One year later
Chapter 4
She sighs and decides that her impulsiveness is going to be her downfall. The estate was beautiful; she pressed the box with a button on it and waited for a response. She sent Bruce a message when she left, a heads-up so he wasn’t surprised, but he didn’t reply (maybe she should’ve called? No, too bothersome.)
She’s pulled out of her thoughts. "Alfred Pennyworth, butler of the Wayne mansion, speaking," a posh voice says from the speaker.
"Hello, Mr.Pennyworth, my name is Felicia Hardy, and I'm here to deliver some paperwork to Mr.Wayne from Lucius Fox. He said it was urgent."
The gates opened.
She takes that as a cue to head in. Walking up to the front door, she’s greeted by what she assumes is Alfred; he's an old man with little tufts of white hair and wears a suit of black with a white dress shirt.
"I sent a text to Mr.Wayne earlier; I hope I didn’t interrupt anything. Lucius looked like he was going to beg me if I said no." She reaches for the file in her purse and extends it out to him.
"No, not at all. Master Bruce tends to get caught up in his work, but the manor is always open for guests." He doesn’t take the file and continues, "Please come in; it wouldn’t be proper of me to leave you here in the rain."
She only just now noticed the rain; her brow furrows... It wasn’t like that minutes ago? She lowers her arm holding the file and puts on a concerned face. "That sounds like a lovely offer, but I wouldn’t want to impose..." she trails off and shifts. She really needed to look over her latest equation.
"Pennyworth? "Hardy?" a voice questioned.
Damian Wayne stands behind Alfred, his black hair a mess and his green eyes lit with confusion. Felicia smiles.
"Hello Damian, "It's always nice to see you. Are you well?" She quite liked the kid, who was brash and blunt but full of honesty. Nothing like Peter. Quite against popular opinion, Damian Wayne was refreshing to see.
"Yes, I'm doing well; why are you outside? Come inside; it's cold." he says with brows furrowed, and Felicia maybe hates him now. She really wanted to work on her plan.
She only sighs and steps inside. Alfred is quick to ease her with a smile, as if he could understand her dilemma. Damian stands there with his hip popped out and a hand on his hip. She could see his foot tapping like a mother's.
"Are you staying for dinner?" they say in unison.
She sweats drops when they don’t even glance at each other (did they plan this?). She could use a proper meal, though. tired of living off of chicken and rice.
"If that's okay with Mr.Wayne, I don’t want to intrude more than I have." Alfred takes her coat and hangs it up, and she whispers a thank you.
“The manor is always open for guests” Mr.Pennyworth urges, she highly doubts that sentence but accepts it nonetheless.
Damian—who would never admit that she’s his favorite out of all his father's assistance—is quick to bounce out of his stance and quickly guides her to a sitting room. She was still holding the file.
The room was simple—for a rich person. While her apartment (which was on the high end side) was modern, it had a more simplistic take and was full of black, brown, and white colors. The sitting room (living room, her mind supplied, because who these days says sitting room?) had an old look to it: arm chairs of brown, walls of a muted burgundy, thick curtains, and yellow lights.
Despite the old vibe, it was clean—cleaner than Felicia's own apartment (she was a little jealous). and that was technically newer!
Felicia and Damian take a seat across from each other, a coffee table separating them, and fall into an easy conversation. You see, Damian actually really respected Felicia; she really was the only one in his father's workplace to take him seriously. When he randomly showed up in his father's office one day, talking about a decline in profits made somewhere around the world, she listened intently. She wrote notes, discussed ideas with him, and didn’t once blink at his bluntness.
Damian knew he could be mean; he was taught that it established a sense of dominance, and while it did its job, it still kind of hurt (he denies it) to hear the whispers that circulated. Felicia, however, held him as an equal; they really weren’t kidding when they said respect goes both ways.
Felicia had heard about the "demon" child. You didn’t have to listen hard on the lower floors to hear the rumors. She was beyond familiar with them anyway. So when she met him that day, she listened. And wow, was that kid smart? Did the gossipers know he was just a kid? Did they know about his love for animals and the way he would info-dump about his very concerning extended knowledge of cows? Did they know that his eyes lit up when talking about his older brothers (she had yet to meet the others except Tim Drake), the fondness in his eyes when referring to his sisters, and the way he puffed out his chest when talking about his dad? Obviously, they didn’t look further—had they even had a conversation with him? (Maybe he insulted them). He was just a kid with the weight of expectations on him, so she let him talk. She responded, laughed, challenged his ideas, and let the kid be a kid. Well, a kid heir to a multi-millionaire company, but a kid nonetheless.
While Damian and Peter had different personalities, she saw Peter in him. Maybe it was selfish to make the connection. She learned that his need to help was a lot like Peter's. Sure, he wasn’t a hero, but when he talked about using his influence and power to end animal cruelty—a bit of a broad claim—his superpower must be being rich, her heart ached. It really has been doing that a lot lately.
“I firmly believe I can stop animal cruelty with my family’s influence.” He stated.
“I believe you have a potential to prevent it in Gotham. However, everywhere else? It’s not impossible but you have to have the drive to pursue that idea. Are you taking classes in school that direct you in that direction? Have you thought about companies doing it illegally-assuming that a law gets passed? Do you have the determination to follow through with this?” she replies, her eyebrows furrowed and eyes locked onto his.
He considers her words. You can see it on his face, his eyebrows matched hers, he was looking away, as if he could see it.
“Thank you for your input. I don’t understand why anyone would hurt an animal though. They are defenseless creatures, and without the ability to communicate with us. Why?” She has a feeling he knows why.
“Means of production” she shrugs “On the other hand, it gives people a sense of superiority. Humans are greedy in nature.” She would know that more than others.
He has a curious look in his eyes “But to say humans are greedy in nature is like saying anger is human nature, and therefore is the only way we can/should express our emotions? Humans get angry from time to time, but don’t we also have the capability to be calm?” She smiles, a fond look on her face.
“And that Damian, is where you are. You are not always angry, but have the capacity to feel others' feelings. Other people, not just in Gotham but all over the world, do not have that kind of empathy. But that is not to say that you are alone, there are many others like you. You just might have to be the one to bring light to it.”
“and those performing animal cruelty illegally will be taken out by the bats!” he looks smug “they’re the best. Especially Robin.”
“I’m sure they’re lovely.” Her smile is painful. Maybe things could’ve been different. But like usual; she did what she always does: What she had to. No matter who it hurts.
Sometime during the conversation, Alfred had placed drinks and mini sandwiches (was that a knowing smile she saw...?) on the coffee table and took the file with him.
"Enough talking about me; how are you? Are you continuing college?" He indulges, and yet it's something Felicia wishes he didn’t ask. How are you? If ignoring any thoughts of home and instead stealing from warehouses—god, she hates warehouses—every night was considered healthy in this world, maybe that would be an OK answer. However, she realized early on that Damian was perceptive—honestly, way more than a fourteen-year-old should be. How she was is a question she's been avoiding herself; normally, where she was from, she would journal all her thoughts away. She would take time to understand her flaws, unravel them, and figure out how to heal.
Everyone knew her in the other universe; she already had an identity in the public's perception, and her closest friends knew her personally. But here? She had to craft her identity, erase her flaws, and show them what they wanted to see of Felicia-motherfucking-Hardy.
"No, I stopped going after I got my job. While I can deal with stress pretty well,
Liar.
"I decided there was no point unless I wanted to pursue a different career," she shrugs, taking a sip of her coffee (in a teacup?). She glances at Damian. Her heart drops. He had an eyebrow raised, waiting for her to address his other question. God, this kid
"As for me, though." She runs a hand through her hair. Her future scolds present Felicia for messing it up. "I’m doing okay." The words feel bitter on her tongue.
He crosses his arms. She squints, fixated on his hair. It was curlier?
"Have you been using a product in your hair?"
The youngest Wayne immediately looks embarrassed and shifts his body away. Arms crossed, he says, "Yes, I have been using the products you recommended; they have worked adequately." It's said swiftly, like he would rather be talking about anything else than this. She smiles, a fond look on her face.
"I'm glad you’ve been having a good experience with them; I wasn’t sure if they would work for your curl pattern." She trails, and he perks up. They immediately dive into a conversation about hair, with Felicia teaching and him eagerly listening. If anyone asked Damian if he was actually interested, he would later say that knowledge is power and he had absolutely no interest other than gaining said knowledge.
Tim walks into the kitchen, with Felicia and Damian in the other room, with a bar separating the two rooms.
"Demon child," he addresses "Miss Hardy," he nods, pouring himself a cup of coffee, only to immediately turn around, eyes wide, jaw dropped, and do a double take. The woman looks at him with an amused face while the demon child fumes on the couch across from her.
He clears his throat and stands up a little, saying, "Good evening, Miss Hardy. Can I ask why you are currently in my living room?" He tries not to sound mean, but he’s severely caught off guard by his co-worker being in his house. And maybe because he's currently in black and yellow pajama pants with Batman logos and a black t-shirt.
"Felicia had to deliver a file; she is going to be having dinner with us." The youngest asserts
Felicia might pass out. This was so awkward. She fights the urge to look away and instead nurses her tea.
Tim shuffles, coffee spilling slightly over in his
Batman-themed cup
This was seriously not good. Not good at all. If Tim found out she was a thief, they wouldn’t hesitate to tell the bats. Felicia has no doubts about connections—rich people have access to everything and anything.
Alfred enters: "Dinner is served; please go wash up." Oh, thank the heavens for Alfred (well, technically, he's the reason she's in this situation).
The older man collects the dishes and promptly denies Felicia's attempt to help. Just as she and Damian exit, his voice makes them pause.
"Master Dick has dropped by; he will be having dinner with us. Along with Miss Kyle."
…Master-WHO??