have anybody like that. So it didn't matter. She was alone and had nobody, so the story would die with her. And that was that.

A dismal ache punctured her chest. Eden was alone. She... hadn't realized how true it was until just now. She had nobody in this city. Nobody to talk to, no one to confide in... Not even with something as small and ridiculous as what had happened with Red Hood... 

For the first time in her life, Eden was truly and completely... alone.

The glowing, blissful solitude she’d reveled in for months was gone. Painful, heart-wrenching loneliness swallowed it whole. She had nobody. She had nobody. And it was all her fault.

For over a week, the tiny notebook she’d stored everyone's numbers in taunted her. Every night she sat at her small kitchen table flipping through its pages. She debated over whether or not to save them into her new phone or, heaven forbid, call one of them until, finally, it was too much.

She would throw the notebook, and her phone, into the depths of her closet to stop the temptation. She would drown out her thoughts with painfully loud music. She would throw herself onto her mattress on the floor and scream into a pillow in an attempt to get everything out. Then, when she was too exhausted to do anything else, she would drift into a restless, dreamless sleep.

The next night, she did the same thing over again. And the night after that. And the one after that, too. It was an awful, vicious cycle — much like her encores.

Tonight looked like it would be no different. Sitting again at her small, scruffy kitchen table, Eden bounced her knee and stared at the notebook. In her hands, she fumbled with the phone she’d bought with Frank’s money.

She debated, yet again, on whether or not to sabotage everything. Was giving up worth not feeling so damn lonely anymore? Was she so desperate to just talk to somebody she'd risk telling her family about everything before she was ready? Would she ever be ready? What if she wasn't? What then? Would she have to feel this way forever?

Eden stood abruptly, her chair legs scraping across the floor. She started pacing.

Her apartment was small. A single room shaped like an awkward U. One small room that wasn't even half the size of the barn. One small, damned room with no woods, no creek, no nothing out back to walk through. No fields, no pastures, no space to breathe in. Just a single, small, damned room.

Eden's hands shook as her headphones blared. There were no horses in Gotham. No animals at all. No hay, no stalls, no targets. No creek, no woods, no family. No friends. No nothing. No one. Just Eden.

Eden. All alone.

The thin walls around her got smaller and smaller until, finally, she could take it no more. Eden ripped off her headphones and threw them at her bed. She carelessly stuffed her wallet, keys, and a can of mace into her coat pockets as she hurried out the door. She left her phone on the table. Bringing it with her wasn’t a good idea right now. She couldn't trust herself; there were too many numbers she knew by heart.

She marched loudly down the dark streets, channeling her wild, palpable energy into something that could resemble rage. It was a long trek to the store but thankfully there weren’t many people out. Those who were took one look at Eden charging down the sidewalk – looking like a demon on a warpath – and quickly turned their heads. She was grateful.

The old man working the checkout didn’t make any small talk when she walked in – people here rarely made small talk – but he quirked a thick brow in her direction. He quirked it again when she only set down eggs, flour, sugar, vanilla extract, and yeast in front of him.

“Stress baking,” Eden told him.

He looked from her to the poorly lit streets beyond the store's barred windows. Then the old man nodded slowly like maybe she was crazy. Which was fair.

This was Gotham. It was nighttime. And she definitely felt crazy.

“Good luck,” he murmured, handing her her bags.

“Thank you.”

The walk back was harder. Worse, because her hands were full. No matter how angry she acted, she was still clearly vulnerable. That made everything feel darker and colder than it had before.

Even fewer people were out now, but Eden was easy prey. Some men took advantage and catcalled her as she passed. A few even followed her down a handful of streets, heckling and laughing while she reprimanded herself. 

Why couldn't she have just gone through with her usual routine? It was unsatisfying, yes, but safe. Why hadn’t she just gone to the store tomorrow? She could've broken the cycle then, when it was safe to go out. Not now. Not right now. What in the world made her think leaving her apartment right now – in Gotham City, at night, in this neighborhood – was not only a good idea, but her only sane one? Had she been possessed?

Eden's heart pounded fiercely in her chest. Her vision tunneled. The sidewalk stretched further and further into the night, never letting her closer to home no matter how fast she walked.

“Excuse me!” she chirped as she nearly ran into someone turning the corner. A pair of men looked down at her, surprised.

Eden ducked her head and scurried away, grimacing. Nobody in Gotham excuses themselves like that. Nobody in this neighborhood excuses themselves at all. It was a rookie mistake.

“Hey, wait a minute!” one of them called after her. “You ain’t from around here, are you?”

“You lost, pretty girl?” the other crooned, sounding closer. “Need some help finding your way?”

“No, I—” Eden snapped her mouth shut and moved faster.

Don’t talk back, she told herself firmly. Don’t engage with them. And whatever you do, do not be Louanne Smith’s daughter. Or Frank’s. Definitely don’t be Frank’s. You’ll only get yourself—

“Here, beautiful. Lemme help you with that.”

“Fuck off!” Eden shrieked, jerking away from the man and firmly planting her feet on the ground. The burly men shared an eager grin as they moved closer.

Well. At least she’d tried not being her parents' daughter.

“Boys,” she said slowly.“I appreciate the offer. Really. I'm downright flattered." Her voice dripped with an eerie mixture of danger and hospitality — something she’d picked up from her mother. "But I'm not interested. So why don't y'all skedaddle on home, hm?"

The bald one furrowed his brows.

The other scoffed. “It's too bad you feel that way, sweetheart.” He pulled out a knife. “Cuz we ain’t offering.”

His friend started to chuckle, leering at Eden like she was their next meal. She just stared at the knife, looking bored.

She stood as tall and proud as Frank had taught her but tried to treat the situation as her mother might — like the knife and their ogling and their heavy builds meant nothing to her. Acting as if her body was a far more potent weapon than anyone could fully comprehend. But that's all it was. An act. On the inside, her heart was racing faster than lightning. 

Where was her mace? Somewhere deep in the crevasses of her coat pockets? Had to be. Was it too late to start digging for it? Probably. Scrambling for it would just make her more vulnerable than she already was.

She cursed silently as she tossed her bags aside, careful not to disturb the eggs too much. Had she ever successfully wrestled a knife out of somebody’s grasp? Yes. Without getting stabbed first? Maybe, but it certainly wasn’t her strong suit. None of this was. That’s why she did do stuff like this. She only got herself killed trying. At least it was a knife this time and not a gun.

Her mind, already in a frenzy, jumped back to that fight with Chris Henriksen. Her shoes skidding against the gravel of the diner’s parking lot as he tried to swing her off him. His finger on the trigger while she tried to twist the gun out of his grip. The gun firing, him shrieking in pain. His hand free, aiming at her.

A ring of shots. Sudden, ripping pain.

Her, against the gravel. Him, standing over her. The gun, cocked. Him—

“Fuck off!” she screeched again, louder this time. “I’m warning you, shitbags! I’m not afraid of you or your stupid fucking knife!”

The one with the knife grabbed her by the shirt. He pressed the blade into her neck. “You shut that filthy mouth of yours, you dirty fucking bitch," he growled. "Or I'll give you something to be afraid of."

Eden stared him down. She glared at the other man, thinking. Could she win this fight? Two big, burly men against little ol' her? Maybe. Could she end it quickly though? Definitely. But it would cost her.

The man's eyes traveled downward. He licked his lips and Eden scowled.

Fuck it. She wasn't playing this game.

Eden lurched into action, grabbing for the knife — trying to bring it closer to her neck.

“Hey, you fucking psych—" Eden slammed her knee into him, cutting him off. He doubled over as she tried to steal the knife from his hold. The second man grabbed her like a vice, nearly crushing her arm as he yanked her away from his friend.

Eden kicked and screamed and thrashed against him. She smashed the back of her skull against his nose. He swore loudly as he dropped her, clutching his face. She grabbed his arm and yanked him by the shoulder, swinging him over her like a huge sack of potatoes. His back hit the sidewalk and he let out a loud, satisfying, "Oof!"

The first man grabbed Eden again and flung her into the wall beside them. She turned just in time to see the knife sailing down toward her. 

It wouldn’t kill her. She knew that. A single stab wound rarely killed a person. She'd been stabbed enough times to know that. It would take a few more swings.

Her death tonight would be long and painful. She shut her eyes tight, wishing it could already be over. An encore was better than the alternative but... the pain was her least favorite part. 

She wondered if anyone on this street would bother calling the police. Hopefully, they wouldn’t. She didn't want to deal with that. She didn't know how to deal with that. Not without her family there to help her out. 

More importantly, would anyone try to steal her groceries? Hopefully, not. That would be the real tragedy of the night. Maybe her dead body would deter thieves. Or at least make them—

BANG!

Eden shrieked and the man in front of her howled.

She opened her eyes. The man staggered away from her, clutching his bloody, bleeding hand to his chest. Eden pressed herself further against the wall and slid down, trying to make herself as small as possible. His blood-drenched knife lay a few feet away. She grabbed it and held it tightly; the palm of her left hand wet and burning.

The man looked up – high, up toward the sky – and paled. Fear overtook his features and he turned, screaming bloody murder as he ran. His partner was already halfway down the street, swearing frantically.

A gun went off again, twice. Eden flinched at the sound.

Her attackers kissed the concrete as they fell. Once they hit the cold hard ground, they didn’t move. She didn’t move either. If they were already dead there was nothing she could do for them anyway. And even if they weren’t, she was more than happy to let them bleed out on the silent, empty street.

Eden inhaled deeply, trying to calm her shaken nerves, but couldn’t catch her breath. Her heart thundered in her chest as something wet dribbled down her shirt, down her fingertips. The world swayed and her body slunk over, falling completely against the building.

Was she still going to die? That didn’t seem fair.

Then again, the universe didn’t care what people thought was fair. It had its own rules; the number one being that it did what it wanted.

Eden stared at her groceries, unable to focus on anything else. She silently begged the universe to leave them alone. If she had to die right now, going to the store again was uncalled for. The universe would just be kicking her while she was down. If it could just give her this one, little, tiny sliver of kindness, she would be happy. She didn't need anything else. Just let her die and her groceries stay by her side. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Hey,” a sudden voice said at her side. “You okay?”

Chapter Text

“Hey, you okay?”

“Gah!” Eden snapped toward the sudden voice — too fast. Her vision went black.

Someone swore as the earth careened under her, spinning like a carousel gone wild. She slipped into the darkness, her stomach doing somersaults. It was as if a powerful storm had caught her and twisted her outrageously high into the air, leaving her hurtling blindly toward the earth.

Something strong grabbed her, holding her steady. Eden blinked, her sight gradually returning from the blackness. Everything continued to sway and she groaned in dizzy displeasure.

“Easy there,” the strange, familiar voice urged. “Easy.”

She did her best to focus on the red figure in front of her. It swam around in her vision before eventually settling in place. A shiny red… something above a strong pair of shoulders. A… head? No, no. It was a… a… Eden furrowed her brows, trying to pull the word from her murky mind.

A helmet. That’s what it was. And she knew the man wearing it. She remembered the angry look of his “eyes” and the way he’d towered over her. He’d frightened her. But then he laughed with her — and then he laughed at her. She squirmed as the memory grew clearer.

“Hold still,” he ordered, his voice sounding more robotic than human. Under his brown jacket, a red symbol popped against the dark grey of the rest of him. A red bat.

Was that his name? No, no— it was Red Hood. He wore a red helmet and a red bat, but Red Hood was his name. He’d made a joke about it. She remembered.

“Shit,” he hissed, looking down. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

Blood?

Slowly, Eden became aware of the pressure on her neck and the sticky wetness there that went all the way down her shirt. Then she noticed the same with her left hand. She tried looking down at them, but Red Hood forced her chin up. For that brief moment, her hand was empty.

“Hold still,” he said again.

“Okay,” she murmured, still struggling to come out of her daze. She felt the pressure on her hand again. “Are you holding my hand?”

“No. I’m trying to stop the bleeding.”

“Oh, okay.” She furrowed her brows. “Why?”

“Because you’ll die if I don’t.”

“Well, that’s not such a big deal,” she mumbled, confused by the gravity of his words. “It’s fine if I die, you know.”

Red Hood shifted and stared straight at her. Despite being unable to see it, his gaze was piercing. It drilled right through the fog in her mind, making Eden realize what she’d said. More importantly, she realized what it sounded like. Especially to someone who didn’t know.

“I’m sorry!” she said jolting forward. Red Hood pushed harder against her neck, forcing her to lay against the building again. “That wasn’t—” She glanced down, embarrassed but trying not to move her head. “That wasn’t what I meant to say, I swear. I meant to say… um… I don’t know what I meant to say but it wasn’t, uh, that.”

Red Hood didn’t respond. The angry glare etched into his helmet’s white eyes amplified the intense, unreadable emotion coming off him.

Eden looked away, her face hot. From the corner of her eye, she caught the sight of one of her dead attackers.

“Um. So. About those guys…”

“Don’t worry,” Red Hood said gruffly. “They’re not dead.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed,” he scoffed.

“I’m not disappointed!” she said quickly. “Just…”

“Surprised?”

“No! …Okay, maybe a little,” she admitted. “But are they really not dead? You kinda shot them, Mr. Hood. Where I come from, that generally kills people.”

He made a short noise. “They’re alive, I promise.” He moved her head slightly, readjusting the pressure on her neck. “You’re the cookie girl,” he said after a moment.

Eden blinked at him in surprise. She didn’t think someone like him – a masked vigilante, an ex-mob boss and killer, a hero – would remember a random spaz like her.

It wasn’t a question, but she still nod—

“Don’t nod.”

She totally did not nod.

“I’m the cookie girl,” she confirmed with a smile. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Hood. Though I wish it was under better circumstances.”

Red Hood hummed, then quietly dipped his head. He glanced down to where the two men lay in the street, apparently still alive.

She couldn’t know for sure, but Eden had the sneaking suspicion his face held the same pensive look Mama's sometimes did. The one she slipped on when someone hunting for their spouse or kids started crossing a line. The look that warned people just how dangerous her mother could be. The silent reminder of what she could, would, do to scumbags stupid enough to push their luck.

“I’m glad you liked them by the way,” Eden suddenly chirped, relieved when his attention returned to her. “The cookies, I mean. I got your note; it was very sweet of you to leave one. I guess everything went okay with the, uh,” she gestured vaguely in the direction of her apartment, “the vigilante thing on my street last week?”

He stared at her a moment. “Uh… yeah. Yeah, it worked out,” he said sounding more than a little baffled.

Eden grinned, pleased to have distracted him. “Glad to hear it, Mr. Hood." 

After another moment, Red Hood suddenly moved forward, tilting his head as the pressure on her neck lessened briefly. Then he did the same with her hand, checking it.

“The bleedings almost stopped,” he muttered to himself, almost in disbelief.

“Well, that’s good!”

He looked up at her again. She lifted her brows, smiling innocently. A small sound escaped him, either a scoff or a chuckle.

“And it doesn’t sound like you’re choking on blood.”

“More good news,” she said happy to hear the amusement in his distorted voice.

“And you have your chatty, chipper attitude back.”

“I’m not chatty and chipper,” she shot back. “I’m a witty bundle of nerves that doesn’t know how to shut up.”

“Oh, is that what you are?” Red Hood asked with a snicker.

“Unfortunately, yes. As you can see, it’s worked out very well for me so far.”

He mumbled something – too garbled by whatever it was that garbled his voice for Eden to understand – and shook his head. He looked over her wounds again. She could almost feel him frowning at her neck.

“You’re gonna need stitches for that.”

A hearty chuckle came from her throat. Her – her! Eden Smith! – with stitches! The boys would howl at the moon if they heard!

But her humor quickly evaporated when a sudden, sharp pain followed the laugh.

She gasped as her body jerked. A stinging, burning feeling in her neck dug down into her chest. Every ounce of air hissed out of her lungs. She clutched at Red Hood’s hands — already on top of the deep cut and forcing more pressure back onto it.

“Don’t move. You’re okay,” he urged. “You’re okay, Cookie Girl.”

Eden – gapping like a fish out of water, blinking through the pain – still had the good sense to glare at him.

“Breathe,” he told her.

She forced a deep breath of air into her lungs. Then another. And another.

“There you go,” he soothed. “You got it, Cookie Girl. Keep it up.”

“My name’s—” wheeze “—not—” wheeze “—Cookie Girl!”

“No offense, but I really don’t care right now.”

“Well, I do! My name’s Eden,” she said stubbornly. “Eden Smith.” She took one more good breath then forced her body to relax as the pain slowly ebbed. A few seconds passed, but Red Hood kept applying the same amount of force to her neck. “You can stop that now. I’m fine.”

He made a gruff noise. She gave him a small shove with her good hand but was like a breeze pushing against a hard rock: ridiculously ineffective. He got the hint though, and the pressure eased. She took another big breath right after, to reassure him.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah,” he grumbled. “You need to get to a hospital.”

“Absolutely not, but thank you.”

Red Hood tilted his head. “Did you hit your head, too? I already said you needed stitches, and after that little episode—”

“No, I’m fine, thank you,” she said hurrying to her feet.

The world veered off its center again and Eden leaned too far over trying to correct it. Her body stumbled and fell into Red Hood as he came up after her. He caught her with unfair ease and Eden’s face exploded with heat.

“That was on purpose,” she grumbled, desperately ignoring how firm his muscles were as she used his arms to balance herself. “I’m fine.”

“You are definitely not fine, Cookie Girl.”

“Eden.”

“Whatever. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

She’d just about gotten her footing back when he moved his hands around her. Surprised at the action, she jolted and slipped. Red Hood caught her with even greater ease a second time.

“Did you do that on purpose, too?” he mocked.

“I might’ve,” she said indignantly, her nose in the air.

He shook his head at her. He turned her so she could lean into his hold as he budged her forward, but Eden just used the position to dig her heels in. He huffed.

“You realize I can just throw you over my shoulder if you're gonna keep being difficult, right?"

“Mr. Hood, please!”

He stopped, startled perhaps by the seriousness of her plea. Eden took the opportunity to turn and face him again. She took a gloved hand in her good one, holding it as tightly as she could, begging him to listen.

“I’m sorry I’m being difficult – I really am – but you don’t understand. I can’t go to the hospital, Mr. Hood, it’s… I'm...” She looked down, not sure what to say.

It wasn’t dangerous, necessarily. Or bad, or unsafe. She could go to the hospital and get treated. The victim of a mugging-gone-wrong needing some stitches wouldn’t raise any red flags. And if they told her to come back for a checkup, she could just cancel the visit later or skip it entirely.

The problem was her name. They could not put her name into their databases.

Did hospitals let patients go by Jane Doe if they asked nicely? Maybe. But anonymous patients still have to tell the staff their name at some point, don't they? For payments or whatever? That was a risk Eden couldn't take, especially not for something as small as two little cuts.

Chances were, Mama already knew where she was. That was the first thing a person learned living under her roof: Louanne Smith always knows more than you think she does.

She was probably just leaving Eden alone for now, giving her space until she was ready to reach out unprompted. She probably checked in on her from time to time, too, in some invisible way Eden could only guess at.

But if her name popped up at a hospital, or an urgent care, or – heaven forbid – a morgue? There was no doubt in her mind that her mother would swoop into Gotham City and be standing face-to-face with her in mere hours. Eden couldn't handle that right now. And if Frank somehow caught wind of it, too? Now that he – apparently – cared about her well-being again?

Eden really could not handle that possibility right now. Or ever.

“Alright.”

Eden peered up at Red Hood's sudden verdict. “Alright?” she said.

“I won’t take you to a hospital.”

"You... You won't?" A breath of relief spilled from her lungs as her worries left her body. With a sincere, gracious smile, she put a hand on his chest. The metallic-like material of the bat symbol was cool against her sliced palm. “Thank you, Mr. Hood. Thank you very, very much.”

Red Hood shifted, moving his hand up and across his helmet as if to push his hair back, then gripped the nape of his neck. “Yeah, you’re welcome,” he grumbled. The distortion nearly garbled his voice completely, making him sound more embarrassed than he probably was.

Eden snickered at the idea – the dangerous, infamous Red Hood embarrassed by little ol' her – then gagged and shoved her good hand on top of her stinging neck. She put up the other hand to stop Red Hood from grabbing her. The pain wasn’t as intense this time, nor did it dig quite as deeply into her throat and chest. She was starting to heal — not that it sounded like it, the way she was gasping.

“You still need help,” he said, serious again as she took long, deep breaths. He tilted his head upward, toward the rooftops. After a moment of silent contemplation, he huffed and wrapped a tight hand around Eden’s waist.

Her entire face went up in flames as he pulled her close. She wanted to ask what he was doing, but what came out instead was a very proper and dignified “Gyuhh!?” sound.

“Hold on tight,” he said pulling out and aiming a— a grappling hook!?

“Waitwaitwaitwaitwait!”

Red Hood, with his finger on the trigger, jerked to a halt. He looked down at her, his head tilting to the side.

“I almost died going to the store so I could make some bread,” she said pointing to her nearly forgotten grocery bags. “I sure as heck ain’t leaving my stuff behind now!”

He stared at her, his hold on her faltering. Eden felt her face heating up again. She wondered if he was beginning to regret coming to her aid.

Even so, she did not dip her head or back down. She’d paid for those ingredients fair and square, and if dying wasn’t on the menu tonight, there was absolutely no reason for her to have to go back to the store and buy the same things a second time.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” he muttered.

“Incredibly so,” she said nodding firmly.

He stared at her another few seconds, then sighed. Letting her go, he went and quickly collected her things. Picking up the last bag, he glanced into it and looked back over at Eden.

“You seriously went to the store in the middle of the night to bake bread?” he asked in disbelief.

“I just said I was serious."

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you were serious serious.” He shuffled her bags around as he walked up to her again, looking through them. “This is literally just eggs, flour… yeast...”

“Yes. We’ve been over this, Mr. Hood. I just told you I was serious, like, two seconds ago.”

“There’s not even any booze,” he said mystified.

Eden blinked at him. “Mr. Hood, I’m starting to think you need more medical attention than I do.” She reached out to take the bags from him, but Red Hood just slid them up his arm, scoffing.

“I think you need help in the head, Cookie Girl.”

“Keep it up, mister," she said with a glare, "and I’m gonna start calling you Red Bat.”

“You know,” he contemplated, pulling her close again and taking out his grappling hook, “I could just bring you to a hospital. It’d be much faster and easier than me—”

“Actually!” She threw her arms around him, talking in a high, fast pitch. “I suddenly feel Cookie Girl growing on me, Mr. Red Hood, sir! It’s a real sweet nickname. You can 100% call me that anytime!”

Red Hood chuckled at her. The vibrations from his chest ran through to hers, reminding Eden just how tightly he was holding her. “Then hang on, Cookie Girl.”

She nodded, lowering her head and tightening her grip on him. This wasn’t her first time traveling through Gotham via grappling hook. She’d done it once before, years ago, on her first visit to the city. She could still remember the breathless thrill of soaring across the city's skyline; her remaining fears transformed to smiles and laughter. Her hero had laughed with her.

She would try not to do that now that she was an adult. Especially not with Red Hood. He would certainly tease her.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

He lifted the grappling hook and lowered himself slightly. Eden followed his lead. He pushed off the ground and they were brought high into the air.

Eden immediately grinned, weightless and free in the city's skies. It was as amazing as she remembered it.

Chapter Text

Eden leaned her head back on the low wall behind her and stared up at the clouded sky. She huffed for what felt like the hundredth time. At this rate, she was going to be completely healed before Red Hood even got back...

She took another peek at her sliced palm. The cut was about a third smaller than it had been. Would Red Hood notice? Probably. It was hard to miss.

Should she— she shuddered. Should she try to reopen it a little with her nails?

She moved her hand away, gagging at the thought.

Nope. No way. Forget that. If it was noticeable to Red Hood, she would just play it off somehow. Distract him or something. Play dumb. Cry. Whatever it took but she was not going to reopen it. It shouldn’t heal much more before he got back, anyway. He promised it would only take a few minutes for him to get what he needed and get back. And, despite feeling like she’d been sitting on this rooftop for hours, Eden knew that wasn’t true. She was just getting antsy.

She put a hand to her neck, gently moving a finger across the gash there. It was fairly long, running from the dip between her shoulder and neck down to the crook of her collar bone. The knife nicked her jugular on the way down, too. That was how she’d become so lightheaded so quickly. Even now, her shirt was still wet with all the blood she’d lost.

She was lucky her body healed the way it did. The process was by no means instant, and sometimes it was too little too late, but more often than not it was just enough to save her from unnecessary encores.

Actually, still running her finger along the jagged cut, Eden was a bit surprised. Usually, an injury like this would be far more healed by now. Yet, somehow, the cut on her neck didn’t feel any smaller than the first time she’d touched it. True, it wasn't as deep as it had been – Eden could just… tell it wasn't – but on the surface, it was mostly the same.

Was it her? Had she gained some control over this part of her power without realizing it? Maybe. Or maybe she'd just lost so much blood that replenishing it was more important than mending the rest of her body. Or maybe her body magically knew that healing too fast wasn’t a good idea this time. Or, maybe, it was just mending itself like this, like a snail trudging across a bone-dry desert, because she hadn’t eaten anything since lunchtime.

Her stomach growled on cue, confirming her suspicions. Eden groaned. Now that she wasn’t drowning in her own thoughts or missing a remarkable amount of blood, she was fully aware of her body’s needs. And, boy, did it need food.

 “Would you—”

Eden shrieked in surprise as Red Hood announced his return by swiping her hand away from her neck.

“—stop messing with that?”

“What in the—!? Where in the heck did you come from!?”

“Hell, obviously.” He knelt down in front of her, taking a small black bag off his shoulder. “Couldn’t you tell?”

“Oh, of course,” she said rolling her eyes. “I thought I recognized the accent.” She smacked her forehead theatrically. 

Red Hood let out a small, amused sound as he unzipped the bag. Inside was a swath of medical supplies. He dug around a moment then pulled out a white cloth and bottle of rubbing alcohol.

Eden eyed the bottle as he unscrewed the cap. “I hear the weather’s lovely in Hell this time of year,” she continued, hiding behind the joke. “Good time for a visit.”

“Nah," he said playing along. "It’s hot as balls right now."

She chuckled. “Ain't it—” Red Hood turned to her urgently and Eden quieted.

He said nothing. 

“Um…" She shrank down a little, unnerved by his wordless stare. "Everything okay there, Mr. Hood?”

He studied her another moment then eased back. “Yeah. Sorry. You started laughing so I thought you might…” he drifted off, looking at her neck. He shook his head and went back to prepping the cloth. “How do you feel?”  

She shrugged. “Fine. Better than I was.”

“No more gagging fits?” He glanced over at her and Eden shook her head. “Good.”

She eyed the drenched cloth in his hand, thinking back to all the times she'd put alcohol on someone else’s cuts and scrapes. She’d never had to use it herself, not even when she was a kid, so she didn’t know what it felt like. All she knew was that other people often hissed or groaned when they used it. Even Nate, arguably the toughest of her semi-siblings, would wince if alcohol went on an open wound.

“Is that going on my neck?”

“Yep.”  Red Hood brought it closer.

Eden leaned away. “Is it going to hurt?”

“I mean.” He gave a half-shrug, half-nod like it was obvious. “Yeah?”

“Okay, but like…” She slunk down against the wall, growing quieter. “How bad is it gonna hurt? Like… bad or… really bad?”

Red Hood tilted his head in thought. “How’s your pain tolerance?”

"My...? Oh. Well, it's... um..."

No matter how she got hurt, Eden was always fine in the end. But in the moment? When it was actually happening to her? Or, if it was a trade, when it felt like it was happening to her?

“Not great,” she decided. But, then again, who didn’t experience excruciating pain while dying? “It’s hard to say. It might be normal but… I’m not really sure. I certainly don't like pain, if that helps.”

“Alright, better question: have you ever used alcohol to clean a cut before?"

“No,” she murmured sinking into her shoulders. “Never.”

Red Hood turned his head upward and let out a deep noise, something between a hum and a sigh. He glanced toward the little black medical bag, then down at himself, then around them. Searching for something, perhaps.

“Look—” Eden straightened herself up, drawing his attention. “Look, why don’t you… Why don’t you just do it, okay? You being all,” she made a gesture, “this is freaking me out more. Just throw it on there and if it hurts, then—”

“When it hurts. I’m not just slapping it down," he told her. "I have to actually clean the cut.”

“Oh, okay!” she said in a much higher pitch. “Great! Wonderful! Then when it hurts, I’ll just— I’ll— I’ll kick you or something! And it’ll be fine!”

Red Hood cocked his head. “After all I’ve done for you, you’re going to repay me by kicking me?”

Eden blinked at him. “What? Oh! No, no! I didn’t mean— I wasn’t really going to kick you! Of course not! I wouldn’t actually— Okay, I mean, maybe in like a knee-jerk kind of way, but not on purpose or anything! And even if I did do it on purpose, I’d probably hurt myself more than I’d hurt you, Mr. Hood – I think we both know that – ‘cause it would just, you know, be like a, uh, little baby kicking you or something. More sad than anything, really. Just downright pathetic. And, honestly, you'd probably feel bad for me and have to pretend it hurt 'cause I'd just be holding my foot and crying, and—” 

Red Hood snickered loudly, cutting off her senseless jabbering. He turned his head and covered the place where his mouth would be but his shoulders kept shaking.

Eden’s whole face went up in flames. He'd been joking. And now he was laughing at her. Again.

“Oh, for goodness sake,” she grumbled turning away from him. She pushed her hair out of the way and offered up her neck. “Will you please just get this over with before I make a bigger fool of myself?”

“Hold on.” Still fighting back laughter, he reached for the bottle again. “I need to add some more.”

“More!?”

"Yeeaah," he said shaking his head oh-so-solemnly. "It dried out while you were talking." 

“Uh-huh, yeah, sure." She turned and pinned her eyes on the skyscrapers in the distance. "Go on and tease the panicking person, Mr. Hood. Very kind of you. Very classy.”

"What can I say? I'm such a kind, classy guy."

A laugh nearly tumbled out of her but Eden quickly fought it down, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. The sound of fresh alcohol spilling onto the cement wiped her suppressed smile clean away.

“Oh god.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “This is really happening, isn’t it?”

“You’re gonna be fine, Cookie Girl.”

“I am not gonna be fine!” she threw back. “This is awful! This is horrendous! This is— This is torturous!”

He scoffed, close to her neck now. “Don’t be such a baby. I haven’t even done anything yet.”

“I know! That’s what’s so awful!”

“Do you want to hold my hand or something?” 

Eden knew he was mocking her. She did. She just didn’t care. Her good hand clutched at the fabric of his leather jacket. The other wrapped around the exposed skin between his glove and tight, armor-like sleeve. Her mending palm warmed quickly against his skin.

He cleared his throat. “I was joking.”

“Well, that's too damn bad, Mr. Hood! Don’t go making offers you don’t wanna bank on! Now, would you puh-LEASE just get this over with!? I’m seriously starting to freak out here, and I really don’t appreciate the whole ‘Let’s draw this out as long as possible ‘cause it’s funny’ shtick, ‘cause it’s not funny, and I for one really don't appreciate—”

“Okay, okay! I’m doing it, I’m doing it. Sheesh.” He moved forward and ran the cloth over her torn skin in one quick motion. Eden shrieked and clutched his arm.

The burn was intense. Sudden. Unlike anything she’d felt before. Her eyes misted as she forced herself to breathe through clenched teeth.

Every so often, Red Hood gave her small words of assurance – that she was doing fine, that he was almost done – but Eden could only focus on the pain. Liquid fire bubbled and seared its way deep into the wound. She dragged the soles of her shoes against the cement, desperate for relief. Eventually, she tore her good hand away from Red Hood’s jacket and pounded her fist against the floor. She grabbed his sleeve again and held it tightly, trying not to cry.

When he finally finished, Red Hood carefully removed her good hand from his sleeve and put it on top of the cloth. “Keep this here, alright?”

“I don’t like this,” she sniffed, her voice wavering. “Why do we have to do this. I hate this. This is stupid.”

“You’re doing fine, Cookie Girl,” he said softly.

She half-huffed, half-whined in disagreement.

Red Hood turned back to his little black bag and dug around with his free hand. He made no indication of needing his other hand, so Eden didn’t let go. Every time the frothing, stinging burn flared up again she dragged her heel across the floor and gave his arm another tight squeeze. If it bothered him, he didn’t show it.

“So.” He pulled a small pouch from the bag. “What kind of trouble are you in, anyway?”

The furrow in her brow deepened. “What do you mean? I’m not in any trouble…”

“Right.” From the pouch, Red Hood took out a curved needle, some thick tweezers, and what looked like a spool of blue fishing line. “Because only someone not in any trouble would beg someone like me to patch them up instead of going to a hospital.”

“Hey now!" She let go of him and pointed to herself. "I didn't beg for nothin'. I just refused to go to the hospital. You're," she jabbed her finger at him, “the one who’s insisting on doing this nonsense.”

He scoffed and swiped her hand away as he threaded the needle. “Would you rather I didn’t do this nonsense?”

“It feels like the devil himself is pissing on my shoulder right now, so... yeah, to be completely honest, I’m kinda wishing you didn't.”

Red Hood stopped. Stiffly, he turned his head toward her. Eden shrunk back from the sudden, severe emotion coming from him. The heat of his hidden gaze, amplified by the glaring eyes of his helmet, was hard to meet.

“I’m sorry,” he said harshly, “did you want an infection in your fucking neck?”  

“No,” she said quietly.

“Then what about having a huge scar for the rest of your life?”

Knots formed in her stomach. “I’m not worried about scars,” she mumbled stubbornly.

“No? Then how about that cut reopening?” he shot back. “How about bleeding out a second fucking time when there's no one around? How about fucking dying? Are you worried about that?” he hissed. His distorted voice was sharper and more searing than Eden had ever heard it.

She sank further down the wall. It wasn't hard to understand why Red Hood was so worked up. She glanced down at the slick, sticky river of blood that had flooded her shirt and pooled down her torso. She'd lost so much so quickly... If she were a normal human being and the cut did reopen, there wouldn't be enough blood left in her body to survive it. She would bleed out and die just like Red Hood said.

But Eden wasn't normal. The cut wouldn't reopen. And even if it somehow did, it wouldn't kill her. Her body had already made up for most of the blood she'd lost — she could feel it. And even if it hadn't, even if the damn thing did kill her, it's not like she would stay dead anyway. The universe would demand another encore from her, just like it always did, and her heart would start again. Just like it always did.

Eden eyed the needle in Red Hood's hand apprehensively. He was going to put that into her skin. Into her cut. He was going to sew her up like an old ragdoll and she didn't even need it!

What would it feel like? Would it be small but sharp like getting pricked by a sewing needle? Strange and agonizing, as if she were being carved up by a tiny knife? Quick and exasperating, like getting her ears pierced again before they finally understood why the holes kept closing up? Or, would it feel like something she’d never experienced before — like the molten, frothy sting of alcohol on an open wound?

And, even worse, the stitches would eventually have to come out. Her body would be perfectly healed within a day or two – at most – and would leave no scar. There'd be nothing to suggest she’d ever even needed stitches in the first place. Even if she could find a way into a hospital without alarming her mother, how would she be able to explain that? She wouldn't. She'd have to remove them herself.

She could just... tell Red Hood her secret, of course. Avoid the whole kerfuffle that way but... But that was stupid. Yeah, he was trying to help her now, and, yeah, he’d save her before, but being a metahuman wasn’t something you just… told people about. Not even heroes. Eden wasn’t that stupid.

In fact, the only people she’d ever told were the “cousins” she considered siblings. And even then, unless they actively needed her powers, she only told them after years of knowing and trusting them. It was her greatest secret, and, as far as she was concerned, only family needed to know it.

Well. Family and whoever the hell Frank told, apparently.

Eden was still upset about that. People – people she didn’t know; people her mother didn’t know; total strangers – knew about her powers now. Frank had told the people he worked with about her without her knowledge or consent. He swore they were trustworthy, that they were merely interested in the science and what it could do, but that didn’t mean much to Eden. After all, he wasn’t even family. Not anymore.

She'd thought he wanted to be. Despite all the years of silence, of absence, she’d hoped he wanted to be when he suddenly reached out and asked to see her again. But when they finally did meet up, after all the backflips and hoop-jumping they’d gone through to keep Mama from catching wind, he’d treated her more like a business venture than a daughter.

That stung more than alcohol ever could.

“Well?”

Eden glanced up at Red Hood. Waiting, with needle in hand. Likely angry, or at the very least upset, with what he must’ve thought was a very stupid, very weak, very ungrateful little girl. He certainly wouldn't be the first.

She looked away again and let out a slow breath. Carefully, she removed the cloth from her neck, hissing softly as she did. She wordlessly offered up the wound a second time. He shifted closer, putting a hand near the cut. Eden flinched and he stopped again.

“Sorry,” she said quickly, softly, sure he was getting more irritated by the minute. “I’m sorry, I just…” She shook her head, fighting the shameful urge to cry. “I’m just," she choked. "I'm just no good at this stuff."

Red Hood said nothing. Eden wondered if silence was how he showed his disappointment.

After a moment, his free hand moved from her neck. He held it in front of her, his palm up. She stared at it, unsure of what it meant.

“It doesn’t hurt too bad,” he said gently. Eden's eyes lifted in surprise. “It does when the needle goes in," he continued, still soft, "but it’s more weird than painful, I swear. If you need to, you can still…" Red Hood looked to the side and started mumbling. "Y'know.” He bobbed his hand. “Hold my hand or whatever...”

A rebel tear ran down her cheek. Eden sniffed and quickly brushed it away. 

This... This was Gotham’s most-contested vigilante? The mob boss. The murderer. The one everyone and their mother had an opinion on. The one they said could never, should never, be considered a hero. This guy. The one who insisted on helping a stubborn, panicky, annoying civilian all night. The one who got downright pissed when she tried to brush off life-saving care. The one who did not rebuke her for being so pathetic, so weak, but instead shyly offered her comfort.

She couldn't wrap her head around it. People called Red Hood bad, immoral, unforgivable, but how? How could anyone think of him like that? Even if he'd done awful things... Even if he still did awful things... Red Hood clearly wasn't an awful person. He was thoughtful. He was kind. He was good.

Had any of the people who said those nasty things actually met him? Did they know how tender he could be? How sweet? Maybe they hadn’t and his rough reputation simply preceded him. Or maybe Eden was a fool who couldn't see the true cruelty hidden beneath a masterful facade. Or... maybe she was one of the lucky ones who got to see past the facade, who got to see the heart hidden underneath.

Eden gingerly took his hand, so, so grateful. “Thank you, Mr. Hood,” she whispered, hoping the words would be enough to convey at least a small fraction of what she was feeling.

He grumbled something back — his voice garbled more than usual. 

Eden smiled and giggled softly, feeling outstandingly lucky.

“You ready now?” he muttered.

She nodded. "Ready."

He moved forward again, slowly this time — giving her enough time to stop him if she needed it. She squeezed his hand in anticipation. He took it as a go-ahead.

There was a sharp prick at the base of her collarbone followed by a strange sliding sensation. Like he’d said, there was a sharp, shooting pain each time the needle went in or out of her skin, but it wasn’t too bad. The real issue was the silk-like thread. The slick feeling of it running in and through her skin, tugging pieces of herself together… It was off-putting. Nauseating, even.

Eden tried not to squirm too much. When the needle pierced too thin a piece of skin, she squeaked and scraped her shoe against the ground as Red Hood muttered an apology. When the tugging made her nearly gag, she zeroed in on the scruff marks along his jacket, breathing slowly as she counted them up.

When none of that helped, she would squeeze his hand, silently begging for strength. He squeezed back, readily giving it whenever she asked.

“There,” he said pulling the needle through one last time. He tugged the thread firmly. “Can I have my hand for a second?”

Eden let go and watched as he tied off the string and cut off the excess.

“So…" she tried. "How do I get them out?”

“They’ll dissolve or fall out in a few weeks’ time. No hospitals necessary.”

She nodded slowly then let out a breath of relief. "Thank you," she mumbled.

Red Hood studied her a moment. He lowered his head slightly and stayed that way, something clearly on his mind.

Then, as if forcing himself, he reached for her cut hand. Eden jerked it close to her chest.

“Are you gonna put stitches in my hand, too? That would hurt worse, wouldn’t it? Since it’s my palm?” She snuck a glance at the cut as she spoke.

The first time she’d looked at it, it ran clear across her palm from end to end. There’d been thin cuts across some of her fingers too. She honestly couldn't remember when it had happened in the fight or how, but she must’ve grabbed for the knife at some point and been holding it by the blade when it was roughly pulled from her grasp.

Now, the cut was much smaller. Only about an inch and a half over the center of her palm. She couldn’t even tell where the smaller slices on her fingers had been. She imagined the skin there still looked a little irritated, but – because it was dark and her hand was still coated with blood – she couldn’t see it.

“I might not have to,” Red Hood said holding his hand out for hers. “The neck was definitely worse, but let me take another look at it.”

Nervously, Eden took one more glance at her palm then handed it over.

Red Hood inspected it a moment then tilted his head. "Huh."

She panicked. “What!?” she shrieked, startling him enough to look away from the cut. “Is it bad? Do I need stitches? Please don’t say I need any more stitches, Mr. Hood, I really don’t think I can handle going through that with my hand. Please say I don’t. Pretty please?”

He glanced down at it again. “You don't.” Very gently, he ran a thumb over the cut. “It’s a lot smaller than I remember…”

“Oh, thank goodness!" she said in a fast voice. She started tugging her hand away. "So we’re all good then, right? No more patching up? You can just take me home now?” 

Red Hood let out an amused hum and started packing up his supplies. “You trying to get rid of me?” 

“No, not at all! But," she brought up a finger, "if you bring that alcohol crap anywhere near me again, I really am going to kick you.”

He scoffed and batted her hand away. Then he paused and dipped his head. “Actually," he teased, reaching for the bottle. "Now that you mention it—”

“No. No, no."

“We really should clean it."

“Nope. No. Don’t you dare.”

“Aw, c'mon, Cookie Girl,” he said waving the bottle. “Just to be safe?" 

“Mr. Hood, I will kick you and I will do it hard.”

He laughed, stood up, and offered his hand. "You gonna cry when you do?"

"No! ...Maybe." She took his hand. "Shut up."

Chapter Text

“There you go,” Red Hood said opening the window to Eden’s fire escape from inside the apartment. She’d cautiously – and, in this instance, annoyingly – locked it earlier. “Back at Casa de Eden, safe and—”

“Don’t do that again!” she whisper-shrilled in his face.

Red Hood jerked back, surprised. The nerve! He knew full well he’d given Eden a heart attack vaulting off the fire escape like that. And he barely held on to the building while he checked her other window!

“You scared the livin' crap out of me! We’re on the ninth floor, for Pete’s sake!"

He scoffed. “Guess it’s a good thing you left the other window unlocked then, huh? Can you imagine? One little slip then, splat! No more Red Hood." He sniffed obnoxiously and wiped an imaginary tear from the eye of his helmet. "So sad."

“Oh please.” Eden rolled her eyes as she passed her groceries to him. “Like you wouldn’t have pulled out your grappling hook or something and saved yourself.”

“Oh?” He offered her his free hand, dropping the act. “So you mean I had everything under control? And you had nothing to freak out about? Imagine that.”

“Listen you,” Eden said taking his hand, allowing him to help her through the window. “You know well and good by now that I am a panicky person. The very least you could do is give me a heads up before you do something scary crazy like that!”

“Alright, fine. Don’t freak out, but I’m about to walk over to your table. So scary!”

She rolled her eyes again. "Yeah, I’m absolutely petrified, Mr. Hood.”

He let out a small amused sound.

Cautiously holding her, he led her toward her kitchen table. Eden felt a little ridiculous, but he probably thought she’d keel over if he let her walk on her own. That's what would probably happen to a normal person who’d lost as much blood as her. So, despite being perfectly fine, she played along — totally not enjoying how close he was to her. Nope. Not even the littlest bit. 

But as he led her across the room, Eden couldn’t help but see her place with a fresh set of eyes. The kind a person only ever saw through when an unexpected visitor walked through their door — or, in this case, window.

Her apartment was so tiny and barren there honestly wasn’t much to see to begin with. But that didn’t stop Eden from noticing every flaw that was there. Every crumb and speck of dust. Every scuff and scratch that marked the fake wooden floor. The huge pile of “clean” clothes sitting on a chair next to her – thankfully closed – closet door. The walls void of anything but cracks, holes, and an old pair of coat hooks by the front door. 

Being in such a small space, and hoping to be able to afford something a little nicer in the not-too-distant future, Eden had decided early on not to fill it with any big or unnecessary furniture. It wasn’t like she needed much to begin with, and she didn’t want to deal with nine flights of stairs when she moved, so it had made sense.

Plus, it wasn’t like she planned on ever having guests. Even if she had people to invite over, inviting anybody to her neck of the woods would just be asking for trouble. Her neighborhood was far too… unneighborly. She’d feel tremendously guilty if anything bad happened to someone who shouldn’t be there to begin with.

But now that she had a guest, Eden severely regretted not trying to turn the rundown studio into something a little homier.

Her “living area” was a piss poor sight with only a lazily made-up mattress and a scratched-up coffee table to fill it. The mattress, which sat on the floor, acted as both Eden’s bed and couch; its sheets half sprawled, half bunched up in a way that Mama never would’ve allowed. The square coffee table – small enough for her to have carried onto the subway with only a little trouble – was absolutely covered in scattered piles of books, notebooks, and pens. Her laptop and headphones – the only things she’d splurged on with Frank’s money – sat on her bed, glaringly shiny and new compared to everything around them.

At least the tight galley kitchen was clean and tidy. She still swept and wiped everything down each night, just like she would back home. Even if the linoleum was unsalvageable in places and the counters worn down, it looked better to Eden than the living space. The colorful dishrags, oven mitts, and canisters of utensils gave it more character than any other space in the apartment. Made it more… presentable.

“Please tell me that’s not your cellphone,” Red Hood suddenly groaned.

Eden glanced down at her phone, still on the kitchen table where she’d left it, right next to the tiny notebook of phone numbers. Then she looked up at him, confused.

“Of course it is… Whose else would it be?”

He made a gruff sound, stopping in front of the chair Eden had fled from... gosh, was it only an hour ago? She sat down as he set her bags in front of her with a loud thud. 

“Seriously? You went out this late and you didn’t even bring your phone? Do you still think you’re in Kansas, Dorothy?”

Eden frowned. “I know exactly where I am, Glinda.”

“I am not Glinda,” he argued.

“Then are you Elphaba? Or the Great and Powerful Oz himself?” She twirled her hand and dipped her head, giving him a quick, theatrical bow. “Your Oziness.”

He snorted. “I’m just saying it was stupid.”

“I know it was stupid, I just…”

Her eyes flickered down to the little notebook with all her friends and family’s numbers inside. Guilt pulled at her heartstrings. Then she looked to her phone.

Like her laptop and headphones, it was new and bought with Frank’s money. The same money she used to get here. The money he'd given her for trusting him with her “donation”. For agreeing to that stupid meeting in the first place. For thinking he was still her father after all these years.

What a joke.

“It doesn’t matter,” she huffed, snatching them up as she stood. “I’m just an idiot.”

She moved to the smallest of her kitchen drawers, her designated “junk drawer”. So far it only contained a few pens, a pad of post-it notes, a screwdriver, some scissors, and a hair tie. She tossed the phone and notebook in too and shut it roughly.

“Anyway.” She turned back to Red Hood. “What would you like for your thank you?”

Red Hood, who’d been watching at her intently, lifted his head slightly. “Huh?”

“What would you like?” she asked again, thinking it obvious. “I know you liked the cookies I made last week. I think it was snickerdoodles, right? Did you want some more of those or something else?”

“Or… Wait, what?”

“Or something else,” she repeated. “I know you’re keen on calling me that dumb cookie name, but I bake more than cookies, you know. Brownies, fudge, pie, cake — you name it! It doesn’t even have to be sweet either. The only thing I can’t do is make something with filling. I mean, I could but I haven’t bought a piping bag so I’d have to make do with a makeshift one; which, again, I could do, but it’d be a lot messier and I'm actually not that great at filling pastries either way, so I’d really rather not, but—”

“Wait, wait,” he said raising a hand and moving forward. “What are you talking about? Piping bags? Filling?”

“Uh, a thank you?” she said, again, like it was obvious. “You helped me a lot tonight and I want to make it up to you."

“You’ve already thanked me a few times,” he said turning his head a moment. “You really don’t have to—”

“Ohhhh no you don’t, Mr. Hood!” she said stepping forward and wagging her finger at him. “Don't you pretend you didn't go out of your way for me tonight. I know you did, and I know y’all aren’t that big on manners here, but it’s only right I go a little out of my way too to repay you for it.”

"But I can’t stay with you all night, Cookie Girl,” he teased, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter opposite her. “There might be some other dumbass buying eggs and flour in the middle of the night who gets in a knife fight. Can't leave them to bleed out on the streets, now can I?"

"I suppose not," she agreed. "Though I have to admit I'm a little disappointed." She pouted and fluttered her eyelashes. "You really don't think I'm a one-of-a-kind kind of dumbass, Mr. Hood?"

Red Hood barked out a laugh, making Eden grin.

“Oh hey, how about this!" she said eagerly. "I can make a batch of fudge and keep it until you have time in your very busy rescuing-total-idiots schedule to stop by again. Would that work?”

He rubbed the jaw of his helmet as he considered it, then turned to her again. “How good’s your fudge?”

She choked on a laugh at how serious he sounded then cleared her throat. “Pretty good, I’d say. Never heard any complaints and I’ve been making it about as long as I’ve been making cookies.”

He hummed comically loud, the distortion making it unharmonious. “Tempting. Very tempting."

“Annnnnd,” she said leaning forward, “it’d be another one of my Mama’s recipes. It doesn't get much better than that, Mr. Hood, I promise you.”

He hummed again. “I guess one batch of fudge couldn’t hurt.”

“Perfect!” Eden beamed, clapping her hands together. “Any allergies I should know about? Nuts? Dairy? Special calorie diet? Please say no to that one; I hate dealing with low-fat nonsense. I'll do it, of course, for you, but I won't like it.”

“Nah,” he said, sounding amused. “I'm good with whatever. Go crazy, Cookie Girl.”

“Alrighty then. Oh!” She steepled her fingertips and drummed them together, grinning. “Oh, I know exactly what I'll make you... hehehe...”

“Uh, should I be scared?” 

“Not at all, Mr. Hood!" she said far too sweetly. "You said go crazy, so crazy I'll go.”

He shook his head at her, then tilted it slightly. “You might wanna take a shower before you go too crazy."

"Hm?"

He nodded to her shirt and Eden glanced down.

“Oh. Right.” She still looked like a crime scene. She looked up at him again, sheepishly. "Sorry."

He shrugged, unbothered. "Don't be sorry. I’m just not huge a fan of blood in my fudge.”

"That's fair," Eden giggled, grateful for the ease that came with talking to him. She looked at her shirt again, grimaced, and pulled at the bloodied fabric. “I should probably go do that now actually...”

“I'll get out of your hair then," Red Hood said pushing himself away from the counter. "Try not to get your stitches wet if you can help it.” Then he stopped and turned as if remembering something. Eden waited until he finally decided to speak. “You seem to be able to hold yourself up now.”

Suddenly, remembering the role she was meant to be playing, her body self-corrected and started to droop to one side. Eden corrected that self-correction by dramatically shifting her weight to the other side then back again — like she was testing her balance in a very, very bizarre way.

“Yeah," she said standing upright again. "I’m not as dizzy as I was before.” Which was not untrue. She’d been extremely dizzy when he'd first found her and wasn’t at all now, so, technically, not a lie. “But I’ll sit down if it gets bad again. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right?”

Red Hood nodded slowly, not saying anything. He slung the black medical bag off his shoulder and put it on the table next to her groceries.

“I’ll leave this in case you need it," he muttered.

Eden nodded, knowing she wouldn’t, then walked him to the window. “Thanks, Mr. Hood. I’ll try to replace whatever I use." She smiled. "I don’t suppose you could give me a rough ballpark on when you might come back?” 

“What,” he teased climbing back onto her fire escape, “miss me already?”

“No,” she said too quickly. “Of course not. Don’t be dumb. I’m asking for the, uh, timeline. For… fudge. Purposes. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he repeated, still kneeling in front of her window.

Eden’s cheeks grew warmer and she looked away. “Anyway," she mumbled. "I’m home by 7 most nights. But Sunday or Monday night would work best for me.”

“Alright, I’ll try to shoot for one of those.” Red Hood glanced over his shoulder and down the street. “I really should go now, Cookie Girl.” He stood from the window and pulled out his grappling hook. “Try not to do anything too stupid while I’m gone.”

“Yeah, I’ll do my best,” she scoffed. “Try not to do anything too crazy before you come back." 

He snorted. “I’ll do my best.”

Eden smiled, becoming more sincere. "I'll see you later then, Mr. Hood."

"Yeah. See you later, Cookie Girl." 

He jumped off the fire escape and Eden leaned out her window to watch him soar across the street. He passed several buildings before landing on a rooftop and paused.

He looked back at her and Eden jerked in surprise, nearly smacking her head against the glass. She sent him a small, shy wave, embarrassed at having been caught watching him go. Red Hood returned it with a raise of his hand. It looked like he might be shaking his head, too.

Eden quickly ducked back inside and shut and locked her window. She spun around and leaned against it, trying to calm her beating heart and fiery face. She was already being stupid, it seemed.

She really had no reason to be so embarrassed, though! People watch other people leave their houses all the time! Eden had stood out on the front porch plenty of times back home to watch folks go — sometimes with a smile and a wave, sometimes with a scowl and a rifle in her arms. So how was watching Red Hood go any different? She shook her head and sighed.

The sigh acted as a signal and a sudden wave of exhaustion nearly brought her to the floor. With nobody else around, her body freely began to set off all kinds of alarms. It had saved her from another encore, yes, and now it demanded its due. She was tired, starved, and just flat out weak from its efforts to keep her alive. 

“Okay,” she mumbled, forcing herself to stand up straight. “Food, then shower, then sleep. Then everything ’ll be better,” she promised.

She stagged back to the table to take care of her groceries. Aside from a few cracked eggs, everything was still intact. Considering the adventurous night she’d had, Eden counted that as a victory.

She could have turned on the stove and heated up some leftovers. She wasn’t so hungry that she was just grabbing anything and shoving it into her mouth. But sleep's siren call was loud and clear, and Eden was eager for bed, so she ate her food cold standing over the sink. The casserole dish was empty before her stomach was full, but it would suffice until morning. 

When she turned on the bathroom light and saw her reflection, she froze. Is this what she'd looked like all night? No wonder Red Hood had been so concerned! She looked like she’d caught the red death and was bleeding from every pore! Her shirt was completely soaked through, which she’d already known, but some of the blood had also seeped into her coat and even her pants.

She took a step closer to the mirror. “Holy heck…” Red Hood agreeing to see her again was nothing short of a miracle.

The blood had completely stained the skin around her neck and chest. Only the space around her stitches was clean. The top of her hair was wild and windswept while the bottom half was damp and matted with blood. Her cheeks grew warm as some silly part of her lamented over Red Hood seeing her so gross and uncouth. She tried to fix her hair – as if doing so now would somehow change how she’d looked before – but gave up shortly. 

She turned on the shower and peeled the wet, sticky clothing from her body. Stepping into the hot water, the leftover strain in her muscles eased further, making it harder to keep herself upright. Using her nails, she picked at the adhesive part of the band-aid Red Hood had, half-jokingly, stuck to her palm before bringing her home. The cut, little more than a paper cut now, stung as soap suds and shampoo found their way into the tiny cracks of her skin.

At first, she tried to keep her stitches dry like Red Hood had told her, but ended up giving up quickly. She was too tired for all that. And whatever consequences there were for a normal person wetting their stitches, it likely wouldn’t affect Eden much. Besides, the constant stream of warm water on her neck felt amazing. (At least until washed-out conditioner seeped into the stitches. Then Eden regretted everything.)

When she got out, she rubbed the mirror clean of fog to inspect her neck. It was just like she thought.

Though red with irritation, the cut no longer reached down to her collarbone and the once deep gash in the crook of her neck was now but a shallow slice. By the time she woke up tomorrow, she doubted there would be anything left of the wound at all. The stitches had been, as she'd predicted, completely unnecessary. And now she was stuck with them. And would soon have no slice, no cut, nor wound to justify their existence. Great.

Turning out the light, she took a long breath. Hopefully, her body would make short work of the stitches and they would dissolve quickly. But until then, she would just have to keep her neck covered.

When she finally crawled into bed, Eden snuggled into her covers and replayed the night in her mind. For as much agony as his stitches had – and would – put her through, Red Hood had transformed her awful, lonely night into something warm and wonderful. And now, she even had something to look forward to. As she drifted off to sleep, Eden found herself smiling. Maybe, somewhere in this big, dangerous city, Red Hood was smiling, too. She giggled softly at the thought, hoping that maybe – just maybe – he was eager to see her again, too.

Chapter Text

Being a professional actor was a more tiring and time-consuming line of work than Eden had originally thought. She was so accustomed to her old community theater’s three hours of practice three times a week that she’d expected something similar when she arrived in Gotham. Landing her first “real” gig was a wake-up call. Six 8-hour days in a row taught her just how much time and energy professionals put into their craft.

In Gotham’s theater world, Monday was considered the weekend. There were no performances for audiences to view and no practices for cast members to attend, so Sundays were often filled with tired actors excited to go for drinks or eager to sleep in.

This particular Sunday, Eden was brimming with energy. So much so she actually volunteered to take someone’s place on the daily mid-afternoon caffeine run. The director, Daphne, gave Eden a half-amused smile as she put in the usual order on her phone then sent the small group on their way.

“Somebody’s chipper today,” Aaron grumbled, still sour about not being able to convince anyone to take his turn.

Eden ignored his mood. “Yep! A sort-of friend of mine might be coming over tonight and I’m excited to see him.”

Veronica glanced over her huge sunglasses with an approving smirk. “Oooo, yeah?”

Even when it wasn’t her turn on the caffeine run, Veronica, one of the show’s leads, almost always joined the group. She had a very particular drink from a very particular café in the area she adored, and she would always lead the group there before grabbing everyone else’s drinks at Stardunks. She always bought the other runners something for their trouble too, which was probably the politest thing Eden had seen in Gotham to date.

“Good for you, Edie,” Veronica went on. “I didn’t take you for the friends-with-benefits type.”

“Friends with—?” Her brain froze. It lumbered over itself, trying to comprehend the idea of Red Hood – big, strong, muscles-for-days Red Hood –, the infamous vigilante, being friends with benefits… with her.

Her face exploded with color.

“Ohnononono! I mean, I meant like, meaning we aren’t exactly friends yet, is what I meant! Like we’re almost friends but not exactly, like— I mean— You know— Not— Not that there’s anything wrong with being friends with benefits, of course! Of course not! Who doesn’t like a good benefit— friend— thing?”

Aaron let out a low, dry “Woooow” and Veronica made an unimpressed face, not caring at all for Eden’s fumbling. Knowing this, Eden’s face grew hotter and her words came out higher and faster.

“It’s just that I, you know, I personally— I mean, the guy’s sweet-as-pie and funny-as-heck but I don’t really know him that well and, you know, it just seems like a bit of a personal thing to jump into, and I’m really not all that—”

“Oh my god, it’s fine, Eden!” Veronica finally shouted with a roll of her eyes. “You’re not in Alabama or Indiana or whatever backwater state you’re from—”

Eden nearly lost her footing, her body stumbling as her brain stumbled over the insult. Veronica, now tuned into her phone, didn’t notice.

“—I was just trying to be supportive. No need to be a spaz about it.”

Eden gaped at Veronica, still not quite believing her ears. But disbelief didn’t stop her blood from boiling.

“Excuse—”

“Anyway!” Aaron said quickly, grabbing Veronica’s attention. “Have you seen pictures of the dress they’re putting you in for the ball scenes yet?”

“Have you? Ugh, it looks atrocious. Can you believe they want me to wear that shade of yellow? Like, seriously? I’m supposed to be the most beautiful sister, not the one who looks like she’s covered in mustard!”

Eden glared at Aaron from behind Veronica’s ranting head. He caught it and threw back a warning look, shaking his head minutely. Fuming, Eden sharpened her gaze and turned away, ignoring the both of them as best she could.

Veronica was a bit spoiled. The way she spoke about the vacations across Europe and the galas she and her father attended up and down the Northeastern coastline made it impossible to miss. Even so, Eden usually thought she was nice enough.

She was incredibly friendly for a Gothamite – especially a wealthy one – but she often tossed out carelessly ignorant comments that left Eden balking. It didn’t help that no one in the cast ever really corrected her, either. Even the director, though firm, was careful when critiquing Veronica.

Eden didn’t understand why they did it, but she didn’t care for it at all. It left a burning itch under her skin in desperate need of a scratch. But every time she went to, someone else interrupted her or stole Veronica’s attention away and gave her a warning look. It was infuriating.

As they approached the fancy café, Café Très Boissons written in thin white print across the window, someone’s phone started to buzz.

“I have to take this,” Veronica announced, shoving her purse into Eden’s hands.

Eden, not paying attention, nearly dropped it. “Whoa! Wha—”

“Go in and ask for my usual drink and whatever you two want. Use the pink card, yeah?”

“Huh?”

She put the phone to her ear. “Hi, Daddy, how was your flight?” She made a shooing motion at Eden then turned to focus on her phone call. Eden gaped at her, but she didn’t notice.

Aaron, who didn’t seem offended at all, nudged Eden and headed toward the door. She looked between him, the purse, and the infuriatingly oblivious young woman who’d handed it to her. Eden shook her head and followed him in.

She’d been to Café Très Boissons once before, about a week ago with Veronica and another cast member when it had officially been her turn on the caffeine run. Letting the door close behind her, she found the place just as unpleasant as the last time.

Everything was too… crisp. Too light and bright and minimalist. It was like stepping out of real-life and into a far-too-expensive décor magazine. The air was stiff, too. Suffocating, even. How anybody was supposed to relax in a place like this, Eden didn’t know.

The other patrons weren’t very welcoming either. They all dressed in smart, sleek clothing and held themselves like incredibly important people, all too busy with incredibly important things to pay anyone else any mind. Those who did happen to notice Eden and Aaron – who looked distinctly “artsy” amongst the ironed slacks and sleek skirts – quickly dismissed them.

The only ones who didn’t match the rest of the crowd – in both attire and actions – was a group of young men tucked into one of the corner booths. Eden could immediately guess which of them had suggested the spot, as he was the only one who roughly fit the dress code and seemed to be enjoying himself. (The pre-teen next to him fit it perfectly, wearing the same fitted attire as everyone else, but he had a distinctly unimpressed frown fixed to his face.)

The other two with him were easily Eden’s favorite people in the place. Amongst all the prim and pomp of everyone and everything else around them, those two were wearing hoodies.

The tired-looking teen in the black Superman hoodie still sat up nicely and gave some regard to where he was, but the one in red did not give into the café’s demands of refinement in the slightest. In fact, the way he was lounging in his seat with his arms crossed and hood drawn up, he almost looked ready to take a nap. His resolve to not give a damn was nothing if not admirable.

“Hi, Veronica!” the barista chirped, startling Eden both with the name and how happy he sounded to see her in this unfriendly place. “I already started your usual but what else can I…” He blinked at her. “Oh, whoops,” his tone, though still professional, dropped. “Sorry, miss, I thought you were somebody else.”

“Uh, that’s alright. I’m actually ordering for a Veronica who comes in here every day, so…”

“Veronica Bradford?”

Eden nodded slowly, then turned to Aaron to be sure.

“Yeah, that’s her,” he confirmed. “And I’ll have the same, but with the blueberry whip and no caramel.”

The barista nodded, writing that down, then turned to Eden, who was awkwardly fishing through Veronica’s big white purse to find the girl’s wallet.

“And you, miss?” he prompted.

“Oh, uh, do you have sweet tea?”

“We have tea and sweeteners we can add? Sugar and sugar-free options.”

“No, that’s— I’m good actually, thank you.”

“Are you sure? We have plenty to choose from.”

“No, that’s alright. Thank you.”

“Just get what we’re getting,” Aaron pressed. “It’s not bad, and you’re not paying for it anyway.”

“Neither are you,” she reminded him.

He shrugged.

“They are really good, miss,” the barista added. “It’s not tea but it's a sweet latte. It’s one of my favorites to recommend.”

“Oh, alright,” she sighed a little. “I guess I’ll take one, too.”

She went back to digging through the purse. When she finally found Veronica’s wallet, she almost blanched at the luxury brand name printed clearly across the front. Carefully, she opened it and delicately handed the barista the pink credit card. Aaron took over from there and left a huge tip that almost made Eden faint.

She stared at the receipt, blindly following him to a table. The three-digit number stared back.

“You’re giving her this,” she said suddenly, shoving the thin paper at him. “I don’t want nothing to do with that.”

“Oh, calm down, Eden. Her daddy dearest is so rich she won’t even bat an eyelash.”

Eden carefully set the purse onto their table, noticed the same brand name in rose gold on its front, and gently pushed it away from her. “I feel like a thief.”

Aaron scoffed, pulling out his phone. “With that bag? You look the part.”

“Ha ha, very funny.”

After a moment, she straightened and lifted herself up to see out the front window. From their high table near the corner, she could just catch the top of Veronica’s head. It moved in such a way that clearly meant she was still on the phone.

“Do I really look like her?” she asked in a small voice, sitting back down. “Like Veronica?”

Even if she wasn’t currently happy with the woman, Eden couldn’t deny she was a little flattered to have been mistaken for her. Veronica was undeniably pretty; beautiful in the way rich folks could easily afford to be. Like every inch of her was perfectly tailored to meet the highest of society’s standards.

“Hmm.” Aaron briefly glanced up from his phone. “I guess I can see it. You could easily be her double for some, like, security reason.”

Eden snorted. “Well if I was, I might just call out sick with the way she was talking to me earlier.”

“Oh, don’t let her get to you,” he said waving a hand. “That wasn’t too bad. She orders everyone around like that every once and a while.”

“That’s not what I was talking about, but that’s definitely rude, too.”

He raised a brow.

“Whatever backwater state I’m from?”

It took him a moment, then, “Oh. Yeah.” He went back to his phone. “Don’t take it personally. She’s just a spoiled little heiress.”

“She basically called me a moron from a state full of morons. How am I not supposed to take that personally? And then she just threw out different states like everyone south of New Jersey is a moron.”

Aaron shrugged, not really caring. “Veronica says things without thinking all the time. She’s nice enough most of the time, right? She’s still buying you a drink.”

“I really don’t give a damn that she’s buying me a drink,” Eden threw back. “She upset me, and she should know it and apologize. Nobody says anything when she does something wrong, and I’m sick of it. I hate how everybody walks on eggshells with her just ‘cause she’s rich.”

“Listen, Eden.” He sounded tired. “You can do whatever the hell you want but I’m trying to give you a heads-up. You’re not from around here and this is, what, your first show with Veronica?”

She nodded.

“Well, the reason nobody says anything,” he said copying her accent (and earning a glare), “isn’t because she’s rich. It’s because if you get on her bad side, you get on her dad’s bad side. And William Bradford pours a lot of money into Gotham’s theater scene. Understand?”

Eden blinked at him. There were a few old, well-to-do families that lived near her hometown who liked to have their fingers in a lot of pies – the Henriksens especially so – so she understood what he was saying perfectly. But still, she couldn’t quite believe her ears.

 Pulling that kind of nonsense in theater? And in Gotham City of all places? Wasn’t there something a little more… underworld-y that Mr. Bradford could focus on?

 “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope,” Aaron said popping the p. “Happened to one of Veronica’s best friends— ex-best friends, Christina. They had a huge falling out and Christina couldn’t get a single call-back for over a year. She ended up moving to New York to try finding work there, and I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how cut-throat their theater scene is.”

Eden frowned at the table, then looked up at him again. “Well, that’s a best friend she got in a fight with. I’m nobody to her. If I’m polite about what’s bothering me, she won’t have any reason to ask her daddy to do something like that to me.”

“That’s just it though!” he said leaning over the table, lowering his voice. “Veronica didn’t ask her dad to do it. She didn’t have a clue what was happening with Christina! Just like she doesn’t have a clue why she keeps getting a lead role in every show she auditions for!”

“It’s… not because she’s a good actress?”

Aaron gave her an annoyed, unbelieving look. “Would you have cast her as Jane?”

“Well—” Eden sat up straight. “Well, I mean… Maybe not me personally, but— I mean, she is very pretty, and Jane is canonically the prettiest girl in town, and— and she’s certainly not a bad actress, I mean…”

“No, she’s not,” he agreed. “But she’s definitely not lead-role material. Daphne’s lucky she wanted to play Jane and not Elizabeth. Can you imagine her playing Elizabeth?” Aaron made a scandalized face and obnoxiously rolled his eyes at the thought.

Eden, unable to deny how awful Veronica would likely be in the role but also unwilling to say such a thing aloud, stumbled over a response until a barista called out Veronica’s name.

Eager to take the escape, she hopped out of her chair. “I’ll get that and you guard the purse.”

Aaron just hummed and picked up his phone again.

On her way to the counter, Eden spared a glance at the nearby corner booth, the one with the boys in the hoodies. The four of them were having a lively conversation and she enjoyed the small snippets of back and forth she could catch.

The one in the red hoodie no longer looked ready to take a nap but was instead hunched over the table, his jaw resting in his hand as he made small jabs at the people around him. The younger two snapped back quickly, and the smiling, eldest-looking one laughed while still trying to keep the peace.

The way they were digging at each other reminded Eden of her own “brothers”. She couldn’t help but smile. She sighed, unintentionally loud, missing her loveable idiots.

The one in the red hoodie lifted his head toward the sound but, thanks to the hood covering half his face, Eden was able to turn away before he caught her eavesdropping.

The barista waiting with the drinks gave her a wide smile. “Hi, Veronica! We’re still making your last drink but—” She cocked her head suddenly and squinted. “Wait…”

“No, I’m not Veronica,” Eden said with an amused smile. “But I am here for her drinks.”

“Oh.” The girl laughed at herself. “Sorry about that. The last one’s just going to be another minute.”

Eden nodded, picking up the two that were ready. “Thank you.”

As she returned to her and Aaron’s table, she glanced toward the boys again. This time, the smiling eldest was grinning and whispering something towards red hoodie boy, who was looking in the opposite direction and not-so-subtly flipping him off. The teen in the Superman hoodie accidentally locked eyes with Eden and the both of them quickly looked away.

Eden then noticed a man in the opposite corner of the café, watching her. When she looked at him, he jerked his head away and quickly took a sip from his cup. Eden slowed her walk and furrowed her brows, a tightness forming in her gut.

“Yaaasss,” Aaron called, stealing her attention as he reached for his drink. “Give me that Rich Bitch Latte.”

“Is that what you call it?”

He shrugged, taking a sip. “Mine has blueberry whip cream. If that doesn’t scream rich bitch, what does?”

Eden made a slight face. Blueberry whip cream didn't seem all that luxurious to her – it certainly wasn’t hard to make – but even if it was, she couldn't imagine it tasted good with a latte.

“That barista mixed me up for Veronica too,” she said after a moment.

Aaron snorted. “Maybe you should be her double. You’d get paid good money for it, I’m sure.”

Eden hummed. She turned her attention back to the curious man in the opposite corner.

At first glance, he fit the establishment fine. He wore a simple grey suit and a hat and was now totally engrossed with his phone. But the suit was a little too non-descript and untidy, and the hat a bit beat-up. Not to mention, slouching in his seat like he was, he didn’t match the prim properness of most of the other patrons.

Though… maybe she was being unfair to him. After all, she’d praised the guy in the red hoodie for the same thing, hadn’t she?

She glanced to the booth of boys again. The one in the red hoodie must have been looking her way because his head moved the second hers did. Eden didn’t get a tight, sinking sensation in her stomach when he did, though. Nor had she when she locked eyes with the teenager.

She turned back to the older man, still fidgeting with his phone. What was the difference between them? Maybe it was weirder because he was older. The other guys were closer to her age and therefore… what, safer?

Eden huffed at herself. Age wasn’t an indication of danger, she knew that. The people who came to the farm looking for safety were hiding from men of all ages. (They were almost always hiding from men.) From young men full of piss and vinegar and a sense of superiority; old men with strings to pull and favors they could call in; men of any age with a brutal mean streak that came from years of privilege, or hardship…

So it wasn’t their age. And none of them were dressed “appropriately” for the cafe – though the hoodie boys even less so – so it wasn’t that either. Maybe it was how stiffly and forcibly the man had reacted when Eden noticed him staring. Though that, too, didn’t necessarily mean any—

“Veronica Bradford!” the barista called again, breaking Eden’s thoughts.

On her second trip back to the table, Eden watched the man from the corner of her eye. It seemed like he was looking at her again too, adding to her concern. He moved his hands a bit and then—

Eden stopped. She turned to stare directly at the man, who hurried to shift his torso so his phone was no longer pointing at her. She scowled. She knew exactly what he was now. But what in the world was a scout doing here of all places?

A scout – as Mama always called them – could be anybody. A private investigator or a random person off the street; it didn’t matter. Their job was simple: find their mark and get proof of where and when they were and who they were with.

But… who was this guy’s mark? It couldn’t be Eden. He was taking her picture, sure, but… The only people who might be looking for her were her parents, and neither of them would have recruited someone so… obvious.

Still, she reported it to Aaron as she sat down. “There’s a man taking pictures,” she told him gravely.

He glanced up at her, giving her a weird look. “O…kay? Everyone takes pictures here. It’s a wannabe Snapstagram influencer’s wet dream.”

“I meant,” she said frowning, “he’s taking pictures of me.”

“Huh? Who?” He looked around without a hint of subtlety.

Eden smacked her head with her hand. She could’ve kicked him. Of course, it was her own fault for thinking he would understand. Aaron wasn’t one of her “cousins” or semi-siblings. He was just some guy from Gotham who knew nothing about life on Paradise Farm.

“Would you stop!?” she hissed, trying to hide her face from the scout. “He’s behind you, in the corner booth by the windows. Grey suit, brown hat— Don’t be obvious.”

Aaron, bless him, finally caught on. He turned his head slowly from one end of the café to the other. He stared at the man a few beats too long then turned back to her.

“Are you sure? He just looks like his phone’s giving him trouble.”

Eden shook her head. “I caught him doing it, so now he’s nervous. He was just staring at me the first time I got up, but the second time he had his phone pointed at me and everything.”

He looked over his shoulder at the scout, then back again. “Maybe he’s paparazzi,” he offered. “The baristas all thought you were Veronica. Maybe he does, too.”

Eden blinked at him. She hadn’t thought of that. Despite not being anywhere near the farm, the idea the man could be anything but a scout hadn’t even crossed her mind. But it made some sense… After all, who would he even be scouting? Nobody here was in hiding.

“She has paparazzi?”

“Local heiress constantly landing lead roles who models on the side?” Aaron shrugged.  “She’s not headline news or anything, but she pops up in local shit every once and a while.”

Eden frowned at her drink. She glanced over at the man again, taking a sip of her latte. “And are paparazzi people always so nervous when they get caught?”

“Do I look like I know the answer to that?”

“You’ve been around Veronica longer than I have,” she insisted. “You’d know better than I would.”

“I guess,” he huffed, rolling his eyes. He thought about it a moment. “I don’t know. She doesn’t usually notice them, but I guess some of them get a little embarrassed when other people do. But, like, it’s their job. They can’t exactly be bashful about it or they won’t get paid.”

She nodded thoughtfully and took another sip, reluctant to admit it tasted extremely good.

Her eyes slid over to the man once more. Then she stopped and glared. Loudly, she slammed her cup onto the table — startling Aaron and catching other patrons’ attention as well. Including the man, who’d been pointing his phone at her again.

He scrambled to put it away, stood, and started grabbing his things.

“I think you scared him, Veronica,” Aaron muttered sarcastically.

“Good.” She leaned back in her chair and took a celebratory drink, not taking her eyes off the man. “Paparazzi, huh?”

“Well, what else would he be?” Aaron asked, rolling his eyes again. “A stalker? The guy doesn't exactly scream danger. Anyway, he’s leaving now so it doesn’t—”

Eden jerked up in her seat. “Uh-oh.”

The real Veronica stepped through the door. Looking around, she spotted Aaron and Eden near the back corner, smiled, and started walking toward them. A flabbergasted expression crossed the man’s face when she passed him by.

“Uh-oh," Eden said again.

The oblivious heiress didn’t notice him stop walking or the way he was staring at her, but Eden did. And she knew that look in his eye.

“Oh, no.”

The scout had found his mark.

Eden didn’t think about it. One second she was sitting in her chair – buzzing with wild, nervous energy – the next she was grabbing Veronica’s drink and taking long strides across the café’s shining floors. She grinned playfully at the unsuspecting girl.

Veronica’s smile didn’t fall, but her brows furrowed slightly as Eden approached. “Hey, sorry about that. Daddy always calls me when he gets to a new hotel.”

“Oh, no problem, Eden!” Eden said handing Veronica her drink.

Veronica took it, went to speak, then seemed to short-circuit — suddenly blinking and staring at her in a baffled way. Eden took the moment to link their arms and move her away from the scout, who seemed stuck in place.

“Actually, my daddy does the same,” she said in the same, polished Rich-Girl-Gothamite accent she’d used before. “We’re super close. Oh, and tell me if you like the drink, yeah? It’s my favorite. I get it every day.”

Veronica glanced down at her drink, then up at Eden, totally lost.

As they approached the table, Eden did a quick sweep of their surroundings and was glad they were sitting where they were. Their table was near the side exit and all the nearby tables were empty, save the now silent booth of boys.

Though none of them were looking in her direction, Eden couldn’t help quirking a brow in theirs, wondering what had dulled their lively spirits.

“So… what’s going on exactly?” Veronica asked in a nervous pitch as they reached Aaron.

“Eden thinks she has a stalker,” he explained.

“No,” Eden corrected in her own voice. “I think Veronica has a scout— stalker— whatever thing. And they think Veronica is me.”

“They…” Veronica looked between the two of them, then laughed nervously. “Oh, Edie, that’s… I seriously doubt anyone would think you were me.”

“Two of the baristas thought I was you.”

“Brayden thought she was you,” Aaron confirmed.

Veronica’s mouth fell open. She stared at the guy behind the register in disbelief before turning it on Eden. Eden just grinned and moved her head to the side like she’d heard something funny.

There, in the corner of her eyes, she could see the man inching back to his corner booth. Watching them.

“Oh my god, Edie!” she said loud and clear in her Veronica voice, setting the real Veronica into a seat facing away from the man. “You are just too cute!”

“Wait.” Veronica leaned over, talking low. “Why are you talking like a normal person now?”

A flash of anger broke Eden’s character. “Excuse me?”

“Why are you talking like a normal person now?” she repeated, apparently unaware of her offense. “And why are you calling me Eden?”

Eden took a deep breath, trying to regain her cool. “I’m not talking like a ‘normal person’,” she explained slowly, being sure to sit up straight and hold her head in the proud, haughty way the rest of the patrons did. “I’m talking like you. And I’m calling you Eden so that scout-stalker guy leaves you alone.”

“She’s being your double,” Aaron said with a grin. Eden glared at him. “Am I wrong?”

She looked away. “No,” she grumbled.

He nodded, satisfied.

Veronica looked between the two of them, not getting it, then turned back to Eden. “Why are you doing this exactly? Are you expecting me to pay you for it?”

“What? No! I’m helping you because you're in trouble, obviously.”

The other two stared at her. Somehow that simple concept seemed foreign to them.

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “Don’t you two act like you’ve never helped anybody out before just to be nice. I know this is Gotham but come on now. Not everybody in this city can be that heartless.”

“Oh, you sweet summer child,” Aaron cooed, resting a hand over his heart. Eden glared at him.

Veronica tried to say something, stopped, then tried again. “But… why? It’s not your problem, so…”

“So what? That guy’s trouble.” Eden tilted her head. “Do you… want some scout-stalker taking your picture? Knowing where you’ve been and when you go there?”

“No, but… Are you sure he’s trouble?” she asked. “Maybe he’s just, I don’t know, some weirdo who likes taking pictures of pretty girls.”

“Could be.” Eden shrugged. “But I seriously doubt it, the way he’s been acting. It’s just sorta… obvious he’s here for you.”

“Obvious?” She made a face and started looking around the café – thankfully never over her shoulder – trying to find the trouble herself. “I don’t see anyone making it obvious.”

“You’re just not used to it.”

“And you are?”

Eden opened her mouth and shut it. She shuffled in her seat, not really sure how to explain it. Back home, she’d never had to explain it. Everybody just knew. And not just her small town. The whole county knew.

They knew Paradise Farm and its famous little bakery. They knew Mama and Eden and her mismatched group of semi-siblings (or of them, at least). They knew if you needed a place to go, Paradise Farm had its doors open, and “cousins” were always welcome.

Some who came, came for simple reasons. Wandering free spirits who enjoyed earning their stay and living more-or-less off the land, people who needed a little space after an argument, a partygoer looking for a safe place to sober up before heading home; simple things like that.

But sometimes it was more. Sometimes the reasons were complicated. Kids who’d been kicked out of their homes, kids trying to escape their homes, abused spouses who just wanted to disappear, people who couldn’t go to the law because an officer or a judge was a part of the problem; the kinds of folks who had nowhere else to go, no one left to turn to. The kind who needed help.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Aaron lowered his voice and moved closer, his eyes sparkling. “Are you, like… some kind of small-time hero? Is that why you moved to Gotham? To like, meet Batman and become a vigilante?”

Eden recoiled at the notion. “No! No, no, I’m—!” She chomped down on the words trying to fly out of her mouth, trying to control herself. “I’m not— I don’t— Don’t get me wrong, I like helping people and stuff,” she said fiddling with the table’s edge, very aware of Aaron’s eager, penetrating stare. “But I’m not like— I’m not a, a—” she couldn’t even say the word. Not when it was being tied to her.

Still, Aaron just nodded along. Looking for all the world like an unmasked hero was sitting in front of him and begging him to keep their secret. Eden’s hands started to shake. It was like talking to her father all over again.

“Really, Aaron. I’m… I’m not,” she said, trying to be firm. “I couldn’t do the things they do.”

“You could try,” he insisted, sounding just like him.

Eden went numb.

She couldn’t. She really, really couldn’t. She knew because she had tried. She’d tried, and tried, and tried so many times. But no matter how many times she tried, no matter how many times Frank had told her it was her purpose, her destiny, her responsibility, she just plain couldn’t.

When Mama found out, she was furious. Not with Eden, but Frank. It was too much for a kid to handle, she’d said. Especially one like Eden. She'd never wanted her daughter to endure that kind of sacrifice and pain—

Oh, the pain! Every time – every goddamn time – there was always so much pain!

Not that she had any right to complain, as Frank would remind her. She was a metahuman. She was always fine. Her body healed.

And it did.

It healed, and healed, and healed. Erasing every bullet, every blade, every hand that had ever left its mark on her; stealing away every scar she might’ve earned, every wound she might’ve carried. It healed, and healed, and healed. So perfectly, so flawlessly, so unnaturally — and it never stopped.

Even when she died, it didn’t stop. It didn’t matter if someone killed her themselves or if she took on someone else’s death. Even if it was by her own hand, it didn’t stop. She always came back. Her body always healed. The universe always demanded an encore.

It never, ever, ever stopped.

“Are you okay, Ed— I mean, Veronica?” Veronica said obviously, garnering some of Eden’s attention. “You look a little sick.”

“She’s just freaking out ‘cause I figured out she’s not the everyday normal person she pretends to be,” Aaron said smugly.

Eden still couldn’t speak.

Veronica smacked him. “Don’t be an idiot, Aaron. You’re freaking her out because you’re insisting there’s something remarkable about her when there isn’t at all. E— Veronica is completely normal and average in every possible way!”

Eden winced at the unintended insult. Aaron made a slight face too, but, of course, Veronica didn’t notice.

“Anyway, Veronica,” she continued, turning back to her. “You’ve done this sort of thing before, yeah? What do we do now?”

Eden blinked a few times, still pulling herself out of her spiral, then glanced over at the scout. “Well… Normally I’d try to get a picture of the guy, but…”

“But?” Aaron asked eagerly.

She froze again. She took a long, deep breath. “Well… since I made such a fuss catching him in the act earlier, I don’t think we’ll be seeing him again.”

He pouted. “Really? You think a stalker’s going to give up just like that?”

“No, he—” Eden huffed and shook her head. “He’s not the real problem. He’s just some guy who’s supposed to be taking Veronica’s pictures. Maybe figuring out her routine or whatever. But he got caught twice, so whoever sent him probably won’t send him again unless they’re desperate. Or stupid, I suppose. Either way, I doubt taking his picture would really help much. Though I guess it could help us figure out who hired him in the first place, but I don’t really know who I’d even send it to here—”

She stopped her rambling, noticing the open-mouthed, wide-eyed way her companions were staring at her.

“Oh— I— Uh—" She quickly took a sip of her nearly forgotten latte, trying to hide behind the cup. “Sorry,” she murmured.

Aaron shook himself, almost violently, out of his stupor. “Oh, okay, yeah, you just know all this crap and you’re not a vigilante or something?”

“I’m not,” she grumbled. “My mama taught me what to watch out for, so I do.”

“So your mom’s the vigilante?”

“My—" Eden blinked and shook her head fervently, trying to follow his logic. "What?”

Not that she’d admit it to a pair of acquaintances, but anyone who knew her mama – like, really knew her, not the role she played – knew Louanne Smith was more likely to be on a most-wanted list than be considered a vigilante. Though Red Hood was probably on a few wanted lists himself, now that she thought about it, and her mama certainly broke the law not turning over certain people to the sheriff, so... maybe she would be considered a vigilante?

“Ugh, ignore him, Edi— Veronica,” Veronica said rolling her eyes. “Aaron has a total hard-on for Gotham’s bats. He loves the way they break the law and—"

“What is wrong with breaking the law if it means helping people?” he burst in.

“We have laws for a reason, Aaron,” Veronica insisted. “I can admit Gotham’s vigilantes help the little people here and there—”

Eden bristled at her tone.

“—but in the grand scheme of things—” 

“In the grand scheme of things, they help people. End of story.” Veronica shot him a dirty look, but he made no move to try and placate her. This, apparently, was a hill worth dying on. “End of story,” he said again.

“Oh, yeah right. Like you really care. Everyone knows you’re just in love with Red Hood’s thighs.”

Eden made an involuntary high-pitched sound, curling in on herself.

“I can care about what the vigilantes do for this city and still appreciate how sexy they are,” Aaron said proudly. “Red Hood’s jacked and has the thighs of a god and I’m not ashamed to admit I would tap that in an instant.”

Eden stared dead at the table, trying not to think about Red Hood as her face grew piping hot.

“Besides, you’re one to talk,” he continued, either ignoring or not noticing Eden’s discomfort. “You always go on and on about how hot Nightwing’s ass is!”

“Which it is, but that’s not the point! They might be hot but those vigilantes are the reason we have so many crazy supervillains in this city!”

“Those hot vigilantes are the only reason we have any sort of justice in this city!”

Hiding her burning face in her hands, Eden just shook her head, trying to phase out of existence as they went back and forth on their stances of law, order, and whether or not Batman was a dilf.

Eventually, she peeked through her fingers and found the scout watching them with an uncertain look on his face. His phone was still in his hand, however, close to his chest and pointed in her direction, so they weren’t out of the woods yet.

Eden groaned and ran her fingers through her hair as she dropped her head. Then she popped back up, her expression taut, like an heiress who’d been ignored for far too long.

“Ex—cuse—me!” she said clapping her hands, forcing the bickering to finally stop. She gave them a tight smile, speaking lowly in her own voice. “Y’all can have this… discussion some other time – preferably when I’m not here – but right now, we’re in the middle of something.” She stood from her seat. “So I’m gonna need you two to stop. Now.”

The guilty party shared a look then muttered an annoyed agreeance.

“Thank you,” she said with a nod. “Now then.” She grabbed Veronica’s big white purse and confidently slung it over her shoulder. “Are we ready to go?” she asked loud and clear in her Veronica voice, gesturing to the side door. “I’m sure Daphne and the rest of the cast are waiting for us.”

“Sure thing, Veronica,” Aaron said a little louder than usual. “Lead the way.”

Eden smiled and linked arms with the real Veronica, constantly shifting to keep the girl’s face hidden from the scout as much as possible. As they exited the café, she pointed to something down the street, giving Veronica an excuse to keep her head turned.

Eden on the other hand tried to catch a glimpse of the scout from the corner of her eye. Instead, she ended up latching on to the group of boys one last time.

A few of them looked uncomfortable but all four were quiet, each seemingly lost in their own thoughts. But Eden could tell that wasn’t right. Even if they didn’t seem focused on anything in particular, she knew they were. It was almost like she could see that they were… were… She didn’t know what to call it. Ready? On? Something like that. But why? What for?

The guy in the red hoodie shifted back, leaning lazily against the booth cushions. His hood stayed in place despite his head tipping up toward the ceiling. Though unable to see his eyes, Eden had the sudden sense that he was watching her.

Should she be nervous? Had she set too much of her attention on the man on the other side of the café? Should she have been watching these boys as well? She didn’t feel like she needed to worry about them. Had she made a mistake?

She walked arm-in-arm with Veronica until they reached the end of the block and crossed the street. There, she released the girl and spun around, scanning the stream of people for the face of the scout, or perhaps even one of the boys.

She suddenly wished she had snuck a picture. Maybe back home it wouldn’t be such a big deal, but this was Gotham. And Veronica was a high-profile local. As much as Eden preferred giving people the benefit of the doubt, this wasn’t a safe situation to assume anything but the worst.

Not seeing anyone from the café, she sighed and rejoined Veronica and Aaron, who were giving her nervous looks. She smiled at them.

“All good.” She took the purse from her shoulder and handed it back to Veronica. “You might want to consider having someone else get your latte for a while. Maybe an assistant or something? And maybe some kind of security for yourself. Just to be safe.”

Veronica nodded mutely, then muttered out a small thank you before taking Eden’s arm again. She held it tightly, with a concerned look on her face, so Eden didn’t complain. Every few blocks they would stop or slow down and she would check the crowd around them for caution’s sake.

The walk to Stardunks and back to the practice hall was fairly quiet, giving Eden plenty of time to think. Mainly she wondered if she should bring up the day’s events to Red Hood. It wasn’t anything vigilante-worthy, not yet anyway, but Veronica’s status certainly made it a possibility. And Eden stepping in as her double probably counted as doing something stupid, which, even though he'd been joking, he’d asked her not to do.

In fact, when they stepped into the practice hall and Veronica started telling everyone what had happened and how Eden had “saved” her, and Aaron reiterated her “vigilante-like knowledge”, and a number of people started looking at her with a curious sort of twinkle in their eyes, the stuttering, blushing Eden was quite certain she’d done something very, very stupid indeed.

Chapter Text

Eden sat down at the table with a content sigh. The heavenly aroma of homemade garlic bread was more prominent now that the rolls were right in front of her. The scent, mixed with the expectation of company and the eagerness of having some Mad Mountain Fudge chilling in her fridge, made her feel incredibly at-home. Though, to be fair, it was more of a hope for company than an expectation.

Red Hood said he’d try to come this night or the next, but that didn’t necessarily mean he would. Admittedly, Eden's shier half – which vividly recalled Aaron’s earlier, uh… praises toward Red Hood’s… physique – wouldn’t entirely mind waiting a few days to see him. The rest of her was so excited, though, that she had to keep reminding herself it was okay if he didn’t come tonight. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. He was a busy man, after all, saving dumbasses like herself and doing… whatever an ex-mob boss might do to make a place like Gotham better.

Not that any of that stopped her from hoping he would come, of course. Nor would it stop her from being disappointed if he didn’t. Even so, Eden knew she was just one, very small person among millions other very small people in this giant city. She understood that visiting a random civilian like her, even with the world's greatest fudge in her fridge, couldn't rank very high on Red Hood’s to-do list. Especially in a city filled with thousands of not-so-very-small people — many of whom were quite dangerous. 

Still, taking in her surroundings, Eden couldn’t help but smile. She was excited for him to come visit. The entire one-roomed apartment – not just the kitchen space – was clean now. She was back in the habit of making her bed every morning, and— okay, fine, the chair by her closet still held her not-quite-clean clothes, but at least they were folded now! Which was an improvement from the misshapen pile of before!

The once-crowded coffee table had also been improved. Now, it only housed her laptop, headphones, and one book (and notebook) at a time. The rest of her books and notebooks – aside from the pair she kept on the kitchen table – had a new home, piled neatly along the wall dividing the kitchen from the main living/sleeping space. They still needed a proper shelf, but the current setup worked nicely for now.

Two plants with tall, twisting stems stood guard on either side of her slow-growing book collection, while a small, mismatched assortment of baby foliage in tiny, colorful pots sat along the edge of her kitchen table near the window. It wasn’t anything compared to rows and rows of crops back on the farm, nor the nearby woods she dearly missed walking through, but it still felt good to be around some greenery again.

Biting into a roll, Eden continued penning ideas into the notebook she kept on the kitchen table; new ways to make her place even homier, things that needed her attention, different possibilities to look into. Though it was the mortifying thought of Red Hood coming back to her apartment in its previous state that had spurred her into action, Eden now found herself genuinely starting to enjoy the little space.

Now that she was putting in the effort, her apartment was actually starting to feel… pleasant. Welcoming, even. And even though her neighbors were still ridiculously loud at times, Eden was finding herself happy with her little home. Whenever she paused to take it all in... she truly enjoyed the fruits of her labor.

Eden suddenly stopped writing. Her heart leapt in excitement as she looked to the far window, the one that led to the fire escape. It could be nothing, but she could’ve sworn she’d heard— The soft tapping repeated itself.

Scrambling up from the table, Eden flew to the window – nearly slipping in her socks – and beamed at the sight of Red Hood on the other side. He greeted her with a short wave of his hand.

“Hi there, Mr. Hood!” she greeted the moment she had the window open. “It’s so nice to see you again! How are you? Your fudge is almost ready, but it needs another couple of minutes or so to finish chilling. I hope that’s alright? I remembered you said you might stop by tonight, but I didn’t think it would be until later on so I— oh! Where are my manners?” She moved out of the way, her cheeks warming. “Won’t you come in?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” 

Eden smiled as he deftly climbed inside, pleased to find she could still easily recognize Red Hood’s humored tone.

“Smells good in here,” he said turning toward the kitchen.

She quirked a brow, glancing at his helmet. “You can smell with that thing on?”

“It has an automatic filtration system." He lifted his chin, apparently quite proud of it. "Keeps Fear Gas out, lets good-smelling food in.”

"Really?” She hummed, making a show of looking over his helmet. “It doesn’t look all that fancy to me, Mr. Hood."

He scoffed. “It’s a lot more high-tech than it looks, Cookie Girl.”

“Oh, yeah?” She turned up her nose, grinning, as she led him toward the kitchen table. “What kind of high-tech stuff does it have, then, hotshot?”

“All kinds,” he said unabashedly, not afraid to meet her teasing head-on. “There’s the obvious, like night vision, thermal imaging, incendiary devices, and high-frequency—”

“Hold on, wait.” She turned the words over in her head. “Incendiary devices? Isn’t that just fancy talk for bombs?"

“It might be,” he said confidently.

"You have a bomb in your helmet?" She made a humored face. “That doesn’t sound very high-tech, Mr. Hood. Or obvious.”

He hummed, leaning forward slightly, resting his hands on his hips. “You don’t believe me?” Eden could imagine him grinning at her.

She crossed her arms playfully. “No way. You’re just trying to get a rise out of me. There’s no way you have an actual bomb that close to your head. You’re not that crazy, Mr. Hood.”

He made an amused sound, tilting his head to one side.

Eden opened her mouth, then shut it. She looked him up and down, faltering. “Are… Are you? Mr. Hood, do you really have— Are you— Please tell me you’re joking. That’s— Do you?”

“Relax, Ede.” He said it comfortably, as if he called her that all the time. Eden blinked, trying to remember if he’d ever called her that before — or anything other than Cookie Girl. “It’s just for absolutely fucked situations where I don’t have any other options.”

Her eyes widened. “Wait— You don’t mean— You don’t mean—” She jabbed at her temples frantically, trying to sputter something out.

Red Hood watched her struggle until what she was trying to say finally clicked.

He jerked forward, his hands up. “Shit, not like that! It’s an escape thing, not a kill myself thing,” he explained. “I take it off and throw it like a grenade.”

“Oh. Cool. Okay. A grenade. That’s cool.”

“Breathe, Cookie Girl," he reminded her.

“I’m breathing! Totally breathing!” She took a huge breath for good measure. Then another. “Sorry, I just—” She shook her head, plopping into her seat. She looked at him, then, in realization, jolted right back up again. “Oh, sorry! Please,” she gestured to the spare chair in front of him, “have a seat.”

“I’m alright.” Red Hood leaned onto its back, watching her sit down again. Her face was red hot. “You okay?”

“Yes, fine, thank you.” She took a few slow breaths, her brows pulled together with worry. “Do you… end up in situations like that a lot? Where you have to blow up your helmet to get away?”

Just a few nights ago, there’d been an explosion on the Westward Bridge. One of her coworkers said a friend spotted Red Hood escaping the scene afterwards. Eden, becoming more accustomed to Gotham’s shenanigans than she cared to admit, hadn’t worried about him too much when she’d heard. In fact, oddly enough, she’d felt a bit proud. But maybe she shouldn’t have.

Maybe she was wrong to have assumed he was okay. Maybe he’d been in serious trouble. Maybe he’d needed help. Maybe she should’ve done something. Maybe she should’ve—

“Not really,” Red Hood answered, breaking her dizzying thoughts with a casual shrug. “It’s the last of my last resorts, and it’s pretty rare for me to be so off my game.”

“Oh. Oh, good. That's...” She sighed in relief, then smiled up at him. “I’m glad to hear it, Mr. Hood.”

Of course. What in the world was she thinking? Red Hood wasn’t some small-time, stumbling wannabe. Unlike her pitiful attempts at playing hero, he actually knew what he was doing. If she ever showed up to one of his firefights, she’d probably just end up causing him trouble and end up staggering home with a plethora of healing bullet holes and another encore under her belt. (Maybe two, if she was particularly unlucky.)

Red Hood pulled out his chair and turned it so that its back was nearly up against the wall beside them. When he sat down, angled the way he was, he had a clear line of sight of the entire apartment.

The move was familiar to Eden, but it surprised her to see it done so precisely and naturally. The only other person she’d seen do that – and do it like that – was Mama.

Mama always had to have an eye on her surroundings, so she rarely took a seat without her back against a wall or being tucked in a corner. The habit was one of many from her life before "Louanne Smith". They were so far ingrained into her psyche that if she ever tried to go against them the struggle was obvious to even the blindest fool. Though she feigned ignorance at having ever lived such a life, it had obviously taught her all the skills she now used to keep their “cousins” safe: how to observe and analyze even the smallest detail, how to fight and defend unflinchingly, how to disappear without a trace, how to… make other people disappear.

It made Eden curious to see Red Hood with a habit like that. On the bright side, it probably meant she didn’t have to worry about him the way she had been. If he was even half as capable as Mama was, chances were he could handle just about anything thrown at him — even in a place like Gotham.

But… on the not-so-bright side, she had to wonder...

Red Hood tilted his head slowly. “What?”

“Hm?” Eden blinked and realized she been staring. “Oh, sorry! I was just remembering my, uh… um… well, it doesn’t really matter, I guess. I just got lost in thought. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

“Right, sor— I mean, uh, thank you. I guess.” Cheeks warm, she glanced around quickly for something else to talk about. “Um, would you like some garlic rolls, Mr. Hood?” She picked up the plate and offered it to him. “They’re stuffed with cheese.”

He leaned closer to the food, inhaling it. “So that’s what smells so good.”

She smiled. “Try some!”

He started to grab one when his head turned toward the kitchen. He looked into it a moment then lowered his hand, sat back, and said, “On second thought, I’m okay.”

Eden lowered the plate slightly, surprised. She glanced into her kitchen, wondering what he’d seen to change his mind. The space was perfectly clean and tidy, as she always kept it. The only thing “out of place” was the baking sheet cooling on her stovetop. Any other dishes were already drying in the sink rack.

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind… I’m happy to share.”

“I’m not interested in stealing your dinner. Besides,” he added in a lighter tone, “I need to save room for the fudge.”

Eden nodded slowly and set the plate down. Glancing toward the kitchen again, she wondered what had tipped him off that the rolls were her meal for the night. The empty baking sheet? The drying dishes? 

Always have more than you think you’ll need, she remembered. That was a tried-and-true rule on the farm. They never knew when they were going to have company, so there was always more of things than Eden’s family could ever go through on their own — more blankets, more clothes, more toiletries, more food. Especially food. If there were seven people in the house, they made enough food for ten, and those extra servings came in handy more often than not.

“Can I get you something to drink, then, Mr. Hood?” she asked picking up her pen and writing the old rule into her notebook. “I have sweet tea, orange juice… uh, water…” She paused, thinking. “Milk?”

He snorted. “I’m good.”

She quirked an impish brow. “Does your fancy, high-tech helmet even have a way for you to drink things? Some built-in twisty-straw component or something?”

He shook his head, edging forward. “Nope. Sorry. No twisty-straws.”

“Your helmet can be an emergency grenade, but it has no cool twisty-straw thing?” She tsk-tsked, trading her pen for a roll. “I’m disappointed, Mr. Hood. It’s like you’re not even trying to impress me.”

He chuckled. “I’ll get right on that, Cookie Girl,” he assured, a smirk-like quality to his voice.

Eden shook her head at him, trying to hide her grin behind the roll.

He nodded to the notebook in front of her. “What are you working on?”

“Oh, just some ideas.” She pushed it toward him, inviting him to look. “I haven’t been treating this place right,” she explained, pulling apart the roll. “Acting like it’s a prison when it’s a home in need of as much tender loving care as any other.”

Red Hood hummed, going over her lists. “Hard to make a home in a neighborhood like this,” he muttered.

“Doesn’t mean I need to let it sit and rot like I was. It’s nice to have a place you’re at least a little proud of.”

He gave a half-shrug and nodded.

He flipped to a previous page in the notebook, glancing up to see if she minded. Eden shrugged, knowing most of the pages were haphazardly filled with everyday nonsense that likely wouldn’t mean much to him. He looked them over while she ate and she looked over him, a little embarrassed when he started reading out random thoughts.

“‘Mary: Superfluous, plain but extra, well-meaning but unaware’?”

“Uh, that’s a… That’s a thing for work.”

“What do you do for work? Evaluate assholes?”

She laughed. “No, no, I’m a…" She fixed her posture, feeling a bit proud. "I’m an actress, actually."

“A professional liar? Great.”

“Wha—? No! Lying and acting are two very different skill sets, Mr. Hood!”

“Uh-huh. Sure, Cookie Girl. Whatever you say.”

“No really! I’ll have you know I’m an awful liar but a really great— er, uh, well, okay, maybe not a really great actor— I mean, maybe not a great actor either, but, you know, I— Well, actually—”

He snickered, then moved on to the next blurb he could tease her with.

“Are all your notebooks filled like this?” he eventually asked, glancing at her collection against the wall.

She gave a half-shrug as she finished the last roll. “Some are more coherent. This one’s mostly for stuff that pops in my head while I’m eating or in the kitchen. It’s easier to have my thoughts written down where I can see them instead of fighting through them all in my head.”

“Makes sense.” He leaned forward brazenly. “Am I in any of those thoughts?”

“Not any of the written down ones,” she said with a laugh, assuming that was the real question. “I’m not that dumb, Mr. Hood.”

“Good to know,” he said with a nod. “Speaking of dumb, though…” He leaned back in his chair and fished out a cell phone from inside his leather jacket. “I was wondering if you could help me connect some dots here.”

“Me? I don’t know what you could possibly need my help sorting out, Mr. Hood," aside from an urgent, impromptu lesson on goat milking perhaps, "but I’ll certainly try.”

“Oh, you can help a lot more than you think, Edie.” Red Hood set the phone down on the table and pushed it toward her.

Eden blinked again at his sudden use of one of her everyday nicknames, now nervous. She looked down at the phone, at the picture on its screen, and her brows lifted in surprise. She immediately recognized the sleek, minimalist decor of Café Très Boissons and the slightly hunched, unassuming man who’d been taking her picture earlier that day. But more than that, she recognized the angle the picture had been taken from.

Turning to Red Hood, wide-eyed, she faintly recalled the faces of the boys in the corner booth. The younger two were obviously out of the running, but between the smiling one and the one in the red hoodie… It wasn’t exactly a hard leap to make.

“Wait, were you the guy—?”

“I have contacts all over this city,” he told her. “They keep me informed.”

Eden’s brow furrowed. She worked her mouth to say something, not really sure she believed him, but he leaned over the table and swiped the screen to the right, moving the conversation forward before she could. The new picture was taken closer to the scout and clearer than the first, better showing his face and overall frame.

“So imagine my surprise,” Red Hood went on, “when I learn a small-time heiress has a look-alike who can clock up a potential threat in a heartbeat, and it turns out that look-alike—” he swiped right again, this time to a grainy, blown-up picture of Eden, Veronica, and Aaron crossing the street “—is you.”

Eden stared at the picture: she and Veronica arm-in-arm, Veronica’s purse over her shoulder, a flippant expression on her face that didn’t seem to fit quite right. The picture was from an entirely different viewpoint, somewhere up in the air looking down on them, and of a far poorer quality than the first two.

“Security camera?” she guessed glancing up at him. His permeating stare was hard to meet through the angry “eyes” of his helmet.

“Traffic cam.”

Eden sank a little lower. “You’re making me feel like I’m in trouble here, Mr. Hood,” she mumbled.

“Aren’t you?” he accused. “You’ve practically got a flashing neon sign on your forehead that says In Deep Shit.”

 “No, I—” She huffed and moved some hair out of her face. “I do not. I meant trouble like a kid with her hand caught in the cookie jar.”

“Funny.” He moved to rest his jaw on his fist. “I didn’t.”

Eden lowered her gaze, unable to meet the unbreakable scrutiny of his “eyes”. “I’m not in any trouble,” she muttered, rubbing her socked feet together under the table. “Not like that, anyway. I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. Y’know,” he half-teased, “I think I’m starting to understand what you meant about being able to lie and being able to act.”

She struggled with a response to that. “What… What even makes you think I’m in that kind of trouble anyhow?”

“You want the short list or the long?” His certainty was unshakable.

Eden stared at him. There’s no way it was that obvious she was in trouble… But it wasn’t deep trouble like he seemed to think. Just… ankle-deep trouble. That she was slowly sinking in. No big deal.

Besides, it wasn’t any of his business. Her “trouble” was just between her and her parents. And her siblings, sort of. And… probably the people Frank worked with... and for… But, like, at its core, it was mostly just her and her parents.

“It’s nothing big,” she promised. “Nothing vigilante worthy, anyway.”

Red Hood just tilted his head, silently encouraging her to continue regardless.

“It’s just… family stuff.”

Just a looming fight between divorced parents; their adult child stuck in the middle and trying to put out the fire before it sparked. A totally normal thing for a totally normal "family".

Only, like… kicked up to a ten because Eden was a metahuman, her father was a superhero-obsessed farmer-turned-geneticist who basically stole samples of her DNA, and her mother was not afraid to get her hands dirty. Especially if she perceived something as a threat to her daughter’s well-being — which Frank’s recent work and actions could definitely be perceived as.

Plus, everyone in that facility seemed to know about her powers. Mama would not like that. That Eden regretted helping them – that she’d tried to rescind her consent, been denied, and her DNA taken anyway – just made the whole thing even messier.

The only way to hide any of it from her mother was to literally take the money Frank gave her for her "donation", run off, and hide away while she tried to string everything together. Because once Mama knew, Frank was a dead man. Unless Eden could figure out some way to cushion the information and keep her from digging deeper, there was no doubt in her mind that Mama would wipe every last trace of him – and his colleagues – off the face of the earth.

And Eden… Eden didn’t want that.

Despite everything he’d done and put her through, despite all the hurt and tears, part of her still thought of Frank as her father. As the man who read her stories every night and taught her to ride a bike and a horse. The one who called her “Champ” and always carried her up on his shoulders when they went into town. Who told her she was meant for great things, encouraged her compassion, always put her back on her feet… told her he loved her every morning and every night when she was young…

They were both older now, and him colder. He’d abused her trust and love in pursuit of his own goals again. This time with intent. But he was still the man who, above all else, wanted to help others. Eden knew that. He just… didn’t seem to mind hurting her in the process. And a part of her hated him for it, but she still loved him, too. She couldn't stand the thought of him getting hurt, or worse.

Which, you know, with her mama a hairpin trigger away from… removing him… sorta left Eden caught between a rock and a hard place. But, again, that wasn’t any of Red Hood’s business.

“It’s not that big a deal,” she stressed. “And anyway, Veronica’s the one with the scout right now, not me.” She swiped back to the picture of the man in the suit and pointed to him firmly. “He cared about getting her picture, not mine. Even if he mixed us up, it still means she’s the one in real trouble here.”

Red Hood hummed. The disharmony was hard to interpret, but she was willing to bet he was neither fooled by nor satisfied with her answer.

“What?” she shot back, crossing her arms, acting defensive to force the conversation forward. “It’s not my fault he confused me for Veronica.”

“No, but you wanted to keep him confused. In fact,” he reached over and swiped back to the traffic cam picture, “you did everything you could to make sure he thought he had the right girl.”

Eden lifted her chin, waiting for the real question. Red Hood studied her, possibly waiting to see if she’d answer it herself. Maybe blubber out something as she was wont to do. But she was determined to keep her mouth shut this time.

She tipped her head, politely prompting him to continue. When he didn’t, she huffed.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hood,” she said rubbing her forehead, “but I really don’t know what you’re trying to ask me here. I’m not a mind reader.”

He stayed quiet for a few more beats. His consideration shifted from her to the picture on his phone. “For now, I guess my biggest questions are why and how.”

Eden sat up a little. “Why?” she repeated, not sure she understood.

“Yeah. According to my source,” he said slowly, “you two,” he nodded toward her and Aaron in the picture, “figured out the scout was there for Veronica before she’d even entered the building and that he’d mixed the two of you up.”

“Right,” she agreed cautiously. “And?”

“And?” He gestured in front of him as though he’d clearly laid everything out on the table itself. “Didn’t it occur to you that if he saw the real Veronica, the scout would’ve pieced it all together and left you alone?”

Had that occurred to her? She couldn’t remember. Probably not.

But even if it had, Eden wouldn’t have wanted him to leave her alone if it meant throwing Veronica under the bus like that. Eden at least knew how she was supposed to act in that kind of situation, which was more than Veronica could probably say. And besides, no matter what might’ve happened, she would’ve been fine in the end. Veronica didn’t have that guarantee. Nobody did. Except Eden.

“It was better for him to bother me than her,” she said firmly. “At the very least it threw them off her scent for a bit. Hopefully, she can get some sort of security team or something before they get too wise.”

“They?”

“Whoever wanted those pictures in the first place,” she explained. “I seriously doubt that scout was taking them for his own sake, or he would’ve left the moment “Veronica” started noticing him.” She tilted her head at Red Hood and gave him a wicked smile. “Or did your source not mention that part of my theory?”

“He did,” he said simply. “All the more reason to want to stick your head in the sand, though, don’t you think? It’s what anyone else would’ve done.”

She frowned, finally realizing what he was saying. “You Gothamites are so weird. I’d have thought a vigilante would at least understand..."

“Uh, rude?”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be, but… It’s just I think I figured out what you’re really asking me, and Aaron and Veronica asked me the same thing earlier, too, and it’s just…" She shook her head, finding it hard to wrap her brain around. "Y’all…” She huffed. “Y’all’re just so weird to me.”

Red Hood didn’t say anything.

“Sorry,” she said again, more genuinely. “But you’re asking me why I helped her, right? Even if it wasn’t… oh, how did Veronica say it?” She turned her head, trying to remember. “Wasn’t my problem, I think? Something like that…” She refocused on him. “Anyway, my answer to you is the same as it was for them: because it was the right thing to do.”

Red Hood made a short, unamused noise. “The right thing was pretending to be that girl? Putting yourself in danger?"

“The right thing was helping her,” she corrected. “And that scout had already taken my picture anyway, so…” She swiped between the pictures. “At least I stopped him from taking the real Veronica’s picture, too.”

“But now he’s got your picture.” He sat back and crossed his arms. “Which means his employer’s going to have your picture. If they don’t already.”

“Which they probably do, since he was using a cell phone," she pointed out.

He threw his hands in the air. “Exactly! And he could be some sick, psycho fuck!"

"Well—"

"This is Gotham, Ede," he went on, imploring her to listen. "Even if they know you're not Veronica, they'll know you tried to fuck with their plans for her, whatever they are. People get themselves killed for way less here. You know that, right?”

“Well, no, I... I guess I hadn’t really… considered that...” 

So that was why a lot of Gothamites didn’t go out of their way to help others! Of course! There was no guarantee offering their hand to one person wouldn't put a huge target on their back with another. And nobody in their right mind would want to risk gaining the attention of one of Gotham’s scarier characters. It all made perfect sense now.

Gothamites kept their heads down and only focused on their own problems because they had to. If they didn't, they could very well be signing their life away. And when people asked her why she was helping others, they weren't really asking her why she was helping them. They were asking why she was so willing to put her own life in danger for someone else. Something most people here couldn't risk doing.

But Eden wasn't like them. No matter what happened or what anyone did to her, she would be fine. She was always fine. It didn’t mean she had to throw on a cape and go looking for trouble every day like Frank had wanted her to, but it also meant she didn’t have the same excuse as everyone else. If she could step in and help somebody, she should. She was one of the few people in this town who could handle the risk. And, most importantly, she wanted to.

“I still would’ve helped her,” she decided. “Even if someone scary thinks I’m her for a little while, or gets mad at me, at least Veronica is safe for now.”

Red Hood stared at her, unmoving. It wasn’t clear what he was thinking or feeling, but Eden could imagine he might not like what he was hearing. After all, as far as he knew, Eden was just a totally normal, would-die-and-stay-dead civilian.

“I mean, if they have any brain cells at all, they should realize pretty quickly “Veronica” doesn’t look like she should, right?” she said trying to reassure him. “And even if they don’t, all they have to do is follow me home once and they’ll realize they’ve got the wrong girl.” She pointed out the window. “Even a total rock-for-brains moron would start scratching their head if Veronica Bradford came to a neighborhood like this.”

He followed her finger, seeming to consider her words. “Maybe,” he acknowledged. “But they’d probably just say fuck it and stick around anyway. Especially if it was some goon following orders.”

Eden bobbed her head from side to side, agreeing with the possibility. “They’d still figure it out eventually, though. Veronica’s a socialite. And I’m definitely not. Eventually, she’d post a Snapstagram story or go somewhere fancy while I’m hanging about here and things wouldn’t add up. And if they were still convinced I’m Veronica after something like that, then I don’t think they’re smart enough to be considered much of a threat to anybody but themselves.”

“Everybody is a threat in this city,” he warned her. “And the last thing you want is some twisted mother fucker knowing where you live. Especially if they think you messed with them.”

“I’d rather someone like that know where I live and make my life difficult than let somebody else get hurt or killed because I didn’t help them,” she said stubbornly.

Red Hood let out a gruff, half-groaning sound as he sat back to stare up at the ceiling. "Of course you would," he grumbled. He stayed like that for a minute, perhaps trying to gauge how serious she was. He sighed, apparently finding his answer. "I don't get you. You freak out when a stranger shows up to warn you inside, but the idea of some asshole coming here and actually trying to fuck with you? That doesn't scare you?"

"In my defense, this is the ninth floor and it was my private fire escape. I had every right to freak out when some big stranger with guns and a mean-faced helmet suddenly showed up out of nowhere."

He scoffed.

"And I'm not completely helpless, Mr. Hood," she told him. "I have a little fighting know-how under my belt."

"Uh-huh, yeah, sure. And how's your neck, again?"

"My...?" She blinked at him, then, remembering the healed cut, frowned. "Hey, I'll have you know I was doing very well for myself until I got stabbed!" she said pointing at him.

He looked up again, this time as if asking a higher power for help. “So if someone broke in here with a gun or another knife, you think you'd be able to fight them off?"

“I'd be fine."

"So you do think you could."

"Not really, no."

He stared at her. “Y'know... a little lie might be nice right about now.”

"I could 100% fight them off no problem, Mr. Hood."

He groaned, covering his eyes. "God, you are an awful liar."

Eden tried very hard to suppress her giggles. “If it makes you feel any better," she offered, "I wasn’t planning on it. Pretending to be Veronica, I mean."

Red Hood sighed, but he lowered his hand and gave her his attention anyway.

"Veronica’s not very… Well, let’s say she’s not the most observant person around. And I know my foresight’s not exactly great in the heat of the moment, and I might end up paying for it eventually, but… I couldn’t just... not do something when that scout noticed her, you know? She needed someone to help her and she didn't even know it. So I just… did.”

Red Hood let out a sharp laugh, which sounded sharper with the distortion. He looked away, subtly shaking his head. “So you just did,” he muttered to himself. He turned to her again. “Didn’t you agree not to do anything stupid before I came by again, Cookie Girl?” he teased.

Eden smiled apologetically, then turned coy. “I did try, Mr. Hood,” she said sweetly. “And I promise that that was the stupidest of the stupid things I did. Which I’m willing to bet is still a million times better than the craziest thing you’ve done since the last time I saw you.”

He put a hand on his chest. “Who me? Do something crazy? Never.”

“Uh-huh. You sure about that? Because I’m pretty sure I heard someone say something about a red vigilante being involved with that big explosion Friday night.”

“Nope. Wasn’t me. Must’ve been Red Robin. I’m completely innocent.”

Eden nodded along, not admitting she only knew of the other vigilante because she’d thought Red Robin was just another of Red Hood’s names until somebody corrected her.

“Oh, completely innocent, I’m sure,” she goaded. “And what was it that you were doing oh-so-innocently while the bridge was blowing sky high, Mr. Hood?”

“Hey, the bridge is still standing, isn’t it? He made sure there wouldn’t be any structural damage. Just a little mess of things. He knows what he’s doing with shit like that.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah. I sure hope he does. Especially if he also has a helmet full of explosives.”

“Not to worry, Ede," he assured her. "I’m the crazy Red.”

“Oh. Good. I feel so much better now. Thanks."

He laughed.

“Wait.” She pointed at him. “Do you both go by Red?”

“We do," he nodded, "but Double R’s usually Red if we’re using shorthand,” he said crossing his arms. “They call me Hood to keep it simple.”

“Oh, well, that’s not confusing at all. Though I suppose y’all can’t exactly call him Robin. That’d be even more confusing.”

Red Hood scoffed. “Demon Spawn would have an absolute fit if we did that.” He looked to the side. “Then again…” He rubbed his chin, seeming to consider it.

“Um,” Eden lifted a tentative finger to catch his attention. “I’m sorry, but this is Gotham City, so I’m gonna need you to clarify: do you mean, like… a real demon spawn or…?”

“I mean I think he is,” Red Hood joked, “but, no, not really. That’s just what I call Robin ‘cause he’s a little shit.”

She perked up. “You mean Robin like… Batman's Robin?” He nodded and Eden scoffed with certainty. “Well, he can’t be that bad, then.”

Red Hood let out a short, sharp laugh. Something about it a bit painful. “Are you an expert on Robins now, Edie?”

“Well… no,” she mumbled, a little embarrassed, “but if he’s a Robin then… I dunno. He can’t be all that bad.”

“Have you ever met the brat?”

Eden shook her head slowly, fighting the urge to scowl.

No, she hadn’t met the boy Red Hood was talking about… But she’d met one of his predecessors. And that Robin? He’d saved her life. Not just from a fight or another encore. She could handle those things on her own. Poorly, sure. But she could.

No, what he’d saved her from was a life full of fights and encores. And pain. Endless, endless cycles of pain.

Without him, who knows where she’d be today. Who she’d be. Certainly not the person she was. Not the civilian trying to make the best of an awful situation by following her theatrical dreams. If he hadn’t knocked some sense into her, she would probably be what Frank wanted her to be. A… A hero. A constantly struggling, hurting, dying, pitiful attempt of a superhero.

Robin saved her from that. From a life of wishing every day, every death, would be her last.

As far as she was concerned, she owed that boy every good goddamn thing in her life. So to hear Red Hood call her hero a brat or a demon spawn, even if it was a completely different boy, even if Red Hood obviously knew him a thousand times better than Eden knew the one she’d met… Well, it upset her. In her heart, “Robin” was still the boy from her childhood.

Though, even she could admit it was hard to remember him clearly after so many years. She could remember the way he’d spoken to her and how it had impacted her, but not most of what he’d actually said. She could remember him joking and laughing with her, but not the way it sounded. She could remember the way he’d smiled and offered his hand before lifting her up into the air, but the scene was fuzzy.

“Sorry,” Red Hood grumbled, rubbing the jawline of his helmet. “I guess you’re more of a Gothamite than we thought.”

“Huh?” She squinted at him, confused. “No, I’m not. What do you mean?”

“Well...” He leaned back, spreading out slightly. “People these days tend to be pretty protective of their Robins. Even when this one first started out and was swinging his sword everywhere—”

“This one’s got a sword?” she blurted out, shocked. 

“Yeah, a katana. He hacked up a couple of goons pretty good with it, too. Which I thought was great,” he said gesturing to himself, “but B didn’t.”

“B? As in… Batman?” she whispered.

He snorted at her. “He’s not the boogeyman, Ede. He’s not gonna jump out of your closet if you say his name too loud." Despite saying this, he was clearly doing a quick survey of her apartment.

“Wow. I feel so reassured,” she droned. “Anyway, no, I should be the one apologizing. You clearly know this Robin well, so if you think he’s a—” her mouth twitched slightly “—a brat then... you… probably have your reasons for it. I suppose. And I should... respect that,” she half-snarled.

Red Hood clapped slowly. “Wow. What a beautiful performance, Edie. How’s it feel to be such a great actor?”

“Oh—” she reached over the table and shoved him “—shut it, you!”

He just laughed her off.

“You better start being nice to me, Hood," she said standing and moving toward the fridge.

“Or what?” he asked confidently.

She grinned at him. “Or you’re not getting any Mad Mountain Fudge,” she teased right back.

Chapter Text

“Or what?”

“Or you’re not getting any Mad Mountain Fudge.”

Red Hood put his hands up in mock surrender, making Eden chuckle as she set the fudge down on the counter. Pulling out a sharp knife, she carved out a small, bite-sized piece of the fudge. A pleased sound escaped her as soon as it hit her tongue.

Mad Mountain Fudge was easily the most difficult fudge she knew how to make, and there’d been plenty of failed attempts when she was younger. Too many marshmallows making it too sticky and sweet, the caramel turning crispy when she added it to the heat too soon, too much peanut butter, not enough nuts, burned the chocolate, and so on. Eden rarely fudged it up anymore – pun intended – but it had been a while since making a batch.

Luckily, the tricky fudge came out a perfect blend of savory and sweet, firm and smooth, chewy but with the right amount of crunch. It was worthy of a hero who had… well, not really saved her life… More like… put up with her nonsense while thinking he was saving her life.

Honestly, that Red Hood had gone out of his way for her at all was worthy of a thank-you in her eyes. But the spark of light he’d brought back into her life? The small pearls of joy? That was what had earned him this particular thank you.

Eden cut herself another piece of the spectacular fudge and did a little dance as she savored the taste.

“That good, huh?”

She smiled guiltily at Red Hood, who watched her comfortably from his chair against the wall, the jaw of his helmet resting against his fist, then went to work cutting the fudge.

“It’s my favorite,” she told him shyly. “It’s lots of folks’ favorite, actually. Even the ones who can’t stand my family come buy some when they hear we have it in stock. Even the Henricksens do,” she grinned, “and they hate us.”

“Even you?” The idea seemed almost amusing to him.

“Actually…” Eden half-grimaced. “If we're being honest, I’m pretty sure they hate me more than anybody…”

Red Hood went quiet. Eden glanced at him curiously. His surprise and disbelief were evident in the stiff way he leaned toward her.

“No way,” he said firmly.

“Yes way,” she nodded.

It was their youngest son’s fault. The first part of it, at least. But Eden tried not to think about it.

Not about what Chris might’ve done to Kit and the other patrons in his drunken, angry, heartbroken state. Not about what had happened in the diner’s parking lot when she tried to stop him. Not about what he and his slimey little friends were going to do to hide her body.

The muscles of her stomach let off small spurts of pain. The center of her forehead, the back of her skull, and everything in-between throbbed angrily. Such flare-ups, the distant yet far-too-close echoes of what had once killed her, were the only kinds of scars she had.

At the base of her neck, an uncomfortable intensity grew. If she thought about it too much, if she pictured the moments before he murdered her, the urge would be too strong to fight. It would set… something off.

Her body would twitch and jerk, exploding with the memory of those long-healed wounds. Her mind splintered between the dying, the coming back, and the now while her heart shot between beating too much and not beating at all at a breakneck speed.

Thankfully, it – whatever it was – didn’t last long and only happened when she thought of that death. But what those… episodes lacked in longevity and frequency, they made up for in excruciating pain. And terror. After seeing it for the first time, Eli, her newest “sibling”, said she looked like a broken puppet, tangled-up strings all being pulled at once. Mikey, her youngest “brother”, once told her it was like a nightmare happening in real life.

She didn’t want to deal with that right now. She didn’t want to feel that. She tried to fight the intensity off. Refocus on the present. On Red Hood sitting at her kitchen table. From lounging in his chair to sitting upright. His head shifting while he considered her.

Not Chris Henricksen. Not the gun. Not the pain. Not the fear. No, no, no. None of that.

Only here. Only now.

In her apartment.

In Gotham City.

With Red Hood.

“You’re not kidding,” the vigilante muttered.

Eden jumped at the sound. She blinked at him, still trying to bring herself back. 

“No,” she said softly. “I’m not. They really do hate me.”

“Why?” he asked with surprising gentleness. “What happened?”

Eden turned her gaze, her face warming. “I’d… rather not talk about it if you don’t mind,” she mumbled. “It’s not very… It’s not a very… pleasant topic.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

She tried to give him a grateful smile, but the heaviness weighed it down. She pulled a small plate out of the cupboard, focusing on that instead.

“So, uh.” He made a particularly ear-grating sound. Maybe clearing his throat? “Your family,” he tried. “They run some kind of store?”

She nodded. “A bakery,” she told him, setting a few small pieces of fudge on the plate. “We’ve had it since I was knee-high to a duck.”

He stared at her. “To a what?”

“To… To a duck? You know… Like knee-high to a grasshopper, but with a duck?” Despite not being able to see his face, Eden had a good sense he’d never heard either saying. “Er, it, uh…” She rotated her hand a few times, trying to help the gears in her brain move. “It just means since I was really little. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he reminded her. “But, hey,” he said brightly, “at least it makes sense now why you like baking bread and cookies and shit in the middle of the night. And I'll bet growing up in a bakery was pretty nice. Did you get to sample all the goods before they got put out?”

Eden couldn’t help smiling at his attempts to lighten the mood. “Not all the time, but Mama always let me have a taste of the special batches.” She walked over with the plate of fudge and set it in front of him. “Speaking of which, have a taste, Mr. Hood.”

“Oh.” He stared at it. “Yeah. About that.” He looked up at her, pointing to his sleek helmet.

She snorted. “Don’t worry, I'm not going to look,” she promised. “I’d just like you to try some before I pack it up.”

Red Hood responded with stiff silence, making Eden wonder if the request was inappropriate.

“No pressure, of course!” she quickly assured him. “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to. I’ll eat them if you don’t.”

A little too eagerly, she plucked a piece of fudge off the plate and popped it into her mouth. Chewing slowly, she smiled as the fudge began to melt in her mouth. She went for another piece, but Red Hood seized the plate and moved it further away from her.

“Hey!” 

“I thought this was supposed to be my fudge, Cookie Girl,” he reminded her.

“Oh—” Eden let out a little half-laugh. “Right. Sorry about that.”

She turned on her heel and started yammering about the bakery to give him some sense of privacy. While she spoke, she grabbed a clean plastic container to pack the fudge in, making sure her head was angled as far away from her kitchen table as possible.

Eventually, while she worked, there was a small, mechanical-like sound followed by a soft hiss. Eden kept blabbering, trying to ignore it. A moment later, there was another sound, low and pleased. A completely undistorted sound.

Eden quieted, not quite believing her ears, and another hum soon followed, louder than the first. She beamed then happily continued packing away the rest of the fudge.

Not a minute later, there was a small sort of whoosh-ing, followed by a light, snapping click.

“That’s some damn good fudge, Edie,” Red Hood said, his voice moving closer to her.

At the familiar distortion, she assumed his helmet was back in place and carefully turned toward him. She smiled brightly when she saw him carrying an empty plate.

“I’m glad you like it!” She lifted the now full container in his direction. “Did you want some more before I put the lid on?”

“Yes please,” he said eagerly grabbing more.

Eden bit back her snickers as best she could.

After putting a good amount on his plate, he moved to lean against the counter by the sink. Eden turned forward again and stole another piece for herself before capping the container. Red Hood let out an amused sound as she happily bobbed her head while chewing.

The same mechanical hissing as before went off behind her, followed by the sound of him taking a large bite out of a bar of fudge.

“Careful not to choke,” she half-teased, putting the knife in the empty pan.

He let out a low, humored scoff around what sounded like a mouthful of fudge.

“I’m about to move this way.” She gestured without looking, then lifted the dish to make her intentions clear.

Red Hood hummed an affirmative and Eden began moving mindfully toward the sink.

Despite not hearing his footsteps, she knew he was moving with her in the opposite direction; his eyes locked onto her back the way hers were locked onto the dishes in her hands. He was good at the whole staying out of sight thing, which helped. She didn’t catch even the slightest glance of him in her periphery. Not even his shadow.

When she reached the sink, she let out a small breath before starting on the dishes. It was fascinating, and perhaps a bit eerie, to know that someone as big and tall as Red Hood could move so stealthily. If she hadn’t known he was there, would she have been able to notice him at all?

“So—”

Eden nearly dropped the soapy pan.

“—a baker turned actress, huh?”

Though it was muddled slightly by the fact that he was eating, there was no mistaking it. She was hearing Red Hood’s voice. His actual, not-at-all-distorted voice.

"Gyhuhh?" she eloquently responded.

He continued speaking and Eden, so caught up in the sound, at the richness of it, forgot he was actually talking to her and that she was supposed to be listening. She lifted her head when there was a lull, only just remembering to keep her eyes pinned down, as she searched for his voice again.

“Ede?”

“Yes!?” she squeaked, jolting upright and squeezing far too much soap onto her dishrag.

He waited a moment. “Well?”

“Well?” she repeated in a high, uncertain pitch as her cheeks burned. “Sorry, did you, uh— I mean, could you, uh, could you please say that again, Mr. Hood? I wasn’t, um… I guess I wasn’t listening.”

He snorted, taking another bite. “What, did you stick some fudge in your ears for later?”

“Ew!” Eden – so grossed out at the notion – couldn’t even enjoy the melodic sound of his teasing. “No, that’s just— That’s gross, Hood! You’re gross! Don’t even— Ew!”

He barked out a laugh. The warm, deep sound seemed to catch him by as much surprise as it did her and he started to choke on it. Eden heard the plate clatter against the counter as he coughed to clear his airway, a whisper of a laugh still there in the struggle.

“Please don’t die eating my fudge,” she muttered drily, not daring to look away from the suds in the sink while her face burned. “That’s not a story I want to tell.”

She waited to speak again until she was sure he wasn’t actually dying and that she wouldn’t actually have to steal an untimely, Mad Mountain Fudge-related death from the Red Freaking Hood. That would just be embarrassing.

“I’m pretty sure I asked you earlier not to choke, Mr. Hood. You’ve heard of this new thing called chewing, haven’t you?”

“Oh—” he said through another cough “—so now I’m Mr. Hood again?” Despite sounding like he was dying, the humorous bounce to his words was unmistakable.

Eden shook her head, smiling as she set the clean dishes on the drying rack. “You’re ridiculous. Is that what made you laugh so hard? Me just calling you “Hood”?”

He cleared his throat and let out one more small cough. “It wasn’t that.”

“You sure? ‘Cause it sure sounded like it.”

“Nah,” he said, some mischief in his tone. “You can call me whatever you want, Cookie Girl.”

Eden bit her lip and bowed her head, suddenly very grateful they weren’t talking face-to-face.

She couldn’t get over how clear his voice was, how easily she could understand everything he said. He wasn’t particularly easy to read with that Super High-Tech, Apparently-Blow-Up-able helmet of his, but she’d gotten good at identifying the shifts in his distorted voice. Very good at finding the hints of amusement mixed into the sound of his garbled tone.

Even so, she hadn’t realized just how scrambled his voice was, nor how intensely she worked to wrestle his tone out of it. She was so accustomed to focusing on even the slightest shift that now, without that barrier, his every word hit like a tidal wave.

All of a sudden, there were no guesses about what he meant or what he was feeling when he spoke. Without the distortion, his voice was crystalline. Almost overwhelmingly so. So open and distinct it was obvious why he needed to distort it in the first place, and so clear that, without even knowing what he looked like, Eden could easily see his face in her mind as he spoke.

She could hear the furrow in his brow when trying to catch her attention, the openness of his mouth as he laughed… The smirk while teasing her rang particularly loud, and she could see it so clearly in her mind’s eye it made her heart skip a beat.

She shyly pointed to the kitchen table and muttered a heads-up a few seconds before hurrying to her seat, its back to Hood and the kitchen. He laughed at her again — this time, sadly, without choking.

“You had a question?” she grumbled. “You know… before you almost died on my kitchen floor?”

He scoffed in good humor. “I was just asking about how you ended up here.”

“Here?” She cocked her head. “You mean Gotham?”

He made an affirming hum. “Yeah,” he said through what sounded like a mouthful of fudge. “Like…” He chewed a moment then spoke again after swallowing. “How exactly does one go from a family bakery down south to being an actress in Gotham?”

“I already told you,” she said half-humored, rubbing one socked foot against the other. “I’m dealing with family stuff. The acting thing is… Honestly, it’s just me making the best of a bad situation— er, no, not a bad situation,” she amended quickly. “Just a… tricky one.”

“You have family here?” His tone told her he already knew the answer.

Eden shook her head then set her chin in her hand, curious to hear his real question.

“Then why Gotham? If you’re just making good on a tricky situation—” which he clearly didn’t believe “—then why choose one of the worst cities in the world? Why not anywhere else?”

“You trying to get rid of me, Mr. Hood?” she teased.

“Of course not,” he said sincerely. The clarity made Eden’s cheeks warm again. “But people don’t just move to Gotham.”

She acknowledged that with an agreeing nod. Anybody who moved to Gotham either had a really good reason or a few screws loose. (If it was the latter, they were in good company with a healthy chunk of the city’s population.)

Eden had a few not-so-bad reasons that, together, made the dangerous city the perfect place for her to be right now. The first and most crucial of them being her powers.

Her powers were a get-out-of-jail-free card for a lot of what would deter most normal folks from coming to this crazy place. Sure, she still really, really, REALLY didn’t want to run into one of Gotham’s many freaky serial killers, but at least she was guaranteed to survive if she did.

The second reason was her mama’s aversion to the place. The woman would be able to find her in even the most remote corner of the world, and Eden knew that. So leaving home had never truly been about hiding from her. It was more about making sure she wouldn’t show up unannounced before Eden knew what to say and do to convince her not to go after Frank.

Mama didn’t like big cities in general – too many people, too much to focus on, too easy to be an easy target – so any one might’ve caused some hesitation, but Gotham in particular… There was something about the city that seemed to… if not frighten her mother, then at least unnerve her greatly. She would only come here if she thought Eden was in trouble, or if it was absolutely, unavoidably necessary.

And, although Eden felt pretty confident assuming Frank hadn’t bothered attempting to contact her since they last spoke, she wanted to avoid him too. If by some strange happenstance he was looking for her, she was sure Gotham City would be the last place he would think to check. After all, why would she be in Gotham? Their one and only trip was the only connection Frank knew she had to Gotham, and he had no delusions that Eden would one day change her mind about the whole… hero thing. Gotham, in his mind, had nothing to offer but vigilantism.

Except that it did. Her third and most selfish reason for choosing Gotham: its performance industry.

As long as you didn’t mind the extremely high possibility of being ambushed or murdered during a show – which, for Eden, was obviously only a minor issue –, Gotham was one of the greatest cities for performers. Plus, the whole city seemed to live and breathe on the dramatics, which she thought – a bit naïvely – would be a nice change of pace from her hometown’s preference for the subtle and conservative. (Not to say that it wasn’t a nice change. It was, in some ways. But she hadn’t realized the city’s insane shenanigans literally never stopped, nor that they were so deeply embedded into everything about the place.)

Wrap it all together, and Gotham really was the perfect city for Eden to lay low in while figuring out what to do. The only real wrench was when the occasional local asked the inevitable Why Gotham? question – or its common equivalent Why the Fuck Gotham? – and she had to cling to that third reason without making herself sound like a loony with a death wish.

Like right now.

“Gotham’s the easiest place for a nobody actor to break into and actually make a living off it,” she told him honestly. “A lot of people are too scared to perform here, what with all the craziness y’all got around here, so the pay’s real good and there’s a lot less competition. In fact…” She looked up, thinking, rolling through the different names and faces she could remember. “I think I’m the only cast member in my current show who wasn’t born and raised here…”

Hood scoffed arrogantly. “We grew up with this crazy shit,” he told her, sounding strangely proud of that fact. His voice turned slightly bitter when he said, “You get used to it.”

The whoosh-ing sound from before came again, followed by the same snapping click.

“But that doesn’t explain why you’re not scared to perform here,” Red Hood said in his distorted tone.

Eden found herself unexpectedly surprised to hear it.

It wasn’t like she thought he’d keep his helmet off once he was finished eating. She knew he wouldn’t, so there was no reason for her to feel disappointed. She was lucky enough to have heard his voice at all! And yet. Here she was. Feeling ridiculously disappointed and fighting the urge to sulk about it.

Hearing the faucet run, Eden slapped on a pleasant smile and turned in her chair to face the vigilante. Some of her disappointment eased at the sight of him and she couldn’t help but shake her head at herself.

“Don’t you know, Mr. Hood?” She moved so her knees were on the seat of her chair and her arms rested atop the backrest. “Southern women like me ain’t afraid of nothing.”

He made a loud, garbled sound as he finished washing his dish. Annoyingly, now that she’d had a taste of his undistorted voice, his usual one was suddenly harder to decipher.

“Now that’s a lie,” he said.

“Nuh-uh!” Eden shot back. “Name one time you’ve seen me scared, I dare you.”

“Uh, when I first met you?”

“That doesn’t count,” she said quickly turning her head. “Try again.”

“It definitely counts,” he argued. “You were shaking like a leaf!”

“I was not!”

Red Hood looked at her, tilting his head downward.

Eden held his helmet's gaze as long as she could then threw up her hands. “Okay, fine! Maybe I was shaking like a leaf! But—” she jerked a finger at him “—it still doesn’t count ‘cause I was having a panic attack. Name one time you’ve seen me scared scared and not nervous scared.”

He hummed unharmoniously, thinking it over. “Well,” he muttered, setting the clean plate on her drying rack, “what about when I jumped windows to get into your apartment? That freaked you out.”

“Nervous scared,” she insisted, shifting to sit in her chair properly as he moved back to his own. “‘Cause you didn’t give me any warning and I panicked thinking you were going to fall.”

He scoffed at the idea as he took his seat. “Alright, what about with those assholes I save you from? You had to be scared out of your mind.”

She pshawed. “I was fine once I started fighting them off. Plus, I was already nervous when I ran into them ‘cause I was coming down from a panic attack, so it doesn’t count anyway.”

“I’m noticing a theme here…”

“Yeah, well—” She stuck her nose in the air. “I never said I wasn’t a bottle rocket of nerves. I said I wasn’t one to get scared. And before you suggest it, I wasn’t even the slightest bit scared when you thought I was dying either.”

“Okay then, tough girl,” he challenged more seriously, leaning forward as he did so. “What about when I had to stitch up your neck? You were ready to cry and I had to threaten you into letting me patch you up.”

“Mr. Hood, I was neeeervooous,” she drawled. “And in a lot of pain thanks to your stupid alcohol.”

Red Hood scoffed and shook his head at her. He sat back in his chair, crossing his arms. “How is your neck, by the way?”

“Just fine, thank you.” She grinned at him like the cat that caught the canary. “Do you admit defeat, Mr. Hood?”

“I never admit defeat,” he said, which earned him a laugh. Then he sat up a little straighter. “But seriously, Ede. That cut was pretty bad. How’re you feeling?”

She frowned a little and shrugged. “Not bad. Could definitely be worse.”

She didn’t know much about how wounds normally healed but figured hers would probably still be a little sore. She copied a move Nate did whenever his neck was sore, carefully rolling her head and stretching her shoulder. All she could feel was the occasional tug of the remaining sutures in her skin and the annoying way they rubbed against the fabric of her shirt.

“It doesn’t bother me too much,” she told him honestly.

“Really? No itching or weeping?”

“No, it—” Eden paused and looked at him questioningly. “Is… Is it supposed to itch and weep?”

He shrugged. “It’s not uncommon. It usually just means the wound is healing.”

“Oh…” She thought about it. “Sometimes it itches a little when my shirt rubs up against the stitches?” she offered.

“That’s normal,” he said nodding. “As long as it’s not painful.”

“No.” She grinned. “Just a pain in the ass.”

He let out a short sound of amusement.

Ha! Look at Eden go. She could totally pretend to be a normal person with a totally normal healing body.

“How much longer until the rest of them go away, anyhow?” she asked.

“Huh?” He tilted his head. “The rest of what go?”

“Oh, the, uh… The stitches?” She waited for him to move on from there. When he didn’t, she cursed herself. “You… Didn’t you say they go away on their own? Like, fall out and dissolve and stuff?”

“They do,” he agreed slowly. “But that’s shouldn’t be for a while. The earliest they should be falling out is…” He rubbed the side of his helmet, thinking. “Maybe four, five weeks from now?”

“Oh,” she said in a high pitch.

He shifted forward.

She shifted back.

“They aren’t falling out already, are they?”

Yes. “No.”

No, no— Technically, no. Technically, they were just dissolving already. And he was using “they” in the plural sense, which meant he was asking if multiple stitches had fallen out. And only one had fallen out so far. So, technically speaking, she was – technically – not lying. Technically, they were not already falling out.

Red Hood watched her. “Maybe I should check it out—"

“Oh nooo,” she insisted, forcing her pitch lower. “No, no, I couldn’t ask you to do that—”

“It’s not a big deal, Edie.”

“Exactly!” she nearly shrieked. “Exactly,” she said lower. “It’s fiiine. Really. It’s not even red or anything.” Red was a bad color for wounds to be, she knew that much.

“It’s not red at all?”

Eden blinked.

Okay! Great! So she apparently knew literally nothing about wounds! Fantastic!

“Oh, I just meant it’s, you know, not redder than it should be. It’s like, the normal shade of red, not a, uh, you know, a, uh— like an irritated sort of red or an infected red. Those would be bad, and I’d definitely let you check it out for sure if I thought it was one of those, but it’s definitely the good shade of red that means it’s healing and stuff, so it’s fine.”

“Uh-huh…” Red Hood tilted his head slightly.

She smiled, trying hard not to grimace. “Really. It’s fine. I promise I’d show you if it wasn’t.”

After a moment, he asked, “Can I at least see your hand?”

Eden blinked at him. “My… hand?”

He nodded.

“Uh… Sure?” She put both her hands palm up on the table in his direction. “Does it matter which one?”

He stared at her a moment, then purposefully took her left hand. Eden set the other down and watched as he stared at her palm. An impromptu palm-reading wasn’t really the conversation change she’d been expecting, but… beggars can’t be choosers?

“Are you… looking for something?” she asked after a few seconds of silence.

Red Hood didn’t answer her right away, entranced by whatever he was seeing in her palm. Eventually, he softly ran a thumb across it. Not a moment later, he released her hand and stood from his seat.

“I should probably get going,” he announced.

“Oh… Okay…” Eden glanced down at her palm then back up at him, confused. “Did… Did you see something bad?”

Again, he didn’t answer right away. “Not exactly.”

Eden sank into her shoulders, not believing him. He didn’t move.

Biting the inside of her lip, she looked over her palm more closely. But there was nothing there she could recognize as bad or good. It was just… skin. Smooth skin with just a few lines here and there that meant nothing to her. She didn’t even have any calluses — a fact her siblings either resented or ribbed her for depending on how they felt about their own.

“Hey.”

“Yes!?”

Red Hood was looking at her, watching her.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, looking away. She glanced up at him again, nervous. “You… You’d tell me if it was something to be worried about, though… Right?”

He tilted his head a moment, considering… her? Her question? She couldn’t tell. But whatever it was, he seemed to be tallying it up in his head.

Then he shifted and made a soft sound, relaxing his posture ever-so-slightly. “I don’t think you need any help there, Cookie Girl.”

“I really don’t…” she muttered in agreement. “But would you?”

Resting his hands on his hips, he shrugged lightly. “Probably.” Eden hummed in mild annoyance as he turned his head toward the kitchen. “Remind me again why you made me that fudge?”

Eden followed his gaze to the container, then sent him a confused frown. “It’s… a gift? A thank you gift?”

“For?” he prompted.

Eden closed her eyes and opened them again. “For… helping me? With those jerks and my dumb neck and,” she waved her hand around in a circle, “I don’t know— just being nice to me? Putting up with my nonsense? Take your pick.”

He shifted his gaze slightly, thinking about… something.

Eden frowned. Did it really matter what she was specifically thanking him for? Did he want her to spill her guts and admit she was thanking him for putting the spark back in her life? That she’d been horribly, overwhelmingly alone before running into him again and that that night was the best she’d had since, oh, probably her first night in Gotham? Because she most certainly was not about to tell him all that and be written off as a desperate cuckoo loner, thank you very much.

“Do you really need a nailed down reason for somebody to thank you after helping them through a rough night?” she pressed.

He considered her a moment, then shrugged. “Guess not.”

Eden shook her head at him. “You sure are weird sometimes, Mr. Hood,” she said rising from her seat.

He made a huffy noise and grabbed his container of fudge. “That’s rich coming from you, Cookie Girl.”

“Excuse you,” she said walking him to the window, “but I’m not the one who asks nonsense questions out of the blue. Hrrg,” she said lowering her voice and shaping her fingers like guns, “I’m the Red Hood, and I make people play 20-Questions when they try to be nice to me ‘cause nice people are weirdos and I’m too cool for all that.” She aimed her “guns” at him. “Pew, pew, pew!”

He stared at her. “Maybe you shouldn’t have quit your day job.”

Eden gapped at him then quickly turned her chin. “Don’t be silly, Hood,” she chided, her hands on her hips. “That impression was spot on.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re right,” he said nodding along as he opened the window. “Completely spot on. Right down to the way I say ‘pew, pew’ when I shoot my guns.”

“The pews were clearly sound effects, Mr. Hood,” she said shaking her head at him. She delicately set one hand across her heart and the back of the other against her forehead. “It’s like you don’t even try to understand my work.” She sniffled.

He snickered and started climbing out onto the fire escape.

“Oh wait!”

He paused, giving her a questioning head-tilt.

“I, um… I, uh, just wanted to know if… uh…” Eden faltered, her cheeks warming.

It was… silly.

Tonight had been fun— no, better than fun. It had been wonderful. She was so happy he liked his gift, felt so spoiled hearing his voice, and just plain enjoyed his company so, so much — she didn’t want it to end.

But Eden wasn’t stupid. Red Hood couldn’t waste all his time with her. He, like most of the other vigilantes in the city, worked mainly at night. And he was a big player on Gotham’s stage. There were people out there who needed him or who needed to be stopped by him. She was lucky to have gotten the time she had with him.

But, because Eden wasn’t stupid, she also knew how incredibly naïve it was to hope she’d get to see him again after this. She’d managed to entice him back the last time with the promise of thank you fudge, but now that he had it, there wasn’t any real reason for him to come again. If this was the last time they'd spend time together, it didn’t feel like it had lasted nearly long enough.

Maybe, if she was lucky, he’d bring the container back and she’d happen to be home when he did and they could talk again. Or maybe – if she was really lucky – he might let her know after he’d taken care of whoever was after Veronica and she could make him another thank you gift and be able to squeeze another short visit out of him.

But that all felt so... selfish. He was busy saving lives, doing important things. He was important. He didn't have time to check in on some nobody all the time just because they were lonely and loved his company. And it wasn't fair to pin all her childish hopes and wants on him like that. He'd been kind to her. Eden could be grateful for that for the rest of her life if she wanted, and she probably would be, but she had to be kind to him, too. She had to let him get on with his life without clinging to him like some parasite.

Red Hood set himself back inside, seemingly curious for the question Eden no longer wanted to ask. She didn’t want to be the annoying little girl who asked the leaving boy when she’d get to see him again. His answer would only confirm reality anyway.

“What, do I have to guess?” 

“N-No.” Her face felt hot. “It was a dumb question, sorry.”

“A dumb question, huh?” He rubbed his chin as he hummed thoughtfully. “In that case, the answer is probably: yes, no, absolutely not, don’t have one, because I want to… or because he’s a fucking furry.”

Eden – who’d started smiling up until that last one – blinked at him rapidly. “Because who’s a what now?”

He laughed.

She crossed her arms, unable to stop her smile. “Are you done, funny guy?”

 He thought a moment, then confidently declared: “Golbasto Momarem Evlame Gurdilo Shefin Mully Ully Gue.”

Eden stared at him, wide-eyed, completely lost, then— “Hey, wait a minute! That’s a name, isn’t it? I know I’ve heard it before, it’s from… it’s from…” She looked to the side, then down. “Have I heard it before?” she muttered to herself. “I think I have… Golbasto Mo… Mully Ully Gue...” She turned to him again, wondering if he was staring at her like she was crazy or if he was amused. “What’s that from? I swear I know it.”

“It’s the emperor of Lilliput’s name.” Eden wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard a smile in his distorted voice.

“Emperor of Lilliput…?” She tapped her chin, thinking, then snapped her fingers. “Oh, Lilliput! From Gulliver’s Travels, right?” He nodded and she chuckled. “You don't really think I was gonna ask you your name, do you? Of course you had to pick the longest, weirdest name out there, too. Why not something simpler like John Jacob Jingleheimer-Schmidt?”

“Too easy. And if I really wanted to pick the longest name out there, I’d have said Hadschi Halef Omar Ben Hadschi Abul Abbas Ibn Hadschi Dawuhd al Gossarah.”

Eden stared at him. “Well, that’s one I definitely don’t know. Who’s that?”

“Pretty much Kara Ben Nemsi’s sidekick in his books.”

She nodded along politely, having never heard that name either.

Red Hood brought a fist up to where his mouth would be and made a short sound, clearing his throat. “Anyway, what did you wanna ask?”

“Well, now I kinda wanna ask what books you read…” She glanced briefly at her own small collection – small, compared to what she had back at the farm, but large for someone who’d only lived here a few months – then shook her head. “It must not’ve been that important. I already forgot what it was.”

He lowered his head slightly and moved it to one side, not believing her.

Shrugging softly, she smiled and turned her head. “Anyway… I’m glad you were able to stop by. I know you’re busy and all, so…  Thank you again for…” Her smile turned genuine as she set it on him. “Well, for everything, I guess.”

He stared at her smile, then rubbed the side of his helmet. He made a weird huffing sound as he dropped his hand, his whole body slouching with the exhale.

“What?” Eden couldn’t help shooting out. “Are you allergic to gratitude now all of a sudden? Is that why you choked earlier?”

“No,” he said through a single airy chuckle. He stopped, glanced up and made an unpleasant noise – either a deep sigh or a low groan –, then started looking around her apartment. “Where’s your phone?”

“My… phone?” She looked around with him. “Um—”

“Found it,” he said walking back to her kitchen, disappearing behind the wall, then coming back around again with her phone in hand.

“How in the heck did you— Oh. Fancy helmet stuff?”

“Fancy helmet stuff,” he agreed with a nod, not looking away from her screen. “Password?”

She moved to his side and put her finger on the phone’s scanner to unlock it, making note of how he automatically shifted when she came too close. She took a step back as soon as she was done but stayed close enough to watch what he was doing. Her eyes popped when he went into her pitifully sparse contact list, and her jaw dropped when he went to add a new contact.

“Uhhhmmmmm, Mr. Hood?” she asked in a very, very high pitch.

“Relax and listen up—”

“I'm listening!” she squeaked.

He stopped and turned to stare at her. Her cheeks were hot.

“Sorry. Yes. Please continue. Relaxed and listening.”

“So relaxed,” he muttered shaking his head at her. He finished putting in the information then faced her fully. “Okay, Eden.” He put a firm hand on her shoulder and lifted her phone in front of her face. “This phone is not secure,” he said slowly. “So right now, this is for emergencies only. Got it?”

She nodded quickly. Did “right now” mean there was a “later on” where that might not be the case? The world seemed to be spinning a little too fast for her to think about it clearly.

“Got it?” he pressed, putting a little pressure on her shoulder as he did.

“Yes! Emergency! Got it! Thank you!”

“And no writing it down anywhere,” he said offering the phone back to her.

“No, no!” She pulled it close to her chest, like a dear, precious treasure. “God, of course not,” she said quieter.

“Good.” Satisfied, he let her go.

“I’m a little surprised you didn’t comment on my lack of contacts,” she mumbled, glancing down at the phone before setting it on the table.

“That’s normal for someone like you,” he said shrugging and moving back toward the window.

She followed him, curious. “Like me?”

“Someone in deep shit,” he clarified.

Eden frowned. “I already told you—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said climbing out onto the fire escape before she could stop him again. “You’re not in vigilante-worthy trouble,” he mocked. “Whatever you say, Cookie Girl.”

She scoffed at him, leaning over to rest her elbow on the windowsill and her chin in her hand. “You’re a real pain sometimes, Mr. Hood.”

“A pain whose number I expect you to use when you are in trouble. 'Vigilante worthy' or not.”

She smiled coyly and nodded, knowing she could handle a little more trouble on her own than he gave her credit for. “Thank you. I’ll try not to need it too much.”

Red Hood nodded, too. Grabbing his fudge, he stood and pulled out his grappling hook. “I’ll try to bring this back in one piece,” he said lifting the container.

She smiled brightly, her heart pounding eagerly. “Okay, I’ll—” Stopping herself, she swallowed, trying to reel in the growing sense of hope. “I’ll… I’ll see you then… Right?”

He tilted his head at her, maybe thinking she was crazy. Eden started to steel herself for his response, when out came a disbelieving:

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t you? You going somewhere?”

She blinked at him in surprise, then quickly went to correct him. “Oh, no, I’m not, I—! Ow!”

Rubbing the back of her throbbing head, she scowled at the window frame while Hood fought down a laugh. She threw her glare at him.

He offered her the container of fudge, snickering. “Would another piece make you feel better, klutz?”

"I am not a klutz," she grumbled, her glare losing its intensity as she took the fudge from him. “But yes, it would. Thank you."

Chapter Text

“REALLY!? Are you serious!?”

Aaron’s voice bounced off the high arched ceilings. A slight echo reverberated around the spacious room, emphasizing the hush that had fallen over the rest of the bank. Tellers and patrons alike eyed their boisterous little group, but Aaron didn’t relent.

“You ARE serious! Ha! Finally!”

Eden stared him dead in the eye, her lips buttoned, fists clenched. She willed him to stop talking. To suddenly lose his voice or spontaneously combust. Anything that would shut his trap and stop him from drawing so much attention.

GG and Marsha’s reactions weren’t great, but at least they weren’t shouting. Blood was draining from GG’s face at a startling rate while Marsha just kept blinking. Staring blankly like she didn’t quite understand what Eden had just said. Neither looked like they were breathing.

Eden fought the urge to roll her eyes.

They were the ones who invited her to run to the bank with them during lunch. They were the ones sharing grins and glances the whole way here. They were the ones holding back snickers as they asked Eden if she saw any trouble once they arrived.

If they didn’t want to know the truth, they shouldn’t’ve asked. Simple as that! Heck, if this was how they were going to act, they shouldn’t’ve invited her in the first place!

Eden huffed, hating this whole thing. Damn that scout for starting this nonsense— and damn Aaron for keeping it up! She sent him a glare, but he didn’t seem to notice. Too busy looking around for the troublemakers she’d seen. Too busy trying to get in trouble.

Since that whole fiasco at the café, Eden’s schedule had gone from a bone-dry desert to a nearly bursting dam. Sunup to well past sundown she was out on the town, doing this and that with her coworkers. They invited her out to clubs or bars with friends, to grab lunch or a coffee, to run errands together. None of which she minded. It was tiring at times, sure, but being so busy made it harder for her to drown in her thoughts — which she appreciated.

But at the same time, it felt like being back on the farm. Her time didn’t feel like her own anymore. That had been one of the best things about leaving. Her time, her space, her belongings… In Gotham, they'd been hers and hers alone.

And, yeah, she’d gotten lonely, and, yeah, part of her was glad to be socializing more, but the people inviting her out weren’t just doing it to be friendly. Gothamites were rarely friendly without reason. These people were on missions.

They wanted to see if Eden really had the “vigilante-like knowledge” Aaron and Veronica constantly claimed. It was a fun pastime for them. A party game to see if she could spot trouble no one else could see. So many “clever” people had asked her “What do your elf-eyes see?” she could hardly muster a polite smile at it anymore.

Some days, she seriously considered telling everyone to go jump in the river and leave her alone. But she couldn't. She knew she couldn't. Because sometimes, it wasn't a game at all.

One coworker, Doris, had asked her to go with them to pick up the last of their things from their old apartment. At first, Eden thought she was just an accessory for yet another boring errand run, but once they arrived, she quickly realized the apartment belonged to Doris’s ex. And he was not a kind man.

Another coworker, Marc, invited Eden and a few others over for dinner a few nights in a row. He kept insisting she come, asking her to check his windows and doors every night before she left. It turned out his boyfriend was out of town and Marc was afraid to be home alone in case someone broke in and beat him to a bloody pulp. Again.

Then there was Veronica.

Just as Eden had said – though she couldn’t remember saying any of it herself – Veronica had abstained from visiting Café Très Boissons herself. Instead, she paid for her drink to be delivered every day by GrubDash. She also had her daddy invest in a personal bodyguard — a process she kept pulling Eden into, asking her opinion on this person and that. She even brought Eden to a few of the interviews.

Most of it felt tedious to Eden, but Veronica quietly thanked her for her “expertise” every time. And whenever she ordered her special latte while Eden was around, she made it a point to get one for her, too.

It wasn’t game when those people invited her out. They wanted— needed someone who could keep them safe. Eden knew she wasn’t that person. She was more of an anxious, overthinking barn cat than a guard dog, but they were asking her for help. Someone they barely knew. Someone who might have some good observation skills and possibly knew how to protect others.

Putting their safety, their trust into someone full of mights, and possiblys, and hopefullys? They were desperate.

And as much as she hated being treated like a wannabe vigilante, Eden couldn’t deny she knew how to handle certain situations better than most. Not all of them, and not always very well, but still more than most folks. And she had her powers. If she was someone’s last hope… even if she wasn’t a superhero or a vigilante…

If she was all somebody had… she was better than nothing, at least.

But because she couldn’t tell who was inviting her out for a laugh and who was silently begging for help, she felt stuck saying yes to everything. Subjecting herself to all the unpleasantries that came with being the “aspiring vigilante" of the cast & crew.

“Are we safe?” the desperate would ask her, their bodies tense and faces taut with nerves. Their eyes drinking her in like a flickering light in the darkness.

“Is there anyone around we should worry about?” the game players asked. Some chuckled at the possibility of her being able to tell, others scoffed.

“Notice any trouble around?” the eager asked, their eyes shining, hoping she would say yes.

That was the worst. When they actively, naively pined themselves to her side. As if they would— could drop everything if she asked. None of them grasped just how terrifying it would be if she really turned and said, Yes, and I need your help.

Instead, they just laughed and talked about Batman and Nightwing and how cool heroes were and how much they idolized them and, hey, has Eden ever met one of them? Could she introduce them? Could they be the Robin to her Batman?

She hated it.

But none of that mattered right now.

She sighed. Right now, what mattered was getting Aaron, GG, and Marsha out of this bank as quickly as possible. That much she could do.

Rolling her eyes, Eden adjusted her posture and traded the worry in her features for irritation. Sticking out her hip and crossing her arms, she sent her fellow cast members a mild scowl.

“Of course I’m serious,” she projected slightly, swapping her natural accent for something a little less identifiable. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

Aaron’s face lit up, his eyes full of stars.

Eden flinched, her stomach churning. He’d been hoping for this. Itching for something awful to happen each and every time he’d tagged along with her. She’d known that. She had. But she hadn’t expected… How could he still be so… giddy now that it was actually happening? How could anyone actually want—

No. There was time for that later.

If she could just stay in character, anybody who looked at them would simply think Aaron was the overexcited type. They’d hardly notice the other two. And if they did, they’d just think they were nervous. Eden just had to keep up the act until they got outside the bank. Just keep up the act, and everything would be fine.

With that in mind, she turned away from Aaron and clicked her tongue. “We need to hurry back,” she droned, half sighing like her nerves weren’t racing up & down her body at lightspeed. “Or are you three planning to gawk at me all day instead?”

GG and Marsha shared a glance. They needed no explanation for what Eden doing. She was almost grateful Aaron had retold the café story so many times. Almost.

GG was stone-faced, but the wild look in her eyes and the way her chest was beginning to rapidly rise and fall betrayed her fear. Marsha understood too, but she seemed more… torn. Half glad Eden was jumping in to “save the day”, half frightened by the danger she was in.

The way she glanced around the large room, her gaze never staying in one place for long, told Eden she didn’t know who or what to look for. She could only imagine how unnerving that must be. Knowing a bank was about to be robbed, knowing you’re mere minutes away from being held hostage, but not knowing who, or what, or even where the danger was. Worse, not even knowing how to find it.

And Aaron? Aaron just looked excited. Too excited.

Eden huffed at them, not breaking character. “Well, I’m not missing my chance to meet him,” she said turning on her heel. “Pick your jaws up off the floor if you’re coming.”

Marsha was at her side in an instant. “Sorry, it’s just—” She grinned wide, playing along with Eden’s story. “It’s just so hard to believe we’re actually going to meet him! I’m so excited!”

Eden smiled a bit, trying to show her approval while staying aloof. “Yeah, same.”

GG bolted straight past them, not bothering to join in.

Eden tried not to send a frown after her.

She understood GG’s reaction. Trying to get out of the bank as quickly as possible was a smart move. But with the amount of attention Aaron had garnered them before, smart wasn’t good enough. Running out like that only brought them more attention.

And if the bank robbers started to get wise? The whole operation could get kick-started early. They would be antsier, less collected and in control, which meant it was more likely for their plan, whatever it was, to go off the rails and for more people to get hurt.

Eden tightened her face, fighting back a frown as the sentry by the door eyed GG.

His dark, muted suit nearly made him bleed into the walls he leaned oh-so-casually against. Even the crisp white of his shirt – the only pop of “color” on him – seemed to help blend him into his surroundings.

Once GG pushed her way through the revolving doors, his attention carefully slid to the rest of their little group. Though his features were hidden by a black disposable facemask and pair of dark sunglasses, the skepticism in his brow was as clear as day.

This wasn’t his first rodeo.

Eden scoffed louder than necessary, acting as if she barely registered him. “God, she’s pathetic when she gets nervous. Did you see her face? She looked ready to barf.”

Marsha, the lead actress in their show, barked out a laugh so realistically Eden couldn’t tell if she was acting. Either way, she sent her a smirk, like talking behind other people’s backs was their favorite pastime. Marsha caught it and they brought their heads together, snickering like long-time besties.

“Is that it?”

Eden and Marsha paused, turning back to a frowning Aaron. He’d hardly moved from where the four of them had been standing.

Are you only getting us out? his scowl seemed to ask. Shouldn’t you be saving everyone?

The air got knocked out of Eden’s lungs. The scene was so familiar she couldn’t breathe.

You need to save everyone, Frank would chide when she failed. What kind of hero leaves people behind? D’you think Superman leaves people behind?

Pain’s a part of the job, kid, he’d remind her when she cried. You’ll be fine. Good as new by noon tomorrow, I’ll bet. So what’s the problem here?

You were born to be a hero, Edie, he said whenever she tip-toed around stopping. You can take this. You’ll survive it. But other people can’t. They couldn’t. Some days, you’re gonna be all folks ‘ve got. Are you really gonna abandon them in their time of need?

Eden blinked and blinked, trying hard to get the memories of Frank’s frustration and disappointment out of her head.

From the corner of her eye, she could still see two of the bank robbers. One was very natural, dressed in a maintenance worker’s uniform, his toolbox locked tight at his feet. If he didn’t keep glancing at the giant clock on the wall or the sentry by the door with such a mix of nerves and eagerness, she might’ve missed him completely.

The other was wearing a trench coat, standing in a teller’s line. He’d been the first to catch her attention. His stance was too stiff, and he held his big briefcase away from his body in an odd fashion — like it might bite him if he held it too close. The closer he got to the teller, the more his other hand flexed and clenched over his hip. A pistol, if she had to guess.

As she took in the scene a second time, a few security officers quietly started to dip out of the room. They caught each others’ eyes, sharing knowing glances before hurriedly turning away. They lowered their eyes and dipped their heads. Many of them looked ashamed.

Eden took a sharp breath and swallowed— tried to swallow. Her throat was terribly dry.

“Yeah. That’s it.”

Her voice didn’t waver. Her hands didn’t shake. Despite everything in her teetering on a tight rope, a hair’s breadth away from tripping and shattering on the cold hard ground, she appeared just as disinterested as before.

Aaron didn’t move, his mouth pulled down further. Her father’s frown seemed to haunt his expression.

Eden couldn’t breathe, couldn’t risk trying to suck in air. Not when they were this close to the sentry. So she just stared at him, praying for him to come to his senses, for him to huff and brush past her. Something. Anything.

“C’mon, Aaron,” Marsha called, tugging Eden with her as she continued for the door. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth!”

Eden stared blankly at Marsha for a moment too long then quickly set an amused smile on her face.

She wished Marsha hadn’t used Aaron’s name so close to the sentry. Wished Frank— Aaron would stop staring a hole in the back of her head. Wished the bank’s security guard by the door wasn’t purposefully keeping her head turned away from the main hall. Wished the sentry wasn’t watching them so carefully.

Even as they stepped outside and into the soft rain, Eden could still feel the crawl of his gaze across her skin. She shivered, her entire body shuddering from the cold, the wet, his eyes, her nerves—

“Why is no one answering!?” GG, only a few feet from the door, shouted into her phone. “Is the whole GCPD on their fucking donut break!?”

Eden’s heart dropped.

Dropping Marsha’s hand, she raced to GG and latched onto her arm — earning a scream and a near punch to the face.

“Are you crazy!?”

Eden grabbed her again and started pulling her further down the street. “Are you crazy!?” she hissed back. “Shouting about calling the cops in front of a bank about to be robbed? Are you nuts? You really think they ain’t got lookouts out here, too? A getaway driver at the very least?”

GG stared at her. The fear in her eyes grew more palpable with every breath. She shoved Eden off when they reached the end of the block, her chest rising and falling like crazy. With shaking hands, she dialed 911 again, nearly dropping her phone as she did.

 “What the hell’s going on!?” she swore as Marsha and Aaron caught up with them.

“GG,” Eden said firmly, trying to keep a handle on the situation. “You need to calm down. This—”

“Don’t fucking tell me to calm down after you told me there’s a goddamn target on my back!” She clung to herself and started pacing in tiny rounds. “Oh my god, oh my god.” She grabbed Marsha. “We never should’ve invited them! Vigilantes are always trouble— What the hell were we thinking!?”

Marsha pulled GG aside and spoke to her in hushed tones, trying to calm her.

Eden’s mouth was dry. Aside from Aaron, none of her coworkers had actually called her a vigilante before. And even then, Aaron only ever called her an aspiring vigilante.

He turned to Eden now, that hopefulness back in his eyes. “So now what?”

Eager. Excited. How do we save everyone else?

It reminded her of Frank again. This time, back in the early days of her training. Back when she’d been too young to truly disappoint him. When she failed then, her father would simply smile, put her back on her feet, and ruffle her hair.

What are you gonna do now, champ? he’d ask softly. A hero’s got to keep going, y’know.

“We need to... We need to…”

Eden swallowed, trying so, so hard to keep it together. To keep going. She blinked. And blinked. And blinked.

This— This wasn’t her job. She wasn’t a vigilante or a hero or any of that! It wasn’t her destiny — no matter what Frank had said! And even if it was, she’d already long since abandoned it. She was—

Are you really gonna abandon them in their time of need?

Eden shut her eyes tight, fighting back the prickling sensation.

She… She didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to. She didn’t. This wasn’t her job. She wasn’t a hero. She didn’t want this— didn’t choose this life. She wasn’t a… She didn’t want to be… 

Her eyes popped open.

She wasn’t. And she didn’t. But… But she knew someone who did. Who was. Who specifically told her to call if there was trouble.

Inhaling deeply, the weight slowly lifted from her chest. “Okay. Okay, GG’s on the phone with the police, so—”

“But she’s only getting a busy signal!”

Eden flinched at Aaron’s abruptness and sent him a glare. “Yes,” she harshly. “I know that. Thank you.”

He took a step back, frowning in uncertainty. Clearly, in his mind, he’d done nothing wrong. Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe she was just on edge and lashing out.

Eden huffed at herself, hating that idea. If she was going to call Red Hood for help, keep Aaron from running headfirst into danger, and keep him from realizing she knew a real vigilante, she needed her head on straight. She had to be strategic.

The road here was smaller than most commercial streets in the city. Most buildings were shorter too. Newer, taller buildings were only a few blocks away and just north of them was the iconic Wayne Tower. Its height made it visible from just about any point in the city, and it shone like a beacon even on the darkest, stormiest of nights. From this distance, Eden could make out more design flourishes than she could from her neighborhood, the buttresses and arched windows — the way it stood stout, sleek, and powerful like a modern-day keep.

But the buildings around Eden now, aside from the bank, were barely distinguishable from one another. They were older, made of brick, and had a kind of craftmanship one rarely saw in newer builds. Storefronts were dark, dirty, and aged, but hints of Gothic influences peeked out from underneath the gaudy neon signs. There was a dentist, a beauty parlor, several insurance companies—

“There.” She pointed to a jewelry boutique. “We need to go there and tell them what’s happening across the way. They should have some security or something who can fetch more help.”

“I’ll do it,” Aaron insisted getting ready to bolt across the street. “I’ll be right back.”

“Hold it!” Eden said barely catching his shoulder. “You can’t go alone! What if you run into trouble? We don’t know if the bank is the only target. A few of the guards were in on it too, so it’s possible—”

“Wait, what? The security guards?” Marsha shared a look with GG. “You… didn’t mention that before…”

“I—” Eden cast her eyes down. “I didn’t notice until we were on our way out. A lot of them were— Too many of them were leaving for it to be a coincidence…”

Marsha’s eyes looked about ready to pop out of her head. GG was starting to sway, cursing over and over again under her breath.

“So this is an inside job,” Aaron said grinning. “That’s so cool! I wonder if Batman knows about it? Or maybe Red Robin, or—"

“Aaron, please focus on what’s important,” Eden begged. “People are gonna get hurt. More people could be involved than we realize. If any of us goes off alone, we could be walking into trouble, so—”

“So you go!” GG shot off. “You and Aaron are the wannabe vigilantes anyway!” —Eden winced at the insult— “You two go get in trouble!”

Aaron rolled his eye. “Don’t be such a wimp, GG.”

“Fuck you! I’m not a wimp for not wanting to die!”

“GG,” Marsha chided softly.

“Don’t ‘GG’ me! It’s true!”

Marsha took a breath and let it out like a mother struggling to reason with their child. “Just because they’re trying to be vigilantes doesn’t mean—”

“We’re not vigilantes,” Eden forced. “I’m not a vigilante.”

“Not yet,” Aaron half-mumbled.

Eden glared. “I’m not.”

He ignored her. “We'll go warn the store across the way and see if they can help. GG, you just keep trying to get through to the pigs. And Marsha, you can… uh…”

The tall, pretty lead waited for him to finish, but Aaron showed his naivety as he struggled to come up with something for her to do. After a moment he turned to Eden with big, pleading eyes, hoping she’d save him.

She sighed and turned to Marsha. “You two just focus on getting out of here and getting somewhere safe, alright?”

“Yeah, let’s do that,” GG said grabbing Marsha’s arm.

“Oh, that’s no fun!” Aaron complained.

“This ain’t supposed to be fun!” Eden said firmly. She pointed toward the bank. “Those are real people in there, Aaron. This isn’t a game. If you really want to help, you gotta get that through your thick skull!”

He rolled his eyes and put up his hands. “Alright, alright, I get it.”

She doubted it.

“I want to help if I can,” Marsha insisted quietly. “At least a little. Please?”

Eden bit her lip and looked between the three of them. She knew better than to involve normal people in this kind of stuff. They wouldn’t be able to handle themselves if things went sour. There was no encore for them if they got caught in the crossfire and she was too far away to help.

“You… I’d really rather you go, but… If you’re set on it… you can… You can stay here and keep an eye out for the getaway car.”

Marsha nodded.

“But you’ll need to be very, very careful,” she urged. “The sentry by the door already had his eye on us when we left so if he catches sight of one of us again, he might—”

“The what by the door?” GG interrupted, her face still somehow losing color.

“The sent— The lookout,” Eden amended. “If you kick up too much of a fuss it might speed things up or someone might come out and grab you or… y’know… worse…”

Marsha went pale.

“Um, but… I, uh, I didn’t notice anyone outside, so… if you stay right here and out of sight you might— you should be safe. But you’re more than welcome to leave, too!” she offered quickly. “Leaving really is the best option.”

Marsha shared a glance with GG. GG, who stared at her friend with open fear, nodded her head repeatedly. Marsha took her hand and gave it a squeeze. The two of them shared a silent conversation before turning back to Eden.

GG looked ready to cry but Marsha just nodded firmly. “What do I need to do?”

Eden fought back a frown. “That’s…” She sighed. “Okay, fine. Fine. Get your phone out and get ready to take pictures. Keep your eyes peeled for anybody acting odd or doing something crazy, alright? And try to stay inconspicuous. It’ll help keep you off the radar.”

“Inconspicuous,” she repeated pulling out her phone. “Got it. Stay inconspicuous.”

Eden nodded and turned away, patting Aaron’s arm as she did. She pulled out her phone as they briskly walked across the street.

“Shouldn’t we be running?” Aaron said looking over her shoulder.

Eden scowled and put her phone’s screen to her chest. “Why, so we can catch attention from who-knows-who and kick-start the robbery? No thanks.”

“Maaan,” he whined, “is this hero crap always so tedious?”

“Spooked bad guys are reckless bad guys,” she scolded in a hush. “You wanna be the reason they start getting all jumpy and trigger-happy?”

“No,” Aaron grumbled back.

“Good. Now, I need to text someone real quick so—”

“Who, Batman?” he whispered eagerly.

“Aaron—! You—!” She groaned loudly, trying to mask her fluster with frustration. “No, I am not texting Batman. Now, will you please stop treating this like a game?”

“I’m not,” he argued with a roll of his eyes.

“You— Ugh! Fine. Whatever. Just keep me from tripping or getting pick-pocketed, will you?”

He grumbled something but Eden ignored him and pulled up her contacts.

There wasn’t a proper name associated with Red Hood’s number. Nothing fancy or eye-catching either. Just a few capital letters. Something she could easily brush off as an old bank or club back home if anyone ever bothered to ask about it.

Sometimes, in the quiet moments she squirreled away for herself during the day, she pulled up the number just to stare at it. To remind herself she hadn’t been dreaming. There was someone in her corner if things ever went too far sideways. The thought brought her a sense of ease.

The number was familiar to her now. She’d considered memorizing it, but if Hood was anything like Mama, he probably had several numbers and switched between them frequently. Or maybe he used burner phones. Either way, if the information was destined to be obsolete in a few weeks’ time, she didn’t see the point in actively trying to retain it.

But despite all her looking and double-checking and reassuring, she hadn’t actually reached out to him yet. She hadn’t encountered anything vigilante-worthy on her little outings — not even when people had truly needed her help. If she could handle something on her own, she didn’t see a point in bothering Red Hood.

A creep or two here, an oddball there, some random somebody who’d sent up a red flag while she was out with her coworkers was all pretty doable. Even Doris’s ex-boyfriend was nothing she couldn’t handle.

Biting her lip, Eden’s finger hovered over the screen.

Was… Was this something she could handle? It was only just past noon. Too early for most of Gotham’s vigilantes to be out and about… Would he be sleeping? Recovering? What if he’d been hurt and needed to rest? Was this really worth bothering him over?

Eden frowned at herself.

Worth bothering him? This was an emergency, for Pete’s sake! The people in that bank needed help. Help Eden was in no way qualified to give!

This situation was beyond her and she knew it. She wasn’t a hero. Pretending she was only ever ended poorly. And she didn’t have anyone here to help her if— when things went wrong. It’s not like she could ask Aaron to hide her corpse until she had an encore...

...Actually, he’d probably be more than happy to. But if he was convinced she was trying to become a vigilante now, she could only imagine how much worse it would get if he knew about her powers.

If she couldn’t get ahold of Red Hood then she’d… Maybe she’d try to— or at least consider trying to... But… But he’d said— He'd told her to reach out if she was in trouble. And she was in trouble now, so…

Eden took a soft breath. She quickly typed out her message, trying not to give it too much thought. The bank’s address, how it might be an inside job, the possibility of a bomb, asking him to come… She sent it without even checking her spelling.

Not a moment later, she was dialing 911. Hoping to get a bomb squad, an ambulance, and maybe a swat team on backup if Red Hood didn’t— A busy tone.

Eden blinked in surprise.

The line was still busy? Didn’t the city have a small army of emergency service operators 24/7? It certainly ought to.

She spared a glance at the bank and tried again.

Busy tone.

“Hey, can you try calling the police?”

Aaron rolled his eyes, muttering about the GCPD’s incompetence, but did as she asked. He got a busy tone too.

Eden glanced at the bank again. Was there… Were they jamming the signal somehow?

Looking around, people on their phones didn’t seem to be having any issues. So maybe it wasn’t the signal. Maybe it was—

Aaron opened the door to the boutique and held it for her. Eden nodded in thanks and glanced around as they stepped through the threshold.

The store, like the bank, had been built in a bygone era. The low arch of the ceiling melted into elegant pillars with curved tops — their details hidden by caked layers of chipping paint. The floors were decorated with beautiful stone tiles that had been scuffed and worn to hell. The inventory itself wasn’t terribly high-end, but each piece gave off a subtle air of old-timey opulence.

There were two clerks behind the glass counters. One was helping an old, white-haired woman look at a large pair of pearl earrings, but both kept at least one eye on the pair. A security guard sitting in a corner chair, almost hidden behind a pillar, glanced up from his newspaper and did a slight double-take as they walked in.

Eden wasn’t surprised. She and Aaron hardly looked like the sort who could buy lavish, outdated goods — not even from a worn-out place like this. And in Gotham City, folks who worked in places like these always had to be on the lookout for weirdos and potential thieves.

But that made it harder to discern whether these people were feeling threatened or if they were threats…

“Can I help you?” the free clerks asked stiffly.

Eden gave them one more once over before speaking.

“There’s a robbery taking place at the bank across the street, but my friend and I haven’t been able to get through to the police,” she explained, motioning to her phone. “We keep getting the busy signal. Could you try getting through to them?”

The jewelers shared a look.

“A robbery, you say?” the old woman inquired, setting the earrings down.

Eden nodded.

“The guards are in on it and everything,” Aaron added.

Behind her, the security guard’s chair creaked softly as he stood. Eden turned slightly, watching him from the corner of her eye. He folded his paper and strode toward them.

“Some of the guards,” she corrected. “We don’t know for sure if it’s all of them.”

Aaron shrugged.

“You saw them join in?” the clerk asked. She suddenly scowled. “And how exactly did you two get out?”

“Well—” Eden paused as her phone buzzed loudly. A text. She left out a soft sigh in relief. “We—” It buzzed again. She sent it a small frown for interrupting.

“You’re making a serious accusation,” the security guard warned her.

Aaron, who hadn’t noticed the man before, jumped a foot in the air and landed with his fists at the ready.

“It’s a serious situation,” Eden shot back, her arm stretched over Aaron to stop him from doing anything dumb. “At least one of the robbers was armed and holding something he didn’t want close to his body. It might've been a bomb—”

“A bomb?” Aaron echoed in disbelief.

“—and the fact that people can’t get through to emergency services suggests they might be jamming the line somehow.”

The security guard stared down at her, his thin dark brows furrowed. One of the clerks went to the back of the store. The old woman carefully and curiously approached the front window, gazing at the bank across the busy street.

Aaron blinked, shifting his gaze from Eden to the window. His eyes were wide, unsure, and no longer glittering.

“Look,” the remaining clerk began. “I don’t know what you two think you’re up to, but you should get out of here before—”

A flurry of gunshots went off in the distance— Shattering glass— Muffled screams.

A stray bullet flew through the store’s main display window. The old woman tumbled over, shrieking. Aaron screeched out a curse as he flattened onto the ground. Eden and the security guard dropped to their knees.

The security guard jumped back to his feet, barking into a walkie-talkie. Eden bolted behind one of the columns near the wall.

“I can’t get through!” the other clerk called from the back of the store. “Not on the shop’s phone or mine!”

Aaron crawled over to the old woman, now wailing on the floor. Her hand was pressed hard to her hip but there was no blood. She hadn’t been shot. She wasn’t in any immediate danger of dying.

Eden released her breath and pulled out her phone.

RHMR:

Are you still in the bank? How many

of them?

Are you hurt?

Me:

No, I’m at the jewelry store across the

street. At least three but def more. I

think they’re doing something to jam

the 911 hotline. Several people have

tried to call and we only get a busy tone

Eden peaked around the pillar at the sound of grunting.

Aaron and the security guard had the old woman’s arms slung over their shoulders, carrying her toward the clerk ushering them behind the counters for safety.

The bullet’s impact on the window wasn’t as large as she’d been expecting. Instead of a gaping, near-empty window and a glittering floor of shards, the glass only had a single, grapefruit-sized hole. Several large rings circled it and long cracks reached out from it, but the window was still structurally intact. There was barely even enough glass on the floor to notice.

Across the street, the glass in the bank’s revolving doors was in a similar state, but with more holes in several different directions. Eden wondered if all the glass in this city was reinforced like that – impact-resistant or whatever it was called – or if banks and jewelers were just special.

Her phone buzzed.

RHMR:

I’ll have someone look into it.

Another message appeared below it:

You need to get out of there.

Another round of gunshots went off. Eden flinched. She lowered and pressed her body further against the wall. Someone behind the counter screamed. In the muffled distance, people were shrieking.

It ended quickly.

Someone in the store was whimpering. Another sniffling.

Eden blinked, taking in big gulps of air, trying to piece information together.

The span of time between rounds? Almost nonexistent. Had to be an automatic. A short burst of shots meant it couldn’t’ve been more than a quick tap and release of the trigger. A warning.

Was… Was someone trying to play hero in there? If they were and got themselves killed, then— then what? Should she—

Eden shook her head. There… There wasn’t anything she could do for those people. Help was coming. They just had to wait a bit longer. Just a little longer and they’d be saved.

Me:

Please hurry. Someone’s

firing an automatic in there

The phone was unsteady in her trembling hands. She had to do something. Focus on something before she did something stupid.

“Eden!” Aaron stage whispered. He glanced at the window like he expected a gunman to materialize in front of it, then frantically waved for her to join the rest of them behind the counter.

Slowly, she nodded her head.

Right. She wasn’t alone here. These people were frightened. The old lady was hurt. They needed help. Red Hood was right. They needed to get to safety.

GG and Marsha, too. Leaving them behind was a stupid move. A ridiculously idiotic, stupid move. If anything happened to them, they were on their own. The longer they stuck around, the more likely it was they’d get caught up in something— get hurt— killed.

Shaking her head, Eden pulled up Marsha’s number and called her.

How could she be so stupid? So irresponsible? If anything happened to them, it was her fault. Eden could handle things, survive things, other people couldn’t. She knew that. Of all the beliefs Frank had drilled into her head as a child, that one was completely true. Even Mama, who loathed Frank and what he’d tried to make Eden into, was fond of calling Eden strong, a survivor.

But unlike her father, she didn’t believe Eden’s powers were something to use. Not to save other people with, anyway. In her mother’s eyes, there were the strong and there were the weak. The strong adapted and survived. The weak perished. Trying to save “the weak” only went against the world’s natural rhythm.

Eden didn’t agree. Couldn’t agree. Mama called it Frank’s influence, but she didn’t care.

“Hi, you’ve reached Marsha Pereira. Please leave your name and—"

Eden frowned. She hung up, praying Marsha and GG were just too busy hightailing it out of here to notice the phone ringing. Her phone buzzed just as she was about to try again.

RHMR:

I’m on my way. Go out the back

and get as far away as you can.

Eden frowned. Obviously she was going to lead everyone out the back. Did he really think she didn’t know to do that?

She glanced around at the different security cameras embedded into the ceiling. Could he see her right now? He’d gotten his hands on security footage of her before… Maybe that’s why he’d sent her such obvious instructions? Maybe he could see the way she was still hiding behind the pillar and thought she was too stunned to move.

Scoffing, Eden stood and tried calling Marsha again.

Peeking around the pillar, she looked out the window to assess the situation. She gasped, her jaw dropping. Just out of view, out in the street—

Eden stepped out from the pillar entirely, craning her neck to be sure.

“Eden!” Aaron hissed. “Eden, get over here!”

“Oh god… Oh no…”

Out in the street, the young woman was face down. She wasn’t moving.

“Hi, you’ve reached Marsha Pereira. Please—”

Eden bolted for the door. “Aaron, take everyone out the back and get out of here!”

“Wha— Eden!?”

“Marsha!” she cried out as soon as she opened the door. “Oh god, Marsha!?”

The body— Marsha didn’t move. Then it— she shook.

“Oh, thank god!”

Eden tried skidding to a stop next to her, but her foot fell into a small pothole.

She stumbled and topped over. Her hands and knees scraped against the ragged gravel of the street. She hissed, dropping her head and lifting her stinging palms. Slowly, with tears building up in her eyes, she shifted her cut, achinig knees off the ground and carefully sat back.

Looking over, she found Marsha watching her. A small, dirty scrape on her left cheek from when she fell, tears running down her face, a lost look in her eye, shaking like a leaf — but alive.

“Eden?” she croaked.

She took a breath, glad the girl was coherent enough to recognize her. “Marsha. Hi.”

The once fashionable knot of hair upon the girl’s head had fallen to the side and dangled limply by her temple. Long strands of hair hung about framing her frightened, tear-stained face. If it weren’t for her shirt – damp, red, the color slowly spreading – and her hand – pressing somewhere against the side of her torso – Eden might’ve thought she was only on the ground out of freight.

“Here, let’s turn you—” Eden hissed and pulled her hands back to her chest.

“Are— Are you okay?”

Eden looked down at the frightened girl. The lost look in her eye was slightly cleared by worry and a hint of panic. Worry. For her.

Eden’s lip quivered. She scowled and shook her head. She quickly forced her hands back under Marsha, ignoring the way her cut-up palms cried out against the contact.

“Oh, look at you askin’ me that,” she forced. “You’re the one on the damn ground!”

Marsha whimpered as Eden helped her from her stomach onto her back. Eden blinked through her blurred vision, silently threatening her unfallen tears to stay there, damnit. She had no right to start crying now. A couple of scrapes was nothing compared to what Marsha was going through.

As soon as Marsha was on her back, Eden yanked off her deep black coat and pressed firmly against the wound. It wasn’t hard to guess what had happened, but she asked Marsha anyway.

“I… We heard the first shots and GG— GG got so scared, I thought… I said we should follow you and Aaron to the store and we ran and then— and then I—” She sucked in air, her throat tightening as more tears fell.

Eden squeezed the girl’s hand as she spoke. She waited for a tingle. A pull. A painful flare in her torso in the same place as Marsha’s wound. Something. But there was nothing.

She let out a soft, grateful breath.

“You got shot,” she finished gently.

Marsha nodded, a whimper hitching in her throat. “I think—” She gasped, forcing a breath out and in. “I think I’m… dying.”

Eden smiled. With a tender hand, she wiped Marsha’s cheeks and stroked her hair.

“You’re not dying,” she said softly. “I promise.”

Marsha pulled her eyes up, looking small and afraid.

“You’re not dying,” she said again. Her voice was firm this time, leaving no space to argue.

Marsha blinked at her. Even in her state, she seemed to realize Eden wasn’t just telling her what she wanted to hear. She nodded, her head bobbing up and down weakly as more tears spilled down her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. She hissed and shook violently, grasping at her side.

“I’m sorry,” Eden soothed, pressing down a little harder. “I’m so sorry. I know it hurts, I— I know. I’m so, so sorry.”

For what was not the first time, and unlikely to be the last, she wished her powers were more useful. If Marsha was dying, at least she’d be able to do something about it.

Eden frowned at herself. What a horrible thing to think. Wishing someone was dying just so she could save them? Awful.

“I’m sor—”

A loud horn went off as a car maneuvered around the two of them. The driver sent them a dirty look and did a double-take at the blood on the pavement. He peeled off without a second look.

“Let’s— Let’s get you out the street,” Eden said putting Marsha’s hands on top of her coat.

“Are— Are you sure? I… I don’t think I’m supposed to move…”

“Well, normally no, but—” Shrieking tires cut her off.

A black van swerved to a halt in front of the bank. A detail sticker on its side proudly proclaimed the services of Jimmy John’s Public Plumbing Service Co.

The driver had a dark blue uniform on, buttoned all the way up to the collar. His eyes stuck to the bank entrance for a hot minute then glanced up into the grey sky. He started scanning the street and instantly locked onto Eden and Marsha.

“Uh oh…”

An unhappy expression pulled at his face.

“We gotta go,” Eden whispered sharply.

“But—”

“No buts!”

The driver watched them, his eyes narrowed and suspicious, as she pulled a groaning Marsha into a sitting position. She pulled her arm over her shoulders, getting ready to take the brunt of the girl’s weight.

“I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t, I’m dizzy, I—"

“You can!” Eden urged, heaving Marsha onto her feet. “C’mon!”

“I— I can’t— I’m gonna—” She let go of the jacket and clawed towards the ground, starting to heave.

Eden swore as she nearly dropped the girl face-first back onto the concrete. She gently lowered Marsha back to the ground, grabbed her jacket, and started pressing against the wound again.

Fine. Fine! They’ll just stay here, in the middle of the goddamn road, in front of a goddamn bank robbery, and everything’ll be just freakin’ peachy! Not like there are a couple of gunmen about to come pouring out into the street! Nooooo, not at all!

Eden carefully eyed the getaway driver and her surroundings, trying to come up with a new plan. Drag Marsha behind a parked car? Carry her to the jewelry boutique? If she threw up on Eden, Eden would throw up too and probably pass out. Then she’d be completely useless.

Her eyes flickered up to the bank’s revolving doors and her stomach dropped.

The sentry, the man in the trench coat, the maintenance worker, and four security guards stepped out of the bank. Sentry and Trench Coat had automatic rifles pointed at the others, who were carrying several large duffle bags down to the black van.

If she hadn’t noticed the maintenance worker’s looks or the guards’ guilty expressions earlier, they would’ve easily passed as real hostages. One of them was… He was crying.

…Were some of them real hostages?

Cars passed in front of Eden at an alarming speed. People maneuvered around the two of them chaotically or pulled illegal U-turns just before reaching the bank. Wild honking went off in both directions. One car crashed into another, crushing its front like an aluminum can. The side of a different car scraped against another and a side-view mirror snapped off and flew to the ground.

Nobody stopped. Nobody got out to assess the damage or exchange information. A man rolled down their window and started to yell, but once he took in his surroundings, he shut his lip and sped off. Once they noticed the guns, everyone just focused on getting as far away as fast as possible.

During the chaos and confusion, Trench Coat stuffed the “hostages” – and possibly real hostages? – into the back of the van. The sentry moved to help him then stopped as he noticed Eden and Marsha in the street.

No matter how many cars rushed by, or crashes occurred in his periphery, Eden’s figure continued to reflect in his sunglasses. Even as he moved around the front of the van and into the street, the reflection never faltered. His attention never wavered.

“Hey,” the man at the wheel said rolling down his window. “Hey, c’mon, leave ‘em, man! We gotta split!”

Trench Coat, who’d just finished ushering the hostages into the back, called out to him too. “Hey, they’re in!” He looked around, up into the air, then back. “We gotta go before the dayshift gets here!”

“Shut it!” the sentry snapped. The other two shut their mouths immediately. He turned back to Eden. “I recognized this one.”

Her stomach dropped. It didn’t sound like he was talking about inside the bank. What did he mean? How did he recognize her? From where? From what? Her heart hammered inside her chest.

Glancing briefly down at Marsha – pale and greenish, staring at the man wide-eyed – Eden squeezed her hand. Once she had her attention, she set the hand firmly on top of her coat.

“Keep pressing on the wound until help arrives.”

“Wh— What? Ed—”

“It’s fine,” she said sharply, boring her eyes into Marsha’s, all but demanding the girl keep her mouth shut.

Marsha pressed her lips together tightly. One hand clutched the jacket, pressing down as hard as she could in her state, the other held Eden just as tightly.

Eden shook her head. “I’ll be fine,” she whispered. Then she stood, shaking Marsha off when she refused to let go.

The sentry trained his gun onto her — an automatic rifle Eden wouldn’t bother trying to name. She raised her hands slightly.

Taking a deep breath, she channeled her mother. That strong, aloof, I’ll-kill-you-if-your-answer-displeases-me energy that made men falter. Even if only for a moment, a moment of weakness was all she needed.

With that cold, unbothered expression, Eden stepped away from Marsha and walked several paces, putting distance between her and the wounded girl. The sentry raised his gun, an order to halt, and she came to a leisurely stop.

He tilted his head. His covered face made his expression hard to read, but she could catch the muscles of his forehead pulling together. The barrel of his gun lowered by a few centimeters.

Eden gave him a brief moment, then, in her best impression of Louanne Smith’s honey-dipped-poison voice, asked, “And where exactly is it that you recognize me from, hmm?”

The sentry didn’t respond — except for a slight twitch at the way she hummed. Like she was just entertaining the dirt beneath her heel.

Just behind him, she saw the driver grumbling and looking between the two of them, then at the building tops surrounding them.

Trench Coat slammed the van’s backdoors shut. From the corner of her eye, she saw him shuffle his stance and start glancing around too.

“Man, come on!” he hissed. Eden’s heart pounded fiercely in her chest. Her mind went a mile a minute, deciding what to say, how to say it, almost choking at the thought of how badly it could end if Sentry wasn’t really in control of these people. “If you’re gonna shoot her, then just—”

“Boy, hush!” Her voice shot out from deep in her chest, almost reverberating. Softer but just as powerful she said, “The grown-ups are talkin’.”

On the outside, she was all Mama. Formidable, powerful, in control. A lioness on the prowl. On the inside, Eden was praying to every higher power she could think of and desperately focusing on not shaking.

Her eyes never left the sentry’s. He raised his chin slightly. Hopefully impressed.

Trench Coat, on the other hand, swore in her direction. Called her this and that like a child. She heard him fumbling with his gun.

Her heart pounded like a wild drum, but she kept her breath steady and her attention on the sentry. She raised a single brow at him, her face blank aside from a subtle frown. Unimpressed.

He frowned at her, then tossed his head towards Trench Coat. “Hey, relax.”

Trench Coat jerked to an uneasy halt. His head and upper torso shifted like he was looking between the two of them. He threw an arm out towards Eden.

“You kidding me!? After what she just said to me!?”

Eden rolled her eyes and looked away from them as he spoke, shaking her head.

Inside, she hated it. Hated having her eyes off them, not knowing what they were doing or thinking. But it was Mama’s ultimate mark of disrespect. It showed folks they weren’t important enough, worthy enough, for her to even consider a threat.

“I said cool it!” the sentry roared, taking the bait.

“But—!"

Gunfire.

Eden flinched, her knees automatically buckling and nearly bringing her to the ground.

She fought against the instinct, hard. Held her breath. Forced herself to stay standing.

Glass shattered. A slamming sound. Somewhere down the street, a car crashed into something. Several others peeled out faster. The part of the road she could see was becoming clearer and clearer by the moment.

“Man, are you crazy!?” the driver cried out.

Eden took a careful breath, her vision spotting slightly from how tightly she was holding herself. Slowly, almost leisurely, she slid her shaking hands into her pant pockets. With the same sense of ease, she turned back toward the van, a bored expression set firmly on her face.

The sentry wasn’t facing her anymore. His gun was pointed toward where Trench Coat had been standing a few moments before, the concrete there a bit more torn up than it had been. 

Trench Coat was a few feet further, sitting up, looking terrified. There was a pistol to his left, further in the street. His chest rose and fell like Eden’s ached to do. 

“I am in control here!” the sentry said, pulling the gun on his driver who threw his hands up. “You idiots got that?”

Eden took a long, easy breath — and shook slightly as she released it. She took one more, quietly cleared her throat, then swaggered forward a few more steps.

“Oh, very in control,” she said in her mother’s tone. The sentry spun around, his gun trained on her. She came to stop and smiled at him, somehow both coy and cold. “I asked you a question, hon.” The smile dropped. She took her hands out of her pockets and took one more step forward. “Where do you recognize me from?”

The sentry watched her a moment. His head moved back slowly, his brows lifting just enough for his forehead to wrinkle. Then, he chuckled.

“You,” he said in an almost-laugh. He lowered his gun briefly and pointed at her like she’d just told a funny joke. “You’re good.”

Eden deepened her frown, silently cursing. She double-checked her stance, her expression, the way she was carrying herself, her breath. All of it was still in character. Were her hands shaking? No, they weren’t. Were her shoulders hunching? Not at all. What was it then? What was giving her away?

“You had me for a second there, lady, I ain’t gonna lie.”

Eden’s frown pulled slightly at her lips — her frown. Soft. Uncertain. The exact opposite of her mother’s.

She shook her head slightly, like he was speaking nonsense. “What are you talking about?”

“You talk tough and walk tough, but you don’t got it.”

“Got what?”

He reached up and pulled down his sunglasses. Eden’s insides shriveled at the sight.

His eyes were a strikingly bright color, maybe grey or green. But the frightening thing was their look, their intensity. It wasn’t cold like her mother’s — cool, uncaring, dutiful.

His gaze was hot. Burning. Eager.

“The look of a killer.”

Eden’s eyes widened. She swallowed and took a half-step back—

She halted, cursing internally as she realized what she’d just done.

The sentry’s eyes crinkled, smiling beneath his facemask. He’d caught her.

Eden swore under her breath.

She raised her shaking hands again. Any pretense of being Louanne Smith fled from her body. All she was now was her daughter. Her stupid, weak, dumbass daughter.

The sentry readjusted his sunglasses, then readjusted his gun.

Eden hunched slightly, not wanting to get shot, wanting to avoid an Encore if possible. “Will… Will you please tell me where you recognize me from?”

He threw back his head, laughing. In the distance, more cars shifting, tires shrieking, a motorcycle racing and weaving.

“Now you say please? That’s cute.”

Eden forced a smile. It came out like a grimace.

He brought the rifle level with his eye, aiming straight for her head. “Answer’s no, sweetheart.”

She squeezed her eyes shut.

Maybe she wouldn’t feel it. Maybe it would be fast enough to kill her without her knowing. Maybe—

BANG!

Chapter Text

Visions flashed in Eden’s mind.

A group of men standing around her, discussing what to do in hushed voices. A thick arm, all muscle, clenched around her small neck. The mouth of a gun kissing the side of her head. Her legs barely long enough for her heels to kick the tops of the man’s knees as she struggled; her hands uselessly clawing against his hold. Hot tears streamed down her round cheeks, pooling in the crook between his arm and her neck—

Chasing after a man in a ski mask through dark alleys. Her daddy’s plan— his orders swimming in her ears, drowning out Gotham City’s unfamiliar rain and cold. The man’s body turning as he reached an opening. His hand swerving, his gun pointed blindly in her direction—

Chris Henriksen standing above her. His bloodshot eyes filled with a drunk man’s fury. Blood trickling from her stomach, gushing from the holes in her back, pooling in the gravel all around her. His daddy’s pistol reloaded, hovering directly over her. As he glares down at her, neither his hands nor gaze waiver—

Each memory ends the same.

BANG!

A bullet forces its way into her skull for the very first time. It tears through everything in its path. Fire razes her brain until the bullet explodes into the night air. Blood, bone, and muscle fly out after it.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The first bullet whizzes by her arm. The second grazes her leg. The third – by some unholy miracle – plunges directly into her left eye. Bursting her eyeball, splitting the back of the socket, the bullet rips apart veins, carving a tunnel straight through her skull before angrily rupturing into the cold, wet air.

BANG!

Even drunk, the proximity of Chris Hendriksen’s gun allows him a perfect shot to the center of her forehead. Everything goes red. Fire races from front to back. With nowhere else to go, the bullet splatters the back of her head open like a watermelon. Thick, meaty chunks of blood, skin, and muscle form a halo of gore around her shattered skull.

Each memory ends the same.

But there’s a secret. Something precious few can share about getting shot in the head.

During that half a millisecond between the bullet entering and exiting your skull…

You feel it.

No matter how quickly it happens – no matter how little time it takes the bullet to exit the chamber, to smash its way into your skull, to blaze through your brains, and blast into the open air – you feel it.

All of it.

Every cell in its path. Every molecule in its wake. Every last bit of your mind ripped apart by a trail of flaming agony.

You feel it as though this is the one and only thing on this earth you were meant to feel. You feel it like God himself craves your intimate, infinite suffering. Like the Devil grinning as he digs dirty, acid-dipped fingers into your skull.

It is an eternity of anguish veiled in the guise of an instant.

Every. Single. Time.

***

***

***

BANG!

The tears push up against Eden’s eyelids.

She didn’t want to feel it. The ripping. The burning. The unmistakable force of a bullet tearing through her head.

Maybe it would be different this time. Maybe Death would pity her just this once.

Eden already ached for the brief reprieve She brought with Her. Death’s soft and warm embrace, to her, was akin to a mother holding her beloved child. Being dead was only torturous because she – Eden's spirit or soul or whatever she was in that state – knew it was only temporary.

Far too soon, the green, acidic light would come. It would envelop her like a spotlight as the universe demanded another encore. Her senses would return to her as though she were dropped into an icy lake— like she was falling— like she was drowning— like she was being seared— like she was being carved open by a thousand knives— like she was being electrocuted— until she jolted back to life once more.

She waited for the same old song-and-dance to start. Pain, death, more pain. Encore. Pain, death, more pain. Encore.

Only this time… there was no pain.

There was no blast into her skull. No ripping or rupturing of her brain. No burning agony like there should be.

There was screaming, sure. Cursing, crying, and screaming all around her. But no pain. No Death.

...and no green light.

With great effort, Eden forced one eye to open. Then the other. The man who’d been ready to shoot her down, the sentry, was no longer standing in front of her. In fact, he was barely standing at all.

He clutched at the handle of the driver’s door, trying desperately to open it despite leaning heavily against it. His other arm hung limply at his side — streams of red pouring down its mangled remains and onto the road. His dark sunglasses were gone. His once eager eyes now wide and fearful as he stared down the street.

He was screaming. The van’s driver was screaming. The man in the trench coat was scampering into the passenger seat. And also screaming.

BANG!!— Eden flinched violently —POFWISHHHH!!

BANG!! POFWISSSSHHHHHH!!

Her eyes saw the van’s back tires burst and rapidly deflate, but her mind couldn’t make sense of… well... anything.

“E–”

She’d been shot, hadn’t she?

Hadn’t she?

Her hands flew across her head, madly trying to find where she’d been hit. As if she’d somehow missed the whole thing. Pain, death, pain, encore... right? But when she pulled her hands back to look for fresh blood, they were clean. Covered in already-healing scrapes, dirt, and nearly dried blood, but nothing fresh. Nothing that indicated the flood she knew had to be pouring from her head.

She felt something wet streaming down her chin—

“—den!”

—but it wasn’t red. It was clear. Not blood. Water.

Water…

Tears?

Was she…? Her fingers wiped at her eyes. She was. But when had she started crying?

“E—”

The sentry’s gun was on the ground — she was able to process that. The van’s engine screaming out, too. The deflated tires smoking and sparking as the metal wheels skidded against the road, the driver attempting to peel out.

“—den!”

More gunfire. The metal wheels screeching. The whir of a small but powerful engine getting closer—

“EDEN!!”

A piercing shock ran through Eden’s body. Her head whipped toward the person screeching her name.

A young woman on the ground. Her face terrified. Streams of tears running down her cheeks, leaving a clear trail.

Marsha.

It was Marsha. She was crying, and bleeding, and reaching for… for Eden.

Unthinking, Eden bolted toward her, her arms out and ready.

She all but slammed her knee into the ground to grab Marsha. She yowled, as her skin ripped against the pavement and a sharp pain cleaved through her kneecap. The violent sensation raced up and down her leg, making the whole thing rattle – but it didn’t stop her from swooping Marsha into the air just as violently.

Her wild mind spun around dizzy memories of small hogs, misshapen bales of hay, huge sacks of flour… Marsha would’ve been easy to carry in comparison, but cracks in Eden’s kneecap seemed to spread wider and deeper with each step. The air burned around her knee as something wet gushed down her leg. Eden gritted her teeth, her tears nearly blinding her as she hurried for the row of cars parked along the street.

Tires skid harshly across the pavement, coming to a shrieking halt right behind her. The men’s screaming amplified to the sound of glass smashing and metal breaking. Eden almost screamed too, her heart beating in her throat and roaring in her ears.

As soon as she rounded a car, her leg finally gave out. She collapsed — both she and Marsha letting out pained gasps as they hit the ground.

Wincing, struggling to breathe, Eden dragged her leg closer and maneuvered Marsha onto her back. Her knee burned. It ached. Still, her blurry eyes and trembling hands flew aimlessly over Marsha.

Pressure. They needed to apply pressure. Eden’s hands jerked and pressed down against the coat still covering Marsha’s wound.

She heard herself muttering, stumbling over her words as she told Marsha why it was important to keep her level, why they had to keep pressure on the wound, telling her they were okay, promising everything would be okay.

Marsha was still crying. Choking down gasps of breath. Her big brown eyes flickered over Eden’s shoulder. Her mouth dropped.

“Are you two—?”

Eden launched her elbow towards the voice, shrieking as she did.

The stranger blocked it easily, swearing. She went for the throat.

“Hey!” He grabbed her hands. “Calm down!”

She thrashed and glared at the man before coming to an abrupt halt. “The… The yellow Pow-Pow Ranger?”

Even as she said it, she knew that wasn’t quite right. The TV character’s costume was an equal mix of yellow and white, but this man wore yellow and black. The only white at all in his uniform was some symbol spread across his chest. But at first glance, his costume looked close enough to the TV character’s that it made Eden’s racing mind stop and short-circuit.

The yellow and black helmet he wore didn’t cover the lower part of his face, so Eden could actually see his mouth go from a half-grimace to something closer to a pout.

“I am not the Yellow Pow-Pow Ranger.” 

It sounded like he’d gotten the comparison before …and like he was young. But that was all she could come up with in her state. 

She blinked at him. “Oh.”

A moment ago, her thoughts had been moving too fast to make sense of things. Now, they were slower than molasses, and she still couldn’t make sense of things.

The stabbing ache in her knee jabbed its way to the forefront of her mind. The pain was less intense than before, the mending already underway. But despite how quickly her body was healing this time, she could still feel the throbbing of the cracked bone and the sting of cool air on torn-open skin.

“Right,” she said blinking through the conflicting sensations. “Sorry, hon. I just— You do sorta look like—” She glanced down at his costume, at the white on his chest. It looked sort of... familiar. It took a moment for her brain to recognize it, then—

“Oh!”

A bat!

“There’s a hostage situation going on inside!” she said pulling her hands from his grasp and pointing toward the bank. “All the robbers are out, but I’m pretty sure there’s a bomb keeping the rest of the—”

“It’s alright, ma’am,” the boy said raising a hand. “I’ve already been briefed on the situation.”

“Alright, good. But listen, hon, there’s people inside that van and they’re—”

“Ma’am, it’s alright,” he soothed, moving his hands in a calming gesture. “We know about the hostages there, too.” He moved to help Marsha put more pressure on her wound, who was looking up at him like he was made of starlight. “We’ll get them out soon as Red Hood finishes restraining the—”

“Hood?!”

Eden shot up like a rocket. Her healing knee let out an audible CRACK! at the sudden movement. She hissed, stumbling against the car to stay upright.

Across the road, the van's driver door hung loosely on its hinges; its window shattered. There was a sleek black motorbike not far from their hiding spot. Long streak-marks from the tires stretched down the street by several yards. 

Red Hood was there, standing almost exactly where Eden had been cowering only a minute ago. The red symbol on his jacket stretched across the broadest part of his back like an unbreakable shield.

She took a soft breath at the sight, her heart picking up speed.

All three of the men were on the ground before him. Two of them – the driver and the man in the trench coat – were groaning, all black and blue. The third – the sentry – was trying to crawl away, inching toward one of the rifles left in the street.

Red Hood followed him, his pace slow and deliberate. Gun in one hand, he towered over the man like an expert hunter readying for the kill.

When the sentry turned to look up at him, Eden saw his eyes. Once burning and eager to take her life, the man’s eyes were now watery and wide with the fear of losing his own. His bloodied, mangled arm hovered in the air as he blubbered for mercy.

A twisted part of her was glad to see it.

“Hey, calm down!” Not-Yellow-Pow-Pow-Ranger yanked her back into hiding with one hand, making her yelp. “I know he’s a little scary, but Red Hood’s a good guy right now — promise!”

Frowning, she smacked his hand away. “I know that!”

The boy’s lips opened then pursed slightly like maybe she’d confused him. Or upset him? It was hard to tell without the rest of his face showing.

“Hon, listen. Those hostages—”

“Signal.”

“—huh?”

“My name’s Signal,” he said.

“Signal?” she repeated, not sure she’d heard him right. “…That’s your hero name?”

He left out a half-offended scoff. “Damn, okay.”

“Oh, sorry! I’m sorry, hon, I shouldn’t’ve said it like that, I just—” Eden stopped, shook her head wildly, then grabbed the boy’s shoulders. “Signal, LISTEN! Those people in the van are not hostages! Not all of them, at least. More than half of them were in on it — the guy in the maintenance uniform for sure!”

Signal’s demeanor changed instantly, and she let go as his shoulders broadened. “You’re sure about that?” He sounded older, more serious.

“Yes. A hundred percent. So could you please tell Hood— uh, Red Hood so he doesn’t end up caught in some trap he doesn’t need to get caught in? I don’t—” The sudden thought made Eden’s heart race. She swallowed dryly. “I don’t want him getting hurt.”

Signal stared at her a moment, his jaw going lax. Then he shook his head and leaned a fraction closer. “Sorry, what?” He sounded young again, like he didn’t understand what she was saying.

Eden bristled. “I said, I don’t want him to get hurt!”

He nodded quickly, mostly to himself. “Yuh-huh, that’s what I thought you said.” He turned his head to look directly at the car beside them, glanced back at her, then the car door again.

She furrowed her brows and glanced at the car too. What in the world was he looking at? The shoddy paint job??

“Signal,” she snapped. He jumped slightly, fully returning his attention to Eden. “Are you gonna help Red Hood or not?”

“Right!” He immediately cleared his throat. “Right,” he said in his more mature voice. “Of course, ma’am. Don’t worry.”

He shifted, looking down at Marsha whose eyes were now drooping as she looked up at him. He was still pressing Eden’s coat onto her gunshot wound.

He opened his mouth, probably to tell Eden to take over, but stopped as she immediately and wordlessly did just that. Warry of Marsha’s drowsiness, she also grabbed her hand and squeezed tight.

Signal stared at her for half a moment, but when Eden looked at him with a lifted brow he jumped to his feet.

“Just keep that up. Paramedics should be here soon.”

Then, just like that, he bolted around the car, calling out to Red Hood. His words were harder to make out, but she could catch snippets of what she’d told him. There was a familiar, almost robotic sound that could only be Hood’s voice scrambler that replied. Eden let out a small sigh of relief.

There was quiet, followed by the sound of the van doors opening. Then what might’ve been Red Hood speaking and some muffled talking. Then a whole slew of noises Eden couldn’t quite follow. Then sudden, rapid gunfire.

Eden shrieked, throwing herself over Marsha, hiding as much of her as she could from any more stray bullets.

Silence.

Eden popped up, breathing heavy as she got to her knees and attempted to peek through the car windows. She had to see what was happening. She had to see what was happening. She needed to know if Red Hood— needed to see— needed to help him if he—

“Eden?” Marsha called in a whisper, snatching her attention.

The girl’s dark eyes kept fluttering, struggling to stay open. Even so, Eden could see the uncertainty in them, the fear.

“It… It’s alright.” She took a deep, shaky breath, squeezing Marsha’s hand tighter. “You’re going to be okay,” she promised, still feeling no tug, no blooming pain in her own abdomen. “You’re safe. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Marsha’s eyes moved back and forth lazily, trying to focus on Eden’s. “Thank you…” she breathed.

Eden started to frown – it was her fault this had happened; she was just taking responsibility for her actions – but covered it with a gentle smile. She could correct Marsha later, once things finally calmed down.

There were sirens now, rapidly approaching from all sides. She heard a motorcycle roar to life on the other side of the car, and lifted herself until she could just peek through the windows.

Red Hood was sat on the black motorbike, watching Signal race into the bank. He looked down at the bike, then shifted his gaze in Eden’s direction. She could tell the exact moment he’d spotted her, his body perking up as his helmet turned toward her fully. It made her smile.

She gave him a small, grateful nod, trying to tell him they were okay.

He stared at her, then glanced behind as red and blue lights appeared down the street. After one more quick look, he revved his bike and took off.

Eden’s smile grew. She sent it down to Marsha, who was barely keeping her eyes open. She squeezed her hand again.

“You’re going to be okay,” she cooed as she started to drift off. “You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

“Ma’am, another ambulance on its way,” the cop repeated. His glare seemed to grow deeper each time he spoke. “Just wait a few—”

“I don’t need an ambulance,” Eden shot back, her accent getting thicker as they continued to argue back and forth. She readied to shove her way past him. “I need to be with my cousin! Wherever she’s goin’, I’m goin’!”

The cop tried to stop her, but Eden grabbed his forearm and bicep, put her foot where her mama taught her, and propelled herself forward. He stumbled from the momentum, allowing Eden to awkwardly swing around him. She fumbled her footing and fell ass-first into the ambulance. Pain shot up her tailbone, but at least she was in the damn thing.

Quick as she could, she grabbed the rail beside the small bench on the wall and hoisted herself into the seat beside one of the paramedics. In the same moment, the cop righted himself and turned toward her with his hand on his holster.

She gave him her best glare. “She’s my cousin,” she said again, warning him this time.

Usually, when Eden called someone a cousin, what she was really saying was, “This person’s part of Paradise Farms; you mess with them, you’re messing with Louanne Smith.” That was usually enough to keep most folks from giving them any trouble. But this time, she didn’t have her mama to hide behind. So what she was saying instead was, “This person’s well-being is my responsibility; if you don’t knock it off, I might do something stupid.”

The cop seemed to pick up on this, his glare getting even angrier. His hand twitched above his gun.

Eden’s grip on the rail tightened reflexively. She’d had enough guns and cops for a lifetime.

“Alright, lady—"

“It’s fine, Dan,” the older parametric snapped. “We don’t have time to waste on this crap. This woman needs help, now.”

The cop, Dan, shifted his gaze to the man, then to Marsha. When he set his stare back on Eden, she jutted her chin in defiance. He glared and turned to the paramedics.

“Don’t be afraid to sedate this one. Some time in the psych ward might do her some fuckin’ good.”

Eden held her tongue. She did her best to aim her glare to the floor as the cop finally shut the back doors. She sighed, some of the tension easing out of her.

“Thank you,” she said to the parametric as the siren began to wail and the ambulance started to move.

He didn’t respond but sent her a fleeting glance to show he’d heard her.

Careful not to get in their way, Eden reached out and took Marsha’s hand again. She hadn’t stopped holding it until that jerk cop had tried to pull her away.

 But she had to stay with Marsha. Just in case she took a sudden nosedive and Eden needed to trade with her. Taking on someone else’s death wasn’t fun – when was dying ever fun? –, but it was the closest her powers ever came to “healing” others, so it was better than nothing.

Several long minutes of holding Marsha’s hand and nothing continued to happen. Even after all this time. Even after losing consciousness. Still nothing.

Eden let out a sigh of relief, earning an odd look from the paramedics. She smiled at them, feeling more sure than ever that Marsha was going to be okay.

The two frowned at each other. The younger paramedic shook her head subtly at the man, and they quickly went back to work. They probably thought Eden was crazy, or maybe in denial. But it was true. Despite everything, Marsha wasn’t dying. And that meant she’d be okay.

Eden took a deep, deep breath. Her lungs seemed to expand. Her bones settled as her muscles relaxed.

Her mind went back to Signal and Red Hood. Aside from that glimpse of Red Hood as the cops arrived, she hadn’t seen him. Nor had she seen any sign of Signal after he ran into the bank.

She hoped they were still okay. She hoped they’d been able to get away without any trouble. Some old piece of Frank’s “training” rang out in her mind, reminding her that cops were usually only ever happy to see heroes if they’d done something extraordinary. Halting a bank robbery, for all it was worth, was not extraordinary. Especially not in Gotham City.

That made her think about Aaron… He’d been eager to help before, but how had he actually faired on his own? Was the old lady alright? Was he? What if he’d been hit by a stray bullet too?

She sighed. It was wrong of her to dump the safety of all those people on him like that. She didn’t have much choice after seeing Marsha facedown in the street, but still. The thought of anything happening to him or any of those people made her insides tense all over again.

She picked her coat up off the floor to grab her phone. The paramedics had tossed it aside as soon as they had the tools to properly care for Marsha’s wound. Pulling it onto her lap, Eden frowned at how much heavier it was than usual.

She’d bought it not long after Red Hood had “saved” her life — the night he’d given her those awful stitches. Very purposefully, she’d sought out a coat in a warm, rich shade of black. She’d been hoping the color wouldn’t show a lot of blood whenever she got hurt again. No sense in buying a new one every time she bled out, after all.

Looking it over now, the search definitely paid off. Despite having pressed it against Marsha for so long, Eden couldn’t spot any blood on her coat. Only when she looked closely could she see signs of it at all. And even then, she wasn’t totally sure.

Curious, she tested the fabric with a soft squeeze— then gasped. Blood poured out, running through her fingers and down her arm like rainwater.

Chapter Text

“I just…” The older woman sighed through the speaker. “I just don’t know what else I should be doing…”

“Mrs. Pereira, you stop that talk right now,” Eden said ardently, phone pinned to her ear by her shoulder.

She pulled the small casserole dish out of the oven with one hand, turned, and carefully set the final tray of cookies in with the other. She gave a soft kick to the oven door to lift it, then bumped it with her hip to shut it completely.

“You are doing everything a mama ought to be doing right now.”

After quickly setting the timer again, she glanced around for somewhere to put the piping hot casserole. She swapped it with the loaf of rosemary sourdough that had been resting on top of the stove, then placed the bread tin on the corner ledge of her sink, carefully balancing it on both edges.

“You’re with your baby,” she continued, peeling back the tin foil on the casserole just enough to make sure the edges were lightly browned. “That’s all you need to be doing.”

The woman sniffled, and Eden silently prayed she wouldn’t start crying again like she had earlier. Without anyone around to console her, she could easily imagine Marsha’s mother collapsing in on herself from those huge sobs.

The two had spent all day together in the ER’s waiting area. For hours, they fruitlessly clawed any news they could out of the doctors and nurses there — many of whom had a deep, soul-crushing tiredness about them.

As the day slowly turned to night, and more people flooded the emergency room, Eden quickly gathered that working in an ER in Gotham City had to be one of the most grueling jobs in the world.

Eventually, she just couldn’t handle it.

Her nerves had been shot ever since she realized just how much blood Marsha had lost. She couldn’t wrap her head around how someone— a normal someone, could lose so much blood and not be dying. It made her panic. Made her wonder if her powers had devolved, if she could no longer do trades, if Marsha was really… if she really might…

Eden couldn’t stay. She had to leave. Had to go… anywhere.

Do something beyond sitting and watching bloodied victim after bloodied victim come limping through those hospital doors. She managed to stay until Marsha was transferred to the ICU, then she ran to the store like her sanity depended on it.

Marsha’s mother stayed behind, of course. Her tears mostly dry by the time she was finally allowed to sit at her daughter’s bedside.

Since they’d met, Eden couldn’t help wondering how her own mother might’ve handled the situation… She had trouble picturing her mama having those huge, body-wracking sobs Mrs. Pereira had been overcome with. She had trouble picturing her mama cry at all, really.

No, her mama probably would’ve sat there stone-faced the entire time. But she’d have been busy in her head. Working through a million ideas of what had happened, who was to blame, and – of course – how to make sure Eden could never, ever be hurt by them again.

She swallowed at the thought.

“Um, if you’d like, I can come back to the hospital with some of this food in a while,” she offered, mixing the hot cocoa on the stove. “And we can switch off for the night if you—”

“No,” Mrs. Pereira said sharply. “…Thanks— Thank you,” she struggled. “But I’m staying here until Marsha wakes up.”

Eden fought back a sigh, switching spoons to stir a simmering sugary mixture. “I understand, ma’am. We will need to figure out something for all this food, though,” she said lightly. She tapped the spoon against the side of her little pot and smiled like they were standing face-to-face. “I’ve made so much, I might have to sleep standing upright!”

It almost wasn't a joke. So far, she’d made the Pereira family the casserole cooling on the stovetop, the two larger ones in the fridge, two loaves of banana bread, the rosemary sourdough balancing over her sink, a loaf of sourdough without rosemary, a tin of blueberry muffins, a loaf of cinnamon sweet bread (about to be glazed), and two batches of two different cookies.

The last batch wasn’t for them, but at this rate, it didn’t really matter. Her kitchen table was overrun, her fridge full, and all but one of her counters – her workspace – was covered in drying dishes she’d yet to wipe down and put away. If she kept this up, she might have to start putting food on the floor — which she would absolutely not be doing, thank you. She already didn’t know how she was going to carry everything come morning…

Even so, she found it hard to make herself stop. She hadn’t been able to bake like this since she’d left the farm. It was like stretching out an old muscle; falling back into step with an old song you never quite forgot.

She’d missed it.

“You really didn’t have to do that,” Marsha’s mother sighed. The soft tone in her voice quietly said she appreciated it all the same.

“It’s no trouble at all,” Eden insisted, pouring the hot sugar mix over the cinnamon bread. “And honestly? I needed this. Baking helps me feel… grounded when things are too crazy. Plus, you won’t have to worry about food for the next few days, either! It’s not all sweets,” she added quickly. “The casseroles are chock-full of veggies and protein, promise.”

Mrs. Pereira sighed again. Thankfully, it was a lighter sound than before. “I appreciate it, Eden. I’m lucky Marsha has such a… a good… friend.”

Eden grinned, almost laughing at the hesitation. Mrs. Pereira knew she and Marsha weren’t much more than colleagues. In that way, the older woman was like every other Gothamite Eden had met thus far: not quite sure what to think of someone who went out of their way for people they hardly knew. Now that she understood it better, their fears and concerns, Gothamites’ confusion towards her was actually kinda funny.

“Like I said, it’s no trouble, ma’am. You just focus on Marsha, and I’ll focus on taking food off your plate for the next few days. No, wait— I mean, I’ll take food off your…” She shut her eyes and lightly shook her head at herself. “…You know what I mean.”

Mrs. Pereira let out a small, strained sound. Under better circumstances, it might’ve been a chuckle.

Eden fought back a soft sigh. Nothing she said or did right now would really be much help until Marsha woke up…

“Would you like to stay on the line, Mrs. Pereira, or should I let you go?”

“I’ll be fine.” She paused. “…But thank you.”

“Of course.” Eden put her free hand on her hip, scanning the kitchen for anything else to do before putting away dishes. “Well, you do your best to get some rest, then. I’ll talk to you—!!” Eden shrieked and instinctively lurched away from the figure sitting at her kitchen table.

Her phone flew out of her hand as she snatched something long from the drying rack. She swung it back, ready to throw it full force like a throwing knife or her old batarang— then halted.

Her phone hit the floor with a loud SMACK!

She blinked rapidly as her mind finally caught up to her eyes.

It was Red Hood sitting at her table, his back against the wall like last time. He watched her reaction silently, arms crossed.

“HOO—YOU!!” She flailed her makeshift ‘throwing knife’ – a whisk – at him. “You scared me near to death, you jerk!” 

From the floor, she could hear Mrs. Pereira calling her name urgently, asking what had happened, if she was okay. She nabbed the phone and put it back to her ear.

“Mrs. Pereira? Hi, no, I’m alright. I’m sorry, my…” She glanced over at Red Hood, unsure for a moment, then scowled. Shaking her deadly whisk at him once more, she said, “Someone rude snuck up on me and spooked me!”

He gave a very small sound without moving. A scoff just loud enough for her to hear. But that was it. He otherwise stayed perfectly still and silent.

Eden tilted her head slightly. Hood could be frightfully quiet when he wanted to be, she knew that. And she knew he probably wanted to avoid his distinct robotic voice being picked up on a call, but… why was he being so still?

“You’re okay?” Mrs. Pereira asked.

“Hm? Oh, yes!” she said coming back to reality. She put the whisk and several other dishes away to focus on something else. “Yes, all’s fine here.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

There was a long pause. When it came again, Mrs. Pereira’s voice was barely a whisper. “Is someone making you say that?”

Eden furrowed her brow, not sure she’d heard correctly. Then she put two and two together. This was Gotham, after all.

“Oh! No, no, I really am okay! He— It’s just my friend. He really did just spook me, honest. We’re fine, Mrs. Pereira. Really.”

“If you say so…”

Eden smiled politely, as if the woman were fussing right in front of her, then looked to her silent guest for reassurance.

Hood was still just watching her, his arms locked over his chest, one foot crossed over a knee. The eyes of his helmet seemed lower than usual — angrier, maybe. But that was probably just her imagination… Right? Those white ‘eyes’ were made to look angry. The fact that he was being so quiet and so still and sitting in a way that made him look more intimidating than normal totally didn’t mean… anything…

…Right?

“Yep!” she said in a high pitch, turning away. “We’re totally fine! I’ve got to go now, but please call me right away if anything changes with Marsha. I’ll be up a few hours more.”

“Alright…” Mrs. Pereira agreed cautiously. “I’ll back call in a few minutes to check on you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“I’m calling you,” she said, her voice unmistakably that of a truly seasoned Gothamite. “And you better answer.”

Eden fought the urge to huff and roll her eyes. It might not have been her mama’s tone, but it was a mama’s tone. And there’s only so much arguing you can do with one in Mama-Bear Mode — especially when she already has an injured cub.

“Yes, ma’am,” she said evenly. As soon as they hung up, she turned to Red Hood. “That was Marsha’s mama — the girl I was with earlier? She’s gonna call back soon ‘cause she thinks I’m in trouble.”

Hood scoffed, loudly this time. “You?” He finally moved, shifting his body forward and uncrossing his arms to set a hand atop his knee. “Please. You are trouble.”

Eden might’ve frowned if it weren’t true. Instead, she just glanced away. “I know.”

“What were you thinking?” he pressed, his modified voice turning impatient. “I told you to go out the back and get out of there.”

“I know,” she mumbled again, still not looking at him. Nervously, she turned off the burner under the hot cocoa… then checked the rest. “I was going to—”

Off.

“—I really was—”

Off, too.

“—Even before you told me to—”

Off. All four of them.

“—that’s what I was gonna do…”

“Then why the fuck were you standing in front of that shithead in the middle of the street?” Hood said getting to his feet. “Not sure you noticed, Ede, but he had a fucking gun aimed at your head!”

She flinched. At first, it was just the image from earlier – the sentry, his grinning eyes, the rifle – but in a flash, it changed to Chris Hendrickson. His gun hovering above her.

The scenes shifted back and forth, back and forth, and back again. They started to blur.

The sentry, Chris Hendrickson; the rifle, the pistol; the hungry look in the man’s eyes, the bloodshot rage in Chris’s.

Her stomach let off little spurts of pain, echoes of the bullets that had once ripped through her. Her forehead pulsed with a similar ghost-like ache, and at the base of her neck a tight, tangled sensation started to grow.

Shutting her eyes, Eden shook her head forcefully, trying to expel the images from her mind.

“I know,” she pleaded. “But—”

There was Marsha, face down in the street. Her body still. The tears running down her cheeks. Terror in her big brown eyes. Reaching— Begging Eden to help her.

Eden’s hands repeatedly pressing her coat against Marsha’s wound. The blood cascading through her fingers, down her arm. Bloodied arms that held Mrs. Pereira as she wailed, clinging to Eden like a lifeline. Bloodied legs racing through doors, down streets, up nine flights of stairs.

Even cleaned, her body had not felt like her own until what had once been covered in blood was covered in flour instead.

Marsha could have died… She still could. If Eden hadn’t been there, Marsha would’ve died for sure. She—

No.

No.

If she had done better— been better— was better, Marsha wouldn’t have gotten hurt in the first place. If she’d made them all leave like she should have, all of this could’ve been avoided.

But she hadn’t, so instead—

Tears.

Blood.

Guns.

“I couldn’t just—” Eden threw her shaking hands in the air. “I couldn’t just leave her lying there!” she shrilled. “For pity’s sake, Hood, she could’ve been dying! I-I couldn’t— I wouldn’t’ve been able to— She was hurt, goddamn it!”

“Eden,” he said firmly. “You could’ve gotten hurt.”

“Oh, to hell with me!” she said flinging the ridiculous notion away. “That poor girl got shot— shot! And now she’s holed up in some hospital and won’t wake up ‘til who knows when — or if she even will! And— and it’s all my fault!”

“Eden.” Despite the scrambler modifying his voice, Hood was clearly struggling to keep his own emotions in check, never mind hers. “You didn’t shoot that girl. You—”

He let out a high, sharp noise that, through the modifier, sounded like something had glitched.

“No, you decided to confront the bastard who did. All while he had the same gun pointed at you! Do you have any idea how stupid that was!?”

Eden stared at the red bat on his chest, her breathing getting more erratic as her racing mind twisted through everything he was saying. Everything that had happened today. Everything that always happened and just kept fucking happening no matter what she did.

Every fuck up. Every failure.

Every scolding. Every disappointed look.

She always failed. Always did the stupid thing. Always hurt someone one way or another. Why was it so damn hard to do anything right?

“You could’ve died.”

So what? She always came back. No one cared if she’d die. If she'd get hurt. She always healed! Always got another encore. Another chance to screw up. And another chance. And another. And another. And—

“Don’t you get it? Another second, you would’ve been—” He let out an ear-grating sound as he turned away, just to whip back again.

He was breathing heavy. Was he waiting for her to answer? She couldn’t tell, her eyes unseeing. What was he getting so worked up for, anyway? Everything she did was stupid. What made this stupid move any different from all the rest?

“You can’t do that shit, Eden!”

…Can’t?

Her mind circled around that word.

Can’t.

Can't wasn’t the right word. It wasn’t what he always said. He always said…

“You can survive things no one else can.”

Right. That was it. Can. She can. And she could. She had to…

“It’s your destiny, Champ.”

That was what he kept saying, no matter how hard it got. No matter how stupid she messed up. So why now was he saying she couldn’t? There was no way he’d stop pushing her. He never stopped pushing her. He always… Unless...

“I thought you were better ‘n this! You’re supposed to be better than this!”

Had she finally fallen too far? Failed too greatly? Did she…? Was he…?

“I’m just so disappointed in you, Eden…”

The words echoed like a shotgun. Hit her chest like one.

She opened her heavy mouth, sounds constricting themselves, trying to squeeze past the narrow opening in her throat.

“E—”

It all spun through her mind like a cyclone.

Her daddy’s smiles, his hopes & dreams for her; his anger, his disappointment, his betrayal. Every word he’d ever said. Everything he’d ever drilled into her.

She had to help people. She had to. It was her responsibility. Nobody else had her guarantee— nobody—

Marsha.

“—den…?”

Marsha didn’t have her guarantee.

Marsha’s tears, her blood; the cars honking and weaving in the streets; glass shattering, metal smashing.

Marsha shivering, Marsha begging, Marsha crying.

The certainty— the danger in the sentry’s voice as he stared them down; the smile hidden beneath his mask; Eden’s reflection centered in his dark sunglasses.

“I recognize this one.”

What did that mean?

“E—"

“I recognize this one.”

From where?

“Stupid bitch.” Chris snarled down at her, his aim steadier than a drunk man’s ought to be. “You and Kit both… You deserve this.”

“—den?”

“You deserve this.”

“You deserve this.”

Her father’s final frown, holding open the door of his truck, ready to disappear from her life forever. “I’m just so disappointed in you, E—”

“Eden!”

Her eyes snapped up to a set of blazing white slits. Angry eyes surrounded by red. Blood red. Rage.

The white-hot eyes stared down at her, watching closely, judging as she struggled to keep them in focus.

The threat of tears burned her own eyes.

He was mad at her. So mad at her. So disappointed. And she deserved it. She deserved all of it. Because she just wasn’t good enough.

She never was.

Why was she so stupid? So useless? Why wasn’t she better? Why—

Hands grasped her shoulders.

The eyes— The man knelt down. Just a little. Just enough to make holding his gaze easier.

Eden steeled herself, ready to hear it. Ready to hear everything he would say.

How he knew now that she was just a sad, stupid, weak, ungrateful little girl. How that was all she’d ever be. How much she’d disappointed him. How her incompetence, her refusal to truly accept her destiny, would end in so many people suffering needlessly.

But she would take it. She was strong enough for that at least. And she wouldn’t cry. Not this time. Not again.

“Eden…” The voice was strong but gentle. Buzzing in an odd way she couldn't fully comprehend.

She clenched her fists tighter.

He didn’t need to soften the blow. Not for her. Not now. She could take it this time. Really. And she wouldn’t cry.

She would not cry.

She would not call out after him. She would not chase his truck down the drive. She would not let a single tear fall for him. She wouldn’t. She would stay still as the mountains, dry as a drought. She would—

“Breathe.”

Eden startled.

…And waited.

Waited for the anger to come pouring out. The disappointment and frustrations to get piled on…

…But they didn't come.

He just repeated himself. Soft. Gentle. “Breathe.”

Why was he… Wasn’t he mad? Hadn’t she let him down? She must have. She must have. That was all she ever did now, so… So why wasn’t he—?

“You’re okay.”

Her eyes widened. She became aware of her jaw first, then her fists; all of her so tense, her very soul felt ready to snap in two.

“Just breathe for me.”

She stared at him, still struggling to grasp what he was saying. What he wasn’t saying. Her lower lip trembled. Words struggled to cross it, tripping over air her lungs couldn’t taste. “A-Aren’t— Aren’t y— Aren’t y-you—?”

A strong squeeze on her shoulders. The hands holding her were firm but warm. And if there was some kind of anger hidden in their hold, it was buried much too deep to feel.

“Breathe,” he said again, still gentle but more adamant than before.

She listened this time, almost without thinking. One shallow breath to start, but as deep as she could manage. She took another. Then another. He went through the motions with her, guiding her into longer and longer breaths, helping her uncoil piece by piece.

And like a sunrise slowly stretching over the horizon, she remembered who it was standing in front of her.

Not her father… but Hood.

Red Hood.

The contested vigilante. The ex-mob boss. The man who kept saving her.

He had never called her a disappointment. Or weak. Never said any of those things.

When she panicked or was unable to hide her vulnerability, he didn’t berate her. Never told her to brush it off or urged her to get back to it.

When she needed help, he offered it. Shared his strength easily. Did what he could to support her, comfort her. He’d never scolded her for not being able to handle the weight all on her own. In fact… he seemed more upset whenever she did try to do it all on her own…

Eden closed her burning eyes and lowered her head in shame.

How could she have forgotten? Even in her wildest state of mind, how could she have confused her Red Hood for someone who takes instead of gives? She’d seen and heard enough to know he took from others, but… at least with her, he always seemed to be giving.

Give her comfort. Give her compassion. Give her sweetness and laughter and sparks of joy.

Why? Because she deserved it?

…No, because… Because despite everything— all the things he’d done and surely been through, all the trouble Eden kept causing him… Despite it all, Red Hood was kind. Truly, deeply kind.

The tears spilled down her face.

Letting out a long, shaky exhale, she reached blindly and grasped at the edges of his jacket. She thought maybe he stiffened as she pulled at the worn leather. Then, maybe, shifted a hair closer to her…

“Ede?” he called softly. “You with me?” The modulator made his voice hum.

She took another trembling breath. Her nerves tentatively agreed to settle for the time being.

Hood shifted slightly. “Eden?” His voice was closer.

“Yes,” she croaked. Then sniffled. “I’m here. …Sorry.”

“You don’t—” He stopped and sighed.

His hands gently slid down her shoulders, his fingers pressing lightly as he held her.

Eden’s barely calmed heart stuttered.

“I’m sorry I freaked you out,” he said softer than before. The hum was almost louder than his words, like a hummingbird beating its wings. “I didn’t mean... to. You just—” He sighed again, and Eden glanced up at him, her lashes wet from all the tears. “I—”

He stilled, staring down at her. After two breaths, he quickly turned his head and covered his ‘face’ with a hand.

“Shit.”

Eden frowned. Was he backing down because she’d started to cry? That was hardly fair…

She wiped her face and tugged his jacket, calling him back to her. “No, I’m sorry, Hood. I just… got swallowed up in my own head, is all. You have every right to be angry with me.”

“...I’m not—”

“I know what I did was stupid. I knew it was stupid. But I did it anyway. I just…” She sighed at herself. “I just didn’t know what else to do…”

“You didn’t have to do anything.” She could hear the restraint in his tone, the effort to keep his words level.

Pulling harder on his jacket, she looked up at him shaking her head. “I had to help Marsha,” she argued, hoping he would understand. “She’d already gotten shot; I couldn’t let anything else happen to her!”

“Eden—"

“And when that man said h-he—” Her mouth trembled, forcing her to stop. “When he said—”

The vision was trying to revive itself. The gunman right in front of her. The moment he realized she was a sham.

His laugh, cold. His eyes, hungry for her life. Him readjusting his rifle. Him aiming straight at her. Just like Chris—

“Hey.” A squeeze on her arms.

She blinked in rapid fire.

Red Hood.

Nobody else in front of her.

Nobody who wanted to hurt her.

Just Red Hood. Just the two of them, here.

Here. Safe in her apartment.

He lowered himself, enough to be nearly eye-level with her. “Whatever he said, you’re safe now. I’m…” He stopped. Whatever he was going to say, he swallowed. Instead, he softly stroked the fabric of her shirt with his thumb. “You’re okay, Cookie Girl,” he said gently.

A warmth budded in her chest and a small, shy smile came to her lips. That nickname really had grown on her; it felt like years since she’d last heard it. Glancing down at her hands, she rubbed at the warm, worn leather she held between her fingers. Who would’ve guessed she’d miss such a silly thing so much?

She took a slow breath. “The sentry— The one who…” She hesitated. “…In the mask and sunglasses?” she tried.

Hood nodded encouragingly.

“Well, he… Out on the street, he said he… recognized me.”

He stood to his full height. “From inside the bank?”

She shook her head, tugging lightly on his jacket as she looked up at him. “No, it—”

Her thoughts hit a snag, realizing just how much taller he was than her.

…Like, goodness, had he always been this tall? 

Her mind went back to the bank robbers, all piled up at his feet. The way he’d towered over them, a predator looming over his prey.

He pretty much towered over her, too.

Now, Eden wasn’t a small thing, but close as they were, she sure felt like she was. It made her insides flutter. The two of them standing like this… their heads tilted to look at one another… holding each other…

Her face grew hot.

“It— It didn’t sound like it,” she muttered, glancing away. “That’s why…” She thought back, then huffed at herself. “That’s why I was in front of him when you came. I was trying to talk to him the way my mama talks to people like that. To get him to tell me where he recognized me from. I had him fooled for a minute,” she said a little proud of herself, “but—” 

Eden shut her eyes tight, using all her willpower to keep the images at arm’s length.

“I… I got too close. He could tell I was faking it.”

Hood’s fingers tensed. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I know—”

“No, Eden.”

She opened her eyes.

“I mean it. That man was going to kill you.” His grip tightened as he said it. “You’re lucky he didn’t just shoot you on the spot.”

She nodded, knowing it was true. It would’ve been pretty hard to explain how she was still alive if anyone saw her get shot point-blank like that. Especially if, like all the other times, her skull and brains flew out—

She shivered, trying to shove the horrific memories away.

Hood gave her another squeeze, gentle this time, keeping her grounded. “Listen… I know you’re pretty clever for a civilian, but that doesn’t mean you can keep taunting the fates, alright?”

“Wha—? I do not—”

Actually… Technically, she did do that, didn’t she? A lot, as a matter of fact…

Hood must’ve been thinking the same. “Did you forget? I’ve got people all over, and access to cameras across this city.”

She suddenly remembered the grainy, blown-up picture of her playing Veronica’s double.

Today, she’d gone into a bank, a jewelry store, and a hospital. Places loaded with cameras. If he wanted to, Hood could’ve seen her from a hundred different angles, starting from walking up the bank steps to running out of Gotham General.

In fact, if he really wanted to, he probably could’ve traced her all over the city recently. Going to clubs and bars and cafes with her coworkers, running errands with them, taking the late trains home. Playing their little game each time.

And it would’ve looked just like that. An idiot playing a dangerous game in the world’s most dangerous city. Her cheeks flushed at the thought.

“I’ve seen how you work,” he went on. “The way you take in your surroundings and zero in on the possible threats. How you do whatever you need to to get you and your friends out of those situations. You’re good at it; they’re good skills to have. But you’ve been lucky, Ede. And luck doesn’t last for people in this city.”

She nodded, her face burning with shame at the thought of what he might’ve seen today. Allowing three, totally naïve, completely unprepared civilians to wade into danger like she had. Leaving them alone… Letting one get shot, having another lead a group to safety on his own, completely losing track of the third…

Whatever he’d seen her do before must’ve been totally eclipsed by her actions today…

“Wait.” She frowned and quirked a brow up at him. There was an important distinction between knowing he could've been watching her and knowing he really had been. “Have you been spying on me?”

Hood stared down at her a few beats too long.

“…Hood…” she warned.

He reached up and rubbed the jaw of his helmet. “I mean…”

“Hood!”

“Not on purpose!” he said putting his hands up. He looked elsewhere and started to take a step back, but Eden kept her grip on his coat, keeping pace with him so he couldn’t get away.

“You did, didn’t you?”

“No! I just… happened to notice you here and there,” he admitted, his voice half-garbled.

“Uh-huh…”

“Seriously! I wasn’t being a creep or anything! You just crossed my radar a few times…”

“Sure.”

“It wasn't—!” He shook his head, making a gruff, frustrated sound. “Anyway—” He grabbed Eden, trapping her like she was the one trying to back away. “You’re the one we’re talking about here, Ede. You’re the civilian who keeps running headfirst into danger!”

“Oh, that’s—!”

True. It was completely true, and she knew it. She huffed.

“…fair,” she conceded, grumbling.

“You’re damn right it is. I meant it when I said you can’t do that kind of shit. Maybe back in your hometown, but not here.”

Her eyes flickered down as she frowned at herself. “I don’t… I don’t mean to. I just can’t… If someone needs help, I help them. I can’t not. Even before…”

She pushed away the thoughts of her father, what he’d tried to mold her into. The only reason she’d gone along with him for so long was because she did want to help people. They both did. No matter how much she let him down, or how much it dissatisfied her mama, she and Frank had always had that in common.

“That’s just the kind of person I am,” she insisted stubbornly staring him in the ‘eyes’. “I’ll never be the type to turn away from folks needing help. Never.”

Hood studied her for a long stretch of silence. Though she couldn’t see it, she felt certain he was glancing between her eyes, searching for something.

Whatever it was, he didn’t seem to like what he found. With a rough sigh, he dropped his head. Slowly releasing her, Eden reluctantly let his jacket slip from her fingers as he took a step back.

He crossed his arms and leaned against her counter. He stayed like that a moment, staring at her scuffed linoleum floor. Eventually, he sighed again.

“Look, I’m not… trying to say you shouldn’t have helped your friend. That part was… fine… I guess.” He shook his head once, then tilted it, setting his gaze back on her. “But getting in the gunman’s face like that? Taunting him? You have no idea how lucky you were today, Ede.” He almost said it like he couldn't believe it himself. “But I know this city," he warned, his voice going low. “It holds a grudge like nothing else. If you keep playing with fire, you will get burned.”

She swallowed. His deathly tone wasn’t aimed at her. At least, not entirely. That much she was sure. But it still made her nervous.

In the back of her mind, she remembered that night she’d arrived home from Gotham years ago. Several days early, still half-dressed in that ridiculous costume, and completely alone. She’d confessed to Mama right there on the porch steps, clutching Robin’s batarang like a lifeline — like he was still holding her hand, still giving her some of his courage.

Told her how Daddy had lied about taking her to New York and a Broadway show for her birthday. How he’d taken her to Gotham City instead…

It was the first and only time she had seen true terror in her mother’s eyes.

Her mama knew something about this city. Whatever it was, Hood seemed to know it, too.

Eden knew the secrets of her own small town well enough. The dark edges it tried to hide. She could only imagine knowing Gotham City’s secrets. It was tricky enough standing against the storm topside, but add in its shadows? Its underbelly? Whatever it was that lurked there, whatever was enough to unnerve people like her mama and the Red Hood… Maybe it was why folks here kept going crazy.

“I’ve seen it happen enough times to know,” Hood pressed, bringing her back to the moment. “Hell, I’ve been burned enough times to know. I…” He turned his head completely, his voice getting almost too garbled to understand. “…I don’t want to see that happen to you.”

Eden’s heart clenched. It felt… cruel. Him feeling that way, scared of what this city might do to her when, in reality, there wasn’t much it could. Not that could really stick, anyway.

Eden had been burned before, too. Many times, in fact. Figuratively and literally. And she was fine. She was always fine. In the end, it didn’t really matter.

“Hood… Listen—”

“Don’t brush this off,” he said bristling.

“I’m not,” she shot back. “I just—"

“I’m serious, Ede—”

“I know you’re bein'—!"

His voice rose over hers. “If you keep pulling this shit, next time, I might not be able to—!” He shut up. Froze up.

Eden could see his chest rising and falling with short breaths. Hers, she realized suddenly, was doing the same.

It… It wasn’t fair for him to worry over her. Not when she had her own, built-in get-out-of-jail-free card. It wasn’t fair for him to throw himself in harm’s way when she was always fine in the end.

“Hood…”

He turned sharply, like her gentleness was a harsh slap.

She silently cursed herself. This wasn’t good. What could she even say? If something like today happened again, he might— Oh god… He might get hurt. Maybe— Maybe worse.

Her pulse thundered at the thought, her mouth dry. She couldn’t… She couldn’t…

What if something happened to him while trying to protect her?

What if something happened to him while he tried to protect her?

Hurt, or worse, when she’d come out unscathed either way? Hurt, when he didn’t have to be? Or worse. Worse, when Eden would be fine. Eventually. Always fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, fine.

Always.

She swallowed hard at the thought. If he got hurt trying to ‘save’ her— If anything happened to him while trying to ‘save’ her… She wouldn’t be able to forgive herself.

She couldn’t— She wouldn’t allow that to happen. Not when it didn’t matter in the end; not for her. Not when it did matter for him. If he knew the truth about her powers, then maybe he’d…

Maybe she should just tell him… Maybe then he wouldn’t… Then he’d understand and he wouldn’t…

Eden took a sharp breath to speak.

She looked at him, and him at her. Her heart hammered in her chest, pounding so fiercely she could feel even its echoes bouncing against her ribcage.

“I… I’ll be more careful from now on.” She fought back a scowl, sick at her own cowardice. Firmly, to herself more than him, she stressed, “I promise.”

The least— The absolute least she could do was keep herself out of trouble. Then, there would be no danger for him to run into on her behalf. He wouldn’t need to ‘save’ her, and nothing could happen to him because of her screw-ups.

No more outings, she swore to herself. No more games. If someone wanted to play fake vigilante or spot-the-trouble, they’d have to do it on their own. And if someone seriously needed her help… well… They were just gonna have to be upfront about it. And if it was something a normal civilian shouldn’t be involved in, then… she’d… She’d still help in little ways if she could, but… But staying out of harm’s way would be the most important thing. It would have to be. For his sake.

Hood tilted his head slightly, studying her again. Slowly, he nodded, his shoulders loosening the tiniest bit.

“Good,” he said. Then, not looking at her, he moved his hand along his helmet, like he wanted to push his hair back. Quietly, low enough she wasn’t sure he’d meant for her to hear it, he said it again. “Good.”

Eden… didn’t know what to do with that. Didn’t know what to say.

The air was heavy. The conversation unfinished… She bit her lip, searching for something else to focus on.

Though he didn’t really seem to be looking at it, Hood’s gaze was roughly aimed at her stove. The little pot of cocoa, by now, was probably too cool to serve.

“Could, um… Could you please turn that burner back on?”

Hood looked up, making a short sort of buzzing static sound. Like maybe he’d been lost in thought. After a second, he turned back to the stove, glancing it over before doing as she asked.

“Sure.”

“Thanks. Low as you can, please,” she muttered softly. She grabbed two mugs and set them on the cleanest area of her workstation before heading to the fridge. “Do you like hot cocoa?”

“Cocoa?” He glanced at the little pot.

She nodded, pouring milk into the first cup, then paused before adding any to the second. “Would, uh… Would you rather have something else?” her voice trilled a little.

Hood took a breath, like he might say something pressing, but then he let it out in a ragged huff.

“Cocoa’s fine,” he muttered, shaking his head.

An uncomfortable silence followed. Hood leaned against the counter, barely avoiding the remaining mess of flour, watching Eden as she added a touch of cinnamon and vanilla to the milk. She grabbed and added in a handful of—

“You put marshmallows on the bottom?” The scrambler made his quiet voice sound like it was rumbling. “That’s serial killer behavior.”

Eden gave him an amused little smile. “Yours can go on top, Drama King.”

He scoffed. Not as carefree as usual, but enough to let her know it was in good humor.

The oven timer went off just as she finished mixing the marshmallows in her mug. Putting on her mitts, she glanced over her kitchen for an open surface. She’d meant to wipe up her workspace or put away some dishes to make space for the last two trays of cookies, but…

“Want me to move this?” Hood gestured to the casserole resting on her stove.

“That’d be a great help, thanks— Careful!”

Hood stared at her, holding it without a problem, and her face burned.

“It, uh… I thought it might... still be hot?” She turned quickly to the oven, cursing herself a million times over. “Sorry.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw him shake his head minutely. He muttered something about not needing to apologize. As he stepped away to find a place for the dish, she hurried to pull out the chocolate chip cookies.

Before shutting the oven door, she glanced over the final batch. If anything could save her from this awkwardness, it was a mug of hot cocoa and a plate full of ‘hot cocoa’ cookies. But they weren’t ready yet…

“Sheesh,” Hood exclaimed to himself. “You weren’t kidding when you said they wouldn’t need to worry about food for a while…”

Eden managed a small smile as she added a few more minutes to the timer. “Nope!”

The smile struggled to stay in place.

This all felt… wrong.

Eden didn’t like to lie. She’d never been particularly good at it, either. But when it came to her powers, lying was the norm. She had to hide them. It was smart to hide them. The only people she ever told were folks she’d known a long time, the “cousins” she truly considered family. And even then, only after they’d completely earned her trust.

She liked Hood. She could admit that much. Heck, she probably liked him more than she ought to… Is that why it felt so wrong keeping the truth from him? Because she trusted him?

Or… did she just want to trust him?

Did it even matter? There were already so many people who knew about her now, thanks to Frank. Strangers. People whose names and faces she didn’t even know.

She didn’t know Hood’s name or face, either… In some ways, he was as much a stranger as the unknown, unspeaking, masked scientists who worked side by side with her father in that lab.

But in other ways, she thought obstinately, he was really no stranger at all. She knew, for example, that he liked baked goods enough to leave notes and to come collect them as thank yous, even when a superhero— a vigilante really ought not to. And she knew he had a remarkable memory for long-named characters in older books. (At least, she’d assumed that really, really long one had been from an older book.) And that he was a pro at helping people through panic attacks.

She also knew what the different distorted noises he made meant. The terrible mess of static and glitches when clearing his throat. The way it garbled when he muttered, sometimes a touch embarrassed. How it thrummed like a small bird’s wings when he spoke low and tender.

She knew his real voice, too! That beautiful, crystal-clear voice she’d just about fainted over. The way his laugh – even half-choking – had reverberated around the kitchen. How every inflection as he spoke hit her like a tidal wave. How easily she could picture his expressions to match his tone.

She knew how mad he got at folks who didn’t take danger seriously. Knew he was the type to still do whatever it took to keep them out of harm’s way. After all, from the very moment they'd met, he’d been trying to keep her out of harm’s way.

So maybe she didn’t know Hood’s real name, or even the color of his hair, but she knew he was kind. Knew he was good. Maybe not all the time, maybe not to everybody, but, at the very least, he was good to her. Always giving her whatever she needed whenever they crossed paths.

And right now, she knew if she got herself in trouble again, he would come running. Just like he always seemed to.

Like it was becoming a habit.

Eden clenched her fists, took a firm breath, and turned. “Hood,” she said earnestly, the tiniest shake in her voice.

The vigilante had been shifting the other dishes and containers around the kitchen table to just barely make enough room for the small casserole dish. He glanced up urgently. Something about her tone, or maybe the sight of her, telling him she’d gone serious. He stood tall, giving her his full attention.

“There’s something I should… Something I need to tell you. About me.”

He shuffled slightly, lifting his chin.

Eden took a few deep breaths to really sturdy herself.

Hood glanced down for half a second – oddly toward her legs, it seemed – but then kept his gaze level.

“I’m listening,” he said with an attentive sort of patience.

She nodded, grateful. She took another breath and then…

She opened her mouth, and…

And tried to… make a sound come out…

A word…

Something.

She closed her mouth and frowned at herself.

Why couldn’t she… Why was this so damn hard all of a sudden? Just a few months before leaving the farm, she and the rest of the family had sat Eli down – her newest “sibling” – and she’d told them about her powers just fine. No problems at all.

“Want me to guess?” Hood half teased.

His goading gave her a flicker of a smile, but she shook her head. “I want to tell you myself.”

She tried again. “I'm… I…” Then struggled to speak any further.

With a groan, she dropped her face into her hands. She pulled at her cheeks, trying to get the muscles to move. Why, oh, why couldn’t she just spit it out already?

“You don’t have to,” he offered quietly. “Not if you don’t want to.” He paused a moment.

“If it’s about your—”

“It’s not that I don’t—"

They both stopped, neither fully hearing the other over their own words.

Hood made a gesture, giving her the chance to go first. Eden looked to the side and huffed at herself as she took it.

“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you,” she mumbled. “It’s just… hard to. I don’t…” She flung her hands down, letting them plop audibly against her thighs. “I just don’t go around tellin’ people about my…”

Her eyes fell on him. She swallowed hard… then looked away again.

“…about... me,” she finished lamely.

Hood stayed quiet. Maybe considering her. Maybe deciding she was suddenly far less trustworthy. Eden hoped not, but the guilt gnawing at her innards kept her eyes pinned to the floor, so there was no way to know for sure.

“Sounds like a pretty big secret,” he eventually muttered.

She nodded. It was supposed to be, anyway…

“And like it’s important to you.”

“Yes,” she said glancing up. “Very.”

“And you’re not ready to tell me.”

His tone wasn’t hurt. More like he’d stated a simple fact, honestly. Superman could fly, Gotham City was wet, and Eden Tag Smith wasn’t ready to share her big secret.

That almost made it worse.

“But… But I want to tell you,” she argued, though it came out more like a whine.

Hood let out a laugh, cocking his head back. “Ede, when you want to talk, you talk.” She swore she could hear the grin as he stepped closer. “Sometimes, even you can’t keep up with what you’re saying.”

Eden looked down again, her cheeks burning with shame. Though he’d said it without cruelty – without even a hint of cruelty, like maybe it wasn't such a terrible thing –, plenty of people had pointed out how often she stuttered and fumbled her words. The way they spewed out of her when she got too worked up.

Even well-meaning, it stung old wounds to hear Hood call out her usual motor mouth. Stung worse because she was forever cursing the damn thing and yet now, now, when she wanted it to start blurting things out, it wouldn’t.

“I just…” She stepped closer too. Close enough to reach out and take a small piece of his jacket between her finger and thumb again.

Hood tensed.

Heart pounding in her chest, Eden wondered if she’d stepped over a line. Earlier, she’d grabbed him in tears, too overwhelmed to think about whether or not it was okay, just needing an anchor. And, like always, he’d given her what she needed.

But she didn’t need anything this time. This time she just… wanted something to hold on to. Wanted to hold on to him.

His fingers twitched, like they itched to move.

She waited to see if he would step back. Maybe gently remove her hand from him. Tell her not to do that. Tell her that earlier had been an exception, not an open invitation.

But he kept his hands at his side, not saying anything. He didn’t step back, either. In fact, as the surprise seemed to wear away, it felt like he might’ve shifted a little closer.

“If I could just tell you…” She watched his hands, ready to pull her own away the second he moved them. “You wouldn’t feel like you have to worry so much…”

“Doubt it,” he muttered. “You’re trouble, remember?”

She smirked at that, finally bringing her gaze up to his again. “I know.”

They stared at each other for a beat.

For the second time that night, Eden wondered, more purposefully than before, about the man under the mask. What color his eyes were behind that artificial gaze. The color of his hair and the way it fell. The contour of his cheeks and jaw. She thought he must be beautiful. Or maybe, that he was beautiful, and would always be, regardless of how he looked underneath.

She must’ve stared a little too hard, because Hood brought up his hand to cough and turn his head slightly. His distorter made that awful sound it did whenever he cleared his throat.

“Besides.” The hand fell to her shoulder. It could’ve seemed careless if his touch wasn’t so feather-light. “I already don’t have to worry as much, right? Since you’re gonna be more careful from now on, anyway.”

Eden nodded mechanically. The very tips of his gloved fingers tickled her neck. She was doing everything she could not to think about how he could probably feel her pulse pounding under his thumb. The edges of it brushed against the side of her neck each time she so much as took a breath.

She rubbed the worn leather between her thumb and fingers to try and ground herself.

Hood’s hand shifted, giving her a quick, almost teasing squeeze.

“Right?” he coaxed.

“Right! Yup, mm-hmm!”

“You’re not lying, are you?”

Eden’s jaw dropped in mock indignation. “How dare you!” She playfully smacked his chest. “I’d never!”

“Never?”

“No! I’d— Well, I mean, if I had a really good reason to, I might, but I'm not all that good at lying anyway, so, er, I mean—”

“Uh-Huh.”

“No, I mean it!”

“Sure, sure.”

“Really!!”

He snickered. “Whatever you say, Cookie Girl.”

Eden tried to glare at him, but it was hard. Especially when she couldn’t keep her smile from clawing its way out. After a second of trying and failing, she laughed too.

His entire frame seemed to go slack a moment, but as soon as she looked up at him again, he stood taut. Something about that made her grin and laugh all over again.

“Hot cocoa?” she asked once she’d collected herself, and he nodded.

As she moved away, Hood’s hand hovered in the air, only slowly falling as she turned off the burner and mixed the cocoa one last time.

He made that ungodly sound again, clearing his throat. “Y’know, Eden…” he began carefully.

She paused for the briefest moment. Hood wasn’t often hesitant. Not unless something really threw him off. She picked up the little pot with a curious, welcoming, “Hm?”

“It’s… possible I already know your secret.”

She froze mid-pour.

Slowly, she took a deep breath and hummed again, this time low and unsure. She focused on emptying the rest of the cocoa into the mugs and adding the marshmallows on top of Hood’s.

A near-unshakable sense of doubt was stronger than her usual, ever-trembling nerves. No one had ever pieced together her powers before, after all. Not even the Hendricksens. And they were still convinced she was somehow the one who made Chris crash that night. (Which, to be fair, was technically true.) Not even Chris’s friends, the ones who had actually been on that call and heard him, in near tears, begging them to help hide her body before suddenly calling her name and screaming bloody murder.

Oh, they’d all done a double-take seeing her around town the next day — purposefully wearing a crop top with her hair pulled up so everyone could see as much of her scarless skin as possible. His friends had wisely left out the part where Eden was supposed to be dead and riddled with bullets, but they still claimed she was in the car with him, that she must’ve surprised him, and yanked the wheel from his grasp. (Which was only half true.)

But despite what they said and what they swore they'd heard before Chris went flying off the road, most of the town agreed there was no way Eden could’ve had anything to do with it. Some folks were even offended at the accusation. Eden was galivanting around town without even a few cuts or a limp, yet poor Chris Hendricksen was fighting for his life in the city hospital a couple counties over — were they seriously expecting anyone to believe that cock and bull story where Eden Smith had been in that torn-up wreckage and managed to walk away unscratched?

Now, to be fair, the town did know of one time she’d had an encore. Her very first, in fact. But when a dead toddler suddenly starts to scream and cry, you don't call her a meta. You call her a miracle. Proof that heaven could reach out and right a tragic wrong, that mercy could be given to the faithful. No one thought it was an innate power of Eden’s. Definitely not anything any of them thought she could ever do again. (Or again, or again, or—)

“I s’pose you could know…” she mumbled, unconvinced.

Then she remembered how convinced he was that she was in some kind of trouble. Real trouble. Something far bigger than just avoiding her parents like she was. (Which, to be fair, it was bigger than that… but still.)

Was that what he thought she’d been talking about? It was definitely a possibility. She was pretty sure she’d told him it was just family trouble… But who knows where his head could’ve wandered off to with a vague notion like that. Especially if he was thinking in Gothamite terms! After all, this was a city where daddies could run ex-friends out without you knowing, and mamas sobbed over their babies like losing them was just a matter of time.

Not to mention, if Hood really had been a mob boss before, saying she had ‘family troubles’ could’ve conjured up a whole other can of worms in his head.

“If it’s alright with you… I’d rather not hear any theories right now.” She turned to face him, her expression wholehearted. “I really do want to tell you, Hood,” she insisted, soft but certain. “And I will. Honest. Just… Just maybe not right now?”

He considered her a minute. Then, letting out a huffy sound, his shoulders dropped dramatically. “Alright. Alright,” he said, flinging his hands up in mock surrender. “I’ll keep my trap shut… for now."

“Thank you,” she said earnestly. Picking up the mugs, she offered him the one with marshmallows on top. “For your troubles?”

He took it with a static-filled scoff. “Yeah, I don’t think a cup of hot cocoa’s gonna cover it.”

“You say that now,” she quipped. “Try saying it again after you’ve had some.”

“Oooo.” The robotic inflection made him sound a little off-key. “Someone’s getting cocky.”

She smirked into her mug. “Only ‘cause I know I’m right.”

It was a late, misty evening in Gotham, but that first sip wrapped her up in a cozy Christmas morning back home. The cocoa was sweet and creamy from the condensed milk, a little gooey from her half-melted marshmallows, and just a touch spiced thanks to the cinnamon.

She hummed contently, then started for her kitchen table. One glance at it however and Eden knew sitting there with all that food would be an accident waiting to happen. Instead, she left the kitchen entirely, moving along the wall dividing it from the rest of her little apartment.

“Sorry to kick you out,” Hood muttered, only just muffled by the thin wall.

Leaning beside one of the plants framing her collection of books, she shrugged. “If you could take care of that last batch of cookies when the timer goes off, we’ll call it even.”

There was a hum of agreement, followed by a soft whirling sound and an even softer hiss of air.

After a moment, there was another hum — completely undistorted and entirely pleased.

Eden grinned. “What was that you were saying before, Mr. Hood?” she egged sweetly. “Something about someone being too cocky?”

“I take it all back, Cookie Girl.” His voice – his real one – was thick from the drink. “Your cockiness is completely warranted.” It sounded like he took another gulp.

Her smile couldn’t get any bigger. “That’s what I thought,” she said with a nod. “And wait ‘til you try it with some of your cookies!”

“Some of mine?” His smirk was so unbelievably clear it made Eden blush.

“The, uh… In the oven,” she said hiding behind her mug. “Though, maybe, now that I think about it, it might be a little too much chocolate altogether…”

“You’re starting to spoil me, Ede,” he said in that same teasing tone.

“Oh, hush. You put up with good and plenty to get a little spoiled now and then. Especially when I’m the one putting you through it.”

“You’re words, not mine,” he said, the last sounds muffled around the inside of his mug.

The timer went off as she playfully scoffed before taking her own sip. A thought crossed her mind as she heard the telltale beeping of the buttons on her oven being pressed. She patted her pockets and absently glanced around, hoping her phone might magically be on the coffee table or her bed, but came up short.

“Hood?” she called, hearing the dull ring of a full tray being set down on stove burners. “Is my phone in there?”

A pause. “Yeah?”

“Has Mrs. Pereira called me back yet?”

There was some light shuffling Eden was half-surprised to hear. “Doesn’t look like it,” he said, making her frown. “Want it?”

“Yeah,” she said nodding to herself. “She sounded pretty serious about calling me again, so…” Her frown deepened as she moved along the wall, lightly tapping it as she did so Hood would know exactly where she was without any guesswork.

At the wall’s edge, she turned her head and shoulders so she wouldn’t be able to see the kitchen at all, focusing instead on the window to her fire escape. Blindly, she reached out her hand.

“I think I ought to call her. Just to make sure everything’s okay…”

Hood made a low sound, agreeing with – and approving of – her caution. He set the phone in her open palm.

“Cookies look good, by the way,” he said quietly. Without his usual distortion, the complement sounded shy and almost boyish. (As boyish as someone with such a deep, warm voice could sound, anyway.)

It made her smile. “Glad you think so.” She turned and unlocked her phone, returning to her post beside the leafy plant. “Leave them be for a minute, though. Otherwise, the marshmallow bits seep through the bottom and turn the whole pan into a mess.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

That nearly made her giggle. “And they say city boys don’t have manners,” she teased.

“Only for pretty girls.”

Eden’s finger paused above the call button, her cheeks warming rapidly. “Sorry?” she said instinctively.

His original quip had been so quick. She would’ve thought him a suave, well-practiced Casanova, if not for the sudden, pregnant, self-conscious silence now enveloping her apartment. It was broken by the smallest, softest slap of skin against skin — a hand, or fist, upon a forehead.

“…Nothing. Forget I said anything.”

His words were so low and muddled, his helmet probably would’ve garbled them up until she couldn’t make them out. But because it was his own, crystal-clear voice, not only could she hear every word, she could feel the self-abashment radiating off each syllable.

Now that really made her giggle. Her insides buzzed at the idea of Hood being flustered, and for being flustered ‘cause he’d called her pretty.

“Not a chance, Hood,” she said with a proud smirk. “In fact, I might just put that down in one of my notebooks. Dear diary—” She gestured like she was crafting a big neon sign: “Hood thinks I’m pretty.”

“Please don’t,” he grumbled, his tone almost gruff enough to hide his sheepishness. Almost.

Eden snickered taking her final sip of cocoa. Wouldn’t it be funny if he was the type to turn red when he was embarrassed? She could almost picture him with ears as bright as his signature color.

A little more seriously, he said, “You shouldn’t write my name down, Ede. Ever. It’d be too easy for someone to—”

“I know, Hood,” she placated. It would be all too easy for someone to find her silly little note – or any note she wrote –, make the connection, and do who-knows-what with the information. “I wouldn’t really write your name down,” she assured him. “I know better than that. I was just teasing a little since you said something so charming.”

He didn’t answer for a second, but eventually, he cleared his throat — and, for once, it wasn’t such a terrible sound. “Good.”

“Now, technically,” she said smirking again, “I could just give you a cute lil’ nickname and write it down that way. Nobody’d make the jump if I did it like that.”

There was a little thump, like maybe he’d slumped against one of her counters. Eden liked to think it was in defeat.

“Maybe I’d add in a few charming thoughts of my own?” she offered sweetly.

“…Aren’t you supposed to be calling someone?” he grumbled. He sounded a little grumpy, but there was a distinct lack of bite in his tone.

Eden grinned at the thought of his ears, how bright red they might be by now. If he was the type, of course.

Tapping the wall, she returned to the edge and blindly jiggled her empty mug. “Would you be an angel, Hood, and put this in the sink for me?” she asked in the same sweet tone.

He scoffed. “I’m no angel.” Despite this, he took the mug.

As she reopened her phone, he even turned on the faucet. After a moment, she realized he must've been washing it for her.

She smiled to herself as she pressed the call button, giving Hood a brief heads-up.

The phone rang, waiting to connect. When it finally went through, the other line was quiet. Eden’s smile fell slowly.

“…Mrs. Pereira?”

A sob answered.