Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sana hid in the shadows of Gotham, her ever vigilant eyes trained on the Heir. She flowed from shadow to shadow like smoke. Following, keeping in pace. There was a swell of pride in her heart as she saw him use her lessons to track his prey down. Tonight’s quarry was Scarecrow, or his followers. Sana wasn’t sure which of the two. She wasn’t close enough to make that out for sure, yet she didn’t need to. Whatever enemy they chose to fight, whether clowns or monsters or her fellow league assassins, her objective remained the same; protect the Demon’s Heir. She crouched in a dark fireescape landing, bow and arrow in hand but not drawn. She watched on as the Heir was joined by Nightwing and Batman. They discussed something intently for a few moments, the Heir pointedly gesturing at a manhole in the middle of the road. Then Nightwing and the Heir grappled away, while Batman jumped down the hole.

If Sana were to follow her orders blindly, she would have continued tailing the Heir. Yet Sana did not. Nightwing was with him. So were Oracle’s ever watchful cameras. They headed towards Red Hood’s territory and Lady Shiva’s deadly spawn was also prowling the city’s shadows tonight. The Heir was as safe as he could ever be. But his father? Jumping alone in Killer Croc’s domain in search of whatever Scarecrow was up to? Batman wasn’t safe. He’d just taken an unnecessary risk, going down there without backup. And his death would jeopardise the Heir much worse than her absence would. That was the sole reason she’d jumped into the manhole behind the man who’d once been her fellow novice. It was the only reason. It had to be.

“I’m not your target”, Batman said in place of a greeting, his gravelly voice hiding any emotions he might have. But Sana thought she heard a glint of concern hidden there. It was expected, sort of. He hated her presence in his city, but he tolerated it because it was another layer of protection around his son.

“But it is my mission”, she replied emotionlessly.

“Your mission is to protect him”, Batman insisted as he made his way deeper into the sewers. Sana would have scoffed, but refrained due to the stench that was rising around them. She wouldn’t talk at all if she could help it, so of course the Dark Knight chose to be chatty.

“What do you think will happen to him if you die? She didn’t send him to you because she believes in parental bonding. You, your legend, keeps him safe.”

Batman didn’t reply. He merely grunted in acknowledgement of her words and kept moving forward, following a trail that Sana didn’t know how to see. They kept going like that for a while. Silence and sewage stench their sole companions. She followed the Bat as he navigated through identical tunnels. Until eventually they made it to a wider room. She swept critical eyes all over. The murky water, and she refused to think of it being anything but just that, was higher in the room. It reached up to mid thigh. The rest of the room was sparse, shadows lying lazily over stone paved walls, curving just enough so that one knew they were in a tunnel dug from beneath the earth. This was obviously one of the older parts of the sewer system. And right against one of the curved walls to their right, there were wooden crates stacked neatly.

Sana took a cautious step inside the room and studied the crates. She could count six of them. They were made of some kind of pale wood, and had symbols burned on the surface. Chemical symbols. And things suddenly made sense. He was tracking Scarecrow tonight, and although the sewers weren’t the villain’s domain they made an excellent storage facility for his supplies. It was a dark place, with a stable enough temperature. No-one really wandered in Gotham’s sewers by accident or intentionally unless they had very little other options, and not just because of the foul smell. And that smell, foul and thick in the air, would be perfect to mask any odors exuding from the chemicals.

Batman made his way towards the crates. Sana stayed behind to watch his back. That was the only reason she noticed it. A few tiny bubbles making their way to the surface of the water, a few feet to their left. Followed by a tiny ripple, so small she might have imagined it. But Sana never believed in small coincidences. Not when the hair at the back of her nape stood up as if she was being stalked by a predator. And wasn’t that the major reason gothamites knew to stay away from the sewers? Because they were the haunt of one mutated rogue going by the moniker of Killer Croc? Of course it could have been nothing. But Sana always preferred being paranoid than dead.

“On your left”, she exclaimed, just in time for Killer Croc to launch out of the water and right at Batman.

Her warning had afforded Batman enough reaction time that he dodged the attack. The two men began to fight and Sana joined in. Even with Batman at her side, it was a hard fight. Killer Croc was a formidable foe, tall and strong, with green tinted skin as hard as armor and the honed instincts of a natural predator. Yet Sana kept fighting. She was an assassin of the league. Her own safety couldn’t come in the way of her mission. Her life had never mattered that much, especially not when the Heir’s life was under the mission’s considerations. And Sana fought, with sword drawn, kicking and swiping at her monstrous foe. It wasn’t a terrain she was used to fighting, the slippery concrete and high water level making it hard for her to keep her footing correctly. Sana lunged with her sword, the blade dragging on the rogue’s skin and not leaving behind even the tiniest of scratches. And then he smiled at her, lips peeling back to show sharp jagged teeth, and he swiped his tail.

Sana wasn’t fast enough to dodge. It hit her right in the stomach and sent her flying backwards. She hardly managed to brace for impact in time. But when she did stop flying like a ragdoll in the air, she didn’t hit one of the curved walls. No, she landed in the crates. Wood creaked as it broke under her weight. Jagged edges tearing at her already battered armor and sinking into her skin. But that was the least of her worries as the glass vials inside the crates shattered, whatever chemical or toxin they contained spilling out and all over her. It seeped through her clothes and clung to her skin and filled her nose with its peculiar smell. Her head was spinning, eyes growing unfocused and all sound going muted. And then her mind was filled with the clarity of one knowing they are in complete and utter danger. She drew her dagger waiting for an attack.

Bruce saw Sana get hit by the Croc. He saw her fly in the air and threw his grapple in an effort to keep her from hitting the crates. He missed and she got drenched in the fear toxin. He immediately put his rebreather on. Killer Croc took that opportunity to retreat through the murky water of the sewers. And Bruce didn’t pursue him. He had bigger things to worry about. Like an absolutely terrified assassin that was getting ready to fight illusions she couldn’t distinguish. An assassin that was forced into a fight or flight scenario. An assassin that had had any reaction other than fight trained brutally out of her. An assassin that would be unable to tell friend from foe.

He sighed, knowing that he was going to have to fight her. He looked her over. She was injured, blood dripping slowly from the wounds on her back. They were deep enough to hurt, but not too deep as to hinder her movement. She held herself still, too still, like a cobra that was about to strike. Her long dagger was held expertly in her hand. She shifted to the left. She scanned the empty shadows with eyes so dilated they were more pupil than iris, and then she attacked the air with precise and lethal moves. Bruce made his way silently toward her. All he had to do was incapacitate her long enough to get her to the antidote.

It wasn’t easy to sneak on an assassin with Sana’s training. But the fear toxin’s hallucinations helped cover his advance. It wasn’t until he had his arms wrapped around her and his taser on her neck that she began to fight him. She only managed to clip him hard on the jaw with her elbow before she started seizing as electricity coursed through her. And then she lost consciousness. She slumped in Bruce’s arms. He picked her up, mindful to not aggravate her wounds and made his way to the Batcave. On his way there, he was joined by Orphan. She took one look at the assassin in his arms and nodded her understanding. She would take over patrol while he was busy with Sana.

Fortunately, the assassin remained unconscious all the way to the cave. Unfortunately, she began to stir as Bruce carried her out of the batmobile. He was preparing for the fight he inevitably knew he was going to end up having in his hands. Yet when her eyes opened they were lucid, if a bit cagey. They were darting widely all over the place, while her system dealt with the aftereffects of the fear toxin still lingering in her blood. He helped her stand, and ended up supporting her when it proved she could hardly stand on her own two feet.

“What happened?” she asked in a voice that lacked her usual strength.

“You got doused in fear toxin”, he replied with his words brief and to the point. She was still covered in the toxin, its slimy consistency caked on her like mud.

“You’ll need to decontaminate”, he suggested with a nod towards the showers. She started to nod, but there was a quality in his tone that made her pause.

“You suspect this batch is water activated”, she murmured and although it wasn’t really spoken like a question, he still answered the one implied by her words.

“It is a high probability”, Bruce affirmed.

“You should keep an eye on me then”, she suggested. It came out sounding awkward, as if the words had been clumsy in her mouth. It wasn’t something that usually happened to the assassin, Buce knew, but he didn’t comment on it.

He helped her to the showers and tried to give her some privacy. But the tremors coursing through her made her fingers stiff and uncooperative and she needed his help to undress. He obliged and even put on his rebreather before she went under the stream of water at her insistence. It proved useful a few moments later when she did get in the shower. The moment the water hit the toxin it released a plume of vaporised fear toxin. Her reaction this time was immediate and vastly different than earlier. With her whole body trembling like a leaf she took rapid steps back until her back hit the wall of the shower. She slid down the wall, leaving a red trail of blood on the pale blue tiles, and sat on the floor. She gathered her knees to her chest, hugging them in place while her chin rested on them. And in that moment she didn’t look like an assassin, but like a scared kid instead. It was a jarring contrast.

Bruce didn’t like it, and started getting closer to render her unconscious again. It wasn’t the best solution and he didn’t like it either, but it was the littlest bit of mercy he could offer her while she still was covered in the toxin. But he only took a step and stopped in his tracks as she turned tearfilled eyes on him. They were clouded in fear and shining with tears and this was such a viscerally different reaction to the toxin that for a moment Bruce wondered if it wasn’t a simple fear toxin as they thought, but also played with other emotions too. The quiet whimper that left her lips brought his full focus on her.

“Please”, she begged and something in Bruce’s chest twisted, “I was a good girl, I promise.”

Bruce was going to be sick. This wasn’t just a fear response like before. This wasn’t just hallucinating in terror. This time it had triggered a traumatic episode. This time she was reliving a traumatic event, with Bruce taking the starring role. And for the first time in a while he didn’t know what to do. No contingency plan prepared, no improvised course of action, no clues. And he hated it. Batman was always prepared. Batman always had a plan. And Batman was the villains’ nightmare, yes. But she wasn’t an enemy and he was inadvertently triggering an even worse response to the fear toxin than she would normally have.

“Please”, she begged once again, voice breaking into a terrified whimper in the end. She let her arms fall to her sides and her legs spread in front of her, knees slightly bend.

“Please”, she whimpered hoarsely and sat on her knees, teary eyes never leaving Bruce’s face. And he wanted to tell her something, anything that would help. But he didn’t know what she needed to hear. Would comforting words help her or would they sound like a trap? Would speaking at her even help her or would it make everything worse? And she sounded so young, her voice so small. It made Bruce sick to think of the kind of trauma she had gone through, to imagine all the possibilities. Possibilities that kept getting worse with every reaction she showed.

“Please”, she begged a third time and started crawling to Bruce. He wanted to step away, to stop her from seeing him as the kind of man this implied. He wanted to take her to the infirmary and give her the antidote and tell her that she was going to be alright. He wanted to snap out of it and just do something. Yet he couldn’t. He was frozen in shock as this woman - who had protected his son even when she didn’t really have to - was crawling naked on her hands and knees until she reached his feet. She knelt there, head titled back as she looked up at him.

“I’m sorry daddy”, she whispered, voice small and the inflection so young that Bruce just knew, with a certainty that churned his stomach and had bile rising in his throat, that wherever her mind had taken her she was young when it had happened.

“I’m your good girl”, she pleaded desperately, “See? I’ll prove it, I’m a very good girl.”

And then her hands started caressing his thighs, moving upwards. It snapped Bruce out of his horrified shock. He couldn’t let this go any further. He had to stop this for both their sakes, but especially for Sana’s. He crouched in front of her. She stood still, eyes trained on his jaw.

“Daddy?” she whispered, confusion mingling with fear in her voice.

Bruce tapped at the pressure point behind her ear and she immediately crumpled as unconsciousness took her. He didn’t let her fall to the tiled floor. Instead, he gently picked her up and cleaned the remaining toxin from her skin. Then he moved her to a gurney in the infirmary. He placed her gently on the white sheets and administered the fear toxin antidote. When that was done, he sighed hoping she wouldn’t have any more attacks due to the trauma that had been obviously drenched up to the forefront of her mind, and started taking care of her luckily shallow wounds. And, for the first time since he’d met her, Bruce found himself wondering if maybe he’d judged her choice to join the league of assassins too harshly. Could he really hold it against her, if the league was her only escape out of whatever hell that had been? Didn’t she deserve to be given another chance? And wasn’t it better to let his thoughts wonder that way than thinking about the reasons his heart had seized the moment she started pleading and begging a shadow from her past?

Chapter Text

Sana woke up alone in the darkness. She didn’t remember everything that had happened after Killer Croc had sent her flying into the crates. She vaguely remembered fighting and crying and kneeling? And Batman telling her that she was infected with fear toxin. That would explain why she felt so primally scared, like a kid left alone in the dark. But Sana had never feared the dark before. The worst things that had happened to her had all been done in the light in front of everyone’s clear view. It was the people that chose to turn blind, or maybe it was the light that had blinded them. It didn’t matter anymore. What was done was done, and she couldn’t change it.

Sana didn’t open her eyes yet. Needing to evaluate her situation before she tipped whomever was observing her to her new state of consciousness. She knew she was somewhere dark. It smelled dunk and musty and earthy, like a cave, but also sharp and sterile like a hospital. So the Batcave’s infirmary it was. She’d never been allowed in Batman’s lair before. But she’d never fought by his side before either. The next thing she noticed was that she was wearing something soft and warm. It wasn’t her armor, and it felt too loose to be any of her clothes. She could feel the rough material of bandages wrapped around her back but she was lying on her back so her injuries couldn’t be that bad. She didn’t even feel that much pain at the pressure and she didn’t think that was due to a painkiller.

Sana opened her eyes and studied her surroundings. The cave was dark and silent. She was in a partitioned room that seemed closed off from the rest of the cave, but had no door. She was also alone. The silence was almost oppressing in its heaviness. There was a lot of medical equipment around her, even a heart monitor, although it wasn’t connected to anyone at the moment. She tried to sit up and realized that her hands and legs were tied to the bed. She shrugged the blanket away as best she could with her limited movement capability to reveal that her restraints were nothing else than those padded cuffs doctors used for psychiatric patients. A spike of panic shot through her. She wasn’t sure she could get out of those cuffs. Batman must have known this, that was why he felt comfortable leaving her alone in his lair.

Sana’s breath started getting quicker with the realization that she was completely helpless. That was something she hadn’t been in a long while. It didn’t help that she still had some lingering aftereffects from the fear toxin. It really just enhanced her panic. The sound of her sharp shallow breaths filled the air, and for a moment she was glad no-one was around to witness her weakness. But then it was drowned out by her apprehension of what was going to happen to her. Had she attacked Batman and his brood while under the effects of the toxin? Did she attack the Heir? Had she hurt him? Or was this just a precaution? In case she woke up still under the effects of the toxin? Would they let her go? Batman wouldn’t kill her, that she knew, but would he imprison her? Would he prevent her from carrying out her mission?

She was filled with a panic she was unable to suppress. It was a tight ball in her stomach that sent her pulse rocketing. She tried to control her breathing and found she couldn’t, especially not after memories of what had happened while she was affected by the toxin started flooding in. Fighting shadows in the sewers, needing Batman’s help to decontaminate. Naked in the shower and begging, crawling, kneeling. Trying desperately to prove how much of a good girl she was before she got punished. And Batman had witnessed all of it. The mere thought brought a line of tears to her eyes, and she couldn’t understand why. Yet she took a breath again and didn’t shed them. Instead, she grew very still as she heard the whisper of footsteps growing closer to her.

She looked through the opening in the partition to see the Heir approaching her. And she knew that she’d only heard him coming because he wanted her too. He stopped once he passed through the partition and studied her with calculating eyes that reminded Sana of Talia. He casually placed a hand on the handle of his katana and came close to her bed. He stood next to her head, and she turned so that they were face to face. There was a cold frown on his face, as if she was offering him a puzzle he was unsure he wanted to solve. And Sana didn’t quite know if that was a good thing or not.

“You have been following me since I came to Gotham”, the Heir announced, yet Sana knew it was as much a question as it was a statement. She nodded in response.

“But yesterday you went with Father.” Another question formed as a statement. Only this time, Sana was reluctant to provide an answer.

“I am your mission”, he continued as if her silence wasn’t an offence, “so why did you protect my father?” A direct question, spoken with the authority of the Heir. He was a mere kid, yet Sana knew she had to provide an answer this time.

“My mission is to keep you protected”, she replied, ignoring how hoarse her voice sounded, “Your father is your biggest protection.”

A look of disappointment flashed through the Heir’s eyes, but was gone the moment it appeared.

“You trained with him”, he changed the subject abruptly and Sana was surprised the Heir would care about who she had trained with. She nodded slowly.

“You knew him before he donned the cowl.” Sana nodded once again.

“Would you have assisted him if I was not your mission?” He demanded and there was a strained emotion in his voice that he was trying hard to hide. Sana couldn’t understand where the Heir was going with this. Hypothetical what ifs weren’t something the league ever dwelled on much.

“Then what would my mission be?” she asked, indulging the kid she would one day follow.

“Unrelated to his survival and well being.”

“I don’t know”, she replied quickly and it rang out with a false quality.

“I demand honesty”, the Heir scolded, head titled proudly upwards.

The truth was Sana would want to assist him if she saw him in danger like that night. But she couldn’t possibly do so without justification. Because assassins of the league didn’t just go out of their way to assist people, especially ones that could be considered their enemies. And for that Sana didn’t know what she would do.

“If you weren’t my mission then you wouldn’t have been sent here”, she replied guardedly, “and that would mean he would probably still be considered an absolute enemy of the league.”

“Your evasion of an answer reveals much”, the Heir hummed. His words left Sana feeling vulnerable in a way she didn’t want to be. Like he was able to see into her soul and read her deepest secrets.

“Am I a prisoner?” Sana was the one that changed the subject this time.

“That depends”, the Heir said with a tilt of his head that belied the disinterest projected in his voice, “What will you do if I set you free?”

“I still have a mission to carry out.”

“You should talk with father”, Damian ordered and undid the strap of the cuff around her left wrist. Then, he slowly made his way to the other side of the bed. She was embarrassed to realize that he was making sure she could see him move to keep her from being startled. She hated that it was needed.

“Thank him for assisting you”, he added as he undid the strap of her right wrist. Sana sat up and started uncuffing her ankles.

“I will when I see him next”, she promised. She couldn’t decline the Heir’s orders even if she wanted to which she did not.

“Before you leave”, he insisted coldly for a reason that Sana couldn’t understand.

“Why?” she asked as she picked up her weapons that were neatly stacked in their sheaths on a table next to some medical supplies.

“He personally treated you”, Damian admitted with an imperious voice, “and he defended you when Drake said he should not have allowed an assassin of the league in here. As a member of my guard you should always repay your debts.”

Sana wasn’t sure she owed a debt the way the Heir had meant it. Batman didn’t really care about her beyond anything other than what his morality dictated. She wasn’t an enemy for the moment. That was all. Besides, her sole goal in this dreary city was to protect his son, of course he would make sure she was able to keep doing so. But there was a part of her that for some inexplicable reason wanted to visit him before she left. And shouldn’t she let him know she was leaving? That she didn’t just escape? To make sure they were on the same page and that he wouldn’t hunt her down? Sana nodded in acceptance and made her way to the stairs that had to be leading to the manor.

She climbed them slowly and eventually walked through a grandfather clock into an opulent study. The study itself had no windows, but once Sana stepped out of it she found herself in a corridor with multiple ones. She could see from how dark the sky was that it was the wee hours of the morning, probably somewhere around three. She could also tell that this wasn’t the same night she’d been dosed with fear toxin, which meant that depending on how many nights had passed she might have missed a check-in with the league. She really hoped that wasn’t the case. Sana didn’t dwell on that as she quietly moved through the manor. She would get her chance to explain once she left.

The manor was sprawling and lavishly decorated. Sana only knew where she was going because she had to study its layout for her mission. It wouldn’t do to be unaware of where the Heir slept. She first tried to find Bruce Wayne in the library, then his second study and the kitchen, unlikely as those were given the time. It seemed like everyone other than the Heir was asleep. With a quiet shake of her head, Sana started to make her way to the master bedroom. Sooner than she would have liked, she was standing outside heavy mahogany double doors. She unsheathed her small dagger, because sneaking on a sleeping individual with Batman’s training unarmed was unadvised to say the least, and quietly pushed one of the doors open just enough for her to pass through. She closed it behind her and stood there for a moment as she scanned the bedroom.

It was big. Decorated with mahogany elements matching the doors. On her left there was a rug and two armchairs in front of a fireplace. A bit further she could see a door leading to a bathroom and another leading to a closet. On her right the wall was covered with big windows whose heavy curtains weren’t drawn, allowing big swaths of moonlight to bathe the bed. The bed was big and the centerpiece of the room, unsurprisingly. And in the bed, swallowed by black sheets that looked way too soft, Bruce Wayne was soundly sleeping. Sana had to admit that he looked good. Handsome even. Calm and relaxed. For a moment she felt bad at disturbing his peace. But then she got a flash of a memory, her hands on his thighs while he jerked away in what had to be disgust, and she let go of that sentiment.

She approached the bed slowly, making sure her footsteps would be heard. Yet Bruce didn’t stir. He was either too deeply asleep or pretending to draw the intruder in. And Sana wasn’t sure which she would prefer. She made her way to his bedside and stood above him. She ran her eyes over him critically. His face was still calm and relaxed, eyes closed and breathing steady. He turned in his sleep, the move too lazy to seem like anything but that, yet Sana wasn’t sure she believed it was completely unconscious. Not in the way it got his bedsheet out of the way and let one of his hands disappear under his pillow, where he surely had a weapon hidden there. But he wasn’t acting yet. He was waiting for her to make the first move. He was just lying there in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs and somehow he still didn’t look vulnerable. She adjusted her grip on her dagger.

Sana leaned over Bruce and moved the hand that wasn’t holding the knife to his shoulder to wake him up, if he indeed was asleep. In a swift motion, that proved true her suspicions that he was pretending to be asleep, he pulled on her arm, throwing her on the bed and pinning her to the mattress. She could put her dagger to his neck, but then he’d just use the weapon he had under his pillow. And he may not kill, but she couldn’t seriously hurt him without jeopardizing Damian’s safety ehich put her at the disadvantage. So disengaging was her best option. It would give him the chance to realize she wasn’t a threat. Well, not actively at least. Not at that moment.

Sana turned them over, so that she was pinning him to the bed, and then got off the bed. She took a step backwards keeping her eyes on Bruce. He lunged at her, pinning her against the wall. She hissed as the force caused a stab of pain to shoot from her wounds. His eyes flickered to her back, but he didn’t relent. He kept one of his forearms pressing into her neck, while he used the hand of his other arm to slam her hand to the wall, making her drop the dagger. Sana didn’t fight back, understanding now that it would only escalate things. It remained tense for a moment, Bruce’s eyes studying her cautiously. And then he wasn’t roiling with aggression anymore, even if he still kept her pinned.

“I’m not here to attack you”, she whispered, wincing as the action increased the pressure he was putting on her larynx.

“Funny how you show that”, he quipped darkly, eyes shifting to her dagger on the floor.

“If I wanted to kill you, you wouldn’t have heard me coming”, she gasped honestly.

“So sneaking around with a dagger drawn is…” he asked with a raised brow.

“I was about to wake up a highly trained man I’m not allowed to kill”, she tried to shrug, but Bruce pushed harder to make sure she remained pinned to the wall.

“And what was it you needed that couldn’t wait a few hours until morning?”

Sana wasn’t sure she wanted to answer that now. It felt stupid the way she’d let the Heir influence her like that. He’d ordered and it was only natural that she would follow those orders. But the way Bruce was putting it? He was right. It wasn’t something urgent. And remaining bound in the infirmary for a few more hours wouldn’t have made that much difference. It would leave her helpless in the presence of people that didn’t all consider her a tolerable ally. Still, there were better ways to handle this. Ways that were less impulsive and less emotionally involved.

“The Heir released me from my bonds”, she whispered after a silence that had been a few seconds too long.

“And you wanted to say goodbye before leaving?” He asked and there was something in his voice that she didn’t like. Sana averted her gaze from his, choosing to stare at the ceiling instead.

“Just so you wouldn’t think I escaped and hunt me down”, she mumbled awkwardly and hated herself for showing that kind of vulnerability to him of all people. He’d already seen too much of what she wanted to remain hidden and forgotten.

“I would hunt you down?” Bruce questioned and Sana couldn’t understand his tone. It was too guarded perhaps, but she couldn’t really fathom why.

“If you didn’t think me a threat, you wouldn’t have bound me.”

“That was a precaution”, he stated, his voice absurdly soothing without his usual gravel that he used with the cowl, “in case you had a nightmare again.”

“Who did I attack?” she demanded, eyes snapping back to his, then focusing on the dark bruise on his jaw.

“No-one”, he replied in his normal stoic way and then he realized what she was looking at, “That’s from back in the sewers.”

“I’m sorry”, she apologised quietly, cheeks burning with shame. She was supposed to have better control than that.

“You don’t have to apologise for your actions under the influence of fear toxin”, he waved her apology away, his tone way too gentle for their position, “you weren’t in control of them.”

Sana shook her head dismissively. She knew both Talia and Ra’s Al-Ghul would agree that it wasn’t an excuse. Bruce let go of her hand to cup her cheek and move her face to look at him, effectively turning her thoughts away from the leaders of the league she served.

“You weren’t in control”, he reiterated, emphasizing each word as if that little detail mattered to him, “We’re not responsible for the things we have no control over.”

Somehow, Sana was sure he wasn’t speaking just about her with that last one. It caused an odd warmth to bloom in her chest. That he, one of the most guarded people she knew, would be vulnerable in the face of her own vulnerability meant a lot of things she was afraid to think about. It brought back thoughts she couldn’t stop from surfacing. And memories of a young fellow novice’s smile and the comfort it had always provided even when it shouldn’t have had. She had to leave. She didn’t want to. Instead Sana placed her palm over the one he still held her face with, caressing his skin for a moment. His forearm on her neck lost some of its pressure. She could break his hold if she wanted to.

“But we’re in control now, right?” she whispered, her eyes locked on his own. Bruce nodded slowly, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to agree and removed his forearm from her neck. She could leave. He would let her. Sana didn’t leave. Instead she leaned her head forward and pressed her lips on his. He paused for a moment, but before Sana could pull back he reciprocated the kiss. It grew deeper, hands roaming over each other. Before long she was once again pinned under him on the bed while he showered kisses along her collarbone. Sana let her hands trail over his chest down to his waist and then lower. She coaxed his member free of his underwear and helped it to her core where he could sink inside her. Their breaths grew quicker as their movements grew more desperate. It was a pleasurable desperation that ended in their bliss. And for all her boundaries and inhibitions, Sana set it all aside as she fell asleep in his embrace. She didn’t even realize that cocooned in his arms as she was, she felt protected for the first time in a very long while. She didn’t realize it until the sun had risen and she had disentangled herself from his embrace.

“You’re leaving”, he stated while she was getting dressed. She turned to look at him. He was lazily draped over his bed, head slightly raised to look at her. She didn’t try to decipher his tone, knowing that it was better if she forgot this had ever happened. The lives they led, it didn’t allow for anything more between them.

“I am”, she confirmed, suppressing the sudden sadness that had no business pressing on her chest and hid her face under the guise of picking up her weapons. A moment later she disappeared out one of his windows, without even a second glance at Bruce.

Bruce had forced himself to remain in bed. He knew that was for the best. He shouldn’t complicate things more than they’d already become. Yet when night came and he patrolled the roofs in his cape and cowl he was struck with a worry he couldn’t explain. Because that night, Sana did not tail Damian. When the fourth night passed without a sign of her, Bruce had finally reached a point where he couldn’t deny that he was angry. Angry at her for disappearing and angry at himself for letting her disappear. For convincing himself to refrain from finding out where she was. If she wanted to disappear on him, he should let her. It was her choice and he would respect it. Even when it left him with so many questions he wanted to demand she answer. Because Bruce had to be better than that.

Chapter Text

Bruce had been in a mood ever since the assassin had left the manor that morning. It had only been seven days, but his mood had been affected enough that even his kids noticed. Not that he’d talked to anyone about it. The kids let it be for the most part. He obviously needed space to get through whatever he was feeling. They’d known there was some history between him and the assassin, they just didn’t know what. And there was the beginnings of a divide between his kids because of it. It was mainly the assassin trained kids thinking that he shouldn’t let Sana go without giving it a try, while the non-assassin trained ones hinted more than once in the past week that he should stop getting involved with assassins in the first place. Bruce didn’t know what his kids were going on about. He wasn’t getting involved with anyone. Especially not someone who had no remorse about killing. If only that argument felt as strong as it had in the beginning.

Bruce had put on the suit that night, with the cowl drawn back, and was at the batcomputer going over reports before patrol. He wasn’t sulking for a killer like Dick had accused him last night. He wasn’t moping like Jason had teased at the end of patrol two nights ago, either. He was just going over reports. A report specifically. He kept reading the part where he’d made contact with Damian’s new guard. He knew she’d woken him to say goodbye that night, he’d even teased her about it. He just didn’t think that was a permanent one. And Bruce really didn’t know how he felt about that. Because he knew she was running away, and he had plenty of plans and contingencies for if he needed to track down any league assassin that was a recurring visitor in his city. But he didn’t want to use them to find her. He didn’t want to don the cowl and hunt her down. Bruce sighed and focused on another case he was looking at.

Sometime later, Damian approached him slowly. He made sure his footsteps were heard, and that gave Bruce pause. Damian would usually relish the chance to sneak up on Batman and showcasing his skills. Bruce turned to his son. Damian didn’t look like a kid that night. He looked like the general Talia and Ra’s Al-Ghul had trained him to be. His posture was stiff, his eyes unreadable, and his expression was a practiced smooth mask. Bruce didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all. Damian sat on the chair next to his father and placed his katana next to the batcomputer’s keyboard. He then crossed his arms in front of his chest and turned guarded eyes to his dad.

“What’s wrong?” he asked his son.

“Do you hate her past as an assassin that much?” the boy asked, voice not as emotionless as Damian would have liked. Bruce knew Damian wasn’t just asking for Sana’s, but also for his own assassin past.

“I don’t hate her past”, Bruce clarified honestly. He didn’t like it. But it was a big tenet of his no kill rule, that everyone could change and redeem themselves, turn a new leaf and choose to do better.

“But you gave up on her”, the boy pressed, sounding more vulnerable than Bruce had ever heard him be before.

“I didn’t -” Bruce began then stopped with a sigh. He leaned his hands on his knees so that his head was on the same level as his son’s. Then he tried to explain once again, hoping to make it clear that just because it didn’t work out with a woman he wasn’t even courting - no he wasn’t flirting with her like Jason kept insisting - it didn’t mean it was a reflection of his feelings on his son.

“Damian, she left. It was her choice. We have to respect that.”

“She did not leave. She was summoned back”, Damian announced and Bruce had to fight to keep his reaction under wraps.

“Summoned?” he asked instead, as if it couldn’t mean anything at all.

“Do not pretend to be ignorant, father. You did train in the league, you know what that means.”

Damian was right. Bruce did know what that meant. It meant her choice to back him up that night instead of sticking with Damian had been perceived as a failure. It meant she had to go back to Nanda Parbat to receive punishment. And the fact that there was a new assassin in Gotham meant that whatever punishment she got it also included her having to surrender her mission. Bruce was filled with the sudden inexplicable need to ask Damian if he knew what her punishment was. But Bruce wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t be so selfish as to ask his son to interact more with the league of assassins, not for anything.

“I think she is back in Gotham”, the young vigilante admitted cautiously, “She hides better in the shadows now. She even hides from us.”

Bruce didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t know if it was better that she was back and was hiding from him or not. He didn’t want it to matter. He shouldn’t care. But he knew her. For a long time. They’d trained together back when he was training with the league. And he knew that she took pride in accomplishing her missions. That getting punished, without actually failing, wouldn’t be something she would take well. And now she was back and hiding from him? What had happened in Nanda Parbat? Why would she watch over Damian but remain away? And what about the new guard? It was a mystery that Bruce wanted to solve, but wasn’t sure if he should. He grunted once to let Damian know he heard him and then pulled his cowl back on. It was time for patrol.

Patrol had been a quiet affair without many crimes. Maybe the criminals had realized Batman wasn’t in a good mood and decided to not test their luck. Bruce was always vigilant on patrol, but that night he paid much more attention to the shadows, hoping to get a glimpse of her. He didn’t. He stopped looking for her after Damian had gone back to the cave. She was in Gotham for the Heir afterall, not for Bruce. That had always been the case. Why would anything be different now? He continued patrolling alone for a while more, unable or perhaps unwilling to call it a night just yet. It wasn’t until an hour and a half later that he found himself on a dark roof. It was quiet, with only gargoyles and shadows for company. Bruce made his way to the big gargoyle at the edge of the roof. He liked that one. Its big wings spreading out of its back provided perfect cover from behind while the Dark Knight could watch over the city and think.

He quietly made his way to the spot at the gargoyle’s feet that he usually took, but stopped in his tracks abruptly. His spot was occupied that night. There was a woman there, dressed in black clothes and a hoodie with the hood drawn over her hair so that it cast a shadow over her mask-framed eyes. She was solemnly watching the glittering lights of the city and flipping a small familiar dagger. She didn’t pay much attention to the weapon as she threw it in the air and then caught it in her palm to repeat the motion. Her eyes remained fixed to the city below, face unreadable and set like the stone of the gargoyle towering over her. Bruce took a step, one that he made sure wasn’t silent. She didn’t make any indication of having heard him, and that more than anything had worried him. Just like him, there never had been a time that she was ever not vigilant.

“Sana”, he murmured as he sat beside her. He didn’t sit in front of the other wing, for it would have put the gargoyle’s body between them. Instead he sat outside of the gargoyle’s protection and turned to look at her. She made no indication of having heard him. Bruce didn’t like that at all. She just kept flipping that dagger. He waited a few moments in silence. Then he broke it when it became obvious she would not.

“You were summoned back”, he tried to broach the subject. She flinched. It was a full jerk of her body. She failed to catch the dagger. It clattered to the roof and skidded towards the edge. It balanced to a stop right before it would have fallen over the edge. Somehow that was a worse reaction than if she had remained unresponsive. She didn’t even deign to pick it up. She just unseathed another dagger and started flipping that one.

“Sana”, he pressed a few moments later. He didn’t like this. The way she seemed to have given up. She wasn’t usually someone that would get lost in despair. He was worried for her. Such a reaction, or lack of, couldn’t just be random. Either something really bad went down during her visit to Nanda Parbat, or she was unraveling after the fear toxin brought back things she had wanted to leave behind. Bruce wasn’t sure what would be worse.

This time, Sana stopped flipping the dagger after he called her name. Instead she caught it in her palm, fingers wrapping around the handle with practiced ease. She focused on its blade, turning it in front of her to catch the light. Bruce hated how unable he was to help her. He shifted so that he was fully turned towards her, the white lenses of his cowl focused on her face with such an intensity that she couldn’t ignore. She sighed and placed the flat of the blade in her palm. She ran her thumb slowly over the cold metal. That pair of daggers was all she had left now.

“I wasn’t just summoned”, she whispered, voice forced emotionless in the way that people like them would use when they felt too much. She paused for a moment, then swallowed. Even she wasn’t sure if she was swallowing back feelings or tears or if she was trying to stop that dry razor in the back of her throat from scraping it raw.

“I was released from my service”, she announced quietly, ears rushing with the shame of her admission. She kept her eyes glued to the blade in her hand. All that she had been allowed to keep was that pair of daggers. A reminder of her greatest accomplishment and her worst failure. They remained in silence for a few moments. It was alright, Sana thought, she hadn’t expected a different reaction from him. Batman was stoic and upright. He could only rejoice that there was one less assassin to possibly fight with. That he wasn’t expressing his relief was boon enough. She knew that, but it still hurt.

“Sana…” Batman sighed, unsure what he could say to help. It already took tremendous effort to refrain from expressing his relief that she wasn’t punished but freed instead. He knew that would be the least helpful considering the state she was in. Sana sighed heavily then took a breath. She carefully grabbed the blade of her dagger and handed it to him with the handle facing him. And finally she turned her eyes to his face.

“I owe you my life”, she announced formally, haunted eyes staring into the lenses of his cowl, “Until such a time comes that I can repay my debt, my blade is yours.”

“I have no use for your blade”, Batman replied and it was the gentlest he’d ever sounded while wearing the cowl.

“If you want to repay me”, he continued and slightly pushed at the handle to emphasize his point, “then live your life and be happy.”

Sana took the dagger back, her eyes dimming even more as she turned them away from him once again.

“How?” she asked, voice breaking. The sound wrenched something in Bruce’s chest and if he weren’t Batman he would have flinched.

“Find something else to do, something you like.”

“I like being part of the league”, she admitted, voice small and vulnerable.

“What about before the league? What did you want to be when you were a kid?” he tried again.

“I wasn’t allowed to want to be anything when I was a kid”, she shook her head, “I was only ever meant to be a wife.”

“That night in the decontamination showers…” Bruce murmured in realization, only Sana could still hear the question he didn’t want to ask.

“My husband loved hosing me down when I was being a bitch”, she shrugged as if that didn’t matter anymore. And to her it really didn’t. She had killed the man and revelled in her freedom. But freedom without purpose was pointless, she had eventually found out. And then she’d heard whispers of the league and it was like waking from a dream. Now years later, she loved the life she’d built there, only she didn’t get to live it anymore. Because of a moment of weakness, a moment when she had let her heart lead instead of her head.

“And the league helped you escape, I understand that”, Batman said and it almost sounded pleading.

“No”, she scoffed, lips lifting in derision, “I escaped all on my own. The league had nothing to do with any of that.”

“And all this time you found nothing you wanted to try?” Batman pressed, his customary growl momentarily giving way to the earnestness in his tone, “If money is the issue I can help with that.”

“Forget it”, she shook her head and put he daggers back in their sheaths. She slowly got up and started to leave. She knew she wasn’t good enough in his eyes. She had too much blood on her hands for him to overlook it. But she couldn’t just sit there while he tried to suggest ways to fix the only part of her that wasn’t completely broken at that moment. It may have been twisted and darkened and wrong even, although she wasn’t sure she wanted to believe that the way he did, but it remained in one piece. Unlike everything else.

Sana didn’t need to be fixed. She wasn’t some misguided little girl that needed directions back to the light. Sana was an assassin. She couldn’t stop being one just as she couldn’t stop breathing. It didn’t matter that Talia had ordered her to or that Bruce wanted her to be anything else. That was what Sana was and she couldn’t not be herself just as she couldn’t force her heart to stop beating. Not without dying at least. And for someone whose life she’d allowed to matter only as much as was required by whatever plan her commanders had made, she found she didn’t want to die. Not yet. And that scared her as much as not being an assassin anymore did.

“You could join us”, Batman offered. She stopped in her tracks and turned to look at him. There was a sad smile on her lips, as if she thought this was just a trap, yet she still walked into it.

“Provided you stop killing”, he elaborated. He knew it wasn’t the killing part of being an assassin that she wanted back. It was the identity she had bled for.

“And you’ll forget what I’ve been?” she questioned with sadness tinged doubt in her voice, “Just like that?”

“ Forget? No”, he admitted, standing up and taking a step towards her, “But as long as that remains your past, I won’t hold it against you.”

“Fine”, she whispered and it felt like she could breathe for the first time in days.

Bruce didn’t smile exactly, but she saw one corner of his lips twitch slightly upward. He motioned for her to join him and she did. They patrolled the city together for another hour. And then Bruce took her to the Batcave. She walked into the main cave and had the sudden urge to hide behind Bruce. She didn’t, because she’d vowed to never allow herself such dangerous luxuries after she killed the husband that had terrorized her. But she wanted to. All of his kids were there, even the ones that weren’t officially his kids. And they were all looking at her, with stares that varied from expectant to openly hostile. She ignored the hostile ones and met the Heir’s eyes. They were calm and impassive, and she knew that meant he had accepted her presence. Then she met Jason’s. He had been a friend back when he was a member of the league. She hoped that wouldn’t change now that they were on the same side once again. He studied her clothes, the lack of league armor, and knew what that meant.

“What did you do?” he asked casually, with posture relaxed and voice warm. He wasn’t judging her, and that filled her with relief. It was sort of grounding. Jason was familiar and friendly and he knew what she was forced to give up on. He, more than anyone there, could understand what she was going through. And that was enough to lift the corners of her mouth as she replied.

“Him”, she spoke lightly in arabic and pointed at Bruce with her thumb. She knew the other kids would hate her attempt at joking if she spoke in english, but she needed the familiarity and normalcy of it, so she used the League's language. Bruce coughed to hide his surprise, Jason scoffed a short laugh and Damian just raised a brow. Cassandra didn’t react at all, but Sana knew that didn’t mean anything either way.

“Didn’t need to know that”, Jason accused in a light tone, turning the conversation back to english, and the tension caused in the others dropped just a fraction.

“You asked”, Sana shrugged, finally feeling like she could survive being dismissed.

“Yeah right”, Jason snarked, then threw a sheathed sword at her and motioned with his head for her to join him on the training mat.

She stepped in after him and unsheathed the sword. It was a nice blade. Light and balanced. She twirled it a few times to get the feel of it. Then their spar began. They twirled around the mat as if they were dancing, blades clashing with each parry. They were well matched and neither felt the need to hold back. It was a welcome and an apology for the time they spent being unfriendly. And with each move and strike, Sana felt more like herself, like she was coming home. This could become her home, if she let it. They kept fighting for a while, until their skin grew slick with sweat and their breathing wasn’t as easy. Until eventually, Jason’s blade made contact with her neck. It drew a thin, stinging line. She dropped her blade and took a step back, a finger already touching the shallow wound. She brought it down and inspected it, noting the drops of blood. Everyone froze, waiting to see how she would react, how Bruce would. Bruce merely stiffened imperceptibly, but Sana’s reaction was more obvious. Her lips widened in a smile that turned into a short laugh.

“I thought you would have forgotten what I taught you after you picked up your guns”, she told Jason with a hint of pride, and the room visibly relaxed.

“How could I forget?” Jason teased with a smile of his own, “I was your best student, remember?”

“That would be me, Todd”, Damian exclaimed and for a moment everything was back to normal as the siblings bickered. It didn’t last long, with suspicious gazes finding their way back to Sana. Bruce sighed internally. He knew this would take a bit of getting used to. He put a stop to it, by reminding everyone it was time to go rest. Everyone grumbled as they made their way to the manor. Eventually Sana and Bruce were left alone. She turned to him.

“So what am I?” she asked and he tilted his head in question.

“Am I an ally? A part of the team? A third party associate?” she elaborated.

“I usually adopt the new members”, he tried to joke, but it fell flat.

“Well I hope you don’t”, she quipped sounding more like the girl Bruce had once known, “It would be very awkward considering we fu-”

“I wasn’t offering to…” Bruce cut her off and then trailed off awkwardly.

“I didn’t think you were”, she reassured him.

“We’ll take it slow, figure out what works”, he suggested after a few beats of silence. Sana nodded in agreement.

Bruce led her to one of the guest rooms. He offered her an oversized t-shirt she could change into for sleep and bid her goodnight. Sana was tired, exhausted really. But she couldn’t go to bed. Instead she had a warm shower, allowing the water to momentarily wash her doubts away. She toweled off the excess water from her hair and put the t-shirt on. She looked at her face in the mirror. She looked too young, with dark circles under her eyes and a sad turn to her lips. Then she allowed her eyes to run over the t-shirt Bruce had given her. It was black and soft and way too big on her. It was big enough to fall over one shoulder while the hem reached well into the mid-thigh. But what had drawn her attention was the bat logo stamped at the chest area. It sat right over her breasts, a yellow circle with the outline of a black bat inside. Batman’s sign. It wasn’t an accident. He had meant to give her that t-shirt, with the commercialized version of his insignia emblazoned there. It felt like a message, like a claim. He was reminding her that now she was one of his. That she wasn’t alone, that she was a part of something. It brought a genuine smile to Sana’s lips. A smile that remained while she went to sleep.