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Chapter Text

The letter is sitting on Tim’s desk at Wayne Enterprises when he comes back from lunch with some of the other shareholders of the company.  As far as work lunches go, it was quite pleasant.  If one could call a half dozen older men vying for the favor of a seventeen year old, albeit one who held such influence and money over W.E that they could only salivate over, pleasant.

The letter itself was nondescript at first glance. The front had his name written in clean cursive.  Flipping the envelope over, Tim discovered it was sealed with red wax imprinted with the image of a crow midflight, an amaryllis clutched in one claw.  He frowned, racking his memory for any time he might have seen the symbol before, but ultimately recalled nothing similar enough to be significant.

Tim flicked the seal open and pulled out the letter.

Dearest Bird,

While your lack of response to my previous gifts has been… sorrowing, I’ve chosen to look past it in light of recent developments here at home.

I have been carefully reminiscing over our time spent together last year.  You were such an asset, especially in regards to our arduous shared campaign, I do greatly miss your clever mind.

On the topic of our previous involvement, have you ever heard of the Queensland Whistling Tarantula?  It is a truly horrendous creature, native to the land ‘down under’, as it were.  While it primarily hunts small creatures that crawl on land, it has recently become known to hunt birds.

Should you be free in ten days, I would look forward to discussing it more with you in person.  You do still have a proclivity for large doses of caffeine do you not?  I would suggest you have prudence and answer me as soon as you are able.

Regards,

D.H

D.H. Demon’s Head. The letter was written entirely in League Dialect.

“You seem awfully pensive.”

Tim turned his head to watch as Dick settled on the roof’s ledge next to him.  His oldest brother held up a wrapped lollipop, and when Tim shook his head ‘no’ at the offering, popped it in his own mouth.

“Demon brat not with you tonight?” Tim asked, tilting his head to see if Damian was hiding somewhere in the shadows.

Dick huffed, nudging Tim with his shoulder. “Don’t be mean, Red.  And no, Robin is at the Cave with A.  Broke his ankle last night trying to kick Mr. Freeze’s metal suit.”

Tim winced in sympathy.  He wasn’t sure who he felt worse for.  Damian: for being benched just a couple weeks after he finally seemed to really settle and get what it meant to be Robin, or Alfred: for having to deal with a moody and in pain Damian all night while the rest of the family were out patrolling.

“I’ll see if I can swing by sometime this week.  Maybe bring some of the new R&D toys for Robin to mess around with while he heals,” Tim suggested.  It’d been almost eight months since Bruce’s return from the whole time travel debacle, and while Damian and himself are nowhere near close, they are on a steady path to being friends.  (Tim privately hoped that ‘brothers’ will closely follow, but he knew how to settle for whatever makes others happy.)

Damian had seemingly been impressed by Tim’s dogged pursuit of proving and providing a way for Bruce to return home.  He never said it out loud, of course, and he would certainly never apologise for attempting to kill Tim twice.  But two months after Bruce had come back, Tim had returned to his apartment in Gotham after patrol and found a carefully crafted throwing knife that he knew was Damian’s sitting in plain sight on his kitchen island.  It was freshly cleaned, sharpened, and was wrapped with obvious care in a leather sheath.

It wasn’t words, but Tim had spent nearly a year with a civilization of assassins (the same ones that raised Damian no less); he didn’t need them to understand the message being sent.

He didn’t say anything in reply, but a week later when Robin crossed paths with Red Robin on patrol, Tim graciously said nothing as Robin’s eyes flicked to where the knife was strapped to his thigh.  Just politely pretended he didn’t notice the way Robin’s ears subtly flushed with pleasure.

The next day Damian came home to a new set of gouache paint and a watercolor sketchbook on his desk in his room.

The gift giving gradually progressed to small messages written on index cards or sticky notes.  Tim would find them in the most random places.  Most notably one in the drawer in his office at Wayne Enterprises, read: You should dispose of Scott.  He is foolish and talks ill when you aren’t around.

Tim had snorted.  He didn’t fire Scott, but a note was left in Damian’s locker at school: Think of conjunctions as paint binder, or glue.  They help the phrases and words in English and other similarly structured languages stick together and run smoothly.

Things with Damian weren’t yet good, they still couldn’t be in the same room for longer than thirty minutes without it dissolving into a yelling match, but they were better.  Both boys just needed more time to understand the other before extended in-person bonding time could commence.

“So,” Dick said, interrupting Tim’s musings. “What’s gotcha in a funk?  Hood says you’ve been spacey lately.”

Tim sighed.  Damian wasn’t the only one shaken by Bruce’s ‘death’.  Jason too, had become more… receptive to the idea of being part of the family again.  The anti-hero crossed paths with them more often during the night, kept an open comm line with them all the time now, and had even ventured into the Manor once on the pretense that he was pilfering the rest of Alfred’s freshly baked brownies. (He was really there to peruse the new books in the library, leave Tim one of his hoodies, drop off a new Breyer horse model for Damian’s worryingly growing collecting, and sprinkle glitter all over Dick and Bruce’s rooms.)

He, Bruce, and Dick were still trying to figure out their dynamics, but Hood’s protectiveness of children finally seemed to blanket Tim and Damian.  Almost unbearably so, now.

A little over a year ago, Tim would have shaken out of his skin in sheer joy.

A little over a year ago, Tim hadn’t lost his parents, his best friends, his adoptive father, been betrayed by his girlfriend, lost his place as Robin- (he understood Dick, he did, but it still hurt)-

Now though, Tim flopped back against the roof, staring up at the night sky- or at least the smog and pollution of Gotham that blotted out the night sky.

It’s been just under a week since the letter arrived, and Tim still hasn’t reached out to Pru with any sort of answer.  He’s been puzzling over the letter, its implications, and whether or not he should dare risk meeting up with Ra’s al fucking Ghul.

It’s been the only thing on his mind, and is apparently distracting enough that Jason noticed and decided to sic Dick on him.  Tim doesn’t blame either of them: distraction in their line of work will get you killed, and Jason meant every word when he said ‘no more dead Robins’ (even if the context has changed since then).

But Tim can’t really bring up the letter and discuss it with his family, especially Dick.

None of them knew what Tim really went through during his time traipsing all across the planet, and Tim was determined to keep it that way.  All the bats were notorious for their secrets, but also somehow spectacularly horrible at keeping them.  Tim didn’t want the truth of his time away, the morals he’d sacrificed, the people he’d killed (because he blew up entire bases and it was impossible for everyone to survive, god how many did he murder-) to get back to Dick or heaven forbid Bruce.

Dick would blame himself, and while Tim was still hurting from the way they’d parted before ‘the year from hell’ (yelling, tears, a room trashed and broken and Tim just wanted someone, something else to hurt just as much as he did, why didn’t they listen, didn’t believe him he was right), he now understood where his big brother was coming from.  Understood that Dick was a porcelain cup fractured and desperately trying to stop their world from spilling out all over like spoiled water.

And Bruce?

Bruce would blame himself, just like his eldest son, but it would be worse.  Because Tim was meant to take care of Bruce.  It had been that way since before day one of their relationship.  And he knew that Bruce would react in the dumb stunted way he did with anything remotely related to emotions.  Yet he also knew that Bruce cared, would hate himself for not being there despite the situation being out of his control.  (And Bruce hated not being in control).

But Tim had always taken care of Bruce, and if he was the one instead causing problems then what position did that put Tim in the pecking order?  If he couldn’t fulfill his purpose in the family, then why bother staying?

(He so desperately wanted to stay.  He didn’t want to go back to empty halls and silent dinners alone at a dining table with no company but his childish thoughts. What was he thinking, he already had moved out on his own, he was already back there-)

The point was, Tim was selfish, proud, and so terribly afraid.  He could handle this on his own.  He’d been handling this on his own.

(Kon was back, was alive, why hadn’t he reached out, why wasn’t he saying anything? Did he know what Tim had done?  The clones, the time away, the death?)

“Just stuff at work,” Tim replied to Dick’s question.  “Shareholders and investments and more questions about the R&D department and all the NDA’s related to it.”  He waved a hand dismissively.  “Your typical internal administrative bs.”

“Bleh,” Dick said, pulling a face.  “I don’t know how you do it.  I want to tear my hair out just thinking about it.”

Tim shrugs.  “I’ve been prepped for this sort of thing since day one out of the womb.” He snickered at Dick’s disgusted twitch.  “I took hold of the W.E cause the League needed to be stopped.  Besides, someone Bruce knows and trusts has to run things, Lucius needs the help, and I don’t mind.”

He really didn’t.

Numbers, analytics, and manipulation disguised as networking were right in Tim’s wheelhouse courtesy of one Janet Drake.  But he really did enjoy it.  Despite the smarmy executives who loved to think they knew better than Tim’s plans on contingency plans, Tim had cracked the metaphorical whip since his sudden takeover of W.E, and now with Tam’s help the company was nearly back to its prime.

Dick shifted, his unfairly large thigh pressing gently against Tim’s own.  The contact was warm.

“I know you don’t mind,” he said, sounding fond.  “But that doesn’t mean it’s a walk in the park, even for a brainiac like you.  I know things are… different than they were two years ago, but I’m here for you.  We all are.”  A black clothed hand tapped against Tim’s thigh, once, twice, before settling on his knee. “Let me know, let any of us know if you need anything, yeah?”

Tim was quiet.

He thought about last year.  Of dead friends and family, of heartbreak and betrayal.  Of traveling alone and having to be the one to make things right for his family.  Of slit throats, swords in his stomach, mindgames that were so convoluted he’d wanted to rip his hair out.  Of the bottle of antibiotics that he’d had to refill every month for the last eight months sitting hidden under his pillow.

He thought about the last eight months in general.  Of little exchanges on slips of paper.  Of reconnecting with his first Robin and Batman.  Of big brothers who were too stubborn to call themself a big brother.  Of warm desserts set neatly on platters in the kitchen.  Of a family he’d claimed as his own since before he’d hit double digits.

“Yeah,” Tim said. “Okay.”

Ra’s,

Even with research, I find it hard to believe such a spider exists.  Should you be willing to indulge my tastes, I expect to see you at my favorite coffee shop in four days time at ten thirty a.m.  As you know, my family tends to sleep in on Thursdays, so I expect you will be able to expound on your new fascination without us being interrupted for family matters.

If you aren’t there within five minutes of the aforementioned time, I request you find someone else to indulge you.  I am busy, as we both know, and won’t have time other than what I stated to listen to such topics.

I will say, I took your advice and had prudence to deliver this message.  If you feel as though I didn’t, then perhaps we both need to look into what may have waylaid the involvement of such an emotion in this letter.

Next Thursday.  Don’t be late.

R.R

Chapter Text

Tim was under no disillusion that any part of his everyday life wasn’t known by Ra’s. Which is why he isn’t at all surprised (though slightly bothered) when the ancient man stepped into the French-style coffee shop, ordered some sort of tea, and made his way up to the second floor seating area where Tim has already selected a table that gives him an advantageous view of both in and outside.

“Timothy,” he greeted, settling into the chair across from Tim without waiting for an invitation.  “Punctutal as ever, darling.”

Which is the most obvious dig ever because by now they both knew that Tim was only ever on time when he wanted to be.

“Care to explain your most recent note?” Tim asked instead.  He didn’t want to be sat near Ra’s for a single second longer than necessary.  But if he’d understood Ra’s entendre correctly, then there was a great chance that his friends, family, perhaps even the world was in danger.  Again.

But this time because of Tim.

Ra’s sipped at his tea, poison green eyes assessing the late morning foot traffic outside.  “What can you recall about the Council of Spiders from your time with us?”

The Wayne executive sighed and leaned back in his chair, absently twirling the ring on his index finger.  “They were animals.  Before you sent me on a chase to destroy them all, they were hell bent on proving themselves above the League by hunting your people down.”

Ra’s hummed.  “In your time hunting them, did you ever learn their history?  How the Council came to be?”

Tim shrugged.  “Didn’t matter that much to me and Pru.  As long as I defeated them in the end, which I did while destroying half your resources,” he tacked on at the end, enjoying the lines that tightened at the corner of Ra’s’ mouth.  “C’mon old man.  Your letter, your questions…?  Care to share with the class?”

Tim wasn’t keen on showing his unease, but he needed Ra’s to explain his letter, the message written in between the lines.

To his credit, the Demon’s Head didn’t hold out on Tim for much longer.

“As you know, I have walked this earth for centuries, and during my time amassed an intelligence network that many, including yourself, have benefitted from.”  Ra’s turned his attention to the teen sitting in front of him. His eyes betrayed no trick.  “Yet for all my influence, I had not heard of the Council of Spiders until just over a year ago.”

Tim balked.  What was going on?  Ra’s never admitted weakness, especially to Tim.  The older man continued.

“It wasn’t until you showed up in Paris that they decided to show themselves.”

Tim scowled. “And that matters why?  I hardly see how that relates to me. I didn’t even know your interest in me until after Z shot a grenade at my face.”  He ignored the way saying Z’s name sends a zing of grief down his spine.

“It matters, because in addition to new, other… factors, it points to the Council of Spiders hunting not the League of Assassins, but rather-”

“Me.”

The revelation is alarming.

Ra’s dipped his head.  “Brilliant as ever, Detective.”

Tim’s mind spun.  “What other factors are you talking about?  How do I know what you’re saying is true?”

“I would hope with all that I have entrusted to you in the past, you would show some reciprocity.”

“Cut the shit.”

The League’s leader sighed.  He reached into his robes and pulled out a box, setting it on the table between his tea and Tim’s coffee.  “This was found on your bed in your quarters in Turkey.”

Breezing past the notion that Ra’s had kept Tim’s room with the League, Tim studied the box.

It was plain and made from a light colored wood.  Willow wood, Ra’s supplied when Tim asked.  The box was roughly ten inches long and six inches wide.  There were no latches or hinges, but the top slid along grooves to open up.

Inside was a rolled up scroll tied closed with a strip of leather.  The paper was so thin and delicate that Tim didn’t dare touch or open it in the plain air of the coffee shop.  There were two other things in the box.  The first was a carving of a bird: a mandarin duck.  It was small and so weathered, Tim estimated that it must be as old as the scroll.  The final item was a jade queen chess piece that was hard to date.  At first glance the white lines that commonly appeared in the gemstone seemed natural, but at a closer look, Tim realized with a jolt that the lines were images of spiders.

Quietly the teen returned each item to the box and closed the lid.  “What was on the scroll?” he asked.

“I do not know.”

Tim blinked. “I- you what?”

Ra’s quirked a wry smile.  “Truthfully, Timothy, until this moment I did not know what was in the box.  It would not open for me or anyone else I requested to try.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t try to break it open,” Tim said.

“I did.”

Huh.  Okay.

“What was that about the Queensland Spider?” Tim asked.  He could understand how Ra’s had come up with that detail had the man seen the chess piece, but if he was telling the truth about the (magic?) box, then the immortal wouldn’t have had the clue to reach such a conclusion.

But Ra’s seemed to be out of gracious answers. 

“That, darling, is an answer I cannot yet give.  Instead, let me hand you this,” and he slid a manilla envelope across the table.

Tim furrowed his brow, reached out, and opened it.  Inside were two plane tickets to Chongqing, China.

What the hell.

“I’m sorry,” the Drake heir huffed. “Let me get this straight.  You one day find a box sitting on my old bed within a League base- the implications of my room still being there and you being in it we will never talk about, by the way- and magically can’t open or destroy it.  Then, by means of which you won’t tell me, you come across evidence that the Council of Spiders wasn’t destroyed and is, in fact, actively hunting me down and have always been hunting me down.  You then fly halfway across the globe just to sit down with me, talk shop, and have tea?  And now you just want me to up and fly to China?  Am I missing something, or does this not sound fishy as all hell?!”

Ra’s scowled at Tim’s outburst, and without saying anything reached for the box, grasped the sliding lid and-

And.

And it does not budge.  Not even the tiniest creak.  Ra’s muscles bulge under his thousands of dollars suit.  The box stays firmly closed.  The box is returned to the table.

“That’s not freaky at all,” Tim muttered.  Okay, okay, he was totally not wigging out.  Objectively he knew magic did exist (hello Zatanna and Constantine and numerous other Justice League heroes), but he was still surprised by Ra’s al fucking Ghul being bested by something so seemingly simple as a box.  “You still can’t possibly expect me to just drop everything for a flight to the other side of the planet.”

“I do,”  Ra’s replied.  “Because when you learn more details, when we both discover what is inside that scroll, I have the certainty that it will spell unimaginable suffering for not just me, but you and a multitude of others as well.  Those assassins we faced two years ago?  They weren’t the true force of the Council of Spiders.  They were just the scouts.  So, Detective, what will you do?”

And, well.

What is Tim supposed to say to that?

“Oh my god, I’m going to end up fishing your decapitated body out from the bottom of the Mariana Trench.”

“Tam, please.”

“What,” Tam snapped from her place on Tim’s couch as she watched him double check his backpack and duffel bag.  “Last time you went off traipsing around the world, you ended up bleeding out in my hotel room and lost your spleen because you got fucking stabbed.  What the hell else am I supposed to believe?”

Tim sighed.  “It’s a little different this time.”

His assistant glowered at him.  “Oh, what?  Because instead of being coerced into joining the freaky assassin cult, you’re going willingly this time?  Or because you’re starting your trip with Prudence instead of alone?  Or because now there’s a creepy ancient magic box that only responds to you?  Which, if I didn’t emphasize it enough, is creepy.”

Tam waves the box in the air with one hand.  She’d spent nearly an hour trying to pry it open after learning about it.  Her attempts ranged from just trying to slide it open, to using a Wayne tech blast torch.

The box and all its contents stayed perfectly unaffected.

It’s different this time, Tim didn’t say, because this time there were stakes that were never known before.  There was a player who’d joined the field, one who potentially had been there long before anyone else.  Watching, waiting.  It was different because they only showed now, because of Tim.

He had an obligation to find out why.

And Tim couldn’t let anyone else be hurt because of him; couldn’t let them get caught in the crosshairs of whatever was coming.  Things were finally starting to look good for the Waynes.  For his family, the people he loved more than anything in the world.  For Bruce, who Tim had changed his entire future for.  For Dick, who was Tim’s hero, his oldest brother who was the first person to show Tim what it meant to be family.  For Jason, who despite his black sheep front, couldn’t help but show his care in his actions, in the way he was always there when Tim needed him.  For Alfred, who had taken Tim in and loved him without looking back once.  And for Damian, who had come to them angry, had attempted to take Tim’s life, but now left little messages and sketches on sticky notes and index cards throughout Tim’s day.

Tim had left Gotham once because of his love for his family: it was an easy choice to do it again.

Chapter Text

 Tim doesn’t know much about China.

An argument could be made that he should know more, especially since he is part Chinese through Janet, although it is a distant heritage.  Perhaps just enough shows in his physical traits.  People did sometimes mistake him and Cass to be blood related, although that was often dismissed when they saw Tim’s bright blue eyes.  His mother still managed to find time every few years to visit however, with or without Jack and never with Tim.  

What little Tim does know mostly revolves around Hong Kong thanks to Cass.  The fast paced technology, the bumping night life…  But all other aspects, especially ancient China, were shrouded in mystery to Tim.

Luckily, thanks to Janet’s trips, Tim had plenty of first hand reading material that he was making headway with some help from translation sites.  It was hour ten of their nineteen hour flight, and Tim was a good chunk of the way through the book on ancient herbal tea brewing techniques while Pru snored on his shoulder.

Neither of them knew what was waiting for them when they landed.  Ra’s sudden moment of helpfulness had conveniently vanished after their meeting at the coffee shop.

Tim had more questions, about Ra’s full knowledge of the situation, why this particular destination, what was waiting for Tim when he arrived?  But the ancient man had simply replied that he didn’t have all the answers and Tim wasn’t ready for the ones he did.

Lying bastard.

“Bluhhh,” Pru mumbled.  She woke slowly, blinking blearily at the drool she’d left on Tim’s shoulder before noticing the bags under his eyes and giving him a look.  “Going back to your trash sleeping habits?” she asked.
Tim scoffed.  “As if I ever had good ones.”

Pru hummed, swatting him on the side of his head, before stretching.  “They bring out any food yet?  I’m starving.”

“Dinner was served two hours ago,”  Tim said primly.  He flicked to the next page in his book.  “Don’t worry, I ate your share.”

“Brat,”  Pru sniffed.  She dove into the innards of her backpack and emerged with a pack of gummy worms and chocolate covered coffee beans.

Tim eyed her.  “You’re a child.”

“Says the literal infant.”

“I’m seventeen not seven,”  Tim replied, turning back to his book.  He’d covered all the variants of tea and was now on the section about ceremonial practices.

“Uh-huh,” Pru said, mouth full.  “Still a kid, kid.”

Tim ignored her.  Not one to be ignored, the older woman reached over and poked his cheek.

“Where’d you get the reading material anyway?  I don’t recall Ra’s giving me more stuff to give to you.”

“From my mother,”  Tim answered.  “She had a section of the library dedicated to her ancestry.  I figured I’d read up on various things before we landed.  You never know what might be useful.”

Pru blinked at him.  “Your mom.  Huh.  You know sometimes I forget Bats didn’t birth you and your herd himself.”

“Oh my god,” Tim said, gagging at the imagery the notion gave.  “You’re so dumb.  Leave me alone, I’m trying to finish this before we land.”

Thankfully Pru didn’t argue, just rolled her eyes and mumbled something about prudish nerds, but Tim gave it no mind.  Truthfully, he was having a hard time concentrating even without his friend attempting to older sibling him.

It was Sunday back home, which meant family dinner.  No one had missed it since Bruce had come back from the ends of time, not without giving a warning.  They’d be gathering around the table soon, Alfred was probably bustling around with food already.  His brothers and sister were likely waiting in the den, having a video game tournament while Bruce basked in their presence from his armchair.

Chances are they hadn’t noticed he was gone yet.  Tim wasn’t always able to join them on the pre-dinner bonding time.  His responsibilities as the sole owner of Drake Industries (despite it being a shell of the company it used to be), as well as a Wayne Enterprises executive meant that weekends didn’t really exist for him.  Even though his siblings tended to stay at the Manor on the weekends, Tim’s responsibilities meant that he was needed at his Nest downtown.

But the clock was running down, and quickly.

It would start with a text, Dick probably.  Followed closely by Bruce.  Both would ask if Tim was okay, if he needed them for anything.  Cass or Alfred would be next, likely wondering if he got so caught up in work he forgot the time.  Then Jason would shoot off a text asking if he was dead.  Damian wouldn’t bother with texting and would just call Tim’s cell, opening with a demand to know where he was and why he was late and didn’t he know Damian was hungry waiting for him?

But Tim would receive none of those inquiries because he’d left his phone and all other means of communication back in Gotham.

He just couldn’t bring them into his mess.  It was bad enough with pretty much every family member having some sort of trauma from the League of Assassins, but throw in the Council, the questionable history of Tim’s year abroad, and all the secrets that were yet to be revealed?  Yeah Tim was giving them no chance to find him.

It’d be harder to hide now that the family was united and Bruce was back, but Tim had the unfortunate advantage of an entire empire of assassins to run interference and hide his tracks.  Thanks Ra’s.

His willingness to provide resources (which was almost nice if you could call a supervillain nice) only spelled how uneasy the man actually was about the situation.  He’d go right back to creepy insufferable otherwise.

“Take a walk kiddo,” Pru interrupted his thoughts, grabbing Tim’s book right out of his hands and waving off his yelping ‘Hey!’.  “You’ve been on the same page for the last half hour.  Go, shoo, clear your mind.”

And well, she wasn’t wrong.  Tim sighed, refusing to say thank you because that would just encourage her.

“Don’t make me lose my page,” he huffed before he stood and began to take a lap down the aisle.

Tim walked up and down the length of the plane, thankful for the wide rows that the international flight had.  Each step he took was careful and measured, taking the time to consciously place his foot where he wanted.  It was a trick he’d learned from Jason; a way to calm the mind down when all other thoughts were a trigger.  Ten minutes later, Tim felt settled enough to make his way back to his seat.

Something dug into his thigh from his pocket when he sat down.  Startled, Tim reached in and pulled out a piece of glass.  It was oval shaped and small.  There were two panels stuck together and pressed between them was a white flower with a yellow starburst shaped center.

“Wassat’?” Pru asked, glancing over.  Her mouth was full.

“I- I don’t know,” Tim answered honestly.  Someone on the plane had placed it in his pocket without him knowing.  It was worrying.

Pru noticed immediately.  The assassin sat up straighter, eyes flicking around.  She swallowed her food quickly.

“You feel okay?” she said, voice soft. 

Tim nodded, thumbing the glass.  He didn’t feel sick or drowsy, so it was unlikely he’d been poisoned.  Pru didn’t seem reassured though, and her hand that had been holding candy snuck into her hoodie pocket, probably grasping a knife or gun.

The flower looked familiar.  Like Tim had seen it in person before.  But it didn’t look like any North American flower, and Tim had too much free time in middle school; he would know.  But he couldn’t place the flower, or why it felt like he should be able to.

“Three hours until we land,” Pru said.

}~{

Lady Shiva was waiting for them at the gate.

Pru bumped into Tim’s back when he froze at the sight.

He hadn’t seen his first teacher since she trained him all those years ago.  The only knowledge he had of her continued life was through Cass, and that knowledge was very limited with his sister’s unease of speaking about her past and her mother.

His own relationship with her was complicated on a good day.  Shiva was calculating, smart, and perhaps the most dangerous woman Tim knew of (even Talia was wary of her).  She was ruthless with her training and never held back.  But she was also the first one to see Tim’s potential, the first one to attempt to poach him from Batman.

And now she was standing in front of Tim again, eyes still cold and assessing.  She barely gave Pru a glance before she turned on her heel.

“Come.”

And Tim followed.

}~{

They drove out of the city for an hour or two.

Mountains rose up around them, and great pillars of rock stood straight up from the ground with mist wisping around the cracks, just like in the screensaver pictures that rotated through Windows’ computers.  It’s picturesque.

It’s eerie.

Shiva had said nothing since the gate at the airport.  One of her manicured fingers tapped rhythmically against the passenger side armrest.  Pru was silent behind the driver's wheel.  Tim mentally catalogued every twitch of motion from his former mentor, every turn the car took.

He desperately tried to put the pieces of the half finished puzzle together.

Piece one: Ra’s was worried about the Council of Spiders.

Piece two: The Council was currently after Tim for an unknown reason.

Piece three: There was more that Ra’s knew that he was hesitant to say.

Piece four: Tim was in China for an inexplicable reason other than to get more answers and keep his family safe.

Piece five: He was actively being stalked by someone stealthy enough to touch him without Tim noticing, but they hadn’t hurt him.

Piece six: Lady Shiva had a long ‘on and off’ partnership with the League of Assassins and Ra’s al Ghul.

Piece seven: Shiva was the one to meet Tim and Pru at the airport.

Tim had the pieces, was there for all of them.

He still didn’t know how they fit together.  He could only hope that his questions would be answered soon.

}~{

“We’re here”  Pru said as the car pulled up a small private drive.  The home (palace? compound?) was in the traditional style of architecture and set on the side of a small mountain.  There were three separate buildings that formed a bracket around a central garden and were connected via pathways and bridges that arched over lotus ponds.  The garden itself was mostly grass, with some rose bushes and other flowers and shrubbery dotted around.  In the center of the garden sat a single willow tree, its boughs waving gently in the mountain air.  

Pru whistled lowly. “Ra’s pulled out all the stops for this place, huh?  It’s like out of a drama.  Who knew the guy had taste other than the desert and his underground kiddie pools?”

“The Demon’s Head does not own this place,” Shiva replied.  “No one may enter the grounds unless they are invited, not even him.  Follow.”

She walked forward through the garden, bypassing the east and west wings of the compound and made her way to the central building.

Tim flicked at glance at Pru who shrugged in reply.

“Your call, kiddo,” she said.  “You know Lady Shiva better than most.”

Tim hardly knew his teacher.  Pru still wasn’t wrong.

Steeling himself, the teen stepped forward, the door sliding shut behind him.