4 A Wrinkle In Time-part 3

Words 3,780

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Maybe you should have been a little concerned as Artemis dragged you through the winding streets and narrow alleys of Munich.

What could you say? You had other stuff on your mind.

Your little journey finally comes to an end just as the sounds of the bustling city fade into the distance and you find yourself in a deserted park just outside the Olympic Village.

"Well, what do you think?" she asks breathlessly, swaying where she stood.

Maybe she drank just a little too much. The pleasant little buzzing in the back of your head reminds you that you drank a not-so-small amount as well.

"It's a nice view," you answer after a moment.

A tapestry of brightly gleaming diamonds was scattered across the darkness of the sky. You can see all of Munich's skyline gleaming brightly on the horizon.

And then there's Artemis herself, long ponytail replaced by a curtain of blonde hair, her face almost seemed to shine in the moonlight.

"I do look pretty hot," she gives you a wide tipsy smile.

You can't help but agree.

An awkward silence settles in between you as you both to taking to staring at the stars, occasionally glancing at each other.

You feel almost shy, yeah that's the best word for it like you have no idea what do to do next.

"So, what do we do now?" you finally ask.

"I-I don't know," she stammers in a huff. "aren't guys supposed to take the lead?"

She looks almost as lost as you, lips parted in a little o, cheeks flushed red.

Gods, she's beautiful.

Artemis lets out a startled squeak when your hands come to rest on her sides.

Her eyes are blown wide like a deer caught in the headlights but she doesn't push you away as you close the distance between you.

Your breath burns like smoke in your lungs, the world a hazy, blurry mess of jumbled-up shapes. Maybe you had drunk more than you thought.

Maybe it's the girl clutching at your arms in her vice grip with those intoxicating pink lips of hers. The roiling pit in your stomach burns driving you on.

She wanted you to take the lead, after all.

You freely admit you have no idea what you're doing, relying on that little lizard part of your brain to drive your actions.

She tilts her head up and rises up on her toes to meet you.

It's more comparable to a peck than a kiss. It's tender and hesitant at first, you spend more time breathing against each other than kissing, staring into each other's eyes.

It's not enough, somehow. And by how Artemis looks up at you, it's clear she thinks the same.

"Well, that was...something," she says breathily through bruised lips.

"Yeah, it was," you get out. You don't trust yourself not to kiss her again, instead, you dig your head into the crook of her neck.

"W-where do we go from here?" Artemis asks, oddly abashed. It only serves to contrast how she exposes her neck to your further exploration.

"Well, practice makes perfect, right?"

Olympic Tennis is boring, but at least it isn't as boring as archery.

You have no idea why the referee keeps shouting "love" every couple of minutes but at least it's entertaining.

You instinctively glance to your right from where Artemis is sitting beside you intently watching the match.

You really hope she can't read your mind, you've seen first hand how good she is with that bow of hers.

You return your attention to the match, though you doubt Artemis is focused on the same thing you are.

You idly nod to her excited pointing and long-winded explanations on the technical aspects of each player's form, squeezing her hand to let her know you're paying attention.

Your eyes follow the blonde girl that looked to be the same age as you with a braided ponytail, only because she was clearly dominating her opponent, of course.

The crowd chatters excitedly and banners and flags from across the world fly wildly in the wind with each point scored.

You can feel the air buzzing with excitement as the game finally arrives at match point.

The girl, Bette Kane, you think, serves. Her ponytail bounces wildly when the racket makes contact with a loud crack.

Her opponent scrambles back wildly defending against the would-be ace.

The tennis ball floats lazily past the net and over Bette's head.

She had already known her racket in the air before it had even hit the wall with a low thud.

"Out." the referee cries and the crowd explodes in cheers and jubilation on the American side, while the French groan in abject misery.

You would think they would be used to this sort of thing by now.

Artemis shouts happily into your ear, clutching at your arm like you were a teddy bear. You rise from your seat and clap.

Your eyes fall on Bette from where she's kneeling on the ground hands thrown up in exultation.

Artemis abruptly steps away from you to answer her ringing phone.

You can't catch what was being said but it's clearly urgent judging by the grimace on Artemis' face.

"I-I have to go, I'm so sorry. Something just came up." she stumbles over herself to apologize.

"Don't worry about it. Call me when you're free, okay?"

"Okay." she says before disappearing into the exit leaving you alone.

Was it wrong to go talk to an extremely attractive girl right after your girlfriend, friend, or whatever Artemis is to you, left?

Probably.

Did it stop you?

Not at all. It isn't like you were going to make out with her too.

Not that you would mind if that happened, but still.

Bette smiles at you when you approach her.

"Sorry I don't have a pen," she says apologetically. "if you have something, I'd be happy to give you an autograph." The weariness in her tone is obvious but her smile doesn't falter. Maybe she's also an actress.

Oh, she thinks you're one of her fans. Belatedly, you realize the long line forming behind you and towards the bench where Bette is sitting.

"No, no, that's fine," you assure her. "I just wanted to congratulate you on the match. It was great, I think."

"You think?" she tilts her head and a stray curl falls out of her headband.

"Never watched tennis before, but I think that was pretty damn good, judging by how my friend was shouting my ear off."

Bette laughs. "Well, thank you, it really does mean a lot. Sorry, it seems you know my name but I don't know yours?"

"Cadmus Othrys, a pleasure to meet you." She takes your offered hand daintily.

"What do you say to getting something to eat after you finish up here unless you've got something else planned?"

She hesitates for a minute. "I think I'd like that."

To none of your surprise, Bette's an excellent conversationalist and a funny one at that too. You eat lunch and spend a bit strolling through Olympic Village together before going your separate ways.

You don't spot Artemis the entire time, always keeping an eye out for her but you don't see her signature ponytail nor do you get a phone call from her.

A little part of you starts to worry.

By the time the final ceremonies come around, it's like she's disappeared off the face of the earth.

You're back in Gotham soon after, the time in Munich already fading into a dream by the time the plane lands.

A week later, you finally get a text from Artemis, a long winding essay about family emergencies, a lack of internet, and killer emus? You shrug it off, you're really in no place to talk.

Then life happens, you have your training with Slade, and your excursions with Selina. It had to be the same for her and the daily calls became more and more scarce until you were surprised to see anything from her during the week.

At least she left you with some memories before ghosting you, or at least, that's what you console yourself with.

A couple of months later, after being reacquainted with Slade's slave-driving training, Ravager's biting remarks, and the cats, Selina finally decides to introduce you to her friends who would be saying over for the month.

You quickly found out that sleeping on the couch was the least of your worries.

"Oh, my god! He's so cute." the clown-lady dressed in a skin-tight-leotard squeals in your ear. "I could just eat him like a cookie!"

You would have been fine with the attention if she didn't have your cheeks trapped in her death grip.

You give Selina the look from where she's watching the scene with visible amusement. The circus is going to be missing their side-act in about five seconds.

"Cadmus, no, Harley please stop pinching his cheeks before he makes you prematurely grow wrinkles."

The harlequin falls on her butt in shock before scuttling away from you in terror. "Anything but my youthful good looks! Mista J will never take me back!"

Fat crocodile tears start falling almost comically trailing down the sides of her face and making a mess of her mascara.

The green-skinned woman dressed in what looked like vines beside Selina tuts in disappointment.

"Can you actually do that?" Selina asks you after Harley calmed down, well at least, stopped shrieking hysterically.

You give Harley a shark's smile. "I can always try." your eyes glow for added effect.

It's a little trick you picked up a couple of years back, scared more than one guard senseless.

"Your kid's a monster, Selina!" She shrieks in terror before storming up the steps. It also works on clowns, who knew?

"But he does make some damn good wine, for a man, at least." Ivy backhandedly compliments before taking another sip.

Your plants along the windowsill almost seem to shiver as she hums in satisfaction.

"Is she always like that?" you ask Selina.

"Actually, this is one of her better days," Selina thoughtfully taps her chin, "I'm surprised she didn't bring out the mallet."

"The mallet is in my hideout under a metric ton of vines, plants, and assorted man-eating plants." Selina sighs in disappointment.

From your room, you can hear the muffled sounds of smashed furniture, a woman's hysterical crying, and a cat's panicked yowl.

So that's where Emerald had gone off to.

"Am I going to get my room back?" you ask hesitantly.

"Maybe, in a couple of days, a week tops, depending on how bad her last breakup went."

"It was bad." Ivy blandly replies.

Well, that's fine, you guess, as long as she doesn't look beneath the -

"OMG!" you hear Harley shout. "Selina! You won't believe what your kid gets up to!"

Unexplainable fear pools into the bottom of your stomach and both Selina and Ivy swivel towards you.

"Anything you want to tell me, Cadmus?" she asks coyly.

"No, not at-" you were interrupted by Harley scrambling back down the stairs a magazine clutched in her hands.

"Playboy Bunnies Christmas Edition! My F-A-V-O-R-I-T-E!" she brandishes your wank bank for all to see.

"HARLEY!" the harlequin cackles and slams your bedroom door shut just as you reach the top of the stairs.

And that's the story of the first time you met Harley Quinzel and Pamela Isley. It wouldn't be the last.

When Selina started taking you on her heists, you thought they would be easy.

Well, she did the actual stealing, dancing through state-of-the-art security systems with her eyes close while you froze time, knocked out some guards,

And at first, they were. You hit everything from art galleries to boutiques to museums, pilfering ancient artifacts, priceless jewels, and exquisite art.

All of which went to decorating your shared home, it really added a...rustic air to the apartment.

Maybe that was just the dust.

"Cadmus, come look at this," Selina calls out from where she's lounging on a sofa, one hand holding a newspaper while rolling an egg-sized sapphire you had snatched the night before in the other.

Somehow it's the former that surprised you more.

She shoves the newspaper into your chest, using her now free hand to pluck the glass of wine out of your hand. Your eyes follow the revealing expanse of skin, finding it infinitely more interesting than whatever was on the paper.

"Ahem, be a dear and read it," You shrug before turning your attention to the article.

Catwoman and an unknown partner strike the Gotham Museum!

Last night, the Gotham Museum was the target of the infamous thief Catwoman. This should not be of any surprise to all of our dedicated readers.

However, what makes this stand out is that according to eyewitness and a source that wished not to be named, there was a second thief. Yes, a second thief!

Although, we can only go off conjecture and hearsay, is it possible that Catwoman has an accomplice, or perhaps, has she taken a sidekick?

Reported by Vicki Vale

Oh, hell no, they did not just call you a sidekick.

You and Selina are equal partners. Equal. Partners. You're not her errand boy, even if she makes you age her wine, and knock out the guards, carry the goods, and stand watch outside...

Oh, gods, you're a sidekick.

Selina laughs uproariously at your reaction. You bluster in response, failing to come up with a response.

"I'm sure you'll think of something before tonight's heist," she smirks before sashaying off to her room.

Well, at least, you got a show out of your public humiliation.

But somehow, for the first time, a bit of uneasiness settles inside of you at her words, a hint of foreboding.

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Your premonitions come true as you and Selina make a mad dash across the rooftops of a jewelry store with a supply of diamonds that Selina couldn't resist getting.

A hooded figure materializes across from you, drawn together by shadow. His face hidden in the darkness, and the only noticeable feature are the two sharp points that rise on top of his head, just like horns.

Batman.

The Caped Crusader makes for a striking figure, a cowled almost demon-like silhouette framed by the lights of Gotham. He stood so still he could have passed for a statue.

You can hear police sirens approaching in the distance. Huh, maybe you forgot a guard.

"You gave him to Deathstroke," he says in his low gravelly voice.

Was he a chain-smoker? you wonder.

"He needed training, where else was he going to get it?" Selina replies removing her green luminescent goggles.

"And training for what? To kill? You want him to end up spilling blood without any care?" Batman demands

"I want him to live." she snaps.

"I'm right here you know."

"Shut up." they both say before returning to their glaring match.

"What do you want, Bats? I doubt it's a conjugal visit," she hisses.

"The kid's dangerous to himself and others, an untrained meta who you've been using for your own personal ends."

"You always think you have it all figured out, know all the cards someone's holding, all the tricks they got up their sleeves. So what is it Batsie, what do you want?"

"Give him to me. No more training with Deathstroke...no more of these side jobs. He'll get the training he needs."

You're getting all the training you need, thank you very much.

"And if I don't?" She steps up to the masked figure uncaring of how he was almost two heads taller than her.

"Then, the next time he breaks the law steps one foot out of line, hurts someone with his powers, I'll throw him in Belle Reve myself," Batman replies coldly.

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Following the confrontation with the Dark Knight, The Kyle household was tense, to say the least.

You avoided Selina like the plague, packing up your clothes and belongings in plain sight with your back always turned to her.

And on the occasions where she was able to corner you, well, she learned first-hand what you could do with your powers.

Harley, the mad harlequin that she was, acted as though she was completely ignorant to the frostiness between guardian and ward.

Ivy, not Pamela, not Pam, she's made sure to correct you on that multiple times, was not.

"You really can't keep doing this. Selina's going to wear a hole in her Persian Rug at this rate." She drawls.

Snip

"Maybe she can buy a new one, and get someone to age her wine for her also."

Snip

Ivy sighs. "Kid, look, I get it, it's a shit deal, but you don't need to go around moping about it, it's really killing the mood."

Snip

"Hmm, killing the mood, I'm so sorry, I thought it's natural not to be exactly jumping for joy when your guardian sold you like cattle at auction to some furry cosplayer."

Snip

"She's not doing it to get rid of you, it's for your own good, Bats may be a stick in the mud but if Selina thinks it's best, she means it."

Snip

"Could have fooled me."

Snip

"Would you stop that," she snatches the scissors out of your hand. "at least try to pay attention."

You run a finger over the branches of the Bonzai tree. You hadn't even finished trimming it yet.

"What are you doing to the plants?" she asks.

"The sacred and ancient art of pruning." you blithely reply.

"No," shakes her head, "they're almost sad, no, more like angry." there's just a hint of concern in her voice.

"I've got a green thumb, it doesn't mean I can speak in chlorophyll."

Ivy pulls up a chair beside you. "Green thumb, huh? Never thought a man could have that."

Oh, casual sexism, so that's where this conversation's heading.

"I'm not exactly, the best at these talks," Ivy admits under your look.

"Really? What gave that way?"

"Don't push your luck brat." she smarts and one of your plants looks to rise up in the soil.

The Bonzai tree's branches thicken and the leaves flare outwards from where you press down.

Ivy looks at you in surprise. "Looks like you weren't lying about the green thumb."

"What fourteen-year-old would lie about being good at gardening?"

"Touche."

You two lapse into a tense silence.

"Just, talk to her at least once before you leave, okay? She's not showing it, but it hurts."

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You try to take Ivy's advice to heart.

On the day you're supposed to leave, you and Selina have a talk to clear the air.

She looks like she's been crying and the kitchen sink is piled high with three gallons of chocolate ice cream.

It doesn't go well. Selina apparently didn't realize evicting her ward at the order of a guy dressed up as a bat would have consequences.

"This is for your own good." That's maybe the one that sets you off, the way she speaks to you like you were a child.

"You didn't worry about that when you were taking me on heists with you. Did you actually care about me or did you just see me as a golden goose?"

Selina almost seems to hiss in anger. It just escalates from there.

There's screaming, there's shouting, there's crying, and just to rub salt in the wound the Bonzai tree quadruples in size before tumbling off the windowsill into the streets of Gotham.

You ignore Ivy's icy glare in favor of shouting down Selina, your voice echoing through the apartment like drumbeats.

You can feel your eyes burn and the roiling in your stomach only grows by the moment. You know you're going to do something you'll regret if you don't leave this moment.

"Bye, Cadmus! Come by some time!" Harley shouts from your room as you finish your tirade. You can hear Emerald howling in agony from inside.

"Cadmus I -" Whatever she was about to say was muffled by the door closing.

Your door almost shudders on its hinges with the force you close it.

You hear the door open again but don't pay any attention, even at the sounds of multiple cats yowling and hissing as they scampered on the wooden floor.

You take the elevator down, luggage in hand and refusing to hear any more of Selina's excuses.

Also, fuck that clown.

At the entrance to the apartment, you spot a familiar face, one you had last seen all those years ago at the orphanage. Still dressed in his impeccable butler's uniform, he holds the door to a long limo open to you.

"Right then, shall we get going then, Master Cadmus?" Alfred Pennyworth asks.

You don't respond, giving the butler your luggage and falling into the offered seat with a dull thump.

The apartment you've lived in for the past three years disappears behind you, as the car rumbles to life.

Neither you nor Alfred speak through the entirety of the trip, content with listening to hum of the engine and the sound of gravel underneath the tires.

Where had it all gone so wrong? you wonder. What did I do?

Had you been too sarcastic, too rebellious? Had you failed her somehow and this was your punishment?

Or maybe, she had simply gotten tired of you, a low voice whispers in the back of your mind. and thrown you away like a jewel that's lost its sheen, like trash.

No, Selina would never do that. You forcefully shut your mind to the whispers, though its words circulate within your thoughts for the rest of the trip.

An hour later you arrive outside a sprawling manse of red and grey brick with idyllic gardens and spouting fountains carved from marble.

Your new home. And your new prison.

Bruce Wayne was waiting for you at the great double doors of the mansion, a small figure standing at his side.

"That'd be Master Greyson," Alfred supplies helpfully, "your fellow ward. I'm sure you two will be the best of chaps considering your shared propensity of being in places you should not be."

You balefully look at the butler in question.

Had Wayne decided to turn his mansion into a private orphanage, and what was so special about this "Greyson" that Bruce Wayne would take him in as well?

It doesn't matter, you decide. As long as he isn't as bad as your old roommates you'd have no problem with him.

You couldn't say the same thing for Bruce Wayne.

Schooling your features, you walked into your new life.

Always forward, never back.

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